Remus sometimes wondered, in the long lonely stretches of time that made up his young life, what things would be like if it hadn't happened. Would he be like other eleven year old boys, ones who went to school and had friends and whose parents looked at them with joy and pride, instead of worry and sorrow? Would he live in the same place, in a home, play with his neighbors freely, wander around trees and creeks and backyards as familiar to him as his favorite, well-worn paperback?

Remus wasn't so sure. Even if it hadn't happened, he doubted whether he could ever have been normal; he felt so different from everyone around him, sometimes, that he thought he may as well have come from another planet. Even from his parents, who had given up everything for him. He often wished they didn't have to handle the burden of his condition, that there would be a way for him to leave them to live happy, full, productive lives, unhampered by a snarling werewolf. These thoughts came to him often, but especially in the quiet moments when his parents thought he wasn't paying attention, like when he saw his father place a bracing hand on his mother's shoulder and tell her that, somehow, they would get by in the newest town they were moving to, or the times he caught the expression on his father's face when he collected him from the cellar the morning after the full moon. Remus carried the weight of his parents' pain around with him, the feeling a dull ache that seemed to settle in his bones.

Today, Remus was sitting outside, sheltered from view beneath a tall tree and some surrounding shrubs. He was holding a thick book, and he ran his fingers along its spine and pages, pausing before he opened it. It was one of his father's books about magic, the ones his mother didn't approve of his reading. She never forbid him from it, though—Remus had far too little joy in his life for her to deny him something he so clearly enjoyed. Still, her frown would deepen whenever she saw him reading one of Lyall's spellbooks or books about magical creatures. Remus knew why his mother felt that way, and he knew she was only trying to shield from further pain. But Remus had learned from a young age that there was no way to do that, so now he opened the book and started reading, allowing himself to be swept up in the rush of words.

Remus read for most of the morning. The hours passed by pleasantly, with a cool breeze ruffling the edges of his pages. Once or twice, Remus heard the echoing shouts of the neighborhood boys, no doubt playing some excellent game, but he firmly ignored the ache in his chest that these sounds brought about, and soon would be too deep into his book to remember. That was one of Remus's favorite things about reading—it let him forget, for a few hours at least, that he was a werewolf.

Reading spellbooks did not bother Remus nearly as much as his mother supposed it would; he knew that he would never be able to go to Hogwarts, so learning about magic this way was the next best thing, as far as he was concerned. Even though he couldn't learn magic properly, Remus was glad that he knew it existed. His father did not do much magic around the house; as he told Remus, often with a sad smile, he had specialized in magical creatures and wasn't the best at wandwork. Still, whenever he and Remus went on one of their long, winding walks through whatever neighborhood they had moved to that year, Remus could usually persuade him to show him a few spells. And sometimes, during evenings by the fire with his parents, Lyall would recount stories from his days at Hogwarts, or talk about saving his mother from the boggart that had first drawn them together, and even Hope would join in and laugh, loosening the tight lines of worry around her mouth and eyes.

Remus had just reached the end of an interesting chapter about animal transfiguration when he heard the soft crunch of footsteps. Looking up, he saw a man who simply looked magical. There was no other way to put it: his hair was long and silver with a matching beard, he wore sweeping maroon robes, half-moon spectacles, and a rather crooked hat, and his blue eyes were twinkling down at Remus far too brightly to be natural.

Remus was stunned into silence by the man's arrival. He could not remember ever having a visitor come to their house, not to mention a wizard. Instinct kicked in; perhaps this was someone from the Ministry, someone who had discovered that he was a werewolf? Fear choked him.

The wizard seemed to realize something of his fear, for he said, very calmly, "I do not wish to harm you, Remus. May I sit?"

Remus, still too shocked to speak, could only nod. The man sat down beside him with surprising grace for someone so old.

"A beautiful place you've chosen to sit," said the man, gazing at the garden around him. Then he spotted the book in Remus's lap. "Ah, transfiguration! Do you like the book?"

"Yes, sir," said Remus shyly, his fingers grazing the cover of the book. The man beamed at him.

"It was my old subject, when I taught. I do say I still have a fondness for it."

When he taught? Could this man be from—no, that was impossible.

"Do you like reading about other types of magic, Remus?"

Remus wondered how the man knew his name, but did not ask. Instead, he answered him politely. "Yes, sir. I've read most of my father's old textbooks, they're very interesting."

"What are your favorite subjects?"

"Oh, everything," said Remus. "Well, except Potions. Those books aren't very interesting to—" He broke off, afraid that he might have offended the man, but he was now chuckling softly.

"Indeed, indeed," he said. "It seems you have a bright mind—and if I'm not mistaken, quite an aptitude for magic."

Remus's heart leapt upwards; he was about to ask the man what he meant by that when his father's voice echoed across the yard.

"Remus! Who are you—" His father stopped, gaping at the man who sat cross-legged beside Remus.

"Lyall! A pleasure to see you again."

"Dumbledore? What on earth—" His father stopped again, this time interrupted by his mother, who was running down from the house, concern etched onto her face.

"Lyall?" she said, once she reached them. "Who is this? What's going on?" She stared between Remus and the man called Dumbledore, still sitting in the grass, and her husband.

Dumbledore stood up now, extending his hand promptly to Hope.

"I do not believe I have had the pleasure to meet you yet. Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

The words hung in the air; Hope and Lyall exchanged looks, clearly unsure of what to say, while Remus, who had stood up by now, stayed completely still. Was it possible…?

"I was just about to offer Remus a place at Hogwarts."

Remus looked at his parents; he did not dare get his hopes up. There was no way Dumbledore would have offered him a place if he knew Remus was a werewolf, and there was also no way he could go to school without someone figuring it out, or without hurting someone. They would just have to politely decline, tell the Headmaster that Remus would continue his homeschooling.

"I don't think that will be possible," Lyall finally said, after a long pause. He didn't look at Dumbledore, but turned his eyes toward his son. Remus tried his best not to look disappointed, to project a steady I understand to his father.

"Why not?" asked Dumbledore lightly. "I do believe Remus has a high aptitude for magic—am I mistaken?"

Hope and Lyall exchanged another look. It was true that Remus had exhibited the spurts of accidental magic common to younger children, but they had always thought they would have to deal with it on their own, perhaps to have Lyall teach Remus the basics so he wouldn't end up hurting himself or others.

Dumbledore watched Remus's parents for a moment, then spoke again.

"I believe I know what you are worried about."

Remus tensed. Was this all a joke? Or maybe a ploy, to trick Remus into trusting Dumbledore, who would then whisk him off to the Ministry?

"I see no reason why Remus's lycanthropy should get in the way of his education. Especially when such a bright young mind is in question."

He knew? This man knew he was a werewolf, and still he was standing here, speaking to him as if were normal, as if he deserved to learn magic?

"Absolutely not." It was Hope who had spoken, her mouth set into a firm line. She was eyeing Dumbledore warily.

"Wait, Hope," said Lyall, looking thoughtfully at Dumbledore. "Let's hear what he has to say."

"Wonderful!" Dumbledore beamed. "How about we go inside, and we can discuss the measures I have put in place for protection?"

And so they followed Dumbledore back into their house, Remus trailing behind them, practically holding his breath.

000

Remus had been allowed to listen to Dumbledore speak, about the Whomping Willow and Madam Pomfrey and days to make up missed homework. His parents had told Dumbledore they needed to think about it, and he had nodded politely, shaken Remus's hand, and told them he was looking forward to their owl.

His parents had told him they needed to have a private discussion, and he had trailed off to his bedroom, wondering if he should try to listen outside the door but deciding against it. It turned out it did not matter, since soon they started shouting, and he could hear them in his bedroom. Remus's stomach twisted into knots; his parents did not often fight, and the fact that they were fighting about him made him squirm with guilt. He picked at some loose threads at the end of his shirt and waited for them to stop, which they eventually did. They didn't leave the kitchen though, and when Remus drifted off to sleep they were still in there.

000

The next morning, Remus's parents woke him up and told him they wanted to talk. Remus followed them to the kitchen, trying to keep his nerves at bay. His mother poured him a mug of his favorite tea and set it down in front of him.

"Thanks," he said, picking it up and warming his fingers around it.

"What do you want for breakfast?"

"Just toast, thanks."

Remus nibbled at the toast, willing his parents to speak. Finally, his father opened his mouth.

"Your mother and I have decided," he said, "that you should go to Hogwarts."

"Really?" Remus asked slowly, putting down his toast.

"Really," his father said, his smile wide and genuine. Remus glanced at his mother, and noticed right away that her expression was more strained. She gave him a thin smile, though, and he jumped off his chair and gave each of them a hug.

000

For the rest of the summer, Remus read as much as he could about Hogwarts. He pored over his father's textbooks, determined that he would show Dumbledore he was right to put his faith in him. After a visit to Diagon Alley with his father, Remus spent long hours looking at all his books, robes, potions ingredients, and most importantly, his wand. Everything but the wand and ingredients had been purchased secondhand, but Remus didn't care; the fact that he even possessed these items at all was a gift beyond words.

A few days before term started, Remus was once again shut up in his room, reading Hogwarts, A History. He was so absorbed that he didn't notice his father come in his room at first.

"Dad!" he said, starting. Lyall smiled and sat down on the edge of Remus's bed.

"Getting excited?" he asked. "You'll do great at Hogwarts."

"Do you think so?" Remus asked quietly.

"I know so," he said, giving Remus's hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Thanks," Remus said.

"I wanted to come up here to talk to you about something." Lyall paused. "I know it's going to be a lot to ask of you. A lot has always been asked of you," Lyall said, and he was no longer smiling; Remus could tell that the words pained him, and he felt the familiar ache for the pain he was causing his parents.

"It's okay," Remus said, trying to reassure his father.

"Going to Hogwarts is—is a big deal for you. You deserve it, I know that, but a lot of people might not see it that way. So I'm going to have to ask you not to get too close to anyone. In case they notice. It could be—it could be bad for you."

"I understand, Dad," Remus said quietly, now giving his father's hand a squeeze.

Lyall stood up, turning to hide his tears from his son.

000

The journey to Hogwarts, where he sat in a compartment with a small, plump boy who seemed even more nervous than he was to be starting school, then the trip across the Black Lake, the Sorting, the first days of classes—all seemed to pass with dizzying rapidity. Remus loved the castle more than he could have imagined possible. He loved sleeping in his four poster bed, with the stars sparkling outside his window, loved his classes, which he was taking with other students for the first time in his life, loved sitting at his favorite desk in the library and spending hours reading over books, loved the rich food in the Great Hall, the way the portraits moved between frames, even loved making potions, though he was terrible at it.

But he had a problem. Three very big problems, in the forms of James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and Sirius Black.

His roommates were clever and mischievous, and had already managed to land themselves in detention. James and Sirius played pranks with abandon, mastered spells quickly, and seemed to be bundles of boundless energy. Peter was quieter, but he was always asking Remus to play gobstones or chess or to share some snacks with him. The most amazing thing of all, however, was the fact that they seemed to actually like Remus. They often asked him for ideas about pranks, and seemed delighted when he came up with new ideas or pointed out the flaws in one of their plans. They borrowed his notes for class, sometimes returning them smeared with jam or crumbs, but Remus was never angry. They teased him for his quirks, but if anyone even looked at him the wrong way they were quick to stand up for him.

In short, they were wonderful, the kind of friends Remus had spent his life wishing he could have.

But he couldn't.

He had sworn so to his father, and now he was beginning to break that promise. Leaning against the wall in the bathroom, Remus swore to himself that he was going to put a stop to it, not let things progress any further. They could be acquaintances and dormmates, but that was it.

Remus scooped some cold water in his hands and splashed it in his face. He looked at himself in the mirror: he was thin and pale and sweating. The full moon was approaching.

000

Remus paused in his story, taking a long gulp of tea. Sirius and Harry were both looking at him.

Sirius shook his head. "We wouldn't have cared. Even then." Remus's story had brought up a well of emotions, ones he hadn't tapped in years. Sirius supposed he had started doing so himself yesterday, but there was something about hearing Remus tell the story of their first weeks at Hogwarts that was different. Remus, who had been so brave even at eleven years old, ready to condemn himself to a friendless life just so he could get an education. Remus who had been bearing burdens that no eleven year old should have to bear.

"I know now that you wouldn't," Remus said. "But it was habit by that point." He smiled at Sirius, but Sirius noticed it did not quite reach his eyes.

Harry had listened to the story quietly.

"I know what you mean," he said, startling both Remus and Sirius. "It was kind of like that, living with the Dursleys. Except all the kids were afraid to be friends with me because of Dudley." A small smile twisted Harry's lips, not unlike the one Remus wore, and Sirius felt a rush of affection and a mixture of other emotions he couldn't quite identify for both of them.

Sirius watched Remus watching Harry, watched the familiar look of concern cross his face, this time tinged with sadness.

"But things got better for both of us, I think."

"Due, for both of you, to the magnificence of one Sirius Black," Sirius said, and the three of them couldn't stop the laughter that followed.

A/N: Tell me what you thought!