Remus returned back to the common room and saw every single Gryffindor first-year trying on a Fwooper costume, James and Sirius and Peter at the center of it all. "You convinced them all?" said Remus incredulously. They'd made enough for everyone, but Remus had been certain that the majority of students wouldn't want to participate in such a risky prank. Flying without a teacher's permission and supervision was—for first-years—very against the rules.

"Yep," said Sirius. "Every last one of them, save Kathy Lewis right there—she's right terrified of flying."

"How'd you get them all?"

"Told 'em it was an extra-credit assignment."

Remus' mouth fell open so harshly that his jaw—slightly damaged from years of strenuous transformations—made a loud, painful popping noise. "You did WHAT?"

"Told 'em that it was an extra-credit assignment..."

"I heard you, Sirius! That was a lie!"

"And you think lying is always bad?"

"Yes!"

Sirius gave Remus a very long look. Remus wasn't sure what the look was supposed to mean, exactly, but he felt guilty anyway. Remus was lying to his friends; even though Sirius didn't know it, Remus wasn't who he professed to be. So no, Remus didn't think that all lying was bad. Some lying was for survival. But he didn't know how to explain which lies were good and which were bad, so he left the matter at rest. What was one more lie?

"You're making false promises," Remus continued. "What are you going to do when they find out that it wasn't an extra-credit assignment? That they're not receiving any extra credit for this at all? That they very well could get into huge trouble for this? That they're wasting their time to follow three second-years' whims?"

"Three second-years? I think you mean four."

"I said what I meant. Answer the question. What will you do?" Remus' words could have been harsh, but he spoke them with genuine curiosity, not in demanding accusation.

"Er... laugh?" said James, shrugging, and Sirius high-fived him.

"Merlin's beard," Remus muttered. "You have no consciences."

"You know you love us for it," said Sirius. "We're hilarious."

But did he? Did Remus really enjoy his friends' antics?

Well, yeah.

For someone who had grown up completely surrounded by adults, all the time... this was a lot of fun. Causing trouble gave Remus a thrill that he'd never experienced before in his quiet life. He loved his friends—boisterousness and all, even though they sometimes hurt Remus' ears—and the fact that they were so carefree whilst Remus was so careful really helped him relax. Remus felt guilty all the time, and they never did. Remus was afraid, and they never were. Remus worried, and they never did. Their differences were so refreshing after Remus' childhood (during which sameness and monotony had been all he'd known) and Remus loved it.

But purposefully tricking those younger than they? Tricking them into breaking school rules? Creating for them a reputation as troublemakers before they even had a chance to develop their own reputations? Getting them into trouble when they only sought to please? Taking advantage of these small, terrified, frankly confused first-year children?

You aren't much older, a voice in his head reasoned. Probably by only a few months. They're basically just your peers, and tricking one's peers is infinitely better than tricking little children who don't know any better.

But it felt wrong. Remus had been the youngest in his family of three his entire life—he'd been isolated and babied constantly, so much so that Peter had been the first person ever who had genuinely looked up to him. Remus was often the youngest, the most inexperienced, the one from whom people withheld information, the one who was inferior simply because of his species, the one who was fragile and weak and naïve. He was used to being the little kid.

But these first-years looked up to second-years, just as Remus had. They had no Hogwarts experience, and the second-years had a full year of it under their belts—that was a big difference, even though the age gap was small. And Oswald had proven that the first-years had heard a lot about the Marauders... and therefore looked up to them even more so than other second-years. The Marauders had a reputation, and with reputation came responsibility. Remus had responsibility now. He couldn't help but remember how helpless he felt as a first-year—how much he valued people that helped him—and then, ultimately, Remus couldn't help but think that the Marauders were crossing a line in lying to first-years. Remus knew that he should tell the first-years that it wasn't an extra-credit assignment after all, so at least they would know what they were getting into.

But then again...

Remus remembered how angry James had been back in first-year, when Remus had accidentally told him off for hexing the other students. He remembered Sirius siding with James, and Peter siding with both of them. He remembered feeling ostracized and alone all day. He remembered the loneliness, and he remembered that he couldn't do that again. Then he remembered Evans' words... what was it she'd said? She'd said that she had a loyalty to Snape, since he had been her first friend. Remus had a loyalty to his friends, right?

And again. Professor Questus had told Remus that he needed to keep his friends around as long as possible. No matter what. Because Remus needed them, didn't he? He couldn't risk this.

Besides, Remus had never gotten a childhood like they had. People always told him that he was responsible and mature—too mature, in fact. Once, back in first year, Madam Pomfrey had forgotten that he was a child and had accidentally sworn in front of him. Remus' parents were happy when he acted like a rebellious preteen. James and Sirius told Remus that he was being too serious all the time. Remus deserved this, didn't he? A normal child wouldn't snitch on his friends and ruin their fun, and Remus had only ever wanted to be normal. Remus had already been the responsible one today when he'd helped Oswald, so he could allow himself to be an irresponsible child and go along with the joke.

Just this once!

And maybe next time. And the time after that. Because Remus' friends had made a huge difference in his life, and he needed to keep them no matter what (Professor Questus had said so, so it had to be true).

"It is pretty funny," admitted Remus. "But... you're sure that this is okay?"

"Positive," said James.

Remus' mind was made up. He wouldn't stop the prank. He couldn't stop the prank. "Fine, then. I'm going to the dorm. Feeling a bit tired. I'm going to read for a bit."

"Sure thing, mate."

But Remus didn't go to the dormitory. He went to Hagrid's, even though he'd just been there the day that he was released from the Hospital Wing. Hagrid invited him in to eat rock cakes and drink tea, but Remus politely declined. "I just need a quiet place to walk around think," said Remus. "May I use your pumpkin patch?"

"Make yerself at home, Remus!" said Hagrid, blessedly retreating back into his cabin and leaving Remus to himself.

Remus took a very long walk amongst the pumpkins until it was past curfew, and then he hurried back inside before anyone noticed he was gone, his nose cold and runny and his legs aching from pacing back and forth for two hours.

He needed a handkerchief. Where could he find a...?

Wait.

Oh no.

Remus Lupin was used to sore joints and fatigue and headaches and general aches and pains. He was used to being tired and not getting enough sleep and feeling all-around awful. He was used to coughs and shortness of breath and fevers and chills. But he was not used to runny noses. And—to his horror—he suddenly realized that his nose had started running before he'd paced out in the cold.

He suddenly realized that he didn't feel great. He'd subconsciously chalked it up to typical post-moon illness, but after encountering the ill first-year... Well, wizarding viruses were rapid contagions. Symptoms often started immediately. His father had brought one home from work once, and Remus had started showing symptoms exactly ten minutes after his father had walked through the doorway. His mother (as a Muggle, she'd been immune) had made Remus and his father soup for a week straight while they recovered, and she'd complained about it for two.

Instead of going back to his dormitory, he headed towards the Hospital Wing, an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach that was only partially because of his possible-virus and partially because of his residual prank-adjacent mental turmoil.

Madam Pomfrey greeted him at the door. "Mr. Lupin? This is quite the surprise. Are you feeling quite well?"

"Er, yes, Madam Pomfrey. I'm feeling... adequate. I just think that maybe... maybe I caught Oswald's virus? I might want to check up on that before I go infecting the whole school."

"Sensible," said Madam Pomfrey. "But you don't have symptoms?"

"No... I do. I think. I don't know. It's all very confusing since... you know. The... the other day." Remus was eyeing Oswald, who appeared to be sleeping. Madam Pomfrey glanced at him quickly and then pulled Remus into her office and shut the door.

"What are you trying to say, Lupin?"

"Full moon, Madam Pomfrey. Werewolf. I feel under the weather quite often, so I can never tell when I'm actually ill. Besides... I haven't been ill a whole lot since... since I'm pretty much perpetually quarantined." He grinned. "I only get ill when Dad gets home before he notices symptoms."

"What do you mean you 'feel under the weather quite often'?"

"I'm sore and fatigued a lot. Surely you knew that, Madam Pomfrey. I can't go through what I do every month and be right as rain all the time."

"I thought it was a minor thing, not like this. Oswald Collins has a very severe strand of wizarding virus. If you feel like that constantly, to the point that you can't tell whether you have the virus or not... that's not ideal."

"Well, maybe I don't have it, Madam Pomfrey. I came because I wasn't sure. Do you have a handkerchief?"

Madam Pomfrey sighed and removed a handkerchief from a small drawer. "It's not looking good, Mr. Lupin."

"I'm aware of that." Remus blew his nose and tried to hand the handkerchief back to Madam Pomfrey, who wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "I might not have it, though. I can't even catch the vast majority of viruses, wizard or Muggle."

"And why is that?"

"Well, I'm... not human, technically. Basically..." Remus cringed and flushed a little before continuing. "Basically, if a dog can't catch it... then neither can I. So if this is a human-only strain...?"

"It's not."

"Oh. Then you're right, it doesn't look good."

Madam Pomfrey sighed again. "Especially because of the full moon. I imagine you have a terrible immune system right now. Sit down on your bed and hold out your hand; I'm going to do a quick diagnostic charm." Remus held out his hand, which was always a bit embarrassing. He hated his hands; they were scarred and ugly and tiny—but, honestly, that was the least of his worries right now. Madam Pomfrey moved her wand in a complicated wiggling shape and then tapped Remus' palm. Immediately, his hand turned blue—after about two seconds, it faded.

"What did that mean?" said Remus, panicked. "That was weird. What did it mean?"

"It means," said Madam Pomfrey, putting her wand back into her pocket, "that you're going to be in the Hospital Wing for a very long time."

"Oh no."

"Oh, yes. I imagine half the school will be soon. Professor Dumbledore had better give me a pay raise; breakouts like these are exhausting. Go on—find a bed in the main ward."

"Can't I stay in here?"

"No. It makes it easier when you're all in one place, and there's no need to be hidden away in here since it's not lycanthropy-related."

"But Oswald will feel bad for infecting me, and I don't want him to..."

Madam Pomfrey nearly laughed at that. "You have quite the penchant for guilt, Mr. Lupin, but this is very advanced guilt indeed. You feel bad because Mr. Collins will feel bad that you feel bad? Surely you realize how ridiculous that sounds?"

"It doesn't feel ridiculous," grouched Remus, and then he realized something horrifying. "Oh no! I'm going to miss Halloween! And Quidditch tryouts!"

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?"

"I... don't know. Isn't there something I can do to help? I know I'm ill and have to stay here, but... I feel fine. I really do. How long must I stay?"

"A week and five minutes," said Madam Pomfrey, dropping a cap in the jar for the offending word.

"But I'm telling the truth! I feel... just the same as I usually do... oh, please don't pity me. I'm so used to soreness and fatigue that I barely feel it."

"I hate the idea of you walking around feeling like you have the wizard flu all the time. I wish there was something I could do to help. You must understand that, as the matron, incurable illnesses are very unsettling for me."

"Trust me, it's unsettling for me, too," said Remus. "So... how's the wizard flu different from the Muggle flu?"

"It's a particular strand that's evolved and infused with magic. Comes about in magical environments. Symptoms are similar to the Muggle flu, but occasionally a bit worse, depending on the strain of Muggle flu that we're using as a comparison."

"Will I feel worse tomorrow?"

"You certainly will. Now go take a bed in the main ward, because I'm very busy. I imagine I'll have ten students in here by tomorrow."

Remus took a seat in the bed furthest from both Oswald and the window. "What if I have a nightmare and wake up everyone else up?" he called.

"They'll live."

"But they might hate me."

"Did you want them to like you?"

"I don't want to stand out."

"No one will care. People wake up with fevers in the middle of the night all the time when they have the wizard flu. Hospital Wings aren't ever particularly quiet at night, so calm down."

"Fi—I mean, I understand," muttered Remus, and he leaned back in bed to read a book.

He honestly felt fine.

Oswald was still sleeping two hours later. Remus heard his friends knocking on the Hospital Wing door, and he put down his book, very worried that he'd infected them.

"Is Remus here?" said Peter quietly. "It's past curfew and he isn't back."

"Exactly. It's past curfew. Why are you here?"

"Because we want to make sure he's all right."

"He's fine. He has the flu. He'll be in here for a week."

James made a noise of utter frustration. "A week?! But what about Halloween? And Quidditch tryouts? And the feast? And... well. We had big plans for after Quidditch tryouts. What about our plans? Where will he be then?!"

"He'll be here, obviously."

"Can we see him?"

"Of course not. He's highly contagious."

"Is he awake?"

"Yes."

"Will you pass on a message?"

Madam Pomfrey sighed for the third time that day. "I suppose. But then it's off to bed with you three or I'll be forced to take House points. Not that taking House points seems to bother you, but I'll take my chances."

"Tell him 'notebook'."

"Notebook?"

"Yes, that. Thank you! See ya, Poppy. And take good care of him! We wouldn't survive without him."

"No, you would not."

Remus heard his friends' footsteps fade, and then he pulled out the notebook as quickly as possible.

"May I ask what that is?" said Madam Pomfrey curiously.

"No," said Remus. He was still a bit frustrated with Madam Pomfrey for making him sleep in the main ward, and besides, the notebook still felt like a sort of secret.

"Very well. Not sure I want to know, anyway. It's ten o'clock, Lupin. To bed at eleven. You're feverish, so I'll allow you to stay up past curfew."

Remus felt fine. This was a much lower fever than the one that he sometimes got before a full moon, and he was certain that he could fall asleep in seconds without any sort of potion. But he didn't tell Madam Pomfrey that, because special allowances were pleasant sometimes—in this extremely specific case, at least. "Yes, Madam Pomfrey," he said, and then he waited for writing to appear on the next clean page of the enchanted notebook, complete with his friends' stupid code names. He was Sheep. James was Nimbus. Peter was Goldfish. Sirius was Red. It was a long story.

Nimbus: Hey Sheep. Did Poppy pass on the message?
Sheep: You forgot the vocative comma.
Nimbus: You're a git.
Sheep: I'm also ill, so don't be mean to me.
Goldfish: Are you feeling okay?
Sheep: Yeah. I'm fine.
Goldfish: Do you want to sleep? We'll leave you alone if you want to sleep.
Nimbus: Don't be an idiot, Goldfish. He doesn't want to sleep.
Sheep: Thanks for asking, Pe
Nimbus: You mean Goldfish.
Sheep: These are dumb code names. Anyway. I'd rather talk with you.
Red: You'll miss Halloween!
Sheep: I know. Update me?
Red: Constantly.
Nimbus: We'll let you know how the pranks go!
Goldfish: And the feast!
Nimbus: And the Quidditch tryouts. I expect you two to be giving live updates and taking pictures the whole time.
Red: Ughhhhh.
Sheep: I don't need that, James.
Nimbus: Nimbus.
Sheep: Fine. Nimbus.
Nimbus: And yes, you do! This will be the most legendary Quidditch tryout ever. I am going to make the team with a perfect score.
Sheep: Sure.
Nimbus: Don't be mean.
Sheep: But I'm ill. I can do whatever I want.
Red: Except go to the Halloween feast...
Sheep: Well, you don't have to rub it in!
Goldfish: I'll do live updates for Remus, Nimbus!
Nimbus: Thanks, Goldfish. You're the best.
Red: I thought I was the best?
Nimbus: Not anymore.
Sheep: I always knew you were the best, Goldfish.
Red: I'm still the best.
Nimbus: After me.

The banter continued for a while, and Remus was smiling ear-to-ear the entire time. They continued to talk until eleven, when Madam Pomfrey gave Remus a stern look and told him that it was time for bed.

Sheep: Madam Pomfrey says it's time for bed. I have to go. Thank you so much for keeping me entertained.
Nimbus: Least we could do. Night!
Red: Sleep tight!
Goldfish: Good night!
Red: Don't let the wer
Nimbus: RED NO DON'T SAY THAT
Sheep: What? What was he going to say?
Red: Don't let the BEDBUGS bite. Sorry. Misspelled bedbugs there.
Sheep: Since when does "bedbug" start with W-E-R?
Nimbus: You know Sirius. Plays by his own rules. Haha. Anyway. Good night.

Remus didn't have any nightmares that night, even with giant windows looming at him from right across his bed.

Yep. His friends were good for him, all right, and he couldn't afford to lose them.

"Lu—Remus? What are you doing here?" cried Oswald, and his voice pierced through the darkness that was Remus' peaceful slumber—immediately, Remus was yanked out of his sleep. He rubbed his eyes. Then he quickly looked himself up and down, making sure that nothing had slipped off during the night. He couldn't afford any scars to be showing. His friends were already close enough to the truth... he couldn't risk Oswald finding out, too. That would just be a disaster.

"Seems I've caught the virus that's going around," he said airily. "But I feel fine. Must have a lighter strain."

"Is it my fault?" said Oswald, his eyes wide.

"Probably not. I've been feeling ill for a while." That was the truth, but not in the way that Remus had implied it.

"Oh," said Oswald, who looked absolutely exhausted, what with his droopy eyes and messy hair. Mere minutes later, he fell asleep again. Remus smiled and laid his open notebook on his lap (just in case his friends started writing again), and then pulled out a spare piece of parchment.

Dear Professor Questus,

My life is awful.

You already knew that, of course. I'm not a particularly lucky person. But this is AWFUL. Everything's happening at once!

The full moon was only a few days ago, and now I'm in the Hospital Wing again because I caught some nasty strain of the wizarding flu. Madam Pomfrey says I'm highly contagious, so even though I feel FINE, I'm not allowed out. She told me that it's evolved, infused itself with magic, and become immune to magical solutions. So the only thing she can offer me is "bed rest, water, food, and good old-fashioned Muggle remedies". I don't need any of the above; I just need to stop being contagious. I can attend class in this state! The only problem is that I'll spread it around if I do. I'm plenty resilient, aren't I? I can attend class with the wizard flu. Easy.

I caught it from a first-year whom I found crying in the corridors—his name's Oswald. I helped him to the Hospital Wing (because he didn't know where it was) and now I'm ill. James and Sirius and Peter wanted to visit me, but Madam Pomfrey didn't want them to get the virus. Honestly, how do humans feel all the time if THIS bothers them so much? Am I really that different? Madam Pomfrey was HORRIFIED when I told her that I didn't notice the symptoms because I feel like this a lot.

Madam Pomfrey says that there will probably be at least ten students in the Hospital Wing by the end of today, and they'll only increase exponentially. She says that there's an outbreak like this at least once every few years. Sometimes she has to start releasing people while they're still contagious (because the Wing gets too full), and then they have to heal up the rest of the way in their dorms. When that happens, just about everyone in the school gets infected, and Madam Pomfrey says she gets so busy that she hardly sleeps at all.

She also says that she's been exposed to so many wizarding flus (apparently she started working in the virus ward at St. Mungo's right after leaving Hogwarts, and she was an intern during summers) that she's pretty much immune to a lot of them. Lucky.

She's still got it worse than me, though, what with all the kids who are going to need her help, all at the same time. She seems to think it's the end of the world, but I can think of at least ONE thing that is much worse to be infected with. Anyway.

James and Sirius and I decorated the D.A.D.A. room for Halloween. The decorations are much better than the ones we used to decorate Professor Dumbledore's office last year. We're quicker at using spells now, so we could get a lot more done. We hung banners and spiders and signs and skeletons and pumpkins in every direction—I've attached a photograph that Sirius took. Ignore James in the background; he was practicing his push-ups at the most inopportune time.

We also did something that I didn't completely approve of, but I couldn't stop them if I wanted to. They made these costumes for the first-years (Fwoopers. They're stupid costumes really), and James and Peter and Sirius are going to fly around the castle with them in a V-formation. They figure it's the perfect costume, and James really likes coercing first-years into doing dangerous broomstick activities.

But I'm going to miss all that now that I'm ill, and I'm also going to miss James' Quidditch tryouts. On the other hand, though, I'm ALSO going to miss a couple D.A.D.A. classes and the Halloween feast (loud, crowded, and noisy), so I'd say it worked out for me.

Even though I am HORRIBLY bored.

Please let me know how it goes with Uncle Bryson, and do try not to antagonize him. He really is very nice to Dad, and Dad likes him a lot. He's not a bad person... he just thinks that werewolves are a menace to society. And, seeing as I just assisted my friends in decorating the D.A.D.A. classroom and coerced ALL the Gryffindor first-years into participating in a dangerous activity on broomsticks, I'm inclined to agree.

Madam Pomfrey's making me sleep in the main ward, so I'm being very careful to stay completely under the covers so that no one accidentally sees any of my scars—which means that I'm unbearably hot. (You know, I have to be very careful not to speak those words around James: if he were here, he'd run a hand through his hair, chuckle in that self-righteous way of his, and say "No, Remus, I'M unbearably hot." He makes that joke about seven times a day, and it gets very predictable and annoying. Classic James.)

Is Mum still hanging my letters on the wall? I just sent her an eight-page essay about why Gryffindor is better than Ravenclaw. Dad's going to throw a fit if he sees that on the wall and I'd really like to be around to see that.

Write back soon, because I'm bored, lonely, and miserable.

—R.J. Lupin

AN: Apparently, there's only one mostly vegetarian spider (it's called the Bagheera kiplingi). Interestingly, it's named after the panther in Rudyard Kipling's Jungle Book (hence "Bagheera" and "Kipling-i"). I say "mostly vegetarian" because, although they eat plants primarily, they also sometimes steal ant larvae or engage in cannibalism when they're feeling particularly frisky.