The Marauders walked to the lake for James' "surprise fun activity", and Remus slightly regretted following his friends. The temperature outside was colder than the looks that Sirius and James sometimes gave Snape, and that was basically subarctic.

"James, it is freezing," said Remus. "Really, really cold. Please tell me we're not staying outside."

"It's not that cold," said James, but he looked so happy that Remus didn't have the heart to argue. "I just wanna play catch."

"Catch? You dragged us all the way out here to play catch?"

"I've never played catch before," said Sirius, rubbing his hands together. "How do you play?"

"Well," said Remus. "You catch the ball. And then you throw it."

"Oh."

"I know they're complicated instructions, but I have complete faith in you."

"Thanks, mate."

"No, not that type of catch," said James impatiently. "I mean, like, the cool type of catch. With snow. See?" He picked up some snow and rolled it into a ball. "Sirius, think fast!"

Sirius caught it and looked at it curiously. "This is catch?" he said, tossing the snowball between his hands inquisitively. "That sounds boring."

"That's not catch," said Remus. "That's a snowball fight."

"No. It's not a snowball fight, 'cos we're not fighting. We're catching. Nice, gentle catching." He glanced at Remus out of the sides of his eyes. "Yep, just throwing the snowballs back and forth, and then catching them, and then throwing them back. All the fun of a regular snowball fight, but a lot safer."

Remus wrinkled his nose. "Since when do you care about safe?"

"He doesn't," said Peter quietly. "But you do."

"Wait... you're doing this so that I won't... be uncomfortable?" asked Remus.

James nodded. "You looked scared. And we want you to have fun, too. I dunno if "friends-getting-killed-by-a-tree" is another weird phobia of yours, but you're our friend and we want you to have fun."

"So you... you want to just... throw snowballs back and forth? Because you think I'm afraid of one of you getting hurt if we fight with them?" Remus wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

"I mean... isn't that what you want?"

Remus grinned. "No offense, mate, but that sounds like the most boring thing in the universe." He picked up a fistful of snow. It burned his hands with cold, but he didn't care. He knew just the spell for this. "Oppugno." The snowball hit James in the chest, and James shrieked.

"No fair!" James hurled some snow back at him, and Remus ducked just in time with all the reflexes of a student of Professor Questus.

Sirius and Peter joined in, and the game suddenly got a lot more fun. Remus had never imagined that a snowball fight could be so fun; his parents usually kept him inside when it was cold out because they knew how much the cold bothered his sensitive joints. He had always been sickly and frail; romping in the snow just wasn't something that a sickly and frail boy should do.

But this was fun!

It was even more fun with magic. Remus had never felt like such a good duellist as he did that day. Professor Questus was a lot better than him at pretty much everything, but Remus was a step ahead of his friends because of his extra lessons. He managed to conjure a shield nearly every time, and he even got a little more creative and poured a jet of water on the fort that he and Peter were building to create a more durable substance—ice. This backfired when James and Sirius started to copy him and coat all of their snowballs with ice, and the stakes were raised even higher.

Remus managed to land a few snowballs, and the fort that he and Peter had built was brilliant. He tried to utilize his werewolf senses to get a split-second advantage like Professor Questus had told him to do, but he couldn't. Their heart rates were all too high, and they were constantly laughing anyway.

They were all frozen half to death and soaked to the bone when it happened. James sent a large snowball coated in ice flying towards Remus, and Remus shrieked and cast a Shield Charm.

Nonverbally, and without even thinking.

James cocked his head. "Hey, that was nonverbal. How'd you do that?" he asked.

"I don't know!" Remus was overjoyed. "I just... I just meant to, and then it happened!"

"I'm not gonna start worrying about nonverbal charms until sixth year," said Sirius. "Too much hassle. Hey, can we go in? I'm freezing."

"Oh, please," said Remus. He couldn't stop grinning, and confidence was spilling out of every orifice. In a moment of recklessness, he linked arms with Peter and moved closer. The casual touching of someone not in Remus' family was weird—it made Remus' heart feel oddly light. And also his head, but that was probably from all the running around.

"I d-didn't know m-my teeth could ch-chatter so much," said Peter earnestly, and Remus giggled.

"I'm too numb to feel anything," he said. "It's gonna take a while to thaw." Then he lowered his voice. "Hey, Pete, you might want to call first shower."

"I call first shower!" said Peter quickly, and James and Sirius groaned.

"C'mon, Peter," said James scornfully. "Remus weighs, like, three pounds. He's gotta be freezing. And he's ill. Let him go first; at least you've got meat to you."

"B-but!"

"I told him he could," said Remus, "and I'm not some fragile china doll, James."

"Debatable."

"There's no debate! After all, I won the snowball fight! Could a fragile person do that?!"

"You did not!"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," said Sirius, putting his hands up. "You both lost. I won!"

The three other Marauders protested in unison, and Sirius laughed. "Come on, lads, walk a little faster. I'm cold."

Remus burrowed under his covers as soon as he got back to the dormitory, and his skin burned pleasantly as it warmed. "That feels good," he sighed, his voice muffled under the covers.

"Are you joking?" moaned Sirius. "I'm all frost-nipped. I feel like I'm on fire."

Was that supposed to hurt normal people? Warming up after cold? It didn't hurt at all; it only twinged a bit, and the twinging was a nice change from the bitter cold.

Now that Remus thought about it, it was a common stereotype that werewolves weren't bothered by temperatures. Remus knew that wasn't true—he got cold more quickly than any of his friends. Even on the full moons, Remus would sometimes get a bit chilly or hot (depending on the season). He just didn't care about the temperatures on the full moon—that was the difference. He had bigger things on his mind on full moons, after all.

This train of thought caused Remus to think about some unpleasant things indeed, and he suddenly felt a little ill.

"You sure you're okay, Remus?" said James. "With the temperature? It's got to feel worse for you, because you're so..."

Remus rolled his eyes. "If you say 'fragile', James Potter, I swear I will hit you."

"No! Thin! You've noticed, right? You're lankier than I am, and I get teased all the time for being skinnier than a tree branch."

"I'm not that thin."

"Yeah, you are. And I saw your mum and dad at the train station: both of them are skinny—'specially your dad—but they don't look like you. Even your mum, who's... ill. You look so much more sick than she does."

"My mum wears make-up," said Remus quickly. "And she looked just like me when she was young. It... doesn't affect her eating anymore."

"But it affects yours?" said Sirius. "Is that why you skip meals so much?"

"I don't skip meals that often."

"A normal kid would never skip meals," said James fiercely. "Normal kids look forward to meals all day."

"I am normal," said Remus.

In through his nose. Out through his mouth.

"Hm," said James. "Normal people wouldn't say that. Normal people want to be special. Special people want to be normal. If you were normal, you'd be telling us that you weren't."

Remus didn't think that 'special' was the word for it. "James, stop it. I don't like to talk about her." He tried to summon tears like he had with Peter so long ago, but after the happiness and emotion of the day, they wouldn't come. So he resorted to begging. "Please."

"Fine, fine. Sorry. You know, there are showers in the lavatory downstairs, too—the one in our dorm isn't the only one..."

"I am not walking all the way across the castle with wet hair and pajamas. And I'm warming up just fine. Stop treating me like..."

"Like what? A friend? Just because I'm worried about you..."

"Like a china doll!"

"I'm not trying to!"

"Shut up," said Sirius suddenly. "You're giving me a headache. James, I think that Remus knows what he can and can't do a lot better than you do."

"I've been living with this all my life," Remus agreed. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine, James. With all due respect—lay off."

James held up his hands in surrender. "Okay. Fine." Then he chuckled. "With all due respect—lay off. That's the most Remus-y thing I've ever heard. I'm gonna have to use that later."

The water shut off and Peter emerged, wearing his pajamas already. "Why are you dressed up for bed? You look ridiculous. It's not even supper yet," said Sirius.

"Gonna take a nap," muttered Peter. "I'm knackered."

"Your turn, Remus," said James, his eyes boring into Remus'.

Remus rolled his eyes and grabbed his towel. "Maybe I should skip meals more often if it gets me automatic first-shower privileges."

Sirius laughed, and Remus shut the door behind him.

In through his nose, out through his mouth.

He hadn't expected friends his age to monitor his health like Madam Pomfrey or his mum or his dad did, but he'd been wrong. It was so stupid. Why couldn't he just be in charge of his own body? Why did everyone have to tell him how to take care of himself? He knew when he could and couldn't skip a meal. He knew when he was too cold. He would've said something, wouldn't've he? He was a werewolf, not somebody's pet.

He turned on the water and stepped under it. That did feel good.

He listened to his friends' voices, laughing and joking, which felt even better. They didn't sound angry with him or anything. Suddenly, it all went silent. Remus started to soap up his hair, still listening intently.

"I don't care what he said," came James' constantly-stubborn voice. "His mum is a werewolf. There's no other way to explain it all. And I can't believe he's lying to us so... effortlessly. Guiltlessly. How often does he do it, I wonder?"

"I think he can hear us," said Peter.

"You're just being paranoid, Pettigrew," Sirius scoffed. "He can't hear us. I can't hear a thing when I'm in the shower. Can you?"

"No, but..."

"His hearing's good, but it's not that good."

"That's another thing!" James' voice again. "Being... half-werewolf or something would explain his crazy-good hearing. Werewolves have better hearing, don't they?"

"Yeah," said Sirius. "Smell, too, I think. I've seen photos of Greyback, and he keeps... sorta sniffing the air and things. Werewolves do that."

"Remus does that," said James. "Doesn't he? He twitches his nose a lot. I thought it was just a nervous tic."

Remus felt like throwing up. He made a mental note to stop doing that.

"It is," said Sirius. "He's not half-werewolf. He can't be. He's too nice for that."

"Maybe half-werewolves are humans. Just with werewolf abilities," said James thoughtfully. "Wouldn't that be so cool? That's so cool."

It's not cool, Remus thought. It just set him further and further apart from humanity. That wasn't cool.

"Plus, my dad says that werewolves are people, too," James continued. "He says that there are good and bad werewolves, just like there are good and bad humans."

"You don't really believe that, do you?" said Sirius. "Trust me, James. They're not. And Remus can't be related to one."

"Why not? And how would you know?"

"My parents talk about werewolves all the time. I've heard all the news. They attack children. They steal and kill, even in their human forms. They're literally animals. I heard a story about a girl who was attacked by a werewolf... all they ever found was her finger."

"Ew," said James. "The werewolf ate the rest of her?"

"Completely. Could a good person do that?"

"No," said Peter.

"S'pose not," said James. "But I still think that Remus' mum is a werewolf. I think that Remus keeps her under control."

"If they had any sense of decency, they'd get rid of her," said Sirius crossly. "She could hurt someone."

"I'm going to prove that she's a werewolf, and I'm going to prove that she's safe," said James. "Because James Potter is always right, and I definitely know I'm right about this."

Remus couldn't listen to any more. He shut the water off with an odd sort of finality, feeling numb. His hair was still a little soapy (he'd been listening so carefully that he'd forgotten to wash it all out), but he didn't care.

He got dressed as quickly as possible and stepped into the dormitory. "I'm going to do some homework," he said stiffly. "Have fun in detention."

"Remus, wait! What's wrong?" called James, but Remus didn't listen. The last thing he heard from the dormitory as he walked down the corridor as fast as possible was Peter's voice ("I told you he could hear us"), Sirius' response ("There's still soap in his hair"), and James' voice ("Why's he going that way to do homework?").

He ignored them all, even though he knew that he was being terribly suspicious.

"Professor." Remus was steadily knocking on the door of the DAD classroom. "Professor Questus. Professor."

Questus opened the door and sighed. "Lupin? Really? Two days in a row? Fine, come in. You have soap in your hair."

Remus came in quickly and collapsed into a chair. He really felt awful for interrupting Questus with his problems... again. But he didn't know where else to go—Dumbledore was very important and probably very busy, and Madam Pomfrey would just give him a check-up if he crossed the threshold of the Hospital Wing. Remus had considered writing to his parents, but he needed help right now, and owls did not fly at the speed of light. "I'm sorry, Professor," he said.

"No need to apologize. It's just soap," said Questus, even though he probably knew full well that Remus had not been talking about the soap. "What do you need?"

"I just... I just need to get away from the dormitory. And I'm afraid that they'll—my friends, I mean—come find me in the Great Hall or the library. May I... just sit here for a moment, sir?"

"Sure. Running away never did any good, though."

"I know..."

"I've got no problem with it, though. Knock yourself out."

Remus, thankful, looked down at the desk in silence for about twenty minutes, listening the scritching of Professor Questus' quill.

It was quiet here, at least.

He almost wished that time could stop right here, right now, and he could just sit here forever. He wouldn't mind staring at a desk for a few centuries. No more transformations. No more interrogations from his friends. No more questions to answer.

Finally, Professor Questus broke the silence, and Remus' hopes of staying in the moment forever were dashed. He didn't mind, though; staring at a desk forever would be terribly boring. "Congratulations, by the way," said Questus.

"What?"

Questus gestured towards his window, which displayed a perfect view of the spot by the lake where the snowball fight had taken place. "I was watching—not the whole time, only for a bit. Phenomenal wandwork. Very, very impressive." Questus looked almost giddy, and it was weird. "That nonverbal Shield Charm in particular was wonderful."

"...Thank you, sir."

"You're going to make a fine duellist. A fine duellist." There was a pause. "Have you ever had a snowball fight before? I was wondering."

"Er, no. My parents are... you know, overprotective. And it's always worse in the winter."

"What's worse?"

"You know. Me. Longer nights, and all that."

"I read that werewolves transform at roughly the same time every night, regardless of the month."

Remus wondered who had the unhappy job of conducting such research. "Er. Yeah. But sometimes I start getting, like... shaky. And that starts when it's dark. And when the darkness stretches into the morning... I don't... transform back... till sunrise." He wanted to stop talking about this. "I vaguely recall a photograph of my dad throwing some snowballs at me when I was really little. I was... two or three. But I don't remember it, and it wasn't really much of a 'fight'. My mum and dad had a couple, too—I used to watch from indoors."

"Does the cold bother you?"

"A... a little, sir. I stay inside when it's snowing, mostly."

"They're good for you, you know." Questus peered out the window at a few boys sitting on a bench and talking, but his mind was clearly somewhere else. "It's important to have friends your age."

"So you've said. About that..."

"Why are you here? Did you have a row with them?"

"No...?" said Remus. He didn't think he had. He wasn't exactly sure what constituted as a row, but he didn't... no, he hadn't. They hadn't fought. Had they? "They don't believe me is all," Remus elaborated. "They still think my mum's a werewolf."

"Is that what all this is about? Still? For goodness' sake, Lupin, let them believe it!"

"I can't! They don't like werewolves!" In through his nose. Out through his mouth. Calm down, he told himself sharply. "James said... oh, I don't remember what James said. And then Sirius said that I couldn't be half-werewolf; I'm too nice..."

Questus grinned. "Well, you're not half-werewolf, I can tell you that..."

"And then James said... James said that his dad said... that werewolves were people and that there were good and bad ones..."

"That sounds like a pretty promising conversation so far."

"No! Because then Sirius said that they weren't... and his father's seen... he's seen... Greyback. Fenrir Greyback. In person. And Sirius has seen photos, he said. So he thinks he knows..."

"Ah, that does complicate things. Greyback's terrifying."

As if I don't know better than you, Remus thought scornfully, and then silently reprimanded himself for it. "Then he said that his parents tell him stories about w-werewolves. And then he said... that... just things. Stories. I've heard them all. Awful stories. The girl in France in 1968."

"I remember her. They only ever found..."

"Her finger. I know. James said that my mum—who he thinks is a werewolf—was probably dangerous... but he thinks that I keep her under control, somehow. And then Sirius..." Remus clamped his mouth shut. "Never mind."

"What did he say?"

Remus felt tears come to his eyes, and he pinched his wrist to stop them from falling. "It's nothing. Nothing I haven't heard before. It just... hurts, coming from Sirius. He said that if my family had any sense of decency, we'd... getridofmymumbecauseshecouldhurtsomeone." Remus wasn't sure why he felt the urge to talk at warp speed. It was all very strange.

"What?"

"Get rid of her. Because... she could hurt someone."

"Oh. Yeah, half of the books I read on werewolves advocated mass execution. Pretty stupid, like I told you before. They miss one werewolf and then it's all useless. I'm not surprised that you've heard that before."

"But coming from Sirius..."

"I'm also not surprised that Sirius Black holds that view, given his parentage."

"You shouldn't judge him based on..."

"Blood. Yeah. I know. Everyone says that, but it's just common sense that he'll have picked up some habits and beliefs. Your werewolf blood doesn't make you a bad person, but it does give you certain traits. And I make it a priority to be aware of such traits—refusing to acknowledge them would be stupid. Judging is okay as long as one isn't condemning."

"Snap judgements and first impressions are usually wrong," argued Remus.

"Mm-hm. But judging is still important to human survival. If you were to see a known werewolf hunter and a Ministry worker on the street, would you go over and talk to them?"

"No...?"

"Because you know, from past experience, that those types of people aren't usually friendly. That's judgement. As long as one takes their first impressions with a grain of salt and realizes that snap judgements are usually wrong, then there's nothing wrong with making them. Especially as an Auror—first impressions are around for a reason, and they're key to survival. And assumptions are a perfectly normal and acceptable part of human nature."

"Right," said Remus, who was starting to see Questus' point. "But I think it depends on the assumption."

"True. You know, my first impression of you was both entirely wrong and probably morally detestable."

"What was...? I'm afraid to ask."

"You remember. Pulled you over after class and chastised you for thinking that everything is discrimination. Told you I wouldn't walk on eggshells. I thought for sure that you were either dangerous or spoilt."

"I didn't like you, either," confessed Remus.

To Remus' surprise, Questus laughed. "I'm not surprised. I'm not very likeable. Point is, you're allowed to be careful around Black. And you probably should be. Now, please tell me that you didn't panic. Were you obviously distressed? Your emotional reaction is, in many cases, a confession."

"I was in the shower; they didn't know that I could hear them. I left rather suddenly, but I don't see how that..."

"And you still have soap in your hair."

Remus touched his hair gingerly. "Yes, sir. It's mostly dried by now."

"Lupin. You need to learn to control your emotions."

"I know! I can't!"

"You can. It's not difficult. Now, if I were you, I'd go back right now and tell them that you forgot to turn in an essay or something. And I'd definitely confess to your mother being a..."

"I won't."

"Have you talked to her about it?"

"No. And I won't do it, either, because she'll tell me to do it. And I can't let anyone think that, I can't..."

"Fine. Have you composed yourself, mostly?"

"I think so, sir."

"Then go be with your friends. You're overreacting. The world is not ending."

"Yes, sir." Remus stood up to leave.

"Expelliarmus."

He ducked just in time.

AN: I was missing my only pair of scissors for the longest time. You know where they were? On my desk. They were RIGHT THERE the whole time. "Plain sight" is an understatement—they'd just been there for so long that I could no longer see them. They'd become part of my desk. They'd become one with the universe itself. It wasn't until the veil was peeled away and my eyes were opened that I could finally see my lonely pair of scissors, betrayed and forgotten, staring at me like they have been doing so for the past six months. I feel like an idiot, but at least I am now an idiot who proudly owns a pair of scissors.