Remus loved Madam Pomfrey with all his heart. She was patient (except towards Professor Questus), she was kind (except towards Professor Questus), and she was forgiving (except towards Professor Questus). She talked to Remus to keep him entertained, she never embarrassed him, and she was even friends with Remus' mum. In fact, all the students and staff seemed to be friendly with Madam Pomfrey (except for Professor Questus).

The only thing that Remus didn't like about Madam Pomfrey was her insistence on not letting things go.

He'd been trying to fake sleep, but Madam Pomfrey was far too clever for that. About thirty minutes later, she wandered back into her office, took one look at Remus (who was trying his hardest to pretend to be dreaming deeply), and said, "For someone who's so used to lying, you're terrible at pretending to be asleep."

Remus groaned and sat up. There was no use. "How did you know?"

"You spend about three days a month in the Hospital Wing, and you sleep for most of them. I know when you're asleep and when you're not." Madam Pomfrey handed him a glass of water, and Remus drank. He'd been wanting some water for a while (he was starting to get another one of those pre-moon fevers that he got so often), but he'd been too busy pretending to sleep to request any. Asking for water would have been something of a giveaway.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said once he had finished his water. "Getting angry, I mean. I didn't mean to. Could we just forget it ever happened?"

"Not a chance."

"Madam Pomfrey. Please."

She sighed. "Remus, I've seen you on full moons before. I'm perfectly aware that your emotions tend to run haywire. In fact, I remember a lot of things that you probably don't."

"What?" asked Remus, alarmed.

"This isn't the first time you've done that, it's only the first time you've been aware."

"WHAT?"

"You ramble when you're drowsy."

"What have I... what have I said?!"

"Nothing incriminating or embarrassing, but sometimes—and only a couple of times, of course—you're angry at the world. And rightfully so: I daresay you have plenty to be angry about. No one's asking you to remain perfectly calm all the time."

"Yes, they are," came Remus' muffled reply. He was currently mashing his face into the pillows. Maybe if he forced his head into the pillow hard enough, he'd somehow force that unpleasant information out of it.

"You're allowed to get angry sometimes. You're a twelve-year-old boy."

"No, I'm a twelve-year-old werewolf."

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Yes, a boy werewolf. Did you think you were a girl?"

"No, but..."

"Keep up the self-pitying and I really will get cross. Please calm down. If you're this bothered when the full moon rolls around, you're going to be in for a rough day tomorrow."

"I'm going to be in for a rough day tomorrow regardless. There's no cure, not even calmness."

"Oh, will you stop being so pessimistic," Madam Pomfrey snapped. "For someone who hates pity, you sure are heaping a lot of it on yourself right now. I'm not sure what you want me to do."

"I don't know what I want you to do either!"

"Remus..."

"Maybe you should just take me to the Shrieking Shack right now."

"It's three-thirty in the afternoon."

"It's only a couple extra hours. And maybe I belong there."

"Oh, quiet." Remus felt the bedsprings sink as Madam Pomfrey sat next to him. And then—horror of horrors—he felt her arms wrapping around him. He stiffened.

"Madam Pomfrey—"

"Shh."

A moment passed.

It was unbearably awkward.

Suddenly, Remus burst out laughing. "This is so awkward," he gasped. "This is so, so awkward. Please stop."

Madam Pomfrey smiled. "Snapped out of it?"

"Yeah," said Remus, scooting away from Madam Pomfrey. "That was so awkward it hurt. Physically. Merlin's beard, that was awful."

"But it helped."

Remus laughed some more, clutching his sore stomach. "In a weird sort of way."

"Are you calmer now?"

"Of course." He sobered. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. I haven't done that in a long time."

"Done what?"

"Lost control." He pointed to his head, feeling as if he owed her a better explanation than he'd ever given her on this particular topic. He didn't want to talk about it, no, but he felt he had to now that he'd calmed down. She'd been patient enough with him, so he could do this one thing for her. "It's not like I'm human during the day and not-human once a month," he said, repeating what he'd told Professor Questus the day prior. "I'm never really human, and a terrible temper is just part of it. When I lose control it's hard to get it back, so I try to keep calm, mostly."

"You don't have a terrible temper," said Madam Pomfrey. "Most times you get annoyed—except for today—you're very calm about it, you know."

"I am?"

"Absolutely. You're always remarkably calm. Even when you're frustrated and annoyed and want to leave the Hospital Wing, even when you're injured and hurting, even when you're angry with the world for their prejudices—which doesn't happen nearly as often as I would've thought, considering the discrimination you deal with every day—you're very calm. You only ever look genuinely frustrated for a few seconds, and when you talk, your tone is about as even as that of one who is observing the weather."

"Really?"

"Would I lie to you? Your voice gets so flat sometimes that you sound like a zombie. Remus, you truly don't look nearly as angry as you think you do. Even just now, you were far calmer than Quidditch players who get sent to the Hospital Wing." She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, imitating the ridiculous students. "Madam Pomfrey, Slytherin cheated! I swear Slytherin cheated!" She rolled her eyes. "Sometimes I think they're going to have a seizure out of rage."

"James nearly does when Puttlemere United does poorly."

"I can imagine." Madam Pomfrey smiled. "You know, I must admit, it was quite amusing to hear your Welsh accent. You only let it slip when you're upset, you know, and it was pretty strong there for a minute."

Remus giggled. He'd been told that before. "I try really hard not to," he said.

"I can't imagine how difficult it is for you in the hours leading up. You should do whatever makes you feel better, Remus."

"Not that," said Remus, shaking his head furiously. "Professor Questus says that we need to be able to control our emotions. He gave a lesson on it and everything."

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips, presumably refraining from brutally insulting Questus within an inch of his life. "Professor Questus is very, very bad at dealing with emotions," she settled on. "You probably shouldn't take his advice. You're allowed to feel anything you want, Remus, and you're certainly allowed to show it every so often."

"Just because I'm allowed doesn't mean it's a good idea. It really doesn't make me feel better, Madam Pomfrey; it just makes me feel worse. You should shout at me if I ever get like that again. Throw a pillow at me."

Madam Pomfrey smiled slyly. "Or I could hug you."

"Noooo!" said Remus, laughing. "Oh, that was so awkward." The laughter died down, and Remus twiddled with the bedsheets awkwardly. "Actually, you probably shouldn't touch me if I ever get like that again."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to hurt you. It really is hard to get control back."

"Mr. Lupin, you couldn't hurt me if you tried."

"I almost dropped a chair on Professor Questus once."

"He probably deserved it."

"If I accidentally scratch you it won't stop bleeding easily. And then it'll scar."

Madam Pomfrey paused; she seemed to be remembering something. "Does silver and Dittany work in that case?"

"It works better on werewolves, but it'll slow the bleeding down a little. And then, hopefully, it'll go away on its own in a week or so. Or a few days. Or a few months. Hours. It depends."

"Hm. Well, anyway... feel free to shout at me a bit whenever you feel like shouting. I assure you: I can handle it perfectly well. Not everybody is some sort of—" she smiled— "china doll, you know. You don't have to worry so much about offending people."

"Thank you," said Remus. "I'm feeling better now."

"Good. Would you like me to pick up any books for you at the library for tomorrow while you're healing?"

"I wouldn't be so hasty. You never know: perhaps I'll be feeling well enough to go to class tomorrow."

Madam Pomfrey looked at him in horror. "What? You can't be serious! You're losing a full night of sleep, you'll probably be horribly injured, you can't possibly tell met hat you're actually considering..."

"I'm joking," Remus laughed. "Yes, please. Try to look for an Imp book—Professor Questus assigned us an essay."

"I shall do that. Now, why don't you get some more sleep? You're looking terribly pale."

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," said Remus, trying his best to ignore the pains in his bones, his blurry head, and the squinchy feeling of his chest that he had grown so accustomed to after seven years.

A few days later, the nightmare was over, Remus was healed, and he was walking back to his dormitory. "Remus! You're back!" said James, hurtling towards him. "I'm so sorry about your grandmother." Suddenly, Remus was being hugged by all three of his friends. What was up with people and hugging this week?

"Thanks for the card," Remus said.

"No problem! I'm so, so, so sorry..."

"Yeah, thanks."

"You look horrible."

"Haven't been eating much."

"Were you close with her?" asked Peter.

"Not really. But Mum was, and it was hard to see her like that." Remus paused. "I barely knew her, but still. Grief's contagious." Suddenly, Remus thought of a brilliant lie. "She looked like Mum as a kid. So all the pictures... of her as a child... sort of made me..."

"Feel like you were attending your mum's funeral," said Peter reverently. "Oh, Remus."

"I'm okay now, though," said Remus, "and Mum's doing pretty well. I have high hopes."

"That's good," said Sirius. "A bit suspicious, though. I thought you said you didn't have any family. Or that your family didn't like you."

"Sirius," reprimanded James. "We talked about this. Don't interrogate Remus. Not right now."

"No, it's fine." Remus scrambled for something, anything to say... "Mum cut ties with her. Doesn't mean Mum doesn't still love her. She cried all day when she heard the news."

"Oh," said Sirius. "Well. Sorry."

"Thanks," said Remus.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

"Let's go to classes," Remus said. "I'm done thinking about it all. Been doing it all weekend."

"All right," said James. His voice was chipper, but it didn't sound fake at all. "First is Charms. We're practicing the Fire-Making Spell."

"Sounds good," said Remus. "Anyone died yet?"

"Nope. Not a one, unfortunately," said Sirius. "Although that would've been interesting."

Remus Lupin walked down the corridor with his friends—laughing, teasing, talking, joking—and all was mostly right with the world.

"What was the good news you heard last Thursday, Professor?" Remus asked Questus during their next round of duelling lessons.

"None of your business, Lupin. If I'd wanted to tell you, I'd've done it last week. Now, let's work on those reaction times—Expelliarmus!"

Remus blocked it wordlessly and grinned; in turn, he sent another Expelliarmus back just as silently.

Questus blocked it and nodded. "Very, very good. Very good. For a first-year? Commendable doesn't begin to cover it."

"Thanks, Professor."

"I suppose you have a head-start with magic, though, since your father began teaching it to you early on?"

"Yes, sir."

"Still. Impressive. I think we can switch to nonverbal-only. We started in January, yes?"

"I think so, sir."

Questus nodded, evidently pleased. Or indifferent. Remus couldn't really tell what that expression was. "So it only took you about three and a half months."

"How long... how long does it usually take?"

"For sixth-years? A couple of weeks. Depends on the student. Doesn't often take them long, since they've been doing magic for so long."

"Oh."

"Don't sound so disappointed. You're a first-year. Taking three and a half months—two hours a week with a certified Auror, excluding personal practice—is perfectly average."

"Average," said Remus glumly, sitting down and swinging his legs.

"Stop fishing for compliments, Lupin. You're talented enough. Your friends have got more magical prowess than you, perhaps—Potter and Black, anyhow—but you're talented." Questus grinned, and Remus could practically feel the werewolf joke coming. "Not many people can manage a full animal transformation at the age of five."

"Ha-ha," said Remus dryly.

"McGonagall was of age before she could turn into a cat."

"Lucky me," said Remus, and then his wand was on the floor. "Did I drop that?" he said suspiciously.

"No. I Disarmed you. You weren't paying attention. All nonverbal is going to make it harder from here on out, I'm afraid."

Remus picked up his wand and made his third sarcastic comment in under five minutes. "Oh, joy."

They duelled for another half-hour, and Remus had lost every one—predictably. They were duelling again now, and Remus was still losing. "So, what was last Friday about?" Questus asked him as he cast a nonverbal Expelliarmus.

"Excuse me?"

"Last Friday. Pomfrey mentioned you got a little emotional."

"What?" Remus dropped his wand and picked it up before Questus could confiscate it and win the duel. "Why did she tell you?"

"She didn't. She told Dumbledore about it, who is a much more understanding and trustworthy person than I. But, unfortunately for you, I happened to be close by." He tried to Disarm Remus, and Remus blocked it. "Wasn't eavesdropping. Well, maybe I was, but only a little."

Remus blocked another spell and sent one in return. "It's fine. You would have tortured the information out of me at some point, anyway."

"Wow." Questus laughed a bit as he cast another spell that nearly blew Remus off his feet. "Bit harsh, hm? I like to think I'm pleasant to talk to sometimes."

"Helpful? Yes. Pleasant? Rarely." Duelling, oddly enough, was good for conversation. When Remus was focusing on casting and blocking spells (nonverbally, which was still quite difficult), he was a little bit more courageous. He didn't think before he spoke as much, which was kind of nice. And Questus, who was also focusing on the duel (though he was obviously going very easy on Remus) didn't tell him off for being disrespectful.

"Was it the temper thing? You've mentioned that to me before, though you've never elaborated."

Remus sat in a chair and buried his face in his hands, the duel forgotten. "Ugh, I'm embarrassed."

"How so, if it's not your fault?"

"It is, though. I should have been more careful. It wasn't... it wasn't awful, I don't think. But I haven't gotten that close to completely losing it since I was young. I'm usually better than that."

"Pomfrey seemed to think it was amusing. Said she'd never heard you with such a strong accent." Remus rolled his eyes, and Questus smiled. "Are you absolutely sure that it's a werewolf thing and not a Remus-Lupin thing?"

Remus sighed. "Yes. There were plenty of studies done, you know. You can probably find a few of them in the library."

"Already have."

Remus looked at Questus, and Questus shrugged. "I've read pretty much all of the werewolf material in there. It's interesting stuff. I know about the studies; I just want to know if you have any additional information. Some of those studies are horribly biased and faulty."

"Oh," said Remus. "Yeah, they are. Well... there's another werewolf, you know. Susi—I don't know her surname. We were in St. Mungo's together—bitten on the same night, and we see each other every year at the Registry..." He didn't want to share too much. "Anyway. I know her quite well, and she sort of lost control in January. Super embarrassed about it; Apparated away immediately. It's... hard, that's all I'm trying to say. And it's not just me."

"That's interesting," Questus said. "But I won't ask any more questions. You don't look like you're in the mood. And, contrary to your previous statement, I don't like to torture information out of people." Then he Disarmed Remus with a self-satisfied smirk, and Remus sighed once again and proceeded to lose ten more duels.

It was two months until exams, and Remus and Peter were both revising religiously. One day, James and Sirius walked into the dormitory to the sight of Remus and Peter both working on an essay—James screeched and ran down the corridor, and Sirius collapsed to the floor in a heap. Puttle the Prefect chose that moment to walk past the Marauders' dormitory door, which was still ajar from James' fearful flight. Remus and Peter continued their revising as if nothing had happened.

"Okay," said Puttle in a bored tone, "someone tell me why I just saw Potter running down the corridor at breakneck speed."

"Peter and I are doing homework," said Remus innocently, "and our friends are evidently allergic to homework." Peter made a humming noise in agreement.

"Allergic to homework?"

"Oh, yes, a severe allergy," said Remus, idly flipping a page of the book. "Fatal. James managed to get away, but I'm afraid Sirius has perished."

Sirius moaned slightly from his place on the floor, and Peter said in mock surprise, "It appears as if he's survived!"

"Pity," remarked Remus, and then Sirius was tackling him.

"Break it up!" said Puttle, shaking his head. "Or I'll be forced to take points from Gryffindor!"

"But Sirius Black and James Potter are both in Gryffindor," came Remus' muffled voice. "So do we have any points anymore...? Ow! Get off me, Sirius!"

"I'll have you know that Sirius and I earn points every day," sad James. He'd found his way back to the dormitory, apparently, now that the offending activity had ceased. "We're very bright, you know."

"Debatable," said Remus. "Ow! Stop it, Sirius!"

Puttle shook his head again. "You lot are ridiculous. Have fun suffocating Lupin."

"Way to fulfill your Prefect duties and save the life of a poor first-year," called Remus, but Puttle didn't hear him... or perhaps he was simply ignoring him. Remus couldn't see much from under Sirius' arm that was stuffing his head into the sheets. "Sirius!"

"I won't let you up till you apologize," Sirius said fiercely.

"I am sorry," said Remus. "I am so sorry. So, so, so sorry..." Sirius let go of him reluctantly, and Remus scrambled to the other side of the room. "That you survived!"

The next half-hour was spent being chased by Sirius, until Puttle came by again and told them that they were being too loud. Then, the four of them took it outside, where they wrestled, flew broomsticks, and ran around until Remus' post-transformation lungs were hurting and his bones were on fire. But he didn't even care. At least the weather was warmer this time of year.

Remus was throwing a stick back and forth with James when Peter tugged on his sleeve. "Remus. Remus. Remus. I need to revise. I need your help. Can we go back in...?" Suddenly, Peter gasped, and Remus tore away. "What's wrong with your hand?"

Remus looked down. The tugging that Peter had done had ridden up his sleeve, revealing a nasty scar on his wrist and the cuts on his hands that were still healing. There were broken blood vessels under his nails, a sizeable gash on his palm, and the base of his thumb was slightly mangled—as it had been since his fourth moon when he was five. Remus winced and pulled his hand away. "If you must know," he said, thinking as fast as he could, "my hand got caught in the... what's it called?" He was stalling. "The blender. That's right. When I was seven." That was more to write in A Documentation of the Life of Remus Lupin.

"Your other hand, too?" asked James.

"Yes."

"How'd you stick both hands in a blender?" asked Peter. "What is a blender?"

"It's a bunch of spinning knives that cut up fruit and things," said Remus. "And I dropped my toy car in it when it was on, so I tried to get it..." Remus couldn't quite figure out the logistics of how that would work, exactly—after all, blenders typically had lids—but it wasn't as if his friends would know the difference.

"Ooh, I wanna see," said Sirius, grabbing Remus' hands before Remus could pull them away. "That looks like a bite, mate."

"Werewolf mum," James muttered.

"My mum is not a werewolf," said Remus, pulling his hands away. He could feel his argument falling apart more and more every day. "Not all of it is from a blender. I bit my hands a lot as a kid. Habit, you know. And our dog—remember? The one that we just called Dog? He bit sometimes. And don't forget the windscreen..."

"All right," said James. "It's pure coincidence, isn't it, that your hands look like a werewolf chew toy?"

"They don't," said Remus stubbornly. He was very happy that James didn't seem to be catching on to the fact that, if his hands were a werewolf chew toy (which they were), then he'd be a werewolf, too... not just his mum. By some miracle, they still hadn't made the connection. "Let's go do homework, Peter."

"Remus...?" said Peter, as the two were doing homework in the dormitory. "Your mum isn't really a werewolf?"

"No, Peter." Remus couldn't even keep the exasperation out of his tone. "She's not."

"Why does it all make sense, then?"

"It doesn't. You're fitting pieces where they don't belong."

"You're dying, aren't you?" asked Peter quietly. "You told us you're not, but you are. You're so secretive, and you look awful, and you have nightmares... that's what they're about? Not just your mum. You always seem too horrified."

"Watching one's mum die is a pretty horrifying thing, Peter," Remus said stiffly. "And you're always asleep when I have a nightmare. How would you know how I look?"

"I'm not always asleep. Sometimes I just pretend to be, since James is already there for you. He'd yell at me if I tried to help. But you sound terrified, Remus, like something awful is happening to you."

"I am watching my mother die, leaving my father a single parent and me a half-orphan. What could be more awful?"

"That's sad, not scary!"

"Fear is just the anticipation of something sad."

"No, it sounds like your life is in danger!"

"There are worse things than death."

"I can't think of anything! And now you're acting small again. You're bothered. Is it because you're lying?"

Remus had never been this angry with Peter before. He'd argued with James, argued with Sirius, but never with Peter—not like this. He hated it. Especially since Peter was right—some of his nightmares were about Greyback, which was certainly life-threatening and scary. "Peter Pettigrew," he said, trying to keep calm (he'd learned his lesson with Madam Pomfrey), "I am not lying. And I'm pretty shocked you don't believe me, especially considering I attended my grandmother's funeral only a couple of days ago, who—" inspiration hit!— "had the same illness as my mother. And died from it. You have no idea what it's like to have an ill mum, and the last thing I need right now is to have my entire existence questioned and to be accused to fraternizing with a murderous Dark creature."

Peter looked offended for a split second, and then remorseful, and then... triumphant? "Your mum's not a werewolf," he said. "If she was, then you wouldn't talk about werewolves like that. You'd be nice to werewolves. You wouldn't call them 'murderous Dark creatures'." He smiled at his own cleverness. "I bet you've never even met a werewolf."

"That's what I've been telling you all along, Peter." Remus sighed, and it was a sigh that was 20% exasperation and 80% relief. Yes, he was safe... for now. "Thank you for finally believing me."

"But I still think you're dying." Peter leaned closer. "How long have you got?"

"I'm not dying."

"Come on, Candle-Ends, we're friends."

"Which is why I refuse to lie to you and tell you that I'm dying." It hurt so much to talk like this. "Please believe me, Pete. I'm just introverted and distant and not used to having friends. I'm not dying."

Peter nodded and breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. I was worried. I was so, so worried."

"Now you know how I feel about my mum," said Remus. "Except it's worse, since she actually is—"

"Don't say it!" ordered Peter. "I was worrying myself sick, Remus. I thought for sure you were. I barely slept last night, after you said..."

"What did I say?" asked Remus, thoroughly confused. He remembered having a pillow fight with Peter and Sirius while James reluctantly revised, groaning about it the whole time. Both James and Sirius had been doing more homework recently, but their marks hadn't increased much. Then again, they had been nearly perfect to begin with, so they didn't really have anywhere to go. Remus kind of resented that, but in a good way. He was oddly proud of them.

"Well," said Peter, "first Sirius hit you with a pillow, and then you hit him back, and then Sirius hit you back and said, 'I'm going to win!' And then you said, 'Over my dead body!" and then Sirius said that he wouldn't have to wait long because you looked so ill anyway... and you do! You look ill! All the time!"

"I'm fine, Peter. It's just how I look. Sirius was only joking."

Suddenly, Peter poked Remus' chest, and Remus recoiled in surprise. "It's how you feel, too. You skip meals. And you hardly sleep. And you..."

"Got the picture," interrupted Remus. "Can we get back to the schoolwork, Candle-Friend of mine? I'm ill, but not fatally. My mum is. I am not a pathological liar. That's all there is to it."

"All right," said Peter with reluctant cheer.

Remus kept doing homework with Peter, but he couldn't stop wondering how many more false conclusions his friends would jump to before they finally reached the right one.

AN: "Fear is just the anticipation of something sad" is probably the most profound line I'll ever write, and I'm okay with that.