Remus arrived in the dormitory that night and Knocked on the door. "Come in, Loopy McLoppers," said James—the nicknames had crossed the threshold of silly and had wandered, unbidden, into the more nonsensical territory. "How was... whatever you were doing?"

"I was discussing some things with Professor Dumbledore," said Remus.

"How come you talk to him so much?" asked James.

"Are you related?" asked Sirius at the same time.

"I'm not related to Professor Dumbledore. For heaven's sake, Sirius. Do I look like him?"

"Maybe if you grew a beard!"

"Maybe," Remus conceded; he had no idea what Dumbledore looked like without a beard, and he had no desire to find out. "I talk to him a lot because my... well, my situation with my mum is a little complicated. So sometimes we need to figure things out. Scheduling- and schoolwork-wise... you know? Today it was about my nightmares."

"Oh! The ones about your mum?"

"Yes, those ones. He thinks that I... since I was home all the time before Hogwarts... he thinks that the stress and new environment is getting to me. So he gave me this..." Remus pulled the Pensieve out of his pocket. "He gave me this and told me to clear my head every night before bed. Said it might help." There, that was close enough to the truth. It'd have to be another chapter in A Documentation of the Life of Remus Lupin.

"Cool," said Sirius. "Hey, how come he didn't give one of those to me? I've been having nightmares, too."

"Does he know about your nightmares?" said Peter, and Remus said that it was a good point.

"No, but... still! How does he know about Remus' nightmares, then?"

"In case you haven't noticed, I've had to visit the Hospital Wing on account of them," said Remus dryly. "But maybe he does know about yours, somehow, and he gave this to me so that you could share."

Sirius was staring at the Pensieve; after a moment, he reached out a finger and hesitantly tapped it. "Does it get rid of memories?" he asked. "How does it work?"

"It just... stops them from weighing on you. Clears your head. It doesn't make you forget or anything."

"Teach me how to use it," Sirius commanded, and Remus smiled.

"So you bring your wand up to your temple, like this... yeah, like that. And then you think about the memories that you want to get rid of, with the intention of removing them. They won't go away, but they'll sort of... be pushed to the back of your mind, so that you can focus."

Sirius did it first try and dropped the strand in the Pensieve. Remus was a little envious that Sirius had achieved it on his very first attempt (even Remus couldn't always do it on the first try, and he'd used Pensieves before), but he didn't say anything. "Wow, that does feel better," Sirius commented. "What do we do when it gets full?"

"It won't," said Remus. "It's just like a person's mind. It'll fit as much as we need it to. The feeling of relief you have isn't permanent, though—the memories won't completely stop weighing on you forever, unfortunately."

"Hang on, I've heard of these," said James. "They let you see memories, right? Watch them again?"

"Well, yes..." said Remus. "But this one is too small." He figured that an Engorging Charm would work, but he really didn't want his friends to know that it did. They would only ask to see memories of his mum, and Remus didn't want to have to decline for fear of sounding suspicious. He couldn't let them see any of his private memories. It was too risky. "An Engorging Charm won't work, since it's magic," he added, and they swallowed it up.

"Aw, nuts. That would have been so cool," said James.

"I can use this every night, right?" asked Sirius.

Remus nodded. "Of course."

"Good. I feel so much better."

"So I assume your Christmas holidays were..."

James swatted Remus on the arm. "He doesn't want to talk about it," James said, and Remus felt very guilty.

"I'm sorry, I only..."

"Actually, I do want to talk about it," said Sirius. "But only with Remus. Go away, you two."

James pulled a face at Sirius. "We can't go anywhere, mate. It's past curfew."

"Since when has that stopped you?"

"But we're tired," whined Peter.

"I know how to do a Soundproofing Charm," said Remus, thinking of all the times that he'd seen his father do it on the various cellars that Remus had occupied. "I... I think."

"Good. We can talk on your bed. Budge over." Sirius pushed Remus towards the wall, and Remus yelped in surprise. Then Sirius pulled the curtains shut and raised an eyebrow. "Well? What are you waiting for?" he asked.

"Oh. Right." Remus performed the charm as quickly as possible. It didn't seem to have done anything—with the enhanced senses, Remus could usually tell when a Soundproofing Charm was working—but he figured that it was different with beds rather than cellars. "So I'm guessing that this is another meeting of the Tasmanian Billboard Carrots?" he asked, grinning slightly.

"Yes. The Tall Blueberry Cakes. James just doesn't get it. I was talking with him nearly all the time over the mirror, but he doesn't get it. It was around eight o'clock at night, and he asked me when my mum was coming to tuck me in. Really? My mum hates me, not to mention we're eleven. Well, I'm twelve. Isn't that far too old to be tucked in like a toddler?"

"Oh," said Remus. He didn't feel qualified to agree with Sirius, seeing as his mum still tucked him in before bed.

"Yeah. And he can't stop talking about his Christmas gifts, and how much he loves his parents, and..." Sirius let out a frustrated sigh.

"He's excited," said Remus fairly. "You know how James gets when he's excited."

"Oh, no, I love James. Don't get me wrong. It's just... he doesn't get it! He thinks that I'm expected to act all Pureblood only in public, like he is. He thinks that my mum is only strict. He doesn't understand that I'm expected to act like that all the time, and that Mum doesn't love me at all."

"What?" Remus was horrified. "Of course she loves you!"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "See, you don't get it either! You read her letters. She doesn't love me. All she wants is an heir, and I'm her firstborn. I'm, like... like a tool. To get prestige. To carry on the Black name. She doesn't know the first thing about me."

Remus couldn't accept that. He couldn't. He'd always thought that a parent's love was unconditional—it had to be. "Mothers love their children," he said stubbornly.

"Ugh, I thought you'd understand!" Sirius crossed his arms. "She doesn't love me! Here!" He pulled a letter out of his pocket and waved it in Remus' face, reading loudly. "Sirius Orion Black, you are an absolute disgrace to the Black family. Not only were you sorted into Gryffindor, but you are acting like one as well. Your father and I have offered Dumbledore Galleons upon Galleons for a re-Sorting, and he is not going to comply if you do not start acting like a Slytherin. If you do not begin spending time with your family instead of those Mudbl—sorry, Remus, but that's what she said—Mudbloods, blood traitors, and the works, then you will be in big trouble upon arriving home. You have been warned."

"How long ago was that?" asked Remus—Sirius' mother's harsh tones always set his teeth on edge.

"Before I got home."

"Were.. were you in big trouble?"

"Yes. Of course. Mum screeched at me every time she saw me, unless we were in company. She forced me to wear Bellatrix's old robes—she's my cousin that graduated Hogwarts. They're green. And for girls. And too small! She changed my room to green colors. She locked me in it for ages. I wasn't allowed to eat much, besides the fancy meals. And they're disgusting. Dad shouted at me, too, and he's usually more composed than Mum. And they complimented Regulus every chance they got! Wouldn't stop comparing us! Ughhh."

"I'm sorry," said Remus, and he was. That was no environment for a child to grow up in. He hated to think of what Sirius' early childhood might have been like... He also wondered who Regulus was, but he was too afraid to ask.

"It was the first time that they'd seen me since I was Sorted, and they HATE me for it. Resent me. The only reason that I'm still on the family tree is that Mum still thinks I'll be re-Sorted. I'm the fourth Black ever to be sorted into anything but Slytherin—well, the only Black still on the tree. Black by blood, that is. And the first Gryffindor—all the rest were Ravenclaws. She's in shock." Sirius smiled grimly before continuing. "My mum has never done anything nice for me. She hasn't ever tucked me in, or sang me songs, and the only stories she ever told me were formal, gruesome and not funny at all. She's never said anything nice to me. Mothers don't always love their children, Remus."

Remus considered. It certainly did not sound like Mrs. Black loved her son—really loved him for him. But the idea of a parent's love being conditional made him feel a little weird. He supposed it was—after all, tens of parents gave up their children every year after they'd been bitten by werewolves—but still, Remus had only ever experienced his own parents' affection, and he knew for a fact that it was unconditional.

Well, he hoped it was.

"I guess I don't understand," said Remus. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"Yeah," grumbled Sirius.

There was silence. And then:

"I'll be your mother," Remus joked. "I can tuck you in. But I won't sing you any songs. I'm not a very good singer."

Sirius guffawed, effectively breaking the tension. "Can't be worse than James. But honestly—if you make me pie, then I'm all for it. Is that a thing that mothers do? Make pie?"

"Mine does, sometimes," said Remus. "But not very often because she's worried about my health." It was actually because they didn't have money for such luxuries—Remus could stand to gain a few pounds—but Remus didn't want to say that.

Sirius, however, caught on. "You look like you could do with some pie," he chortled. "You're thin as a rail, mate. Hey, what else does your mum do? You haven't told me a whole lot about her."

"Are you sure you want to hear? You said that James is annoying when he talks about his mum..."

Sirius waved his hand dismissively. "You and James are different. You've got a mum, but you've also got problems. James doesn't have problems. Go on, tell me. I know you love her."

Remus figured that he could stick with the truth, for the most part. "She's very funny," he said. "She and Dad both. They have great senses of humor. She likes to tease us. And she's a Muggle, so she knows a whole lot of things. She and Dad pretend to fight about magic—she insists that the Muggle way is always better when it comes to most things. Cooking, cleaning. And she doesn't like wizarding transportation."

"She does the cleaning?"

"Yeah. Who else would?"

"A house-elf. Duh."

"We don't have that much money, Sirius."

"Oh... right. Continue."

"Er... There's not much else to say. She's just... you know. A mum."

"Does she sing to you?"

"Not really anymore." Remus' mum sometimes hummed a bit after a full moon, but Remus suspected that she was singing more to herself than to him. "She used to read me poetry."

"Ah-hah! So your weird obsession is her fault!" Sirius grinned. "What kind?"

"Mostly just 'The Walrus and the Carpenter'." Remus' mum still recited that poem with Remus every once in a while before or after the transformation. "I'd narrate, and she would do the funny voices."

"What about knitting? Does she knit? James' mother knits."

"Dad knitted me some things, remember? Mum can knit, but she doesn't enjoy it anymore as much as she used to." She'd knitted to pass the time, sometimes, when Remus was young and she was still getting used to being a stay-at-home mother. But now she found other ways to pass her time that didn't involve buying yarn and hurting her fingers (she'd always said that the yarn was scratchy). Remus wanted to tell Sirius all this, but he couldn't.

Sirius seemed to be pondering something. "I think I'd like to learn to knit someday," he said. "You don't think that's too girly? James thinks it's girly. But it looks cool when you do it with magic—the Muggle way looks dumb, but the magical way looks kinda fun."

"It's not girly at all," Remus assured him. "My dad knits, remember? He's not a girl. Granted, he's awful at it, but still."

Sirius smiled. "I like your dad."

"Yeah. Me too."

"Where does he work?"

"Ministry. D.R.C.M.C."

"Oh, my dad works at the Ministry too. Do you know, over Christmas break they put him on the Werewolf Registry?"

Remus pretended to be shocked. "Your dad's a werewolf?"

"No! Merlin's beard, no. He was working it. Said that they were an ungrateful lot. The werewolves, I mean."

"Well," said Remus uncomfortably, "that's to be expected, isn't it? Must be unpleasant, working with a slew of werewolves."

"Yeah," snorted Sirius. "Why they're allowed in normal wizarding society I'll never understand."

In through his nose. Out through his mouth. "They're not, are they?" asked Remus quietly.

"What?"

"Werewolves. They're not. They can't get jobs very easily, no one likes them, they have to be regulated by the Ministry, they can't take part in politics at all..."

"How do you know so much about werewolves, mate?"

Remus felt a chill run through his body, but he ignored it and channeled his inner emotionless Questus. "Reading. And my dad. He works with them, sometimes. All I'm saying is, we're pretty safe from them. I've never met a werewolf."

"True," said Sirius. "Even more so since I got you that little wolf figurine for Christmas."

"Oh, right," said Remus. "I think it's done an excellent job keeping the werewolves away." Sirius grinned, and Remus continued, "No, siree, no werewolves in here." It was refreshing, making lycanthropy-related jokes without anyone pitying him—or even knowing that he was making them.

"Have you checked under the beds?" said Sirius. "There might be one down there. Hey! That's another thing that mums normally do. Comfort their children when they think that there are monsters under the bed. That's your job, now that you're my mum."

Remus' heart clenched at the mention of monsters, but forced a smile. "There, there, Sirius. It's all right. There are no monsters under the bed. Rock-a-by baby and all that."

"I'm not a baby!" said Sirius. "Do something more grown-up. I'm twelve."

Remus lowered his voice and narrowed his eyes. "Man up, you poor excuse for a wizard."

Sirius was laughing now. "I've never... heard you... talk like that! You're always so quiet! You sounded like... you sounded just like John Questus!"

"I'm sorry," said Remus immediately. He hadn't meant to. But apologizing after being told that he was scary was a reflex. Remus wasn't supposed to be scary—he was supposed to act nonthreatening and docile.

"Don't you dare apologize! It was hilarious! Just so... unexpected!" Sirius' maniacal laughter slowly died down and he leaned against the bedpost. "Ugh, why do you always have to apologize?"

"Just part of me being complicated, I guess," said Remus, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Then he cringed. He wasn't supposed to get angry.

"I thought you'd forgiven me!" said Sirius. "I told you, I didn't mean it, what I said that time. I'm sorry!"

"Who's apologizing now?" said Remus, trying to smile.

Sirius smiled back. "See, that was a good joke. But apologizing spoils it. All right, it's been, like, half an hour. I'm going to bed. Have you tried the Pensieve?"

"Not yet."

"You should. I haven't felt this ready to sleep in ages." Sirius climbed out of Remus' bed. Suddenly, Remus had a thought. What if he kept the Soundproofing Charm on? Then he wouldn't wake James up if he did have a nightmare...

No, Remus was far too selfish for that. James' offhand assurances that Remus was only dreaming was how he got through the night. Remus felt awful, but he couldn't do that, even for James.

But he wouldn't remove it quite yet.

He waited until Sirius, James, and Peter had fallen asleep before he pulled out the Pensieve, but he had no intention of using it to fall asleep.

Instead, he whispered "Engorgio," and watched as the Pensieve grew to twice its size. Then he carefully removed a memory—not a strong one, just of a night he remembered from his childhood—and dropped it inside. He very much wanted to know if the Pensieve would work or not.

It did. As soon as Remus dunked his head in the silvery substance, he found himself at his home. He'd never been in a memory before, even when he was young and had had a Pensieve of his own, and it was downright bizarre. He looked around and inhaled. Everything was there—sight, smell, sound. The only thing different was that Remus knew it wasn't real—well, he could feel it, somehow.

He watched his seven-year-old self blow out some candles on a cake. "Six!" he heard himself say, and then his mum patted him on the back.

"Seven," she corrected, and Memory-Remus smiled widely and blew on the candles again.

"They're already out, honey," said his mother. "Here, let me cut you a piece." She cut a piece of the cake, and Remus watched his younger self with a sort of odd nostalgia. He'd been tired and skinny, even as a seven-year-old. At that point in time, he had been a werewolf for two years. About twenty-four full moons. It was nothing compared to his current eighty-something, but it had felt like forever when Remus had been seven.

Remus' dad and mum brought out a gift, and Remus watched himself open it. He'd always hated birthdays. It was such a somber occasion, but his family tried so hard to be happy about it. Everything was sort of a forced routine.

Finally, they all finished eating their cake, and Memory-Remus retreated to the sitting room, where he sat on the couch and quietly played with a stuffed toy while his parents read books. The full moon had been a little more than two weeks away, so Remus had been feeling pretty normal (if that was a thing). After a few minutes, his father scooped Memory-Remus up in his arms. Memory-Remus squealed.

"You're exhausted, Remus," he said.

"I'm not!"

"Yes, you are!"

"No!"

"Yes!" Remus followed the two upstairs and watched his father dump Memory-Remus on the bed as Memory-Remus laughed. It died down very quickly, however—too quickly, which made Remus suspect that the laugh was completely fake. He remembered doing that a lot as a child. It didn't mean anything; he just never felt like laughing much.

His mum knocked on the door lightly and then came to sit at the foot of Remus' bed. Remus remembered this house; it was only one of many, but he remembered it well. "Once upon a time..." Remus' mother started.

"Mum! I'm too old for bedtime stories!"

"No, you're not. You're only seven. Now shush. Once upon a time, a girl lived with her mum and dad in a small cottage."

"Where was the cottage?" Remus had heard this one before. He'd always loved to antagonize his mother with far too many questions when she was trying to tell stories.

"In Greece."

"Where in Greece?"

"To the south." Remus' mum saw Remus open his mouth and hastily added, "It doesn't exist now; it was destroyed by a volcano."

"Did she die?"

"No, she'd moved away by then. Anyway, she lived in this cottage with her mum and dad."

"Was it a nice cottage?"

"Oh, yes. But then her mum got very ill."

"With what?"

"Er, Dragon Pox."

"Did she die?"

"Yes. Unfortunately. And the girl and her father were heartbroken."

"That's a good story," Remus mouthed at the same time as Memory-Remus spoke the words. "Good night."

"It's not over yet! Silly. The girl's father, after a year, decided that it was time to move on. He married a woman who was very rich and had two daughters."

"What was everybody's names?"

"Were, not was. It's plural, honey. The father's name was Dan. The woman's name was Delilah. The daughters were Kay and May. The girl was Ella."

"Surnames?"

"Dan and Ella Baker. Delilah, Kay, and May Lawrence."

"Ll... what?" Remus had always had trouble pronouncing L's at that age.

"It doesn't matter. Once they got married, they changed their surnames to Baker. Anyway, Ella's father ended up dying, too, and Ella was left under the care of Delilah."

"How did he die?"

"An unfortunate accident involving a toilet brush, a Komodo dragon, and particularly disgruntled Doxies," said Remus' father, and Remus started giggling.

"Ella was treated terribly by her step-family, and they made her do chores. They even started to call her Cinderella, because she was always covered in ash from the fireplace."

"Why couldn't she take a bath?"

"Because she had too many chores. One evening, the prince was throwing a ball, and all the women in the town were invited."

"Was there a dress code?" said Remus' father. "Because if Cinderella is covered in ash, then they probably won't let her in."

"Don't be ridiculous, Lyall, of course there's a dress code. And Ella doesn't like to be covered in ash, she just is. Delilah wouldn't let Ella go to the ball, however, so poor Ella was crying in her room..."

"What was her room like?" asked Remus.

"Just like yours, except everything was pink."

"And there was ash on the floor," said Remus' dad.

"Shush, Lyall. Anyway, while Ella was crying, a fairy showed up..."

Remus' dad cut in again. "Just call her a kind witch, Hope. Fairies are awful."

Remus' mum rolled her eyes. "'Fairy' has such a nice ring to it, though. Fine. A kindly witch showed up and promised to allow Ella to go to the ball. She enchanted Ella's clothes so that they weren't ashy anymore and were beautiful instead. Now, Ella was wearing a pretty pink dress..."

"Can the dress be green?" asked Remus.

"Fine. A pretty green dress and glass slippers."

"Can the slippers be plastic?" asked Remus' dad.

"No. Ella went to the ball and danced all night. She met the prince, even, and he was very nice. She was the envy of the ball. However, the witch had warned her that the spell would wear off at midnight..."

"Why?"

"Just because. So when the clock struck twelve, Ella ran away from the ball so quickly that one of her glass slippers fell off."

"Because she didn't want the prince to see that she was all ashy?" asked Remus.

Remus' father laughed. "That was a good one, Remus," he said, and Remus' mum swatted his arm.

"Ignore your father, Remus; he's a bad influence. Anyway! The prince tried the shoe on the foot of every woman in the kingdom, and—after a very long time—he finally discovered Ella. And guess what? He loved her anyway. Even though she was all ashy and gross, and wasn't wearing a green dress and glass slippers. Even though her hair was all tangled and she smelt of dirty laundry. Even though she wasn't the same person that the prince thought that she was; because she was the same—on the inside. And that's all that matters."

"That's so sappy, mum," Current-Remus and Memory-Remus said at the same time.

"I know. But you're sleepy now, aren't you?" Remus looked at Memory-Remus, who was already burrowing under the covers. He watched his parents smile at each other, and then retreated from the memory.

Indeed, he was sleepy now. The Pensieve had worked wonderfully tonight—just not in the way that Dumbledore had advised.

The second-to-last thought that Remus had before he fell asleep was that he felt very sorry for Sirius, whose mother did not tell him stories or make him pie. If anyone deserved a mother like Hope Lupin, it was Sirius.

Honestly, everyone did.

The last thought that Remus had before he fell asleep was that he hoped that his friends, when they inevitably found out the truth, would know that Remus was the same on the inside... just like in the story, even though he was covered in Dark magic instead of ash. But that was a long shot—a shot so long, in fact, that it was an impossibility.

Remus stopped hoping and went to sleep; after all, no good could come of pointless wishes.

AN: Sandwiches are literally the best food ever