"You'll never guess what we did!" cried Peter, rushing into Madam Pomfrey's office.

"No, Wormy, let me tell it!" protested James. "You'll never guess what we did!"

"What did you do this time?" Remus sat up slowly, trying not to disturb the bandages, and tried to smooth down his bedhead-ridden hair… but James ruffled it back up again as soon as he succeeded.

"We hexed Lily Evans!" said James gleefully. "And we dressed up as Slytherins to do it! We changed our hair and everything, and I didn't wear glasses, and we found a charm to change the size of our noses and eyes! She and Snape never knew it was us! It was so much fun!"

"We used that Fire-Breathing Jinx you used on us," said Sirius. "It was brilliant."

Remus sighed. He'd been afraid of this. "That charm is dangerous to do indoors. It can do real harm to things that aren't alive, so it could have burned down the whole school."

"We had an Aguamenti at the ready," said James dismissively. "It was hilarious. Oh, Moony, you should have seen the look on Snivvy's face. So funny."

"I doubt that," whispered Remus, but nobody heard him (for better or for worse). For an instant, he briefly considered asking his friends not to do that anymore—after all, awful as Snape was, Remus sort of sympathized with him. Snape was an outcast, made fun of for his association with Dark magic, with friends that he was terrified to lose. He only wanted to be accepted. Remus understood what all of that was like.

But Remus was terrified of losing his friends, too, and he didn't see why he should be expected to be a bigger person than Snape—not when Snape had been so cruel to him and his friends in the past. It just didn't make sense, honestly.

Besides, Remus was a werewolf. He had it worse than Snape, didn't he? Snape could make a choice to stop dabbling in Dark magic, but Remus was involved in the stuff by someone else's choice, not his own. He needed friends more than Snape did. It was for his own health. Everyone had said that Remus was looking better than ever this year—and call him selfish, but he was not going to go back to pale, miserable, skinny-as-a-rail Remus. Being with his friends was the reason for his glow, and he wasn't going to risk losing that. Not now. Not ever. He remembered what it was like to be ill and purposeless, and he would not go back.

"Want to play chess?" he asked, and his friends eagerly set up a chessboard on Remus' lap and took turns beating him mercilessly. Remus had never been good at chess, but he'd much rather lose at chess than lose his only friends.

Fact #10: The Marauders were popular.

Remus had never made an effort to be popular, nor had he ever wanted to, but James and Sirius were the sort of people who lit up a room and were the life of the party. Their troublemaking schemes invited infamy, and their skills in class (and in James' case, on the Quidditch pitch) were admired by nearly every single student. They were so well loved, in fact, that the other Gryffindors didn't even care that the Marauders were the very reason that Gryffindor would never win the House Cup. Last term, in fact, they'd been very close to finishing in the negatives. Still, the Gryffindors (and every other House) praised James and Sirius like gods.

Peter was popular, too, though only by association. He reveled in the popularity, and he milked his friendship for all it was worth. Peter had always wanted to feel special, loved, protected. Remus understood. If he hadn't been a werewolf who desperately needed to fly under the radar, perhaps he would have done the same thing.

But he was a werewolf, and it was because of this fact that he did not want to be popular. Unfortunately, popularity was a little bit like glitter: if one was around it, then it would undoubtedly stick to one's skin and refuse to come off. And so Remus, very much against his wishes, was well-known around the school as "the quiet one". He didn't talk to many people, but people often knew exactly who he was.

That made it a little more difficult to get away with missing the first couple days of classes, of course. When Remus finally escaped the Hospital Wing (with a special balm and instructions from Madam Pomfrey to watch his wounds carefully), it seemed that everyone wanted to know where he had been.

Times like these were when Remus was most thankful for his friends. They followed him everywhere, going to class with him, answering questions for him when he felt he couldn't, and their answers were always more ridiculous than Remus ever could have imagined.

"Lupin!" said a sixth-year Ravenclaw with blonde hair. "Where have you been?"

"Oh, he was off in the Savannah, fighting tigers," said James. "He has a mean left hook, that Remus Lupin. Those tigers didn't stand a chance."

"Where've you been?" asked Mary Macdonald, a fellow Gryffindor.

"Where hasn't he been is the better question," said Sirius, "and the answer to that one is Greenland. Remus doesn't like Greenland. Too much green."

"What happened to you?" asked Miles, one of Remus' third-year friends, after hearing James inconspicuously refer to Remus' "furry little problem".

"His pet rabbit attacked him," said Peter. "Vicious things, rabbits. They're terrifying."

"Where were you, Lupin?" asked Evans. "I didn't see you in class."

"That's because he wasn't in class," said James. "He was skiving. Snuck to Hogsmeade and drank Firewhisky all day long. It's a nasty habit, but Remus is trying to get it under control."

Evans snorted and tossed her hair. "You're an idiot, Potter."

"You're a bit of a hothead, aren't you, Evans? Must be why you spewed fire all over the Hogwarts walls the other day."

Evans gave a shriek of fury, and then she was chasing James down the corridor. At that point, Remus was fortunately forgotten.

Professor McGonagall held Remus after class. "I noticed you were having some trouble in my class last year," she said.

"Oh. Er, yeah. Mostly my fault. Didn't study enough."

"I know. I'm not blaming you. But I would like to give you these." Professor McGonagall reached into her desk and pulled out a few pieces of parchment before setting them on the desk and sliding them toward Remus. "After all, I know your friends probably don't take very good notes. We started a memorization-heavy topic a few days ago, and I want to make sure you have the resources to keep up."

"Wow." Remus looked over McGonagall's notes—the handwriting was small and neat, and everything was fully explained and categorized. "Thank you so much, Professor."

"You're welcome. Now you have no excuses."

Remus grinned. "Technically, I could always claim I'm not feeling well and garner some pity, but you know I'd never do that."

"I know all too well." McGonagall smiled at him. "I do admire you, Mr. Lupin."

"For what? For my excuses?"

"No, for your lack of them. I hear more excuses from a seventh-year who stayed up too late than I hear from you, and you're constantly under extreme stress and pressure. The mere fact that you're able to feel happy—to do your schoolwork—to get out of bed every morning and smile—it's impressive. I've had my fair share of tragedy over the years; everyone has… but you shoulder the burden remarkably well, far better than I ever could, and I admire you for it."

"Thank you," said Remus, oddly uncomfortable and glowing with pride at the same time. "It's not my doing."

"What do you mean?"

"I would have never been able to handle such things without support. So Professor Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey, Professor Flitwick, Professor Questus, Professor Leek… and especially my friends… they're the reason I'm able to smile. I mostly didn't, before Hogwarts."

"No one can blame you. For what it's worth, I'm glad you've found a pocket for yourself in this large and uncertain world, Lupin."

"Me, too." Remus stood up and slipped the notes into his satchel carefully. "I'd better go and look over these notes, Professor. Don't want to get distracted."

"Certainly. Best of luck catching up in your other classes. It can't be easy, missing the first few days."

"Don't worry about me; I have people to help." Remus waved goodbye with a smile, and then he made his way down the corridor to find his friends for what was sure to be a very pleasant lunch.

"Huh," said James. "Albus is busy looking for a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and he's stressed out of his mind. Look at him."

Remus looked at the staff table. Dumbledore was sitting in his normal place, wearing his normal smile, but his clothes were a much more subdued color, and his eyes did indeed look very tired. He wasn't eating much, Remus noticed… and for once, he looked his age.

"He looks like he got ten minutes of sleep last night, maximum," Sirius said in awe. "How hard can finding a new professor be, really?"

Remus took a bite of his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. "Pretty difficult, now that everyone knows the position is cursed. The other professors could have been chalked up to coincidence and/or the Placebo Effect, but what happened to Dilley was… awful, weird, and very random. It's definitely a curse, and I'm sure word has spread by now. Who would be insane enough to take a cursed job?"

"Someone really stupid," said Sirius. "Like Pensley from second year. She was dumb."

"Professor Questus wasn't dumb."

"No, but he didn't know for certain that the job was cursed, and he was hoping to leave at the end of the year anyway."

"Yeah, you're right. I wonder if Dumbledore will teach the class himself. That's what he did for a few weeks last year after Professor Craff was killed."

"Probably not. We can't risk losing Dumbledore to whatever curse this is."

"The curse doesn't always harm people."

"Yes, but it always makes them leave Hogwarts. It's a risk."

Remus took another bite, chewing slowly and observing Dumbledore's tired eyes. "I hope he finds a new professor soon. Defense Against the Dark Arts is important nowadays, isn't it?"

"I think that's why he's so bothered about finding a good professor," Peter said. "He wants us to be prepared for what lies ahead, so he can't risk finding another Pensley."

"Ah, shut up," said James. "You liked Pensley, Wormtail."

"I can like her without thinking she taught the class well. She didn't."

They ate in silence for a while. Dumbledore stood up, said something to McGonagall, and then left the Great Hall. "He's probably resuming his searching," Sirius guessed, and the other Marauders hummed in agreement.

"How bad do you think the war is going to get?" Peter asked abruptly. A liberal bit of spinach was hanging out of his mouth, but Peter didn't seem to care. "Like… what do you think our daily lives will be like?"

"Every morning, we'll fight a few Death Eaters away from the kettle to make a cuppa," James deadpanned. "Then we'll steal our clothes back from them to get dressed, and then we'll run out of our houses in full camouflage to get to work. Once we're there, we'll have to walk through flames to get to our office, and sometimes we'll be tortured till lunchtime by Voldemort himself."

"Not funny," said Peter, pouting. "I wanted a serious answer."

Sirius scoffed. "We're Marauders. We're not serious. Even I'm not Sirius—I'm Padfoot."

"Even as the world turns to flame around our feet, we keep making jokes," said James firmly. "That's our job. Someone's got to lighten the mood in a time of darkness, yeah?"

"I say we pants Voldemort," said Sirius, and Remus nearly spat out his tea.

"Well, that'll certainly take him by surprise," he murmured, wiping some tea from the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief. "And probably the rest of us, too. Seeing Voldemort's bare legs would be worse than the Cruciatus. Now come on, you goofs. It's time for Care of Magical Creatures, and I don't intend on missing another class."

Fact #11: To magical creatures, Remus was a terrifying monster who inspired limitless fear and loathing.

Run-of-the-mill Muggle creatures didn't mind him—Remus had never had any trouble with Bufo, Fang, or Professor Questus' cat. They treated him just like any human. Dark creatures were afraid of Remus, but it was more parts respect than fear. Some very powerful creatures didn't fear Remus one bit (Fawkes, for instance, wasn't ever bothered by Remus' presence).

But most magical creatures feared Remus greatly, so he tended to hide a bit in Care of Magical Creatures. No one had noticed that every single creature shied away from Remus—not yet—and Professor Kettleburn had always been very helpful. He'd even made Remus carry a Bowtruckle around for a month last year, and now the Bowtruckles seemed to be used to him.

Today, Professor Kettleburn didn't have a creature by his side, which was odd. "I have a very special lesson today," he said, "and I give you full permission to excuse yourself from the lesson once I tell you what it is."

There was some anxious murmuring as Kettleburn paused for dramatic effect.

He took a deep breath and continued. "Now, we've found a young Dementor in Hogsmeade, and Professor Dumbledore has given me permission to expose you to it, if only for a moment. Does anyone know what Dementors do?"

"They eat all your good feelings," said James.

"That… is the simplest possible way of putting it, yes. A Dementor will make you relive the worst things that have ever happened to you. It will make you feel dark and depressed, and it will suck every ounce of happiness from your body as long as it is present. Now, this Dementor is young, so the effects won't be as potent. I won't expose any of you to it for long, of course, but it will be enough for you to get an idea. You're not expected to learn to fend it off… in fact, I happen to know that some of you can already cast a Patronus, and I ask that you do not. I want to keep little Frederick around for now."

Remus smiled. Professor Kettleburn had been referring to the Marauders: Professor Questus had taught them how to cast a Patronus a long time ago, and their nicknames (Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs) were based off of their Patronus forms.

"Wait," said Sirius. "You named the Dementor Frederick?"

"Of course. I thought it deserved a name. Fascinating creatures, Dementors, though they are terrible. Now, if any of you have particularly awful memories, you may be affected worse than most. Even if you do not have awful memories, I recommend you do not face the Dementor if you are prone to depression or anxiety. And if you wish to skip this lesson for another reason entirely, then you may go. There is no shame in doing so. The staff merely think it prudent that each of you has the opportunity to face one, as the war is getting worse. The Ministry have been known to deploy Dementors to search for convicts or criminals, so they may be rampant in a few years. I'll give you a moment to decide."

Chatter broke out amongst the class. "I don't want to," said Peter immediately. Remus happened to know that Peter had watched his father die after being tortured, so he didn't blame Peter one bit.

"I don't want to, either," said Sirius. "All the joy gets sucked out of me at Grimmauld, anyway. I don't need to experience that again."

"I'm staying," said Remus, surprising himself.

James stared. "Moony. Mate. He said that you should skip the lesson if you're prone to depression or if you have bad memories."

"No, he said he recommends skipping it. And I'm not prone to depression."

"But you have bad memories."

"Yeah, you're right. Like when you drank that mudpuddle on a dare the other day. That was a bad memory."

"You can't stay!"

"I should. I don't want to be taken by surprise if I ever come across a Dementor. And… I'm curious. I want to see if my emotions are human enough to be affected."

"Of course they are!"

"But I don't know that for sure. Dark creatures tend to respect me. Perhaps it'll stay away from me anyway. Maybe I'm a living Patronus. There's only one way to know."

"I doubt that," said James. "Come on, Moony. You're getting permission to skive. We'll go back to the dormitory and play Exploding Snap or something."

"No. I want to do it."

Kettleburn walked up to the Marauders and said to Remus (very quietly), "Are you staying?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, sir. Although… could I possibly do it after class? I don't want to… give anything away."

"Yes, yes, of course! Come back this evening. Maybe around seven o'clock?"

Remus nodded and stuck his tongue out at James. "See? I'm going. I'm no fragile china doll."

James groaned. "No. You're just an idiot."

Seven o'clock arrived, and James insisted on going with Remus. "I've got no bad memories," he said. "Not compared to you, at least. And I want to keep you company."

"Don't need you."

"Don't care. I'm going. See you later, Pads."

They walked across the grass to Kettleburn's classroom (well, an area that was loosely defined as such). The air was warm, the sky was dusky, and Remus could hear owls hooting. "Good Dementor weather," he joked, mostly to mask the fact that his palms were sweaty and his heart was fluttering. Merlin's beard. He really was fragile.

"Ready?" asked Kettleburn as soon as they arrived.

Remus nodded, putting on a face of false bravado. "Of course. How bad could it be? Certainly not as bad as the real thing."

Kettleburn sighed. "I must ask you to reconsider, Lupin. I know you can handle it, but you'll probably have trouble sleeping tonight. The students who decided to face the Dementor today were all shaken up, and none of them have pasts like you do."

"I'll be okay. Go ahead and let it loose."

"Very well." Kettleburn wheeled a large cabinet out of the woods and faced it toward Remus. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," said Remus, and James grasped his hand. Remus made a face at James. "What, is it suddenly cool to hold hands?"

"For the next five minutes, yes. Then the trend will be over, and I'll be back to my regular, arrogant, Quidditch-jock self. Things go out of style rather quickly, you know."

"Ah, of course."

Kettleburn inhaled deeply, and then he waved his wand at the cabinet, and a large, dark shape burst out—

Remus was lying in bed, the sheets cool on his neck, woolen pajamas soft on his skin. There was a noise.

Crashing. Shards of glass on his skin. Remus gasped, and then he lost the ability to breathe altogether.

Shaggy fur. Dripping muzzle. Dog? Wolf. Human eyes stared down at Remus from a wolf's face—brown eyes, a shade darker than Remus' own hazel ones. Claws in Remus' skin, ruining his pajamas. Pinned to his bed—broken glass on his face—moonlight—rain, dripping through the broken window and pattering onto his face. A growl that seemed to vibrate Remus' insides. Piercing pain—pain—pain.

Remus wasn't even five yet, and he was dying.

Dying?

Dying, like he surely was a month later, when the pain ripped through his body at a rate even worse than the initial bite. He hadn't screamed that night in his bed—hadn't had time—had been in shock—but now he screamed, and screamed, and screamed, until his throat was raw and stinging, but the pain didn't even compare to the pain all over the rest of his body. It was like fire.

Fire?

Fire, like the one that had killed Professor Questus, his beloved next-door neighbor and mentor. Fire that had killed a town, murdering dozens of people. Fire that had been magical and inescapable, cast by a Death Eater. Remus was sitting in Dumbledore's office, Dumbledore's eyes were sad, Remus was trembling with fear, "Oh. He's dead, then?" and the answer was yes, and Remus was so afraid.

Afraid?

Afraid, like he'd been when he'd fallen into the Visionvines last year—like he'd been in the magical portrait—afraid, like he'd been at St. Mungo's with Madam Pomfrey—like he would be for the rest of his life, because everyone hated him ("A creature with near-human intelligence and murderous tendencies," said Auror Simmons. "This is a human school with human children," said Professor Craff. "Killed if they pose a threat," said Orion Black. "Monster," sneered Mr. Ragfarn from the Ministry. "Soulless," said Remus' father). Afraid. And it would never get better.

Never get better? Never get better, because there would never be a cure for lycanthropy, and Remus was stuck like this for the rest of his life, and there was no way out, and there was no point in doing anything, really, because he was worse than dead already. Never. Never, ever get better. Never.

The teeth sank into Remus' side, and blood was dripping, and it hurt when the werewolf pounced off of his chest and into the night, even though his mother ran to cradle him right afterwards. And pain, pain, pain that would never cease, thumping, radiating, calling, chasing, and Remus would never escape it.

It wasn't long before the next full moon.

That was Remus' last thought before Kettleburn shut the cabinet. As soon as the Dementor was gone, coolness immediately started rushing into Remus' head as if something had snapped. "Good heavens," he whispered.

"That was pretty awful," agreed James. "Can't imagine what it was like for you, mate."

"I…" Remus swayed, and James put both hands on Remus' shoulders. "…I need to sit down, I think."

"Fair enough. I'll help."

James led him to a rock, and Remus sat, head in his hands. "You're all pale," observed James. "And you're shaking."

"I feel awful."

Kettleburn handed him a large bar of chocolate. "Eat up," he said. "Chocolate contains tryptophan, which will help your body produce serotonin—and there's also a magical property in cocoa that wards off Dementors. You'll feel better."

Remus reluctantly took a bite; immediately, he felt warmer and safer, and he was able to register the beautiful night air and the comfort of his friend sitting next to him on a rock. "Yeah. That helped," he said.

"Keep eating. It was very brave of you to do that, Lupin. I know it was hard."

"No big deal," Remus lied. "I just wanted to know how it felt. Now I know."

"Now you know," repeated Kettleburn, "and I hope you never know again."

That night, when Remus was slipping under his covers, James asked him what he'd felt. "As for me, I just felt a little strange," James offered. "All sad and sorrowful. That was all."

"That was all?" scoffed Remus.

"Yeah. So what did you feel?"

Remus could feel Peter and Sirius listening, too. "I relived a couple of bad memories," he said simply. "Didn't really relive them, per se, not all the way through—just snapshots, and I knew where I really was the whole time. I knew it wasn't real."

"Like the night you were bitten?" asked Peter quietly.

"Among other things. Transformations. Things people have said to me. Finding out Questus died. You know."

Remus heard James swallow from behind his bedcurtains, and then James asked, "You never told us much about the night you were bitten. What happened?"

Remus sucked a deep breath in, and then he said, "I don't want to talk about it."

His friends were fairly quiet after that, and Remus fell asleep around midnight. He slept fitfully, but overall, he was glad he'd faced the Dementor. Professor McGonagall had said that she admired Remus for his strength… and honestly? After the Dementor, Remus admired himself a little, too. Remus Lupin had never, ever felt so much like a Gryffindor.