Remus was usually hesitant when it came to physical touch, but that problem went right out the window on full moon days.

"Right out the window," he said to himself, laughing a little, "see, Madam Pomfrey, that's funny, because all my problems came in through the window back when I was five years old."

She gave him a strange look, and Remus supposed he deserved that. His filter around full moons was not the best.

Anyhow, Remus no longer cared that much about physical touch, because he had to lean heavily on Madam Pomfrey as they walked to the Shack. They stepped over branches, stepped through mud, stepped on rocks covered in moss, and Remus could barely stand for himself. Full moon days were rough, and there was nothing he could do about it. His limbs felt as weak as gelatin and as painful as knives, and poor Madam Pomfrey was currently supporting the brunt of his weight.

"Look, a bird," he said, pointing to a tree.

"Remus, that's a tree," said Madam Pomfrey.

"No, I mean in the tree."

"There's no bird in that tree. Are you quite all right?"

Remus looked closer, and it turned out to be nothing more than a leaf. "I guess not," he said sadly, and they kept walking.

It felt like forever before they arrived at the rickety-looking shed. Remus eyed it warily, and Madam Pomfrey helped him inside. There was no furniture. It was very. very small. Light streamed through the spaces between the boards, and the ground was nothing more than dirt. Remus grimaced.

"Something wrong, Remus?" asked Madam Pomfrey, helping lower him gently to the ground. He clung to her wrists until he felt dirt underneath his legs, and then he let go entirely, nearly falling backwards. This was embarrassing, but he was so fatigued and dizzy that there was really no other option.

"It's just… small," he said. "There's nothing else in here to destroy or anything. I'm worried about how bad it's going to be tomorrow morning. It's bad enough in the large Shrieking Shack, when there are other things to destroy, but this is just me. In a shed. All night."

She patted his arm. "I don't mean to boast, but rest assured that I am a good enough Healer to fix you up tomorrow morning, regardless of how bad it may be."

"Thanks." Suddenly, Remus remembered something important. "My gloves!" he cried. "I forgot to take them off! Would you take them back to my house for me? I don't want to destroy them."

"Of course," said Madam Pomfrey, and Remus started trying to pull the thin, black gloves off of his shaking fingers. "Do they help?"

"The gloves? Yes, definitely. I know that the scarring on my hands isn't actually that bad, but they help me be a little less self-conscious." Remus handed the gloves to Madam Pomfrey and stared wistfully at his hands. They looked normal, but in two and a half hours they would be completely different. The last full moon had left him with a large wound encircling his knuckles that was still scabbed over, and there were—as always—puncture wounds in his palms from where he clenched his hands during the transformation. "James really wants to make a secret Marauder handshake, but we can't agree on anything," Remus rambled. "He keeps telling us that our right-handed handshakes are too biased."

"Ah, I see."

"And then I always tell him that it's not bias if we're only trying to make things convenient for the vast majority of us. That's efficiency, not bias." That was what Remus always told himself when he noticed werewolf discrimination. It wasn't bias, since he was the minority—it was efficiency. It was merely efficiency that he couldn't find any books about how to deal with lycanthropy, because of course there wasn't much of a market for that sort of thing. It was only efficiency that everyone hated werewolevs, because most werewolves really were awful. It was only efficiency, efficiency all the way, except when people went out of their ways to hate people like Remus... but other than that, it was only efficiency, yes?

Remus suddenly realized that discrimination and trying to come up with handshakes was not the same thing at all.

He gazed at the walls, rolling a bit of dirt between his finger and thumb. "You'll do the Locking Charm and the last few spells to make it perfectly safe?" he asked anxiously, looking at the slats in the wall, the knots in the wood, and the persistent leak in the ceiling. He was cold. Even though he was technically indoors, it didn't feel like it one bit.

"Perfectly safe," repeated Madam Pomfrey. Then she added, as she always did: "I can stay with you for a bit. You won't transform for another two and a half hours."

"No," said Remus, as always. "With all due respect, Madam Pomfrey... scram."

She laughed. "I see. By the way, how are you enjoying your new house?"

"I know what you're trying to do, Madam Pomfrey. You're trying to get me to talk so that I won't notice that you're not… er… scramming. Is that the present continuous, do you think?"

"Sounds about right. Come on, Remus. Humor me. You have two and a half hours."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Fine. Guess what? There's a secret passage in my room." He covered his mouth, horrified. He hadn't meant to tell anyone but the Marauders. Darn his inhibited full-moon speech filter!

Madam Pomfrey laughed again. "I assume you wanted to keep that a secret?"

"Yes! Please don't tell my parents. They'll make me switch rooms."

"Very well. Who am I to interrupt a little bit of Marauder mischief, hm? As long as you promise to be safe, I can't imagine there's anything truly dangerous."

Remus grinned, shook his head, and then tumbled headfirst into the whole rambling story of the secret passage and the magic mirror and his friends and how he was probably going to Peter's house and…. "Fiddlesticks, Madam Pomfrey. You know me too well." Judging by the increasingly violent quivering of Remus' body, about twenty minutes had passed. "Please go."

"Sure, sure," she said. "I'd be willing to stay with you a bit longer if you want to tell me more about the—"

"No! Go away!"

"Okay, Remus. I'll see you tomorrow. And…" She placed a hand on Remus' right shoulder; even though it wasn't the one with the werewolf bite from all those years ago, Remus flinched. "You'll be fine. I know you will."

"I've been trying to tell you that for years, but you always censor it and make me pay for my disobedience with my very valuable time, just because you don't like the word fine."

Madam Pomfrey chuckled. "Goodbye, Remus. I'll see you in the morning."

The door shut.

The wind whistled.

The wind stopped whistling, and Remus knew that Madam Pomfrey had set a Soundproofing Charm on the house.

It was silent, save the beating of Remus' own heart and the creaking of the floorboards as Remus shifted uncomfortably in his criss-crossed position on the floor.

He sighed, lied down on the dusty boards, and tried to get some sleep before the full moon rose. He knew that he wouldn't sleep—not with the pesky shaking of his body, the coldness (despite Madam Pomfrey's warming charms), and the impending pain and doom—but he figured he might as well try.

Remus spent the next week in his bedroom, which felt a little strange. Typically, he liked to heal on the couch in the sitting room. After all, the sitting room in his old house had been right in the middle of the house, connected to the kitchen, and easily accessible by Remus' parents as they came in and out to heal him, go to work, and make meals. But the sitting room in this house was much smaller than their last one and very out-of-the-way. Remus' father was still trying to figure out exactly how to make the couch fit without shrinking it to be so small that Remus could no longer fit comfortably.

Remus passed the time talking to his friends, both over the enchanted notebook and the magic mirror. James had already drawn seven diagrams of what he thought could possibly be inside the secret passage, including (but not limited to) a Quidditch court, a library, and a ton of food. Peter agreed to allow the Marauders to visit his house as soon as Remus was feeling better—though he admitted that his strict mother would never let them spend the night. Sirius spent his time griping about the dumb letter that his annoying little brother had sent him (though Remus had no clue what was in it) and saying that the secret passage probably didn't exist.

Remus tried not to be too happy nor too sad. He was patient with his parents when they were too sad to play a board game with him or read to him when he was trying to fall asleep. His mother's tradition of making soup while Remus was in the cellar had fallen flat this month—she said that she was too tired, making it the first month that the Lupins didn't make soup on the full moon since Remus was five years old.

That was all right. People were always patient with Remus when he wasn't feeling well, so of course he could do that same for them.

To pass the time, he read the duelling notebook that Professor Questus had given him religiously. He found an old photo album that his family weren't using and started organizing his and Questus' letters by date—a task that was much harder than Remus had anticipated. Remus had always dated his letters, but Questus never had. One afternoon, Remus found a letter he'd written that made his heart drop slightly.

Dear Professor Questus,

The full moon was last night, but you probably already knew that. It went quite well, actually—as well as full moons can go, especially considering the fact that I've been on edge since March tenth. I've already written to you about the incident with Donna… but don't you have any other guesses? Theories? Suggestions? Ideas about what's coming? Why would the Death Eaters be quieter now if they're planning something big? I don't get it...

There's no way that I can win our dots-and-boxes game, so I'm starting a new one. I'm determined this time. Madam Pomfrey played a game with me around noon while I was eating lunch, so I have even more practice. Good luck beating me.

Say hello to Edward for me!

R. J. Lupin.

"Something big?" Remus remembered talking about that with Questus. He'd written it a little after he'd found a girl in the forest who had been turned into a tree, and Professor Questus had mentioned how funny it was that the Death Eaters were so quiet. Remus remembered Questus' response, even, and he rifled through his trunk until he found it and paired it with the letter.

Lupin—

…No, I have no idea what the Death Eaters are cooking up. That's why I'm so apprehensive about it. If they're planning something big, though, then withdrawing and regrouping would be the intelligent option. Or perhaps they think that people will let their guards down if they retreat for a couple of months. We won't know until it happens, but, seeing as they're still going strong, there's no reason for them to be quieter, save that one...

I would write more, but I'm afraid I'm busy at the moment. Please tell Dumbledore that the curtains he gave me are incredibly ugly. He doesn't seem to listen to me when I say it, but he seems to like you more. You're younger and more pitiable.

—J.Q.

"Well, now we know what the Something Big was," said Remus despondently. "They were going to murder an entire village of people."

Professor Questus did not respond, which was just as well—Remus didn't need nor want the power to talk to ghosts as well as the power to turn into a monstrous wolf.

On Friday, Remus realized that he hadn't chosen his electives for the next year. He hurriedly pulled some ink and parchment out of his bag, intending to finalize that decision before his parents or Madam Pomfrey could come in to talk him out of it. He was certain that any one of them would try to convince him to take the minimum two electives so as to avoid mental strain, but Remus wanted desperately to take three.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Before I went home for the summer, you said that you would be sure to answer letters from anyone who calls himself a "Marauder" all summer long. This is Remus Lupin, and I do call myself a Marauder (most of the time, unless James and Sirius being weird), so I have faith that you'll read my letter.

I wasn't around at the very end of last year to pick electives, so I thought that I'd write to you now and tell you that I'm interested in Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, and Arithmancy (if Professor Craff is all right with that). Do let me know if there are any problems.

Thank you!
Remus Lupin.

There. Remus had chosen the electives that Professor Questus had recommended that he take, even though he wasn't particularly keen on Care of Magical Creatures or Arithmancy. Professor Craff, the Arithmancy teacher, did not seem to like werewolves at all—and neither did many magical creatures that had the magical or mental capacity to recognize what Remus was. But Professor Questus had recommended those electives, and Professor Questus had always known best.

Except for when he had gotten himself killed.

Remus squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head violently, even though it hurt his still-healing limbs and muscles. He wouldn't think about that right now. He couldn't. Instead, he read the duelling notebook, took his own notes, tried to sleep, and waited for Professor Dumbledore's reply. After about five minutes, he received it.

Dear Remus,

I was just about to ask you about your desired electives. As always, thank you for your responsibility and personal initiative. Rest assured that Professor Craff will admit anyone into her class who desires to learn, and I am very sorry if she has made you feel any differently.

As I am already writing to you, I thought that I might as well alert you to the fact that Professor Hazel will not be returning next year. If your friends have not already told you, there was a bit of a riot when nearly every student of hers found out that they had failed the Defense Against the Dark Arts exam. She has decided not to return. This means, of course, that I shall have to find a new D.A.D.A. teacher for next year. I want you to be prepared for that (though I suspect that you will not be opposed whatsoever to Professor Hazel's decision to quit. I seem to recall that she was not your favorite teacher).

I hope that you and your family are doing well, Remus, and please continue to write to me if there is ever anything that you need—even if it is just to talk about the past month and a half's events. If not, then I shall see you in September.

Sincerely,
Professor A.P.W.B. Dumbledore.

Remus tried very, very hard not to be too excited when the day that he was going to Peter's house finally came. He'd packed a small bag with everything that he thought he'd need, including his wand, the mirror (in case his friends wanted it back), the notebook, and a quill (in case he needed to write to his parents). Despite his protests that he was a whole thirteen years old now, his parents made him pack a snack just in case he got hungry. Silver, Dittany, and bandages were an unspoken must.

When the time came, Remus eagerly grasped his father's hand, heard the familiar crack of Apparition, and was soon standing in front of a quaint home in rural England. It looked a bit like Remus' old house, but he didn't think about that too much. He was positively buzzing with excitement.

"Is this the house?" asked Remus' father, inspecting the pink shutters and matching peonies.

"Yes," said Remus. "This is the house in the photo that he sent us. I'm sure of it."

Remus knocked on the door hesitantly. It wasn't even half a second before he heard the footsteps of three teenage boys hurtling down the stairs at the speed of light. The door flew open, nearly hitting Remus in the face. "Moony!" said James. "You're here! Come in! Don't forget to wipe your feet on the mat, because apparently Mrs. Pettigrew is super strict about that. I learned the hard way. So did Sirius. Hullo, Mr. Lupin! You know, I think I need to know your first name. I call all the professors by their first names, you know. Isn't it Lyall? Can I call you Lyall?"

Remus' father always seemed to be stunned at James' rapid-fire questions, and he was even more unprepared today. "May," he corrected, clearly not knowing what else to do besides correct James' grammar.

"Sure, May," said James. "Yeah, I can call you May. Come on in, Remus!"

Remus stepped into the house, smiling brightly. "Bye, Dad," he said. "I'll see you in four hours."

"See you in four hours," said Remus' father.

"Bye, May!" said James, reaching his arm behind Remus in some sort of strange contortion in order to shut the door behind them. The door slammed, making Remus jump; Remus' father Apparated away; and, at long last, the four Marauders were left alone in the front room.

"I'm really good at scaring people off," said James smugly.

Remus laughed. He was more relieved to be out of the somber, miserable atmosphere of his house than words could even express. "I missed you all, stupid as you are," he said.

"Yeah, obviously," said Sirius. "Who wouldn't miss us? Oh, by the way: we've only been here for ten minutes, and we've already managed to break Peter's mum's vase. Oi, Peter, what's your mum's name?"

"Elora."

"Ah, okay. We'll call her that, then. Peter was just about to give us the tour, Remus. Watch your step, because Peter's mum just washed the floor and it's all slippery."

Remus watched his step, not wanting to slip and further injure himself. In fact, he was watching so hard that he almost didn't notice Mrs. Pettigrew enter the room—in fact, he probably wouldn't have noticed at all had it not been for his exceptional werewolf senses. "You're Remus!" she squealed. "I remember seeing you in the ice-cream shop last year. You're so well-behaved and polite! And you help Peter with his schoolwork. Here, I made bread! There's some tea, too, but I'm afraid it's a little cold. Here, I'll pull up a chair!"

"Mother, please don't smother," muttered Peter.

"Now, Peter, be polite. Go on, then, have a seat!"

Remus sat down and munched on the bread. "It's very good, Mrs. Pettigrew," he said awkwardly, not knowing what else to say.

Mrs. Pettigrew's hand fluttered over her heart. "Oh, dear, you're such a lovely boy! Thank you! Peter helped, you know!"

"Brownnoser," muttered Sirius into Remus' ear. Then, more loudly: "You know, speaking of brownnosers, James is taking every single one of the electives next term."

"What? Seriously?" Remus' head swiveled to face James. "You're joking! I thought you could only take three!"

James grinned. "That's where you're wrong, mate! The classes are arranged this year so that I can take four in-person without schedule conflicts. Divination I'm taking all on my own. McGonagall recommended loads of books that she says I should read, and I'm getting tutoring with the Div professor some days during lunch—that way, it'll never conflict with Quidditch."

"But… why?" said Remus incredulously. "You're… you've never studied anything a day in your life!"

"Exactly! Why should I only take three when I'm clever enough to take four? I'm gonna be the talk of the school when I'm Quidditch captain and taking every single elective!"

"Wow," said Remus, shaking his head. "I can't believe McGonagall let you do that."

"I think she thinks it'll keep me out of trouble," said James. "But she's wrong! For two reasons. First, I don't care if I fail everything. If I have to miss Quidditch and hexing Slytherins and torturing Snape to revise, then I won't. Second, I can do both! I'm good at everything, aren't I?"

Remus was still shaking his head. "You've gone mad, James."

"Cheers, Moony."

"That's a ridiculous name. Do you really have to call me that in public?"

"Yes." James took one last bite of his bread and looked at Mrs. Pettigrew out of the corner of his eye. "Come on, let's go outside and take a walk round the lake."

After Remus took one last, longing look at his half-finished bread, he let himself be pulled out of the house with his three best mates.

He'd missed them.

"I sort of just wanted to ditch Mrs. Pettigrew and chat," said James. "About… things, you know?"

"You've been doing nothing but chat since we've arrived," said Remus, and Peter laughed.

"Yeah, I know," said James. "But… about the thing. The thing that happened before you left Hogwarts, Remus. That thing. Specifically. You know?"

Sirius reached up, grabbed a small tree branch, and snapped it off to use it as a walking stick. "You're good with that, right, Moony?"

"I mean… yeah," said Remus, swallowing hard and ignoring the horrible nickname. "Yeah, that's fine."

James nodded slowly and threaded his arm through Remus'. "I know you must be feeling awful, since you were closest with John and all…."

"I'm not, actually," interrupted Remus. "Not sure what's wrong with me. I feel fine."

"Lucky," said Sirius. "Prongs and I have been all weird since then. Peter's been fine, but we took it kinda hard."

"Oh," said Remus. He didn't know what to say. He hadn't really considered for very long the fact that his friends were distraught over it as well.

"Yeah," said Sirius with a frown. "I just… I mean… that's my family, Remus. That's the kind of thing that my father supports. And he doesn't like the violence, per se, but… you know that letter that Regulus sent me? The one I've been complaining about recently?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, Dad isn't happy that the whole village was destroyed… but it did get out somehow that you lived near there and had to go home early…"

"What?!" said Remus. "But… I don't want to stand out like that! Who told everyone?"

James looked sheepish. "We did. Snape was spouting some rubbish about how you'd skived or something, so we just told him the truth."

"James!"

"Sorry. Dumbledore made an announcement of sorts end of last year, but he didn't mention your name… still, we thought it wasn't much of a stretch. We thought you wouldn't mind."

"Anyway," said Sirius dismissively, "my dad found out that you were involved. He knows you're a werewolf, since he works for the Ministry, so he wasn't very polite about the situation, according to Regulus. And you already know that he really doesn't like John Questus, so when he found out that he was involved, too…."

"Does Regulus know about me?" asked Remus, alarmed.

"No! No, he doesn't. He has no idea. Dad's sworn to secrecy—he doesn't even know that I know. But he said something about… he said that he wasn't happy about the deaths of over a hundred people, but he wasn't sad about it, either. He said that it was probably good for the world, ultimately, because Muggles and Muggle-sympathizers are decreasing in population now. And I just…." A queer look came across Sirius' face. "Well, you know, fifty-nine people dead. Burned up in a fire. I'm… gonna be sick."

Sirius, who had always been sensitive when it came to gruesome scenes, dashed into a small thicket of trees. He returned two minutes later, wiping his mouth and frowning heavily. "And John Questus!" he continued, as if nothing at all had happened. "We saw him not too long ago. We saw him in December! And now he's dead. It's so weird. The world's gone mad."

Remus nodded. "It has."

"I think the problem," said James conversationally, "is that Sirius and me are sheltered. Pete's watched his father die, and Remus was bitten by a werewolf, for heaven's sake, but… but the two of us have never… you know, seen bad things. Not like you two. It's a bit of a shock, really. That's why Sirius is so scared of blood."

"I'm not scared of blood," said Sirius. "It's just gross."

"Anyway, Remus, we just wanted to let you know that you're not the only one who's trying to get over the whole thing. Disastrous, it was. Right shocking. I reckon it'll take months—even years—before it's all blown over, hm?"

"Hope not," said Remus. "I'm tired of being sad."

"Yeah, me too."

They fell into a comfortable silence, and James kicked a rock into the pond. "Hey, look. There are fish in there!"

"What, did you think they would be in the sky?" asked Remus.

"Shut up."

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Messr. Prongs?" asked Sirius, rubbing his hands together.

"But of course, Messr. Padfoot."

"Let's throw rocks at the fish!" they said in unison, and immediately started chucking pebbles into the water and laughing as the fish swam away in terror.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Messr. Wormtail?" said Remus.

Peter grinned. "But of course, Messr. Moony."

"Let's push them in the lake," said Remus; Peter, at the same time, said, "Let's go back in and finish our bread."

"Let's do both!" said Remus.

Two minutes later, James and Sirius were emerging from the water, laughing and soaked to the bone, and Peter and Remus were happily eating bread in the kitchen. "Thanks for this," Remus whispered to Peter as they munched on their bread. "I really needed this break. My parents have been miserable lately, and I wanted to do something fun."

"What are friends for?" said Peter.

It was a good question, and Remus felt as if he was learning a new answer every day.

AN: If I had to be a fish, I think I'd be a barracuda. They can swim up to 25 mph, which is amazing for such a small fish. Plus, they have pretty cool noses.