James couldn't sleep. It was too bright outside. He rolled out of bed and made his way to the window. Pushing the curtains aside he saw the full moon.

He wondered how Remus was. He remembered the first time they'd visited Remus after the moon. He'd been so pale. There were so many bandages it was hard to tell where Remus was. It had been a bad one apparently.

"Not all of them are like that," Remus had promised.

"So you usually aren't bandaged up?" James asked.

"Not to that extent."

It must have hurt, James mused. Did his bones have to shift? They would need to, right? Growing pains to the extreme. And Remus dealt with it every month.

"How long have you been, you know?" Peter had asked.

"A long time," Remus wouldn't look at them. They had finally convinced them that they weren't going to tell anyone. Remus was not going to have to leave.

"How long is a long time?" Sirius asked.

"Eight years," Remus whispered.

"Wait," James did the math in his head. "You were four?"

Remus nodded, shrinking into himself.

"You got attacked as a four-year-old?!" James had been horrified. Even more so when Remus admitted the attack had been in his own room.

There had to be a way. Remus needed help. There had to be something they could do. But what?

James moved from the window and paced. He grabbed a small Quaffle and tossed it in the air. His parents had gotten it for him when he was four and he hadn't bothered to part with it. He had gotten a Quaffle, Remus had turned into a werewolf. Where was the justice in that?

What did he know about werewolves? Not enough. He knew how to recognize one. He knew that it happened on the full moon. He knew Remus looked paler and thinner leading up to the moon. And he knew where he could learn more.

James threw on a jumper and some slippers and headed downstairs. He skipped the steps he knew creaked and headed into his father's study.

Fleamont Potter had a collection of books on multiple subjects. James had always had free range. As a child James had even bought his father books as presents because he wanted to read them. Neither of his parents cared. James looked until he found a book that was about werewolves.

"Werewolves," he read, "should be avoided at all costs. They will not hesitate to bite and even without the full moon can cause severe damage. Wizards who have turned to werewolves are not to be trusted." James closed the book and tossed it away. Well that was useless. Next book.

"It is theorized that a wizard bitten by a werewolf will turn, even if the werewolf was human at the time." James shook his head. "Rubbish."

James looked at the next book. Lupine Lawlessness: Why Lycanthropes Don't Deserve to Live by Professor Emerett Picardy. Yes. This book needed to be burned. Why did they even have this?

"Late night?"

James looked up to see his father and almost dropped the book. "Oh hi."

"Couldn't sleep?"

"No. Thought I'd do some studying."

"Hmm," Fleamont nodded. "May I?" James handed his father the offending book. "Ah yes. I do not remember buying this." He looked at the first page. "Your friend… Edward Fawley. That makes sense."

"Seems very…" James tried to choose his words.

"Harsh and undeserved rhetoric," Fleamont shook his head. "I'm ashamed this is even in here." He walked over to the fireplace and lit it. "Would you like to do the honors?" James smiled and took the book. He felt great pleasure watching the pages burn.

"One of the difficulties of living for a long time is you don't always remember what is in your library," Fleamont said. "Now, is there anything in particular you're interested in?"

"Oh well…" James wasn't sure he wanted to admit to his father what he was doing. Werewolves were dangerous. And if his parents found out the truth, it could be disastrous for Remus. But he had never lied to his father before.

"Is everything alright, James?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Everything's fine, just…" James closed his eyes. What was he supposed to say?

"James, Come with me please." James nodded and followed his father into the kitchen. "Sit," Fleamont gestured to a seat. James watched as his father bustled around. Finally Fleamont placed two mugs of hot chocolate down.

"Thanks," James took one.

Fleamont nodded and took a sip of his own mug. "James, did I ever tell you about the first time I hid something from my father?"

"No. I don't think so."

"I was, oh, about eight. I had found a Bowtruckle and brought it home. The Bowtruckle was hurt, you see, and I was determined to help it."

"What happened?" James asked.

"I had no idea what I was doing and almost killed the poor thing. My father asked multiple times what I was doing. If there was something I needed to tell him. But I didn't until it was almost too late. Luckily, my father forced the issue and I told him. My father was able to find someone that could help." Fleamont took a sip of his chocolate. "Your sneaking in my study reminded me of that. Are you hiding a Bowtruckle?"

James chuckled. "No."

"Are you hiding some other creature?"

Remus wasn't a creature so, "No."

"What are you hiding?"

James looked into his cup. "Dad, I'm not sure I can tell you this."

Fleamont leaned back. "Is anyone in danger?"

"No."

"Will it cause more harm if you tell me?"

"Possibly."

Fleamont regarded his son. "Why won't you tell me?"

James thought for a moment. He needed to be vague. He didn't want to lie. "If I tell you I will betray my friend and possibly send them to prison."

"Did they do something illegal?" Fleamont asked.

"No. There's just a lot of…" James looked at his father. His eyes were pleading for the older wizard to understand.

"Harsh and undeserved rhetoric?" Fleamont offered.

"Yes," James agreed.

"I see." Fleamont took a sip. "Very well. Finish your drink and head to bed. It is late and you can study tomorrow."

"Ok," James agreed. He enjoyed the comfortable silence. James had just finished his chocolate when Fleamont spoke again.

"James, thank you for not lying to me."

James stared at his father. "I.. what?"

"Just promise me one thing. Tell me before you get in too deep."

"I'm not sure I can," James admitted. "But I can promise I will tell you before I'm sent to Azkaban."

"Fair enough," Fleamont nodded. "I'd prefer you tell me sooner but I will take what I can get."

"Thanks Dad," James smiled.

"I love you."

"I love you, more."

"I love you most," Fleamont placed a kiss on James' forehead.

James made his way upstairs, planning to sneak better the next night. Instead he woke up to five books about werewolves next to his bed. He picked up the top book. Interviews Under the Moon: A Look into the Lives of Werewolves. He smiled while opening the book.

How was he so lucky?