Before we begin, a few things.

Newcomers beware: this work is part of a series. I've already written Remus' first three years, and they total over a million words—but this is an excellent place to start. I started this work with more exposition than I normally do, so no need to read the three previous years (though there will still be some things left unexplained, as there are bound to be after 1,159,061 words of content).

All beware: this work is darker than the three before it. Remus is going to be miserable for much of it, and things like trauma + depression are dealt with extensively. If you're looking for a light and happy read, then this is not the work for you.

Updates are Wednesday and Sunday evening, Eastern Time. I have the entire thing prewritten, so you need not worry about it being abandoned :)

Fact #1: The world has always been a very big place.

Say what you will about time-space compression, technological advancement, and improved transportation. Say what you will about the effect of magical abilities, such as Apparition and Floo powder, on the perceived size of Planet Earth. Say what you will about Walt Disney's "Small World" attraction, created in 1964 for the New York World's Fair and a parasite in every parent's ear ever since. "It's a small world!" exclaim people as they see their friends in the shops or in the streets, but they're wrong. They're all wrong.

The world has always been a big place, with vast opportunity, tragedy, and celebration happening simultaneously at any given time. The world is not small. It is being built on top of history, and more history is being built every day. It is a tower that grows ad infinitum, and the most important things are insignificant in the grand scheme of history. A ten-hour shift in a dead-end job is a mere blink of an eye, and the worst imaginable pain isn't even a pinprick. The world is vast, and the world does not care about our problems. There is so much pain in the world that, in comparison, a lifetime of suffering would only be viewable under a powerful microscope.

At least, that's what Remus Lupin told himself as he waited in the cellar for the moon to rise, the stone ground hard beneath his legs and the very air closing in on him as his anxiety climbed. Everything he knew was insignificant. Tiny. It was a bleak thought, but it was the only comforting one.

In his mind, he zoomed out, imitating his friend Sirius' beloved camera. He imagined leaving the cellar. From this height, he was a mere speck. He imagined going higher. From this height, his house was a mere speck. Higher—now his town was but a piece of dust—higher—now the whole of England was the size of his hand—higher—now the earth was able to fit on a dinner plate—higher—now the very Milky Way was a drop in a glass of milk. In the grand scheme of things, Remus was tiny. He was insignificant. He was less than a germ, so the pain he was about to feel couldn't possibly be enormous… not when the whole, vast galaxy fit into the palm of Remus' hand, containing millions of years of knowledge and history, huge and yet tiny compared to the all-encompassing Everything.

It was an impossible thought to hold onto when the moon rose and the pain hit, but it had been an impossible thought to hold onto in the first place.

Or maybe, Remus decided as he sat on his bed several days later, observing the holes in his socks as he stared passively at the window, the world really was small. It was entirely possible that each person had an individual world, and history was something entirely different—something that was created by worlds colliding.

Or maybe that was wrong, too. Maybe there was a middle ground. Perhaps the world was unthinkably massive, but it presented itself in the form of an illusion. Maybe the world was a trickster, like Remus and his friends sometimes liked to be. It was big, but it lied about its size. A person's mind was too small to wrap around the sheer vastness of it, so the world presented itself in bite-sized pieces so that every being on Earth wouldn't go absolutely insane.

The world was big, but Remus was small. He had small, quiet interests. He lived in a small countryside by a small wood. He had a small number of friends, and his opportunities were small. His future was small. His dreams were small. Even his socks were too small.

But Remus was okay with that, because small was less overwhelming. The littler his world, the littler his responsibility. If God existed, then Remus did not want to be him. He was all right with being Remus, just Remus, giving into the illusion of a small world and in denial about how big it truly was.

Because in Remus' world, he was significant. Sometimes, that was a curse. But now that he was no longer waiting in fear for the full moon, wishing that he did not exist, trying to convince himself that, in the grand scheme of things, he might as well not have existed… he was happy to be significant. This was Remus' world, however small, and he loved it.

Mostly.

Okay, only sometimes.

Fine. Not very often.

But in times like these, in rare times when the full moon was weeks away, when Remus could almost forget about the monster lurking within his mind and body, he felt so incredibly lucky to have a small and insignificant piece of the world to himself.

An owl flew through Remus' window, and Remus accidentally knocked his head against the bookcase while running to greet it. "I'm fine, Mum," he yelled before she could ask. "May I have this?" he asked the owl, gesturing to the letter. With a gracious hoot, the owl dropped the letter into Remus' hand before taking a bite of the toast Remus had left on his windowsill and flying off. Remus opened the letter with clumsy hands.

Dear Mr. Remus Lupin, the letter read, each character perfectly calligraphed onto the stiff, expensive-looking parchment. You are hereby cordially invited to HAHA JUST KIDDING WE'RE INVITING OURSELVES OVER TO YOUR HOUSE TOMORROW SEE YOU THEN. Most sincerely, Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail wait padfoot why is your name going first? that's not fair, i wanted to be first. Shut up, Prongs. but you went first last time, so it's my turn. Yeah, your turn to be a GIT but anyway. See ya tomorrow, Moony!

Remus put down the letter with a grin. In his first year, James had bought each of the Marauders enchanted notebooks, linked so that anything they wrote inside would appear in the other three. All the same, there was a certain thrill attached to receiving an owl that enchanted notebooks couldn't possible replicate, and Remus had been waiting for this owl for ages.

"Mum!" he called, rushing into the sitting room, where his mother was sitting with a book and a mug of tea. "My friends want to come over tomorrow. Is that all right?"

"Of course, dear," she said with a smile. "Coming by Floo?"

"I think."

"What time?"

"Not sure."

"Well, as long as they show up after seven-thirty in the morning. You remember when they visited in the middle of the night two years ago."

"Now they're older and wiser," said Remus with a grin. "Well, not wiser. But definitely older."

"I take it Hogwarts doesn't teach much about basic manners and decorum?"

"Sometimes it does, but of course they never listen." And with that, Remus dashed back up the stairs to work out the details of their visit.

James' head popped out of the flames first. "You know, you could have just come to my house," he said, crawling out of the flames like a lanky gremlin before brushing himself off and plopping himself onto Remus' sofa. "Mum didn't mind Padfoot and Wormtail coming over for the summer—she never does—and you're usually less chaotic than they are."

"Usually?" said Remus, watching Sirius appear in the flames as well. "I'm always less chaotic than you lot are."

Sirius punched Remus lightly on the arm. "Except for one night a month. I've done plenty of chaotic things, but I've certainly never transformed into a wolf and tore apart a small house on the outskirts of Hogsmeade."

"Yes, well, there's that. But I stand by what I said. Even my brief moments of lunacy are overshadowed by the rogue Bludger that is Sirius Black."

James laughed and helped Peter out of the fireplace. "Anyway. Raving wolf or no, I'm sure my parents would love to have you over."

"You know how my parents are," said Remus. "With all the attacks that have been happening in the world, they don't really want me going out to a friend's house."

"You went to my house last summer," said Peter, "and that was after nearly your entire town and next-door neighbor were killed in a massive massacre."

"Yes, but that was before our Arithmancy professor was killed and mutilated in Hogsmeade, before a seventh-year at Hogwarts turned out to be a Death Eater, before I was mysteriously poisoned on four separate occasions, and before our house turned out to be the former home of Salazar Slytherin himself, who worked with his fellow Founders to hide a portrait underneath the floorboards that tried to kill me—hence the poison."

"Ah," said James. "But, on the bright side, you got this great new house from the British Wizarding Museum. Looks pretty nice. Now that we're finished with the not-so-subtle exposition, would you mind giving us the grand tour?"

Remus smiled. "Of course. Follow me."

He led them to the kitchen, where his mother was cooking breakfast. "You know," she said, looking at the clock, "when I said 'after seven-thirty', I meant about eight or nine. I didn't mean seven-thirty-one."

"You should have been more specific," said Sirius with a grin. "So this is the kitchen?"

"Pretty nice kitchen."

James nodded. "Yeah. Especially love the windows everywhere. Lets in some good natural light. I'd rate it an eight out of ten."

"But the question is," said Sirius, "where is the swimming pool? You told us that there would be a swimming pool, and I've yet to see it."

"You should know by now that fourteen-year-old boys are not necessarily interested in kitchens," added James.

"Yes, there's a swimming pool," said Remus with a sigh. "It's outside. Follow me."

He led them to the swimming pool, and his friends didn't waste any time before jumping in, fully clothed, shrieking from the sudden cold and splashing each other with water.

"Come on, Moony!" Peter yelled.

Remus frowned. "Well, here's the thing," he admitted, "due to the fact that I've never had a swimming pool before, paired with the fact that I've never really had any interest in the activity… I can't swim."

"Well, that's changing today," said Sirius, pulling him into the deep end.

Remus was suddenly fully submerged, and his clothes were weighing on him; water was up his nose and in his eyes, and the feeling of not touching anything at all was strange and terrifying. "Are you trying to kill me?" he gasped when Sirius pulled him above the water.

"Of course not. I wouldn't survive that endeavor."

"You certainly wouldn't." Sirius pulled Remus to the wall, and Remus clung to it with all his strength. "I'm going to drown."

"You're not going to drown," said James. "All you gotta do is move your arms like this."

"Like a demented, featherless bird?"

"If that's how you want to look at it. And kick your feet. Wow, Moony, I can't believe you've had a swimming pool since the start of summer and still haven't learned to swim."

"It never interested me."

"Because you're a boring sod."

Remus was still hanging onto the wall with both hands, afraid that he'd sink if he let go. "Just because I don't fancy drowning doesn't mean I'm boring," he said.

"If you don't fancy drowning, then maybe you should learn to swim." James paddled over and started splashing Remus in the face.

"What—what are you doing?!" Remus spluttered.

"Desensitizing you!"

"Agh! I hate you!"

"Good!"

"Get away from me!"

"Never!"

"This water tastes awful!"

"Then close your mouth!"

"Aghhhhh!"

Three and a half hours later, Remus' mother walked in on four Marauders swimming alone in the pool, splashing each other and shrieking like there was no tomorrow. "Look, Mum," said Remus. "I can swim."

She sighed. "I can see that. Now, why don't you four dry off and come in for lunch? I'm sure Remus has extra clothes you can borrow. And try not to drip all over the floors—I just cleaned them yesterday."

Remus finally thought he knew the definition of the word "golden summer".

Before he'd attended Hogwarts, summers had been terribly boring. They'd been just like the rest of the year, except for the gorgeous weather, which had only served to make things more depressing. Being indoors, isolated, and lonely was easy when it was cold. Staying indoors was much harder when the weather was the epitome of warmth and happiness, like a blanket wrapping around Remus' skin, a forbidden pleasure and a reminder of things lost. Remus had surrounded himself with books about wonderful summers, about playing outside with friends, about sitting with people just to enjoy their company and sitting in the sunshine just to enjoy the warmth—because of course he would never get to experience it himself.

Things had gotten significantly better when Remus left for Hogwarts at age eleven. He'd gone outside with his friends in the spring and stayed indoors with them in the winter. He'd sat by the lake alone, enjoying the endless freedom of being unconstrained by walls. Remus wasn't claustrophobic by any means—in fact, being trapped often made him feel safe, which was a side effect of being occasionally dangerous to society—but being free and in the open had been a nice change of pace.

But the summer after his first year had been filled with stress and worry, because Remus had been constantly terrified of his friends (increasingly becoming more sleuthlike every day) finding out the truth. The summer after second year had been awful, mostly due to the fact that Remus and his family had been recovering from losing a close family friend and watching the town next to their house be razed by Fiendfyre and Death Eaters.

This, however, was the very first summer that was genuinely relaxing. Remus' friends came over nearly every day, exploring the fields next to Remus' house, fake-duelling with sticks instead of wands, and swimming. The sun was bright, the days were long, and everything felt sunny in more than one sense. Remus completed his summer homework and then didn't think about it for the rest of the summer—a welcome alternative to his obsessing over it after first year because there had simply been nothing else to do.

Remus went back indoors one evening, his cheeks flushed from running, his stomach full from baking with his friends, and his socks damp from nearly falling into the pool after James pushed him. He bade good-bye to his friends, and they disappeared via the Floo. Then Remus turned around and beamed at his father.

"Good day?" Remus' father asked, hat still in hand from work.

"Great day," responded Remus.

"I can tell." They stared at each other for a moment, both smiling, and then Remus' father said, "You've changed so much."

"Have I?"

"Yes. Haven't you noticed? You're healthier. You've gained weight. You're happier. You talk more. You're more open, honest, and adventurous… I thank my lucky stars every day that Dumbledore was good enough to let you into Hogwarts, Remus. Your future really is brighter now, isn't it?"

Remus smiled and took off his shoes. "It sure is," he said happily.

By the end of July, Remus was beginning to feel the pull of the full moon once again. He was lethargic, he was a little bit tetchy, and there was a constant nausea in the pit of his stomach that wasn't going away. His senses were beginning to become uncomfortably sharp, and one day, he woke up with a massive migraine.

His friends, of course, still came over.

"What's going on?" asked James when Remus refused to leave the sofa and his mother politely asked them to go home.

"Migraine," Remus muttered. "Head hurts. Nausea. My vision was all wonky earlier. You should probably go home… maybe come back tomorrow."

But, to Remus' great surprise, James shook his head. "Nope," he said. "We're staying. Why don't we turn the lights on and…"

"No!" said Remus, and then winced; the sudden action had caused a new flare of pain to radiate through his head. "No, light makes it hurt worse."

"All right," said James. "That's fine. We'll all take a nap right here."

And so Remus and his friends took a nap in Remus' sitting room, pillow pressed to Remus' eyes, and then they went outside once Remus' migraine had mostly cleared. And later that day, when the migraine came back, they sat outside in the darkness and James told ghost stories while Remus wrapped himself in blankets, jammed some ice on his eyes, and tried not to vomit.

Remus really did have the best friends.

The August full moon arrived with a vengeance, but at least Remus knew what to expect.

He had a routine. He woke up around four-thirty in the morning with splitting pains invading his bones and muscles. He stumbled downstairs and collapsed onto the sofa, pulling his favorite pink blanket over his shivering body, and his mother came downstairs moments later with mussed hair, sleep in her eyes, and a hot mug of tea. "Think you can stomach any today?" she asked, gently smoothing down Remus' hair.

"Yeah, sure," he mumbled, and then he drank the tea, closed his eyes, and focused on the colored dots swimming behind his eyes until he fell asleep. He didn't eat for the rest of the day. He never did. The scents and tastes were too strong, and the mere thought of food made him nauseous.

Evening came. Remus' father helped him stagger down the cellar steps, kissed Remus' forehead, wished him good luck, and then Remus waited.

The next morning, his parents managed to get him back up the stairs and onto the sofa and feed him a Pain-Relieving Potion. Remus waited for his father to finish healing his wounds. A mixture of silver and Dittany sealed any werewolf bites or scratches, but it didn't heal them all the way. Indeed, he'd be hurting for the next week or so, which would severely damage his ability to run amok with his friends.

"M'going to sleep," he muttered, trying to ignore the strange sensation of skin knitting together.

"That's fine, Remus," his father said. "Go ahead."

And Remus did.

When he awoke, there were three people standing beside him.

"Fiddlesticks!" he shouted, accidentally knocking a bowl of soup to the floor. "What?! Why are you here? You know full well what day it is!"

James Potter flashed his signature cheeky grin and shrugged. "We always come to visit you after the full moon."

"Not always," grumbled Remus. "You forgot a few times last year. And… it's different! I'm home this time!"

"It does look different," said Peter with a frown. "You look worse. Paler. And…"

Remus looked down, where a large patch of blood had seeped through the blanket and had dripped onto the floor, leaving grotesque stains. "I'm not bleeding anymore," he muttered. "Dad must have forgotten to clean the blankets. It's always worse when I'm at home—Madam Pomfrey is a professional Healer, after all, and the Shrieking Shack is much bigger than a cellar… and Dad was never especially talented when it comes to healing magic."

He glanced at Sirius, who was rather green. Sirius had grown up in a very straight-backed, Pureblood household, and he hadn't been exposed to many things as a child. As a result, Sirius Black hated blood with a passion, and he tended to bug Madam Pomfrey to clean Remus up thoroughly before visiting.

"Dad!" Remus yelled, his voice disturbingly hoarse. "Help!"

His father came rushing in. "Oh, dear," he said. "James, Sirius, Peter. When did you get here?"

"About a minute ago."

"Huh. Okay. And… you've spilled your soup, Remus."

"Yeah. Could you clean that up? And also…" Remus gestured to himself, highly embarrassed. "I look like something out of a horror film."

"Have you ever seen a horror film?" Remus' father laughed.

"No. I've never seen a film."

"What's a film?" asked Sirius.

Remus' father finished cleaning everything up, and then he disappeared into the kitchen to get Remus a new bowl of soup. "I'll let the three of you stay, but only if Remus wants you here," he said. "I still need to heal him a bit, and Remus needs rest. He's not leaving the sofa today. Understood?"

"Of course," said James. "We'll stay anyway. Fancy a game of cards, Moony?"

Remus sighed. "Of course I do," he said.

August passed slowly, and during it, Remus decided that the massive size of the world was a good thing. His world was suddenly filled with untold opportunity and possibility. He was a werewolf, yes. He would transform every month like clockwork. He would develop arthritis in the joints that didn't already have it, he would slowly lose his voice from years of howling and reshaped vocal cords, he would probably never get a job, he'd probably die young, and he would have a tough time doing anything wonderful for the world.

But if things could be good, and if Remus could be happy, then that was all that mattered. If his friends stuck by his side for a while, then he'd be okay. After all, Remus was capable of doing and learning so much more than he'd ever been. The world was big, and Remus could go almost anywhere he wanted.

And, at the same time, the world was small—small enough to navigate, small enough to wrap his head around, and small enough to find his friends, no matter what. It was small in the coziest manner, and it was big in the most exciting way.

The future was uncertain, but Remus was certain about one thing: This was going to be the best year of his life, laws of literary cliché and foreshadowing be damned.