James was missing the next morning, which meant that Remus woke up, got out of bed, and stumbled down to the common room completely alone. He was a bit angry at first. Hadn't they just had a conversation about this? Remus liked visitors! No, James wasn't obligated, but it was the nice thing to do! Didn't he know how much Remus relied on his company during the worst moments of his life?

Remus sulked on the couch for a bit, wrapped in the pink blanket. He patted Bufo. At least Bufo would never abandon him.

After about fifteen minutes, Remus stopped ramming his fist against his forehead (it sort of helped with the headache)... because James was coming down the corridor! That was James! And, from the smell of it, he had tea.

James kicked open the door. "Moony!" he sang quietly, so as not to wake up the sleeping students. "I've brought you tea and conversation! Sorry I wasn't there earlier. I wanted to have tea ready for you when you woke up, just in case you felt well enough to stomach it, but you woke up twenty minutes early this morning. Anyway. Here you are! Fresh from the Kitchens. Thank goodness for the Invisibility Cloak, eh?"

Remus smiled and sat up. "I thought perhaps you were working on schoolwork in the library. Or that project of yours."

James had been handing the tea to Remus, but now he stiffened and pulled his hand back. Remus made a small noise of surprise as his hand, ready to take the tea, grasped at nothing; James quickly apologized and handed him the mug. "Who told you about the project?" he asked.

"Sirius. Said it was a personal project of yours."

"He didn't say anything else?"

"No…?"

"Good."

"Is it meant to be a secret?"

James started laughing. "Hahahaha. Noooo. Why would you think that? No, I was just wondering. I was just curious. Yeah. Hahaha."

"Er, James…?"

"Yes?"

"Please tell me that you didn't learn those lying skills from me. I didn't talk like that in first year, did I? Please tell me I didn't."

James laughed louder. "I'm not lying, Moony! Why would you think that?" At Remus' searching gaze, however, he dropped the act. "Fine. Yes, the project is a secret. But not because… I mean, we don't want you to feel left-out or anything. It's just… a surprise. That's all. You'll find out at some point, I promise."

"Erm... okay. Sure."

"So how d'you feel?" asked James in an absolutely transparent attempt to change the subject. "Physically?"

"Er… well, my throat hurts a little bit."

"Yeah, it's all hoarse and raspy."

"Noted. Tell me about Quidditch practice. How different does it feel now that you're a Beater? What's it like working with that seventh year?" Remus sipped his tea slowly, hoping that it would stay down, and he let James' excited chatter replace the ever-present pain that was knocking around in his head.

November 10, 1973

I wasn't exactly sure how to measure my stress levels before the full moon (for my Arithmancy project, that is), so I decided to write about them. Seems simple enough. I can look back and see on which days I was the most stressed—maybe it'll contribute to how bad the full moon is or something.

I'm using a notebook that Madam Pomfrey got me for Christmas in first year. I was sort of scared of writing in it before (it was too perfect, and I didn't want to ruin it—that was before I was close to my friends, so I'm afraid I was a little annoying), but this seems like the perfect occasion. Madam Pomfrey is thrilled that I'm writing things down. "A diary is a wonderful way to let out emotions and burn stress," she says. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. This isn't a diary! It's an intensive research project!

Anyway, I thought I'd just write down the things that stressed me out the most this month. Then I'll write down a word describing my stress levels at the top. This is a super subjective thing to measure.

Okay, so the first thing that's stressing me out is that Madam Pomfrey still seems to think that I can't handle anything at all. She won't let me draw my own bath, get changed in the room on my own, decide for myself whether I want to visit my friends or not (they came knocking in the morning and she let them in, but they came again during lunchtime and she said that I needed to sleep). She won't let me listen to an Adamson record—she says that I should wait until after the full moon (probably because she thinks I'm too sensitive to handle it right before). She won't even let me sit up on my own. I tried earlier today and she rushed over to help me. I can sit up!

But it's not Madam Pomfrey; not really. She's trying her best. All she's doing is matron-ing (I dunno if that's a word) like she does for all the other students. She's simply not taking into account that I do this every single month and can take care of myself—and really, why would she? She's never taken care of a werewolf before.

Honestly, it's NOT Madam Pomfrey. I love her with all my heart. It's the fact that I won't always have her. I'm halfway through my third year, which means that I only have three and a half years left. I'm almost done with Hogwarts. I was talking to my friends about this fact when they came to visit in the morning.

Sirius said that I was being a sentimental prat. Peter patted my knee awkwardly. James said that I was having a midlife crisis. All that made me feel better, actually.

But I am in the middle of a war, and it's only going to get worse. I read the Prophet this morning (lo and behold: another reason that I am stressed), and there was another attack. A family dead. The Death Eaters cast this image of a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth—the Dark Mark, the Ministry's calling it. They blast it into the sky every time they do something. It's huge (and it reminds me of that time it was hanging over the town by my house). Kids are coming to Madam Pomfrey just out of stress. There's fear everywhere.

Everyone's terrified, and so am I. I'm scared for my family. I'm scared for my friends and their families (even Sirius'. He doesn't like his family, but I know that he doesn't want them to die). I'm scared for my classmates. And I'm also scared for me.

A world in which fear and paranoia is present is also a world that does not tolerate Dark creatures like werewolves. Greyback himself is working for Voldemort, so people think that ALL werewolves do the same. The Ministry will try to put more restrictions on werewolf activity, but that'll only affect Registered werewolves (like me). Honestly, at the rate things are going, I wouldn't be surprised if they finally pull the trigger and issue an execution command. What would I do? I'd have to go into hiding. My mere existence would be illegal, and my family could be imprisoned (and I would be killed) if they were to catch us.

The more frequently that the Ministry does things like this, the more frequently that werewolves are going to leave wizarding society to attack humans. And the more frequently that werewolves leave wizarding society to attack humans, the more frequently the Ministry is going to do things like this. It's a never-ending circle of Everybody-Hates-Remus. Wizarding wars can last a long time, and my lifespan is relatively short. I might not live to see the end of it. I might never get to exist in a time of peace. Werewolf sentiments might improve, but chances are I'll never get to see that.

So really, what's the point in anything? Everyone else is here at Hogwarts so that they can improve their futures, get good jobs, learn social skills… all important skills to function as a well-adjusted adult. They all have potential to have good, fulfilling lives. But not me. I don't know why I'm at Hogwarts, letting everyone bend over backwards to let me attend. I'm never going to DO anything for the world. All these things that everyone else can do aren't possibilities for me. There's no reason for me to be here.

I'll never get married or have a kid, like James wants to do. I'll never get to fight in the war unless I do so alone as a vigilante. I'll never do anything good for the world. I'll never be a teacher like Professor Questus, or a Prefect like Puttle, or a well-adjusted person like… well, like anyone, really. I'll die before all my friends, so staying with them now will only bring them grief in the future. And I'll die before both my parents. What are they even doing keeping me alive? I have absolutely no shot at doing anything good.

I know I'm being ridiculous. I know that I should "live in the moment" or whatever. I AM happy, I really am. I love my friends to death, I have good parents, I have good teachers, and I really might have a shot at an okay future. I'm happy. But that doesn't stop me from worrying.

Talking of worrying, I also worry about my friends. I don't really understand some of the things they do.

This morning (before my friends got here to visit me), I heard Snape in the main ward of the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey put the welts, bush hair, and crooked teeth straight, of course, and it only took her about five minutes—but he was howling about how he just KNEW that it was Potter and Black, and that he'd given them the password accidentally, and how he hated them. He was yelling so much that Dumbledore had to be called.

Dumbledore sat down next to Snape's bed and very calmly told him that there was no proof. Snape insisted that it couldn't have been anyone else, and that the common room was decorated in red. It HAD to be a Gryffindor, and the only Gryffindors who hated Snape so much were Potter and Black and "their gang" (I assume that means me and Peter). Dumbledore said that the fact remained that he had no proof. Snape was fuming.

I assume Dumbledore questioned my friends, but I doubt they said anything. Peter's a really good liar (so is Sirius, sort of). James can squeak by, too, when he's not trying to cover up a secret "project" at 4am.

I'm also stressed about the full moon, of course. And I'm stressed about my parents, who keep writing to me but never say anything of substance. I can't wait for Christmas hols to begin so that I can see them in person and make sure they're okay. I know they probably are, but still.

And I'm stressed because I'm busy. That's a good thing, I think, because stress is better than the awful emptiness that I was feeling before… but I really AM busy.

And then there's all the annoying What-Ifs. What if I don't finish my Arithmancy project and fail the class? What if I actually turn out to be really bad at duelling? What if I hurt my leg again on the next transformation and can't go to class for two weeks? What if someone finds out what I am? What if my friends abandon me or something?

And why is Max following me? That's not a What-If, but it's close enough.

Anyway, I think those are all the reasons that I'm stressed. I hope this helps you, Future Remus Lupin.

R.J. Lupin

"I need you to do something for me, Madam Pomfrey," said Remus.

Madam Pomfrey had been reading a book about magical herbs, but now she stopped and gave Remus a dark look. "I'm not putting in an Alexander Adamson record," she said. "You'll be stressed directly before the full moon, and we can't have that."

"They're not stressing me out; they're relaxing me," Remus insisted, but he realized that arguing was futile and stopped. "No, that's not what I needed you to do, anyway. It's for my Arithmancy project. I need you to help me."

"I'm not sure I want to help with this macabre project of yours."

"It's not macabre. It'll be helpful. I just need you to rate my injuries after the transformation every month—a scale of one to five. I'll rate them separately, and then we can average them together. Dumbledore said that I needed to way to measure the outcome, and this is what I came up with."

"Dumbledore said that? He's helping you?"

"He helped me a bit. Please? This is really important to me."

Madam Pomfrey was silent for a bit before responding. "Of course I'll help you, Remus," she sighed. "I just don't like that you're watching your transformations."

"I didn't watch them last month. I skipped over them. Saw the beginning and then left the memory."

"Truly?"

"Yeah, truly."

"But you saw yourself as…?"

"A wolf, yeah. It was exactly as I expected, though. It's not as if I've never seen a werewolf before."

Madam Pomfrey fell silent again, and then she finally nodded. "I'll help," she said again. "What do you need me to do?"

"I've already rated last month's." Remus covered up the number in his notebook so that she couldn't peek. "How bad do you think it was? Scale of one to five."

"Five," said Madam Pomfrey immediately.

"Oh." Remus frowned. "I rated it as a four."

"But it was one of the worst full moons you've ever had. Worse than the first December full moon of your first year… even worse than the first full moon after the incident last summer."

Remus didn't like the word "incident". It made it sound like a little inconvenience; an unfortunate twist of fate… a snag in Remus' happiness, but nothing more than that. And it had been more than that. It had been disastrous, catastrophic, probably the worst thing ever to happen to Remus… well, maybe besides what had happened to him when he was nearly five, but Remus felt selfish for thinking so. "But it could have been worse," he said, shrugging. "I felt fine when I first transformed back. It was only my leg."

"I'm sticking with a five," said Madam Pomfrey.

"But now you have nowhere to go. What if I have a worse one? You'd have to rate that one a five, too, even if they were wildly different… and then the results would be skewed."

"If that happens, then I'll rate it a six."

"But that defeats the purpose of the system!"

"Not really. I won't change my mind, Lupin. I thought you wanted my professional opinion."

Remus sighed and wrote it down on the notebook. "Average is a four-point-five, then," he said. "I hope it's under a three this month."

Madam Pomfrey made a small noise of agreement and then got back to her book.

Remus leaned back into his pillows, tried to ignore the horrible aching in his bones, and fell back asleep.

Madam Pomfrey woke him up. "Time to change into your transformation robes," she said.

Remus groaned and removed the bedsheets with some difficulty. He felt half-asleep, like he was operating in some sort of dream. "I think I'm supposed to rate my symptoms beforehand, too," he mumbled. "I'm thinking a two… they're not that bad; I just feel sleepy. And I was feeling pretty well today, generally. I'll write all that down tomorrow morning."

"I don't like this project," said Madam Pomfrey.

"I like stepping back and observing my own symptoms from a medical perspective," said Remus. "Makes it feel like I'm suffering for a noble reason. All for knowledge."

She'd been pulling his transformation robes out of his bag and helping him out of his pajamas, but now she stopped. "Is that really why you're doing it?" she said.

"Not at first," he murmured, "but it helps. It really does."

She smiled (Remus thought she did, at least, but he couldn't be sure because his eyes were half-closed). "I think that could indeed be beneficial," she conceded. "I'm… I'm glad it's making you feel better." And then, after a very long while, she said, "I approve."

Remus tried for a smile, but he was so sleepy that he only managed an odd, lopsided one. "Thanks," he yawned. "Now can I get you to approve Alexander Adamson if I say that I like him for the same reason? Because it helps me step back and observe from a medical perspective?"

She laughed and shook her head. "No, never," she said, but she was caving; Remus could tell.

Remus prowled around the Shrieking Shack on all fours, growling at the wall.

He could smell people in Hogsmeade, and the scent was so enticing that Remus couldn't stand it. He itched all over. He had to bite something, claw at something, kill something….

And then there was the sound of children.

Not just children.

Children that Remus knew.

He'd met these children in his smaller, weaker form, he remembered: Remus recalled their faces. One had thick, rectangular glasses and black hair; one was rather plump and had blond hair; and one was very tall and stood up very straight.

They were coming closer. Very close to the Shrieking Shack, actually. And now they were walking around the perimeter… talking about something… Remus heard the sounds, but he didn't discern them. He didn't care what they were saying. He just wanted blood—to bite one of them—turn one of them into a werewolf like him—company, power, and blood.

The voices persisted.

Remus made a noise of frustration and rammed against the side of the building. The voices stopped.

Then they continued.

Remus' efforts were doing nothing, and he resented everything for that. Everything.

It was a long time before the voices disappeared. Remus growled his disapproval and continued pacing the Shack.

"Madam Pomfrey! Oh, there you are—I was so worried—is everyone okay? Sirius, James, Peter—"

Madam Pomfrey rushed to Remus' side. "Lupin!" she scolded. "You really need to stop sitting up directly after full moons! This is getting quite ridiculous!"

"But… my friends! Is anyone hurt? You were late!"

"I wasn't late. I came exactly when the sun began to rise. Perhaps it just seemed like longer because you were working yourself into such a state."

She still hadn't answered Remus' question, and Remus felt his stomach constrict with worry. "Madam Pomfrey, are my friends okay?"

"Yes! Of course they are! Why wouldn't they be? Now roll up your sleeve, please."

Remus did so impatiently. "I didn't hurt anyone?" he asked.

"No one."

"Good," said Remus. He watched his skin knit back together as Madam Pomfrey poured some powdered silver and Dittany over the wound. He felt okay, even though there was really no way to tell until the numbness wore off and he could feel his limbs again. He wondered what Madam Pomfrey would bring him for breakfast. Usually it was scrambled eggs or the like, and sometimes it was beans on toast….

It was only then that the thought hit him.

Remus' friends, whom he'd trusted, had gone near the Shrieking Shack on a full moon. Very near. Too near. Remus had been able to hear their footsteps right on the other side of the walls. They had done so, though they had known that Remus wouldn't have wanted them to… done so, though they had known that it was dangerous… done so, knowing that making Remus into a murderer would absolutely destroy him.

Remus was no longer worried. Now he felt betrayed. Lost. And mostly angry.

He walked back to the Hospital Wing, leaning heavily on Madam Pomfrey. Even though the numbness had worn off by now, the prospect of his friends doing something so horrible hurt far worse than the physical pain.

AN: Happy late Valentine's Day!