It was the evening of February eighth, and Remus was exactly fifty percent asleep. His eyes were closed, but he was listening to his parents talk in the other room. They didn't know he was awake (that was, fifty percent awake), so they were certainly saying some things that they didn't want Remus to overhear.

"He'll be killed," Remus' mother insisted. "That business with Ragfarn…"

"Ragfarn apologized to me at the Ministry," Remus' father responded. "I don't think he's a threat right now."

"But it's Ragfarn, Lyall. And what if… what if Greyback really does remember Remus?"

"He doesn't. The Death Eaters weren't talking about Remus; they were talking about that Festus boy."

"But still! It's either the Death Eaters who hurt him or the Ministry! Everyone's out to get him."

"Dumbledore isn't, and he's the only one that matters."

"He's not all-powerful!"

"Well, what do you want to do, Hope? Do you want to keep Remus home? What would John Questus say to that?"

"No. I don't want to keep him home. I just want to vent. I worry about him, and the attacks in the papers don't help matters."

"He'll be fine. He's a good person, a good student, and a good duellist."

"I know, but…"

Suddenly, there was a light tapping at the door. Remus thought it was the perfect time to pretend to have been woken up, so he groaned slightly and sat up. "Wass'that?" he mumbled.

"You tell me," said Remus' father.

Remus blinked, and then he suddenly remembered that his werewolf senses meant that he couldn't pretend to be as confused and dazed as people who had just woken up typically were. "It's Professor Dumbledore," he said.

"Oh, good." Remus' father practically ran to the door. Remus waited patiently, wrapping the pink blanket around his shoulders and smoothing his hair down, as he watched the door creak open and his father speak to Professor Dumbledore.

"What's going on?" asked Remus' father breathlessly. "Any word from the Ministry? What about the Festus boy? Everyone all right? Is Remus going back soon?"

Dumbledore chuckled. He had a lilac in his beard. "May I come in, Lyall?" he asked.

"Yes—yes! Of course!"

Dumbledore entered the house and cast his gaze towards Remus, who was watching earnestly. "Good evening, Remus," he said pleasantly. "How are you feeling?"

"Quite well," said Remus.

"Good. As I'm sure you've expected, I have some things to discuss—"

"Am I staying home?" Remus interrupted. "I'm staying home, aren't I, sir? I can't go back to Hogwarts. It's too dangerous."

Remus' mother paused. "Remus, darling, please tell me you were actually asleep just now and not eavesdropping on my conversation with your father again."

"Eavesdropping? I would never! Do you really think so little of me, Mum?"

She sighed. "Yes, I do. Remus, you must understand that I—"

"It's all right, Mum. I already knew that you were worried about me. It's nothing new."

Dumbledore frowned and turned to face Remus' mother. "Are you feeling anxious?" he asked.

"Well," she said, laughing slightly, "I don't see how any parent isn't in the current climate."

"I don't blame you one bit," said Dumbledore. "But I feel obligated to assure you that Remus is very safe at Hogwarts. In fact, I would argue that Hogwarts is even safer than this house. At Hogwarts, Remus will be surrounded by many highly competent wizards, and we will not allow any harm to befall him."

Remus' mother nodded. "I know, it's just…"

"I understand. Unfortunately, fear isn't always rational," said Dumbledore with a smile. "Wait it out, Hope—everything is going to be all right." Then he turned to Remus. "Remus, the air has been (so to speak) cleared. I would like it very much if you returned to Hogwarts as soon as you're feeling well enough to do so."

"Really?" said Remus, grinning broadly. "Thank you, sir!"

"But of course. I should tell you that Madam Pomfrey desperately wanted to visit you after the last full moon and help out, but there were too many students making themselves ill with worry—it is, unfortunately, a more common occurrence than one would think."

"I can understand that," said Remus, remembering the horrible panicky episodes he sometimes got before a full moon. "Everyone's okay, though?"

"Everyone is fine, Remus. And I would like to commend you for the outstanding maturity that you've shown over the last couple of days. I know this has been difficult for all parties involved, most notably you."

"Well, I—it was all right. Thank you, sir."

"You need not thank me, Remus. I enjoy giving out compliments very much—in fact, I should be the one thanking you for indulging me. And, on the topic of things I enjoy doing, I was wondering if you would like a quick arithmancy lesson while I am here. After all, we've missed quite a few of them."

"Really? But… don't you have to go back to Hogwarts?"

"Not for a while. For now, Professor McGonagall has everything more than under control. Besides…." Dumbledore smiled. "I believe I need a bit of a break after the events that have transpired over the past several days."

"Oh. Okay. Sure."

"Wonderful. Do you mind if I sit next to you?"

"Er, no… but there might be blood on the couch."

Dumbledore waved his wand at the couch, effectively eliminating the stains of dark red that Remus had grown accustomed to over the past few days of lying there. "Do you remember what we were talking about before?"

"Vaguely. Connotations and such."

"Yes, exactly. And the important thing that you should have gotten from that conversation is that…?"

Remus shrugged. "To be honest, Professor, I hardly understood any part of that conversation. It sounded good in theory, though."

"Yes, well, that is to be expected," said Dumbledore with a chuckle. "It's a very high-level concept. The only thing that you need to remember, going forward, is that the incantation you choose needs to inspire feelings that match the spell you are trying to cast. You must be very focused to create a spell, so you want to choose an incantation that helps you focus on the intended effect. This is very important."

Remus nodded. "What if I don't? What if I mess up?"

"You most certainly will. Spell creation takes a lot of trial and error, and it is also a very personal experience—which is merely a fancy way of saying that I can't help you very much. What works for me will not work for you, and vice versa."

"So how do I know what to do?"

"You try, you fail, and you try again," said Dumbledore. "But you need to be safe whilst doing so, and I'm going to show you how to do that."

At this point, Remus' parents had tired of watching the conversation—Remus' mother was quietly reading in her room, and Remus' father was trimming a tree branch outside (it often scraped against the window, and it was getting quite annoying). Remus was rather glad that they were gone, because he didn't particularly want them to see him failing.

Remus' Arithmancy notebook was lying on the end-table, and Dumbledore plucked it up and showed it to Remus. "Do you mind if I use this?" he asked.

"Er, go ahead."

"Thank you." Dumbledore pulled a Muggle pen out of his pocket and flipped the notebook to the next blank page. "After you have come up with a word that—in your own mind—perfectly matches your intentions, you must tether the magic to the word. This takes an extraordinary amount of focus."

"How do I do it, exactly?"

Dumbledore continued explaining, writing down the important parts in Remus' notebook as he spoke. "There's a spell. Simuligo is the incantation—you'll say that, and then follow it up with the incantation that you are trying to tether to the effect. While you do this, you must imagine the intended effect very clearly in your mind. The more powerful the spell you are trying to create, the more powerful your focus must be."

"Simuligo," repeated Remus. "Using the Latin simul for 'simultaneous' and then following it up with ligo, the Latin for 'I bind'?"

"Precisely," said Dumbledore with a smile. "I imagine using Latin roots will help you out here, Remus. The language, for many educated wizards and witches, sets the stage for spell creation. We associate Latin with magic, so spells that sound like Latin are often more successful. Not always, of course."

"And… remind me why I need to create spells, exactly?"

"The main goal is to create a sort of simulation that helps you collect data without a full moon," said Dumbledore. "This will speed up the process immensely. We create spells specifically for the simulation, because we need spells that change the exact variables that we are trying to change in the intended way. There are already spells to adjust temperature, precipitation, and celestial bodies in a simulation, but some of the others will likely have to be created—especially any spells concerning you, your mindset, and your body. Those are personal and therefore not invented yet."

"Right," said Remus. "And who exactly came up with Simuligo in the first place, if it's required for spell creation?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Well, there are a few theories. The most popular is that a magical pony rose up from the bottom of the sea with 'Simuligo' written on its flank, which the local wizards immediately assumed was for spell creation, even though spells did not exist as of yet. The most believable theory, however, is that a pioneer in days of yore simply came up with the idea of spell-casting and figured out how to tether spells on his or her own. After all, incantations are not necessary to do spells, and I'm sure you've learned from John Questus—they are merely stepping stones. Look at how children perform magic. They don't need incantations; it exists as an outpouring of their skill and emotion. Magic is quite possible without spells, and spell creation is certainly possible without an incantation—that said, Simuligo does make things easier."

"Oh. Okay."

"Now, Remus, if you will excuse the sudden change in topic: how long do you think you will need to recover?"

Remus thought about that. "Erm, I personally think I'm well enough to go back right now."

"You are not," said Dumbledore. "It is a bit socially unacceptable to say so, but you do rather look like death warmed over. Can you walk?"

Remus' legs hadn't really done any work since the full moon, and he tried to gauge how difficult standing up would be. He quickly decided that it would be very difficult, especially considering the fact that his right shinbone had been shattered and recently healed. "Not exactly," he said.

"Can you use your hands?"

Remus looked at his hands, which he'd injured terribly on the full moon. He'd mostly ignored them for the past few days, but now he looked—really looked—and, immediately, he saw what Dumbledore meant. Remus' hands were awful. Come to think of it, he wasn't even fully capable of bending his fingers. "Not a whole lot, no," he admitted.

"Then you cannot return to Hogwarts."

"Yeah, okay. Fair enough."

Dumbledore smiled. "You've been under quite a bit of stress lately, and you deserve a break. Stay home, Remus. In fact, I would not be opposed to allowing you to stay home until after February sixteenth—"

Now Remus suppressed an eyeroll. Remus had been bitten on February 16, 1965. Yes, he was frequently morose and somber on that day. Yes, he dreaded it with all his heart. No, he did not need to stay home. He'd been just fine for the past two years, after all. "I don't need to stay home that long," he said.

"I know you don't want to hear this, but you have quite a lot on your plate this year. You are stressed, and a few extra days could do you good. Forgive me, Remus, but I have taught teenagers for several decades. I can see a mental breakdown coming from a mile away, and…"

"I'm fine," said Remus. He felt his cheeks growing slightly red, and he willed them to return to their typical pallor. They did not obey. "I'm fine, Professor. I'll be okay."

Professor Dumbledore did not respond for a long while—and then, at long last, he said, "I trust you, Remus."

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome. Now, since you'll be home for at least a couple more days, I thought I could assign you some very informal homework."

"Yes, please," said Remus with a smile. "I've finished all my homework for school already—well, everything that I could do without hands. I've been pretty bored, and it's been a good distraction."

Dumbledore reciprocated Remus' smile in kind. "I thought you might say that," he said. "In that case, I am going to show you how to do that Simuligo spell, and you are going to—"

"Wait," said Remus. "Sorry to interrupt, but I… I mean, I'm not entirely sure I can… you know. Hold a wand. And all that." He looked down at his mutilated hands again, grimacing. They'd heal all right, probably—they would leave terrible scars, yes, but they would heal. Right now, though, Remus couldn't even imagine bending his fingers around his wand.

"Right, of course. I almost forgot. I can probably help with that." Dumbledore waved his wand, and Remus' hands were immediately wrapped in gauze. They still hurt, but then Dumbledore waved his wand again and… all of a sudden, they felt more or less fine.

Remus flexed his fingers experimentally. "How did you do that?"

"I don't mean to brag, but I am rather excellent at magic. Now, I am going to show you how to use the Tethering Spell, but first, we need to choose a very easy spell to which we can tether an effect. I want you to choose something that you would like the spell to do, but you need to take three things into account.

"First, the effect you choose must be small. It must be something that one can easily do without magic. That will make the spell easier to cast. Second, it must be useless. It must be so utterly specific and unhelpful that you will never need to be able to cast it. Third, it must follow all laws of magic—remember Gamp's Laws. The more one follows those three rules, the easier spell-creation will be. I suggest you stick to those for now—only more experienced spell-creators can break them (except, that is, for the third)."

"Okay," said Remus. "Specific, you say? Then… what about… I dunno. Moving that armchair. Specifically."

"The armchair is rather heavy, so I suggest you go smaller."

"Mixing porridge?"

"That's a little too useful. The more useful the charm, the harder it is to create."

"Moving that mug an inch to the left."

"A little too specific. Too many Latin roots would have to be infused into that spell to get 'mug', 'inch', 'left', and 'move'. Find somewhere to meet in the middle."

"Moving that mug… a small amount?"

"Perfect." Dumbledore handed the notebook to Remus. "Now I want you to come up with an incantation that makes you think of moving that mug a small amount. This spell will end up being specifically designed to move that very mug—and nothing else—a small amount. If done correctly, the spell will only work on that specific mug." Dumbledore regarded the mug for a moment. "That mug looks a bit familiar," he said.

"It was Professor Questus', I think. I can't tell anymore. Mum was so insistent on 'protecting his memory' or whatever that I'm fairly certain half of our things used to be his."

"I see," said Dumbledore. "Do you have any sort of incantation ideas?"

"But… I don't get it, sir! What if I mess up? What if I pick the wrong one? How do I know which words have the right 'connotation' or whatever?"

Dumbledore held up a hand. "Remus, calm down. It is as I told you before: spell creation requires much trial and error. You will get it wrong, yes, but it will be all right. As long as you control yourself—as long as you hold your focus throughout the process—as long as you don't accidentally tether the wrong spell to the incantation—nothing will go wrong."

"I thought spell creation could be immensely dangerous."

"When one doesn't hold one's focus, yes. And, when trying to create larger spells, things could go terribly wrong. The creator of the Killing Curse was likely a very, very powerful wizard to succeed in creating the spell. But spells created specifically for a simulation are not very powerful nor dangerous, and a spell created to move a specific mug a small amount is not likely to harm you—as long as you stay relatively focused."

"All right… why can't I just use 'move that mug a small amount'? It has a good rhythm to it. Almost iambic tetrameter."

"You could, but I suspect it would put your mind in a 'politely asking the mug to move' frame of mind rather than an 'I am performing magic' frame of mind. But you may certainly try it. Let's try right now."

Dumbledore handed Remus his wand, which had also been resting on the end-table, and Remus took it gingerly in his injured hands. "Go ahead—say Simuligo, and then say your incantation—choose a wand movement; swish and flick usually works best—and imagine the mug moving with all your might. You must imagine it moving because of your incantation: that is essential. And do try not to include the word 'Simuligo' in your intended incantation."

"Do I need to point the wand at the mug?"

"No. But I would point it at an empty wall, just in case things go south."

"All right." Remus pointed his wand straight ahead, at the wall, and said, "Simuligo… did I pronounce that correctly?"

"Yes, but now you must start over."

"Right. Erm. Simuligo… move that mug a small amount."

Remus' eyes had been tightly closed as he imagined the mug moving a small amount, but now he opened them. "Did it work?" he asked.

"Try it out."

Remus pointed his wand at the mug and said, "Move that mug a small amount."

Nothing happened.

"So now I need to choose a new incantation?" Remus asked, frowning.

"Possibly. My best guess is yes. But it's also possible that you merely didn't imagine the mug clearly enough while trying to tether the effect to the incantation. I would try the tethering a few more times before choosing a new incantation—perhaps change around the wand movement a few times, too."

"This is going to be a lot of trial and error."

"Precisely, and that is why spell creation is often considered to be a branch of Arithmancy, even though there are no numbers involved. Both feature heavy experimentation, although spell creation is based in language and Arithmancy is based in mathematics."

"I see," murmured Remus. "This seems difficult."

"Oh, it very much is. For the next few days, while you're trapped at home, I would like you to experiment—but only while your father is home, so as to avoid the eyes of the Ministry. Since you're dealing with a very small spell, you should be perfectly safe. Try to figure out how to cast the spell; hopefully, when we meet again, you will have succeeded. And remember to focus. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," said Remus. "Thank you so much, sir."

"No problem at all. Thank you for indulging me. I did so love to teach, and there aren't many opportunities to do so as a Hogwarts headmaster. I'll be going now, Remus—and I'll see you in a couple of days, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

"Goodbye," said Dumbledore; immediately, he was gone, and Remus was left waving his wand into nothingness and trying to remember as much Latin as he could.