"All right," said Remus as he and his friends arrived at the Shrieking Shack, "I want to eliminate all loopholes, so please give me your word that you will never come here again."

James frowned. "But what about after we've mastered our Animagus forms? That was kind of the point of doing all that."

"Fine. Never come here again until I've given you express, human, fully-sane permission. And, when I give you permission, I cannot be under a curse, a potion, a drug, or…"

"Well, we're not terrible people," said Sirius. "Fine. The next time we come here will be after you've given us the green light, okay?"

"Okay. Fine." Remus took a deep breath, working up his courage, and then he looked around one more time to make sure no one was watching (even though his excellent werewolf senses would have alerted him to an intruder far more quickly than his human sense of vision would). Then, just to make sure that nobody was watching from afar, he Disillusioned himself and all three of his friends.

"Okay," he said quietly, "you just get in by poking this knot right here."

Remus levitated a stick to the base of the tree, just like he'd seen Madam Pomfrey do a hundred times before, and poked the knot. The tree stilled immediately, and Remus walked up to the base. "There's a tunnel right here," he said, climbing into the tunnel. "Hurry, before the tree starts up again."

"This is uncomfortable," Remus heard Sirius grumble. "It would have been easier to have a door with a password or something."

"Needs to be a tunnel of some sort, because I can't possibly transform on school grounds. Too dangerous. I need to get farther away."

As soon as all four of them were safely in the tunnel, Remus lifted the Disillusionment Charm. "The tunnel leads all the way to the Shrieking Shack," he explained, "and it's charmed so that the distance seems shorter. Follow me."

"I mean, it's impossible to get lost, seeing as there's only one way to go," said Sirius, "but I suppose you know this place better than we do."

Remus made his way through the tunnel, stomach tying itself into knots. What if Dumbledore hadn't fixed it up yet, as he did after every full moon so that Remus would not have to transform in a disgusting pit of blood, fur, and ruined furniture? What if there were still remnants of Remus' insanity from the previous full moon—blood all over the walls, deep gouges in anything and everything, and armchair stuffing? What if…?

He didn't have time to think about anything else, because they'd just arrived at the trapdoor. "There it is," Remus said quietly. "Are you sure you want to see it? It's really not that interesting."

"Well, we're not turning back now," said James impatiently. "You gave away my child, Moony. I think you owe us this."

"Kyle wasn't your child," said Remus with a massive eyeroll, but he reached up to open the trapdoor.

And, to his great relief, Dumbledore had already cleaned it since the last full moon. The armchair was in one piece, even though Remus always tore it up every single full moon (he, as a bored wolf, enjoyed the sensation of stuffing between his teeth). The room did not smell of blood, and everything was set up beautifully. There were still scratches all over the floor and walls, but other than that, no one would have ever known that a massive werewolf occupied this building for one night a month.

"Wow," breathed James, entering the room behind Remus. "This is really something else."

"There's no blood," said Sirius. "Thank goodness. I was worried there would be blood."

"It looks… nice," said Peter, running his hand across a table (the very same table that Remus had ripped to shreds the full moon before. He'd woken up with splinters in his hands and feet, and it had been thoroughly unpleasant).

Peter frowned. "You know, Moony, you said you were dangerous on the full moon, but this place doesn't look ruined at all. There are some scratches, but… you said you attack everything in sight. Everything looks all right, though."

"Professor Dumbledore fixes it up for me every month. Trust me, it's much worse after a full moon."

Remus gazed at the walls, and an unexpected shiver passed through him; although the Shrieking Shack wasn't filled with ghosts, like the townspeople thought, there were certainly metaphorical ghosts in these walls. Memories of moons gone by marched through Remus' head in a sort of sick parade, and they were so potent that they affected him physically.

"So… what do you do?" asked James. "While you're in here for hours as a human, that is, because I know you go early. Do you just sit on the floor and wait for the moon to rise?"

"Yeah, pretty much. If it's early enough, I'll sit on the armchair, but I don't want to transform there."

"Why not?"

"Er… not enough space, I suppose."

"Oh."

Suddenly, Sirius gasped. "There's a piano in here!" he exclaimed. "How good of a piano is it?"

"I wouldn't know the difference between a good piano and a bad piano."

"Do you play it while you're waiting for the moon?"

"Used to, a little. I mostly stopped when I learned that the people in Hogsmeade could hear me."

"So they'll think that the ghosts can play piano. No big deal. I want to try."

Sirius ran over to the piano and pressed a few notes experimentally. "Not the best piano," he said, frowning. "Needs a good tuning. I'll work on that."

Remus shuffled his feet, uncomfortable. "I don't want to stay for a long time. I'm sure you can understand that this place doesn't exactly… make me happy."

"Well, that's why I'm tuning the piano for you. It'll make you happier when you have something to do while you're waiting that doesn't make your ears bleed."

"It must be terrifying, waiting for the moon to rise," commented Peter. "We're just trying to help you out."

"But… I can't even play that piano when the moon gets closer. My hands shake too much."

Sirius didn't even look up. "I'm still tuning it. I like to tune pianos."

Remus sighed and looked away from Sirius. His eyes fell on a loose floorboard, and he remembered looking at that same floorboard through the eyes of a wolf. He cringed.

"Is it better to transform here or at your house?" James asked Remus, ripping him out of his dark thoughts.

"Here."

"Why?"

"Because… well, it's bigger, and there's more furniture, so I usually get a little bit less injured because there's more to destroy besides myself. It also feels a little bit safer, since I know Professor Dumbledore charmed this place myself and renews the charms every month… I love my dad and all, but he can't hold a candle to Albus Dumbledore. And the medical care is better at Hogwarts, too, since Madam Pomfrey has more potions and more experience."

"But don't you miss your parents when you're here? I loved having my parents around when I was poorly. They always knew what to do."

"I… yeah, I guess I do miss them, a little. It's better now than it was at first, though. Madam Pomfrey knows what to do, too."

"Do let's stop gloating about our incredible parents," grumbled Sirius. "Moony, does this E sound sharp to you?"

"No. It's flat. Didn't you already know that?"

"Just checking to see if you knew," said Sirius happily. "Why don't you come over here and I'll teach you how to tune a piano? There are loads of intricacies. My parents always hired a professional piano tuner, so I only ever got to do it on my birthdays."

"You tuned a piano… for fun… as a birthday gift?" James shook his head. "That's really sad, mate."

"That's life, I suppose. Come on, Remus. Help me out."

Remus sighed and complied, eager for something else to focus on besides fear, werewolves, and haunting memories that were stronger here than anywhere else.


Remus returned to the dormitory that night and decided to catch up on watching some full moon memories for his Arithmancy project. He'd gotten a little bit behind over the past few months, but he knew how important it was to collect data. Peter was quietly snoozing in his bed, and James and Sirius were out gallivanting around the school under the Cloak.

Thus, it was a perfect night to get things done. Remus took out his Pensieve and viewed each full moon memory carefully, taking note of the weather conditions, cloud coverage, time transformed, and stress levels. He was going to finish this project, no matter what got in his way.

Now all he needed was that blank full moon memory—the one of the empty, variable-free Shrieking Shack—the one that he'd been trying to get for nearly a year now and still could not. Then he wouldn't have to wait for the next full moon—he could collect all the data he needed from the comfort of his room. He'd already handled the spell creation that was necessary to manipulate each variable, so this was the only thing he needed.

Remus finished writing notes on the last full moon, and then he sighed and flopped back onto his covers. How could he possibly remove himself from a memory? That was doing away with the very point of memories!

He raised his wand to his temple and tried his very hardest to imagine a world without Remus Lupin; a world in which only the Shrieking Shack existed… he tried to convince himself that it was a real memory; that it was totally true… he tried not to feel anything at all.

He dropped the memory into the Pensieve and watched it. No luck. The Shrieking Shack had no weather nor cloud coverage, but Remus was sitting in the red armchair, shaking, tears dripping down his cheeks (which was ridiculous. He only sometimes cried before a full moon).

"This is stupid," he said aloud, totally forgetting that it was ten-thirty and Peter was trying to sleep.

"What's stupid?" mumbled Peter.

"Oh… erm, I'm sorry, Wormtail. I didn't mean to wake you up."

"S'fine. What's stupid?"

"It's my Arithmancy project. I can't get that blank full moon memory. I'm meeting with Leek in a couple of weeks, and it's just not working out."

"What's the issue?"

"I can't remove myself from the memory. In order for it to work, I need to have absolutely no variables so that I can manipulate them later, which means I need to recall the event differently from how it actually was. For a couple of moments, I need to really, honestly believe that I have a memory of a blank-slate Shrieking Shack… a memory that I wasn't even there for… and it's impossible. I can do everything but remove myself from the memory. I'm so close, but so far away."

"That sounds hard," whispered Peter sleepily, and then he rolled over. A few moments later, Remus heard him breathing heavily as if asleep.

"Thanks, Peter," Remus mumbled. "It is."

Remus lay on the floor, back against the floor and wand in hand, and stared at the ceiling. He wasn't exactly sure why that wasn't working. Perhaps he needed to lie to himself more convincingly? Perhaps he was too distracted? Perhaps he just wasn't very good at arithmancy at all? Or perhaps…

Oh.

Remus sat bolt upright as a massive realization hit him like a Bludger.

He couldn't take himself out of the memory because the Shrieking Shack meant too much to him.

The visit to the Shrieking Shack earlier that day had revealed something crucial: The mere sight of the Shrieking Shack caused a visceral response in Remus, even when it was not a full moon. Remus could not remove himself from the memory because he could not remove the memory from himself. There were too many emotions tied to the Shack, and Remus could not remove himself from the memory when he still held bias toward the place.

In order to get a blank-slate memory of the Shack on a full moon, therefore, Remus would have to think of the Shrieking Shack from an outside perspective. He would have to conjure up a memory of the Shack that did not make his stomach feel strange and call back memories (even distant ones) of pain and fear. Remus would have to scrub his subconscious with soap and water in order to get this memory, and it was going to be a very hard job indeed.

He groaned quietly. There was no way he was every going to be able to think of the Shrieking Shack as a mere building. The Shrieking Shack was a state of mind, just like the smell of cinnamon on Christmas or sunshine on Remus' skin. It wasn't just an object; it was a feeling… but Remus couldn't hang onto that feeling if he wanted a good memory.

The Shrieking Shack was greater than the sum of its parts, but with the pure power of his mind, Remus would have to reduce it to nothing more than the sum.

"This is going to be grueling," he muttered, bringing his wand to his head to try again.


At five-fifteen in the morning, Remus finally did it.

He hadn't gone to sleep yet. James and Sirius had never come back to the dormitory (Remus wasn't sure where they were, exactly, but he didn't particularly care), and Remus hadn't gone to sleep at all. From seven to five-thirty—ten hours straight!—he'd been sitting here, trying his hardest to remove himself from the memory.

At four-thirty, sleep had nearly completely claimed him; through the fuzz of his brain, he'd decided to imagine himself as Sirius, a generally apathetic individual, seeing the Shrieking Shack for the very first time. Then he'd removed all the Sirius from the Sirius (it had made sense at the time), and that was when he'd hit the jackpot: a blank-slate memory of an empty Shrieking Shack with absolutely no confounding variables.

"Finally," Remus murmured, staring at the phial, and then he put it down carefully and lay down right on the floor to sleep.


That night (well, morning, technically), he had a dream.

He had a dream that he was on the cusp of five years old, and also on the cusp of sleep—the rain pattered against his window in a comforting sort of way, and Remus was all wrapped up in his covers and fluffy pajamas. It was cold outside, but warm indoors, and Remus drifted off to the faint voices of his parents talking downstairs.

There was a noise from outside—huffing, scratching, growling…

Remus knew how this story went. He felt like he had experienced this before, and he knew it wasn't going to end well. He curled in on himself, shivers running up and down his spine… "DAD?" he screamed.

It was a quarter of an instant before his father Apparated into his room, a terrified look on his face, and half an instant before the sound of crashing glass filled Remus' ears. There was a large creature—drooling, panting, growling—on top of Remus' chest, and Remus could only watch as the monster bared its teeth and prepared to…

"STUPEFY! FLIPENDO! DIFFINDO! REDUCTO!" Remus' father shouted, and Remus winced as the monster's claws dug further into his skin as it prepared to jump back out the window.

And then it was gone.

Remus looked at his father, still shaking, silent tears dripping off his chin. His father rushed to embrace him, and his mother wasn't far behind. "I'm so sorry, Remus," mumbled Remus' father. "So, so sorry. I'm glad you're okay."

Remus drew in a shuddery breath, and his hand moved toward his left shoulder. It was clean and painless. There was no blood, mingling with the rain and dripping onto the floor like an endless flood of pain and sorrow—indeed, the only kind of blood that was on Remus' body was from the punctures and scratches, and it was not the kind of blood that dripped and streamed from his body. There were no accusing shouts between his parents, no pleas, and no desperate attempts to stem potentially fatal wounds.

Not that Remus had expected any of that to happen, of course. He was only four, and he was going to go to the aquarium for his birthday in a month.

"What was that?" he asked, hugging his father more tightly.

"That," said his father, "was something that you are never going to see again. Come on, now. Let's all go to the cellar in case it comes back. Come along, Hope."

They hid in the cellar that night, nestled among the jars and boxes, and Remus fell asleep snuggled against his father's chest. At first light, they took him to St. Mungo's, where he was treated for the scratches. "They'll scar," the Healer said, "but he's very lucky it wasn't worse."

Lucky. Yes, he was, wasn't he?

Remus' dream continued in a sequence of pure and unfiltered bliss. He went to the aquarium for his fifth birthday and saw a small shark (his favorite animal, although he much preferred the Great White). A family moved to the neighborhood six months later, and there was a boy around Remus' age—they played outside together nearly every day.

Remus broke his first bone at age seven while on a swing-set, and he cried all day, even after his father fixed it for him. He lost his baby teeth slowly. He went to a Muggle primary school. He didn't work very hard at his schoolwork, but he enjoyed making friends and playing games outdoors.

He had a lot of friends, actually, and every day was more exciting than the last. He couldn't wait to go to Hogwarts, to grow up to be just like his father, and to hunt Boggarts someday. Life was good.

And then Remus woke up.

Two faces were leaning over his own, staring expectantly. "He's awake," said James Potter, and Remus blinked. The happiness sapped out of his body astoundingly quickly as he realized what had really happened to him on that fateful night—broken glass, blood, tears, fear so thick he could nearly taste it, Greyback everywhere, nearly dying—and he brought his hand up to his eyes and felt tears.

"I guess it didn't really do much, then," said Sirius with a shrug.

"Wait," said James. "He's crying."

Remus sat up stubbornly and smoothed down his robes. "I'm not crying."

"Then why are there tears in your eyes?"

"It's the latest trend. Everyone has them nowadays. Why are you…? Wait, what's that smell?"

James grinned. "So, basically, Padfoot and I were exploring the school, working on that map thing… you mentioned you were going to work on your Arithmancy project and it reminded me that I had one, too."

"Ah. So glad I could remind you about this incredibly important project that's going to take you multiple years."

"Exactly. Years—so it's not due for a while."

"Your sense of responsibility astounds me."

James rolled his eyes. "As if you've done all your homework this year. Anyway, we were exploring, and we decided to sneak into Professor Dumbledore's office. It took us about forty-five minutes to guess the password, but we finally did, and then we mapped out his office while he slept. He didn't even wake up!"

Remus suspected that Dumbledore hadn't really been asleep—after all, the man seemed to be practically omniscient—but he didn't say anything.

"Anyway, we found this little potion in his cupboard," said Sirius. "It's labeled Dream Potion. We thought we'd just sprinkle some on you, since you were already sleeping. What did you dream about?"

Remus' mouth fell open. "You idiots! You didn't know what it was! You could have killed me!"

"Of course we knew what it was. Dream Potion. Besides, why would Dumbledore have poison in his cupboard?"

"If you had thought about it, you would have remembered that I have a very severe… erm, allergy… to wolfsbane. You could have killed me."

"Oh." Sirius frowned. "Right. But we didn't."

"You could have!"

"Didn't."

"Could have!"

"Okay, fine. We're very sorry," said James, holding up his hands in an expression of surrender. "Now… what did you dream about? Go on, tell us! It must have been amazing!"

"It was amazing," grumbled Remus. "I don't think that label meant 'dream' as in sleeping-dream. I think it meant 'dream' as in aspiration-dream… wish-dream. You know?"

"So you dreamed about something you want in real life?"

"Yes."

"What was it?"

See, this was the issue. Remus' friends knew. They knew everything—Remus' symptoms, his pain—and now they'd even been to the Shrieking Shack. They knew, but they didn't understand. They didn't understand that sometimes things went terribly, horribly wrong, and they couldn't be fixed. They didn't understand that one small mistake could destroy a life. They didn't understand that Remus needed to be careful, because fate hadn't been kind to him and would someday strike again. No, they didn't get it at all. They were carefree, cruising through life like there would be no consequences, because there hadn't been. Not many. Not for them. No, Remus needed to be careful around them, because they would not be careful around Remus. They couldn't.

"So what was it?" James asked again.

Remus gave his friends a flat glance and started to change into his school robes. He was exhausted and now deflated from his magically-enhanced dream, but some exhilaration still remained from finally achieving a blank-slate memory.

"James winning the Quidditch Cup," he lied, and then all four of them set off toward breakfast.