Remus woke up, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and yawned hugely—it was about eleven am, and James and Sirius had already gone home for Easter holidays.

"Why didn't you wake me up before they left?" he asked Peter, who was sitting on the side of his bed and reading a book.

Peter snapped the book shut, and his face turned bright red. "We, er. Didn't want to disturb you. You know? Full moon wasn't very long ago at all. Figured we needed your sleep."

Remus wrinkled his nose. "What are you reading?"

"Oh. Erm. Nothing."

Remus stood up, stretched, and walked over to Peter. He tried to grab the book, but Peter wasn't budging. "What are you reading, Pete?" he asked again.

"Nothing!"

Remus tugged harder, but Peter was surprisingly strong (and Remus was surprisingly weak). He'd caught a glimpse of a werewolf on the cover, so he was fairly certain that it wasn't another Animagus book. "Come on," he said. "I won't be angry. I just want to know what you're reading behind my back, because the look on your face definitely implies that it's about werewolves, and therefore about me…."

"No!"

"Yes! Don't make me use the secret werewolf strength, Peter, because you'll definitely regret it if I have to transform right here and now to get that book out of your hands…."

Peter froze and let go of the book. "What?" he said, face white. "I thought… I thought you couldn't transform during the day! You… you wouldn't!"

Remus grinned and retreated back to his bed, book in hand. "I can't," he confessed, "and I most certainly wouldn't. But it worked, didn't it?"

Peter groaned. "You're a terrible person."

"Debatable on both counts." Remus looked at the cover of the book and cringed. Lupine Lawlessness: Why Lycanthropes Don't Deserve to Live, it read. By Emerett Picardy.

"Where did you get this?" he asked. "Never seen it before."

"It was just published," Peter said quietly. "Picardy is a former Hogwarts professor—he taught Defense Against the Dark Arts a few years before we came to Hogwarts. James saw it in a bookstore in Hogsmeade and bought every single copy so that nobody could read it."

"What?!" Remus shook his head and groaned. "Well, that was a stupid thing to do. Now Picardy earns more revenue, and the bookstore buys even more copies due to supply and demand."

"James also bribed the owner to stop selling any more."

"Therefore increasing publicity for the book? I swear, wealth is wasted on that boy." Remus began flipping through the book. "This isn't so bad. It's just making the same argument that people have made about a thousand times before. Nothing I haven't heard."

"Remus, stop," said Peter. "Put it down. James said there was something at the end that he didn't want any of us seeing, least of all you. I haven't gotten there yet, but…"

Remus ignored Peter. "Please. I've heard it all. Biological differences… lycanthropic temper… statistics… anecdotes…"

Suddenly, Remus saw exactly what James had been referring to. "Wow," he whispered.

"What is it?"

There were a few pages—in full color—of werewolf victims. A man, bleeding onto the carpet and clearly dead. A woman, her face unrecognizable and blood running into her hair. A teenager, trying and failing to stem the bleeding on his arms with his tunic. And on the very last page, a photograph of a young girl shone brightly, her forearm torn, her chest lacerated, and she was only about five… and blood covered her limbs and her tatty clothes and her face, and she was sobbing silently on the page.

Remus had been around that age.

"Pictures of werewolf victims," he told a terrified Peter. "Very graphic. So graphic that, if the school's going to get a copy of this book, it'll certainly be in the Restricted Section. Picardy's trying to raise public anger against werewolves by garnering pity for the victims… which is funny, because all werewolves were victims at some point, so he's really just garnering pity for werewolves. No one's going to make that connection, though."

"Oh," said Peter.

"Yeah. Hope Sirius doesn't see this. He'd flip."

"Oh."

"What's James doing with all his copies?"

"Burning them, I think. He didn't want me to read it, but I nicked this one and tucked it in my trunk so that I could. I was curious, that's all, because I didn't understand how someone could possibly argue that someone like you is a monster."

"Well, there are lots of ways, and some of them hold water. You may read it if you want, but…"

"No. I've read enough."

"All right. I'm going to put it in my trunk, then—my trunk is hexed, so no one's going to find it. Maybe I'll discuss it with Dumbledore later. Not sure."

Remus took one last glance at the little girl. She wouldn't have survived the transformation, probably, since she looked to be about the same age that Remus had been (and as far as he knew, he was still the youngest on record). As Remus gazed at her face, flashes of memory invaded his thoughts. His father's face, a wooden mask. His mother's sobs and anger. The rain from the window, stinging his wounds. The wet sensation that Remus, in his painful daze, had thought was rain—but it hadn't been all rain; some of it had been blood, and it had been Remus', and he'd only been five, and he hadn't even known that the human body had so much blood in it.

Looking at this photo, Remus realized that he wasn't the only one who'd experienced all this… and there would be hundreds more in the wake of the war.

"I hate war," he muttered, and then he stuffed the book into his trunk and stood back up, trying desperately to rid his head of the memories. "Let's go to Dumbledore's office to see if Miles has arrived, yeah?"

"Sure," said Peter, and then they were off.

Miles had indeed arrived, and he looked horribly nervous. "Let's take your things to the dormitory, shall we?" said Dumbledore kindly, and Miles nodded; with a smile, Dumbledore handed Miles' trunk to Peter and his bag to Remus, and the four of them hauled everything down the corridors in awkward silence.

"It's been a while," said Remus to Miles, trying desperately to break the awful silence. "How are you doing?"

Miles didn't respond for a while. "Fine," he finally said.

"Do you want to play Exploding Snap with us later?" Peter asked. "Remus jumps every single time there's any sort of explosion, and it's really funny."

"Do not," argued Remus. "Not every time. There was one time that I didn't jump when we played it four days ago."

"I don't even remember that. One time out of hundreds is nothing to brag about."

"Well, if we play it again with Miles, I won't jump. I swear I won't." Remus glanced at Miles, who was staring at the ground determinedly. "Are you up to it, Miles?"

"Maybe," said Miles.

They walked on in renewed awkward silence for a while. The only sounds were the soft croaks of Bufo on Remus' shoulder, four beating hearts, four sets of footsteps, and Remus' heavy breathing (because the bag that he was carrying was far heavier than it looked). Finally, they arrived at the dormitory, and Dumbledore held open the door with the same unbothered smile that he'd been wearing for ages.

Remus set down the bag. "You can pick either James or Sirius' bed," he said. "What happened to your toad? You had a toad, right? Wasn't his name 'Hog' or something?"

Miles silently pulled a toad out of his pocket.

"Good! He can make friends with Bufo, then. So which bed do you want? James' or Sirius'? That one's mine right there, across from James, and Sirius' is right across from Peter's. There used to be a bed in that corner, but it was utterly destroyed and so they removed it last summer."

Miles sat on James' bed. Remus felt a little weird being the talkative one for once, but he kept going.

"Here, I'll put your bag over there, and—Peter, the trunk? Thanks—and you may unpack however you'd like. Loo's to the right of my bed. We have seventeen different bottles of hair supplies in there, and you can use whatever you'd like. James' dad sends it over (he's a bit of a hair aficionado), but James doesn't really care to use it."

Miles nodded.

"My door is always open," said Dumbledore softly. "Well, not literally, of course, because I find students can be rather loud in the corridor and I do like my silence. But it is figuratively open if you should ever need me. Will you be all right, Miles?"

Miles nodded.

"Wonderful. I must be off, then. I hope your possible game of Exploding Snap goes well."

Dumbledore left, and then the silence seemed even more awkward.

"Do you need any help unpacking?" Remus asked.

Miles shook his head.

"Want to take a hot shower?"

Miles shook his head.

"We can fetch you some food from the Kitchens."

Miles shook his head.

"Want us to leave you alone for a while?"

There was a brief hesitation, and then Miles nodded.

"That's fine!" said Remus (far too cheerfully). "Peter and I can go to the library and get some homework done. Right, Peter? Exams are coming up."

"Yeah," said Peter, and then Remus gave Miles one last smile before pulling Peter out of the dormitory and shutting the door behind him.

"I hope he'll be okay," said Peter as the two of them walked toward the library. "He seemed really sad."

"I suspect some of that is just shyness. How would you feel as a first-year Hufflepuff staying in a dormitory with a couple of third-year Gryffindors? He'll warm up to us."

"I hope so. It's a little bit awkward right now."

"Bit." Remus reached out to open to the library door, and then he stopped. "What if we didn't do homework right now?" he said.

"But Miles told us to stay out of the dormitory."

"I know. But what if we visited the Founders? They might have something to say about it, and it'll give us a little bit of an escape, at least."

"What do you mean, an escape?"

"No offense to Miles, because he's doing his best, but it's kind of… hard to be around him. Especially after what happened last summer. It reminds me of… of things, and I need a bit of a break, yeah? Something happy."

"I s'pose," said Peter, frowning. "But what if he needs us?"

I need you, Remus thought. This has been an awful year, and I've needed my friends the whole time, and the three of you are off being Animagi. I need you, Peter, and I need James and Sirius, but you're never there. And I know you're just trying to help, but I'm making sacrifices that I was never willing to make, and it's hard. I need you.

"He'll live," said Remus brightly. "He just needs to stop complaining and get on with his life, because he's being a bit of a crybaby at this point… it's been a whole year, almost, and it's frankly amazing that he's not over it, because it wasn't even like he lost a family member; it was just his next-door neighbor that he'd only known for… for less than two years… a year and a half, really, and the next-door neighbor was who-knows-where doing Auror things for a couple weeks of that."

There was a moment of silence, which Remus used to hit himself repeatedly over the head. "I'm an idiot," he murmured.

"You're not an idiot," said Peter. "I knew you weren't talking about Miles, anyway, as soon as you said 'stop complaining', because you'd only ever talk about yourself that harshly."

Remus laughed. "Yeah, maybe."

"And Pensley."

Remus laughed harder. "Yeah, maybe."

"I get it, Moony. Seeing Miles brings back recent memories for you."

"Doesn't it do the same for you, since… since that thing happened to your dad?"

"Er, no. Not really." Peter bit his lip and started walking to the Divination classroom, where the Founders' painting was. "It was a really, really long time ago. I barely remember it, to be honest. And I was too young to understand. I asked Mother about a week later when he was coming to pick me up, you know, and I saw him die. I was a little thick all the way back then, I s'pose."

"You weren't thick. I thought Professor Questus had Apparated away at first, even though he hadn't come back yet and he didn't use magic due to staunch religious beliefs."

"Well. I guess it's just a normal part, then."

"I guess."

"I've never had anyone to talk about this with before, you know. Mother tried, but I was never interested in a conversation. Because… you know, I didn't really understand, and then when I did understand, the wound had already healed. I was sad, of course, when I knew he wasn't coming back… but I didn't understand death. Honestly? I still don't."

"No one does. Professor Questus thought he did, but… oh, Peter. I know I shouldn't be angry with him, but I am. I've felt so… so abandoned recently, you know? Not just by him, but I won't get into that. And his choice to give up magic… I know it was a religious thing, I know he honestly believed it was the morally correct thing to do, and I know he was only trying to be the best person he could be, and I know it's not a nice thing to insult other people's religion, especially when they can't defend themselves, especially when they're dead… but it feels like he died by choice."

"What do you mean?"

"He chose to give up magic. If he hadn't, then he could have just Apparated away. He told me once that he would use magic to save another person's life, because his actions and choices shouldn't harm others. He told me that, if someone threatened me, he'd use magic to save me. He said that I shouldn't have to die because of a choice he made. But… he wouldn't save himself, and I can't help but think that… that was a selfish decision to make, because his death affected me, too, and this isn't fair. He should still be here. It would have been so easy—so easy—for him to Apparate away. And then he still would've been here, and I'd still have someone to talk to, and…"

"You can talk to me."

"Yeah, I can." Remus smiled and patted Peter's shoulder. "Thanks."

"I get it, though."

"You do?"

"Of course. But if he would've used magic to save others, then why didn't he? Didn't half a hundred people die in that massacre?"

"I…" Remus blinked hard. "I suppose… yeah, I suppose he had means to stop it, didn't he? Why… why didn't he?! How could he possibly think that any sort of… any sort of deity would want that many people to die for no reason—for some stupid personal preference? How could he?!"

Peter held up his hands, evidently alarmed. "No, that's not what I'm saying at all! I'm saying that he must not have had means to escape at all. It couldn't have been a choice he made, because he would have saved others. I know he would have; he was an Auror. So he must not have seen it coming, and so it wasn't a choice, Remus… it was just a tragedy."

Suddenly, Remus' chest filled up with something, but he wasn't sure what it was. He took a step backwards and sat on a bench, suddenly overwhelmed and out of breath. "Sorry, Pete," he said. "I think I need to sit down for a moment."

And so they sat, the two of them, silent as Remus had been a year and some change ago when James had Silenced him to break to him the news that they knew his secret. They sat and waited, and Remus breathed—in through his nose, out through his mouth—and time passed.

"Thank you, Peter," said Remus, finally standing up. "That… really helped. You're very clever, you know?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. I've been grappling with that for months, and I never once thought that it… it wasn't a choice. It was just a tragedy. That helps more than you could know."

"Well, I'm glad. And you helped, too."

"How did I help?" said Remus bitterly. "I just made it all about me again, just like I always do."

"That's what I wanted. I'd rather listen than talk, especially about this. I like listening."

"Oh. Well, glad I could help."

"Likewise."

"Shall we… go see the Founders now?"

Peter put on a lofty accent like Sirius sometimes did and said, "I would be delighted, Mssr. Moony," and, together, they made their way to the Divination classroom to forget about all that was dark and depressing for a short amount of time.

They returned to the dormitory shortly after supper, only to find Miles already asleep.

"What?" whispered Peter. "It's too early to be asleep, and he's not even unpacked!"

"I did nothing but nap some days after Questus died," said Remus with a shrug.

"But… I might be being insensitive, but… his mum died months ago!"

"But she was his mum. I still have days where I feel sad, and Questus was my next-door neighbor for less than a year."

"Yeah, I guess. Albus thought I'd be helpful, but I feel like I sort of… went through a different type of grief than you and Miles did, since I was so young. I feel like I don't understand."

"Everybody goes through different types of grief, I think, so we're all in the same boat. Let's stop talking now so that we don't wake him up. Maybe let's go to the Kitchens and eat some more? I'm still hungry."

"Even though we just had supper?"

As soon as Remus and Peter were out the door and under the Invisibility Cloak (James had left it at school with the request that Peter and Remus work on the Map a bit), far away from Miles, Remus whispered, "What can I say? I'm a ravenous werewolf," which made Peter giggle, and then they spent hours in the Kitchens and wandering the corridors. A couple of hours later, they returned, collapsed into their beds, and were asleep before their heads hit the pillow.

It had been an emotionally exhausting day for everybody involved, but Remus was rather used to those at this point.