Fact #8: Remus liked routines.

Now, that didn't mean he didn't like things that weren't routine. Some of the happiest times of his life had been due to something unexpected and wonderful, and Remus' friends were beautifully spontaneous and unpredictable. Remus liked things that weren't routine, as long as they were good things.

And that also didn't mean that Remus liked every routine. There was a such thing as too much routine, just as there was a such thing as too much of any good thing, really. Remus had grown up in a quiet house with only his two parents for company, and everything had operated according to a routine—a routine that almost never changed, like a melody that drilled into Remus' skull. He'd thought he'd liked the melody at first, but he'd started to hate it as soon as he'd learned there were other songs to sing. Routines could be torture.

But, in general, Remus liked routines. Over the years, he had learned that a bad thing was easier to handle when one broke it into a routine. It was like cutting up a large piece of food into tiny bites: pick up a piece, chew, swallow, repeat, until every piece is gone and the plate is empty. Yes, routine was sometimes necessary, and routine was the only way that Remus could deal with something as inevitable and horrible as a full moon. And so Remus had separated the full moon into tiny, bite-sized pieces, all of which were hard to chew, but none of which were unexpectedly, singularly overwhelming.

First, he woke up. Four-thirty. Sweat all over, stinging eyes, bones and muscles radiating with pain, not able to sleep another wink.

Then, James woke up. He'd always been a light sleeper, and he usually went down to the common room with Remus and talked about mundane things that helped Remus take his mind off the impending pain. Quidditch. School. Family. It was all the same, and hard things were easier when they were all the same.

During this time, Remus would try to stomach a cup of tea, an egg, or a piece of toast before his senses got too overwhelmingly strong to eat. The nausea would set in soon, and Remus needed to take advantage of his last few moments of clarity.

Today, they were in the Hospital Wing already, and Madam Pomfrey was there, too. That was a small break to the routine, but it was a welcome one. She sat with them, joined in James' monologue (effectively making it a dialogue, which was much more interesting for Remus to listen to), and gave Remus a cool cloth. He sat awake, trying not to cry aloud, feeling as if nails were sticking into every particle of skin. He finished his toast.

The next step was sleep, and lots of it. Remus wouldn't be getting any tonight, and he could already feel the exhaustion running through his bones and pulling on his brain. There was energy, too: an inexplicable energy coursing through his blood, setting his limbs aflame and causing his muscles to tremor. Madam Pomfrey sometimes gave him a potion to help him sleep, but he didn't need it today. He could manage it on his own.

His friends didn't stay the whole day in the Hospital Wing, of course. Remus suspected they were off hunting for Mandrakes to try again this month, or perhaps setting as many booby traps as possible before the Slytherins arrived at the school. It was all right. Remus would have been more offended if they hadn't taken advantage of their fully-working, virtually painless bodies.

For Remus, things were much less interesting. Sleep came in soft intervals, like a dying candle flickering in the light. Sometimes he was awake and alert, and Madam Pomfrey told him stories of former patients and of her time in school. Sometimes he leaned over a basin, expecting to vomit, but he never did. Sometimes he drank water, Conjured freshly from Madam Pomfrey's wand into a Scourgified cup, just as he liked it when his senses were so strong. Sometimes he just lay there, under the blankets, face mashed into a pillow like his life depended on it.

The next step came around five o'clock, a mere three hours before Remus would transform, give or take. Remus changed into his transformation robes, which his father had made for him some years back—charmed fabric that disappeared come transformation and reappeared afterwards.

It wasn't as if Remus would maintain much dignity after the full moon. Madam Pomfrey would have to mostly undress him afterwards anyway to get to the wounds, and she had to help him change into the robes anyway (he was too dizzy at the moment to do it entirely on his own, and she was too fussy to let him try). But there was a certain kind of dignity that came with transforming back into a fully-clothed, fully-dressed person, and Remus would salvage as whatever small scraps of dignity he could.

The next step was always difficult. Madam Pomfrey walked Remus down to the Whomping Willow, over the tall grass, in the nearly-September chill, stars twinkling and moon leering above them. Remus had to stop every so often and wait for another wave of nausea or dizziness to pass, but leaving two and a half hours early meant that wasn't a problem. Usually, Madam Pomfrey Disillusioned the both of them (and sometimes she let Remus do it as practice), but there were no students to catch them today. The students wouldn't be arriving at Hogwarts until six-forty-five, which was more than an hour away.

They arrived at the Willow, prodded the knot, and made their way through the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack… and there the Shrieking Shack stood, in all its dark glory. Dumbledore fixed up the furniture after every full moon so that Remus would have something to destroy besides himself: there was an unblemished cherry-red armchair, a piano, a dresser, a bed, and a fireplace. It was made to look old, but it was quaint and clean. No dust, no cobwebs, a perfect temperature, and a slat between the boards was at the perfect height to function as a small window.

Remus had been afraid of transforming here back in his first year. He'd thought it looked rickety; fragile. Madam Pomfrey, after failing to calm his panic the normal way, had cast Bombarda on the wall, and the spell had left it entirely unharmed, significantly soothing Remus' fears. Many transformations later, the Shack was still standing, tall and proud and terrifying. Oxymoronically, it was quite the comfortable torture chamber indeed.

Madam Pomfrey was gripping Remus' shoulder, and now she rubbed her thumb in circles in a comforting sort of way. She led him to the armchair and helped him sit, and he scrunched his eyes together until bursts of color appeared. "I can stay for a bit," she said. "The moon doesn't rise for more than two hours. It's perfectly safe."

She always asked this. It was part of the routine, and so was Remus' answer. "No," he said. "Thank you, but no."

She patted his hand one last time, whispered, "Good luck," and then was gone.

Remus was alone.

This was the next step. Waiting. This was the second-hardest part.

The air was a bit musty inside the Shack, or perhaps it was just Remus' imagination. His breaths were shallow—he couldn't tell whether it was his lungs, preparing for the transformation like the rest of his body, or simply anxiety taking its toll. Remus had panic attacks sometimes, waiting here in the darkening Shack, praying that the inevitable wouldn't come, but he'd been getting better at keeping them at bay. It was all in the breathing. And perhaps a large part of it was unhealthy coping techniques like denial, but that didn't matter to Remus. Whatever worked, worked.

Time passed too slowly and too quickly all at once. The tremors started, and then they got so severe that Remus slid out of the armchair and knelt on the ground, drawing his knees to his chest and gripping tightly. Nothing helped. Nothing ever did.

There was one more step to go, but Remus tried not to think about that one. He'd simply go mad if he dwelt on what was coming.

The morning after a full moon was always bittersweet. On the downside, Remus was injured, bleeding, and altogether miserable. On the bright side, his nerves had just done enough stretching and reforming that he was completely numb all over. On the downside, that wore off in about fifteen to twenty minutes.

But on the bright side, Remus wouldn't have to transform again for another month. The interval between full moons was never so large as it was directly after one. He could be happy about that. He could be happy that it was over.

Remus always sat up after a full moon, even though Madam Pomfrey didn't want him to. He needed to move, if only a little bit, to get reacquainted with his human form. He would demand to walk back to the Hospital Wing, too, even though Madam Pomfrey hated that even more. She'd let him, though. She always did. That was the only good thing about pity: Remus could get away with murder (bad choice of words. Remus literally would murder someone as a wolf if they came too close, though he doubted he would get away with it, especially as far as the Ministry was concerned).

But Madam Pomfrey hadn't arrived yet, and Remus was alone. He planted both numb palms on the ground and heaved himself into a sitting position, leaning against the wall—then he coughed a thick, throaty cough that was wet with blood, spitting everything he could muster onto the ground. There were puddles of blood on the ground, seeping through Remus' robes, dripping from his arm, caked in his hair. There were deep scratches in the wall and floor. Red-soaked stuffing from the armchair was scattered all over the room, and wood chips from the bed and piano accompanied it. Remus closed his eyes.

It wasn't long before Madam Pomfrey arrived. "Oh, dear," she said. "You've done a number on yourself this time, haven't you?"

"Morning," mumbled Remus, because it was the only word he could think of. He stared at his hands. He was missing a fingernail.

"Stay still. I'll heal the worst of it, and then we'll head back."

"Can't breathe."

"Yes, you can. Calm down. Deep breaths. You're okay."

Remus tried. He absentmindedly watched Madam Pomfrey do various spells, rub silver and Dittany onto his wounds, and comfort and chastise him in equal intervals. "You're being very brave," she would say, directly followed by, "You really shouldn't be sitting up," followed by, "Everything's going to be okay," followed by, "I swear, Lupin, if you don't stop fidgeting, I shall turn you into a pumpkin."

She walked him back to the Hospital Wing, ever so slowly, and Remus gritted his teeth at the pain as his nerves started working properly again. Tears were openly streaming down his face when they arrived back at the Wing, and Madam Pomfrey gave him a handkerchief to wipe them away. He took a Pain-Relieving Potion while Madam Pomfrey fixed him up as much as she could, and then he slept.

That was it for this month. Remus' friends would come by to visit soon, and Remus would be out of the Hospital Wing in a few days (always at least two, per Madam Pomfrey's request, even though he sometimes felt he could be out after twenty-four hours).

It was a routine, and routines were easier to grasp. Did Remus want to grasp the bleak reality and repetitiveness of his lycanthropy? No, not particularly. Not at all. But if he couldn't eradicate the inevitable, then he might as well find a way to cope with it. It was all he could do.

His friends dashed into the Hospital Wing after suppertime. By then, Remus was looking somewhat presentable: Madam Pomfrey had spent the day cleaning up his wounds and running a comb and water through his blood-caked hair. He'd felt up to taking a bath a few hours earlier, and now he felt clean, fresh, and ready to deal with the least routineful people he knew.

"You'll never believe what happened!" cried Peter.

"Let me tell it!" said James. He plopped down on Remus' bed next to his feet, narrowly missing a wound, and Remus cringed.

"Careful, mate."

"I am being careful. Didn't even touch you. Anyway. You'll never believe it!"

"I live in a magical school and just transformed into a bloodthirsty beast with four legs. Try me."

"Okay. Andrew didn't come back!"

"WHAT?!" Remus sat up a little bit straighter, ignoring the tendrils of pain lacing his spine. "He didn't? Is he all right?"

"Let me start from the beginning." James was talking with his hands now, waving them around to illustrate his story, which meant that he was very much absorbed in the drama. "So we walk into the Great Hall for the feast, right? And we were sort of worried about you, so we weren't really listening…"

"Oh, save it. You weren't listening because you were having a swordfight with your spoons or something equally ridiculous."

James looked fully unabashed. "Forks, actually."

"I won," piped up Sirius.

"Anyway," said James, "Albus stood up at the front, gave his normal welcoming speech—you know, stay out of the Forbidden Forest, third years must have forms to go to Hogsmeade, be careful, there's a war… all that. Then he said… Padfoot? You do better impressions than I do."

Sirius straightened up and donned a very Dumbledore-esque expression. "Unfortunately, I bring tidings of sorrow as well as routine announcements. You may remember Professor Andrew Dilley, who swore he'd be back to teach this year. I regret to inform you that, on his way to King's Cross, he was chased by an angry rhinoceros who had escaped from the London Zoo. He had no choice but to Apparate away, and in the process of doing so under extreme stress, he Splinched himself. Fortunately, it was only a toenail. Unfortunately, he accidentally Apparated into the middle of the ocean, where a band of pirates kidnapped him. He managed to defeat them, but then he accidentally sailed the boat into a grove of baby Mandrakes. He is currently in a state of very deep sleep because of prolonged and intense exposure to their cries, and he will not be able to return to his post this year."

Remus stared. "You're joking."

"Nope. He said all that."

"Oh, dear."

"Anyway," said James, "now Albus has to find a new Defense professor. He doesn't like doing things so last-minute, but he says he'll find one soon. For right now, Defense classes are canceled, which means we have a free period!"

"Wow," said Remus. "I suppose there's no doubt about the curse now."

"Nope, not really. Everyone's pretty convinced that there really is a nasty curse on the position."

Remus sighed. "I've had enough of curses. Fed up with them, really."

"Yeah, we know. Let's talk about something else. Ooh! Let's play a game! I'm thinking of a number between one and seven million…."

Fact #9: Lily Evans was in the Hospital Wing.

Evans had taken to wearing a bit of perfume and a bit of make-up, and Remus could smell both on her (as well as her distinctive buttery scent) all the way from Madam Pomfrey's office. He and Evans were not friends. They'd used to be, but they had made a mutual decision back in first year that their friend groups were simply too diverse for them to mesh properly, and then they'd gone their separate ways. Things had been mostly cordial between them since then, save for a few spats.

Remus had been sleeping when she'd come in, so he had no idea what was wrong with her. Madam Pomfrey wasn't in the Hospital Wing right now—probably in the loo or taking a shower down the corridor—so Remus' only hint was that there was no scent of blood and that Evans was breathing deeply, probably asleep.

Remus heard the door open, and then the scent and sound of Severus Snape bled into the room. "Lily," he heard him whisper.

Evans breathed in sharply as she woke. "Severus."

"I'm sorry."

"You should be." Evans' tone was surprisingly cold. Evans and Snape didn't spend as much time together as they'd used to—they'd been friends upon coming to Hogwarts, but then they'd found new friends, as a result of being in different dormitories and different Houses. But they still sat next to each other in shared classes and during meals, and they always paired up during Duelling Club. They were still best friends, and everyone knew it… so what had happened?

"I didn't ask them to do it," said Snape, nearly begging.

"You didn't tell them to stop."

"I didn't have time!"

"Then you should have made time! You're an excellent duellist, Severus!"

"But… there's no duelling in the corridors. It's a rule. I could have gotten in trouble."

"You duel James Potter in the corridors. Getting in trouble has never bothered you before. Besides, am I not worth getting in trouble? Is that what it is? You just watched them hurt me!"

"It… it wasn't lethal! They were just having a laugh!"

"At my expense! But I don't matter, is that it? I don't matter, because I'm only a Muggle-born, and I'm less than worthy of saving—of treating as an equal. Sound about right to you?"

"No! You know I've never thought of you like that!"

"Yet you didn't care enough to help me."

Remus had stopped breathing, fearful that Snape or Evans would hear him and open the door. If they did, then it would all be over—Remus' secret would be revealed, and he'd never find out what had happened to Lily Evans.

"I care," said Snape firmly. "I care about you, Lily. I care so much. But I was… afraid. I panicked."

"So you're a coward."

"I'm not a coward! Everyone is afraid sometimes!"

"You're allowed to be afraid! You're supposed to do the right thing anyway!"

Snape released a frustrated groan. "Lily! I made a mistake, okay? And I'd help you if it happened again, I promise. But it was over in the span of a second, and I didn't even see the bloke behind the wall. What did you expect me to do, block an attack I didn't even know was coming?"

"No! I expected you to help me while they laughed instead of waiting until they left!"

"That isn't fair! I was in shock! Don't you think you're being a bit dramatic?"

There was silence, and then Evans sighed. "You're right, Sev," she said. "You're always right. I'm being dramatic, and I had no right to get so angry. It's just… I feel like you avoid me when your friends are around."

"I don't. We sit next to each other in class and at meals. We partner up in Duelling Club. They see us together all the time, and I don't care."

"Perhaps I'm just being paranoid. You know I have a temper."

"Yeah, I know." Severus laughed a little, and Remus heard a chair being scraped across the floor. Robes brushed against wood as Snape sat down, presumably next to Evans' bed. "You just love justice is all, and you want everyone to do the right thing. There's nothing wrong with that. Righteous anger is good as long as you control it, right?"

"I like to think so. I'm so glad I have you."

"I'm glad you have me, too. Oh, guess what? I have enough money to get tickets to that play that's happening in London over Christmas holidays! I saved up money from my job at the convenience store all summer, and I have just enough for two tickets. Do you want to go with me?"

Evans gasped. "I'd love to! But, Sev, I thought you were saving up for your schoolbooks."

"I got some old ones from a friend. I figure I might as well use the money for something better."

"I'll say it's better. Maybe I'll pitch in to buy Tuney a ticket, too. I probably have enough pocket money."

"Oh… no, don't invite her. It'll be more fun just the two of us."

"But I feel bad for her. She does so want to be a witch. I'll ask her and let you know."

"…Okay."

Suddenly, the door opened, and Madam Pomfrey came back in. "Ah, Mr. Snape. It's good to see you. You'll be happy to note that Miss Evans should be completely recovered by now."

"Yeah, I feel great," said Evans. "I can go back to class, then?"

"Absolutely. It was just a Fire-Breathing Jinx. You're all right; you just needed bed rest for the shock."

Remus' blood ran cold.

It couldn't have been his friends, could it? Yes, he'd used that exact jinx on them recently, but everything about the conversation had implied that it had been Snape's Slytherin friends who had hexed Evans, not the Marauders…

There was no point in worrying about it. Remus drank the rest of the water Madam Pomfrey had fetched for him, ate a cheese sandwich, and then fell back asleep… just like always.

Rotate. Rinse. Repeat. Routine.