It was still cold, so Remus bundled up well the next day. He was still cold all day, but it walking around London with his family was fun anyway. They even went into a few Muggle shops and looked around. Remus' parents had never been so lenient when it came to letting Remus out of the house, and Remus was thankful that they'd remedied the fact. He could talk without fear of people overhearing him, point things out, and walk around. It was wonderful.

They entered the Leaky Cauldron and then Diagon Alley, laughing, joking, and teasing the whole way there. Remus' entire body was sore, and his leg hurt dreadfully, but he could deal with it. His fingernails were still growing back, so he was wearing bandages under thick winter gloves—but his parents didn't ask him about them every few seconds like Madam Pomfrey would (partly because they feared someone overhearing, and partly because they'd lived with Remus for years and knew that he could handle it). It was nice to be treated like something other than a weak and fragile china doll. Remus didn't always get that from his parents.

Upon entering Fortescue's, Remus caught a very familiar scent. "Peter!" he yelled, and waved his hand dramatically. His father put his hand on Remus' right shoulder, and Remus thought for a second that he shouldn't have done that, based on the worried look on his father's face. But Peter's face lit up and he waved back—so it couldn't be too bad, could it?

"Mother, may I go say hello to Remus; he's just over there..." Remus heard Peter whisper.

Then, both Peter and Mrs. Pettigrew were walking over to Remus and his parents. Peter was holding a strawberry ice-cream cone. "Remus!" he said, but he couldn't get anything else out before his mother started chattering excitedly.

"Oh, you must be Remus Lupin! Peter's told me ever so much about you, of course—even more than James Potter and Sirius Black, and that's really saying something. I think he's obsessed with those boys. Anyway, you're the one who tutors him! Thank you ever so much; Peter doesn't... well, he doesn't understand things easily, do you?" She glared at Peter, who quailed a bit. "He's a little lazy, just between you and me. But he tries, sometimes, and it's wonderful that you've brought his marks up so much! He says you're very patient and kind—good traits in someone your age, I must say. And that you get wonderful marks in school. May I switch you out with Peter?" She let out a tinkling laugh. "Only joking, only joking! I wouldn't give him up for the world, slow as he is." Peter grinned a little shakily, and Remus felt bad for him.

"And you must be Mr. and Mrs. Lupin!" Mrs. Pettigrew continued. "Good on you for raising such a bright boy. Mrs. Lupin—Peter says you're ill, you know. You don't look ill. Remus here looks ill—is he eating enough? You should feed him more. Oh, you're Lyall! I knew I recognized you. I was Slytherin Prefect, you know, so you may recognize me, too. Elora Pettigrew, you remember me! Anyway, it's so nice to see you again."

"My son isn't ill," said Remus' father stiffly, still holding Remus' shoulder in a death grip.

Remus rolled his eyes. Clearly, he hadn't inherited his lying abilities from his father. "Well, I was ill a couple of days ago," he said. "Muggle cold, you know; one's going around. Dad had it the week before me. But I'm okay now." He remembered reading somewhere that lying was more believable if one made up an embarrassing detail, so he whispered in Peter's direction, "Don't you dare tell James; he'll call me a china doll again."

Peter giggled and took a bite out of his strawberry cone. "Roger that," he whispered.

"Here, why don't you three sit with me and Peter?" said Mrs. Pettigrew, her eyes lighting up. "I was worried that Peter wouldn't make any friends, you know. It's so nice to know he has such a polite one. Here, you can call me Elora." Mrs. Pettigrew held out her hand for Remus to shake.

Remus stared at it. He couldn't shake her hand; she might feel the bandages underneath. And she looked like the type of woman who had a firm handshake—Remus' fingers still hurt and he didn't want them to be squeezed. So he pretended to be distracted by something. "Hey, Dad, do you know who that is? He looks familiar."

Remus' father saw what Remus was doing, so he tried his best to play along. "Hm, I think... no, that can't be... I'm not sure, Remus."

He was a terrible liar.

Mrs. Pettigrew dropped her hand and looked over. "Ooh, those are the Knickersons. Lovely family. Lovely." She looked Remus' dad over. "But there was a bit of a scandal, you know. They separated—were considering a divorce. I can tell you all about it..."

"No thank you," said Remus' father coolly. "I don't like to meddle in others' affairs."

Remus nearly slapped his own forehead. He knew that his father sometimes had a temper, particularly when he was tired. He knew that he couldn't always control his tongue. And he knew that gossip was a sensitive subject, what with Remus' lycanthropy and all. But still.

"Tell me more about the party, Peter," said Remus in mock excitement. "The pictures didn't do it justice."

"Yes, of course," said Peter. "Let's go sit over there, Mother."

"I'll order for you, Remus," said Remus' mother, but she looked as if she'd rather they weren't in the shop at all.

"No, we should go home," said Remus' father.

Remus shook his head from side-to-side eagerly. "Please may we stay? I really want to talk to Peter!"

Remus' father looked lost for words. His heartbeat was going haywire. "Er... I suppose."

"Vanilla, Remus?" asked Remus' mum.

"Yes, please."

Remus took his seat next to Peter, who grinned at him. "Vanilla? You're so boring, Remus."

Remus laughed and swatted Peter's arm. "You can't go wrong with vanilla."

"After my own heart," chuckled Mrs. Pettigrew. "That's what I've been trying to tell Peter—he always insists on getting fudge-chocolate-caramel or something of the sort. Too fancy for my tastes! But I got him to settle on strawberry this time, didn't I?"

Remus felt a little awkward. It hadn't really been her conversation to enter. But he smiled and nodded all the same.

"You know," Mrs. Pettigrew continued, "Peter was really thriving when he came home, probably thanks to your tutoring, Remus!" She winked, and Remus wasn't sure whether he should nod, wink, or smile, so he ended up merely blinking forcefully. "Knew an awful lot about a lot of topics. He can even do magic! I'd thought he was a Squib for the longest time. Figured Hogwarts must have made a mistake or whatnot." She laughed, even though it definitely wasn't funny. "But he was so knowledgeable and happy when he came home recently that I decided we'd go out for ice-cream. We don't often do that, by the way. Children have to earn their treats!"

She laughed again, and Remus' father smiled and narrowed his eyes. Uh-oh, thought Remus. That was his passive-aggressive look. It was obvious that he did not like Mrs. Pettigrew one bit.

"I don't know," said Remus' father lightly. "I think that sounds a bit like how you'd treat a dog. Children are different from dogs, you know."

"No, dogs are there for us to spoil," laughed Mrs. Pettigrew. "Children are there for us to teach!"

"Well, we don't seem to share parenting styles," said Remus' father, who was laughing all too brightly. "I've always been quite careful to make sure that Remus knows that his parents love him unconditionally, and I never speak badly of him to his face—or behind his back, for that matter. Improves confidence, you know. And you said yourself that my kid turned out all right, so..." He laughed again. "You know, it's all about variety. There's a time for everything."

Mrs. Pettigrew was silent, and Remus was glad for that. His father was not one to avoid hexing a girl.

Remus' father nudged Remus. "Look, Remus, there's your mother. We should probably leave in a few minutes."

Remus nodded. As long as they still had a few minutes left, Remus could still turn around the conversation; that way, his family wouldn't leave on a bad note. "How're your Easter holidays?" he asked Peter quietly—maybe, if Remus was quiet enough, then Mrs. Pettigrew (or Remus' father) wouldn't try to jump in.

"They were wonderful! I have two cousins, and they both came over. They even went to James' party! And James and Sirius and me had loads of fun—sorry you couldn't come; it was brilliant. How about you?"

"Mine were nice, too," said Remus truthfully. It had indeed been nice to be able to get up and walk around again, sleep in his own bed, and eat dinner with his family. Maybe not Peter's definition of 'nice', but nice nonetheless.

"Remus, it's time to go," said Remus' father, forcing the ice-cream cone into Remus' hand and ushering him out the door.

"Bye, Peter!" called Remus. "I'll see you after break!"

"Bye!"

"Goodbye, Lupins! Hope to see you soon!" cried Peter's mother, still doing that tinkly laugh of hers.

Remus' father shut the door to Fortescue's with a sort of slam and exhaled.

"It was fine, Dad," said Remus quietly.

"No, it was not. Mrs. Pettigrew is a gossip, and her son is your best friend. If he doesn't figure it out, she might."

"I'm a good liar."

Remus' father laughed and rubbed his neck sheepishly. "Certainly better than I am."

"I used to tell him that there was more information in his face than in an encyclopaedia," joked Remus' mum, but she still looked shaken. "You did well, honey."

"Mum. This is literally what I do every day at Hogwarts. I lie; it's my job. I'm good at it."

"Remus..."

"And furthermore, it's not like it's obvious. Is it obvious? I don't think it's obvious."

"It's not," said Remus' father quickly.

"I don't look like one. And I'm good at lying, so no one is ever going to figure it out after a ten-minute visit in an ice-cream shop. It's a lot easier if you just... relax..." Oh, so that was why Professor Questus was always telling Remus to control his emotions. Remus hadn't really realized how unbelievable simple, logical statements could seem until he'd watched his father try to lie. "We could have stayed and talked some," he finished. "Peter's my mate. My best friend."

"I know, love," said his mum. "But I'm afraid your father and I are a little more sensitive to lying."

Remus' heart stopped.

Could he lie so easily because of a lack of human decency? Was that what it was? Were his morals skewed, or his conscience torn, or something along those lines? Maybe normal people weren't supposed to lie so easily. Or was Remus just overthinking it again? "That's not what I meant," said his mother uncomfortably, as if reading his thoughts. "We aren't good at it. It's tiring. We're not used to it."

Well, that was a lie in and of itself. The Lupins had moved around so much and lied to so many neighbors that there was no possible way that his parents weren't used to it. What was so different about this time—was it just because they'd never lied to a friends of Remus' before? It didn't make any sense.

Lying, for Remus, was only survival. It was the only way. So why did it make him feel so guilty? It shouldn't.

Remus imagined Professor Questus, who would most certainly tell Remus that he shouldn't feel guilty about lying. That made Remus feel better, for some reason—so he swallowed the feelings of guilt and smiled at his parents.

"May we go home now?" he asked. "I'm tired."

"Yes, of course. Mum's car is parked nearby. Only a little further," said Remus' father.

Remus tried to nap in the car on the way home, but sleep didn't come.

He heard his parents talking that evening when he was supposed to be napping. They were outside, on the patio, so it was obvious that they didn't want him to hear. But he could hear them anyway, and it was too tempting to listen.

"He shouldn't have to lie all the time," said Remus' mother. "That's such an awful, tiring existence."

"It's either that or constant discrimination."

"That's the part I hate. I went through his bag the other day..."

"That's a bit of an invasion of privacy, don't you think?"

"I know. And I felt so bad afterwards, but I don't like not knowing things about him. He's never been out of my sight for more than one night before... oh, goodness, I can't believe it was half a year ago. I was curious."

"He's been writing to you every couple of days! You know plenty about him."

"I'm sorry! I shouldn't have. But I found this."

There was silence. Remus got out of bed and went through his bag to find out what was missing. He was a little angry at his mother, and he half-hoped that his father would get angry with her, too. It wasn't as if there was anything incriminating in his bag, but he did deserve his own life, didn't he?

"He's writing them down," Remus heard his father say.

Oh, it was A Documentation of the Life of Remus Lupin. Well, Remus was about to show his parents that, anyway. But he really would have liked to do that himself. He was proud of it, after all.

"He wrote to me about this a couple moons ago... said he was writing a novel. But I didn't think... about this. Some of it is so depressing. It's an autobiography, of sorts..."

Remus' father made an odd sort of choking noise and started reading a portion of it aloud. "Hope walked through the forest... she thought that something was going to jump out at her and eat her, like a werewolf." There was silence. Remus had forgotten about that part. "I can't tell if that's a joke or not...? He's never joked about werewolves before."

"No, he hasn't. That's not the only one, either; look at the paragraph up there. The child was completely normal: he was average weight and length and intelligence, and he was not Dark or strange whatsoever. And over here... Remus was gifted at Defense Against the Dark Arts (according to Professor Questus), which was not at all ironic, seeing as he was definitely not the manifestation of Dark magic himself..."

More silence. Remus cringed.

"I hope he doesn't actually think that he's the manifestation of Dark magic," said his father. 'You don't suppose he does?"

Remus' mother sighed. "You know Remus."

Another silence, and then Remus' father laughed. "Do I, though? Seems to me that he's changed a lot."

"He hasn't changed."

"He's got to grow up sometime, Hope."

"Well, that's stupid. Why can't he just stay three years old forever?"

"He's not three; he's eleven. Can you believe it? Eleven years old and at Hogwarts." Remus peeked out the window at his father, who was smiling broadly. "I never expected him to get to be independent, Hope. You have to be happy for him."

"I am!" said Remus' mother. "I guess I'm just sad for myself. I do so love being a mother."

Remus' father chuckled. "You'll still be a mother. Just a different kind of mother of a different kind of kid. He's so much better this way—healthier—happier—and he has friends."

"I don't mean to be selfish," said Remus' mum mournfully. "It's lonely without him, you know. But I'm happy that he's doing well, I am. You have to believe me."

"Of course I do. It's hard for me, too, you know. He hasn't really done any growing for years, and now it's all happening at once." Silence. "Seeing him after six months is strange, isn't it?"

"He looks so much older."

"His hair is so long. We should get it cut; it's always in his eyes."

"Who cuts students' hair at Hogwarts?"

"Usually we did it in the dormitory rooms. Older students would just let it grow. Sometimes we'd cut each other's hair, which always led to hilarity and bad haircuts. The matron did it, sometimes, but no one really wanted her help. And parents would cut their kids' hair over the summer."

"Doesn't look like Remus has had a haircut."

"I think he likes it long. It covers the scar on his neck..."

"Even so. He looks like a hobo. I'm going to cut it at some point... maybe not until the summer, but at some point."

"Better you than me. Remember last time I tried to...?" There was laughter. "Merlin's beard. I'm glad he's got you."

"He's gotten a lot more outspoken, hasn't he?"

"Yes, he has. It's a bit scary, sometimes. He's much more willing to talk about werewolves, isn't he?"

"Yes. You don't think he's..."

"No, he's not," said Remus' father firmly. Remus couldn't think for the life of him what they were talking about.

"Tell me about the family. The family of the two-year-old boy who died. You said that they were devastated."

"Oh, Hope. It was awful. It was such a large family... not just a mother and father, but... that boy was one of five children. An infant, a five-year-old... just the same age Remus was... a kid who looks to be Hogwarts age, and an adult. Oh... they were crying and clinging to each other, and the five-year-old... so much like Remus... was tugging on his mother's sleeve and asking what happened. I went over and tried to talk to them, but they weren't... you know, up for talking. The only thing I got was..."

"Yes?"

"The boy didn't die of his injuries. He was looking much better, like he was going to survive... at least until the full moon, you know..."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Remus knew exactly what they were talking about. The Healers were far too willing—with parents' permission—to "put down" a child with lycanthropy. He felt ill.

"Why did the parents even let the Healers heal their son, if they were going to...?"

"They hadn't decided yet." Remus' father paused. "And, in all honesty, it's a hard decision."

"What? How can you say that?! Remus..."

"Hope, we weren't sure whether he was going to survive. He wasn't even five yet. And for this family, especially... he was two. Either they'd lose their kid now, or he'd die in horrible pain on the full moon. And you remember how awful the month leading up was. Sometimes it's better. They weren't... malicious, to have made that decision."

"But he was a child, not a dog."

"I don't disagree, especially when there's a chance. And so little is known about werewolves that there's always a chance. That's what I told Mrs. Pettigrew, you know: children, not dogs. Merlin's beard, she got on my nerves..."

The conversation shifted, and Remus crawled back to bed and fell asleep. He didn't feel well all of a sudden.

Nimbus: April Fool's day was the day before Easter. We totally missed it.
Red: No, we didn't. You played that trick on your mum, remember? With the toilet paper and the trick wand and the squirrel?
Nimbus: That wasn't for April Fool's Day. That was just a normal day.
Red: Oh.
Nimbus: So now we need to plan something HUGE.
Sheep: Oh, joy.
Nimbus: I have a fully-formed plan already. I just wanted to ask you first 'cos it's common courtesy. Here, let me draw out the steps...

1. We learn instruments.

Sheep: This is completely impractical.
Nimbus: Shhhhh.

2. We learn a song.
3. We practice the song.
4. We start a band.
5. We perform a song after Easter hols every year
6. This can be achieved by standing on top of the tables.
7. Said song will get more spectacular each year!

Nimbus: What do you think?
Sheep: I think
Red: We know what you think. I like it. I can sing.
Nimbus: You're a good singer. Not as good as me, but...
Red: Shut up, Nimbus. You sound like Moaning Myrtle in pain when you sing.
Goldfish: I can play the recorder.
Nimbus: Brilliant! And Dad'll buy me an electric guitar.
Sheep: You realize that this song is
Red: Going to sound terrible, yes. That's the fun of it.
Sheep: Well... I can do the lighting.
Nimbus: What a wet blanket.
Sheep: No, I mean I can do the lighting. I think there's a spell for fancy flashing lights, just like at a concert. And no one will know it's me, so I can catch you up on all the Hogwarts gossip after you're expelled.
Red: ...
Nimbus: Wicked! This is so happening. Goldfish and Red, you can come to my house tomorrow to rehearse. Do you think you can come, Sheep?

Remus thought about it. His parents had told him that he couldn't go to James' party because the full moon had been coming up... but now that it had passed...

All the same, he wasn't feeling wonderful without Madam Pomfrey's professional care. And he knew, after the encounter with Mrs. Pettigrew, that his parents would be very reluctant to let him go. He didn't want to hurt them any further.

Sheep: No. Mum's so happy to see me that she'll never let me go.
Nimbus: Awww. You'll practice lighting on your own, yeah?
Sheep: Of course.

He closed the notebook and tried to go to sleep—it was nearly nine o'clock.

But, as he imagined his friends standing on tabletops, singing songs, dancing around... he was laughing far too hard to get any sort of sleep whatsoever.

AN: LOL sorry for posting so late—my internet unexpectedly crashed. It's back now, though (hopefully for good!).