"Remus?" whispered James one night in the dormitory. It was three in the morning and everyone was sleeping.

"It's three in the morning and everyone is sleeping," said Remus.

"You're not."

Remus looked at the window, which had been keeping him up all night. It was the morning of February sixteenth, and the only thing on his mind was that fateful night in 1965—exactly seven years to the day. It had been a new moon on the fifteenth, so at least he didn't have that glowing reminder literally hanging over his head. But he simply could not sleep with the window's thick glass and faint reflections and dark expanse of sky behind it and the possibility that something was out there and...

"You've been up all night," said James. "Reading and doing homework. You've got to sleep, mate."

"I know."

"And last night you were up until eleven."

"I know."

"The night before it was twelve."

"Do you keep track of my every waking hour?" Remus asked. He felt it was a little too rude, so then he added "I mean, sleeping hour," to lighten the tone.

James did not laugh at his joke. "It's your mum, isn't it? Or are you ill again?"

"I'm not ill again," said Remus, searching for a lie. "It's... it's been exactly seven years... since my mum... you know, received her diagnosis. Since everything changed. I'm all pensive. I know it's stupid... but I can't sleep."

"Oh."

The window taunted Remus menacingly. "Hey, James, may I..."

"Yeah?"

"May I sit on your bed for a minute?"

"Sure! We can trade beds if you want. Sometimes a change in scenery helps."

It would help, Remus was certain. But he didn't want to impose that much. "No, I just need to... I don't know."

"Wanna talk?"

"No." He did, but he couldn't. Remus pulled James' curtains aside and awkwardly perched on the side of James' bed. "Sorry."

"You've done nothing wrong. Here, use a blanket. Oi, Sirius! You're awake now, too. I can hear you moving around."

"I didn't mean to wake you," said Remus helplessly, watching Sirius' drowsy form stumbling out of bed.

Sirius yawned. "Nah, I'm not that sleepy anyway. WAKE UP, PETER."

Peter awoke with a jolt. "Wha—?"

"Remus is awake."

"Good for him," said Peter, nuzzling back into his blankets.

"Wake up!" insisted Sirius.

"Fine," muttered Peter, and soon all four of them were squeezed into James' four-poster bed.

"A little cramped," commented James. "I'd rate it 6/10 stars. S'it always like this, Rem? On the anniversary?"

"Yes," said Remus. Truth be told, he'd always slept on the couch downstairs on February sixteenth. And his mum and dad didn't sleep much at all—and they usually stayed downstairs with Remus overnight. The sleep that Remus received on February sixteenth was always a sort of state of half-sleep, and he knew the same was true for his parents (even though they never, ever mentioned it. They never even acknowledged the day, as if talking about it would cause it to happen again). Remus didn't know why a stupid date held so much power over him, but there was nothing he could do about it. "It's just... everything changed so suddenly, and..."

"You don't have to explain yourself," said Sirius dismissively. "You can't sleep, and that's all that matters. Scootch, James. I want more room."

"Well, you can't have more room!"

"Seeing as I'm the one who can't sleep," interjected Remus, "I think that I should be the one to have more room."

"No!"

"Yes!"

After a heated pillow fight and lots of muffled giggling, Remus sensed Professor McGonagall coming down the corridor. "Shush!" he hissed, but it was too late.

"What are you boys doing?"

"Erm," said James. "We were sleeping."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you don't look asleep to me."

"We were having a pillow fight. In our sleep."

"James is a fierce competitor when he's sleeping," said Remus helpfully.

"I was winning," said Sirius.

"You weren't!"

"I was!"

"Shhhh!" Professor McGonagall rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I do hope that you're all too tired to make any trouble in class today. Go to sleep."

"Yes, ma'am," said Remus, but as soon as McGonagall left, the four of them collapsed into silent giggles.

The next night would be harder, but this one was relatively easy. Remus slept well on the morning of February sixteenth for the first time in seven years.

Granted, as well as he could have slept with Sirius drooling on him and Peter lying on his arm and James snoring and half of his limbs asleep. But still.

Remus was a bit sullen all day. He forced smiles and laughs as he joked with his friends over breakfast and read the Prophet, but it was quite obvious to all of them that something was wrong.

"You okay, mate?" asked James.

"Fine."

"You look pale. Like you usually look before you visit your mum or get ill or something."

Remus' heart clenched. He was just certain that they were going to figure it out soon. Certain. Positively and utterly sure. "I'm always pale. Dunno when you lot are finally going to realize that."

"Why's Poppy looking at you like that?"

Remus looked up at Madam Pomfrey, who was indeed staring at him intensely. When Remus met her eyes, she flicked her eyebrows upward questioningly. Remus was confused. "I don't know," he said. How would she know what day it was? Perhaps his mum told Madam Pomfrey about the significance of February sixteenth? He hoped he hadn't; he didn't need more pity. He gave her an awkward smile, and she observed him intensely for a moment before returning to her food.

"What do we have first?" asked Sirius. "DAD, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. I wanna get there early. Finish up."

"Why do you want to get there early?" asked Remus.

"Just do. Peter, you slowpoke!"

"I'm finishing, I'm finishing!" said Peter, stuffing a sausage into his mouth. "Okay, done."

Sirius grabbed James' arm and pulled him to the DAD classroom. It was officially the very first time that Sirius Black actually wanted to go to class early, and the other Marauders didn't quite know what to make of it. Remus looked at Peter, and Peter shrugged. Then they sprinted out of the Great Hall to follow their friends.

"Hiya, John!" said Sirius once they had arrived. James and Sirius looked perfectly find after running all the way across the castle and climbing a few staircases. Remus and Peter, alternatively, were nearly panting. "I wanted to ask you a few questions."

"And it can't wait until after class?" said Professor Questus, picking up the small green lamp that Sirius had knocked over when he came barreling in.

"Nope!"

"Fine. Go ahead. Mind that cage; there's an Imp inside. And please be careful of the lamp; I'm quite fond of it."

"Okay! First question: did you know we're related?"

"I did not."

"Yep! I think one of your ancestors was a Pureblood. Great-great-great-grandfather or something. Married my... great-great-great-great-aunt? I don't remember. But we're related, all right! By blood, too, I'm pretty sure, but ancestry always confuses me. I don't care much for it."

"I'm not sure what that has to do with anything, Black. Do you want something from me?"

"Yeah, can I live with you?"

Questus blinked. "Come again?"

"Live with you. You know, at your house. My mum and dad hate me, but maybe they'd let me go off and live with a relative. I wouldn't bother you or anything. I just can't live at home anymore. Hate my parents. It's horrible, 'specially now that I'm in Gryffindor. And you're a Slytherin, right? They'd love you!"

Remus almost laughed. He couldn't really imagine Professor Questus taking care of a kid, especially one as rambunctious as Sirius. Sirius would likely destroy all Questus' possessions, starting with the green lamp that he'd nearly smashed to smithereens. Yes, Sirius would smash Questus' things to pieces—and then Questus would probably smash Sirius' spirits with his dry sense of humor and blunt comments. Sirius was often blunt and rude himself, but Remus wasn't quite sure that he could take what he often dished out.

"I'm not that type of person, Black," said Questus, and Remus thoroughly agreed.

"I'm telling you, I don't need much. I'll spend all my time at... James' house! Yeah! Can I come over during the day, James?"

"Of course!" said James, who was grinning widely at the prospect of spending all his time with Sirius.

"Yeah! I just need a permanent address and a place to sleep. Honestly, I don't even have to sleep at your house. I can sleep at James'! But my parents have to approve, or else, I'm..." Sirius made an odd motion with his hands and an exploding noise with his mouth. Remus, who wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, gave him a quizzical look. "Blown off the tapestry," Sirius clarified, even though that made even less sense.

Questus shook his head, his face the picture of both amusement and bemusement. "I'm not one for children."

"But you're a teacher...?"

"Not my first career choice. Look, I appreciate the fact that you like me enough to ask a ridiculously enormous favor of me, but it's just not realistic. Besides, I doubt that your parents would like me."

"Of course they would. You have Pureblood-blood, you're a Slytherin, and you're..." Sirius looked him over. "I dunno. Kinda mean. What wouldn't they like?"

"My father was a Muggle, for one. And I was an Auror working against the very forces that they support... and then there's the fact that your father already hates me."

"What?"

"I said something... well, it was true, but also rude... to his face. Then he got me sacked and I had to become a professor."

Sirius' mouth was hanging open. "What did you say to him?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"Told him that anyone who supports a terrorist organization should not be in a position of power. Told him that marrying his relative must have messed with his head. Told him that his ideals were deluded and unintelligent. Said there's a fine line between the Noble House of Black and the Death Eaters. And then I may have mentioned that he looks like a breeding experiment between a Red Cap and a Gytrash gone horribly wrong. Emphasis on trash. Said some other things too, none of which are appropriate for first-year ears. I afraid he knows exactly who I am."

Remus pressed his palm over his mouth to contain his laughter; he thought that it might seem insensitive to laugh about Sirius' family tree like that. Questus shot him a small grin. Sirius just stood there, taking it all in, and then suddenly burst into maniacal laughter.

"You... you did? Oh, Merlin's beard, I've been wanting to say that for years...!" He wiped his eyes. "You shouldn't have gotten sacked! You should have gotten promoted!"

James and Peter were laughing now, too, and even Questus was smiling. "I'm very sorry you have to live with him, Black. The man is atrocious. But you can't live with me, for obvious reasons. And I know for a fact that, although you may not like him, he does care about you and he keeps you alive and healthy. You've no idea the lengths your father would go to protect you."

"That's why you're not an Auror anymore?" asked James through giggles. "Because Sirius' dad was mad at you?"

"He's been mad for a long time, in a completely different sense," said Questus, which did not do anything for Sirius' laughing fit. "But yes, that's why I am no longer an Auror. You four had better sit down; class is starting. And Black, when you end up going home: do carefully avoid this subject." Sirius grinned and nodded. "Class, please ignore what just happened. Today we'll be learning about Imps..."

During lunchtime, Remus escaped to the lavatory to open the letter from his parents without prying eyes. He sat down on the toilet seat and scanned the words, trying to savor any remnant of his parents' comfort that he could in his time of stress.

Dear Remus,

Hope you're doing well! Yesterday I tried to brush Garrison's fur, but he ran off before I could. He's completely harmless; it's quite funny! Mum and I went to the theaters, but they were completely full! I wasn't sure what to think. And the owl post is growing more and more crowded by the day! Seems to me that everybody's trying to get their minds off all that's going on in the world right now, hm?

I tried to learn origami the other day, but it didn't go well. Here's the paper frog I tried to make. As you can see, it looks more like rubbish than a frog!

Remus kept reading, but the letter was full of platitudes and anecdotes, and there were too many exclamation marks for it to look real. There were no mentions of the days' significance. There were no comforting words. Remus appreciated that they were trying to save his feelings, but why couldn't they understand that he wanted to talk about it sometimes? They couldn't possibly comfort him if they wouldn't even acknowledge his pain.

Then again, Remus had changed a lot since coming to Hogwarts. He'd have never wanted to talk about February sixteenth in years past. He'd thought that avoiding subjects was beneficial. But it wasn't; Remus knew that now... still, he didn't think that he could talk about it, even though he wanted to. Remus' mind was an ocean of contradictions, and he felt like he was drowning.

He sighed and set down the letter: it was just like February sixteenth on any other year—all forced smiles and unspoken sadness. Remus wished for a normal life. His parents wished for a human child. But because of this day, no one was going to get what they wished for, and all they could do was wonder what could have been.

Remus sat on the toilet seat and put his head between his knees. He could have been human, if the window had only been reinforced. If he'd slept with his parents that night. If he'd been a little faster. If he had only tried to escape after hearing the scratching and heavy breathing at his window instead of going back to sleep like the idiot that he was. If the stars had aligned in a slightly different manner, then Remus could have been normal and nice and easy to manage.

He could have gone to Hogwarts without needing a whole separate building to contain him. He could have had friends—real friends, not friends that he had to lie to. It could have been so different, and Remus could scarcely imagine it.

But he tried anyway. He tried to imagine telling everything to Sirius and James and Peter instead of making up lies constantly. He tried to imagine being happy and healthy all thirty days of the lunar cycle. He tried to imagine playing Quidditch. He could have been a healthy weight with healthy bones and healthy muscles. Maybe he would have worn clothes that fit him. His parents would have had plenty of money.

He probably wouldn't care that much about school. Perhaps he even would have been a slacker like James and Sirius. Maybe he would have gotten bad marks without even caring. Maybe he would have had a pet dog—his parents had always wanted one, but five-year-old Remus had been too scared of dogs after the incident, and then they were too poor to afford one. And he probably wouldn't even know Madam Pomfrey by name, unless not-werewolf-Remus was clumsy or a Quidditch player or something.

But there was no use ruminating on what could have been, because it was never going to be.

Remus let out a little shuddery sigh and sat up properly. There was no such thing as not-werewolf-Remus, and thinking about him held just the same weight as obsessing over a fictional character, which was entirely and utterly stupid (why would anyone do that?). There was only werewolf-Remus now, who was probably wildly different... but it was the only Remus that existed. Thinking about the could-have-beens only made Remus feel all squishy and dark on the inside.

He exited the loo, wiped his eyes (but there were no tears), and went to meet his friends in Transfiguration. At least they smiled for real, and all of their exclamation points were completely genuine.

Remus sat in his bed alone that night, waiting for his friends to come back from detention and watching the time pensively. It was one minute after eight. Remus had been bitten seven years at around eight-ten at the latest, he assumed. If Greyback had transformed around eight, and Remus had gone to bed at seven-thirty, then... yes, it had probably been somewhere around that time. He watched the second hand move around the face of the watch with the odd desire for it to stop. But it didn't, of course, and time kept marching on until it was nine minutes after eight.

Tick... tick... tick... tick... tick...

Eight-ten.

It had been seven years exactly. If someone had been born at the exact moment that Remus had been bitten, he or she would be celebrating a birthday. He or she would be talking fluently. He or she would probably own a bicycle and have friends. The thought was insane.

Seven years.

Seven was the most magical number, apparently, but Remus didn't feel very magical. He mostly just felt like a monster. A boy who had been a monster for seven years. That was three away from ten. Almost a decade. Remus remembered when he had turned ten. He'd felt ancient.

And seven was halfway to fourteen, and fourteen was only three away from seventeen. An adult. The hypothetical seven-year-old would be a happy adult, and Remus would be... Oh, he didn't even know. He'd be twenty-two then. What would he be doing at twenty-two? Still living with his parents? Not a friend in the world? In Azkaban? Dead? And if he looked so sickly now, after seven years of transformations, what would he look like at twenty-two? Remus didn't have any plans for after leaving Hogwarts, but he couldn't imagine burdening his parents for the rest of his life; nor could he imagine getting his own place and being self-sufficient.

Seven years.

One year felt like forever at Remus' age, but seven? Had it been that long? Really? Six Christmases, six Easters, eighty-four full moons of torture? Eighty-seven, actually, since he'd lived through... what, three blue moons? He couldn't even remember. They all blurred together.

Eighty-seven. The thought nearly made him sick. Next March—not this March, but the March after—he'd be at a hundred. A hundred painful full moons. Ninety-nine transformations. And then, in April, he'd be at a hundred transformations.

This very night, seven years ago, at this very time, Remus had been crying and bleeding and being taken to St. Mungo's with his head on his mother's lap. Seven years ago, Remus had been watching his father cast curses that he'd never seen before on the monster perched upon his bedsheets as Remus watched, wide-eyed, in horrible pain and complete shock. Seven years ago, said monster had broken the glass on his window and Remus had woken up, not even having time to scream before...

He sat up suddenly and pulled out the Pensieve. It had been six February sixteenths since then. He should be able to get a decent night's sleep tonight, for goodness' sake.

After about an hour, he gave up and sat in Peter's bed. He didn't intend to fall asleep—only get away from the window for a second—but the next thing he knew, it was Thursday morning, Peter was gently snoring in Remus' bed (no questions asked, even), James and Sirius were chasing each other with Dungbombs and shrieking happily, and the horrible, cursed day of February sixteenth was over... until next year.

AN: I wonder how many trumpets could fit inside a tuba.