Remus arrived at Dumbledore's office that evening, still sneezing every so often, but otherwise feeling fine.

Embarrassingly enough, he was pretty sure that he was slightly allergic to garlic. He was a werewolf, allergic to garlic. He'd talk to Madam Pomfrey about it eventually, but he was never, ever going to tell his friends. He'd never live it down. Garlic allergies were for vampires, not for werewolves!

Alas. He wouldn't think about that now—he had much bigger fish to fry, and he was about to fry them (preferably without garlic).

Dumbledore had given Remus the password to his office the day before, so he didn't have to shout for Dumbledore or try every sweet that came to mind. "Acid Pops," he said, and the gargoyles moved aside to permit him entry. Remus sneezed again.

He knocked on the side of the door awkwardly before entering—after all, he felt it was the polite thing to do. "Come in," said Dumbledore, and Remus did. "Ah, Remus. Right on time. How are you today?"

"I'm all right, sir."

"It's a bit late. Are you all right with staying up so far past what I am sure is your normal bedtime? Keep in mind that you'll be doing this nearly every night from here on out."

"Professor Dumbledore, I share a dormitory with James Potter, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew. I try to fall asleep early, but I don't usually get to bed until around midnight."

Dumbledore chuckled. "I understand," he said. "Most students don't. You will be out after curfew, but I have let the staff know that you are permitted to be out between the minutes of 11:00 and 11:10. That should be plenty of time. If we ever run over, I'll write you a note."

"Thank you, sir," said Remus. "Thank you ever so much. This is very helpful."

"I believe I am just as excited about your project as you are, Remus. It's a good idea, it will help a lot of people, and it's very unique—in other words, I do believe that you are the only one at present who is capable of doing it." Then Dumbledore smiled and said, "So… have you watched the memory of the last full moon yet?"

"No, sir."

"Do you mind if we watch it together? I'd like to see your process."

Remus froze. "Erm… well, it's sort of… I mean, it's very… personal… and… well, I guess you've already seen it, sir." Remus had given Professor Dumbledore a memory of his first full moon at Hogwarts two years ago—Dumbledore had wanted to see it so that he could make sure that there wasn't anything that he could do. There hadn't been much. "I guess that'd be fine," said Remus, irrationally anxious.

"Wonderful," said Dumbledore. He gestured towards the Pensieve. "Take it away, then, Remus."

Remus drew his wand to his temple and recalled the full moon, just as he'd been doing for the past few months. It didn't work the first time—probably because of nerves—he swallowed thickly and tried again—and, as he did, a glowing strand emerged from his head. He dropped it in the Pensieve and took a deep, apprehensive breath.

Now he and Dumbledore were outside the Shrieking Shack. It was just starting to get dark outside, and it was horribly cold. "First I take measurements of all the environment-related factors," Remus muttered. "Temperature, brightness, precipitation, humidity, all that. James helped me find a spell to measure it all."

"James Potter is a good friend," said Dumbledore passively, but he didn't much seem to be paying attention. "Do you consider cloud coverage?"

Remus' mouth dropped open. "No! Thank you! That's important!"

"I am glad I can be of some help. Why don't you revisit the memories you've already viewed and write that down, too?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I can't believe I forgot."

"Perfectly all right. I hadn't mentioned it, either. Proceed."

Remus, now a bit less anxious, did. He got a measurement of everything he could, exited the memory, wrote it all down, and then went back in. Now he was in the Shrieking Shack, standing right next to a shivering Memory-Remus.

Dumbledore frowned. "You seem to be shivering a lot, even though the symptoms don't usually start until later, if I recall correctly. Is it cold? Are the heating charms working properly?"

"Oh, yes. I'm just… I mean, I think I'm… nervous, that's all."

"Ah." Dumbledore stared at Memory-Remus for a moment. "Any poetry this time?"

Remus remembered the poetry with a grimace. He used to recite it in first year before full moons, pacing around the Shack and remembering every word that he could. Before Hogwarts, he had memorized tens upon tens of poems, because trying to remember them took his mind off the impending pain. "No… no, I stopped doing that," he said.

"Really?"

"Yes, sir."

"May I ask why?"

"I dunno, I just… have stuff to think about now. Things happen. I can think about the things that happen, so I don't really need the distraction. And… people visit me in the Hospital Wing, and I spend a lot of time with my friends. I don't have a lot of time to memorize poetry, and honestly, I think that's a good thing." He paused. "Did you know that Peter writes poetry now? He's writing to Pensley about it every so often."

"I did know that," said Dumbledore. "Peter is always very compassionate, is he not?"

"I suppose," said Remus, who had hated Pensley with all of his heart. "Oh, I think it's starting. The symptoms, I mean. I write this time down, too, but this one is more of a rough estimate than an exact number. I hope that's all right."

"That should be fine, as long as you don't mind your eventual predictions being rough and occasionally slightly incorrect."

"Yeah, I expect that." Remus exited the memory and jotted the time down, and then he and Dumbledore prepared to enter it one more time. "This is the one where I'm a wolf," he warned Dumbledore.

"Trust me, Remus, it won't bother me one bit."

And then they were in the Shrieking Shack, and Wolf-Remus was huddled in the right corner, surrounded by blood—puddled on the floor, smeared against the walls—and Wolf-Remus looked balefully at the sky with Remus-eyes and clawed against the floor. Wolf-Remus was growling in the back of his throat, and the sound scared Remus immensely. So much for Can't-Growl-Itis.

"I'm transforming back soon," he murmured. "I never watch that. I… well, I can't really do it."

"Perfectly understandable," said Dumbledore.

"I watch the clock instead. It's any second now, Professor."

They waited, and then Remus heard the familiar noises of a wolf in pain—he kept his eyes trained on the clock. Dumbledore walked to his side, and Remus was oddly relieved that he wasn't watching the transformation, either. "You're being very professional," said Dumbledore into Remus' ear.

"I'm trying," said Remus. "We don't have to watch the rest. I have the start time. I haven't been recording the end times—maybe I should, but…"

"I don't think it will matter," said Dumbledore, and then he pulled them both out of the memory. "Remus, I want to commend you. I know this must be very hard, and you're being very brave."

"What can I say?" said Remus with a smile that felt weird on his lips. "Gryffindor."

"Indeed. Do you have everything written down that you need?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to check over your equations. Getting one wrong could potentially cause us a lot of lost time."

"Oh, yeah. Sure." Remus pulled his notebook out of his satchel and handed it to Dumbledore, who appraised it carefully. Remus felt irrationally nervous, even though he knew that Dumbledore wasn't going to be angry with him for missing a number or two.

"These look fine," said Dumbledore. "Very good. May I ask how many times you checked your work?"

Remus felt his face flush a bit. "Er… probably twelve. Each. I was very bored in the Hospital Wing."

"I thought you said you didn't get as bored anymore."

"I... well, I lied a little."

Dumbledore laughed. "Perfectly understandable," he said. "Very well done one these, Remus—very well done. Did you study arithmetic before Hogwarts?"

"Yes, sir, a bit. Mum went to a Muggle school, so she thought it important that I learned. She bought me books and taught me. I didn't like it much, to be honest."

"Well, should you ever suddenly be in need of some mathematics problems, I assure you that I have quite the variety. I do them in my free time when I need to think. I like word problems best."

Remus smiled. Somehow, that seemed very on-brand for Dumbledore.

"Now that you seem to have finished all the prerequisites," Dumbledore continued, "I am going to introduce you to the simulation activity that we'll be working on. We are not going to start today. It will be very difficult, so I'm going to walk you through the first step and the first step only."

"Yes, sir," said Remus.

"I want to stress again the fact that this is very difficult. It is taught in Hogwarts, but only in theory. Professor Craff was a very experienced arithmancer, and she only set up a simulation like this a single time. It is hard. It is not something you will get on the first try. There are professional arithmancers who have never and will never use this technique. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"I think so, sir. You're saying that I shouldn't beat myself up if I can't do it."

Dumbledore chuckled. "I don't condone beating anyone up for any reason. So, essentially, yes. You are in third year, and I don't expect you to understand it right off the bat. But rest assured that I am here and will fix any mistakes you may make."

"Thanks, Professor," said Remus. It was beginning to feel a bit like his lessons with Professor Questus—there was Remus, learning something that was far beyond his ability, and there was a very experienced person who had to stoop to Remus' level. It made Remus feel like a child and like a grown-up all at once.

"The simulation is designed to repeat the effects of the full moon in every possible way," started Dumbledore, and Remus immediately recoiled in horror.

"What? You mean, like, make me go through extra full moons for the data? I can't, Professor—I can't! I'm sorry, I'd rather be working on this project for a whole extra decade than do that even once! I can't!"

Dumbledore held up a long-fingered hand and smiled gently. "Rest assured, Remus, I would never ask you to do that. Normally, that is the way it would work, though. Simulations are designed to recreate the environment in a Pensieve so that multiple trials can be conducted without waiting for the right environment to come about again. We are going to recreate the environment of a full moon, yes—but the only thing that can make a werewolf transform is the real full moon. You understand this?"

"Yes… but…"

"We will recreate the environment and change certain factors each time: including temperature, precipitation, cloud coverage, and everything else that you may be measuring. This way, we can isolate variables. When you enter the simulation, it will not make you transform."

"Then how will it…?"

"Instead, it will recreate the environment of a transformation. I suspect you'll immediately get a new memory of a transformation, which won't be entirely pleasant, but you will not have to experience it."

"But how do you know?"

"It's a guess, but I am usually a very good guesser."

Remus stared at the Pensieve, lost. "I don't really get it," he said. "I'll just get a memory?"

"Yes."

"A memory that didn't actually happen?"

"Yes."

"And I'll have to watch that memory—that never actually happened—in order to see the exact time transformed? But I'll somehow just know how bad it was?"

"Indeed."

"But will I actually think it happened, or will I know it was fake?"

"You'll know."

"And… I won't lose my mind? At all?"

"Not at all. The full moon is the only thing that can make you turn into a wolf, either in mind or body. The only reason your memory will be affected is because that is what we are designing the simulation to do. Does that make sense?"

"Not really."

"Hm." Dumbledore steepled his fingers. "How much experience do you have with computers?"

"None at all."

"Ah. Well, a lot of this is what those in the—so to speak—'computer biz' call 'programming'. We're telling the simulation what we want it to do, and the simulation, if we communicate our desires correctly, will do it. We'll input the factors we want to input, we'll create the experience as fully as we can, we'll tell the simulation that we want you to be affected, and the simulation will affect you as such. The only thing we do not control is exactly how it affects you. That is the data that we will be collecting, and that is the reason why a simulation is different from computer programming."

"That doesn't… make any sense, sir."

"I thought not. Are you getting frustrated yet?"

"A little."

"Do not. This is extremely advanced, and you are not expected to understand. Let me put it this way, Remus. We are essentially creating a world of our own from scratch, and then we're watching to see how it affects you. That way, we can collect data without waiting for the next full moon. Does that make sense?"

Remus thought about that. "I guess. But I still don't get… what you were saying before. About computers."

"Then ignore it. In something like this, you must immediately forget whatever you don't understand instead of dwelling on it. Otherwise, you'll become far too frustrated to proceed."

"So how exactly are we going to create a world from scratch?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Ah, I was hoping you would ask that. We're going to do it through a mixture of mathematics and magic." He removed a quill and some parchment out of his desk, and then he bade Remus to sit across from him so that he could better see what Dumbledore was writing. "For each factor, we are going to heavily modify the root simulation spell—essentially spell creation. Have you ever dabbled in spell creation before, Remus?"

"No, sir."

"I thought not. It's a dangerous pastime."

"I think Severus Snape might."

"I have noticed that. As long as he is being safe, I do not feel the need to stop him from pursuing his passions. I have spoken with him about it, though, and I've given him a quick lesson in spell safety. That's the same lesson I'm about to give you now. Are you paying attention?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Dumbledore drew a circle on the parchment, and then he set down his quill. "For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction," he said. "The quill that is currently sitting on the desk is being pushed down by gravity and pushed up with another force—the force of the desk."

"Er, all right."

"An object is therefore unable to have a reaction without an action. Magic is a force that can work in many ways, and we normally (but not always) design it to imitate a natural force. A Levitating Charm creates the force of a hand holding an object, a Door-Unlocking Charm creates the force of unlocking a door with a key, and a Disarming Charm creates the force of physically ripping a wand from an opponent's hand. I could go on."

"I get the picture, I think."

"Good. Now, magic must also have a force in order to function, and that force in our case is force of will. The correct force of will can only be brought about by a certain frame of mind... a connotation, if you will. That is why incantations are essential in learning a spell."

"What do you mean, 'connotation'? That's about words, not about will."

"The frame of mind one must be in to cast a spell is extremely specific. You know multiple languages, yes?"

"Not fluently. Not even well, really. I learned a bit of Latin before Hogwarts when I was home alone and bored all the time."

"Hm. I believe the Latin word for hand is 'manus', is it not?"

"Yeah, it is."

"You can call a hand a 'hand', or you can call a hand a 'manus'. Those words give you slightly different feelings when you look at a hand, correct?"

"I suppose."

"Magical intent is the same way. A rose by any other name does not remain a rose. Saying 'Wingardium Leviosa', like it or not, will give a person a slightly different intent than saying the word 'up' will. The specific words of an incantation are designed to put the caster in the exact frame of mind that is required for the magic. Then, once one learns the incantation and internalizes it, one can place oneself in the correct frame of mind without saying the words."

"Oh," said Remus. "I think that would have been helpful to know when I was trying to learn nonverbal magic."

"I think it would have confused you further," chuckled Dumbledore. "Now, do you see this circle?" He pointed towards the circle that he had drawn with his wand.

"Yes, sir."

"This circle represents the threshold of what is safe. Once you leave this circle, magic becomes unpredictable and unstable." Dumbledore drew another circle that overlapped the first slightly. "This is the circle that will get you the results you want." Then Dumbledore filled in the spot where the circles intersected. "And this is the area for which you are aiming. This is the exact frame of mind that will help you get the results you want, both accurately and consistently."

Then Dumbledore picked up the quill again. "As for choosing the exact words that will put you in this safe and consistent intersection: I invite you to think again of equal and opposite forces. If I were to throw this quill with all my might, would you expect it to drop to the ground lightly and harmlessly?"

"It depends on your upper body strength," said Remus, and then he realized that the comment may have been disrespectful. "Er, sorry, sir."

"Not at all," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling merrily. "Let me put it another way. Would you expect a fairy and a troll to be evenly matched?"

"No, sir."

"So too must your intent match the desired effect, and the incantation that you choose must also match. A lot of spells use Latin because of its roots as a lingua franca: most people had an idea of what the words meant, so they communicated the desired effect. Now it's just custom, because Latin reminds us of magic. I would recommend sticking with Latin."

Remus thought of Snape's "Langlock", which Remus suspected he'd invented himself. Snape had attempted to use the spell on Remus back in his first year (though his aim had been unfortunately off). "Langlock", Remus was certain, was more English than Latin.

"For instance," said Dumbledore, "the feeling of the word itself tends to be designed specifically for the effect. Crucio is more succinct; more straightforward. It is a sharp, forceful word that is intended to create sharp, forceful pain. Wingardium Leviosa, in contrast, is more whimsical. Alohomora has a lot of O's, which describes an 'open' object, and Avada Kedavra is an incantation just as strange and mysterious as the afterlife itself. The word must put the caster in the correct frame of mind, and it takes a lot of thought to find just the right word."

"But different people have different emotions attached to words," said Remus.

"Precisely. That is why many people find it difficult to cast a new spell on the first try. First, one must wire one's mind to match the intent with the word—to find the narrow frame of mind the word begs. For some, this is easier than others."

"Oh. Okay."

"And besides, spell creation isn't about finding a preexisting word. Connotations are important because magic is in its rawest form when one is experimenting. There's another step that I'll tell you about next time: that's all about tethering the magical intent to the word and wand movement. But first, you need to choose the word that works best for you. If the force does not match the intended action, then something could go horribly wrong. Spell creation is a dangerous hobby, and there is safety in proper intent."

Remus considered. "I'm still not sure I understand," he said.

"You will," said Dumbledore airily. "I think that's enough for today. Tomorrow, we'll discuss how this pertains to simulations."

"Thank you, sir," said Remus, and then he started the trek back to his dormitory before his ten minutes ran out.

He was utterly befuddled, but also excited. He was one step closer to completing his project—and soon, hopefully, he would be one step closer to solving the mystery of his friends' Mandrake breath.

Overall, it had been a pretty good day... even though Remus was still sneezing.

AN: My apologies if these more "technical" chapters are dreadfully boring... but I'm having tons of fun with them, and this fanfiction is nothing but self-indulgent!