Remus tried his hardest to sneak into the dormitory undetected, but James woke up as soon as he opened the door. "Curse you and your light sleeping habits," Remus muttered.

James sat up. "Where have you been? We looked for you all over!"

"Erm. Well, I was… see, I snuck out to the Forbidden Forest. I just needed to clear my head."

"Why didn't you take my Cloak? You could have been caught!"

"I didn't think I needed it. It's late in the day. No one is outside."

James shook his head. "You're getting reckless, Moony," he said, "and when you get reckless like this, something's usually wrong. I'm going to find out what it is."

With that, James rolled over and went to sleep, and Remus tried not to think about how, exactly, James planned to do that. Only three years ago, James had been insistent on finding out why Remus disappeared on the full moon every month, and, well—that certainly hadn't turned out the way Remus had wanted it to.

Remus hadn't heard of Fenrir Greyback—really heard of him, really found out who and what he was—until he was seven years old.

He had been sitting on the couch, pretending to read a book (but really, he was just staring blankly at the pages, because he had been reading for three hours and was frankly quite bored of it). His father had been sitting on his armchair, and his mother sat right beside him with her own book.

Remus had eventually closed his eyes and let the book fall onto his chest, but he wasn't sleeping. No more than ten minutes later, Remus had heard his father exclaim, "Merlin's beard!"

Remus did not open his eyes, but he heard his mother say, "What is it, Lyall?"

"Greyback," he said, much more quietly. "Murdered a whole family yesterday night. Oh, Hope, the details are horrific… the parents refused to join the Death Eaters, and Greyback broke into their home while they were eating in the dining room. The father died with his wand in his hand, but he was too slow… the mother's wand had been out of reach… one child was disemboweled, and only an arm was left of the oth—"

Suddenly, Remus heard his father break down into sobs, and when he opened his eyes, both of his parents were crying. "What's wrong?" Remus asked, thoroughly confused. He understood how serious death was, but he didn't understand why it had affected his parents so severely. They didn't know these people, right?

Remus' father looked up, eyes red, but otherwise shocked and composed. "Remus. I thought you were sleeping."

"No. Who's Greyback?"

There was a long moment of silence, and then Remus' mother finally said, "He's a werewolf, honey."

Remus knew about werewolves. It had been a year and a half since he'd been attacked on that rainy February night, and he still remembered it clearly. He always would. "Greyback didn't lock himself up in the cellar," said Remus quietly.

Another pause.

"No, dear. He didn't," said Remus' mother. "He's not a good person."

"Like Walter," said Remus, referencing the villain in his favorite book series, Maxwell Melephant and the Giant Elephant.

"Even worse than Walter."

"Oh."

And that had been it. That was young Remus' first exposure to Greyback, but it wouldn't be his last—Greyback would come up again and again, in books, in newspapers, and in his parents' late-night conversations when they thought that Remus was sleeping. Greyback was a myth, a fairy-tale, the monster under the bed. Remus only ever heard bits and pieces of his exploits, and he almost didn't think he was real—for how could someone so horrific possibly be real?

Remus hadn't learned who had bitten him until he was ten. Then, names had been put to faces, labels had been assigned to memories, and Greyback had felt more real than the back of Remus' own hand.

The fear of Greyback, however, came and went. Last year, Remus hadn't thought about Greyback at all, almost. He was in Remus' past, and Remus' present had worries and fears enough of its own. But now—now that the threat of Greyback was looming large in every direction, Remus was frightened. He remembered all the blood and horror of the stories, all the fragmented tales of fragmented bodies, and he felt viscerally afraid.

His heightened senses made him jumpy, but now he was even more jumpy than he normally was. When Peter's spoon clinked against his bowl too loudly, Remus flinched. Whenever James' voice got to a certain volume threshold, Remus jumped. And when Sirius dropped a textbook on the floor, Remus nearly fell out of his chair.

"Calm down, mate," said James, patting Remus on the back (Remus jumped at that, too). "I promise books don't bite."

"Right," Remus grumbled.

He felt like Greyback was behind him all the time, even with the enhanced senses. Every time he turned around, he felt Greyback's eyes staring holes into the back of his head… he felt his claws on his shoulder… he felt the bite on his left side burn and twist, reminding him that he wasn't whole nor human anymore, and the one who had made him so remembered their last encounter and was waiting in the shadows to strike again.

It was ridiculous. Remus had excellent senses, and he knew he'd sense Greyback coming before he even stepped into the room. Remus knew he should be perfectly safe… but it was just something about the fact that Greyback had been more myth than monster for so long—something about the fact that he'd been seemed powerful, so inevitable, so shrouded in mystery… subconsciously, Remus was certain that he'd find a way to sneak up on Remus. He had done exactly that nearly a decade ago. He could do it again.

Nights were the worst. At night, Remus knew he wouldn't be aware if Greyback snuck up behind him, because Remus' senses were of no use when he was sleeping. Remus had been attacked by Greyback while sleeping once before, and it wasn't an experience he wanted to relive.

The nightmares that had so often plagued Remus during his first year returned with a passion. Greyback had come onto the Hogwarts grounds… he had somehow left a note by the Hospital Wing door… he had been inside the Shrieking Shack. How had he entered? Had he gone through the Whomping Willow? Why hadn't anyone seen him? It must have been nighttime.

Remus woke up twice a night in a cold sweat, images of Greyback infesting his brain like a parasite. He was sleeping, and he awoke to Greyback's hand on his neck… he was nearly five years old, and his window was broken… he was in Transfiguration class, and even the formidable Professor McGonagall could not stop Greyback from murdering every single student in the class, except for Remus, whom he dragged to Hogsmeade, and then the two of them Apparated away to a musky cave, where Greyback held Remus captive and forced him to kill.

James always awoke with Remus. "Something's happened to give you so many nightmares," he said. "Are they nightmares of what happened to you, are they nightmares of you killing us, or are they nightmares of the massacre at the end of last year?"

"Erm," said Remus, because telling James the truth felt too suspicious. "It's the last one."

"So something happened recently to remind you of John Questus."

"No. Not really. It's just… the war."

"Liar. You're not having nightmares of the war. The war hasn't gotten any worse in a while."

"It could, though."

"Something's going on," insisted James, "and I'm going to find out what it is."

On Friday, Manard pulled Remus aside after class. "You all can go on," he told the other Marauders with a smile. "You'll be working with wolfsbane in your next class, so Remus is going to stay here and go over some theory with me."

They left, somehow not suspicious at all, and Remus slowly sank back into his seat. "What is it, Professor?" he asked.

"I wanted to make sure you have a really good excuse for being gone all weekend, of course. Your friends are going to be very suspicious. You need something that they won't question."

"I can't tell them the truth? I mean, knowing that Greyback is after me isn't going to clue them on to the fact that you hate me… in fact, since you're helping me, it might actually be beneficial."

"Of course you can't tell them. They'll go looking for Greyback themselves."

"But…."

"But nothing, Remus. It's always better to be safe than sorry. Now, what's your excuse?"

Remus frowned. "I suppose I could say I'm going home for the weekend. I could say it's my dad's birthday or something."

"Do they know where you live?"

"Yes."

"Will they try to visit you?"

"…Probably."

"I thought so. Any other ideas?"

"I, erm… no. I can't really think of anything."

Manard sighed. "Must I do everything for you? Tell them your parents are taking you for a potential cure. Don't tell them where."

"They know how I feel about potential cures. I've tried plenty in my childhood, and now I'm staunchly against taking anything that hasn't been proven to work."

"Then say it's been proven. I don't care."

"They'll research it."

"How?"

"They'll tell Madam Pomfrey or Professor Dumbledore."

"Get them not to."

"This isn't a very good idea."

Manard shook his head exasperatedly. "Well, let me know when you have a better one, Lupin. For now, it's this. Make sure to tell your friends by the end of the day."

Remus nodded, looking at the floor. There seemed to be a constant lump in his throat these days, and he had no idea how to get rid of it.

"Remember," said Manard, "be here at six with your things packed. I would recommend wearing boots and bringing plenty of water."

"I don't own boots."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"Wow, okay. You'll probably need new shoes by the end of this trip, then. Those aren't going to last very long after days of walking in the forest."

Remus tried not to think about what new shoes would cost. His family was more well-off than they'd been in the past, thanks to the sizable gift that Questus had left them in his will, but Remus had been raised to be conscious of money, and he was having a hard time stopping.

"See you at six o'clock sharp," said Manard, and Remus stumbled out of the room, terrified of the weekend to come.

Two hours to go.

James was practicing Quidditch with Peter and Sirius, and Remus was packing. He slowly packed his toothbrush, his comb, and enough clothes for two days. He packed some books and a bit of homework. He packed his Pensieve, so that he could keep working on his Arithmancy project.

One and a half hours to go.

His friends came back to the dormitory, just as Remus knew they would. He heard them coming and swallowed, but the lump did not leave his throat.

Sirius stepped into the room first and stopped in his tracks, causing James to run directly into him. "Why are you packing?" he asked. "Are you going somewhere?"

Remus tried to assume the expression of someone who was telling the truth. "I'm going away for the weekend," he said, praying they wouldn't ask any more questions.

Unfortunately, they did. "Where?" asked James, eyeing Remus suspiciously.

"Well, Mum and Dad heard of someone who claims to have cured lycanthropy. He's a friend… of a friend… of one of Dad's coworkers, and he was in a magazine a while back. We're going to try it out."

"So that's why you've been so weird lately," breathed James. "Why didn't you just tell us?"

That wasn't why Remus had been being weird, actually, but he wasn't about to tell James the truth. "I… I don't know," he said truthfully.

Peter wrinkled his nose. "Moony, you hate going for cures."

Remus looked at the carpet in what he hoped was a reluctant sort of way. "Well, I, er… yeah. I was going to tell them that I didn't want to, but… I'm really tired of transforming every month, you know? I want a cure for lycanthropy more than anything else in the world—anything—and I reckon I'm willing to go through some unpleasant things if it helps me to get that. Wouldn't you do the same thing?"

"We're working on a cure right now," said James. "Well, not a cure, but a way to help you. That's why we have Mandrake leaves in our mouths, remember?"

"How could I forget?" mumbled Remus. "Look, lads, I'm thankful, but I'd rather not transform at all than let you risk your lives for this minuscule chance of being helpful. Even if it works exactly as you expect it to, you won't cure what I've got. Transforming will still hurt, I still won't be human, and…"

"You're doing this because of us," said Peter. "You're trying to cure yourself so that we don't hurt ourselves trying to become Animagi. You think we'll give up if there's no reason to do it."

That was a good excuse, actually, so Remus nodded. "Sort of, yeah."

"We're going to do it no matter what," said James, "but I still think you should do it. If your parents trust the cure, then so do I. I think that you should go for it, even if there's only a small chance that you'll be cured. You deserve it."

Remus' heart lifted for a moment, even though he knew there was no actual cure. "Thanks, Prongs," he said. "Do you want to play a game of Exploding Snap or something before I head out?"

There was only one hour to go, and Remus spent it barely worrying about Greyback or Manard at all.

There were two people whom Remus hated more than anyone else: Manard and Greyback. It appeared as if he was going to have to deal with both this weekend, and he didn't like that prospect at all.

One minute to go.

Remus stood in front of Manard's classroom. He'd shrunk his suitcase to the size of an inkwell, and it was now in his pocket. Remus had decided to be exactly one minute early, so as to spend the most time possible away from Manard whilst still maintaining punctuality. He stood, looking at his watch, waiting for the seconds to finish bleeding away.

Thirty seconds left.

Remus listened to Manard from outside the door. It sounded like he was reading. Every couple of seconds, Remus heard a page flip—he was reading very quickly, then, surely.

It was time.

Remus opened the door and stepped into Manard's classroom. Sure enough, Manard was sitting at his desk inside the classroom, flipping through a photo album that looked very familiar. "Ah, Remus," he said, looking up, "right on time. Are you packed?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

Suddenly, Remus recognized the photo album as the one he'd seen inside Manard's office just one month prior. It was the one filled to the brim with photos of Greyback, newspaper clippings, and general information… Remus felt ill in spite of himself.

"Unfortunately, I don't think I can Apparate us both all the way to Germany without Splinching one of us. We'll have to walk to Hogsmeade, where there's a Floo Center. Have you been to a Floo Center before?"

"Yes, sir," said Remus, remembering the impromptu trip he'd taken to Peru with Professor McGonagall earlier that year.

"Good. Let's go, then."

"Wait, Professor. Does Professor Dumbledore know? Won't he wonder where we are?"

"I don't usually see him on the weekends, so he won't notice I'm gone. As for you, I told him that you thought it best for your mental health if you went home for a weekend. I don't think he'll pry too much."

"And if he does?"

"I'll smooth things over. I'm usually good at that." Manard winked at Remus, who felt nauseous. "All right, then. Off we go."

Remus sighed.

Only two days left.

The walk to the Floo Center was long and awkward. About halfway through, Manard leaned over to Remus and said, "Did you get any extra Pain-Relieving Potion from Poppy?"

"Didn't have to. I don't want her to know that I don't take it, so I keep it in my room. I have six doses in my bag."

Manard looked at Remus appreciatively. "I think I'm starting to warm up to you," he said.

"No, you're not."

"Well, obviously not," said Manard, rolling his eyes. "It was a joke."

After what seemed like ages, they arrived at the Floo Center. Unfortunately, it was a tad backed up.

"People are going home for Christmas this time of year," said Manard, frowning. "We'll have to wait."

"How long?"

"With a line like this? Maybe about an hour."

Remus gazed at the long line, trailing out of the Floo Center and down the street. "It's freezing outdoors," he murmured. "I really don't want to wait in this line."

"Yeah, me neither. I can probably get us a seat."

"What do you—?"

Suddenly, Manard tapped on the shoulder of a man wearing a black and violet uniform. "Hello, sir?" Manard said pleasantly, wearing the same smile that he always wore in class and in front of Professor Dumbledore. "We need to use the Floo Center, but I'm disabled—" he tapped his cane against the frosty ground— "and I can't stand for long periods of time. Is there a way we could wait indoors and hold our spot in line?"

"Oh, of course!" said the man, practically stumbling to move out of Manard's way. "Come this way. You can wait indoors, and we'll alert you when we've a spot open." He gestured toward Remus. "Is he with you?"

"He is."

"All right. I think we've got a bench indoors. Follow me."

As they followed the man into the warmth of the Floo Center, Manard whispered to Remus, "This is one of the benefits of not hiding, see? You could probably roll up your sleeves and get plenty of special treatment like this."

Remus thought of the horrible scars beneath his sleeves. "I don't want special treatment. And besides, the moment they find out what I am, I'll be getting the wrong sort of special treatment."

"Fair enough. It's lucky you're with me, then."

"Lucky," Remus muttered under his breath. "Yeah, that's the word."

There was indeed a bench in the very corner of the Floo Center, and the moment Remus sat down, he felt relief spread through his bones; the cold had made him considerably sorer, and it hadn't been long at all since the last full moon. "Thank you very much," Manard told the worker.

"You're welcome. I'll come back and let you know when it's your turn, all right? Let us know if you need anything."

"I'll do that."

The man left, and Manard stretched. "Excellent customer service here," he said. "It typically gets a bit better when you're obviously disabled."

"And it typically gets a lot worse when you're a werewolf."

"Good thing I'm not one."

"Two more seconds with Greyback and you would have been. That's the only thing that separates me from you, you know: I was stuck with... with a werewolf a little longer than you were. You would have been in my position if things had been slightly different."

Manard shook his head. "Remus, think about that. You think I would have lived as a werewolf? You think I would have saved myself?"

Remus thought about that. "No," he said quietly.

"Exactly. It's not a mere few seconds that separates me from you; it's a mile-deep chasm of experience, moral values, and selfishness. You risk others' lives every month. I wouldn't have done that."

"I'm perfectly safe in the Shrieking Shack."

"Yes, but you can't prove that your morals are intact, and you can't prove that they'll stay intact your entire life. It's entirely possible that the lycanthropy is whittling away at your mind, little by little, and your human morals will leave you—at that point, it will be too late to stop it, because you won't want to stop it. Do you see what I'm saying?"

"I see what you're saying. You've said it before. But... I don't agree."

"I didn't think you would. That's all right. I need you alive to stop Greyback, anyway. Well… I need you alive for now. And, speaking of Greyback, why don't I walk you through this album I have of photos and newspaper clippings? I think it's best to know the enemy, don't you? Hence why I've read your Registry file."

Manard opened the album and started explaining exactly where and how the first photograph was taken—a blurry, unrecognizable photograph of a man in the distance with an accompanying newspaper article—and Remus wished, more than anything, that he was back in the dormitory, playing Exploding Snap with his friends.

Less than forty-eight hours to go.