"Development" was Albus Dumbledore's favorite word.

Well, maybe second-favorite, because he'd always been fond of the word "tweak". Ah, and "custard" was an immensely enjoyable word as well. Not to mention the ever-amusing "paradiddle", and who could forget "serendipity"?

But "development" was a nice word as well—not necessarily because of the way it sounded or felt on Dumbledore's tongue, no, but because of its meaning.

Dumbledore often found that people were predictable. They were so predictable, in fact, that Dumbledore didn't need to do much thinking to come up with a possible sequence of events; a daisy chain of human actions; a train of dominoes, so to speak, that stretched out for ages and ages. It was so delightfully simple in theory and often just as rudimentary in practice.

But sometimes... sometimes, it wasn't.

Sometimes, there was a development—something that Dumbledore hadn't anticipated, but perhaps he should have, because developments, by nature, had to develop. But the other thing about developments was that they caused other things to develop—a line of rot across the daisy chain, or perhaps a detour in the domino train. Developments made things hard, sometimes—they forced Dumbledore to rethink everything that he knew about the future, and they threw surprises (both good and bad) into his neatly chronicled world.

Developments made things interesting.

And this was most certainly a development. This was precisely the opposite of what Dumbledore had expected. Remus Lupin's time at Hogwarts had been neatly categorized, neatly planned, and neatly monitored. He was going to be found out, of course, because it was unavoidable, and Dumbledore had expected—based on both Remus' surprisingly good lying skills and his friends' self-centered attitudes—that his secret would be discovered halfway through fourth year.

But that didn't happen.

Then, Dumbledore had expected Remus' wizard-raised friends (especially Sirius) to be hesitant about remaining so close with a werewolf.

But that didn't happen.

He'd expected Remus to go home for a time—the boy was easily overwhelmed and very sensitive to being disliked by those he loved—but he'd also expected him to return as soon as his friends wrote him a letter professing that they didn't care at all about his condition.

But that didn't happen.

Instead, the exact opposite had happened: Remus' friends had accepted him immediately, coming on a bit too strong. Remus had been the one to leave of his own free will—and it wasn't because his friends didn't like him, but because they still did.

This was a development, to be certain, and now Dumbledore had to recalibrate and reassess. But he didn't mind. He loved developments so much precisely because they were messy rather than neat—they reminded him that people were unpredictable in the best way; that they could still surprise him, no matter how set in their ways they seemed to be; and that the world was an ever-changing place that would never, ever become boring. Yes, Dumbledore liked developments very much.

This one was a little tricky, though, mostly because one wrong move could make things so much worse for the already-suffering Marauders (yes, Dumbledore knew their little club name). But no matter. Dumbledore was pretty sure that he had it all figured out (though he supposed there was really no way to know, was there?).

He sat in his office, pondering developments, when there was a harsh knock to his door.

"Albus! Albus Percival Wulfric Brian! Let us in!"

With a serene smile, Dumbledore opened the door to James Potter, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew. "Lovely to see you," he said, twiddling his thumbs.

The three boys at the door, however, did not look like they thought that there was anything "lovely" about the situation whatsoever. "You asked us to come back," said James, almost accusingly. "Yesterday. After you sent us away, you told us you'd fix it, and you said to come back. Did you fix it?"

"Depends on how you define 'fixing it'," said Dumbledore. "Come in. Have a seat. There are biscuits in the tin on my desk."

The three boys entered his office, took three biscuits each, and sat down. Dumbledore noted with amusement that they were still in pajamas—and young Peter Pettigrew had Remus' toad on his shoulder. "Not that I disapprove of your incomparably stylish pajamas," said Dumbledore, "but may I ask why you didn't get dressed before coming here so early in the morning? And is that Remus' toad?"

'This is an emergency," said Sirius through a mouthful of biscuit. "We didn't have time to get dressed. And Remus left his toad in the dormitory. We've been taking care of him. Mm, what flavor are these?"

"There's a Muggle sweet called a marshmallow that I thought might be good in biscuits," replied Dumbledore. "Goes well with the crunch. I also added a few crushed lollies. That one, I believe, is lemon-flavored. Most of them were. Now... tell me how you expect me to fix the situation."

"Fetch Remus, wherever he is," said Peter. "Bring him here so that we can keep being friends."

"Really? His friendship is more important than his happiness?"

They paused. Biscuit crumbs dribbled out of James' mouth. "Er, no," said James. "But... but his friendship is his happiness. He likes us. He teases us all the time, but I know he likes us."

Dumbledore found it necessary to argue, albeit gently. "But perhaps being friends with people who know his secret isn't worth it. Perhaps he thinks that it would be too hard. Perhaps he'll be happier at home."

"He won't!" said Sirius forcefully, starting on his second biscuit. "Is that what you think?"

Dumbledore smiled and shook his head. "That is not what I think at all. But I do want to make it perfectly clear that Remus thinks those things."

"He's wrong," said James. "He thinks he's clever, but he's wrong a lot."

"Where is he?" demanded Peter again, and Sirius reached for another biscuit.

"He went home," Dumbledore replied simply.

Sirius dropped his biscuit.

"WHAT?" roared James. "YOU LET HIM GO HOME? YOU LET HIM LEAVE? MAKE HIM COME BACK RIGHT NOW!"

"I can't make him do anything, James. When he first decided to come to Hogwarts, I implied that he would be allowed to leave whenever the mood may strike him. The mood has, it seems, struck him."

"WELL, MAKE IT UNSTRIKE HIM!" said James. "YOU SAID YOU'D FIX IT! YOU SAID—"

"And why do you assume that I have not fixed it?"

"BECAUSE HE WENT HOME! IT'S BORING THERE, HE SAID SO! HE DOESN'T DO ANYTHING! HE HATES IT! MAKE HIM COME BACK!"

"Let me tell you a story, James," said Dumbledore. James went silent. Dumbledore prided himself in being able to hold people's attentions when they were immensely angry. "When I was six years old, I was digging outside and found a spider. I named it Robert, took it home, and—much to my brother's disapproval—put it on my nightstand. Do you know what happened the next morning?"

"It died?" said Peter. "Oh, I'm sorry—"

"No. It was gone. It ran away. My spider was missing, and nobody knew where it was. I was inconsolable. My brother was inconsolable, too, but for a very different reason."

Sirius laughed. "So... did it end up in your brother's hair? That would've be funny."

"That would not have been funny. It did not. I found it the next day spinning a web next to my bed. I was overjoyed. My brother accidentally stepped on it a week later—although I am not entirely convinced that it was accidental. So, I ask you, what happened?"

"It... came back."

"I know now that, once Robert realized that he was stuck in my room, he decided to come out of hiding and make the best of the situation. But that doesn't fit with my parable. Here is what I imagined happened when I was six: Robert ran away and told all of his spider friends what had happened, and the spider friends told him that he had just thrown away an opportunity to be the pet of a kind wizard who would feed him insects every day. Robert realized how much fun that would be, and—ipso facto—came back, because absence only makes the heart grow fonder."

James picked his biscuit up off of the floor, shrugged, and popped it into his mouth. "So... you're saying that Remus is going to realize that we'll be good friends and will feed him insects every day... so he'll come back and then get stepped on by someone."

"You're taking the metaphor too far, James," said Dumbledore with a chuckle. "I'd like you to focus on the 'spider friends' in this narrative. Remus is a very intuitive person who realizes when he is being manipulated. In fact, he is so intuitive that he sees manipulation where it doesn't exist. When someone is nice to him, he automatically assumes that they want something in return... which I'm afraid is a very accurate worldview when one is a werewolf. I find it very difficult to convince Remus of things, because he sees my kindness as either pity or manipulation... even when it is most decidedly not."

"So...?" said Sirius. "How do you plan to get him back?"

"I know what's best for him in this case. I know that coming back to Hogwarts will provide him with a wealth of opportunity and happiness. But he won't listen to me because he doesn't trust me—or, he does, but not nearly enough in this particular case. He needs to hear it from somebody that he does trust. In the case of Robert, I was only human, so I couldn't convince him to stay... but the other spiders could. In this case as well, there is definitely 'another spider' who can convince Remus of the benefits of Hogwarts."

"His mum or dad?" said Peter. "That's a good idea."

"No. John Questus."

James took the last biscuit from the tin, earning an annoyed look from Sirius. "Oh?"

Dumbledore hummed in affirmation. "John was not a good teacher, I'm afraid. He was far too harsh, and children need to be encouraged to learn. People were terrified of him. And since people didn't like him, they didn't like his subject—not to mention people sometimes cried after talking to him one-on-one. Speaking too strictly to children who simply desire to learn is not usually the best way to do things.

"But all of that made him a wonderful mentor for Remus, who had been protected and coddled by his parents all his life and only wished to hear the truth. John, for all his faults, has a good way of telling a nice truth in a not-very-nice way. As a result, Remus finds no imaginary manipulation in his tone... or at least recognizes it and doesn't mind. He knows he's getting the truth as is. Which is why I recommended—well, I sort of tricked John into moving next to Remus. And I think it's been good for the both of them."

Dumbledore watched the silent scuffle for the last biscuit with amusement. "So you think that...?" said Peter, joining in the scuffle.

"I believe that Remus, upon going home, will get a very stern talking-to from John Questus. And I think that John will have a much easier time convincing him than I ever would have. That is my guess, and I find my guesses are usually right. Not always. But usually."

"So you think he'll come back?" James asked. He'd just won the scuffle and was chewing on his prize triumphantly.

"I am ninety-nine percent certain."

"Why not a hundred?" said Peter.

"When you get to be my age, Peter, you'll learn that nothing is certain—even if you think that it is."

"One thing's for certain," said James. "You can tell Remus that the three of us will stick by him no matter what. We don't care. We'll be his friends forever and ever, no matter what happens."

"I think that's what he's afraid of," said Dumbledore. "But you may ask him about that when he comes back."

Suddenly, a large black owl flew through Dumbledore's window. Dumbledore took the letter from its talons and scanned it quickly. "Would you look at that?" he said merrily. "It's confirmed. Remus will be back tomorrow afternoon. But... he has requested that none of you see him until after the full moon."

"That's not happening," snorted James. "We'll visit him right before and after. He's usually ill, right?"

"You will not be visiting him," said Dumbledore, because this was one thing that he had to make sure these boys understood. "Your friend has a horrible affliction that none of you could possibly begin to imagine. When he respectfully asks you to do something for his own well-being, it is important that you listen. Do you understand?"

"But..."

"No. He has had a very stressful couple of days, and they are about to get even worse. He needs time and space to recuperate, to heal, and to get used to the idea of having friends. This will be harder on him than it will be on you, I'm afraid."

"Fine," grumbled James.

"Ah, but 'fine' is not enough. I need all three of you to give me your word. You will avoid seeing him until he makes it very clear that he wants to see you?"

"I promise," said Sirius.

"I promise," said Peter. "I trust Remus' judgment."

"Very good, Peter and Sirius. James?"

There was a long silence. "I don't care what he looks like when he's ill," said James grumpily. "I want to help him. I feel so awful when I'm not doing anything to help, and I need to do something. I want to see him. Isn't there something I can do to help Madam Pomfrey? Or I could get him caught up on the lessons that he missed. Or I could read to him. Or I could tell him stories about Quidditch—he loves it when I do that."

"No one likes your Quidditch stories," said Sirius. "Remus is just too nice to say so."

"Shaddup. I want to help, Albus. What can I do to help?"

But Dumbledore didn't budge. "The best way to start helping, James, is to respect his wishes."

"Fine," said James again. "I promise."

"Good. Is that all, or did you need something else?"

"Nope," said Sirius. "Got any more biscuits?"

"I do not."

James nodded, still a little sulky. "Okay. Bye, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian."

"Take care, James F. Potter."

Sirius looked at James with wide eyes. "Your middle name starts with F?"

The next morning was the-day-before-the-day-of-the-full-moon, and Remus wasn't feeling very well. Dumbledore was coming to pick Remus up and take him back to school in about an hour, and the anxiety was turning Remus' stomach into a plethora of knots that were tied so tightly that they seemed to crawl up his lungs. That only added to the pre-full-moon illness, so Remus was currently feeling horrible. "Are you sure you can endure Apparition in this state?" said Remus' father worriedly. "Perhaps you should stay home until after the full moon."

"No," said Remus. "I'll change my mind if I stay longer, so I have to go today." He settled back into the couch, groaning slightly as his sore bones were jostled, and then... he remembered something. He sat up with a jolt. "Wait!"

"What is it?" asked Remus' father, running to Remus' side faster than a bullet.

"Bufo! I left him at school! I can't believe I did that! Who's going to feed him? Who's going to play with him? I can't believe I forgot!"

Remus' mum put a calming hand on his right shoulder. "Calm down, honey. I'm sure Bufo will be fine."

"But he was my responsibility! Mine! I... can't believe..." Remus couldn't believe it. The horrible twisty guilty feeling came back. He'd failed Bufo, and Bufo was only a toad. If he couldn't take care of a toad, then how could he take care of three friends?

There was a knock at the door, and Remus' father shot up out of his chair and towards the door. "Questus! I didn't think you'd be coming today!"

"Why not?" said Remus. "I thought you said he comes most every day."

"Your father knows how much I hate goodbyes," said Questus, collapsing into the armchair. Werewolf the Cat was trailing after him contentedly and hopped onto his lap. "And I wasn't feeling well yesterday. I tend to stay home when I can barely walk." He groaned a bit and sipped at what smelled like a small phial of Pain-Relieving Potion.

"Why are you here, then?" asked Remus. "If you don't feel well?"

"I noticed that you forgot your toad yesterday and was wondering how long it would take you to notice."

"Well, I've noticed."

"And then I figured you'd realize that he was your responsibility and you forgot about him."

"Erm, yeah."

"And then I predicted that you'd make the connection between shirking your toadly responsibilities and your friendly responsibilities. Couldn't stop going on about them yesterday."

Remus had been thinking that, actually.

"Don't try to deny it. Two seconds ago, you had this very thought..." Questus raised his voice and spoke in an annoying nasally voice, "if I can't take care of a toad, then how can I take care of three friends?"

"I don't sound like that," said Remus. "And that thought never crossed my mind."

But he had been thinking that, actually. The fact that Questus could predict his every thought, word-for-word, was a bit unsettling. Was he really that predictable? He didn't think he was.

"Good. I expect someone as clever as you knows that friendship is very different from being a pet owner." Questus took another sip of the potion and grimaced. "You can't tell everybody who coddles you that you can take care of yourself and then turn around and do the same to them. They're not pets. They can think for themselves. They're not your responsibility."

"I know that," said Remus. Well, now he did.

"Good. You are coming home for the holidays, correct? The full moon is two days before they start, so you might have to go home a day late, but..."

"I'm coming home," said Remus. "And I do hope that I'm well enough to ride the train."

"Depends on Pomfrey, not on you. One more thing."

"Yes?"

"This whole 'having friends' experiment will only work if you stay at Hogwarts until then. Got it?"

"What do you mean?"

"If it doesn't feel like it's working, you have to stay. If it's horribly unpleasant, you have to stay. If your friends stop wanting to be around you, you have to stay. If you think you're ready to make the decision, you still have to stay. I don't care if Hogwarts burns down around your feet. You're staying. Got it?"

"Why?"

"Because you're the type of person to minimize casualties. When you think someone is going to get hurt, then you quit. It's going to be hard. You're going to hate it at first. But having friends is only going to work if you soldier through."

"I can soldier through," Remus scoffed. "I'm not some fragile china doll."

"I don't believe you," said Questus. "Prove it."

"Fine."

"Fine." Questus grabbed a book rested it on Werewolf's head as he read. Werewolf didn't seem to mind. "Mind if I crash here for a bit, Mr. and Mrs. Lupin? Don't think I can work up the energy to walk home just yet."

"Of course," said Remus' mum, nonplussed.

Remus stared at Questus for a few seconds, his eyes narrowed. Remus knew what Questus had just done. He'd played off of the fact that Remus was stubborn and wanted to prove himself. He'd just challenged Remus to stay at the school for a full month, and Remus couldn't very well turn down a challenge. He'd pretty much forced Remus to stay at Hogwarts, no matter what, and there was no backing out now. "You horrible Slytherin," Remus murmured, and Questus grinned.

"Actually, I think I'm a very good Slytherin," he said. "See you in a month."

The-day-before-the-day-of-the-full-moon brought both expected pain and unexpected surprises.

Expectedly, it was terrible. Expectedly, Remus was sore and a little nauseous. Expectedly, he was bored in the Hospital Wing and feeling quite antsy.

But unexpectedly, this was the only time—ever!—that Remus wanted to stay in the Hospital Wing on the-day-before-the-day-of-the-full-moon. The main ward was still crowded, but Madam Pomfrey's office was blessedly empty, and Remus relished the feeling of doing homework in perfect solitude. He'd thought for sure that he wouldn't ever do any homework ever again, so even Pensley's stupid "inner peace" homework gave Remus a beautiful rush of belonging.

He was actually staying at Hogwarts. He was staying at Hogwarts? He had friends. He had friends? He had friends! It sounded unbelievable, no matter which inflection he used!

Madam Pomfrey came into her office, looking frazzled. "How are you feeling, Mr. Lupin?"

"Loaded question," replied Remus, finishing another essay with a flourish. "If I say I'm not... The Word, you'll do another check-up, which I don't need. If I say I am The Word, I'll get another cap in the jar, which I also don't need."

Madam Pomfrey put two caps in the jar. "You're cheerful today."

"What? I didn't say it!"

"You implied it with different wording. As I'm sure you've learned from Pensley, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

Remus groaned. "What I mean to say is... I am feeling horrible, as I usually do before the full moon, but I do not need assistance and there is nothing you can do presently. I'll let you know when there is."

"Good." Madam Pomfrey filled up his water and handed him a plate of raw veggies and sandwiches. "Enjoy your lunch. I have students to tend to, but if you'd ever like to talk about... recent events, I'm right here."

"Thanks," called Remus, settling back into his bed to read more about Vermillious Tria.

"Your friends came by," said Madam Pomfrey, and Remus nearly choked on a carrot.

"What? But... but I specifically requested that they stay away until I'm better! Professor Dumbledore told me that it wouldn't be an issue! Did they ask to see me? What did you tell them?"

"Calm down. They didn't ask to see you. They simply wanted to return your toad, which they have been taking care of religiously."

Remus paused. "Really?"

"Judging by the very happy toad on Mr. Pettigrew's shoulder, I believed them wholeheartedly."

"That's... wow, that's nice of them."

"I told them to keep your toad with them. It'll keep them occupied while they wait for you to come back. Waiting is very hard for them, you know, especially on a large matter such as this—though I imagine it's much larger for you than it is for them."

"It's not that large," Remus grumbled. "So I'm a werewolf. Have been the whole time they've known me. Their feelings are the big deal, not mine, so I don't know why they care about me and my feelings."

"Friends are, by definition, people who care about your feelings," said Madam Pomfrey, rolling her eyes. "Do you want your toad back?"

"No. They can keep him for now."

"That's what I thought. Now take a nap."

Expectedly, the full moon was horribly unpleasant. Expectedly, Remus was awake the entire day before, fully unable to sleep—he even had trouble sleeping with the aid of a potion. Unexpectedly, the tremors started two hours before the transformation, and he had four episodes of sudden, intense transformation-like pain before the full moon rose. That beat his old record of three, which wasn't a good thing. Expectedly, he awoke the next morning with numerous broken bones, a horrible gash across his chest, and scratches littering his arms and legs. There was blood everywhere, and sweat was dripping into his eyes.

"You're not walking back today," said Madam Pomfrey.

"Yes, I am." Remus stood up and fell, but he caught himself on the wall. "Help me."

Madam Pomfrey sighed, but she obliged. Remus regretted his decision to walk as soon as they emerged from the Whomping Willow and pain started shooting up his legs and his arms and his chest and his lungs. He gritted his teeth and focused on the fact that his friends still liked him, a thought much more jarring than turning into a wolf and back under the light of the full moon.

Now that was an unexpected development.

AN: Dolphins, manatees, and some species of birds are able to engage in a practice called "unihemispheric slow wave sleep", which is exactly what it sounds like—they are able to rest only one side of their brain at a time. They can stay awake for DAYS without needing a wink of sleep. Sometimes I think of how much more productive I could be if I didn't need several hours of sleep just as things start getting good.