Fact #14: There was a Transfiguration test the next day, and Remus failed it.

Predictably, Professor McGonagall kept him after class. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, which was an expression that Remus had only ever seen her use on James, Sirius, and Peter when they had done something particularly stupid.

"So," said McGonagall, sliding Remus' test back to him, "you got a thirty-eight percent."

Remus blinked. "I'm sorry," he said.

"You didn't study this topic much, did you? I did warn you that it was a lot of memorization."

"I… forgot. Sorry."

Remus had studied, though. He'd pored over the Transfiguration textbook for ages, wishing with all his heart that Professor McGonagall was the type of teacher to go through the book chronologically instead of hopping around like an erratic grasshopper. He'd asked his friends which chapter they were on, but they didn't know. He'd considered asking McGonagall chapter they were studying, too, but then McGonagall would have wanted to know what had happened to the notes she'd made Remus, and Remus didn't want to tell her that he didn't have them. She had spent time on those notes, and Remus didn't want to let her down. He had let her down anyway, of course, but…

"The notes I made for you didn't help?" McGonagall asked, the line of her lips curving into a frown.

"They, erm…." Remus wasn't sure what to say. No matter what he came up with, he would sound terribly irresponsible and ungrateful. But he had to say something—if he just sat in silence, then he would sound terribly irresponsible, ungrateful, stupid, and just plain weird. "I forgot to look at them," Remus said lamely. Well, that was even worse. Losing them was one thing, but forgetting about them seemed so ungrateful that Remus could hardly bear it. He couldn't go back now, though. What was said was said.

McGonagall's frown grew. "You forgot to look at them."

"Yes," said Remus, cringing.

"That isn't like you, Lupin. You're normally very studious."

"I, erm. Was distracted. Forgot. That's all."

McGonagall's frown remained, but it started to look more like a concerned frown than an angry frown. "Is something going on?" she asked.

"No."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes!" Remus was starting to get a little bit annoyed now. "I'm sorry, Professor, but my friends forget to do homework all the time, and Peter fails Transfiguration tests periodically. You never assume something's going on with them. Why me? Why can't I just fail a test every so often? Why do you chalk it up to teenage antics with them but not with me?"

McGonagall's frown tightened once again. "Because, Lupin, I see you become increasingly ill every month. I see you so exhausted that you can hardly keep your head up, I see the color slowly draining from your face, and I see your anxiety climb as the moon waxes every month. I have seen you in the Hospital Wing, barely clinging to consciousness and in terrible pain. I have seen you limping after a full moon, and I have seen your hands wrapped with bandages. I have seen how exhausted Madam Pomfrey is after tending to you, and hardly anything fazes her. I have heard her lament about how terrible you look after even the best full moon.

"I have done my research, and I know that it is hard. But every month, without fail, you complete your schoolwork. You get it turned in on time, even when it is not required, and you earn very decent marks whenever I put in the extra effort to help you succeed. You always, always go above and beyond when it comes to making up work. Today, you haven't even reached the bare minimum. So I ask you: what has changed? What could be so bad that you can't find it within yourself to do a little bit of reading and memorization? What, Mr. Lupin, could be worse than a full moon?"

Remus swallowed, and it felt loud in his ears. "Nothing," he said quietly. "Maybe I'm just tired of going above and beyond."

She stared at him for a very long time, and then she slowly nodded. "Very well," she said. "I will not be changing your test score. Don't let it happen again."

"I won't, Professor."

Remus scurried out of the classroom, feeling altogether helpless.

Remus was helpless about the Manard situation, yes. There was nothing he could do. If he even hinted at the fact that Manard was making him immensely uncomfortable, then things would get even worse: for Remus, for his family, and for the staff at Hogwarts. The world could not know that Dumbledore had allowed a young werewolf named Remus Lupin to attend Hogwarts. If that happened, then everything Remus loved would be gone, and Dumbledore would suffer for it as well.

So Remus was helpless when it came to Manard, and he hated feeling helpless. But he was not helpless when it came to his friends' Animagi attempts, which was a small comfort. He was perfectly capable of thwarting their attempts to keep Mandrake leaves in their mouths for a whole month, and now that he had access to the Potions storeroom, he planned to do it again this month.

Getting the ingredients he needed wasn't particularly difficult. He simply waited until the next Potions class, and when he was fetching ingredients for his Wit-Sharpening Potion, he grabbed a few extra ingredients from the storeroom and snuck them into his pocket. It was easy.

He brewed the potion in the dormitory while his friends were in detention for cutting Iesha Davidson's hair. It was a simple potion: it didn't take much time, the ingredients were minimal, and Remus had everything perfectly prepared by the time his friends arrived back in the common room.

"Tea?" he asked, sipping his own tea while he read his book.

His friends eyed the three mugs of tea set on their beds with suspicion. "Why did you make us tea?" Peter asked.

"I fancied a cuppa, and I thought you might, too."

"Hm," said James. Then, without warning, James pulled a flower out of his pocket and dropped it in his mug. It immediately dissolved.

"Aha!" cried Sirius. "It wasn't Snape! It was never Snape! It was you!"

"You know about the leaves in our mouths!" said Peter, awestruck. "You've known the whole time?"

Remus looked at them sheepishly. The jig was up. To be honest, Remus was quite relieved: now that he could talk to them candidly, maybe he'd be able to convince them to stop doing so stupidly dangerous. He already had one secret to keep from them, and it was exhausting. He didn't need another.

"Yeah, I knew," he admitted. "I told you that I knew last year, remember? You reeked of Mandrake leaves."

"We thought we'd diverted your suspicions!"

"You told me that you were making a potion—trying to find a cure for lycanthropy. I'm sorry, but I've done a lot of reading. There's only one reason why people would have Mandrake leaves stuck to the roofs of their mouths for so long, and it's not the cure for lycanthropy. I know exactly what you're trying to do."

"I thought you might." James' arms were crossed triumphantly, and he grinned like the Cheshire Cat. "I told them that you knew, but they wouldn't listen. I've suspected ever since last summer. So you were the one sabotaging our attempts all of last year, weren't you?"

"Yes. I didn't like that you thought it was Snape, but I thought this method might be more successful than talking to you about it. I was wrong, clearly. You keep trying, month after month, and it's very annoying."

"And this tea was intended to dissolve plant life, wasn't it?"

"Of course."

"It makes sense," said Sirius. "We tried to set passwords and things last year, and you were the only one with access to them."

"We thought it was Wormtail for a while," said James. "He didn't seem all that thrilled to be participating at first… but Wormy's not clever enough for all that."

"Oi," said Peter despondently.

"What, exactly, do you know?" asked Sirius.

Remus paused, took a breath, and then said, "I know that you're trying to become Animagi. I know that you think it will help me on full moons. I know that you wanted to learn the Patronus Charm so that you would have an idea as to what your animals might be, and I know that you probably started researching back in second year."

James whistled. "Wow. You really do know everything."

"I also know," continued Remus, "that becoming an Animagus is an extremely dangerous process that may result in mutations, permanent disfiguration, chronic pain, or death. So I humbly ask that you give up immediately."

"No," said Sirius.

"I thought you might say that." Remus sighed. "Then may I remind you that you cannot do it without my help?"

"I think that's taking it a little far," said James. "We know that you're the one who's sabotaging us now, so we'll just keep everything out of your reach—like a mother keeps dangerous potions away from her children. Easy."

"No," said Remus. "First of all, you're doing it all wrong. You need to collect all the ingredients before putting the Mandrake leaves in your mouths—otherwise, the potion will spoil before you even finish it."

"We already have them," said Sirius. "We're not idiots, you know. James bought the crystal phials and the Death's-head Hawk Moth chrysalises, and I managed to find some dew under a tree stump."

"You'll kill yourselves!" Remus cried. "No. You can't do that."

"Why not?"

"You have to follow each instruction perfectly. The instructions say that you must collect a spoonful of dew from a place that neither sunlight nor human feet have touched for seven days. It can't be water—it must be dew. Sunlight can't touch it for seven days, and that means no sunlight. If you collected the dew from under a stump, then any crack in the stump renders it useless."

James crossed his arms. "There were no cracks. We checked."

"The very act of taking the dew from the stump exposed it to sunlight, you idiot."

"I know. But the instructions only say that the dew had to be taken from a place that had been untouched for seven days. It didn't say that it had to be added to the potion while still having been unexposed to sunlight."

"It doesn't say that, no. But if you'd read your third-year Potions textbook…"

"We haven't."

"I know. If you'd read the textbook, then you'd know that items kept in dark places must also be added in dark places. Being exposed to sunlight negates the effect of the darkness!"

James' mouth opened and closed, and then he swore under his breath. "What do we do, then?"

"You have to collect and add it in darkness, so the dark area has to be big enough to fit inside comfortably without exposing it to sunlight. But here's the problem: you can't actually enter the area, because you have to collect the dew from a place that has remained untouched by human feet for the past seven days." Remus smiled grimly. "And that's why you'd need me to do this project. I'm not human. I can go inside a dark room and add the ingredients for you. You can't do it by yourselves… but I won't help you."

"As long as our feet don't touch the ground, we'll be fine," said James. "So we fly in on broomsticks, and then…"

"You really want to risk starting over? The dew is going to have to be close to the ground, and if your feet accidentally touch, then you'll have to start over from square one. Doesn't seem plausible to me."

There was a moment of silence as Remus' friends considered this. Then, simultaneously, they all bounded over to Remus and started begging.

"Please," said James. "Please help us, O Wise One. We'll do anything."

"You owe us," said Sirius. "Pretty please, Moony…."

"I thought we were best friends," said Peter, pouting.

Remus narrowed his eyes. "No," he said. "I want all three of you to stop your Animagus attempts immediately."

Sirius frowned. "But…"

"But nothing, Sirius!" Remus could feel himself losing control, so he took a deep breath before considering. He was helpless when faced with Manard, but his anger was much more easily controlled. He wasn't helpless. He could do this.

"It's not going to work," he said, and he tried his hardest to keep his voice even and calm. "When I was a child, my parents dragged me all over looking for a cure, and—"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Yeah, we've heard your sob story. Nothing worked, you don't like having your hopes raised and then dashed, and you'd like to get used to your misery—force it into some sort of routine—rather than actually solving it. We've heard it all."

"You know what?" said Remus, scowling. "I reckon I go along with a lot of your mad plans! I went along with your plan to form an alliance with Peeves last year, even though I knew it wouldn't work! I went along with your plans to torture Snape for the past three years! I went along with your plan to decorate offices for Halloween, your ridiculous costume schemes, and all those times we snuck to the Kitchens or the Forbidden Forest! I even went along with that insane musical show you did in the Great Hall—not once, but twice! I let you do whatever you want, mostly—but not this time! I'm putting my foot down. I draw the line here. I can't think of any other idioms. Please don't do this."

James shook his head. "It's not a mad plan. It'll actually work."

"You'll die!"

"You'll die!" bellowed James. "We've done our research! We know the werewolf life expectancy! Thirteen years after the bite, Remus—that's the average, did you know? You'll be at ten soon!"

"Yes, I know, but those averages are highly inaccurate and dependent on a lot of other factors."

"You'll die," repeated James. "You practically rip yourself to shreds every full moon. We visit you afterwards, remember? We've seen you, and there's no way you can do that every month and still live to be Albus' age."

"Well, I won't live to be Dumbledore's age. I thought that was a given. But I'm okay with dying at fifty."

James gave Remus a disbelieving look.

"Forty," Remus amended in a small voice, "maybe thirty. I don't know. There's no way to tell, really."

"We're not letting you die at thirty," said James.

"You'll hit the end of your life expectancy in seventh year, Moony," said Peter. "We just want to help. Promise."

"I don't want your help! What do you think it'll do, cure me of being a werewolf? It's not going to do anything!"

James huffed. "We can stop you from attacking yourself, Moony! That won't get rid of the issues you have from your body shape changing drastically every month—the soreness, the arthritis, your voice…"

Remus coughed and reddened slightly. His voice had been getting progressively worse—only by small amounts, but it was increasingly raspy every so often, and he was worried that one day he'd lose it altogether. As it turned out, vocal cords weren't exactly made for constant stretching and constricting.

"…but we can stop the aftereffects of constant injuries. Maybe give your limp some time to heal—you injure that leg nearly every full moon, and your walking is all jerky sometimes. You'd spend less days in the Hospital Wing, you'd get less scars, you'd develop overall less long-term issues, and you wouldn't be so scared before a full moon…."

"Yeah? What do you expect to do? Shake your antlers at me threateningly until I stop hurting myself?"

"We'll figure something out."

"Not before I kill you."

"You won't kill us," said Peter. "Werewolves only hunt humans."

"Just because werewolves don't hunt animals doesn't mean they won't hurt them. Werewolves attack everything in sight. If I attack myself, the walls, and the furniture, then I'll attack you. I won't eat you for sustenance, but you'll be a personal scratching post. You have no reason to believe that this will work!"

"We have to try," said James.

"I am not letting you go through something so dangerous, so stupid, on the off-chance that it'll help a very, very small amount!" Remus took a deep breath—in through his nose, out through his mouth—and tried his best to calm down. "Look," he said. "I appreciate that you're trying to help. I appreciate that you're willing to risk your lives for me. But I'm dying early either way, and I don't want to rest of you to die early, too. It's my worst nightmare. Please, please—I am begging you—don't do this. Please."

James shook his head. "Sorry, Moony. It's already decided."

"I don't mind injuring myself! That's the easiest part of the transformation! I'm used to it!"

"Liar."

Unbidden and unwanted tears sprang to Remus' eyes, hot and burning, spilling down his cheeks like boiling oil. "Please don't make me into a murderer," he begged. "I wouldn't be able to stand it. Please don't risk my sanity like this."

"Woah," said Sirius, who didn't like tears very much. "Don't be so dramatic. It's going to be fine. No one's going to die."

Remus wiped his face, but it didn't help much. "See, you three are allowed to think that way. Everything works out for you, doesn't it? But that's what my father thought right before I was bitten… that's what we thought every single time we went to look for a cure… none of them worked, and I couldn't stand it if this one went wrong, too. Which it will! It always does!"

"No, it…"

Remus swallowed thickly and said in a very quiet voice, "The worst tragedies always strike when you think everything will be okay."

There was a long moment of silence, and Remus tried to even his breathing, which was jerky and gaspy. Finally, James walked over to Remus and placed a hand on his right shoulder. "All right," he said quietly. "We'll stop."

"Thank y-y-you," gulped Remus. "I'm sorry."

"Me, too. I just wish there was a way to help. I want to fix this for you, Moony."

"I know. But s-some things can't b-be fixed, Prongs. That's all there is to it. It h-hurts less when you accept it."

"I'm James Potter. I don't just accept things."

"You're friends with someone with an incurable curse, so you're g-going to have to learn." Remus took one more shuddery breath, and then he scooted away from James to give himself some space. "Thank you again for stopping. I know it's hard for you, but routines help in difficult situations. I don't want you three messing with my routine. It helps me feel like I'm in control—I hate not being in control, and you three basically trying to kill yourselves whenever I'm not around doesn't exactly give me any feelings of control. I can't control myself on the full moon, and I can't control you three—ever. At least let me control you when it comes to this one little thing. Just when it comes to my lycanthropy. Please."

"Right," said Sirius. "Well, good-night, Moony."

"Good-night, Padfoot. Thank you."

They turned out the lights, and Remus lay awake in bed for a very long time, trying to ignore the way the window next to his bed reminded him of inevitable tragedy.

Inevitable. Inescapable. Incurable. It seemed that those words followed Remus around every day of his life, invading the chinks in his carefully-built armor, circling around his head like vultures surrounded a dead animal. The worst was coming, just like it did every month, and Remus was powerless to stop it.

Remus snuggled deeper into his blankets. The world was a dark, dark place when utterly and completely deprived of hope.

"We're still doing it, right?" whispered Sirius as soon as he was certain Remus was asleep.

James grinned. "Absolutely," he said. "We just need to find a few more spells in the library to mask our efforts. Still got the Mandrake leaves in your mouths?"

"Yeah," chorused Sirius and Peter.

"He seems to think he's the only one who doesn't want his friend to die," said James. "We all have the same goal here. He's trying to protect us. We're trying to protect him. The only thing left to do is engage in an intense battle of wits and see who ends up winning and who ends up dying."

"If we do it right," said Peter, "then it'll be none of us."

"And we will do it right," whispered James. "I promise, Moony. James Potter is always right, and you're going to be just fine."