As Remus waited, idly filling out a crossword puzzle in Dumbledore's office, he remembered once again why he'd been trying all year to stay busy—for here, Remus was idle, and idleness invited thoughts that Remus did not want to think about.

He wished for his Arithmancy textbook so that he could do some practice problems while he was waiting—Arithmancy always made him think, at least. He wished for the notebook so that he could write back and forth with his friends. He wished for his actual friends, because one could never be bored with James and Sirius around. He wished for Peter, who would comfort him and tell him that everything was going to be okay, even though it wasn't….

But Remus didn't have any of those things. He only had a crossword puzzle and a bowl of Chocolate Frog packets, and neither of those things was enough to stop the Thoughts from invading his mind.

He did have Bufo, at least. Bufo was sitting on his shoulder, looking mournfully at the Chocolate Frogs as if they were his fallen comrades. "How are you holding up, Bufo?" Remus asked.

Bufo croaked in an "I'm-Feeling-Awful" sort of way.

"Yeah, me too," said Remus. "I don't want to be scared, because I'm a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors don't get scared, right? I mean, James and Sirius never seem to get scared. James only ever gets scared when confronted with a cockroach—otherwise, he replaces fear with determination—and Sirius doesn't get scared at all—he just replaces with with anger. Maybe I need to replace the fear with something, but I don't know what."

Bufo croaked.

"Well, guilt comes naturally, I suppose, so I guess I could try that," said Remus with a sad sort of chuckle. "I really do feel so horribly, awfully guilty, Bufo. This is because of me; I'm sure of it. There was a threat on Hogwarts because of me. The Ministry is after me, the Death Eaters might be after me—if I'm in danger wherever I go, then whomever I'm with is also in danger. How can I stay here when I'm putting so many people in danger, Bufo?"

"Croak."

"And Dumbledore is so busy nowadays. He's teaching a class, Headmastering Hogwarts (is that the correct verb? I don't know), helping me with my project, and dealing with all these threats and things. I feel bad, because two of those things are directly on my account, and…"

"And he genuinely enjoys doing them," said a disembodied voice, effectively cutting off whatever Remus had been about to say.

Remus whirled around. He didn't smell, see, or hear anyone. "Hello?" he said.

"Hello," said the voice. It seemed to be coming from inside one of Dumbledore's drawers.

Remus furtively looked around, and then he stood up, crept over to Dumbledore's desk, and opened the drawer. Immediately, his eyes landed on a small picture frame, partially tucked away beneath a blank piece of parchment, that displayed a portrait of a small girl—she had blond hair, a dark blue frock, and clear blue eyes. Remus removed the portrait and peered at the girl, befuddled. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm Ariana," she said. "I don't usually speak to people, so consider yourself one of the first."

Remus wasn't sure what to say to that. "Who else have you spoken to?" he asked.

"One of my brothers, driven mad with grief. I died, you know. He still keeps a rather large portrait of me in the pub that he runs, hoping I'll speak again, but—" she shivered. "I won't. Magic has never agreed with me."

"But you had to have been powerful. Portraits can only speak if the person depicted is relatively powerful."

"Oh, I was powerful, and it terrified me." She smiled. "Much like you, Remus Lupin. I had powers that hurt other people, and I was afraid of them—I was afraid of hurting myself, and I was afraid of hurting my family. But when magic is suppressed like that, mingling with fear and associating itself with pain, it becomes dangerous."

"You were… a werewolf?"

"No, but I was dangerous nonetheless."

"I see," said Remus, even though he didn't.

"I've heard Albus speak of you many times, and I've heard your conversations with him in this room," Ariana said. "I've always felt a sense of kinship with you, Remus Lupin—especially now. I, too, have been oppressed for my dangerous magic in the past. I've had to hide. I've done terrible things, and I've felt guilty. To a point… I understand what you are feeling. People are coming after you, accusing you for something you cannot control. Something you feel guilty about. Something you're afraid of just as much as they are."

Remus nodded slowly.

"And you feel guilty, because you know you're a burden… but you can't do anything about it, can you? It's simply impossible."

"…Yeah."

"Well, I chose to speak to you to tell you this: Albus has made a mistake in the past, and he is trying to atone for it through you. He cares about you very much as your own person, but I believe that—somewhere in the depths of his subconscious—you are his second chance. The whole school is. He neglected to care for a child once, believing it beneath him, and now he's trying to make up for his guilt by taking care of every child… especially the ones who need the most help. Especially the ones who remind him of his past."

"Which child?" asked Remus, leaning closer to the portrait as if the answer lay in Ariana's eyes. "Why would Professor Dumbledore ever do that? He would never think caring for a child beneath him. He loves being Headmaster! I don't believe you."

She smiled. "My point is only that you needn't feel guilty, because you are helping him just as much as he is helping you. Let him help you, Remus Lupin."

"I don't understand," said Remus. "Please… what do you mean? What's going on? What's happened with Professor—"

Remus heard footsteps coming down the corridor, and Remus immediately tucked the portrait back into the desk, dashed back to his seat, busied himself with the crossword puzzle, and pretended he'd been completely engrossed in the thing since Dumbledore had left. Mere moments later, the door opened and Dumbledore stepped in. He was carrying Remus' trunk, and he ten times more frazzled than usual (which was to say, perfectly calm, because ten multiplied by zero was still zero).

Dumbledore shut the door behind him and set Remus' trunk at Remus' feet. "How is the puzzle?" he asked serenely.

Remus looked up at the man who had, apparently, failed to save a child and was now using Remus and the rest of the school as his personal pity project (though Remus didn't mind. It actually did make him feel better to be helping Dumbledore in some way). "I don't know any of these words," he said.

Dumbledore peered over Remus' shoulder and frowned. "I believe fifteen-across is 'pejorative'," he said.

"Ah, thank you." Remus wrote it in. "Er… so what's happening now, Professor?"

"You're going home for the time being. I wanted to keep you here—I thought it would be a good statement as to how much I trust you—but the D.R.C.M.C. wants to do a prolonged inspection of the school, and it would be quite stupid to keep you here amongst a group of people who know what you are and don't like you for it. Normally, I would insist you stay anyway, but I do want to protect you, and that would be—forgive me—a stupid way of doing so."

"That's sensible, sir."

"Your friends have packed your things for you, and James Potter requests that you (I quote directly) 'write to him as soon as possible or else he'll hunt you down and turn your nose into a cabbage'."

"Also sensible."

"I will alert you as soon as they are done with their inspection. And you, Remus, must alert me when there are any updates whatsoever. That includes the Werewolf Registry summons, which seems to be rather late this year as the Ministry wrestles with the increased Dark activity."

Remus nodded. "Yes, sir."

Dumbledore gave Remus a long, searching look. "I know you must be frightened," he said.

"Yes, sir… but I'm trying not to think about that. Things are going to happen whether I'm scared of them or not. Besides, I'm a Gryffindor, so I'm supposed to be brave."

"Ah, but Remus," said Dumbledore, proffering his arm; Remus grabbed his trunk and took it. "It is one's actions that make one brave, not one's emotions."

And then, with a wink and a slight nod of his head, Dumbledore Apparated Remus away.

Moments later, the two of them were standing in front of Remus' house. "Very nice snake-shaped knocker," said Dumbledore pensively. "This must be an old house."

"Yes, sir."

"Lovely."

The door flew open, and Remus' mother emerged. "What's happened?" she asked, her voice high and bordering on hysterical. Enhanced hearing was a curse sometimes, and Remus rather wanted to cover his ears. "Did someone find out? Is Remus home permanently? Is he okay? Is everything okay?" She grabbed his face. "Oh, dear… love, you're all pale. Oh, no. Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine," managed Remus, even though his mother was currently squishing his face, and it was becoming rather difficult to talk.

"Everything's fine," repeated Dumbledore. "Now, I can't stay long, Hope, but I would like to explain as much as possible. May I come in?"

"Of course!" She stepped aside to let Remus and Dumbledore enter, and Remus did so thankfully. It wasn't that he wanted to be home—Christmas holidays had just ended, and Remus had been relieved to be back at school—but being home again reminded him that he was still safe, he was still loved, and he still had a sanctuary when he needed it.

Dumbledore sat in an armchair (Questus' old one), and Remus' mother hurried to make him some tea, but he waved her off. "That won't be necessary, Hope. I'm afraid I can't stay very long."

"But you'll still explain what's—"

"Yes. There was an article published in the Daily Prophet this morning about a Death Eater threat on Hogwarts. They claim to have a spy in the castle who plans to attack on February sixth."

Remus' mother, who had been holding an empty mug, dropped it. Remus' hands flew to cover his ears, but she paid him no mind. "No," she said in a hushed, reverent whisper. "That's the full moon! Do the Death Eaters… know? Or were they threatening Hogwarts with a werewolf? That's too much of a coincidence… oh, Remus…"

"It is certainly possible that it is a coincidence," said Dumbledore, as calm as ever. "The full moon is a mildly significant date, so it makes sense that the Death Eaters would choose it if they were looking for a random date—soon enough to inspire panic, but far away enough to let panic grow. It is also possible that the Death Eaters do indeed know about Remus. I suspect at least one Death Eater does."

A broken sob escaped Remus' mother's lips, and Remus felt the urge to tell her that everything was going to be fine. He couldn't, though, because he didn't actually know.

"There are many possibilities," continued Dumbledore, "but no matter the reason for the threat, the fact remains that there are Ministry officials coming to investigate, they do not want Remus here on the sixth, and Orion Black has made some thinly-veiled threats toward the school. This is not a permanent thing, Hope. Remus will return. But, until the waters are safe, so to speak… he'll be staying here, away from the hatred and hubbub. I believe he is capable of dealing with it, but I do not believe he must. It would be unwise to subject him to hostile Ministry investigators who are determined to pin someone to the crime."

"Oh," she said. "Oh, dear. Okay. Thank you so much."

"But of course. Please let me know if there is anything I can do, and please alert me if you receive any sort of word from the Ministry." Dumbledore stood up, casting a brief smile toward Remus. "I must be going now. I'm afraid there's currently a lot of panic circulating Hogwarts—I managed to calm some of it down already, but the work of a headmaster is never done. Goodbye, Hope. Remus. I wish you both the best of luck."

"Thanks," Remus managed.

Moments later, Dumbledore was gone, Remus was afraid, and Remus' mother was hugging him so fiercely he feared his ribs would break.

Remus was lying on his bed, notebook in front of him, a quill poised over the page. The page was mostly blank, but there was one line written on it in James' scrawled handwriting. Are you okay? it read. It was an open-ended question with many answers, and those sorts of questions were the most dangerous kind.

Finally, Remus worked up the courage to write yes, and then the floodgates broke and all four of the Marauders were frantically scribbling into the notebook.

Ughhh this is terrifying, James wrote. Dumbledore explained the whole thing to us, and I hate it. Such a coincidence the Death Eaters are planning for a full moon. Merlin's beard, Moony, this must be awful.

Remus frowned. Dumbledore isn't sure it's a coincidence at all, actually. He thinks the Death Eaters might know what I am and are trying to sow suspicion.

What? But they can't! How would they?

Remus elected not to answer that question truthfully. His friends had no idea that Fenrir Greyback, one of Voldemort's cronies, had bitten Remus—and Remus saw no reason why they would need to.

They know a lot of things, wrote Remus instead. But no, I didn't think they knew. That's why Dumbledore's so concerned.

So what's going to happen? asked Peter.

I'm staying home for right now, because some D.R.C.M.C. workers are coming to investigate and Dumbledore doesn't want me there. Apparently, Sirius' dad made a few threats.

Sounds like something he would do, wrote Sirius.

Don't worry, lads, I'll be back. Just let me know what I'm missing in class, okay? I don't want to fall behind.

Seriously, Moony? Your secret might be exposed to the world and you're worrying about homework?

Dumbledore won't let that happen.

Still. Merlin's beard, mate.

Don't worry about it, wrote James. We'll take notes for you.

Thanks.

No problem. Our pleasure.

I'm sure, since my departure will give you some time to work on that three-person project. Right?

No response. Remus sighed and put down the notebook.

His friends were doing something dangerous—he was sure of it—and more danger at the moment was not a good idea. Remus had to figure out why their breaths smelled of Mandrakes, and fast.

And, now that he was home, it was the perfect time to ask the Founders.

Remus raised his wand to knock on his wall seven times—the shortcut to the portrait—but then he stopped. He could hear his mother in the sitting room, crying softly. Remus' heart broke, and he decided that the Founders could wait. After all, there were more important things on his mind.

He wandered into the sitting room and cleared his throat loudly. "Mum?"

"Oh, Remus!" she cried, whirling around. "I didn't hear you coming!"

"Are you okay?"

There was a long moment of silence, and then she sighed. "Yes," she said. "I'm all right, love. I'm just… worried for you. And me. And your father." She collapsed onto the couch, rubbing her face wearily; after a moment, Remus sat next to her. "It's just all so terrifying," she said.

"Yeah."

"Only a couple of years ago, everything was under my control. You stayed home—I saw you all the time—even if I couldn't help you if something went wrong, at least I was there. At least I knew that you were okay. But now… oh, Remus, it's been more than two years, and I'm still not used to the fact that you're not with me. Especially with all these attacks… and now that the Ministry's against you, too… the world is such a scary place right now, and I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you. I couldn't bear it. Not again."

She twiddled with a stray string hanging off the blanket on her lap. "I know you're in good hands," she continued, "I know that Hogwarts is good for you, and I'm determined not to become an annoying overprotective parent. I'm just scared sometimes... because, although you're in good hands, those hands are not mine."

Remus sighed and hugged her, not entirely sure what else to do. He wanted to tell her that it was all going to be okay—that her worries had no basis in truth—that nothing was going to happen to him—but he couldn't. Because, frankly, he wasn't entirely sure it was true.

Remus' father came home that evening, and he was fretting.

He fretted while he made a cup of tea. He fretted while he ate supper. He fretted in the kitchen, in the sitting room, on the couch, and in the hallways as he paced back and forth. He tried to comfort Remus, but he was fretting the whole time. His hair was tangled from all the times he'd run his hands through it agonizingly. His eyes were bloodshot. His lips were white. Remus' father was fretting, and it was getting a bit annoying.

But Remus couldn't blame him. Remus' father was the one who had to interact with the Ministry, day in and day out—he knew exactly how the Ministry tended to treat Remus, and he knew this wasn't good. Remus' father had reason to fret, so Remus certainly couldn't blame him.

After supper, Remus and his parents each found books and read together in the sitting room: Remus was reading over Questus' duelling notes again (they were comforting, somehow), Remus' father was reading Maxwell Melephant and the Magic Lizard (a children's book, but perhaps comforting as well), and Remus' mother was reading a Muggle magazine about Muggle drama (she claimed it was comforting, but Remus couldn't see how).

But none of them were really reading, and they all knew it.

After about twenty minutes of not-reading, Remus stood up and went to his room. His parents didn't protest. "Going to sleep now," he called as he left.

"Good night," called Remus' mother as he shut the door. "Love you."

"Love you too."

Now Remus was alone, and he most certainly was not going to sleep.

He raised his wand to the wall and knocked seven times.

"Remus!" said Rowena. "I was wondering when you'd come back!"

"I've been at school," said Remus. "Something awful has happened, though… and something else awful might happen, so I need your advice on a few things."

Rowena smiled. "Ah, advice. I don't mean to brag, but I am extremely wise. How can I help you? Would you like to go to the library?"

Relief flooded Remus' chest, hot and cold all at once. There was just something about being able to talk—something about discussion that reminded Remus of Professor Questus, reminded him that he wasn't alone after all, and made him feel a bit weak at the knees with hope and relief and sadness all at once. "I'd love to," he said.

Remus could feel Rowena looking at him intently as they walked to the library. "You're a bit pale," she said.

"It's been a long day," said Remus; as he said it, he could feel the floodgates open once again, and then there was no stopping the torrent of information—no matter how hard he tried. "So I was at Hogwarts and the Daily Prophet came and there have been more werewolf attacks, right, because there are so many Death Eaters and things? And I was bitten by Fenrir Greyback and he's a Death Eater—a person who works for Voldemort—so it's possible he knows what I am even though I don't think I'm important enough to be remembered, and Dumbledore used to agree but now he's not so sure because the Death Eaters are saying that there's a spy in Hogwarts and the Ministry is apparently absolutely certain that it's me because the spy threatened to attack on the next full moon. So now there's an inspection at Hogwarts and I have to hide at home all the way until at least February seventh but I might not even be able to go back then because everyone hates me even though I didn't even do anything wrong!"

Rowena blinked. "I didn't understand much of that," she said, "but I think I got the gist. You're being accused of something you didn't do on the mere basis of your species, yes?"

"Yes! It's not even the first time, and I'm sick of it!"

"I see." Rowena went completely silent, and she didn't speak again until they reached the library. She opened the library door for Remus, who thanked her. "Why don't you have a seat, Remus?"

Then Rowena sat down next to him, folded her hands on her lap, and said, "I'm very sorry that's happening."

"S'alright. I should get used to it, probably. It'll likely happen again and again for my whole life."

"Would you mind giving me the full story? You were speaking rather quickly the first time."

Remus laughed and obliged. He told her everything—explaining words she didn't know as he went—and he didn't leave anything out. He even told her a bit about the night he was bitten. He explained Fenrir Greyback thoroughly—who he was, why he'd bitten Remus, and even a little bit about his appearance. He explained the Daily Prophet, his experiences with the Ministry, and his parents' fears. He told her about the attacks, including the room that Craff had likely died in, the writing on the top of the train, and even the werewolf attack on Peebleton that had happened about a year prior.

When he'd finished, he felt a lot lighter and happier. "Thanks for listening," he said. "I know that was quite boring, but I like to talk."

"I like to listen," said Rowena with a small smile. "Don't worry; new information is something I love and don't get very often. That was all very interesting. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No. There's not. It's inevitable, unfortunately—and it makes sense. I'm a murderous beast, so people are scared of me. It's just logic. People do tend to be afraid of animals with teeth, claws, and a painful, contagious, dehumanizing disease. I don't blame them one bit."

"That's very mature."

"I've had time to get used to the idea. Anyway… er, it was nice to talk, but that isn't actually why I came here."

"No?"

"No. I was wondering what you could tell me about Mandrakes."

Rowena pursed her lips and leaned back in her seat. "Are you working with them in class?"

"No, not since second year. But my friends are working on some type of project behind my back, and I'm fairly certain it's dangerous. The only thing I know about it is that their breaths constantly smell like Mandrakes. Only a little bit… but it's definitely Mandrakes."

"Well, I can certainly help you with that." Rowena granted Remus a warm smile before flouncing away to the bookshelves and picking out a few books. She set them down on the table in front of Remus with a loud thumping noise. "This first book is a list of uses for Mandrakes in potions," she said, "and I think that will be the most helpful. The next is a brief history on Mandrakes. The next is a list of other uses for Mandrakes—in balms, perhaps—the next is a list of Mandrake-related superstitions, and the next is a list of illegal uses for Mandrakes."

"We should probably start with the last one, knowing them," said Remus.

Rowena chuckled. "Whatever you say," she said, and then Remus opened a book, ready to begin reading.

But he couldn't understand any of the words.

He blinked and rubbed at his eyes. Perhaps it was the stress? No, that wasn't it—no matter how hard Remus tried, he could not make sense of the nonsensical scribbles on the pages. "Er, Rowena?" he said.

"Yes?"

"I… can't read this. Is it English?"

She laughed. "Oh, I'm sorry, Remus. I forgot. We Founders learned modern English from listening to students and staff talk, but we've never seen it written. There should be a spell that makes each book revert to the reader's most fluent language… ah, yes. I remember it."

She waved her wand at the book. Before Remus' eyes, the words twisted and reshaped themselves into fully recognizable English. The sentences were oddly structured at times, but it was certainly readable.

"Thank you," said Remus tiredly, and then the two of them began reading.

Hours passed. According to Remus' watch, it was well past midnight. His eyes were beginning to close seemingly of their own accord. "I should probably get back," he mumbled. "My parents are usually good about not interrupting me while I'm sleeping, but today might be a special case."

"Reasonable," said Rowena. "Would you like me to do some research while you're away?"

"Would you really?"

Rowena chuckled. "You forget how much I love research, Remus. It would be my pleasure, I promise."

"Then yes, of course! Please let me know if you find anything."

"Of course. You said it was likely some sort of potion to help alleviate the symptoms of lycanthropy, yes?"

"Yeah, and probably in a very dangerous way. But the problem isn't that I can't find anything… the problem is that I can find too much."

"Yes, that does seem to be in issue."

For the last couple of hours, Remus had been writing down possibilities on a spare sheet of parchment, and now it was practically filled up with possible dangerous things that his friends could be doing.

Mandrakes are said to raise the dead, and death is the only cure for lycanthropy. Do they want to kill me and then raise me again? Would they risk that? I don't think so.

Mandrakes can bring back Petrified people. Do they plan on Petrifying me on a full moon and then feeding me the proper potion once it's all over?

Mandrakes are used in various calming potions. Do they think they can make one strong enough to tame me?

The scream of a young Mandrake can cause one to faint. Do they plan on exposing me to a Mandrake on the full moon so that I pass out until sunrise?

Mandrakes are historically used in many lycanthropy cure attempts. Are they making one of their own entirely from scratch?

On and on the possibilities went, stretching many pages, and not one seemed more likely than another. Remus wasn't at all sure what his friends could be doing, and not many of the possibilities explained why their breaths constantly smelled of Mandrakes. He was officially stumped.

"I just don't want them to get hurt," he said, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion and disappointment. "Especially not on my account. I'd never forgive myself."

"You are never at fault for what your friends do," said Rowena. "Now go home, Remus, and get some rest. It's been a stressful day for you, and I daresay you need it."

Remus yawned. "Thanks for everything, Rowena."

"You're welcome. Try not to worry too much!"

But as Remus lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, images danced across his vision: images of fires, dragons, blood, and botched potions. Fear of the future clouded his mind, bringing him back to reality whenever he brushed against the borders of sleep—tendrils of tension snuck up his spine when he was least expecting it—and worst of all was the horrible, overarching lack of hope that so often accompanied Remus' solitude.

Yep. Remus was definitely worrying.