Remus was sitting up in bed, listening to the chatter around the busy Hospital Wing and reading the rapid writing appearing on the pages of his notebook.

Red: And now James is doing a dive... oh no oh no he's gonna crash... he didn't. We're good.
Goldfish: Boy, that was a fantastic dive.
Red: Really was. And... he got the Quaffle in! He's really good.
Goldfish: The captain looks impressed.
Red: There's no way he won't make the team. His attitude is better than it was last year, too.
Goldfish: Yeah, he's not shouting at people and trying to correct them.
Red: I told him not to do that last night.
Sheep: Lo and behold, he does listen.
Goldfish: That was the BEST dodge I've ever seen.
Red: Yeah, he's gonna make it.
Sheep: After all McGonagall did to make sure detentions didn't conflict with practices, I'm sure he will.

The next day, Remus woke up at five-thirty am and stared at the next blank page in the notebook until writing finally appeared there (five-thirty-five. Apparently, James was excited enough to wake up early and wait for the lists to be posted. That wasn't new, though, because James Potter was usually up at the crack of dawn).

Nimbus: I MADE THE TEAM! CHASER! LIKE, ACTUALLY MADE IT. NOT EVEN RESERVE! PRACTICE STARTS NEXT SATURDAY!
Sheep: I knew you would!
Nimbus: Everyone did! I was brilliant! Wow. Wow!
Red: Does this mean that he's going to get all angry and snap at us every time there's a game?
Nimbus: I didn't ever do that.
Red: Yeah, you did. You get all snappy when you're anxious. You were a right monster this morning.
Sheep: I wouldn't use the word "monster". But you kind of were last year, too.

There was a very long silence. Finally, James responded.

Nimbus: None of us are monsters, least of all me. I'm a loveable person all the time.
Red: You wish.
Sheep: The only loveable person here is Pe—oh, I hate these names. Goldfish.
Goldfish: I think you're loveable, too.
Sheep: That's nice of you to say. Madam Pomfrey doesn't. She yelled at me yesterday for staying up too late doing homework.
Red: How long did you stay up?
Sheep: About twelve-thirty. But I had a high fever, so she was sympathetic somewhere deep down.
Nimbus: What a rulebreaker.
Sheep: Shut up.

Sirius' birthday came and went, and Remus wrote back and forth with his friends in the notebook nearly all day. James tried to put the mirror inside of the notebook, but it didn't transport to Remus, unfortunately. Instead, James tried to draw Sirius' expressions at the party that Remus had helped plan for him via notebook. James was awful at drawing, so it made Remus laugh so hard that Madam Pomfrey got worried about him.

Remus ended up making Sirius a very elaborately charmed birthday card, and it transported via notebook perfectly. James ended up buying Sirius a fancy camera case that shrunk to fit in his pocket (as per Remus' suggestion). Then the writing died away—Remus figured his friends were doing something exciting and didn't want to write to him anymore—and Remus had to occupy himself another way.

This, Remus realized guiltily, was the second year in a row that he'd been in the Hospital Wing during Sirius' birthday. But his friends didn't seem to mind.

Professor Questus started a very large game of dots and boxes on the back of one of his letters, and he and Remus started making a move whenever they exchanged letters. Remus lost every single game, but he suspected that perhaps Professor Questus was cheating. But there was nothing else to do, especially since Remus' parents' letters were rife with pity and his friends were too busy to write to him all hours of the day.

Dear Professor Questus—

James made the Quidditch team, there are twenty-three people in the Hospital Wing, and I only have three more days before I can leave...

Lupin—

Your parents really can't cook. Additionally, I have taken to trying to murder Dumbledore's houseplant...

Dear Professor Questus—

Just leave it with me until the twentieth of November, I'm sure I can do the trick...

Lupin—

I swear it is invincible. Even fire didn't work...

Dear Professor Questus—

I did the Cooling Charm this morning to an acceptable degree (degree, get it? Haha)...

Lupin—

I'm assuming that you haven't started your plan for world domination yet, because cat food is still expensive...

Dear Professor Questus—

There are thirty-two students in the Hospital Wing. They're filling up the floor and Madam Pomfrey's office...

Lupin—

This houseplant is making me very angry...

"So..." said Sirius, popping a Chocolate Frog into his mouth. "We telling Remus soon? Quidditch tryouts are over. You made the team. Let's tell him."

"He only just got the wizard flu," said Peter. "Let's wait a little bit longer."

"No!" said Sirius. "He's had to deal with this alone for long enough, don't you think?"

"What if it's worse for him when we know?" said James thoughtfully.

"But we do know. There's no stopping that from happening. It's already happened."

"What if it's worse for him when he knows we know?"

Sirius groaned dramatically. "So what if it is? Let's just tell him! I'm tired of sneaking around and I want to ask questions!"

"But..." protested Peter.

"He's an indestructible werewolf, for goodness' sake! He can deal with it!"

"Fine," said James. "We'll tell him soon. But we need to plan first."

Sirius, who hated planning more than anything, groaned again—but, admittedly, it was partially out of relief.

After Remus' quarantine period was—finally, finally, finally!—over, he went to breakfast with his friends the next morning—finally, finally, finally!—and the Great Hall was oddly empty. Which made sense, because there were currently forty-one students in the Hospital Wing. "Have any of the staff gotten ill?" he asked James, who was buttering a crumpet with fierce concentration.

James shrugged. "No. Minerva would just scare the wizard flu off. Even the wizard flu won't go near Horace or Pensley. Rolanda doesn't stay on the ground long enough to catch it. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian is too good at magic. Cuthbert can't; he's a ghost. And Filius is so tiny that the virus probably missed him."

"We think that Argus has got it, but he's too stubborn to admit it," said Sirius. "He's just walking around the corridors sneezing like nobody's business."

"And Rubeus intimidates germs, I think," Peter added.

Remus laughed. "There are forty-one kids in the Hospital Wing," he said, "but Madam Pomfrey says that the virus seems to be contained... by some miracle. So she's not letting any out until she's sure they're not contagious. It was a tight fit."

"Brilliant," said Sirius, but he didn't seem to care much. "Fair warning: Pensley's still angry with us. That woman sure can hold a grudge."

"Also, I think that all of the Gryffindors are after me," said James, chewing thoughtfully on a scrap of bacon. "Their anger increases exponentially with their year. A twelve-year-old beat them at Quidditch tryouts. They're furious, especially the seventh-years."

Remus hardly knew what exponentially meant, but he got the gist. "I was afraid of that."

"Don't be afraid. I could take them on any day!" James started spearing the air with his fork. "Hi-yah! I am the master of Quidditch and fork warfare!"

"You wish!" said Sirius, joining in with his own fork.

"You realize that we are in the middle of a flu epidemic," said Remus. "Fighting with your saliva-covered forks may not be the best idea."

"Bah, I won't get ill," said James. "I'm too talented."

"And I'm too Pureblood," said Sirius. "Immune system of steel."

"Not sure that's how inbreeding works," muttered James, which earned him a sharp jab in the side from Sirius. Remus was afraid that James had genuinely offended Sirius at first, but Sirius was laughing.

"Anyway," said Sirius, "we're too good to catch some old wizard flu!"

In Charms class, Sirius sneezed.

"You idiot," hissed Remus. "Go to the Hospital Wing. You have the flu."

James blew his nose; he was sneezing, too. "Just allergies," he said.

"No! Go! Don't get anyone else ill! Go!"

"No!"

"I suffered; now it's your turn."

"I'll miss my first Quidditch practice!"

"Yes, you'll miss one practice out of tens and tens of practices. How terribly tragic. After Saturday, you've got practice three times a week. Go."

"But..."

"Think of all of the classes you'll miss."

James looked at Sirius. Sirius looked at James.

"Think of how much havoc you could cause in a small, crowded hospital room," Remus muttered, switching tactics.

James' and Sirius' hands shot up in the air at the same time, and they were in the Hospital Wing before Remus could even gloat about his success.

Peter sneezed during lunch.

"Go to the Hospital Wing, Peter."

Peter didn't even argue. He was looking quite green.

For the second week in a row, Remus was alone.

Just his luck.

He attended class alone. He took notes alone. He revised alone. He did Pensley's homework alone. He had to read Julius Caesar aloud alone (which was incredibly embarrassing). He used the Pensieve alone before bed. He didn't have any nightmares, but if he did, then he would have had them alone. He wrote letters to his parents and Professor Questus alone. No one pressured him to go outside. No one helped him revise for the Charms quiz (he aced it anyway). No one helped him revise for the Transfiguration quiz (he failed).

Before the Marauders had taken Remus' life by storm, this was what he'd expected Hogwarts to be like—a lonely, friendless Remus Lupin wandering the corridors, existing in the intervals between full moons—and Remus decided that he didn't like it. Not one bit.

"Good morning, students and faculty!" said Dumbledore, standing in front of a quite empty Great Hall. Remus put down his toast—he hated eating alone. "Faculty," Dumbledore mused. "I'm not sure if I like that word or very much dislike it. "Students and staff" has better alliteration anyway. Let me start over." He cleared his throat and started over. "Good morning, students and staff!"

There were a few mumbled greetings.

"Madam Pomfrey has just reported that the virus is not, in fact, contained. Your parents have been alerted, and you have the option to go home. All classes and activities are canceled until further notice. The Hospital Wing has been more than full for a while, and we are going to start releasing students and letting them recover in their own dormitories. That does—for those of you who are good at deductive reasoning—mean that every single person in this school will likely catch the virus. It's not the ideal way to do things, but we have no other option. Madam Pomfrey will be receiving a pay raise. If you have questions or concerns, please come see me."

There was a brief silence as the few students in the Great Hall contemplated this. For a moment, Dumbledore merely smiled serenely... and then he said, "Remus Lupin—see me in my office later today."

Remus dropped his fork with a clank that rang across the near-empty hall and nodded.

Oswald tapped him on the shoulder (the wrong shoulder), and Remus flinched. "May I... may I sit here?" Oswald said. "I know I should be sitting with the Ravenclaws, but all of my friends are ill..."

"Oswald. Good to see you again. Sure," said Remus.

"Ozzie," Oswald corrected. "I mean, Ozzie... if you want. Er... why does Professor Dumbledore want to see you?"

"I don't know."

"You're not in trouble?"

"I don't think so."

"Ah." Oswald poked at a piece of sausage.

"Pretty awful first year, huh?" said Remus with a smile. "There wasn't a flu epidemic when I was a first-year last year."

"Yeah. I'm still really happy to be a wizard, though."

"Me, too. Hogwarts is brilliant."

Here, Oswald's face absolutely lit up. "I know!" he said, grinning, and then he began to ramble about the moving staircases, the magic, the professors, his magic wand, his classes... Remus listened with interest, trying to get a word in edgewise, but he couldn't. That was all right. Listening to the ecstatic Oswald with entertaining enough. "But..." Oswald finally said, finishing his tirade and wringing his hands slightly, "I have some questions, actually. My friends have answered most of them, but if you don't mind..."

"Go ahead! My mum always says that wizarding culture is incredibly confusing at first, so I'm happy to help."

"Okay. What's a Mudblood?"

Remus dropped his fork again, and this time it was even louder than the last. A Slytherin gave him a dirty look, and he nodded apologetically. "Where did you hear that?" he hissed at Oswald, massaging his hand where the tines had grazed him.

"Heard some Slytherins talking in the corridor. Your friend's brother, and the blonde one who's also related to your friend."

"That..." Remus rubbed his face and sighed. "Well, that word isn't very nice. It's a slur. Some people think that... they think that just because all their family are wizards, then they're better than everybody else. People with a really long history of wizard family members are called Purebloods. And the opposite... people without "pure" bloodlines... are... well, they're that. According to some people. It's not a nice word at all. They shouldn't be saying it."

"Oh." Oswald paused, considering. "Are Purebloods better?"

"No! And calling people... that... means that they consider Muggles to be... well, mud. And they're not. My mum is a Muggle, and she's brilliant and clever and even brighter than my wizard father sometimes."

"Huh," said Oswald. "And that's what the war is about?"

"Some of it, but my dad thinks that Voldemort is just adopting the ideology because it'll attract the strongest supporters. Pureblood families are often wealthy."

"So do lots of people hate me?"

Remus knew a thing or two about hatred. "No. No one hates you. Some people think that you don't deserve to go here, but those people are very few and far between. Besides... sometimes discrimination is a good thing, because you can find out who your real friends are, eh?" Remus didn't actually believe that... but Oswald might.

"Maybe," Oswald conceded. "I have questions about wizard money, too. Can you explain it to me again? I don't get it."

Smiling, Remus gave Oswald the run-down, but Oswald didn't look satisfied. "That's confusing," he said. "They should just count it in fives and tens, not... seventeens and twenty-nines. That's dumb."

"Wizards just know their obscure times tables really well."

Remus and Oswald, currently the only two people who didn't need to fear the flu, spent the rest of breakfast laughing and talking of wizard customs. Remus knew exactly what to explain first, since he remembered the things that confused his mother most of all. It was useful after all, having been brought up with one foot in the Muggle world and one in the wizarding world. When breakfast was over, Remus felt a little bit better.

He was alone, but at least he was surrounded by people.

Remus' poked his head into Dumbledore's office and timidly said, "Professor? What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Ah, Remus. Blueberry scone?"

"...No, thank you, sir."

"Are you certain? I have quite a few. Too many, I'd say. You see, Professor Flitwick keeps trying to steal them from me—he adores blueberry scones—so I take them back to my office and hoard them in a refrigerated space. Unfortunately, I keep forgetting to eat them. I have far too many blueberry scones..."

"I don't want one, Professor."

"Are you certain?"

"Extremely. I just ate."

"Very well. I wanted to discuss something that may be an extremely sensitive matter. Have a seat."

Remus sat down, albeit hesitantly. "Is it my parents? Did something happen? Is everything okay?"

"No, no, and yes. It's your uncle."

"Uncle Bryson?"

"Bryson Adams, yes. What can you tell me about him? In fact... I'd like to know about your whole family situation, if you wouldn't mind starting from the beginning. Tell me about the family on your father's side of the family."

Remus toyed with his tie, and he could feel his cheeks going slightly red (it was a curse of pale skin). What had Uncle Bryson done? Had he died or something? Had Professor Questus killed him? Remus wouldn't have been surprised, actually. "Technically they're not my family, sir," he said. "All except for Uncle Bryson. Er... they were never fond of... of werewolves. It's not their fault. They're just mostly all wizards and were brought up with—well, certain beliefs. Dad told them what had happened as soon as I was out of St. Mungo's seven years ago—he figured that they deserved to know—and they asked him to. You know. Get rid of me."

Remus kept fiddling with his tie. He could feel the edge fraying, so he stopped and started fiddling with his collar instead. Moving his fingers helped. "When my parents refused, they disowned me, changed their names, and cut contact. Uncle Bryson was close to Dad, though—they were best friends as children—so he didn't officially disown me as per Ministry requirements. He meets up with Dad alone, usually, but I've met him a couple times since... since I was bitten. And he came over on Halloween."

"And what can you tell me about his Halloween visit, Remus?" prompted Dumbledore.

"Well, I wasn't there, but Professor Questus wrote to me about it. He told me that Uncle Bryson doesn't think I should be going to Hogwarts. He also says that Mum was really angry afterwards. I... well, I didn't get much else."

Dumbledore smiled a little. "I am very glad that John fills you in on such things."

"Me, too. Mum and Dad try too hard to protect my feelings, and then I just end up confused." Remus didn't dare mention how weird he'd felt after Questus' letter about Bryson. He was starting to think—almost—that sometimes his family's refusal to talk about hard subjects was a good thing on occasion... but only a little. "So what's the problem, sir?" he asked, trying to distract himself from uncomfortable thoughts.

"Well, I received a rather disturbing letter from a certain Bryson Adams the other day, and I wanted to check with you to make sure that I wasn't reading the situation incorrectly," said Dumbledore, waving a piece of cream-colored stationery in the air. Remus felt his heart skip a beat for the second time that day.

"I'm so sorry," muttered Remus. "What did he say?"

"I am not going to let you read it. I am... what was that phrase you used?... oh yes, "trying too hard to protect your feelings." But it is very to-the-point, I will tell you that. To summarize: he does not want you at Hogwarts."

"So... are you sending me home?"

"Gracious, no. Obviously not. I simply wanted to ensure that he got the information directly from your parents... and also to confirm that he will not be telling anyone else what you are out of anger if I write a sternly-worded letter back. If we have to pretend that you have left Hogwarts in order to protect your secret, I will be all too willing to do so."

"Oh. That won't be necessary, Professor. He won't tell anyone; if he does, his own reputation will be at risk. But you don't have to respond to him at all... please don't go through any trouble on my account."

Dumbledore laughed. "Oh, Remus, you underestimate how much I enjoy writing sternly-worded letters. I am all too glad for an opportunity to be morally rude. All right, then: that is all I wished to discuss. You may leave... unless there's something else you want to talk about. Due to the wizard flu and the cancellation of classes, I am completely and utterly free at the moment."

Remus thought about discussing his discomfort when facing the reality that his uncle didn't love him. He couldn't tell Professor Questus—for some reason, he didn't want to be told that he was being too emotional on this particular topic, and that was likely what Questus would say. It was probably perfectly fair, of course, but Remus didn't want to hear it this time. He couldn't tell his parents—they'd be angry if they knew that Professor Questus had told him such things. He couldn't tell Madam Pomfrey for the same reason. But he could tell Dumbledore...

But he didn't want to. He didn't have any particular reason; he just really, really didn't want to talk about it. Why would he complain about such trivial matters with the most powerful wizard in the world? No, Remus would much rather forget about it. Out of sight, out of mind.

Surely there was something else he could discuss with Dumbledore, though, because Remus was lonely and itching for some conversation. He briefly thought about discussing February sixteenth, 1965. He'd never told anyone. But he dismissed that idea quickly.

Remus thought about discussing the full moon. Dumbledore was the only one who had ever seen it, and it might help to talk about how afraid he was about the upcoming moon. He was afraid all the time, and he was so sick of being in the Hospital Wing, and he was worried that people might still be ill and crowding the ward and someone would see him coming back from the Willow and figure it all out...

Remus thought about discussing his friends, or Quidditch, or the flu, or the awful word that Oswald had picked up as a mere first-year, or the war—oh, Remus was terrified of the war. What if they started really trying to recruit werewolves? What if they came up with more laws restricting werewolf activity? What if werewolf sentiments deteriorated even more in the upcoming months?

Remus thought about discussing Basil or Pensley or Professor Questus' curse on his leg or how tired Madam Pomfrey looked. He thought about discussing the guilt that was running through his veins whenever a teacher made a special accommodation for him. He thought about asking Dumbledore for general tips about spells or Transfiguration or loneliness.

But he didn't talk about any of that.

"May I ask you a bit of a personal question, sir?" asked Remus quietly.

"You may ask. I may not answer, depending on the question, but I shall certainly do my best."

"What kind of indestructible species of houseplant did you give Professor Questus? We've been trying to destroy it for a week. He's tried overwatering it, casting temperature-altering charms, dunking it underwater, cutting off its leaves, and he even set it on fire. It's still thriving. It can't be just a plant. Is it some sort of Animagus? Er... Plant-imagus, I suppose. Is it going to seek revenge on us when it finally achieves godhood? Or something? It can't possibly be a mere plant—it has to be some sort of special species..."

Dumbledore cut off Remus' rambling with a chuckle. "It's not some sort of special species, Remus. Sometimes a houseplant is just a houseplant. In cases of resilience and ability, species is often irrelevant in the grand scheme of things."

Remus cocked his head. "It sounds suspiciously like you're trying to fit a moral into this scenario," he said. "Did you give Professor Questus the houseplant just to be able to tell me that when I asked?"

"No. I just thought it looked nice, and then I put some charms on it because I knew that he wasn't going to bother watering it. It is a mildly interesting fact that I have just about achieved immortality in a plant, however."

Remus laughed. "Yes, I should say it rather is."

"Or perhaps not immortality—perhaps just intense resilience and perseverance in the face of fire. I must say I admire that houseplant. People may do their best to dispose of it, but it remains as strong and upright as ever. What an admirable houseplant, hm?"

Remus shook his head and snickered, and then he thanked Dumbledore, grabbed a blueberry scone, and walked back into his dormitory, need for intelligent conversation sated.

Dumbledore was a bit eccentric, but at least he was encouraging. All of a sudden, Remus felt a hundred percent better than he had before—essentially, Dumbledore had addressed nearly all of his concerns in one fell swoop.

AN: The past-tense of "snow" should be "snew". Just saying.

Also! This chapter is early because I'll be busy out of my mind tomorrow. Next chapter comes out on Sunday as usual! Buckle up :)