On October 31st, while the rest of the school was enjoying a lavish Halloween feast, complete with pumpkin pies and assorted sweets, all lit by the flickering candlelight from hundreds of floating jack-o-lanterns, Remus lay alone in the Hospital Wing. There was no danger of him transforming that night. But after two entire months at Hogwarts, living under constant threat of discovery, hardly knowing whether or not he preferred to be sent home, Remus's health was worse than it had ever been.

He could not even read to pass the time. He couldn't bear to sit up for long. Instead, he lay curled under the thin, yet soft cover of his hospital bed, his face buried in his pillow as he struggled to fall asleep.

"Good evening, Remus," said a familiar voice close by his bedside.

He flinched. Madam Pomfrey had descended to join the feast half an hour ago, and he was not expecting any visitors. Peeking his head over the edge of his blanket, he observed Albus Dumbledore, dressed in pale gray robes that reminded Remus of the soft light of the moon.

Reluctantly, Remus forced himself to sit up in his bed, fluffing and readjusting his pillow so he could recline against it. He mumbled a greeting, staring down at his scarred hands as he waited for what he suspected was going to be a lecture.

"How are you feeling tonight?" asked Dumbledore, not unkindly.

Remus wasn't sure how he should answer. To complain of his health to the headmaster would be unacceptable. He hadn't spoken to Dumbledore since he first invited him to Hogwarts, and he certainly didn't feel as comfortable with the old wizard as he did with Professor Corvus. But to lie about his symptoms was equally impossible. His appearance would no doubt expose the truth in an instant.

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to attend the feast…" he replied, settling instead on a half-truth. He would have liked to have some chocolate.

"No doubt your friends are missing you," Dumbledore said with a keen glance, "But I trust you are getting enough to eat, with or without a feast?"

Remus remained silent. He suspected that the headmaster was only paying this visit at Madam Pomfrey's suggestion. More than once, she had expressed concern for how little Remus ate during his stays, always encouraging him to take second helpings and even offering to speak to the house-elves that ran the kitchens if there was anything not to his liking. But the food itself was always delicious. Remus simply had no appetite.

Instead of lecturing him, however, Dumbledore allowed the silence to linger as he glanced mildly around the Hospital Wing. He seemed for all the world as if there were nothing more interesting to him than two rows of identical white beds, tall mullioned windows, and a clean, polished floor. Eventually, his gaze came to rest on the small library stacked neatly beside Remus's bed. He selected one of the novels, a book about a girl who tames a unicorn, and smiled appreciatively.

"One of my personal favorites," he remarked, "Ravena's recommendation, I take it?"

Remus nodded.

"Reading can be a marvelous passtime," Dumbledore continued, flipping through the pages of the book, fondly lingering on a full page illustration. "When life becomes tedious, it takes us on a thrilling adventure. When the external world is in chaos, it can provide a comforting escape. In short, it takes us out of ourselves for a moment. But it is only a temporary pleasure, and cannot supply all of one's needs. We cannot live our entire lives in a novel, I am sorry to say…"

Dumbledore looked away from the book, leveling his piercing gaze at Remus as he continued, "There is no cure for your condition, Remus. You know that better than anyone. But I believe much of your suffering could be alleviated by taking better care of yourself. Eating properly, enjoying the sunlight, socializing with your peers…"

"I can't…" said Remus. His voice was weak, but inside, he was angry. What did Dumbledore know about his condition? Did he think that taking a walk would make this horrible nauseous feeling go away? That eating a bigger meal would stop him from clawing at himself in frustration during each full moon?

Dumbledore continued to stare at him through his half-moon glasses. Remus avoided his gaze. He did not want to argue with the headmaster, but he would not lie just to please him.

"I did not invite you to Hogwarts to be miserable, Remus," Dumbledore said gently, "It was my hope that you would flourish here. I still think you could, if you would only give yourself a chance to do so."

"I can't," Remus said again, his voice stronger this time, "I can't do the things everyone wants me to do!"

"Why not?" asked Dumbledore simply.

"Because I'm dangerous!"

"During the full moon, you pose a significant physical threat. This I'll grant you. But what is to stop you from enjoying yourself during the day? Or any other night of the month?"

"Because… Because if anyone found out about me…"

"Ah…" Dumbledore breathed, holding one long finger in the air, "And now we come to it. Allow me to suggest, Remus, that it is not your fear of harming others that is holding you back. It is the fear of getting close to someone, having that person discover your secret, and facing their rejection. Have I guessed right?"

Remus did not know what to say. He could not think of his fathers scars or his mother's prematurely graying hair without thinking that knowing him caused harm. But at the same time, he knew that Dumbledore was right. He was more afraid of being the one hurt than of harming others. Try as he might to convince himself that keeping everyone else away was his way of protecting them, he was really protecting himself.

"I am afraid there is no reassurance I can give you for this fear," Dumbledore remarked after a thoughtful moment, "The truth is, there will be some people who would reject you for your condition. Perhaps even those who would hate you for it. But Remus, you are not alone here. Your teachers, and I must say even myself, know of your circumstances. We welcomed you. And I truly believe that if you allow yourself to make friends, you will find others who will welcome you, as well… When you are ready to tell them about yourself, that is…"

Remus had drawn his knees into his chest and was staring blankly at the floor. Thankfully, Dumbledore had finished saying what he came to say, and did not wait for Remus to reply. Instead, he withdrew his wand from the folds of his silvery robes, tracing it through the air without a word. A large box, wrapped neatly in brown paper, appeared in the air. It hovered for a moment before Remus's face, before dropping onto the bed before him with a heavy thump.

"You missed the morning post," Dumbledore explained, "I hope you don't mind that I decided to deliver this package, myself."

The box had been addressed to him. He recognized his mother's handwriting instantly. Remus tore away the paper, opening the lid of an old shoebox to it filled with an assortment of Muggle chocolates and candies, as well as a small loaf of his mother's pumpkin bread. Remus already had a piece of chocolate in his mouth before he'd opened the not tucked inside, enjoying the sweetness melting on his tongue as he read:

Naughty boy! You haven't written a word since you've been at school!

Your father tells me that the post is sent by owl. Owls!? Is he serious,

or is this one of his jokes? I suppose having no owl of your own is your excuse

for not writing? I will send this letter to you, and then we shall see how it's done!

You must be out of chocolate by now, so here's a fresh supply!

Do let me know once you've received it. I hope you're feeling alright, honey.

Your father and I worry about you. Try to have fun, and we'll see you for Christmas!

Hugs and Kisses, Mum

Perhaps some children would have rolled their eyes at such a letter from their parents as Remus had just received. But for many years, Remus's mother had been his whole world. He had not learned to be embarrassed by her love for him. The note, though short and simple, containing nothing he hadn't expected to read, filled his eyes with tears. He lowered his head for some time, fighting to breathe normally, and remembered why he had agreed to come to Hogwarts in the first place. He was doing this for his parents.

When Remus lifted his head, he realized Dumbledore had not left. He had remained by his bedside, silently perusing the unicorn book once more, leaving Remus to contemplate his mother's missive in peace. Having had time to reflect, Remus selected another piece of chocolate, and offered it to the headmaster.

"I'll try to get out more," he promised, pleased that his voice sounded steady, "And I'll eat everything Madam Pomfrey gives me from now on. I just… I need a little more time… To get used to everything…"

Dumbledore accepted the chocolate with a kind smile. "I understand. After so long at home, Hogwarts must seem very big to you. But I think, with more experience, you'll discover that even this castle is quite small."

He set the book down on top of the stack next to Remus's bed, gesturing to them with an open hand, "Besides, if you keep going at this rate, you'll have read all the books in the library before your fifth year."

Remus's transformation did not occur till Tuesday that week. Despite his promise to Dumbledore, Remus did not feel well enough to return to class until Thursday. This prolonged absence did not go unnoticed.

"Where do you keep disappearing to?" asked Sirius Black when he returned to their dormitory, pale and peaked, that very afternoon.

"I was… I was sent home. My mother is ill," Remus said. His mind had drifted to the loaf of pumpkin bread, which he had devoured in one sitting to appease Madam Pomfrey. He ended up saying the first excuse that came to his mind, though he immediately felt guilty. He shouldn't have made up a story about his mother.

Black eyed him critically from head to toe. Remus was sure he'd lost weight since arriving at school, and he had been skinny to begin with. His haggard appearance probably did not help matters. Remus shifted uncomfortably under his critical gaze.

"You sure you're not the one who's sick?" Black asked. His handsome, crooked smile seemed calculated to mock Remus's scarred and wasted appearance by comparison.

"Sick of your questions, maybe," Remus replied coldly before turning toward his trunk to fetch a roll of parchment and a fresh quill. He might have appeared calm, but inside he was worried. If he was confronted by one of his roommates each time he missed class, how long before they became suspicious? Would he be able to keep up this charade for a whole year?

Not wanting to expose himself to further scrutiny, Remus quickly gathered his things and beat a hasty retreat out the door.

He had decided to accept Dumbledore's advice, or rather, a very small part of it. He could use another hobby, something to keep him occupied in his leisure hours. He could not do anything about his cursed state. The full moon was an inevitable evil. But Remus needed something he could control. And while his symptoms would force him to miss class on occasion, he could at least avoid being tardy the rest of the time.

The moving staircases were an annoyance that had bothered him from the beginning. More than once, their strange movements had forced Remus to take a wrong turn and arrive late to class, even on days when he felt well enough to pay attention. Once, he had been standing in the middle of a staircase when it decided to switch places with another, leaving Remus stranded between floors until it had made up its mind.

And so, armed with his parchment, an inkwell, and quill, Remus set about observing the staircases. He sat where he could command a view of the stairs for hours at a time, the scroll of parchment spread out before him as he made detailed notes on the stairs' movements and patterns.

He was almost certain that this was not what Dumbledore had in mind when he had suggested a new hobby. But the work kept his mind busy and provided an interesting break from his class assignments. Besides, Remus was used to inventing new ways to pass the time. Having never played with other children, he learned from an early age how to entertain himself.

"What are you doing?" asked Frank Longbottom, nearly tripping over Remus on his way out from the common room entrance.

Remus had just begun to sketch a rudimentary diagram of the stairs. One of the books Professor Corvus had loaned him spoke of a charm that could be placed on ink to make drawings move, like the talking portraits that lined the halls of Hogwarts. He had been thinking that if his drawing moved in tandem with the movements of the stairs, he would have a definitive map of their movements.

Remus debated not answering Longbottom's question, but for once, he had nothing to hide. So with a shrug, he replied blandly, "I'm watching the staircases."

Longbottom glanced toward the stairs in question. The one closest to Remus had just settled its last step near the corridor that led down toward the Great Hall, as if beckoning them toward the evening feast. Longbottom then turned to look at Remus's Escher-like drawing and laughed.

"You're a strange guy, you know that, Lupin?"

Remus shrugged again. He was preparing to return to his drawing, but to his dismay, Longbottom took a seat on the step next to him.

"Did you hear that Potter landed in detention again?"

Remus's quill paused in the process of tracing the lines of a stone bannister. Now that he thought of it, it had been strange to find Black alone in their dormitory. Potter and Black were inseparable. Pettigrew usually tagged along, but it was Potter and Black who sat side-by-side at every meal, paired off in every class, and were never spotted in the common room unless by one another's side. There was something furtive in their movements whenever Remus saw them in the halls, as if they were always in the middle of concocting a new scheme to torment their teachers.

If Remus had been a regular boy, he might have yearned for such friendship. But as he reminded himself everyday, he was not normal. His parents had persuaded him to attend school. Dumbledore had urged him to take better care of himself. He intended to make them proud. And yet he could not bring himself to get close to others.

When Remus failed to show any interest in his gossip, Longbottom tried another approach to conversation. "See, that's what I like about you, Lupin. You stay out of the drama! I won't lie to you, at first I figured you'd go in for Potter's group, being so mysterious and all…"

"Mysterious?" Remus repeated, blotting some ink on his drawing by mistake.

"Well, yeah… I mean, you're quiet. You never talk about yourself. Sometimes you disappear for days at a time, but the teachers never seem to notice… And the girls won't stop talking about you, for some reason… But you aren't like Potter or Black. They're always dropping bouncing bulbs in the greenhouses or setting off dungbombs in Binns' class. You don't pull dumb pranks like that. You're more… mature, I suppose."

He seemed to be trying to offer him a compliment, but Remus wasn't interested in his friendship. He didn't need anyone, much less someone like Frank Longbottom, trying to get close to him.

"Are you sure you're not just jealous?" Remus asked, glancing up from his drawing with a gaze calculated to be cold and insensitive. "Potter and Black might be a pain to the professors, but everyone else seems to like them. Aren't you a little jealous that they've accepted Pettigrew, but left you out?"

Longbottom scowled, "Who'd be jealous of them?"

Remus shrugged again, looking away once more as he continued drawing. He had achieved his aim, at least. Longbottom no longer seemed interested in talking to him. With a sigh and a shake of his head, he began making his way down the staircase, though he paused halfway down to remark.

"I was just trying to be friendly, you know. You're the one who seems lonely."

"I'm not."

There was a beat of silence, then Longbottom added, "I take it back. You aren't mysterious. You're actually just a boring arsehole."

Remus felt the sting, but this was what he had been asking for. He needed others to keep away, not to take an interest in him. Longbottom could help quell the interest of others. If everyone thought he was mean… If they thought he was boring… So much the better. It would be easier to go about his day, unencumbered by the burden of friends.