The full moon hadn't been that bad, which was a bit surprising, given how stressed Remus was the whole time about exams. After he'd left Questus' classroom to go back to the Hospital Wing, he'd remembered that final exams were coming up. They were mere days away, and Remus was panicked out of his mind (much to Madam Pomfrey's dismay). Before the moon rose, he'd been pacing the Shrieking Shack, trying to control his emotions or whatever, but he hadn't been able to stop thinking about how absolutely abysmal he was at Transfiguration. He was going to fail that exam; he just knew it.

But when the full moon was up, Remus hadn't been that violent this time around. He'd been almost calm at times—in fact, Remus remembered finding a spot near the wall and contenting himself with chewing on a loose board for a whole two hours. When he'd transformed back the next morning, he'd felt a little bit more energetic than he normally did. The fact that Madam Pomfrey had only spent about five minutes healing the worst of it before taking him back to the castle was an added plus. He'd managed to walk almost all the way back to the Hospital Wing before feeling started coming back to his limbs.

Now he was lying in his bed in Madam Pomfrey's office, and he didn't actually feel all that bad. "You're quite well this month, Lupin," she said. "I thought it would be worse. You seemed to be stressed about exams yesterday."

"Does that mean I can leave tomorrow?" said Remus with a cheeky grin.

"Nope."

"Awww."

Night came and went, and now it was the evening of Remus' second (and final) day in the Hospital Wing. He'd woken up at seven am and hadn't taken any naps yet, and Madam Pomfrey was not happy about the fact. "Remus Lupin, you have been reading that textbook all day," she said. "You need to sleep."

"No, I..." Remus flipped the page of his Transfiguration textbook. "Another hour? Please?"

"Absolutely not! Exams are only a little more than a week away, and you'll be exhausted if you don't rest as much as possible. You need to sleep, for your own sake as well as mine."

"I'll be okay..."

"No, you won't. Sleep."

"Madam Pomfrey! I need to revise!"

"Why? You've had hours—days!—in here every single month, and you've spent nearly all of them since the first day of school doing homework. You've done plenty, and you're going to do just fine. Now sleep."

"Just fine?" repeated Remus. "I can't do just fine. I have to... I have to..."

"Sleep! You have to sleep!"

Remus did not want to sleep, especially since he'd found a paragraph in the textbook that he'd only read four times so far. That was ridiculous. He couldn't believe he'd skipped over it on his fifth reread. How stupid could he possibly be? He was definitely going to fail all his exams.

Just as he was about to start bargaining with Madam Pomfrey again (she hadn't even let him have his wand—"too strenuous", she'd said, so Remus was woefully behind in the practical area), he picked up a very familiar scent.

"Madam Pomfrey, Professor Dumbledore is here," Remus said eagerly. Dumbledore would let him do magic, wouldn't he? Dumbledore wouldn't make him sleep. Dumbledore had invited him to school in the first place, so he surely understood that Remus had to excel.

Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes. "Maybe he can knock some sense into you!" she called over her shoulder. Remus ignored her and flipped another page of the textbook. He really didn't understand why Madam Pomfrey was so insistent that reading was a dangerous activity. Remus could read without melting into a puddle, at least. He wasn't a fragile china doll or something. Did she think a paper cut was going to kill him? He'd gotten much worse than a paper cut the previous night, so it was a ridiculous sentiment, really.

He heard Madam Pomfrey complaining to Dumbledore about how Remus wouldn't sleep, and he sighed angrily under his breath. Was his lack of napping really that big of a deal that Madam Pomfrey was complaining to the headmaster of Hogwarts—the defeater of Grindelwald—the discoverer of the twelve uses of dragon's blood? If it was that important, then Remus supposed he could go to sleep after all. He didn't want seem disobedient and make Dumbledore angry.

Remus put down his textbook and took a sip of water, praying that Dumbledore wouldn't actually come in... but no such luck. "Oh, hello, Professor," Remus said pleasantly. "I was just going to sleep."

"Of course you were." Dumbledore smiled and pulled over a chair, eyes twinkling unnaturally. "I thought you might be experiencing some pre-exam anxiety."

"I wouldn't call it anxiety," said Remus, who knew exactly what anxiety was. The hours of waiting in the Shrieking Shack—that was anxiety. This wasn't. "Just dedication."

"Hm... well, be it dedication or anxiety, I think we need to talk."

Remus sighed. Yeah, he was definitely in trouble. "Yes, sir."

Professor Dumbledore smiled and handed Remus a Chocolate Frog. Remus was under the influence of so many potions that he didn't really feel hungry, but felt it impolite to refuse, so he put it on his nightstand. "Remus, no one expects you to do well," said Dumbledore, unwrapping his own Chocolate Frog and taking a bite.

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Really? No one expects me to do well? Everyone thinks I'm going to fail? Goodness, I didn't know I was that bad..."

Dumbledore chuckled. "You know what I mean. We all believe you are going to do well, but it is not expected of you. Your place at Hogwarts, just like that of any other student, does not depend on how well you do on your first-year exams."

"But, sir. Aren't I... high-maintenance enough that there's no other reason to keep me here?"

"Whatever do you mean by that?"

"I mean, you... everyone... everyone here has done so much for me. You've built and furnished a house, and planted a tree, and argued against a law, and Madam Pomfrey's spending hours looking after me, and Professor Questus is giving me duelling lessons, and Madam Pomfrey had to get me to Hogsmeade for the Werewolf Registry, and my parents worry themselves mad... I feel like I... owe it to everyone... to do well. Because if I don't, then why else am I here? Their work will be for nothing if I'm not as successful as everyone seems to expect me to be... so I owe it to them."

"You are going to do well," said Dumbledore simply, "and not because you owe it to anyone, but because you've put in the work. But Hogwarts is more than a school, which is something that many people fail to realize. Do you know what other benefits Hogwarts has to offer?"

"Other... benefits? Like the food? The food is nice..."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Indeed. But what else have you gotten out of the experience, besides academic knowledge... and food?"

"Friends," said Remus, "but probably not for long."

"Oh, I don't agree with that last bit," said Dumbledore, but he continued speaking before Remus could argue. "Your social skills have improved. You've gotten a lot more comfortable speaking about your condition. You're more independent. You're physically healthier. And I think you've learned a lot more about yourself and other people, have you not?"

Remus paused.

He'd learned about himself, now that he thought about it. He was a werewolf, yes, but he was also a talented duellist (for a first-year), a lover of Quidditch (to a point), funny (even Questus thought so, apparently), stubborn (he hadn't known that!), too mature for his age (though Remus still didn't agree with that one), good at snowball fights, cheeky and disrespectful at times, a good teacher (?!), and patient. He had a Welsh accent when he was distressed (his parents had never mentioned it), Transfiguration was his weakest subject, and he loved Defense Against the Dark Arts (otherwise known as DAD). He was a Gryffindor. He was a prankster. He had a penchant for mischief (the Sorting Hat, it turned out, had been right). He was brave? He had good willpower and self-control. He wasn't great at flying broomsticks. And he was a good friend, apparently, which was absolutely wild.

And Remus had most certainly learned about other people. Remus was surprised at how many teachers tolerated him, and he was even more surprised at how many actually seemed to enjoy his presence. He'd thought the worst while stuck in his little bubble at home, but it turned out that people weren't actually all that bad. A couple were even tolerant. Hadn't Professor Questus said that once? You should give us teachers a little more credit instead of seeing everything as discrimination, he'd said. And it had been true—the vast majority of Remus' teachers didn't seem to want to kill him or anything. It was far more than Remus had ever expected.

And, most importantly, Remus had learned a lot about how different everybody was. Remus had been confined to the walls of his home, making contact with nearly no one but his parents for six and a half years. The fact that there were so many different viewpoints, values, personalities, senses of humor, and ideas made his head spin a bit. There was so much out there—the world was vast, and Remus was small. People were different—good people were different—people were different and it was good. Remus had never known how much variety there was—he'd always just considered himself the odd one out. But perhaps everyone was the "odd one out". Maybe that was the whole point. Professor Questus had said that, too.

Maybe Remus was different because he was Remus, not because he was a werewolf. Maybe he was just a normal kid after all. It turned out that leaving the quiet normality of his home life had been a very good thing, and Remus was thankful for it no matter what happened.

Normal, his mum always said, was overrated.

Normal, his dad always said, was a myth.

It didn't matter what normal was, though; not really. Whatever is was, Remus Lupin had wanted to be normal for nearly his whole life, and maybe—just maybe—he actually was.

"I suppose, sir," he said quietly.

"I believe a congratulations is in order," said Professor Dumbledore, smiling serenely. "I think that, out of all the first-year students this year, you have changed the most—for the better, of course. You've also assisted young Peter, James, and Sirius in growing a great deal. And I think that what you are learning here at Hogwarts—both academically and non-academically—will benefit you for the rest of your life, however long and happy it might or might not be."

"But... but my exams. I still..."

"Hogwarts, Remus, is a place for young witches and wizards to grow as well as to learn. Even if you, by some miracle, fail every single one of your exams... I would consider this year a successful one for you, would you not?"

"I guess, but..."

"It was your official entry into the wizarding world, your first taste of friendship and non-family relationships, your first time being independent and away from your parents... you were pushed far outside your comfort zone, and you've had moments of weakness, but you've grown instead of giving up..." Dumbledore took another bite of his Chocolate Frog. "Yes, a very successful year indeed, I would say. There was a staff meeting yesterday, and I'll have you know that all of your teachers are very, very proud of you—even if you fail an exam. And I know that next year will be just as—if not more—productive."

"Next year?" said Remus. "I'm invited back?"

"I thought that would have been obvious."

"Oh. I thought... I sort of thought that all of that was a... kind dismissal."

"Oh." Dumbledore laughed and shook his head. "I rather think I'm allowed to be kind without giving you bad news."

Remus smiled, relieved. "Of course, sir. Feel free to do so whenever."

"Well, then, I'll tell you one more time. You could never be a disappointment—not to any of us. Except Professor Questus, who will be very put-off if you get a T in Defense Against the Dark Arts. I think he wants you to be the first-ever werewolf Auror. And, if I may give you a small tip, you should put at least one werewolf joke in your exam. He finds them inordinately amusing."

"I'll keep that in mind, sir," said Remus, snickering.

"Good. Now, seeing as I am very busy and might not speak to you one-on-one again until your second year commences..." Dumbledore held out his hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Remus, and I cannot wait to see you again when term begins next year on September first. Have a wonderful summer."

Remus smiled and shook Dumbledore's hand. He didn't often get to shake hands with people who knew what he was (because who would want to shake hands with a werewolf?), so he treasured every handshake he got. "Thank you, sir. For everything."

Dumbledore smiled and turned to leave. "I do believe that you have more than repaid the favor."

Remus listened to his footsteps fade, and then he sank back into his pillow. Perhaps he was a little bit sleepy, after all.

In years to come, Remus would never quite remember how he managed to get through his practical exams, what with the teachers giving him scrutinizing looks the whole time and his anxiety—wait, no, determination—through the roof. It was clear that the teachers wanted to see how the werewolf fared on their exams, especially after missing so much class, and it made Remus' anxiety—determination—so much worse with every second that they stared.

But not all of them stared. Charms was fairly pleasant, actually; all Remus had to do was make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk. "What kind of tap?" he asked Flitwick. "Classical tap, jazz tap, Broadway tap...?"

Flitwick laughed. "Any kind of tap you'd like, Mr. Lupin," he said, so Remus made water pour out of the pineapple as it danced.

"Get it?" he said. "It's a..."

"Water tap!" squealed Flitwick. "Oh, very creative! And impressive wandwork! Conjuring spells aren't until fifth year! Very, very well done!"

Remus was pretty sure he'd passed that one.

He wasn't sure he did so well on his Flying exam, but the Potions and History of Magic exams went very well. Transfiguration, however, was a different story entirely.

"Afternoon, Lupin," said Professor McGonagall as he walked in. "I do believe that passing this exam will earn you a couple more points towards the Competition." She smiled. "But you'll never catch up, I'm afraid. I'm far too many points ahead."

"You wish, Professor," said Remus. Then he noticed the mouse on the desk. "Er...?"

"I would like you to turn this mouse into a snuffbox. I recall you having trouble with this particular Transfiguration, so this is a chance to redeem yourself..."

"Oh, no," said Remus. "No. Absolutely not."

"What's wrong?"

"I can't," said Remus. He was hyperventilating slightly, which was totally embarrassing. "Nope. I'll take the fail."

"Lupin, you have a very good chance of passing if you'll only..."

"No," said Remus. "I can't... I can't transform living things."

The words had an immediate effect on Professor McGonagall—she stopped arguing, went silent, and her mouth pressed into a thin line. "I see," she said after a moment's comtemplation. "Come to think of it, that makes sense. I was wondering why you had so much trouble with Avifors and Mouse to Snuffbox."

Indeed, Remus had not even attempted the spells during the quizzes—he hadn't even made honest attempts during class. Even though Professor McGonagall had more or less alleviated his worries on the first day of class when he'd asked about the pig and the desk, Remus was still uncomfortable watching a living being's skin turn to a different material—twisting into a new shape—its face turning to something new entirely. He'd never been good at Transfiguring living things. Fortunately, it only made up a small portion of the first-year curriculum. Unfortunately, it was a testament to Remus' luck that one of the two spells he definitely couldn't do was the entire practical exam. He'd never successfully done it before.

Professor McGonagall was still quiet; she seemed to be considering. "Well, I still suggest you try," she finally said.

"I..." Remus squeezed his eyes shut. "Give me a second, Professor."

"Of course."

Remus waited for his breathing to slow. He could do this. He could. He could definitely, definitely do this.

Images of werewolves and full moons filled his brain, and he flinched.

Nope, he couldn't do this.

"Lupin, watch." McGonagall's voice was firm, and Remus turned his head. She transformed into a tabby cat in one fluid movement, and then back again. "See? Easy. Painless. Quick. Now you try."

"I can't transform into a tabby cat, Professor," said Remus, but he regretted the comment as soon as McGonagall's mouth thinned once more. "Sorry, Professor. Er..." He focused on the thought of an easy, fluid, painless transformation, and he told himself that the mouse liked being turned into a snuffbox; that it only tickled a bit. He spoke the incantation with his eyes shut, not wanting to see the mouse transform.

He heard a squeak and opened one eye. The mouse was still a mouse. He gave a cry of frustration. "Try again," prompted McGonagall.

Remus tried again, envisioning a simple snuffbox with simple ornamentation, and when he opened his eyes this time, the mouse was transformed—save one ear and two whiskers.

"Good," said McGonagall, making a few marks on her clipboard. "That's most certainly a pass." She peered at Remus above her spectacles. "Lupin, if you're ever having trouble with spells again, then I suggest you come to me instead of taking a fail."

"Yes, Professor," Remus muttered, and he nearly fell as he fled the classroom.

Remus certainly hadn't passed with flying colors, but at least he'd passed. Besides, he knew that he'd aced the written portion; therefore, he could officially count his Transfiguration exam as a tentative—yet very embarrassing—success.

The DAD exam was last, and Remus was actually looking forward to it. Professor Questus had given the the writing portion earlier (like the rest of the teachers), and Remus knew that he had done very well indeed. He'd even, as per Dumbledore's request, added in a werewolf joke.

Question 16: How would you go about defeating a Gytrash?
I would cast the Lumos Charm or Red Sparks, since Gytrashes are vulnerable to light. Alternatively, I would wait until June the 26th and come find it then.

"All right, Lupin," said Questus as Remus entered the classroom and closed the door behind him. "I know for a fact you're going to do well. All I need you to do is use the Knockback Charm on this spare practice dummy."

Remus nearly laughed. "Flipendo," he said, and the dummy was nearly blown into the wall. He grinned.

"Fantastic," said Professor Questus, "as expected. For extra credit, can you best me in a duel?"

"Absolutely not," said Remus.

"Good call," said Questus. "You're dismissed."

Remus had refused to talk to his friends between exams for fear of being distracted—but now that they were over, they were chattering and questioning each other twenty-four-seven.

"Professor Flitwick was very impressed with my pineapple," James said smugly.

"Mine too," said Sirius.

"He told me I needed more practice," said Peter. "But I passed!"

"No amount of practice will help you, Peter," said Sirius somberly, and Peter laughed. Remus did not even try to reprimand Sirius. "Anyway. Did John offer you lot extra credit during the DAD exam, too?"

"Yeah," said James, scorn present in his voice. "I didn't even get to cast one spell before he Disarmed me. He didn't even bow first. Maybe I could have beaten him if he'd bowed first." Remus tried not to laugh. James would never have beaten Professor Questus—not in a million years.

"And then I told him," continued James, "that the duel wasn't technically over, and that it was to the death since he didn't bow. And then he said..." James tried for an impression of Professor Questus—it was passable, but it wasn't nearly as good as Sirius' teacher impressions. "Would you like me to kill you, Potter? That would be an amusing activity, I'm sure, but also one that would doubtless be discouraged by the headmaster."

"What did you say to that?" asked Peter.

"I said that it didn't matter. No matter what the Headmaster thinks, rules are still rules, and if he didn't kill me, then it would be a draw."

"And?" Sirius prompted.

James gave a frustrated sigh. "He said that the directives were to 'best him in a duel', not 'draw', and that I wasn't likely to best him in a duel without my wand. So I surrendered and he gave me my wand back."

"I didn't even bother arguing," said Sirius, shrugging. "My wand was out of my hand before I could blink, and so I just picked it up and said, 'Okay, see you later.'"

"I didn't try," said Peter.

"Neither did I," Remus confessed. "But I don't think anyone could have beaten him. He was an Auror."

"It was unfair of him to offer," said Sirius. "I hate him."

"I know," said Remus simply.

But Remus liked Professor Questus.

The rest of term passed lazily, and Remus spent most afternoons outside with his friends—throwing sticks, casting spells, and generally being merry. Their enthusiasm began to dampen as they slowly realized that they were going to have to go home. Remus was going back to fake smiles and books and pain. Peter was going back to his annoying mother. James was leaving Quidditch and magic and Sirius behind. And Sirius... well, Sirius was absolutely miserable.

Still, they tried to be happy. And Remus was genuinely overjoyed when exams results came out.

"I'm... I'm top of the form," he told his friends in a reverent whisper. "In Herbology, DAD, Charms, Astronomy, and History of Magic! That's top total."

"What?" Peter said. "Are you serious?"

"Sirius? That would be me," said Sirius sullenly. "How did Remus beat me? Remus? He could barely do magic at the start of the year!"

"You beat me in Transfiguration, Potions, and Flying," said Remus. He'd never admit it, but he was a tiny bit hurt that Sirius didn't seem happy for him. Then again, he understood. Sirius was prideful and clever, and he'd probably expected to win the spot—or at least lose to to James, whom Sirius considered to be a worthy opponent.

"I'm top of the form in Transfiguration and Flying," boasted James. "Who's Potions?"

"Snape," said Sirius viciously. "I'm second. Snape's first. He was gloating about it earlier... the greasy git."

Despite Sirius' complaints, Remus could not keep the smile off of his face—he could hardly even breathe for fear of waking up from this wonderful dream. "I passed everything," he said, even though he knew his friends already knew. After all, it was pretty difficult to fail everything and still be top of the form. "I didn't even fail Transfiguration!"

"You were never going to fail," said Peter. "You're a genius or something. I failed Transfiguration and Flying, but that's only two out of eight. That means I passed, like, four-fifths of my exams. That's pretty good, right?"

Sirius looked at James, and they started snickering... but they shut up as soon as Remus gave them a scornful look.

"I'm seventh in History of Magic!" Peter continued. "Now that's good. Isn't it?"

"That's only because no one pays attention to History of Magic," said Sirius.

"No," said Remus, "it's because Peter worked hard and is brighter than you think he is."

Peter smiled. "Seventh," he repeated. "Not even double-digits."

"I'm going to the loo," said Remus, and he all but ran there. Then he locked himself in a stall and did a very furious and silent celebration. He'd passed. He'd passed everything. He'd passed top of the form. If the teachers were proud of him before he'd gotten top of the form, they were certainly proud of him now.

This was beyond all of Remus' wildest dreams. He felt as if he were floating. A werewolf, an actual werewolf: top of the form.

Take that, Ministry. Take that, Registry. Take that, Mr. Ragfarn. Take that, Madam Macmillan. Take that, Craff and Sidus and Sprout and Hooch and Slughorn and those boys from Durmstrang and that woman on the Knight Bus. Take that!

Remus breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth—and for the first time ever, it was to dampen his maniacal happiness and not his werewolf-y anger.

AN: One chapter left...