Dear Remus,

Thank you very much for your letter—I know that you don't like to talk about such things, but I do like to hear that you're doing all right. I'm glad that you think Professor Questus is decent. He wrote to us after the last full moon, and to be completely honest, his letter worried me. Here, I'll attach it here so that you can see why. It's very... to-the-point.

I should warn you. Your father is knitting you a blanket. My condolences.

Don't worry about Christmas presents, dear. Dad and I already have yours. I know you don't have much spending money, and there really isn't any way for you to purchase something for us. (Your father asks me to remind you that you are NOT to sneak out to Hogsmeade—apparently it was a common thing in his day.) But I expect a Christmas card, or else I shall set Garrison on you!

Oh, and I have exciting news! Madam Pomfrey and I are meeting up in Hogsmeade over break! She's told me wonderful things about the Three Broomsticks (these wizarding names are atrocious!), and she told me that she'd be willing to bring you along, too! If you want to, of course. It would be in early January. Madam Pomfrey suggested the fourth, but I've never seen you looking well so soon afterwards. She insists you'll be all right, but Dad and I are still sort of concerned. So does the fifth sound all right? That's two days before you go back. I know that the cold bothers you, so if you'd like to stay at the castle, that's perfectly fine. But I just can't wait to see you again! We've never been very far apart for more than a few hours.

I do hope that the thirty-first goes well. Madam Pomfrey was going on and on about some sort of infection, and I was so worried. And then there was the note from your Professor Questus... I still don't know how to feel about him. But I'm glad you're feeling better.

Uncle Bryson has decided to come over for Christmas. A little odd, but your father is happy about it (when was the last time he visited our house? Two years ago at Easter?). Dad misses him, even though he's horrible. I'll never understand that. I do hope he doesn't get you a gift this year. They're usually terrible.

And I'm NOT WORRYING. Only a little.

Okay, fine, I'm worrying a lot.

It's only because I love you!
Mum.

P.S. Here's that Prof. Questus' letter.

H. & L. Lupin—

Personally, I didn't think that I needed to write to you. I'm sure that you're used to this by now; goodness knows your son is. But Pomfrey has been shouting at me to write a letter nearly every second of the day, even though I'm fairly certain that she already wrote to you herself.

Everything is fine. Pomfrey had to take another student to St. Mungo's (not a werewolf-related incident. If you're anything like your son, that was probably your first thought), and she left me in charge of your kid. I'm a certified Auror; had to heal many a person back in my Ministry days. Not the worst I've ever seen. He's fine.

Little woozy, sleeping right now, unconscious earlier, under Pain-Relieving Potion, absolutely fine, yada yada yada. Nasty wounds but I assume that's normal. Pomfrey will be back tomorrow.

Mr. Lupin: I vaguely remember you, and you and your son are terrifyingly similar. You probably already know that.

—J. Questus

Dear Remus,

I bet Mum already wrote you about the blanket. This is just to say that it is AMAZING and you're going to LOVE it, regardless of the lies that she's been feeding you. I got the photo you sent from—what was it you said it was? Marauder Christmas?—and I'm glad to see you looking so happy... although I do have some concerns.

You realize that's Sirius Black and James Potter? Stupid question; of course you do. But they're both Pureblood, and you know how Purebloods are regarding people like you. And I don't know how much you know about the Blacks, but they're notorious haters of all things different. That includes Muggles, Squibs, Muggle-borns, half-giants, centaurs, blood traitors, the like. I'm sure you can guess what I'm getting at. Just be careful. Please. I know I've already written to you about the matter, but I've met Blacks before and they're all rotten. But if YOU like Sirius—well, I trust your judgment.

Your Professor Questus mentioned something about our being "terrifyingly similar". I didn't know him very well—he was in the Auror department and I was working for the D.R.C.M.C. But I saw him around a few times, I think, though I can't quite recall what he looks like. He was very... aloof, I suppose is the word. I can't imagine him as a professor. But to each his own, I suppose.

Your mum wrote to you about Hogsmeade, I think, so I shan't repeat all that. She says she won't let me come unless you're going, so PLEASE go. Hogsmeade is beautiful this time of year and I very much want an excuse to get out of the house. She's insufferable without you around. Oh no, I didn't realize she was reading over my shoulder

Remus, dear, don't pay attention to your father. He's an idiot.

Shut up, Hope, I'm talking to our son.

I am not insufferable! Remus, tell him I'm not insufferable.

Anyway, we hope you're doing all right and that you enjoy your Christmas—it'll be so lonely without you!

Bye, Remus. Be good. We love you.
Dad.
And Mum.

Remus folded up the letters and giggled. He petted the school owl's head before watching him fly off to join his friends on the perch. And then, before Remus' very eyes, another owl came barreling towards him: Bluebottle, James' owl.

Bluebottle dropped a letter and the Prophet on Remus' lap and then hurtled away, doing a flip as he left. Remus stared. Like owl, like owner, he thought.

The letter was from James—Remus knew because the envelope was red and looked to be very expensive.

Remus!

You must be suuuuuper lonely without our smiling faces making jokes over breakfast and annoying you half to death. I already miss your eye-rolling. Mum and Dad don't roll their eyes a lot. They love me too much. I hope you're not sitting next to Evans or Snivelly in which case I shall NEVER forgive you. Fraternizing with the enemy and all that.

This is the first time we've left you alone instead of the other way round (just a joke, I don't mean to be insensitive about your mum). Talking of your mum, how is she? And how are your nightmares? Sirius called me at MIDNIGHT last night because he was having one. MIDNIGHT. Just kidding, I don't mind. Although Mum and Dad did when they walked in on me talking to Sirius. I guess I was being too loud. Which is ridiculous—trying to do a handstand while singing the national anthem of wizarding Britain isn't THAT loud.

Sirius hasn't gotten off the mirror at ALL, save for a few hours here and there when he's expected downstairs. It's been, like twenty-four hours. Last night after the nightmare he SLEPT with the mirror next to him. SLEPT. We talked until dawn, I think. Merlin's beard am I tired. But happy. It's fun having friends. Have a few at home but they're nothing like you lot.

He's here now, actually. I'm going to ask him what he wants to say to you and then write it down. Everything till I say so is Sirius, okay?

Hi Loopy! Sirius here and I want to say that James is an awful singer. Like, really bad. We were singing earlier and he was so bad. (James: I AM NOT.) He is, he really is. Anyway, I'm doing all right. Mum is awful. Dad is awful. My whole family is awful and I'm bored. But hey, at least I've got James. Don't try to send me a letter; Mum'll be angry. If you want to talk to me, send one to James and then he'll read it to me. If I don't get this mirror confiscated I guess. There were some close calls. I keep telling her that I'm talking to James, and then show her my owl. It's not a lie! Which is good because I swear she's a Legilimens. She probably wouldn't care even if she knew, though, as long as I'm her Perfect Pureblood Son when she wants me to be. I'm the heir and all that. Ugh. I can't wait to go back to Hogwarts and see you all again. I hate this. Only a few more weeks!

James again. My hand hurts so I'm signing off. My essays are never as long as yours (I don't need the extra paragraphs to get good marks haha just kidding) so I'm out of practice. Adios! And Sirius Orion Black, Toojore Pure, says "oh vwar bun jore nay." Whatever that means.

James Potter
And Sirius

Remus held the letter up to the light and inhaled. He closed his eyes. James' scent was so close that it was almost unbearable. He missed his friends so much.

He started writing back immediately, being extra careful not to get ink on his food or food in his ink. Both would be equally unpleasant.

Dear James Potter AKA Mr. Fragile China Doll (and Sirius AKA The Best Singer),

I'm going to ignore the fact that you butchered that French spelling, because I think you already know. I'm also going to ignore the fact that your grammar was atrocious; I'm guessing that you know that as well. I'm glad to hear that you're doing well, and even more glad to hear that you miss me (I know that you didn't say it directly, but it's obvious that you do). Also: I'm afraid that Sirius is correct. You cannot sing.

Your handwriting is awful, by the way. No offense.

No nightmares last night, and my mum is doing very well. I don't think that she'll have another relapse at all over holidays. Your concern for me is adorable.

Hogwarts is very, very quiet. It's wonderful.

I'm only joking: I miss you loads. Tell Sirius I said that, and then assure him that I'm only joking, because if I tell him that seriously then he's never going to let me hear the end of it. And tell him that I hope his Christmas dinner goes well. I cannot imagine Sirius, a Truly Barmy Character, sitting still and being quiet for five hours. My condolences.

Some of the staff are gone for the holidays, like Sidus and Sprout. But Filch is still here, as is Puttle. That's right: Ray Puttle, Gryffindor Prefect. He actually felt bad for me, sitting at a table all alone, and came by to sit next to me. I noticed a spider on his shoulder and he left right away.

Enclosed is a photo that I found under my bed. It's the one that Sirius got of James when Sirius pushed him into the Black Lake. Please enjoy. James, in all respects, looks like a wet cat.

I really do miss you (no jokes here!),
Remus J. Lupin

Remus had finished eating now. He glanced at the staff table, where Madam Pomfrey was still staring at him intensely (presumably to make sure that he ate). He wondered if she always stared at him that much, or if he just didn't notice it with his friends around. He supposed that it was fair of her to do so, since his current health directly impacted how much work she was going to have to do come December 31st.

December 31st. It was almost upon him. Remus felt like crying.

There were no lessons today, and it was his first full day at Hogwarts without anything to do. He'd finished all of his homework the day before in the library. The teachers hadn't given much, anyway. Perhaps he could run through his Latin declensions again (he always seemed to forget the fifth one), or work ahead a little in some of his classes. Or maybe he could see if Questus was free to talk. Or maybe he could write another letter to his parents, or go outside for a bit to take a walk around the grounds. Maybe he could clean the dormitory.

He stood up and grabbed his bag, patted Bufo, and headed for the grounds. It was cold and unpleasant, but Remus had never walked around the castle by himself. It might be nice.

It was freezing, he decided as he stepped foot in the courtyard. Absolutely freezing. He wanted to die.

He went back inside immediately.

Why was it always so much colder without his friends next to him? Oh, that sounded like a metaphor of some sort. Some cheesy birthday card greeting. Everything is colder without you. Remus laughed a bit. He meant literally cold, of course.

Although... he supposed he had better get used to this. He should get used to being alone. It was going to end up like this, anyway. Sooner or later, his friends would find out—they were certainly clever enough to do so, even Peter—and then Remus would be alone. However, when they found out, then he would not have to wander the halls of Hogwarts by himself... because there was no way that his friends would let him stay at Hogwarts. He was a werewolf, a Dark and dangerous creature who deserved to be alone. The twisty feeling rose up inside of him, but he pushed it down with a shiver.

What would Dumbledore say? That he was worthy of anything he desired, and that he should have the rights and privileges of humans? What would Questus say? To take any opportunity that passes by, because he didn't know if it would ever come again? What would Pomfrey say? To avoid overexerting himself? She'd probably say that the twisty feeling in his stomach might be an illness coming on, and that he had better pop down the the infirmary for a check-up, and that he'd better not tell her that he was fine.

Remus laughed a little and then promptly collided with a wall.

As he was picking himself up from the floor, holding his bruised nose, and dusting off his robes, he heard the footsteps of a man. He inhaled. Questus. Remus groaned a little and rubbed his nose a little harder.

"Ah, Lupin. Did you get into a fight? Can't say I'm surprised."

"I bumped into the wall," Remus muttered. Had that been a joke? Or did Questus think him more susceptible to getting into fights because of his animalistic nature? Or... Remus mentally pinched himself. He really needed to stop overthinking things. Questus was joking. Obviously.

Questus snorted. "So I assume werewolves don't have echolocation."

"Not so loud, Professor...!"

"Oh, shush. Not everyone has your hearing abilities, you know. And no one's around. Come on, I can't have you bumping into walls. Let's talk."

"Sir, I'm not... distraught or anything. I don't need to talk."

"I..." Questus made a face and wrung his hands. "I... enjoy your company. Sometimes. Pains me to say it. But you're very mature, for an eleven-year-old. I like to talk to you. And I'm bored."

"Oh." Remus was completely nonplussed. "All right, then."

"You look lonely. If you want to keep pacing around the castle, having whatever deep thoughts werewolves have, be my guest. But don't expect me to come help you if you walk off the Astronomy Tower."

"I've had worse," Remus mumbled, and Questus snorted again.

"That was funny," he said, and he almost sounded surprised that Remus was capable of being humorous. "Okay. Well. Want some tea?"

"Yes, please," said Remus.

It had only been a day, but he was already sick of being lonely. The shadows of his friends walked these halls, and Remus wished with all his heart that they would stop following him, those gits.

As they were walking down the corridor, Questus said something.

"Hm," said Remus, not really paying attention.

"Hm? Yes, that's exactly the type of thought I'd expect to come from someone who memorizes poetry for fun and didn't notice that he was walking directly into a wall. Hm."

Remus looked up. "Sorry, sir, what was the question?"

"I asked you what you were thinking about that made you bump into a wall."

"Just... things. I dunno. I don't remember. I think a lot."

"Most do."

"There aren't many other pastimes when one is stuck in the Hospital Wing for three days a month."

"Fair. So what were you thinking about just now?"

"I don't remember."

There was a short silence. "For Heaven's sake, Lupin. I was just trying to make conversation."

"I'm not very good at conversation, sir."

"I noticed."

There was more silence, and neither Remus nor Questus spoke again until they had reached the DAD classroom.

"I assume everything is different without your friends," said Questus, setting a steaming teacup in front of Remus.

Remus took a sip. It was hot, but drinkable. "Very."

"They're very loud."

"Extremely annoying." Remus smiled faintly. "But fun. You know, they organized my funeral the other day."

"Your funeral?" Questus took a quick sip and then put his cup down quickly. "What do you mean by that?"

"Yes, sir. I went to the Hospital Wing in the middle of the night. It was only... well, it was complicated. But I was fine, I just needed to get away. And I'd told James that I was sick with something... what's the word?... chronic. It explained a lot. So he thought that I was coming down with something fatal. When I returned to the dormitory, they had built a full-blown shrine on my bed. And they didn't want it to go to waste, so they made me sleep in Sirius' bed and then did the funeral the next day. It was... it was fun. As fun as a funeral can be." Remus hadn't expected to talk so much, but he did love thinking about his friends. His friends. Friends. Oh, he loved that word. He finished his tea and set it back down on the table with a clink.

Questus smiled a bit. "That tea was scalding hot, you know."

"What?"

"Hot, I said. It was too hot to drink. It's all right, I get it. High pain threshold and all that. Wasn't thinking when I gave it to you. Just thought I should let you know."

He was right, of course. Remus' high pain threshold meant that he sometimes didn't realize how much certain things would hurt someone who didn't go through an excruciating werewolf transformation every month. Now that he thought about it, his mouth was a little sore. But the searing sensation of drinking scalding tea was nothing compared to what he was going to go through in a week.

Remus decided not to respond to Professor Questus' observation. "I should get back to my dormitory," he lied. "I have some homework to finish and I want to get it done early on..."

Questus suddenly looked remorseful. "I didn't mean to scare you off. And you and I both know that you probably finished your homework yesterday evening."

Remus smiled. "Yes, sir." He fumbled for something else to talk about, seeing as Questus wasn't afraid to let the conversation grow awkward. He didn't seem to be very socially adept. "Do you have family?"

"Nope," said Questus cheerfully. "They're all dead. Tell me about yours. I've been curious."

Was there anything that Questus wasn't curious about? Remus pressed his lips into a thin line. Why did Questus want to know so much about his personal life? Suddenly, Remus had a horrible thought. Was Questus some sort of... undercover werewolf hunter? No, Dumbledore would know, being a Legilimens and all. Unless... unless Dumbledore wanted Remus gone, too. Perhaps he had hired Questus to get rid of Remus... Oh, now he was just being ridiculous. Dumbledore was the one who invited Remus to the school in the first place. He wouldn't do that if he didn't want Remus around... if not to lure Remus into a false sense of security and hire someone to strike and kill him now that Remus was all alone—with no one to protect him—not his friends nor his family...

No. Dumbledore was... well, Remus trusted him. Perhaps against his better judgement, but he did nonetheless. And trusting Dumbledore was a package deal: Remus didn't have a choice but to trust all of the other professors as well. After all, Dumbledore trusted them, and Remus trusted Dumbledore.

"If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to. I'm your teacher, not your friend," said Questus. "We can talk about something else. You just looked happy there for a second, talking about your friends. And you don't look happy nearly enough. Mostly scared and depressed. But, of course, I don't want to overstep my boundaries and make you uncomfortable."

"I'm not depressed," said Remus quickly. His parents always worried about that.

"Didn't say you were. I just said you looked it." Questus took a small sip of tea and refilled Remus' with a flick of his wand. "Here, it shouldn't be nearly as hot as it was before. Is your father still working for the D.R.C.M.C.?"

"Yes, sir."

"And I assume his coworkers don't know about you? I didn't, when I worked for the Ministry, so obviously it's not common knowledge."

"They don't. St. Mungo's and the Registry are the only ones who know, and they're sworn to secrecy."

"Do you have other family who know?"

"There's my mum, of course," said Remus slowly, "and then there's my Uncle Bryson. He's Dad's older brother, by... I think two or three years. Most of the family on my dad's side cut ties with us... for obvious reasons. Dad and Uncle Bryson were really close, so Uncle Bryson stuck around. He comes over every couple of years and sends us the occasional Christmas or birthday gift, but he... doesn't like me much. Typically, he stays away from my mum and me and meets up with my dad in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley every couple of months. And they owl each other sometimes."

"But he's the only one?"

"Well, Mum has family, but they're all Muggles. They also live in Wales. They don't know about wizards at all, much less werewolves. There's a reunion every other year or so, but I stay at home—Mum told them that I've got some sort of terminal illness. But her mother sends me a birthday card every year. They're all very confused about the whole situation, but Mum's always been too stubborn to listen to reason. So they gave up. And Mum's got loads of brothers and sisters, so it's not as if they're abandoning their only child. Besides the reunions and the cards, we've basically cut ties with them, too."

"Ah, so you get the stubbornness from your mother," said Questus. "If I remember correctly, your father was very stubborn as well."

Remus smiled a bit. "Yeah, the both of them are. I don't think that Dad would change his mind if it threatened him with a knife. And Mum is scary when she's angry. Arguments between the two of them are entertaining, to say the least. Once, Dad told Mum that her brown jacket made her look like a squirrel, and now that's the only one she wears—just to spite him."

Questus snorted. "Do you see that lamp on my desk? The green one?" Remus nodded. "Well, I was the only Slytherin in my family, and none of them were too pleased. All Gryffindors. I decided to take the 'Slytherin pride' up a notch... just to annoy them... and everything I owned was green for a while. I wanted to change my lightbulbs green upon turning twelve, but my parents told me that green light fixtures were hideous. So..."

"You bought a small lamp? That's reasonable."

"Actually, I turned every light fixture in the house green while they were sleeping." Questus grinned. "After I was finished being grounded, then I bought the lamp. I don't turn it on. Don't really want to seem too biased towards the Slytherins. And let's be honest, I'm not biased. Most of them are incredibly dense this year."

Remus giggled a little... and then immediately felt awful. "I'm sure they're not that bad," he said.

"Oh, they are. The other day, one of them asked me if I was secretly a ghost like Binns."

"Are you?" Remus joked.

Questus groaned. "Oh, not you too! I had so much faith in my Gryffindors this year."

"Really? I thought you didn't like us."

"Whyever would you think that?"

"James. Sirius. Peter. Evans. We're sort of... disruptive."

"True," said Questus. "But James Potter and Sirius Black are quite possibly the most gifted first-years I've seen in a very long time. And you have quite the aptitude for my class. Even more so than I had at your age. Which isn't saying much; I was terrible at Defense Against the Dark Arts when I was eleven. But still."

Remus' insides warmed up like they were in a microwave oven, and then they immediately grew cold. "I have... an unfair advantage, I think," he mumbled. "It's much easier to fight the Dark Arts when one knows the Dark Arts on a personal level."

"Unfair? I'd say the price you have to pay in exchange quite levels the playing field, Lupin. Some people spend hours studying the subject to get better at it—you just spend hours ripping yourself to pieces in an abandoned building. Same thing, really—spending time and getting better at the subject—only you don't have a choice."

That was a good point, actually, even though the way that Questus had put it made Remus sort of uncomfortable. "I wanted to talk to you about something, sir," said Remus, finally bringing up what had been on his mind all day. "Puttle was talking to me at breakfast this morning..."

"Puttle? He's an idiot."

"What?" Remus was momentarily caught off-guard.

"I mean, he's bright and all. Gets decent marks. But he can't duel to save his life. Always trying to go easy on students that he couldn't even beat in his wildest dreams. His pride is off the charts. And he never studies. He won't get into many NEWT-level classes, mark my words."

"That's..." Remus tried to steer the conversation backwards. "That's not what I wanted to talk about. Puttle was telling me that you've been... mentioning me... in some of your classes?"

Professor Questus gave him an odd look. "Yes. Of course. I tend to mention every student who does something noteworthy, and you're top of your year as of so far."

"I am?"

"Obviously. Your written tests are phenomenal. Your essays are mostly wonderful, though you should clean up your writing style a bit. And you're always top performer in the practical lessons. I'd recommend you skip to second or third year Defense if that was a thing that Hogwarts did. You clearly know all of the first-year material."

"I... don't think I do, sir... I've been learning a lot..."

"How does one get rid of a Gytrash?"

"Wandlight, but..."

"Incantation for Smokescreen Spell?"

"Fumos, but I think that..."

"Most dangerous type of Erkling?"

"Bavarian, sir..."

"Difference between Aqua Eructo and Aguamenti?"

"Aqua Eructo is a steady stream, usually used for destructive purposes and watering plants, whilst Aguamenti is mostly used for quick refills and... such... Sir, just because I know things doesn't mean I can use them in a practical setting!"

"Those questions I asked you just now delved into fourth-year curriculum. And Shield Charms are not first-year magic—I noticed you using one on Snape."

"You did?" Remus didn't think that anyone had seen that. "Sorry, sir..."

"Don't apologize. You spend so much time with your extremely clever—albeit lazy—companions that you're missing the fact that you're one of the most brilliant first-years we've had in a while. This is my first year teaching, and even I can see that. They may be more talented than you, and more magically adept, and..."

"Human," Remus mumbled.

"Yes, that. But all three of you are extremely clever."

Remus thought about that. Was he actually brighter than he thought he was? He couldn't be. After all, he was the last person to achieve Reparo. Evans was better than him in a lot of aspects, and Questus had never called her "brilliant". Snape knew more hexes than Remus did; in fact, Snape knew hexes that had to be past the seventh-year curriculum, even. And Remus did have an unfair advantage, no matter what Questus said. Wasn't it easier to defeat the Dark Arts when one literally was a product of Dark magic?

But Questus didn't lie, Remus knew. Compliments were given sparingly with this man. So he really must believe that Remus was talented, even if it wasn't true. And Remus definitely knew a lot about this class; after all, his father had specialized in Dark non-Beings and worked at the D.R.C.M.C.—Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures—and Remus had done quite a bit of reading as a child.

Perhaps the reason that Professor Questus seemed to like Remus so much wasn't the fact that Remus was a werewolf. That was why Slughorn liked Remus, and it was immensely uncomfortable... but perhaps Questus' motives were different. Perhaps it was partially because Remus was good at Questus' class. That made Remus feel a little better, actually. He didn't want to be liked only because of his condition—that was almost as bad as being disliked solely on the basis of such. Being curious was one thing, but failing to see Remus underneath it all was very uncomfortable, no matter what the outcome.

And Questus was probably the most curious person that Remus had ever met, but at least he was acknowledging that there was more to Remus than the curse. That was nice.

"Thank you, sir," said Remus, accepting the compliment with some difficulty. "It's only because my father is an expert and I do a lot of reading."

"Not much else to do around the full moons, is there?"

"No," said Remus slowly. "And your mentioning me in your other classes very kind of you, but I... I don't want anyone to know who I am. The more I stand out, the more I'm at risk of being... found out."

"Well, that's stupid," said Questus, "seeing as the whole school already knows who you are. You can't be friends with James Potter and Sirius Black and be an unknown." Questus stopped, seemingly considering. "But you're right. I think, however, that acting secretive will only pique curiosity even more. The best thing you can do for yourself... is to be yourself. Just stop worrying so much. Keep a cool head. If you don't look like you're hiding something, then perhaps no one will suspect. Control your emotions."

Remus nodded. That made sense.

"But I'll stop mentioning you if you want. It's not only you, you know. I tend to talk about my first-years a lot. Makes the upper-years sweat a bit when they realize that eleven-year-olds with no magical training can do better than they can."

"Thank you, Professor," said Remus. "That helps."

"Of course it does. Now tell me about how James Potter got injured on his broomstick. Pomfrey was talking about it, but I'm not entirely sure what happened."

The rest of the day passed pleasantly. Professor Questus really was good conversation, and the advice he gave was typically sound. Remus was glad, at least, that the teachers were so kind.

Well. Kind wasn't quite the word for Questus. Hospitable? No, not that one. Perhaps tolerant. No, absolutely not. Patient? No. Comforting? That wasn't quite right, either.

Remus couldn't find a good adjective, but he really did like talking to Questus. He was good, thoughtful conversation. He wasn't James, Sirius, or Peter... but he was all right. And Remus didn't have to lie around him—Remus loved his friends, yes, but it was so exhausting to lie all the time. Talking with Questus meant that Remus could say whatever he wanted to, even if it wasn't perfectly polite and watered-down—after all, Questus himself was never polite and watered-down—and that was a rare treat. Remus couldn't even be so candid with his parents, who seemed to be so utterly bothered whenever the topic of werewolves was brought up.

Yes, the day had been rather pleasant, and a lot less lonely with Professor Questus around. Now it was evening, and Remus was reading that night in the common room, enjoying the warmth of the fire. Suddenly, he heard a slight cough. It was coming from the fireplace. Remus' head shot up, and he came face-to-face with Sirius.

"Remus! I'm soooo bored and Mum had the fireplace unguarded. How are you? I reckon I only have a few minutes so I want to hear everything..."

"Sirius! I've missed you!"

"I know; you said so in James' letter. Tell me about the decorations."

"They're all over the castle. Everyone's getting ready for Christmas tomorrow. I made a card for my mum and dad today in the library."

Sirius' head swiveled around. "Mum and Dad are out in the front. Talking to someone. I think it's Voldemort."

"...What?"

"Hang on, I'm coming over since Mum and Dad are busy." Sirius left for a few seconds, and then stepped through the flames and onto the carpet of the common room. No one else was in the common room, even though it had been at full capacity before Sirius' head had appeared. Strange.

Sirius stepped over Remus' books (which were lying on the floor—Remus didn't remember putting them there), and then patted Remus on the back. Remus' hands started shaking. He wasn't sure why he was nervous; it wasn't as if Sirius was very scary. Most of the time.

"All right, mate? You're shaking all over." Sirius pulled away and peered into Remus' eyes. "Hey, look. Full moon tonight."

Remus' heart stopped. He glanced out the window (there'd never been a window there in the common room before). The full moon was rising above the trees—inching slowly to its zenith...

"Listen, Sirius, you have to get out," said Remus, his voice quivering violently. "Out. Back through the fire. Now."

"Why? Are you ill?"

"No, I'm a werewolf and it's the full moon."

"Ha-ha, very funny. Here, sit down. Let's talk some more."

"No, Sirius, I am! I disappear on the full moons! I flinch whenever you mention werewolves! My Boggart is the full moon! That's why I look ill once a month! Go; I'll kill you!"

Sirius' eyes grew wide, and Remus saw understanding dawn. "Oh no. Absolutely not. Get away from me. I can't believe I've been friends with a werewolf." Sirius spluttered in disgust as if he had just swallowed straight salt.

"Oh, stop the monologuing and get out, you drama queen," said Remus desperately. "Please. I don't want to kill you..."

"Of course you want to kill me," spat Sirius. "It's all your kind do. Kill people, hurt people, bite people..."

"Out!" Remus glanced at the moon, which was continuing to inch higher in the sky. "Get out, you idiot! Out!"

Sirius turned out his pockets, his hateful eyes locked with Remus' own terrified ones. "You'd better believe that the Ministry's going to hear about this... oh no."

"What is it?"

"Out of Floo Powder."

"All right," said Remus, trying not to panic but failing miserably, "I'm going to need to to leave and lock the door... I'll put as many protective enchantments on it as I can, you go get a teacher—Dumbledore, Questus, McGonagall... You need to get out now." Remus pulled his wand out, trying to ignore the fact that his arm was shaking so much that he could not keep it up. "Sirius, out. Please; you don't have much time..."

"Why would I trust you?" said Sirius, and his tone was colder than Remus had ever heard it.

"Because I'm a werewolf!" Remus shouted. "A literal werewolf that could kill you. Either you stay in here with me or you get out and lock the door!"

"Or I could kill you," said Sirius, pulling his wand out.

That was a good idea, all things considered. How bad would dying be if, in doing so, he did not get the chance to murder Sirius and half the school? His feeble protective enchantments wouldn't hold for long; he barely knew how to do them.

"Okay," said Remus. "Sounds good to me."

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "This is a trick."

"It's not a trick!"

"It is. That's all you werewolves do. Trick people."

Remus' hand stopped shaking. His whole body went still, and his heart was hammering in his chest. "Sirius. I have about seven seconds. Get. Out."

Sirius' angry look faded and was replaced by one of true fear. He turned to leave the room, and Remus collapsed—pain—everywhere—and the door was locked and Sirius couldn't get out—and Sirius was there—and then...

"Wake up!"

Remus sat up with a gasp and dropped his book. "What? What happened? Is everyone okay?"

"I wanted to see if you were okay, actually." It was Evans. "You fell asleep. You were dreaming, I guess. Looked all distressed."

"Just a dream, Remus," Remus mumbled to himself in an imitation of James. It sort of helped. "So... Sirius..."

"Black is at home, I believe, and you really should stop being friends with him if you have nightmares about him. That's not healthy." Evans pursed her lips and suddenly looked worried. "Is he hurting you?"

"No, that's not it," protested Remus. "He's a good friend. I... I had a nightmare that something bad happened to him, that's all."

"Sounds like a pretty brilliant dream to me," said Evans.

"Trust me, it wasn't," murmured Remus. "What time is it?"

"Curfew in five minutes," said Evans. "You should get up to bed. Need help carrying your books?"

"Please," said Remus, who was feeling a little shaky—just like in his dream. He wondered if it was a full moon for a split second and panicked... but no, it didn't feel like a full moon. The event was still a ways away, judging by the feeling in Remus' bones. He was okay. "You won't get into too much trouble if you go into the boys' dormitories, will you?" he asked Evans.

"Wanna hear a secret? I've been to Sev's, and he's not even in Gryffindor." Evans scooped up a couple of Remus' books. "Here, you get your bag. And your frog-thing looks pretty safe on your shoulder. Lead the way."

Remus trudged up the stairs to his dormitory. He did the Knock in spite of himself before entering. Evans gave him a questioning look, but she didn't say anything. "This room is messy," she said. "Boys. They're all the same. Where should I put these?"

"The bed is fine," said Remus. "Or the floor. I don't care—I'll get them later."

"I'm guessing the clean bed is yours?"

"No, that's Peter's, actually. Mine is the one with the photographs pasted on and the books on the floor." Remus was often feeling too tired to clean up after himself. He often preferred being tidy, but he found a sort of solidarity in being a normal preteen boy who forgot to pick up—just like his friends.

"I don't know how you live in here," Evans scoffed. "Ugh, it reeks."

"It doesn't," said Remus. He wondered what her nose was picking up that his werewolf senses couldn't. "It just smells like us."

"Exactly. And don't you dare tell anyone that I was in here. 'Night, Lupin."

"'Night," said Remus, standing awkwardly in the middle of the dormitory.

Evans left, and Remus changed into his pajamas out in the open for the first time in a while. Then he crawled into bed, hoping and praying with all his might that his nightmare wouldn't pick up where it left off.

AN: Longer chapter today. I actually ended up combining two of them because they were ridiculously short and there was no good stopping point. So... you technically got TWO chapters today. You're welcome.