Lupin—

What a coincidence! I happen to be bored, lonely, and miserable as well! What a joyous time to be alive!

In case you couldn't tell, that was sarcasm. I thought I'd make that perfectly clear, just in case the fever has rendered you incapable of basic human communication. Didn't want you getting any wrong ideas about my supposed joy.

And don't you dare lecture me about being nice to your uncle. Your father told me all about the things that you've done to him. The way you talk about him, you'd think that his hatred towards you is unmerited, which is entirely untrue.

Apparently you managed to convince him that werewolves could read minds last time he visited, just because you thought it would be humorous to observe his paranoia? And you hid his suitcase? And you "accidentally" cooked his food wrong? And you "accidentally" let the Boggart escape? And don't even get me started on the OTHER essay that you mailed to your mother to hang on the wall. "World Domination is Sixty-Seven Easy Steps" with specific instructions to hang it in very plain sight? Come on, Lupin. You're not even trying.

(By the way—I did read that essay, and you spelled "space-time continuum" incorrectly. Also, you used it in the wrong context. Do you even know what it means? Helpful hint: it is not a type of machine gun, nor is it a black hole.)

Anyway. You say that he "doesn't like werewolves," but perhaps your uncle doesn't like you because he doesn't like children who fill his shoes with dead worms...? Just a thought.

(I do not disapprove of any of this. I find it highly amusing. In fact, I wouldn't be opposed to your coming home for Halloween so that we can antagonize your uncle together. I know some good hexes, and the wizard flu is a wonderful excuse to come home for a week. I don't even care if you infect us all. It'll make my life a little more interesting, at least—I'm horrifically bored.)

But anyway. Despite the jokes, I am sympathetic to your plight—I'm very sorry you're ill, and I'm far sorrier that you are stuck in the Hospital Wing with the ever-annoying Pomfrey. I would be happy to give you some updates from here in rural England to keep your mind off of your Pomfrey-induced misery. Yes, your mother did hang up both essays (the one about Gryffindor and the one about world domination), though I wouldn't recommend dominating the world until you're at least fifteen. I know you don't like to hear this, but you're a bit young. When you do rule the world, however, I would like you to lower the price of cat food. After you do that, then you may focus on less important things (like... I don't know... werewolf rights. But only after the cat food).

Your father has already written an essay in response to your Gryffindor/Ravenclaw essay—it's nine whole pages on why Ravenclaw is better than Gryffindor, so he's currently winning. Yours was only eight pages. It is, to your mother's dismay, hanging on the wall next to yours. I imagine he'll send you a copy. I'm planning on writing my own about the benefits of Slytherin, myself, and your mother is working on one denouncing wizarding culture completely. We're all bored. Can you tell?

I'm very sorry that you are hot under the covers. If only there was a convenient Cooling Charm that is described in detail on page 560 of your Charms textbook. (About halfway down the page—learning it should provide entertainment as well as better temperature control.) Goodness knows that being too hot is probably the worst thing that you've ever had to go through. You have my complete sympathy.

I'm glad you had a nice Halloween. I'll be honest: I forgot about it completely. Just let October thirty-first pass without a second thought. I think that's a testament to how miserable I am. I'm bored as well; your parents won't let me leave my house. I think they're downright terrified of what I'll do to your uncle.

Anyway. Feel free to write back whenever you'd like. Right now. In two weeks. I don't care. It isn't like I've got anything else to do.

—J. Questus (not Professor. Please. I'm miserable enough.)

Remus put down the letter with a chuckle. "What is it?" asked Madam Pomfrey, who was mixing a Pepper-Up Potion.

"Professor Questus. He's in a good mood today, and it's quite a funny letter."

"Oh." Madam Pomfrey's face wasn't in view, but Remus could practically feel the eyeroll. He ignored it and started writing a response immediately.

Dear Professor Questus—

I DON'T antagonize Uncle Bryson, and he really DOES hate me on the pure basis of my lycanthropy. I tried to please him for many years before I realized that he was never going to like me, no matter what I did—and then I started having some fun with it. You should know that not all of that was on purpose, and ALL of them were his fault. I did not tell him that werewolves could read minds; I simply fueled his assumption. (It was hilarious. He wouldn't stay in the same room with me for two seconds, which was a win-win. I doubt there's anything in his head to begin with... sorry; that was uncalled for.)

The suitcase incident was completely his fault—he told me not to touch it (he was convinced that I'm a kleptomaniac, just because some other werewolves steal things to live). So HE was the one to put the Disillusionment Charm on it, not me. Then he forgot where it was and blamed me.

As for the food, he mentioned to my father that werewolves often go hungry because they're picky and dramatic, and he was very careful to let me overhear. Then I put vanilla, salt, hot sauce, and a bit of pumpkin juice in his tomato soup. The color turned out fine. The taste did not, but he couldn't very well ask for something else after he'd professed that I was such a "picky eater". It was a stroke of genius on my end, I think.

He brought the Boggart upon himself. Started teasing my father about how useless his work was—said that no one's afraid of Boggarts anyhow since we all know they're not real. Dad was laughing it off, but he was bothered. Then Uncle Bryson said that he didn't know why my father trusted a Boggart in the house with a werewolf, anyway—so I left the cabinet door open. "Oops, looks like you really can't trust a werewolf in the house with a Boggart!" I felt guilty and put it back before it found Uncle Bryson, but Mum caught me wrestling with the cupboard door and I got a very stern talking-to.

...BUT then Mum accidentally let it out an hour later when Uncle Bryson called me a "financial burden", which was the funniest thing I'd seen all day. Unfortunately, Dad came across it first and then got angry with the both of us.

I'll have you know that my essay on world domination is the finest literary work that I have ever produced. I plan to get it published someday. Then I'll teach a class at Hogwarts with my essay as the textbook. "D.A.D.A.: Domination And the Dark Arts" sounds like a great title, doesn't it? I do hope it doesn't scare Uncle Bryson when he sees that essay hanging on the wall. I do hope that it doesn't lower his opinion of me. I do hope that he doesn't panic. I do SO want to uphold my shining reputation as an upstanding member of society.

(No, I do not know what a space-time continuum is. What is it?)

I appreciate that you invited me to my own house (thanks, I guess), but I can't leave Hogwarts because I'm highly contagious. Even though you wouldn't mind having the wizard flu, I wouldn't want to infect Mum or Dad (although infecting Uncle Bryson... never mind; that's mean). That said, I would be willing to learn any hex you would be willing to teach me, even though I wouldn't use them on Uncle Bryson. James and Sirius need to be brought down a peg every so often.

I mean it, though—don't antagonize Uncle Bryson. I don't hate him; he's just fun to tease. He loves my dad, and Dad loves him. That's enough for me.

I'll give you updates on the Halloween pranks when I get them from my friends! That should make you slightly less miserable (or perhaps it won't change anything. Maybe you're just a naturally miserable person).

Have a great afternoon, Professor!

—R.J. Lupin

Nimbus: Prank update time!
Red: How're you doing, Sheepie?!
Sheep: Significantly worse now. The name "Sheep" is dumb enough. You don't have to make it dumber.
Goldfish: It's not dumb! And about the prank: Pensley hated it!
Sheep: She did?
Nimbus: Oh, yes!
Red: I could have told it better, Goldfish. Should have let me do it.
Goldfish: Sorry.
Nimbus: She said that we were demonstrating a "disgusting lack of respect" and needed to "act with maturity".
Red: But get this... she couldn't take all of the decorations down!
Sheep: She couldn't?
Nimbus: Nope! Especially the flying bats. Her aim is terrible. Tiny bats were flying around the classroom all day.
Sheep: I thought that she would like it. "Creative" and "fun" and all that.
Nimbus: She didn't! And then she blamed me and Sirius right off the bat.
Sheep: Not me?
Red: Nah, she likes you, I think. Sometimes. She thinks you're a paragon of virtue. Sometimes.
Nimbus: You never can tell with Pensley.
Goldfish: The other students have been talking about it nonstop.
Red: Yep! And no one could prove that it was us.
Nimbus: Nope! And I reckon Minerva doesn't even mind. She doesn't like Pensley much.
Red: Exactly! And you'll never guess what Filius said when she went to complain to him.
Sheep: I daresay I shall not.
Nimbus: "It's some advanced spellwork, especially if it is indeed Mr. Potter and Mr. Black. Accusing them means that you think them capable of fifth-year spells, does it not? You must think very highly of them."
Sheep: It's official—I adore Professor Flitwick.
Nimbus: Me too! Pensley shut up after that. Doesn't think we're good enough to do it, I suppose—or at least won't admit it.
Sheep: How did the other prank go? The one with the Fwoopers?
Goldfish: It was a lo
Red: Let me tell it. It was a lot of fun!
Nimbus: I want to tell it, actually. We flew around like BIRDS, I tell you! Perfect formation.
Red: Not really, though. First-years kept bumping into each other willy-nilly.
Nimbus: Okay, maybe not PERFECT. But I would argue that bumping into each other MADE it perfect. Rolanda was FURIOUS.
Red: Minerva was even more furious.
Nimbus: But the sight of tiny first-years clad in bright colors swooping across the sky with me in the lead well made up for it.
Sheep: How much detention did you get?
Nimbus: THAT'S THE BEST PART. None!
Sheep: No way.
Nimbus: Well, we got a ton, actually. But none during Quidditch practices! Minerva REALLY wants me to make the team, I think. But detention that doesn't interfere with Quidditch is hardly detention at all!
Sheep: Your logic astounds me.
Red: But we did lose a myriad House points for tricking first-years. Minerva's livid.
Nimbus: So anyway, Red and Goldfish and I have pictures we wanna show you.
Sheep: I hate these nicknames.
Red: I know. We'll put them in the notebook so you can see them. The pictures, not the nicknames.
Nimbus: Pick your favorites and we'll copy them for you. The pictures, not the nicknames.
Goldfish: Are you feeling better? (You, not the pictures.)
Sheep: I am, actually. I feel great.

Hours passed, and Remus and his friends wrote back and forth for ages.

Evans could say what she liked about Remus' friends, but Remus thought they were brilliant.

Dear Remus,

Your uncle Bryson visited yesterday evening. It was nice to see my brother again, even though I don't hold a lot of his views. He wasn't nearly as insensitive as he was last time he visited the house—but then again, you were in it last time. It was quite lovely, reminiscing about old times...

Love,
Dad.

Dear Remus,

Your father is stupid and your uncle is a git. I ended up staying home with them, and I wish I hadn't. There were so many thinly-veiled insults towards certain groups of people that I wanted to throw him out the window. I don't know how your father was so complacent about it all...

Pray for me,
Mum.

Lupin—

Your father seemed happy to see your uncle Bryson. Your mother did not. There was some shouting. There were some disputes. You'll be proud to note that I did not antagonize him, but I did try very hard to listen to whatever they were saying (it wasn't like there was anything else to do). I didn't catch anything, and I doubt your parents will tell you about it. Be assured that, when they inevitably tell me all about it tomorrow, I will bring you up to speed (unless, of course, they make me promise not to tell you. I am a man of my word). Be forewarned: your mother is livid. Anyway, I hope Pomfrey isn't being too insufferable...

—J. Questus

Lupin—

Your parents did not have to good sense to make me promise to keep the information that they divulged about your uncle's visit to myself, so I am going to tell you everything that I know. You have to right to know, after all. He is your uncle, and much of the visit was indeed about you (which I'm sure you've already guessed).

He Apparated just outside of your house around ten am, knocked politely, and your father came to answer the door. They talked for a bit about trivial things (money, home life, "how have you been?", etc etc etc I HATE small talk), and then went inside. Apparently, it started out very pleasant. Your mother made tea, your father and uncle sat in the sitting room and talked, there was some good conversation, etc. Then things started to go south when your father brought up your education. Bryson Adams, apparently, did not know that you were going to Hogwarts—and he wasn't very happy about it.

Your father described the chaos that ensued as "a spirited discussion." Your mother prefers the more forcible phrase "a heated row." Judging by your mother's face and your father's blind spot towards his brother, I'm inclined to agree with Mrs. Lupin. All I got out of them was that Bryson Adams proposed that Hogwarts was a strictly human institution, your father challenged him to find a difference between you and a human, your uncle provided many differences, your mother got angry, and then exceedingly disrespectful things were said regarding werewolves (by your uncle, obviously). He seems to think that it is your parents' responsibility, first and foremost, to "get rid of you," and that pushing the burden of a twelve-year-old werewolf onto others is sheer impudence and immorality. Which is wrong of him to say, by the way (because you're the idiotic type of person who might actually believe such nonsense).

When your parents came to rant over tea, however, I did learn some information that I think you might find useful.

1. Your father will never, ever, find irredeemable fault with your uncle. They grew up together, they love each other, they were close as anything as children, and your uncle is the only one in your father's entire extended family that did not disown you. Your father is extremely grateful for his "tolerance," (he defines the term loosely) and is more or less blind to all of your uncle's faults. He's annoyed and angry, but he isn't willing to cut ties. You might be interested to note, however, that he loves you far more. If your father had to choose, he'd choose you—that is a fact of which I am certain.

2. Your mother, however, did NOT grow up with your uncle, and she found irredeemable faults the second that he changed his name on your account. In fact, she thinks that your father is betraying you even by meeting up with his brother in private. That said, she does care about her husband's happiness and trusts his judgement. Whether she will or will not after yesterday remains to be seen. You know, I do believe that she automatically sees all of her in-laws as villains after the way that they treated you.

3. Bryson Adams has been a matter of dispute between the two of them for years. I don't think that the two of them could have an honest-to-goodness fight, though. For all of the teasing that they do, they're annoyingly afraid of offending each other.

4. Your uncle advocated for your "humane" execution when you were four. I hope this isn't shocking information—I should hope it would have been obvious. He thinks that werewolves are evil, emotionless, incapable of empathy and love, and dangerous. He believes that you became a literal monster after you were bitten and cannot be cured (and, to be fair, all of that is true on the full moon). He believes that your father is keeping you around out of delusion, self-deception, and sentimental value. I don't believe he loves you at all. But he does love your father, and that's something.

5. Apparently he also made some derogatory comments towards Muggles as well as werewolves. He's just all-around awful—clearly the standard Lupin afraid-of-offending-people thing doesn't run in the family. Your mother is seething. Your father is guilty. I am not surprised. Do let me know how you feel about it so that I can add it to the list.

That's all I've learned about the situation, regrettably. If you can fill in any of the gaps, that would be wonderful. I hope that some of this has been helpful—and please do NOT tell your parents that I've told you this. Even though they didn't make me promise not to tell you, they didn't explicitly give me permission, either.

Get well soon.

—J. Questus

Remus put down the letter and stared at Questus' fourth point. Humane execution? Incapable of empathy? Sentimental value? The second-to-last sentence of that fourth point was so hard to swallow that it seemed to get caught in Remus' throat. I don't believe he loves you at all. Remus read it over and over again. Over and over and over and over again.

He had known that his uncle didn't love him. He'd known that his uncle probably wanted him dead. He'd known his uncle's views inside and out. But no one had ever said them, because Remus' family never talked about anything, and there was power in words. It was one thing to believe that Remus should be killed. It was another to walk up to one's brother and say, "Hi, I think that your four-year-old son should be executed because he's a menace to society. Don't worry, it'll be humane."

Of course Remus hadn't known that. Of course it was a shock. Of course Remus' dad hadn't told him that Uncle Bryson had legitimately voiced his opposition and had tried to act on his views.

Remus felt ill, but he didn't understand why he felt ill. He's already known. So why...?

He suddenly felt very angry at Questus. Why would he tell Remus that? I hope this isn't shocking information? Of course it was shocking information that Remus' own uncle wanted him dead!

But Remus had already known that.

But that sentence... I don't believe he loves you at all... it made Remus sick. He'd known this. He'd suspected this. Even his father hadn't ever implied that Uncle Bryson loved Remus deep down... or even liked him. Not even a little. But hearing someone actually say it hurt Remus in a place that he'd never been hurt.

Why did it hurt? He'd already known!

Suddenly, Remus realized why it hurt.

He hadn't known.

He'd known in his head. If someone had asked him if Uncle Bryson loved him, he'd have said "no" without even hesitating. But the fact was, Remus loved Uncle Bryson. He didn't like him much. He hated spending time with him. But he always sort of admired the way that Uncle Bryson believed that his brother was harboring a monster and tearing the family apart, yet went to see him regardless. Uncle Bryson went against the rest of the family to go see a brother that he himself disapproved of. Uncle Bryson was a fundamentally good person (in Remus' opinion); he just didn't like Dark creatures. Didn't like werewolves. Didn't like Remus.

And that hurt. Remus couldn't care less if Pensley didn't love him. He hoped she didn't (although he didn't want her to hate him, seeing as he saw her on a daily basis). Remus wouldn't have been shocked if someone told him that no one at the Ministry loved him. That was common sense. And Remus would have been much more concerned if someone like Evans or Snape did love him than if they didn't. But it hurt when it was family—because they were supposed to love by default, weren't they?—and it hurt even more when Remus loved the person and the person didn't love Remus back.

Love felt like too strong a word, but everyone that he genuinely liked at least cared for him, didn't they? And Remus had always loved Uncle Bryson... he just didn't like Uncle Bryson's views.

But Uncle Bryson wasn't the only one. Remus' father's family all hated him. Remus' father's mother didn't love him. Remus' father's father didn't love him. None of them did. Remus didn't even remember them, so it didn't hurt as much as facing the harsh reality of Uncle Bryson, but it still hurt to admit it to himself. They don't love me. They don't love me. They loved me when I was four and they don't anymore. Only two people in my family know what I am and still love me. I only have my parents and some of the Hogwarts staff. Not even the government cares if I live or die. In fact, they want me to die so much that they outright asked my father to do it, and I was only four.

The thought was shocking, but it was settling in. Why did it hurt less to admit that Uncle Bryson hated him than it did admitting that Uncle Bryson didn't love him?

He picked up a quill, and his hands were shaking slightly—Merlin's beard, he was so sensitive—and then he set to writing.

Dear Professor Questus,

Thank you for the letter. I must say that #4 did shock me a bit. Just a bit. I didn't know that Uncle Bryson advocated for my death when I was younger (Dad never mentioned it, obviously), and I did think that he might love me a little. Well, perhaps I didn't think it, but I'd never admitted the opposite to myself. Confronting that reality was probably the most interesting thing I've done all day (because I'm very, very bored).

I know you asked me to fill in some gaps, but I'm afraid I can't—clearly, I don't know much if I'm just now discovering that my uncle doesn't love me.

Thanks for letting me know. Mum and Dad never talk to me about Uncle Bryson, and he only comes over once every couple of years. I didn't really know all that (or at least I'd never put it into words). And it's very good to know that Mum might still be angry when I come home, whenever that may be. Now I can brace myself.

Also, I can't quite master that Cooling Charm. The best that I've achieved so far has been a few snowflakes on my bedsheets (which Madam Pomfrey wasn't happy about), and I don't think that's right. I've finished some work for Pensley, though, so my stay hasn't been completely wasted as of so far. Question about the Softening Charm: it cannot be used on living things, correct? I can't imagine the havoc it would wreak if it could, but I can't find anything in my textbook that professes that it cannot. If it can, then isn't it a very Dark spell? One could kill someone with it, couldn't one?

I'm starting to get a very runny nose. Impossibly runny, really. Which is unfortunate, since that's the only symptom of the wizard flu that I'm not used to on account of the full moons. There are currently fourteen people in the Hospital Wing, and Madam Pomfrey is more frazzled than I've ever seen her. I'm accustomed to one-on-one attention, so this is wonderful.

James has Quidditch tryouts tomorrow. I'll keep you posted if you do the same for me!

—R. Lupin

AN: Bit of a sad chapter. To cheer you up, here's a fun fact: apparently, turtles can jump. Who knew?!