"So, tell us again how the teachers are treating you," Remus' father requested. "Not giving you unfair? Or staring? Or saying things that make you uncomfortable?"

"They're doing as well as they can, given the circumstances," said Remus quickly. He knew his parents tended to worry about prejudice, even though they didn't always say it outright. "Professor Questus doesn't care at all, and neither does Professor Flitwick."'

"I'm still not sure I like your Professor Questus," said Remus' mother. "Are you sure he treats you well?"

"Yes. He's teaching me to duel, remember? He's really straightforward, but sometimes it's nice. And he's a very good teacher."

Remus' father sighed. "If you say so, Remus. I remember Flitwick. Filius, right? He was a Prefect when I was in school. Good kid. I hear he became a duelling champ. Come to think of it, why isn't he teaching you how to duel?"

"Professor Questus offered. He's the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, so it makes sense... and he was an Auror. A really good one, I think. I like him, Dad."

"All right. I believe you. It's just... I don't remember him much from the Ministry, but I've heard of him. He's not always... polite, is he? Not very tactful?"

Remus smiled. "Not one bit."

"I heard that he tends to treat sensitive topics... a bit crassly."

"Tends to, yeah."

"I know how much you don't like to talk about it, Remus. I hope he doesn't push you."

Remus narrowed his eyebrows. He wasn't the one who didn't like to talk about werewolves (which was what he assumed his father meant by 'it'). Remus didn't mind talking about them so much anymore. No, it was his parents who minded. Every time that Remus tried to talk about it, his father would become guilty, his mother would cry, and then Remus would be uncomfortable. "He's nice about asking questions," Remus said stoutly, even though it wasn't entirely true. "I don't mind one bit."

Remus' father looked stunned for a moment, perhaps at Remus' admission that Professor Questus did ask questions, Remus did answer them, and that Remus liked Professor Questus regardless. Remus' parents did tend to underestimate Remus. But then the shock faded away, and Remus' father forced a smile. "Very well," he said. "Do you want to play a game? Cribbage, perhaps?"

"Actually, I'd like to go to bed. I know it's early, but I'm really, really tired. Big week."

Remus' father looked as if he wanted to protest, but Remus' mother (thankfully) cut in. "Rest as much as you need to, honey," she said, giving her husband a disapproving look.

Remus retreated to his room and stared at the ceiling, listening to his parents talking. He had missed his room. The window was firmly covered with a bookshelf—there was only a small strip of window on the side from which he could see his backyard—and the whole thing was just as clean as he'd left it. His sheets were pea green, not red. There was a drawing that he'd done of his family on his wall—but, seeing as he was only six when he'd done it, it was pretty unrecognizable. There was a small green rug that his mother had made for him, and it matched the bedsheets almost exactly.

Hogwarts was wonderful, but being back in his own home made Remus feel a certain way that nothing on earth could replicate—not even Albus Dumbledore himself.

Remus changed into his pajamas and wrapped his Gryffindor blanket around him, allowing Bufo to sleep on his chest instead of on the unwearable knit Gryffindor hat that had become Bufo's pillow. Bufo made tiny snoring noises, and Remus tried not to laugh. Giggling would only wake Bufo up.

Remus stared at the ceiling some more, letting the fact that he was home sink in... and then he heard his parents talking.

Eavesdropping was very rude, of course.

But Remus did it anyway.

"I feel awful," he heard his mum say. "Awful. He's so good by himself. We didn't have to keep him home all this time."

"It's all my fault, anyway. If I hadn't..."

"He doesn't blame you, Lyall."

"He should. Instead he blames himself, doesn't he? Just for existing. He's too old, Hope. I mean... he acts too old for twelve."

"I know. Takes too much personal responsibility."

"Exactly. You heard what he said in the car? He 'shouldn't be getting close to people anyway'? That's not his to worry about."

"I heard. I agree completely. It's Dumbledore's job to keep him safe, isn't it? Not his."

"I'm glad he's being responsible, of course, but he's only stressing himself out. Twelve-year-olds should not be so ridiculously mature. Hardly even argued when we said that he couldn't visit the Potters, even though he clearly wanted to."

"Do you... do you think we should let him? Just this once, and see how it goes?"

"I..." Remus heard a clink and figured that his father had put a teacup down. "I know we're probably making the same mistakes that we've made with him all his life, but... I can't make myself agree to it. It's going to be a rough transformation anyway, and he needs to rest..."

"You're right. I wish... oh, this is stupid, Lyall. He shouldn't have to be like this."

"And he shouldn't have to hide it, either." Remus' father fell silent for a minute—a literal minute. A minute was a very long time, and Remus nearly fell asleep... but then his father began speaking again, and Remus jerked awake so suddenly that he nearly catapulted Bufo off his chest. "The world doesn't work in the way we want it to work," Remus' father said.

"It's hard," said Remus' mother, and Remus was afraid that she was about to tear up. Fortunately, the tears disappeared from her voice completely as she said, "But... he looks good, doesn't he? There's a lot more color to him. Even more than we saw in January, I think."

"You're right. And seven pounds. That's remarkable."

"Poppy is a good woman."

"I wonder why we couldn't give him that. It speaks volumes to our parenting skills that he's doing so much better at school than he was at home."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we protected him from everything: from friends, from every remotely stressful situation we could, and even from bad memories. We cared for him all hours of the day. We never left him to his own devices, and we kept him entertained as much as possible. And now he's in school—hardly monitored at all compared to our hovering, talking to people, taking tests, under constant stress, in a new environment... and he's still doing so much better than he was at home."

"We did the best we could, didn't we?"

"He's not a project, Hope. He's a kid—a living, breathing individual with emotions. We have to do better than our best."

Remus heard his mother groan. "We completely failed, didn't we?"

Remus' insides felt all squishy. Was he really so bad that his parents thought that they had failed? Should he be less well-behaved? That seemed counterproductive, but Remus would be willing to try it if the situation called for it. They hadn't failed; they were brilliant parents...

"Stop it, Hope," said Remus' father. "You didn't fail. You're a Muggle with a wizard child... a werewolf wizard child! You accomplished amazing things without magic, and you even switched places with me as the stay-at-home parent when I gave up because I was too stressed. It was MY responsibility, as the head of the family, as your wife, as his father, and as a trained wizard, to make sure that Remus was safe and happy... and I failed multiple times, countless times... I'm so STUPID! This is all my fault in the first place, so I should have been the one to fix it... but you ended up doing so much more than I did."

"Lyall... it wasn't your fault."

"It was! A werewolf, an actual werewolf, and I knew he was! I knew that werewolves prefer children. Our child's name is Remus Lupin. Remus. Lupin. How did I fail to think? How did I not see that... Hope, he threatened me! I knew he was coming! I knew what could have happened, but I didn't even think for a second... Remus. I thought it would be me! Who... what kind of sick, twisted, evil... attacks a child...?"

"It was a tragic accident."

"It was not an accident! It was revenge for something I did! Me! And there's no way to undo it! Do you understand?"

"We have this conversation at least twice a year, Lyall, and you know how I feel about it. It was not your fault. It was the fault of the sick, twisted, evil werewolf who attacked our son. This conversation was entertaining the first time, but now it's just redundant. I'm bored of having it, and you need to shut up and accept the fact that Remus is..."

"Cursed." There was a small thump, and Remus didn't know what it was. Perhaps it was his father's arm falling onto the armrest of the chair, or a stomped foot in annoyance, or maybe Remus' father's head knocking against the headrest. "Come Thursday, he'll look like something out of a nightmare. And it should have been me."

"Perhaps it should have. But it wasn't, and your incessant guilt isn't going to change that."

"I wish there was a way..."

Remus couldn't stand it anymore. He wrapped the blanket around himself more tightly, placed Bufo on his shoulder, and pattered downstairs. "Dad."

Remus' father's face went bright red and he stared at Remus, wide-eyed. "I thought you were asleep."

"No."

"Remus, honey..." said his mother. "We didn't mean for you to..."

"Clearly, I need to get something straight," said Remus sharply. He didn't look as intimidating in his Gryffindor blanket as he would have liked, but it would have to do. He tried his best to channel Professor Questus, but it was difficult to do with a toad on his shoulder. "I'm not dead."

"Why would you think that we...?"

"I'm not dead, and I'm not dying. I go to school, I have friends, I get good marks, and I'm taking duelling lessons. I can cast nonverbal spells... sort of. I have a pet toad and a pet Boggart and a very nice matron and two parents who love me... and I'm in Gryffindor, which is the best House. I have hobbies and things I like to do, and I'm very happy most of the time. Well. Mostly happy. So please stop acting like you accidentally murdered your son, because I'm right here. And I'm fine."

"Remus..."

"Furthermore, you did not fail as parents. Do I look like a failed experiment? I am okay. I am fine. I am happy. There are good things and bad things about my life, and just because the bad things are a little harder to manage doesn't mean that they cancel out the good. I'm okay."

"Of course you..."

"And Dad, it's not your fault. You did everything you could. You saved my life, didn't you? Multiple times over. Bad things happen. I'd rather live like this than not live at all."

"Honey..."

"I don't want you to worry about me, I just want you to..." Remus stopped. "I don't know what I want you to do, actually, but it isn't that. No offense, but I'm getting rather tired of the complaining. Maybe you could keep talking about my three friends. Seven pounds. Good marks. That's a lot better, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry, dear," said his mother, and sat on the couch beside Remus. "We didn't mean to. It's hard, watching you suffer, and children aren't supposed to suffer more than their parents."

"Yeah," Remus mumbled. "But they do, sometimes. And shaking your fist at the Dark Arts isn't going to get you anywhere." He paused, and then quoted Professor Questus directly: "The Dark Arts wait for no one, you know."

Remus' father sat on his other side and pulled Remus to his chest. "When did you get so clever? What is that school teaching you?"

Remus chuckled, feeling his eyelids grow heavy. Arguing tended to tire him out. He hardly ever argued with his parents—after all, they'd always treated him like he was made of glass. Like a little fragile china doll. Merlin's beard, Remus hated that. He'd love to be in trouble every once in a while.

And that's how he fell asleep—curled up against his father with his mother stroking his hair.

It was childish, but Remus could let himself be a child. Just this once. He was only twelve, after all.

"I was going to let you sleep," said Remus' father, and Remus awoke with a start, "but I can't. I have to tell you something."

Remus blinked blearily. "This had better be important, Dad."

"Oh, it is. You mentioned in your little speech earlier that Gryffindor was the best House. As your older and wiser father, I feel a need to correct you. I can't let this slide."

Remus groaned. "Or you could let me sleep."

"It's Ravenclaw, and I've devised seventeen talking points while you were sleeping. First, there's the issue of the dormitories..."

"Dad, it's one in the morning!"

Remus' father chuckled. "I'm only joking. Go back to sleep."

Remus woke up the next day and slowly removed his father's arm from his shoulder to find the notebook and wish James a happy birthday. He sneaked upstairs, rummaged in his trunk as quietly as possible, and pulled out the notebook—to his surprise, it had already been written in.

Nimbus: Sheep. Sheep! Sheep. Sheep, can you come to my party? Your dad said you and him would "talk about it".
Red: Sheep. Come on. Sheep.
Goldfish: Sheep!
Nimbus: Anyway. You can come, right, Goldfish?
Goldfish: Yes! I'm so exited.
Red: It's spelt "excited," Goldfish.
Goldfish: Sorry. By the way, happy birthday James!
Nimbus: My name isn't James.
Goldfish: Nimbus! I meant Nimbus.
Red: When are you coming over, Goldfish? Festivities are already starting.

Remus picked up a quill and pressed it to the notebook, excited, nervous, and disappointed all at once. He had a feeling that he was going to be feeling rather left-out today.

Sheep: I'm almost afraid to ask what you mean by "festivities".
Red: Sheep!
Nimbus: Hi, Sheep! Can you come can you come?
Sheep: No, sorry. Strict parents.
Nimbus: Whyyyyyy?
Sheep: I haven't done my chores. And they're afraid to let me go places that they haven't thoroughly inspected themselves. Overprotective, you know.
Nimbus: They're invited, too.
Sheep: My mum is far too poorly to go anywhere, James, and she can't be alone in case something happens.
Nimbus: It's not James!
Sheep: Fine. Nimbus. I'm sorry; I really wish I could go.
Nimbus: It's fine. At least you tried.
Red: It's not fine. He used a semicolon. Only annoying people use semicolons.
Sheep: Only idiots don't.
Goldfish: What's a semicolon?
Red: Merlin's beard.
Sheep: A period stacked on top of a comma.
Goldfish: Oh.
Sheep: Anyway, happy birthday, James. I have to go; my mum is making breakfast. Keep me updated if anything super important happens!
Nimbus: It's not James! And okay. And thank you! And see you later!
Red: And you used another semicolon, you git.
Sheep: I'm not a git; I just like proper grammar.
Red: o yea then tak this
Sheep: Sayonara, you goof.

Remus set the notebook aside and watched it for a few minutes, but nobody wrote anything else. They were probably having fun at James', he thought bitterly. But he couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his face as he read and re-read the writing on the pages. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Just then, a picture appeared on the next page. Remus picked up the notebook so quickly that he almost flung it across the room. It was a photo of James and Sirius—James was wearing a funny hat and Sirius was sticking his tongue out. Writing spread across the bottom.

Nimbus: Hey, photographs work in the notebook, too! That's pretty cool.
Red: Wow, sweet!
Goldfish: I'm on my way over!

Remus put it down and walked downstairs, still smiling. His mother was indeed making breakfast. "I'm sorry, Remus," she said. "I didn't mean to fall asleep like that all night. I hope you don't have a crick in your neck."

"I'm all right," said Remus, who had slept under much worse circumstances. "What are you making?"

"Porridge. I know you don't like it, but it's the only thing we have right now."

Remus didn't mind so much. He didn't like porridge, but he was pretty hungry. Then he remembered his mum saying that he acted too mature for his age—he didn't want to upset her, so he made a face. "Gross," he said, but it just sounded forced. "Where's Dad?"

"Work already. You know he has to leave early. Here, the porridge is done." She handed Remus a bowl, and Remus ate it hesitantly. He wasn't hungry, for some reason, and it tasted horrible, but he knew that he should eat lest he lose the seven pounds that his parents were so happy about. "How are you feeling, dear?"

"Pretty okay. Hey, Mum..." He hesitated, knowing that it was a lot to ask. "May we get James a birthday present?"

"Of course," she said, and Remus nearly breathed a sigh of relief. He always felt awful asking for things when money was tight—though he supposed that money was a lot less tight now that his parents had one less mouth to feed. "That sounds lovely, Remus. What would you like to get him?"

Remus thought hard, but he couldn't think of a single thing that James didn't already have. "I'll probably just make him something, actually. But I'm not sure what."

"Well, what does he like?"

"Quidditch. He really, really likes Quidditch. And he doesn't like cockroaches."

Remus' mum rolled her eyes. "Well, we aren't going to get him a cockroach, I can tell you that. And I don't know much about Quidditch, though your father talks about it sometimes. Oh, talking of magical things that I don't understand—an owl came for you today with a newspaper of sorts."

"That's the Daily Prophet," said Remus. "James let me have his subscription since he only ever reads it for the Quidditch. Now his owl comes to find me every morning and delivers it."

"That's nice of him," said Remus' mum. "He seems like a kind boy."

Kind wasn't really the word. But he was generous, to be certain. "Yeah," said Remus, "which is why I need to get him something in return."

"Well, we could always make him something to eat. Owl post is remarkably fast. We could make him a pie, perhaps? I like making pies."

"I don't think so. His family's wealthy, Mum. I don't know what I could get him that he doesn't already have."

"I got that from his manners and clean robes," said Remus' mum, smiling. "I know this sounds horribly platitudinous, but it's the thought that counts. So what else does he like?"

"Well, he likes..." Remus' eyes suddenly got wide. "Ah! I got it! Thanks, Mum!"

Then he raced upstairs to start planning.

Dear Professor Questus,

Good morning. This is Remus Lupin. James Potter's birthday is today, and I was wondering if you would help me orchestrate a present of sorts. Seeing as his family is extremely wealthy, I wasn't exactly sure what to get him, so now I'm just going to torture him a bit—and simultaneously take him down a few pegs, arrogance-wise. How willing would you be to...

Lupin—

Normally, I wouldn't do this, but Potter absolutely deserves it. It was a good idea to include Black. I'm going to make a few minor adjustments to the plan. It'll have to wait until mid/late April, but it's a sound idea.

—Prof. Q.

Remus smiled and got to making a birthday card for James.

Nimbus: Thanks for the birthday card, Sheep!
Sheep: No problem... Nimbus. Urgh, I hate these code names. How did your day go?
Nimbus: It was so much fun. Red and Goldfish are sleeping over. So is Marcellus. And Janice. And Goldfish invited two of his cousins, too. We're staying up until two in the morning!
Sheep: Well, I am most certainly not.
Nimbus: Fragile.
Sheep: No.
Nimbus: China.
Sheep: No.
Nimbus: Doll.
Sheep: Good night.

"Dad! How was work?"

"It went well!" Remus' father picked Remus up into the air and swung him around. Remus shrieked. "Dad, I'm way too old for that."

"Gain more weight and I'll consider stopping," said Remus' father, waggling his finger in Remus' face and setting him down. "On that note, how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, Dad."

"Good, good. Do you want to take Garrison out with me?"

"Yes!" Remus hadn't seen Garrison in ages. Every time he walked past the cupboard, it would jiggle as if Garrison was trying to get out and scare Remus, but Remus wasn't allowed to open the door without his father. He'd missed Garrison at Hogwarts nearly as much as he'd missed his own family.

The two of them walked up to the cupboard, and Remus' father opened it nonverbally. A werewolf burst out.

Remus hated this part; his father's Boggart disturbed him even more than his own. The wolf was not Greyback—well, Remus didn't think so, but it had been sort of hard to identify the werewolf when it was trying to kill Remus—and it was not Remus either (whom Remus' father had never seen in wolf form. No one had). It was probably a combination of the pictures that Remus' father had seen while studying Remus' condition alone in his study.

Remus looked at its claws and fangs and yellow eyes. He saw it snapping at him, drool dripping from his mouth... Remus stepped back instinctively and heard his own heart speed up. It was so different from the werewolf that had attacked him seven years ago, but still so similar... and he knew it wasn't real, but it revulsed Remus to know that he looked something like that one night a month.

"Riddikulus!" said Remus' father immediately. He knew that the wolf made Remus uncomfortable, so he never studied the Boggart for long in that form—at least not around Remus. The Boggart immediately turned into a puppy. Remus' father watched it chase its tail and grinned. "This is the marvelous thing about Boggarts," he said. "We can have any pet we want."

Remus didn't like dogs. "Would you turn it into something else, please?"

"Oh, of course, son. I forgot. Riddikulus." Now it was a peacock. It strutted around grandly, puffing out its feathers. Remus giggled; it reminded him a bit of James.

When it wandered too close to Remus, it turned into a full moon, shining white and bright above his head. Remus' father tossed Remus his wand, and Remus cast the spell—not nonverbally, and with some difficulty (since the wand was so different) but admirably nonetheless. Now it was a fish, swimming through the air.

Remus and his father played this sometimes—it was almost like playing catch. A Boggart wouldn't transform until it wandered too close to someone else, so they would observe it and talk while changing it back and forth. Remus rushed to his bag and pulled out his wand so that he could practice it nonverbally. He'd missed this game. It was a good way to have important conversations without focusing too much on the conversation itself, and he always seemed to think best when he was batting a Boggart around with his father.

"I know you don't like to talk about this, but tell me more about the full moons at Hogwarts," said Remus' father, and Remus suddenly decided that he didn't like Boggart Catch much after all.

"What can I tell you that I haven't written to you about already?"

"Just walk me through your routine. The letters don't do it justice."

"Er..." Remus cast the spell nonverbally, and the moon became a Red Cap. "I wake up..."

"Early. Four or five, still?"

"About. And then I get my bag and leave the dormitory. James is a really light sleeper, but I wake up early on a couple other days, too, so I can make excuses pretty easily when he asks where I'm going."

"He doesn't suspect?"

"No, Dad." Remus didn't want to tell his father about James' suspicions about Remus' mum, so he didn't. "Then I go to the Hospital Wing, and I stay in Madam Pomfrey's office—you know, more privacy—and I try to sleep. Either that or I read a book. It's nicer in there than it is wandering the common room, and a lot more quiet, too. If I'm really bad off she gives me a Sleeping Draught. I mostly sleep the whole day, and then at around five-thirty I change and we go to the..." Remus did not want to say Shrieking Shack in front of his father, either. "Whomping Willow. And she pokes the knot with a stick and we go in and climb through the tunnel, and then I wait in the building until morning." It wasn't completely accurate to say the word waiting, because wolves didn't sit around patiently and wait for morning. But Remus knew that his father understood.

"And then in the morning..." Remus' father turned the werewolf to a sheep, and Remus smiled.

"She comes back and cleans me up, heals me a little there, and then we walk back to the castle. Then she gives me a potion to help with the pain and heals me up a little more, and then a Sleeping Draught. I usually wake up late morning, and then she gets me something to eat."

"And for the rest of the day?"

Remus flicked his wand at the moon, and now it was a very small Unicorn. "I read. I nap. I eat some more and revise and write essays. And then I go to sleep. The potions wear off at about one in the morning and I wake up, but then I can go right back to sleep. She always makes me stay the next day, too, to heal a little more before I go to classes. I'm in the Hospital Wing forever."

"She sounds very responsible."

"She is! I don't know what I'd do without her." Remus's father turned the werewolf to a desk lamp—now the game was virtually over, since desk lamps didn't move. "Dad, it's not that bad. And there's nothing else you can do about it. I'm doing better at school because Madam Pomfrey has unlimited potions and things, not because you've failed as a parent or whatever."

"I can't help but feel guilty."

"Well, stop it. I feel fine."

Remus' father plastered a fake smile onto his face and put Garrison away. "Okay. I'm sure you do. Do you have any homework?"

"I have to revise a little. End-of-term exams are in..." Remus's eyes grew wide. "Merlin's beard, Dad, they're in two months."

Remus' father laughed. "You'll do well; I know you will. What would you like for supper?"

Remus smiled back. He hated fake smiles and sad eyes, but they were infinitely better than genuine pity—so he supposed he should be thankful.

AN: I finished editing this at exactly midnight! It must be a sign. Of what, I don't know... but it must be a sign nonetheless!