The next week passed slowly. Before Remus knew it, he was resting in the common room: his last evening before the evening of the full moon. It was only twenty-four hours away.

The New Year's festivities were already beginning. Remus overheard some of the older students make plans to sneak into someone's dormitory and stay up until late to celebrate the coming of 1972. "Won't the teachers be on the lookout for that?" asked Remus, but the older students just laughed.

"They're more lenient this time of year," said Puttle. "They know we like to celebrate. And there aren't classes on January 1st or anything. So as long as we don't disturb anyone who wants to sleep, we're in the clear—even though it's not technically allowed."

"Oh," was all Remus could say. He didn't like the thought of students celebrating as he was suffering and screaming himself hoarse in the Shrieking Shack, but he knew it wasn't fair to fault them for being happy simply because he was not. "Have fun."

"Joining us?" asked Isaacs, who was probably the brains behind the operation. "You're neat, for a first-year."

"I'd actually like to get some sleep," said Remus, "and I wouldn't feel right being the youngest."

"Too cool for us?" jested Isaacs. "Aw, it's all right. We're inviting another first-year Gryffindor."

"I'll be tired the next morning if I don't sleep," said Remus hesitantly, though he knew it was a terrible excuse. "But... er, have fun."

"Oh, we will!" Isaacs clapped him on the back, and Remus winced at the sudden contact. "You know, kid, you don't look well. All pale and sickly. Are you coming down with something?"

Remus panicked for a split second before he remembered to be calm. Emotionless. Natural. Being ill wasn't a dead giveaway, after all. "I've been reading all day in the library. Excuse me if I'm not the picture of chip and fun," he said, praying that it would be enough.

Isaacs laughed, and Remus was immediately relieved. "Fair enough, mate. Going up to bed?"

"Yes," said Remus. "Been a long day."

And with that, he shouldered his satchel and made his way up the stairs (which was more difficult than he would've liked to admit what with the headache and sore joints). As he walked up the stairs, he listened carefully to the older students' voices. He knew that it was rude to eavesdrop, but he didn't really care. After all, James and Sirius were quite rude sometimes, and nothing bad ever happened to them.

"Dunno why you keep insisting he's cool, Kendric..."

"James Potter was probably fabricating some of his stories..."

"Seems kinda quiet to me..."

"I like him okay, but his friends are so much more interesting. Less aloof, you know..."

Remus climbed the stairs a little faster and half-heartedly Knocked on the door before entering, even though there was nobody to chide him for neglecting to do so. It felt like a good luck charm at this point.

And luck was important. Remus Lupin needed a great many things that he did not have: good health, a good future, and a cure for lycanthropy... but none of those things were attainable, so Remus could only hope for luck. Why tempt fate?

That night, Remus fell asleep easily (despite the knot steadily forming in his stomach). But the next morning, he was up again at four. And this time, there was no James Potter to ask him what was wrong, no lies to invent as his insides churned and his muscles spasmed, and no one to avoid waking up as he stumbled out of bed.

The thought was bittersweet. Remus hated having to scramble for lies almost as much as he loved having his friends around. James, although he couldn't possibly help, was a calming presence. And it was nice to have someone around who cared—it reminded Remus of home, a little. Still, coming up with lies was so stressful and tiring. Now Remus could relax and stop pretending to be okay. He could walk as drunkenly as he wanted, and he didn't even have to worry about keeping his breathing even. That was nice, at least.

Since there was really nothing else to do, Remus headed straight for the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey was awake—probably expecting him; Remus wondered how long she had been doing so—and she let him in with a smile. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Better than last month." Remus let her lead him to his bed in her office, and he let his bag fall down next to it unceremoniously and then crawled under the sheets. "May I... may I have some tea? I think I can manage something before the nausea sets in..."

"Why, of course!" said Madam Pomfrey. With a radiant smile, she left her office to find Remus some tea. Now Remus was alone.

Alone. On the day of the full moon.

Suddenly, it didn't feel so great. It was all he ever wanted on this terrible day, but it felt wrong today. Remus didn't like making up lies, no, but he realized that his desire to talk and joke with his best friends far outweighed the dread that lying brought about.

He'd thought that the absence of his friends was bittersweet, but now, as he lay alone in the Hospital Wing... he realized that it was mostly just bitter. He'd been trying to look on the bright side all week, but now the thought hit him like a charging Hippogriff with wheels for shoes: he didn't like life without his friends. Hated it, really.

I'm getting spoiled, Remus thought. What was he going to do when he had to leave his friends? How was he going to be alone like this every month, at home, with only the company of his mother and father? He was tired of being alone already, and it had only been... what? A week? He really did need to get used to this. This was what he'd been afraid of. He'd worried from the very beginning that he'd get a taste of what it was like to be human and then he'd never, ever be able to go back... he'd be stuck forever wishing for something that he couldn't have...

Nope. Those thoughts were far too sad. He didn't want to think about that right now, so he wouldn't.

It wasn't long before Madam Pomfrey was back with some tea. "Here. Drink up before it gets cold."

The scent filled Remus' nostrils, and he wrinkled his nose a bit. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," he said cheerfully, though he didn't feel cheerful. He held it up to his lips and took a sip. It was way too strong. He set it down for a minute. "I need to get used to it."

"Of course. How was Christmas?"

"It was very pleasant," said Remus. His voice sounded croaky, and he didn't like it. "Thank you very much for the gift."

Madam Pomfrey looked slightly embarrassed. "Nothing at all! I just though that you might need something to do. Write your own poetry, perhaps?"

"I'm rubbish at poetry," said Remus, trying to laugh, but a strangled sort of choking noise was the only sound that he was able to produce.

"Are you sure you don't want me to do something for you?"

"Like what?"

"A Pain-Relieving Potion, or something for that fatigue, or..."

"No." Remus' tone was sharper than he'd intended, and he winced. "I told you. Wolves don't like potions."

"Tell me more about that."

"Well, it's just... we've tried it. It wasn't... good."

"What happened?" asked Madam Pomfrey.

Remus didn't say anything.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"No, it's all right. It was just... different. In a bad way." Remus remembered that night all too clearly. It seemed as though a memory of a full moon never left him. He probably had them all stored up somewhere, in the back of his brain. "It was... my fifth one. Full moon. After being bitten, I mean. My parents wanted to do something, as all parents would. They had already tried a few cures, but nothing really worked. They thought that perhaps if they drugged me up on Pain-Relieving Potion for the day prior then it would at least... ease the pain. It did, a little bit, until the full moon rose. Wolves in general don't appreciate... being drugged. Tried to wash out the taste of the potion with my own blood. I'm afraid that month in particular was pretty awful." He tried for a chuckle, but it died on his lips at the sight of Madam Pomfrey's face. "Oh, that was graphic. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm the matron," said Madam Pomfrey stiffly. "Most nothing is too graphic for me. I just don't like hearing that there's nothing I can do."

"You can warm up my tea again," he peeped. "I think I'm feeling up to taking another sip." Madam Pomfrey obliged, and Remus forced a little more down. How could he get rid of that awful pitying look on Madam Pomfrey's face? "I think this month is going to be better."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes. Look, I'm drinking tea. And I feel okay. Mostly."

"Remus." Madam Pomfrey put her hand over his and looked him dead in the eyes. Remus was uncomfortable in spite of himself. "Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?"

"You can get rid of that stupid 'fine' jar..."

"Remus..."

"You can heat up my tea again, I suppose, but it's already quite warm..."

"Remus, I am being serious."

"There's nothing you can do!" cried Remus, splashing a little tea on the white sheets. Oops. "Short of going back in time and stopping me from being bitten? I don't know what you want me to say!" He immediately felt remorseful. In through his nose, out through his mouth. "I'm... I'm sorry, Madam Pomfrey. I'm just tired. Mind if I finish up my tea and then read for a bit?"

"Do whatever you need to do, Lupin. And I'm sorry for pushing you." Madam Pomfrey removed her hand from Remus' and Vanished the tea on the sheets.

"That's... not at all." Remus had wanted to say that it was 'fine', but he knew where that would get him and he stopped himself just in time.

Madam Pomfrey pulled two caps out of her apron.

"What? But I didn't say it!"

"You did needlessly apologize. And I believe that you said you were 'okay' earlier."

"I can't keep track of everything!"

"You might as well practice for when you're in Arithmancy. There are a lot of variables and rules to keep track of all the time."

Remus rolled his eyes. "I don't think I'm taking Arithmancy."

"Whyever not? You'd be good at it."

"I met the Arithmancy professor a while ago," said Remus, twiddling with the sleeve of his pajamas awkwardly. "Before the last full moon, sometime. And she doesn't seem to like me."

Madam Pomfrey smiled a little sadly. "Professor Craff. Yes, she's opposed to the idea of your attending classes. She's wrong, but she's not a bad person. And she won't mistreat you. If you want to take the class, then you should."

Remus nodded. He still had no intention of taking the class. Besides, it wasn't as if he was going to last that long at Hogwarts. "Madam Pomfrey, I've finished my tea," he said. "I'm going to read for a few minutes, and then I'll try to sleep."

"Very well." She took the cup from his hand and cleaned it with a spell so that the scent wouldn't bother Remus later. "Make sure you relax. I don't want you all worked up now."

"Worked up? Me? Never," said Remus sleepily, fishing his Astronomy book from his bag. "Make sure to come get me no later than..."

"Five-thirty. I know. Don't work too hard."

"I won't," Remus promised, and he managed to stay awake for the next two hours, reading passively and listening to Madam Pomfrey bustling around and fixing potions. Her scent and sound was comforting. And he'd brought the Gryffindor blanket that his father had knitted for him, so it almost felt relaxing.

Well... not relaxing. But perhaps it would have been if his muscles hadn't been twisting within his body and his bones aching and his head was going to burst open and his heart was pounding in a 5/4 time signature that kept speeding up and slowing down.

Being a werewolf was awful.

Remus woke up to Madam Pomfrey quietly calling his name. He opened his eyes slowly. He was thankful that she knew how to wake him up without panicking him: he still jumped whenever someone touched him to wake him up, even though the incident was almost seven years ago now.

The knit blanket was rough against his cheek, and it was so comfortable. He'd never wanted to stay in bed so much. "May I have five more minutes?" he said. "I'm very tired."

Remus caught Madam Pomfrey's stricken expression through his heavy eyelids. "Of course. You've no idea how much I've wanted you to go to the Shack later in the day. You may have another forty-five minutes, even..."

"No, just five," said Remus. "I'll be ready in five."

"Of course." Madam Pomfrey stepped out of the room. Remus did not allow himself to close his eyes again; instead he listened to the nearly silent ticking of the analog clock on the wall, the sounds of Madam Pomfrey breathing from the other room, and the students wandering the corridors. He inhaled. He could pick out at least six different potions on the air. The sound of his heartbeat mingled with the sounds of the infirmary, and the bed was so comfortable. He tried his hardest to forget what was coming...

"Lupin. It's been five minutes. Do you want five more?"

"No, thank you," said Remus. It was no use putting off the inevitable, he decided, even though it would take all of his willpower to force himself out of bed. He heard his heart speed up a little as he sat up reluctantly to change into his transformation robes. That was the start of the crippling nervousness about what was to come, then. It would only get worse from here on out.

"Those are getting small," said Madam Pomfrey as he emerged from the lavatory. "Your robes, I mean. Any reason that you always wear those particular robes?"

Remus gave her a confused look. He'd have thought it was obvious. Hadn't she ever wondered why he was always fully clothed when she came to fetch him? It wasn't as if werewolves willingly stayed clothed throughout the full moon. "They're magic," he explained patiently, even though talking didn't feel great. "They disappear when I transform and then reappear afterwards. Like Animagi. Transformed werewolves aren't typically fond of clothes, you understand."

"Oh, I'd never thought about that," said Madam Pomfrey. "Well, perhaps Madam Malkin can resize them for you...?"

"Within a month?" said Remus. "They're not unbearably small, and it's only for a couple of hours. I'll be all right. Eventually Dad will make me some new ones, but right now we're a little..." Remus stopped himself. He'd been about to say "short on money", but he thought that the statement was perhaps a little too much information for the school matron. "My vision's going all spotty, so I'm going to stop talking and focus on walking, if that's okay," said Remus, which was actually perfectly accurate.

"That's fine by me, Lupin," said Madam Pomfrey. "And I know more than you think about your family's financial situation, if that's what you're worried about. Your mum writes me every month, and she does love to rant."

"Oh!" said Remus. "I nearly forgot—she mentioned something about... Hogsmeade?"

"Shush, don't talk. We're nearly outside. Yes, but I didn't want to worry you with it today. We can talk about it tomorrow, if you'd like."

"Yes, please," said Remus.

"What did I tell you about talking? Here, watch the steps. Your arm is looking much better. I'm surprised it healed so quickly. You're a very lucky boy."

Remus mumbled a vague disagreement under his breath. He didn't have any luck. That had already been established.

"I don't know what you just said, but..." Remus heard Madam Pomfrey's eyelashes brush against her spectacles (why was she wearing spectacles?) as she blinked forcefully. "Actually, you're probably right. Fate hasn't been kind to you. But you might as well be optimistic, right?"

Remus didn't think Professor Questus would agree, but he held his tongue.

"Now, I don't want you stressing—hang on, we're nearly there—you know it makes things worse. And whatever you did last month, don't do it again. I don't know what caused all that, but I don't want you to go through all that a second time in one month. Watch your head. Wingardium Leviosa." Madam Pomfrey poked the knot with a flying stick. The accuracy of her aim still astounded Remus. "Oh, it is unpleasant being Disillusioned. I can hardly see you at all. Here, you go first. Careful."

"I'm always careful," said Remus in a scratchy voice. "I hardly ever injure myself."

"Oh yes," said Madam Pomfrey, "I never see you in the Hospital Wing. Here we are. How are you feeling?"

"Not too bad, actually," said Remus. "Do you have my book?"

"Yes; I put it on the piano."

"What happened to the book I brought last time?"

"I..." Madam Pomfrey grimaced. "It wasn't salvageable."

Remus thought back, but he couldn't remember ruining it. Then he remembered how much blood was on the floors and winced. "Well, it was just a copy, so that's fine. Can't say I didn't expect it. Professor Dumbledore is still fixing up the furniture after every full moon, then?"

"I believe so."

"He needn't."

"If it helps, it helps. Speaking of which, would you like me to stay for a few minutes?"

"No," said Remus quickly. "But thank you anyway."

"I don't know why you're thanking me. You do realize that it would be no trouble at all? Sitting here for a few minutes—even up to an hour and a half—would still keep me out of danger. And it's not as if I wouldn't appreciate the change in scenery; I spend all day in the Hospital Wing."

"Waiting in an abandoned shack with a nearly-transformed werewolf isn't a pleasant experience, believe me," said Remus, even though he very much wanted company. "Besides, it's private. You know that. I've explained it. And I think," he said, summoning all his courage, "that you're just arguing with me to buy time and stay in here longer against my wishes."

"You caught me," said Madam Pomfrey. "I'm going, I'm going. Good luck, Remus. And happy New Year's."

"1972," said Remus with a weak pump of his fist. "How wonderful."

He stayed upright until Madam Pomfrey was gone, and then he sat on the ground and wept.

Remus cried far too often for his own liking. He usually tried to stop himself, but this month was different. He was entering the new year as a wolf: a slavering, ugly, terrifying, bloodthirsty beast. His mum had always been a little superstitious, and this did not seem to be a good omen. 1971 was going to end with a full moon. It was symbolic, wasn't it? Metaphorical? No matter what happened in 1971, no matter what he did and how human he might have felt, it was going to end in a mess of teeth and fur and fangs and blood. And 1972 was going to start with the same. It reminded Remus of the inevitability of it all, and Remus hated inevitability.

And the people in Hogsmeade! They'd be staying up to celebrate the new year, and their celebrations would be marred by Remus' pained screams and howls. What a way to start the year, upsetting people a village away. Being an awful burden to Madam Pomfrey and his parents and his friends and his teachers and a WHOLE VILLAGE.

He wished that he could be celebrating with Kendric Isaacs and the other Gryffindors. He wished that he could attend a feast without having to leave because his senses were kicking into overdrive. He wished that he could celebrate the coming of New Year's Day just like anyone else, with shouting and staying-up-late and cheering. Next year, he told himself... but next year, it wouldn't be 1972. Next year would be 1973. 1972 would be gone forever. It was a small thing, but it was another thing that Remus was missing out on because of his cursed blood.

He wiped his eyes and sat up straight. Crying would do him no good, and stressing was even worse. There was no use wishing, anyhow—it wasn't going to do a thing. He pulled out the book and managed to read a whole chapter before his head hurt too much. He put it down and lied on the floor, not even caring that the floor was dusty and dirty from where his shoes had tracked mud in.

Wait.

His shoes? These weren't his transformation shoes! He'd forgotten them, and these would break! He groaned and set the shoes under the piano. They would smell of humans, and he would probably attack them come full moon. Which was a shame, seeing as shoes were expensive. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey could fix them?

He lied back down. He could hear his heart beating; it was the only sound in the Shack besides the creaking of the boards as the house settled and the distant voices of the people in Hogsmeade and the wind. He hated this part. He hated how his heart echoed all around the house, and he was all shaky, and his bones hurt. The anticipation was something out of a horror movie. Every time he thought of the full moon, every time he ruminated on the fact that it was actually coming, a deathly shiver ran through his body and pierced his heart.

He had to think of something else. Madam Pomfrey. The Marauders. Poetry. His parents. Professor Questus. Anything.

The full moon rose in the sky, Remus felt the awful sinking feeling as the quivering stopped, he grit his teeth and flexed his fingers, and he knew that it was only a few moments away... any second now... he kicked away the book and prayed that he wouldn't eat it or something.

And then everything was replaced with pain and noise and Remus didn't even know what else and all of his human thoughts and emotions seeped out of his mind faster than the spilt tea had seeped onto his bedcovers.

AN: Just wanted to thank JadeSullivan for a) the wonderful review, and b) for teaching me the word "verisimilitude". Can't believe I've never heard that one before! You learn something every day.