Remus knocked on the DAD door on Tuesday, and Professor Questus opened it almost immediately. "Lupin. You're late."

Remus looked at his watch and made a face. "Only by three minutes, Professor."

"Exactly. One hundred and eighty seconds. One hundred and eighty billion nanoseconds. Five hundred and eighty-seven septillion yoctoseconds."

"Yocto... what?"

"A septillionth of a second."

Remus entered the classroom and paused. "Sir, with all due respect, I don't think your multiplication is quite..."

"Expelliarmus."

Remus' wand clattered to the floor, and he sighed. "That was a strategy, wasn't it? You were trying to distract me." He'd had his wand in his hand the whole time—in fact, he'd told himself that he wouldn't fall for a surprise attack today—but he had indeed been distracted and had already failed. They were only two minutes into the lesson. That wasn't a great start.

"Distractions like those only work on absolute perfectionists like you, though," said Questus, smiling. He summoned Remus' wand and then tossed it to him; Remus caught it without hesitation, which brought up his confidence slightly.

They tried to duel for the next twenty minutes. Remus only lost fifteen times, which was an improvement. To be fair, they'd only duelled fifteen times... but still. The duels, at least, were lasting a bit longer.

"So what spell did you use to—Expelliarmus—do the lights on Sunday?"

"Protego! Why does everyone assume—Expelliarmus—that it was me?"

Questus blocked the spell wordlessly and sent another one back. "It was rather obvious."

"Protego! How so? Melifors."

"Stop using that spell, Lupin. You're getting too predictable. Expelliarmus. You were mumbling to yourself. What else would you have been saying besides incantations?"

"Protego. I was saying... Expelliarmus... and I quote... Flipendo... Protego... 'My friends are so stupid. My friends are so stupid. My friends are so, so stupid.'"

Questus put up a shield and smirked. "That checks out, though I still don't believe you. Take a break."

Remus gaped. "I didn't lose this one," he said in absolute shock and wonder. "We finished early and no one was disarmed, so it's a draw."

"Expelliarmus."

The spell was ten times faster than the ones that Professor Questus usually used, and Remus did not successfully hold on to his wand. But still! "You ended the duel already!" argued Remus. "It's too late! I didn't lose!"

Questus rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. But you didn't win, either."

"But... I didn't lose. And that means you didn't win."

"Quiet, you," said Questus, who was now looking rather grumpy.

Remus laughed and sat down, breathing heavily from twenty minutes of dodging spells. He didn't gloat any further, knowing that Questus was far too competitive and would probably hex him to Australia... but, even though it hadn't been Remus' doing, he was very proud of himself.

Questus dashed his happiness with one small question: one that Remus definitely didn't want to think about in his moment of joy. "Your friends don't suspect?" he asked.

"I'd be gone if they did," said Remus dully. It was a fair question, but he had hoped to forget about the whole werewolf thing for a few moments, at least.

"Good," said Questus, and he didn't talk about it any further. "I think we can wrap lessons up after you successfully block three offensive spells nonverbally. Sounds reasonable, right?"

An hour later, they wrapped it up.

Remus wasn't used to having his friends in the dormitory every evening instead of detention, but he wasn't complaining, either.

Until, of course, the day that James looked up from his essay (which he was actually working quite hard on, to Remus' surprise) and casually asked Remus what his Animagus form was.

"Er, what?"

"Your Animagus form. Is it a sheep? Peter thinks it is, but I think it's got to be more vicious for it to work properly. I'm right, aren't I? I usually am."

"...What? Vicious? Work? What are you on about?"

"It makes sense, doesn't it? Sirius and Peter and me were researching over the summer. Sirius still doesn't believe it, but even he admitted that it made sense."

"Grudgingly," Sirius added.

"Yeah. Your mum is a werewolf, she transforms every full moon, and she can't be near humans. And if half-werewolves don't exist, then you must somehow be non-human in another way. So we decided that you're an Animagus—like Minerva—and you transform into an animal along with your mum. We researched very thoroughly. Animagi have all the characteristics of their animal when transformed—except for their minds—and werewolves won't hurt animals. So you become an animal that'll keep your mum under control, and you keep her company."

Remus stared. "No," he said.

"It would explain a lot," said Peter tentatively. "Like your good senses—maybe traits carry over?"

"All the books said that traits don't carry over. But maybe the books are wrong," said James, "since there are only seven Registered Animagi in Great Britain."

"And it also explains why you didn't tell us something as big as your mum being a werewolf," Sirius added. "You definitely should have let us know right off the bat; if you're half-werewolf, that's information we need to know before we decide to be your friend. That's part of the reason why I didn't believe it before." Remus felt immeasurably guilty. "But if you're an Animagus, then you're literally breaking the law. James and Peter and I checked the Registry, and you're not Registered. So of course you didn't want to tell anyone and go to Azkaban. We understand now."

"It's okay," said James hurriedly. "We won't tell a soul. And it's perfectly okay with us. Even Sirius is going to keep being your friend if your mum's a werewolf."

"Yeah." Sirius shrugged. "I thought about it. We're not our family, right? I realized that judging you for your mum is just as bad as someone judging me for mine. We're not our parents."

Remus felt even more horribly, awfully guilty. "Sirius—"

"And," added James, wiggling his eyebrows, "being an Animagus would be pretty helpful in, ah... troublemaking activities..."

"So what are you?" asked Peter. "Please tell me you're not something scary."

Remus shook his head violently. "I am not an Animagus," he said. "I haven't lied to you. I stand by what I said before. I am not an Animagus."

"Prove it," said Sirius lazily, casting dots of light on the wall. Remus had taught him the spell earlier that day, and Sirius had learned it in about a sixteenth of the time that it had taken Remus.

Remus scrunched up his eyes and thought of sheep. Then he opened them and looked down. "See? Still human," he said triumphantly. Well. He wasn't. But it was the thought that counted.

"That doesn't prove much."

"How do you want me to prove it, then?"

James' eyes gleamed. "If you transform into an Animagus, right now, I'll give you twenty Galleons. And we won't tell anyone about you or your mum, and we'll keep being your friend. And I'll never call you a china doll again. And I'll stop bugging you about not eating. And we'll stop hexing students in the corridor. And we'll call off the Whomping Willow game we started..."

"The what?"

James looked guilty. "Er..."

"James Salazar Potter. What do you mean?"

"My middle name is not Salazar."

"Stop avoiding the subject and tell me right this instant."

James rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I might have told a couple friends that I'd give ten Galleons to whoever could touch the... trunk of the... Whomping Willow... first. You know, yesterday. When you were with John."

Remus groaned. "Call off the bet, James."

"No! Not till you transform into an Animagus." James stopped looking guilty and now looked downright sly. "Think of all the lives you could save..."

"I... I can't! I'm not an Animagus, James!" Remus felt like crying. He couldn't believe, simply couldn't fathom, the fact that they'd gone and done that. "It bothered me before, remember? I don't like people touching the tree! Why would you do that? I thought you understood!"

"It was fun," said James defensively. "And harmless. And has an awesome name: "Winner of the Willow." I came up with it myself. Isn't it cool? And think of all I'm offering you. You just have to transform one time—you're losing absolutely nothing. We won't even use your Animagus abilities for evil... well, not if you don't want. And we're not promising we won't pressure you a little."

Remus felt sort of like crying, but that definitely wouldn't convince James of his not-a-china-doll status. "I'm not!"

"Go on... it'll only take a second."

"I would if I could, James! But I'm not! And my mum isn't a werewolf, and I don't know how to prove it to you! Would you please just believe me?" He wiped his eyes as stealthily as possible. "I wouldn't lie to you," he whispered, still feeling the knot of guilt threatening to tear his insides apart.

His friends stared at him silently, and then James finally nodded. "Okay. You're not an Animagus. I believe you." He hopped off of his bed and yawned. "And the Winner of the Willow thing was a bluff. Just so you know."

Remus hardly dared to believe it. "Really?" The knot dissolved, bit by bit. They were safe. People were safe.

"Yep. I didn't promise anyone any money."

Remus relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Instead," James continued, "Sirius suggested it for free, and now they're all doing it just for fun. I knew it would bother you and I told him not to, but..." James shrugged. "You know Sirius."

The knot returned, more vicious and uncomfortable than ever.

"They seem to be having fun," said Sirius. "No one's going to get hurt."

"You're not angry?" asked Peter.

Remus was. He really, really was—at Sirius, at James, at Peter, at Dumbledore, and especially, especially himself.

In through his nose. Out through his mouth. Sirius wasn't being malicious; he just didn't understand Remus' aversion to the Willow. How could he? Remus hadn't told him, of course. And besides, Sirius clearly wasn't used to having to empathize with people. His family didn't seem to, so Remus didn't know where he would have learned it from.

Remus donned a fake smile worthy of his father and then shook his head. "Nope. Not angry. I was overreacting, anyhow. It's fun to argue with you lot." He glanced at Sirius, who genuinely seemed to be completely unaware of anything that he had done wrong.

James hit him with a pillow, and then everything seemed almost normal.

He woke up early the next morning and showed up at Dumbledore's office, knocking politely. "Professor."

The door creaked open. "Remus. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Do you have time to talk?"

"Of course, of course." Dumbledore stepped aside to let Remus in, and Remus took a step forward. As soon as he did, however, Dumbledore stepped in front of him again. "Pardon me, Remus, but I need to take care of something first."

"Okay, sir."

Dumbledore smiled and shut the door, and Remus listened carefully to the noises of fabric swooshing. Ah, he thought. The portraits. The knot grew bigger.

Then the door opened again, and Dumbledore was still smiling. "Come in. Crumpet?"

"No, thank you." Remus took a seat and inhaled deeply. The knot seemed to be pushing into his lungs.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers, his expression still as pleasant as ever. "You'll have to excuse me. It's still morning, and I haven't taken off my slippers quite yet. I find them to be quite comfortable; they were a gift from Professor McGonagall."

Remus nodded. He wasn't sure what to say. The slippers in question were large, fluffy, and shaped like snowy owls. "They're very nice."

"Why, thank you—now I'm blushing. Now, why don't you tell me about whichever problem has propelled you here like a cat in a cannon?"

Remus inhaled again, trying not to dwell on the weird analogy. "The Whomping Willow," he said. He wasn't sure what to say next, so he paused and tried to figure out how to phrase it.

"What about it?" Dumbledore finally prompted (after about three minutes). Remus realized that three minutes was a very, very long time to think, and he snapped out of it.

"People are playing this... this game. They're trying to touch the trunk of the Willow..."

"I heard about that." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily. "Children certainly have a way of getting into mischief, do they not?"

Remus figured that he was probably making a playful reference to the Musical Marauders, but now was not the time. "They could get hurt!"

"No more so than a game of Quidditch, or a swim in the Black Lake," said Dumbledore, and Remus began to hate him.

"You can't just let them play a game as dangerous as that!"

"I have asked the teachers to discourage it whenever they see it happening. I am not that irresponsible, Remus. You can trust me."

"But..."

"Young wizards are surprisingly resilient, though. I seriously doubt that the Whomping Willow could kill someone. Usually it constrains itself to seriously injuring a person, and Madam Pomfrey can heal that right up." Dumbledore chuckled. "After all, we planted it to keep the students safe from you. Getting them killed by a tree instead seems counterproductive."

Remus wanted to cry again, but this time out of anger. "But... it's my fault! It's my fault it's there. If someone gets hurt... then it's my fault for coming here... for being... selfish and putting people in danger..."

"You are the least selfish person I have ever met," said Dumbledore firmly. "I am going to encourage people to stay away from the tree, as I already have. If people get hurt, then they are at fault for disobeying my directions, just as they would be had they decided to walk off the Astronomy Tower. I cannot stop every stupid decision, though I shall make a valiant effort. You have to understand, Remus: children start games like this every other year. If not the tree, then it would be the Forbidden Forest, or the Black Lake, or even Hogsmeade. Focusing their rebellious tendencies on something that is not likely to kill them is not the worst thing that could happen. In fact, it's a good thing. The Willow is relatively harmless, compared to some other more dangerous paraphernalia that is inevitable in such a dangerous school."

"It's my fault it's there," repeated Remus, more quietly this time.

"Actually, I believe I was the one who asked that the tree be planted."

"Because of me, sir."

"Not merely because of you, though I appreciate the self-confidence. I hope that we can use it in the future for other young, studious werewolves such as yourself."

Remus froze. Other werewolves? "You mean..."

"There are no willing and eligible werewolves in Britain right now who wish to attend Hogwarts. But in the future, perhaps... I do hope that Hogwarts will be seen as a safe haven for anyone who wants an education. And I will, of course, make it my first priority to create a way for any willing, young witches and wizards to attend."

"So it wasn't only for me?"

"Right now, it is only for you. But it can be used for a variety of things—if I should ever need to hide something important—if we should need to contain a dangerous criminal—if I'd like to fix it up for a short time and use it as a luxurious summer home..."

Remus giggled a bit. "That makes me feel a little better, sir, thank you." He paused. "I don't like to be a nuisance."

"I imagine you're quite sick of special attention."

"Quite," said Remus seriously. "Speaking of which, I should probably get back to breakfast so that James doesn't panic about my skipping a meal."

"A sound idea," said Dumbledore. "And Remus..."

"Yes?"

"You often forget. People dislike seeing you worry just as much as you dislike seeing Madam Pomfrey worry."

Remus grinned. "I'll remember that, thank you."

He left the office and starting walking to breakfast—and he couldn't be sure, even with his werewolf hearing—but he thought he heard Dumbledore singing the Marauder version of Jingle Bells under his breath.

James was practicing on his broomstick that Saturday, and Remus sat under a tree and read a book. Suddenly, he noticed the sounds of children shrieking and laughing. He looked up, and there was a group of what looked like third-years dodging the Whomping Willow's branches.

Remus considered telling them to stop. He considered inconspicuously immobilizing the Willow, although that was a bit too risky in case anyone saw how it was done. He considered telling James to tell them to stop, but he wasn't sure that James would. So instead, he continued to pretend to read and silently begged with all his heart that no one would get hurt. Please, please, please, please...

"Oi, Sheep! All right?" called James.

"Fine," said Remus stiffly. He flipped a page.

"Is the Whomping Willow bothering you?"

"Of course not."

"You're lyyyyying..." said Sirius mockingly.

"Yeah? If I'm lying, then go and tell them to stop," said Remus fiercely. "That would be the nice thing to do."

"Sheesh. Just because your mum is a werewolf doesn't mean you have to act like one," said Sirius.

Remus froze. The first emotion he felt was fear—because what if Sirius had found out?—and then, when he realized that his friends were just as oblivious as always, anger flooded his chest, hot and white.

In through his nose. Out through his mouth.

Nope, it wasn't helping.

Remus put his book down, looked up at Sirius, and said as calmly as possible, "Sirius Orion Black. My mum. Is not. A werewolf. And if you call her one again, I swear I shall hex you. I'm going inside." He picked his book back up and sauntered into the castle, still breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth.

Then he practically ran up to the dormitory and watched the Willow out of his window, tapping on his sheets as quickly as was possible to relieve some of the anger twisting in his stomach. Then he stood up and started pacing furiously.

Remus was quite fond of the art of casual understatement. It was a nice way to lie to himself and others in a way that was socially acceptable. And, to exercise the great art of casual understatement that he had practiced for so long, he was about to admit to himself that it hadn't been a great day.

The Winner of the Willow game didn't gain much popularity before it fizzled out, more or less—it was more of a pastime than a fad, really. Remus was in duelling lessons with Professor Questus one Thursday, and Questus brought it up. Remus simply didn't understand how Questus could identify the things that Remus least wanted to talk about and ruthlessly drag them under a microscope.

"Are you upset about the Willow game that's going on?" he asked.

"Why would you think I'm upset?" said Remus, and he wasn't even being sarcastic.

"Your face. You're awful at controlling your emotions, Lupin."

Remus rubbed his nose. "I'm trying."

"Trying isn't enough. The Dark Arts wait for no one. So... are you upset?"

Remus considered. "A... a little, sir."

Questus was quiet. "So am I."

"What?"

He sighed a bit angrily. "Dumbledore's been discouraging the Whomping Willow game, of course. But he still hasn't declared the entire area off-limits, and the game won't stop until he does. 'Children will be children', he says. You'd think he'd understand that children are completely stupid and won't do what's good for them." He snickered. "Some adults, too. Anyway. He should be doing more than discouraging it. It'd be a lot less work if he just called it off right here."

"Why won't he, then?"

"Well, Dumbledore was in Gryffindor. He's not very concerned about danger. None of you lot are." Questus paused, seeming to consider something. "Dumbledore's a complex person, you know. He's brilliant, of course—even I'll admit that. He operates on a wavelength higher than the rest of us, and no one can ever tell what he's thinking. He's got these... plans for the future, and they're incredibly complex. He's both magically talented and a literal, Muggle-approved, intellectual genius. Got an I.Q. higher than that of Einstein." He looked at Remus. "Don't tell him I told you any of this. But I think you ought to know, since you're so important to him."

Remus crinkled his eyebrows. "Important to him?"

"Ah, he's a good person, of course. He's done a lot for the wizarding world, and his morals are good. He genuinely cares for his students. But sometimes—since I can't tell what he's thinking—I worry that he has plans for his students that he's not disclosing. He likes to play God, Dumbledore. Which is unfortunate, seeing as he's not God and he never will be."

"Important to him?" Remus asked again.

"Well, you're the first werewolf student ever to set foot in Hogwarts. It's been almost a thousand years, and you're the first one. And, since a war's coming up, and since Dark creatures seem to be so important to Voldemort..." Questus stopped. "Well, I'm sure that Dumbledore is curious about the future, optimistic about your education... and especially concerned about your safety. And he really does like you, you know."

"He does?"

"Of course. A few of the teachers do. You're bright. You engage yourself in school. You go out of your way to learn. That's exactly what teachers want to see."

"But I'm..."

"A werewolf. Yeah. That's why I said a few teachers like you, and not all of them. But Dumbledore's fond of you. Merlin's beard, boy, give yourself some credit."

"I still think that..."

"Expelliarmus."

Remus blocked the spell completely nonverbally and grinned.

"And that's why I like you. Come on, let's practice your reaction times."

AN: We're nearing the end! If my addition is correct (unlike Professor Questus'), there are five more chapters in first year. Then the sequel's coming out!