The next day, something horrible happened.

James and Sirius were having a good-natured argument about the Quidditch game (was it good-natured, though? Remus couldn't tell). James was shouting, and Sirius' normally-pale face was red. Remus was always surprised that, no matter how much James and Sirius riled each other up, they always remained best mates. It was remarkable, to be frank.

Eventually, tensions fell, and it came to light that the argument really was good-natured after all. "You missed so much, mate," said James. "What were you and your girlfriend doing? Snogging in Hogsmeade, perhaps? Doing schoolwork? Playing Quidditch without me?"

"Oh, we played so much Quidditch without you," Sirius declared. "Oodles of it. Loads and loads of Quidditch, and all without James Potter."

"Unfair! I was brilliant at that match, you know."

"I doubt that. Moony said that you nearly got hit with a Bludger a couple of times."

"What?!"

"Yeah. Said that you really weren't all that good. Said that he was surprised that you made the team to begin with."

"Moony!" cried James. "Say it ain't so! You wouldn't betray me like that!"

"Look, James," said Remus, laughing, "I only said that—"

He stopped.

James immediately sobered. "What is it? That's your Something's-Horribly-Wrong face."

But Remus was no longer listening. He was staring at the first page of the Prophet, and he could feel his face growing whiter as he read on. He tried to form words, but his tongue felt oddly thick in his mouth. "Prongs," he managed to say. "There's been… a problem."

Indeed, "problem" seemed like a massive understatement. Remus felt ill. He slid the newspaper over to James, whose eyes grew large as dinner plates as he read the story. Sirius leaned over to the Prophet, but Remus stopped him. "You're squeamish," he said. "You probably shouldn't."

Sirius muttered something that sounded like "need to desensitize myself, Moony," and kept reading. Remus shut his eyes. When he opened them, Sirius looked absolutely green and James looked horrified and angry. Peter was tugging on Remus' sleeve and begging him to divulge what was going on, but Remus barely felt it. He couldn't speak.

Dumbledore was making his way to the front of the Hall now, a determination in his features that Remus rarely saw on the face of the eccentric genius. A horrified hush was slowly sweeping over the Hall as the students, one by one, read the newspaper.

"If you would all listen carefully," said Dumbledore, and the few remnants of chatter died away. The Great Hall was now dreadfully silent. "I need Prefects to lead your Houses to the common rooms. Staff, please search the halls for wayward students." Dumbledore began to walk toward the left of the room, near the Hufflepuff tables, with a calm yet sorrowful and determined look on his face (how Dumbledore managed all three expressions at once, Remus would never know).

Remus stood up and clung to Peter, who was clinging right back. "What happened?" Peter whispered into Remus' ear.

"Attack," Remus whispered. "One of the Hogwarts staff. Dead, attacked while in Hogsmeade... That's all the Prophet said, but I think I know which teacher it was."

"Who?" asked James, but Remus didn't respond.

"Follow me, Gryffindors," said Puttle importantly, and Remus followed numbly. He and his friends automatically crowded together, and he was so close to the rest of them that he could smell the soap that James had used to wash his hands that morning.

Whispers reverberated throughout the crowd of Gryffindors as they walked down the corridor, and the whispers were almost worse than the silence. "…McGonagall?" one asked. "I haven't seen her."

"Ooh, I hope it wasn't McGonagall."

"Filch?"

"No, I saw him on the way here."

"Sidus?"

"I haven't seen him today. Maybe."

Remus covered his ears with both hands, hoping to block out the fearful speculations, but he could still hear them loud and clear. Stupid werewolf senses.

It was a million years before they finally reached the common room. "You're not to go to your dormitories," Puttle announced. "Please stay here so that we may keep an eye on you. And don't panic, please. Dumbledore's going to sort it out."

"All right, Moony?" asked Peter, and Remus nearly throttled him. No, he wasn't all right.

James handed the newspaper to Peter. "Here," he whispered, "you can read it for yourself."

Peter did, and Remus blankly stared over Peter's shoulder at the words that he'd already read.

Attack in Hogsmeade; Two Dead. This morning, at six o'clock, nine Death Eaters broke into Hogsmeade and murdered two people: an Australian man who was vacationing in Scotland and a staff member of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Both bodies were found mutilated, presumably the work of a Dark curse….

Remus snatched the newspaper back, ripped it in half, crumpled it into a ball, and then handed it to James. "Wait!" said Peter. "I didn't read it all. It said they were mutilated. What does that mean?"

"It means," said Remus in a low voice, "that their heads were no longer attached to their bodies, their skin had been cut up so much that it no longer resembled skin at all, and they were missing all their fingernails." Remus winced a bit as he spoke the words. He'd had some firsthand experience with Dark magic, and he knew how horrifying it could be... but this was bad, even for his own sensibilities. "Probably a combination of a couple of Dark curses," he mused. "Maybe a curse of Voldemort's own creation."

Sirius still looked green. "Do you know why they did it?"

"Do they need a reason?" spat James.

Remus shook his head. "Of course there's a reason, but I don't know why they would have singled out those two people. I think it was random."

"What's the reason?"

"Terror. They want people to be afraid. The more afraid of Voldemort these people are, the more likely they are to be scared into compliance. That's why they killed everybody in my town. And that—mutilating bodies, either before or after the victims died—that's terror."

Remus was seething, and he was tapping his fingers desperately on his lap. He was itching to stand up and pace around for a bit, but the common room was so crowded that he could hardly move a couple of feet. In though his nose. Out through his mouth. Breathe.

"Who was it?" asked James. "You said that you knew who it was."

The students were chattering at a volume that made Remus' head hurt, so he didn't think that anyone would overhear him. "Did you notice how Dumbledore was walking to the Hufflepuff tables?" he whispered, and James nodded. "It was… sort of a secret, but Professor Craff was Miles' mother, and Miles is in Hufflepuff. Dumbledore was going to take Miles to his office; I'm sure of it... just like he found me in the Great Hall last year when Professor Questus died, and... oh, poor Miles."

"Kirsten Craff?" repeated James. "Are you certain?"

"No, I'm not. But it makes sense."

Sirius nodded, tight-lipped. "Yeah, it does. I didn't see her at the staff table this morning. Leo and Andrew were gone, too."

"Dilley was in his classroom when we passed it," said Remus dully. "I dunno about Sidus, but I don't think he went to Hogsmeade yesterday. He was watching the game, and then he was helping clean the field."

"So it's Kirsten, then," said James. He looked stunned, and Remus heard his heart rate increase sharply. Peter was still clinging to Remus' arm. Remus wasn't used to so much physical contact, but he didn't mind.

"Kirsten," Sirius repeated. "This is mad."

"Well," said James quietly, "out of all the teachers at Hogwarts, I'm glad it was her. I think I hated her the most."

That made Remus even angrier. "James! You can't say that! She was only unfair towards me—no one else. She was a good teacher, she cared about her students, she was somebody's mum, and… and she was a person, and no one, not even Craff, deserves…"

"Right," said James. "Sorry. Only trying to lighten the mood. I'm not glad she's dead or anything. I'm only glad that it wasn't Minerva or Albus or Andrew."

"Don't care," said Remus, shaking his head. "The only people who deserve to die are the Death Eaters. And Voldemort." Greyback, too, he added in his head, but he didn't dare say that one aloud, lest he invite unwanted questions.

"We'll keep that in mind after we leave school to be Vigilante Marauders," said James with a grin, evidently still trying to lighten the mood, even though it was not the type of mood that was meant to be lightened.

Remus fell silent and stared at Puttle, who was trying to calm a hysterical first-year girl. "It's scary, isn't it?" Peter mumbled. "Even Hogsmeade isn't safe. Nowhere is."

Remus thought about that. It was true. Even Remus' own home, which had been a safe haven for such a long time, had been attacked and marred by the Death Eaters. Everything which he had considered to be unshakable, unmovable—it had all been put at risk. Nothing was certain anymore, and there was nowhere safe to go. Not even Hogsmeade, a place for which Remus had gotten a signed permission form, was safe.

"That's what the Death Eaters want us to think," said Remus, "and they're doing awfully well at it, aren't they?"

Dumbledore entered the Gryffindor common room an hour later, and the Gryffindors immediately fell silent upon his arrival. A couple of newspapers had been passed around, so everyone, now, knew what had happened.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Thank you for your patience," he said; though his voice was quiet, it rang throughout the room as clear as day. "I'm sorry for any panic that my tardiness may have caused you, and please know that you are all out of danger. Hogwarts is, as it always has been, safe. The Dark forces have left Hogsmeade, and the area is now secure."

"Who died?" asked a boy in the back of the common room.

Dumbledore cleared his throat again. "Professor Kirsten Craff has, unfortunately, been murdered."

Silence.

Remus could not bear to look at anyone—not even his friends—so he kept his head down and stared vehemently at the floor. He could hear breathing and heartbeats all around him.

"Even though Hogsmeade has been secured," continued Dumbledore, "we ask that there be no more visits for the next couple of weeks. The Aurors are investigating. We ask that everybody remain calm."

"Will we still be able to go home for the Christmas holidays?" asked a second-year boy.

"I don't see why that should be a problem."

There was a silence so long and heavy that it seemed to crush Remus' chest like a stone.

After a moment, Dumbledore sighed. "You may all go about your days. There will be an assembly in the Great Hall at seven o'clock so that we can further discuss this tragedy. Please do not panic. Professor McGonagall will be meeting with anybody who may need to talk. I ask that, for right now, you do not leave the castle."

There was a brief mumbling of assent, and then Dumbledore left. Students made their ways up to their dormitories or to the Great Hall to finish breakfast.

As for Remus, he pocketed the crumpled remnants of the newspaper and headed up to the dormitory with his friends, where they collapsed onto their beds and did not talk for what seemed like ages.

Finally, Peter broke the silence. "Why Hogsmeade?" he asked. "Why didn't the Death Eaters attack the Ministry of Magic? Wouldn't that be more helpful?"

Remus had participated in many an exercise of How-Do-Death-Eater-Minds-Work with Professor Questus, so he immediately knew the answer. "Children are young and impressionable," he said slowly. "If a child is raised in an environment of fear, he will remain in that fear until he sees a different example."

"What?" said James.

Remus tried again. "I told you that the Death Eaters are trying to increase fear amongst the public, and basically, they're playing the long game. They're establishing themselves as a terrifying force—one that could obliterate anyone that goes against them in an instant. The best way to do that is to scare children, because then the children grow up with the unquestioned knowledge that the Death Eaters always win… that the Death Eaters could kill their families… so they join Voldemort. They grow up in an environment of fear, and they succumb to it."

Remus wrapped the pink blanket around his shoulders. "I know about that all too well," he said thoughtfully. "I think we all do. There were so many facts of life due to my childhood environment of fear that I only began to question when I left home."

"Like what?" asked Peter.

"Like… erm, like the cellar. I always thought that I was safe in the cellar—it was just a fact. I'd never worried about escaping, because I'd been transforming for years, and I had never escaped before. I only really started worrying about hurting people when I came here. Oh, and you know how the whole talking-about-werewolves thing went. I thought that my parents didn't like to talk about werewolves… they thought that I didn't like to talk about werewolves… ergo, werewolves were taboo in our family for the longest time. It was an unspoken fact. I didn't question it until I came back for Christmas holidays last year."

"And I didn't know that lots of people believed that Muggle-borns and Purebloods were the same until I came here," said Sirius. "I didn't even know that… er, that the word—you know which word—was a slur. You know. The Muggle-born word."

"I suppose I was raised as the youngest and an only child," said James, "and I didn't really have to start thinking of others until Hogwarts. It was an adjustment, not being the center of attention all the time."

"I didn't know that I could safely spend time with other people," added Remus, "and I certainly didn't know that I could have friends."

Peter nodded. "I… I thought that werewolves were all evil."

James narrowed his eyes at Peter, but Remus nodded kindly. "That makes sense," he said. "See? It's all about the environment. It's difficult to rethink the facts of life until one leaves the environment… meets new people… meets resistance. The Death Eaters, first and foremost, are seeking to establish an environment. Then they're trying to keep it going. That's their biggest weapon when it comes to controlling people, and young students—who are away from home for the first time and don't have as many carefully-considered notions and beliefs as adults—are more susceptible."

Remus fiddled with the pink blanket, trying to decide whether he wanted to add the next part or not. He decided to do it, likely because fear and anxiety were making him reckless. "That's what Greyback's doing," Remus said quietly. "Fenrir Greyback. He bites kids young and then takes them away from their families—teaches them things that aren't moral at all—scares them into compliance at a young age—and then he keeps them like that. He trains them, both in body and mind, to be murderers. And since they can't escape to a new environment—the wizarding world won't let them, anyway—they stay that way. The longer preconceived notions are planted inside one's mind, the harder they are to break."

More silence. "Moony," said James slowly, "you were bitten as a kid."

"Yeah. Just adds to all those preconceived notions I was talking about. I'm less human than someone who was bitten as a teenager, just because of the environment, and..."

"No, I mean… was it Greyback who bit you?"

Yes, it had been. It had definitely been Greyback. Remus didn't want to tell James that, though: irrationally, he didn't want anyone to know. He had told Questus once before, and getting the story out into the open had helped immensely. But now Questus was dead, and Remus was not willing to tell that story again. Once had been enough, and Remus wanted some things to keep to himself. He had already told his friends most of his secrets, but this one he would hold close to his chest, never to let anyone else learn. Here in the dormitory, it was his and his alone, and Remus didn't have many things like that anymore.

"No," said Remus. "That's ridiculous. No, it was… an accident. Wrong place, wrong time." His friends seemed to buy it, and James visibly relaxed. Remus continued. "But Questus and I talked a lot about Greyback and his motivations. Death Eaters, too. Questus knew a lot about the war."

"Yeah, I didn't think that you were clever enough to come up with all of that on your own," quipped Sirius, and Remus threw a pillow at him.

The pillow fight didn't last any longer than that, though. Sirius grinned once and then leaned back, still looking a bit nauseous. James picked at his nails. Peter stared at Remus.

"I can't believe that Kirsten's dead," said James. "It seems only yesterday that she was… er… pretending that Moony didn't exist and making snide comments about his dead next-door neighbor."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Be nice, James."

"I'm just saying!" said James, and Remus didn't have the heart to argue any more.

"Today," said Dumbledore, "we mourn the loss of a clever professor, a kind mentor, and a good friend."

There was silence. Remus kept his head down.

"We also recognize that the danger outside is growing. I ask that everybody be careful from here on out. Look both ways before you Apparate, so to speak."

Remus stared at the floor.

"And please, above all, do not panic. Remember that you all are capable wizards. The Death Eaters are capable of many things—but so are you and your family, friends, and professors. The situation is being handled. For now, all we can do is wait. Be a friend to those who need one, live life to the fullest without worrying about impending threats, but do your best to protect yourself and others."

Remus did not move.

"Hogsmeade trips are officially canceled until further notice, but Quidditch games and the like are still on. Rest assured that worrying will help nothing."

That was entirely true, at least. Worrying would help nothing.

Nothing would.

That night, Remus couldn't stop thinking about it.

Every sound outside became the footsteps of a Death Eater. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his friends' mutilated bodies. Every time he breathed, he thought it might be his last breath.

He finally got out of bed around eleven to use the loo, and James stopped him. "Bad dream?" James asked.

"No. Haven't slept."

"Nor have I."

"Nor I," came Sirius' muffled voice.

A soft sigh came from Peter's four-poster. "Me, neither."

The four of them sat for a while in the darkness, and then Remus went to the loo. When he came back, Sirius was holding a lantern and James was holding the Cloak. "We're going to the Kitchens," said James. "A bite to eat will make us feel better, I reckon."

Remus didn't quite feel up to a midnight excursion, but—again—he did not have the heart to argue. "Sure," he said.

The Marauders crept down the corridor, squeezed under the Cloak like several sardines. They were only a couple of feet away from the Kitchens when Remus sensed someone coming down the corridor. "Hide," he hissed, and the Marauders pressed themselves against the wall.

It was Dumbledore. Remus' heart was pounding, as was his friends'. He marveled once again at the fact that humans could not hear heartbeats, even heartbeats that were that ridiculously loud.

Dumbledore stopped directly in front of Remus and his friends… then he turned his head… and looked into Remus' eyes, smiling faintly. "That is a very powerful Disillusionment Charm," he mused.

So he knew that there was somebody hidden, but he did not know that they were under a Cloak. Did he know who they were? Remus pressed a hand to his mouth, hoping that his breathing wasn't too loud.

"I am going to walk down the corridor to the left," said Dumbledore, "and I shall not be surprised nor angry if someone follows me. I'll chalk it up to a midnight chat about yesterday's events. Perfectly permissible."

With that, he walked in the opposite direction, humming gaily. Remus and Sirius wrestled with the Cloak for a few moments—Remus wanted to take it off, but Sirius wanted to keep it on—and Remus eventually won (only because James and Peter had joined his side). James stuck the Cloak into his satchel, and the four of them rushed down the corridor after Dumbledore.

"Oh, good evening," said Dumbledore, turning around. "Such a pleasant surprise. I had no idea that you were out here, enjoying the quiet, as well."

"Sir, we didn't mean—"

"It's all right, Remus. You're not in trouble. I did want you to obey curfew, especially after last night, but I understand that things are difficult right now."

"Are we really in the middle of a war?" blurted Peter. "Truly?"

"Really," affirmed Dumbledore. "Really and truly, Peter. I'm afraid that things are going to get harder from here on out."

Peter nodded, and Remus heard his heart rate speed up considerably. "What will it be like?"

"I can't know for certain. The last war was…" Dumbledore looked into the distance for a moment, evidently seeing something that none of the Marauders could. A memory, perhaps. "The last war was rather terrible," he continued. "There were times that no one could step out of their houses for fear of being attacked. Many wizards elected to live amongst Muggles, giving up their magical powers for some semblance of safety. Muggles were targeted as well, though—perhaps more—so nothing helped. People camped out in the woods, worried that they would be found by Dark forces. Countless people died."

Peter trembled.

"War brings out the worst in people, Peter, and many of us—many of our closest friends, perhaps—find that their morals become askew when confronted with power, fear, or anything else of the sort. The hardest aspect of the last war was not fighting our enemies: no, the hardest thing about the war was fighting our friends. It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to one's friends." Dumbledore was looking off into the distance again, but then his head turned towards Remus. "As long as the four of you stay loyal, kind, and continue to trust each other, then surviving the war will not be difficult at all."

Remus nodded. "Everything's easier with friends," he said.

Dumbledore nodded. "Precisely," he said with a smile. "Now, I imagine you boys were trying to get something from the Kitchens to sustain you tonight?"

The Marauders looked at each other, embarrassed. "We were just walking, sir," lied Peter. "Around the castle. Enjoying the quiet, like you said."

Dumbledore was still smiling. "I know you know where the Kitchens are, and I know that food makes everything seem better. Why don't we go together? You now have my permission; therefore, you are not breaking a single rule."

Dumbledore led the way to the Kitchens, and the Marauders followed joyfully. There was truly nothing like eating a quiet midnight snack with the most powerful wizard in the world.

"How is Miles doing?" asked Remus while he buttered a crumpet.

Dumbledore took a bite of cake thoughtfully. "Very similar to how you were at the beginning of last summer, I think, except less quiet about it."

"Less… quiet?"

"Everyone grieves differently, Remus. You were stunned and quiet. He was indignant and angry."

"Ah," said Remus. "And...?"

"He is not coming back to Hogwarts this year."

"What's going to happen to Arithmancy?" asked James. "I rather liked that class."

Dumbledore turned his gaze towards James, eyes twinkling as they so often did. "I'm happy to see you applying yourself, James," he said. "I shall be standing in until we can get a new professor. It may be long-term; I do not know. Finding a professor these days is difficult."

"Because of me?" Remus muttered. "No one wants to teach a werewolf, do they?"

"Partially because of you, yes," said Dumbledore. He took another bite of cake. "That is a sacrifice I am willing to make, however."

Remus felt guilty—so incredibly guilty—and his stomach was starting to hurt again. "It needn't be," he mumbled. "Really. I don't have to… I mean, I can learn at home, if you'll just provide me with book recommendations and things. I… I don't have to go to Hogwarts. Honest."

"You keep forgetting that this is not just for you," said Dumbledore. "You are a pioneer, Remus, in a grander scheme. We are helping you, yes, but you are helping us in return. Do you know how many teachers' opinions on werewolves have changed? How many have begun teaching more tolerant lessons in their classes? How many students are being taught to be kinder to those different from them? Not to mention the fact that your attending will open up opportunities for future non- or part-human students. You are making sacrifices for us as well, and we are thankful. This is not a charity; it is a team effort."

That did make Remus feel better. He passed the crumpets to Peter. "I still feel a bit guilty, though."

"I imagine that is partially heightened by the fact that someone whom you did not particularly like has died," said Dumbledore. "Conflicting emotions are indeed confusing."

"Maybe."

"I only feel ill," said Sirius. "Really ill. I think I might be sick, actually—I've been thinking that I would all day."

"Deep breaths," advised Dumbledore.

Sirius started breathing heavily: so heavily, in fact, that he nearly passed out. "Woah, it helped," he said. "I feel so faint that I can't think about anything else."

"That wasn't the intention," chuckled Dumbledore, "but I'm glad it helped. Now, I can see that you're almost done eating, so I have one last request to make. I am a very busy man, and filling in the Arithmancy post while we look for a new teacher is not something that I can freely accomplish without clearing up my schedule a little."

"What does a headmaster even do?" asked Sirius.

Dumbledore turned to him, eyes twinkling so brightly that Remus nearly had to squint. "It's time you found out, Sirius. What do you say to becoming the first official Assistant Headmaster of Hogwarts?"

After the initial shock wore off, Remus closed his eyes, trying very hard not to laugh.

Oh, Hogwarts was going to go up in flames.

AN: It's someone's birthday today. I don't know whose, but I know there's someone out there who is another year older as of today. Happy birthday!