"I don't know the story of the Wulver," said James at lunch, but Remus ignored him.
"I don't know the story of the Wulver," said Sirius at supper, but Remus ignored him.
"I don't know the story of the Wulver," called Peter in the dormitory that evening while Remus was brushing his teeth, "and since no one else is around, you really have no excuse for not telling us."
Remus sighed as best he could (with a mouth full of toothpaste) and spat the toothpaste into the sink. He spent a long time drying off his face, and then he turned on the tap to take a shower.
"NO," called James. "I know you can hear us, Moony! And you don't need a shower! You took one this morning!"
Remus sighed again, more dramatically this time, and turned the tap back off. "Fine, I'll tell you," he called. "But it's a stupid story."
Straightening out his pajamas, he emerged from the lavatory, possible excuses running through his head. When he decided that there were none, he sat down and plopped Bufo on his lap, petting him slowly. "So," he said, "there's this Scottish story about Wulvers. It originated on the Shetland Islands, but many other people claim to have seen these Wulvers as well. It's popular amongst Muggles, too, but wizards took the legend and made it a lot more complex."
"As wizards do," said James.
"The legend, at its simplest form, is about a group of kindly wolf-people who leave humans fish."
Remus paused to take a breath, and his friends broke into rapturous laughter while he did so. "Fish?" cried Sirius. "The werewolves just… caught fish? And give them to people?"
"Yeah, fish. I don't think most werewolves are patient enough to go fishing, myself."
"Wow."
"Yeah." Remus gazed down at Bufo, who was croaking contentedly. "The wizards expanded upon that. Made up this story that werewolves attracted fish, and that wizards could always find a stream of fish following a werewolf wading through the stream."
"Do the werewolves attract fish when they're in human form, too?" asked James.
"It's a story, Prongs. Werewolves do not attract fish. That's just an old wives' tale."
"Okay, fine. In the legend, would werewolves attract fish if they were in human form?"
"Well, yes. According to the legend, it's one of the most surefire ways to tell if a person is a werewolf. Drop them in a pond: if fish swim away, then they're not a werewolf. If fish swim toward them, then they are. But it's not true. I promise."
"Wow. So that's the story of the Wulver?"
"No, actually. That's the story of the Wulvers, plural. The story of the Wulver isn't a legend: it's actually true, and a lot of people think that the other stories originated from the historical account of the Wulver."
Remus took a deep breath, trying to think of why Manard would bring up this story. He'd read the book later and try to figure it out. There was no way that Manard had done it just to be kind.
"Basically," Remus continued, "there was this man living in Scotland—David Grubson—who happened to be a werewolf. He was a very kind man, if not a bit unkempt, and he used to catch fish and give them to the poor villagers. Most people, even Muggles, thought he was part-wolf because of his excessive beard, and wizards knew him to be a werewolf. Yet they lived in harmony, because David always went far away for his transformations and always helped the poor, even when it meant he would go hungry himself."
"That sounds like something you would do, Moony," said Peter.
"I don't attract fish, remember? And I'm very bad at fishing. So no. Anyway, they seemed to like David. He was the center of town for a while. That's all. It's not much of a story. Just a kind werewolf who caught fish for people."
"It's not very interesting," said Sirius.
"You're right. But it's one of the only stories out there about a good werewolf, so Dad told it to me once when I was little. Wanted me to know that kindness was possible, even when the world told me it wasn't. Wanted me to know that I could find a place amongst humans, no matter how hostile they seemed." Remus shrugged. "As long as it doesn't include fish-catching, which I am woefully terrible at."
"Nice story," said James. "Why didn't you want to tell it to us?"
"What do you mean?"
"You seemed reluctant. What was the problem?"
"Oh." To tell the truth, Remus really wasn't sure why he hadn't wanted to tell them. He just felt like there was something else there… something scary… something else about the Wulver that Manard wanted Remus to know. Perhaps he'd left a secret message in the book. This was revenge for the essay, Remus knew it, and he didn't want his friends to see that revenge.
"I just get tired of talking about werewolves sometimes," said Remus with a shrug. "That's all."
"Oh. Okay. Sorry."
"It's fine. I'm going to bed, though." Remus scooped Bufo into his arms and placed him onto his pillow. "Good night, Bufo," he said. "Good night, Prongs. Padfoot. Wormtail."
Then he curled up under his covers and tried to forget about the book. He'd worry about it come morning.
As it turned out, Remus Lupin was awful at not worrying about things.
It was one in the morning, and Remus pulled the book from under his bed, closed his curtains, and read by the light of his wand. He read about the origins of the legend, looked closely at the pictures, and read every single quote. He looked at accounts of sightings, maps, and artifacts. He pored over the book, cover-to-cover, trying to figure out why on earth Manard had given it to him. Why would Manard spend money on Remus, if not to humiliate or upset him? It simply didn't make sense.
He reached the last chapter, and promptly learned exactly why Manard had gifted him the book.
The Wulver, the kind and generous werewolf of Scotland, had been brutally murdered by a villager one day. No one knew why. Perhaps he'd killed someone, or perhaps the villager had been less than accepting of his status as a werewolf. Whatever the reason, the Wulver's corpse was found with a knife stuck in its ribcage, and no one had mentioned him after that.
Remus' father had never told Remus that part.
Remus stared at the pictures, wondering if the book was a threat. Was Manard going to kill him? Somehow, Remus didn't think so. Manard was cruel, but he didn't seem like someone to murder a student. Besides, he'd had plenty of opportunity to do it already. It seemed that he wanted Remus alive, if only to make him suffer.
No, it probably wasn't a threat. It was probably just a reminder of the inevitability of Remus' fate. No matter how nice he was, no matter how self-sacrificing, no matter how many O.W.L.s he got and how many stellar essays he wrote… in the end, people would hate him. It was inevitable.
Or maybe Manard hadn't known what was in the book and really had just gotten it to be nice. To mess with Remus' head, most likely.
Remus scowled. He'd almost rather there be an actual threat or insult hidden within the pages of the book, because he preferred feeling offended to feeling confused.
Halloween was normally a joyous occasion at Hogwarts, but it was very unlikely to be so this year. While the rest of the school prepared for the inevitable chaos of a Hogwarts Halloween—a Halloween that included over-the-top decorations, costumes worn to class, and ghosts floating jubilantly through the corridors—Remus lay in bed and felt sorry for himself.
"A blue moon," he said, looking out the window sadly. "A full moon, a blue moon, and it's on Halloween night. On Halloween! How horrible is that?"
"Pretty horrible," said Peter. James was off practicing for Quidditch tryouts, which were scheduled for November first (Remus would miss them), and Sirius was with James. Remus hadn't budged from bed all day, and Peter had done something very surprising and elected to stay in with Remus instead of gallivanting around with James and Sirius. "Are blue moons worse than regular full moons?" Peter asked Remus.
"No. It's just annoying that there are two full moons in one month."
"I see."
"This is so upsetting. James and Sirius and probably going to plan some major thing, and I'm going to be stuck in the Hospital Wing, getting lectured by Madam Pomfrey about how depressed I am."
"Have you finished that checklist she gave you?"
"No! The only one left is something fun, and I don't know if I can do that right now. The full moon is too close, and I'm too ill. I've run out of time."
Peter frowned. "I'm sure we could do something fun. It shouldn't be hard. You're up for a game of chess sometimes when you're poorly—how does that sound?"
"Nothing is fun right now. Nothing has been fun for a while. That's the whole problem, Wormtail—I do fun things, but they feel more like a chore. I look forward to going to sleep every night, and that's pretty much all I look forward to. This is an impossible item to check off."
"You haven't had any fun?"
"In small bursts, maybe, but it's always unexpected. I can't plan for it. I can't decide to have fun like I used to."
"Oh. What if we…?"
"No, Wormtail. I give up. I'm not going to complete the list. What's she going to do, fail me? The Hospital Wing is not a class!"
There was a long moment of silence as Peter considered this, and then he said, "You really feel too awful to do anything, Moony?"
"I'm fatigued, and my muscles hurt. Stop it, Peter. I give up."
"Fine."
They sat in silence, and Remus took the time to indulge in massive amounts of beautiful self-pity. He hated his life. Why were things so much harder for him than they were for his friends? They could run, they could play, they could speak. They didn't have pains running up and down their limbs while trying to focus in class. They didn't have to navigate bandages and blood every month. They didn't have to schedule in time to recover from moons. Sirius and Peter had never even broken a bone! How unfair was that?
Suddenly, the lights shut off.
"Thanks," said Remus, who was still in a self-pitying sort of mood. "I assume you just forgot I was here when you were leaving. It's all right. Everyone forgets about me."
"Calm down," said Peter. "I'm still here. I just shut the lights off."
"Why?"
"Because we're going to build a fire."
"A… a what?"
"A fire. Get out of bed. I know you can. It's only October twenty-ninth, and the moon isn't for a couple of days."
Remus gave Peter a dirty look, and then he slowly crawled out of bed. His head spun and throbbed, and his eyesight felt laggy. "Not feeling great, Pete," he mumbled.
"That's because you've been staring at one spot in the wall for hours, and you haven't had any water today. So here's some water."
He thrust a glass into Remus' hands, and Remus sighed. "You don't need to baby me."
"I'm not. I'm friendly-ing you. Isn't this what friends do? Isn't this what you would do for me?"
Remus glared at Peter, and then he glared at the glass itself, but he ended up sipping slowly. He set it down. "Right. Okay. I s'pose I'm feeling a bit better now."
"Good, because we're about to build a fire."
"You keep saying that, but I don't see how that's possible."
Peter grinned, and then he grabbed a large bowl from his closet and placed it on the ground. He took some parchment, crumpled it up, placed it in the bowl, and then pointed his wand at it. "Ready?"
"NO, Peter!"
"Incendio!"
The paper was on fire. It was contained in the bowl. Remus was alive.
"This is so dangerous," he whispered.
"Good. Fun usually includes danger, right? That's what Prongs and Padfoot always say."
"I… oh, Peter. This is ridiculous."
"Good, because it's about to get even more ridiculous. Wait here."
Remus sat by the flames as Peter dashed out of the dormitory, wondering if he should put them out. But he didn't—for whatever reason, Remus watched the fire burn, intensely curious about how the situation would play out.
Peter returned only a couple of minutes later, panting heavily and carrying a large bag that smelled of sugar. "What's going on?" Remus asked.
"I got marshmallows!" Peter set the bag on the ground and grinned. "I went camping with Mum when I was little, and it was the most fun I'd ever had. We slept in a tent, and we saw the stars, and… oh! We need stars, too. I bet we could make some!"
After a few moments of milling around, Peter had lit up his wand and placed a piece of parchment with holes over the tip, projecting small pinpricks of light onto the ceiling and walls. He began to build a tent out of pillows and blankets. "Come on, Moony!" he said. "Help me out!"
And so Remus did. The next twenty minutes were spent sticking blankets all around the dormitory and laughing, and then they sat in front of the flames and toasted marshmallows. They each told a couple of scary stories that were much funnier than they were scary, and Remus even found it within himself to make a growling sound effect during his tale (a story about an invisible tiger that made him laugh so hard that he could barely get the words out).
Peter jumped and started laughing. "That was really good, Moony!" he said. "It sounded real!"
"Oh," said Remus, who had never before growled in human form. "I'm sorry."
"No, don't apologize! I want to know how to do it!"
"Growling?"
"Yeah! Teach me!" Peter looked directly into Remus' eyes and then made a horrible, strangled noise in the back of his throat. "Was that good?"
Remus laughed so hard that he was lightheaded. "No!" he said. "No, that was terrible!"
It was exhilarating, being able to joke about werewolves so freely, and Remus was having the time of his life. Next, they played hide-and-go-seek with Bufo, who was very good at hiding in the folds of the blankets; they had a brief snowball fight with wadded-up handkerchiefs; they pretended to swim on a blue blanket and build sandcastles with quills; and they shut off the starlight, put out the fire, and pretended to hide in the heart of a dangerous forest.
Remus had pretty good night vision, so it wasn't nearly as exhilarating for him as it was for Peter (who claimed that he could not see a thing in the pitch blackness). That was probably a good thing, though, because Remus knew exactly how it was to be at the mercy of wild creatures, and it wasn't exactly a feeling he wanted to recreate. "Don't make a sound," he whispered to Peter. "The lions in this forest are sneaky and deadly. You won't even know they're coming until it's too late."
They sat in silence for a while. Every so often, Peter snickered nervously under his breath, and Remus could tell that his heart rate was off the charts. Then, Remus moved right next to his ear and growled…
Peter shrieked, flailed his arms, and accidentally knocked down a blanket. Remus scrambled up and flipped on the lights, and then the two of them collapsed onto the ground, laughing hysterically.
Remus' lungs weren't in excellent shape after being reformed like wet clay twice every full moon, so he sat up soon afterward, clutching his chest and wheezing slightly. "Okay, okay… stop," he panted. "Let me catch my breath."
The laughter died, and Remus breathed slowly and deeply, waiting for the wheeze to stop. "That was so much fun," he choked. "I haven't had that much fun in ages."
"I haven't eaten that many marshmallows in ages," said Peter, looking at the empty bag of marshmallows that they'd managed to finish off together. "I feel a bit sick."
Remus laughed a little. "Me too, but in the best way possible."
About seven minutes later, James and Sirius returned, cheeks pink from the autumn wind and smiling brightly. "What's all this?" James asked, gesturing to the horrible mess of blankets and ash from the fire, and Peter and Remus hurried to set it all up again and show James and Sirius what they'd been doing.
That night, the Marauders fell asleep beneath blankets and makeshift stars, lying on pillows, surrounded by the distinct scent of marshmallows. "Was it fun?" Peter had asked quietly just before Remus had fallen asleep, and Remus hadn't even hesitated before saying, "Yes, of course."
Perhaps it had just been the shock of seeing Peter light something on fire in the dormitory. Perhaps it had been all the sugar. Perhaps it had been the thrill of pretend danger (which was a lot more fun than real danger). Whatever the reason, Peter had done the impossible, and it had been fun.
Remus woke up the next morning with Bufo sleeping on his chest, Sirius' arm splayed across his face, and aches and pains in every muscle. It was October thirtieth, and the full moon was in about thirty-seven hours.
"Thirty-seven hours to go," he muttered.
"You're up early," he heard Sirius say. "It's a little early in the morning for self-pitying, don't you think?"
"You're awake?"
"Of course I'm awake."
"So… your arm is on my face on purpose?"
"It's not my fault that your face is so comfortable."
Remus sighed and pushed Sirius' arm off his face. "Sirius?" he said, staring at the ceiling intently.
"Yeah?"
"Yesterday was fun."
"It was, wasn't it? I had a good time."
"If you do the Animagus thing, and something goes wrong… I'll never have fun again."
"Sure you will."
"I won't." Remus turned to face Sirius directly, staring straight into his eyes. "I tease you lot all the time, but I would be absolutely devastated if anything were to happen to you on my account. Making new friends isn't nearly as easy for me as it is for you. You're probably the only friends I'll ever have, and you're irreplaceable in more ways than one."
"So are you," said Sirius.
"Are you joking? It would be so easy for you to get another friend. Everyone loves you lot. You're incredibly popular."
"Not another Remus Lupin," said James fiercely, piping in. "There's only one of those, and we're determined to help you. I don't understand why it's so hard for you to grasp this, Moony. You'd risk your life to save us. We'd risk our lives to save you. And besides, this isn't even a risk. We're very clever, you know. We can do it."
Remus sighed and sat up wearily, rubbing his face. "I don't know why I even try," he said, and then he pushed down all his feelings of frustration and tried to hang on to the feeling from the night before, overall exhausted of worrying.