"Again, we really are sorry to kick you out," Remus heard his mother say.

He was upstairs in his room, lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling as if it would cave in and stop him from having to experience the horrors that lay ahead of him. It was nine in the morning, the Winthrops were leaving today, and the full moon was in eleven hours.

"I haven't seen him all day," Remus heard Mallory say. "Is he all right?"

Remus' father responded. "He's fine. He's resting in his bedroom."

Indeed, Remus had been resting all day, but he'd been awake since the wee hours in the morning. At around five, his mother came into his room with tea and dry toast. She'd sat with him for two hours, and then she'd left Remus to nap.

He hadn't napped, but no one else had to know that.

"He's going to be fine," promised Remus' mother. "This happens every month. Where are you staying?"

"A nearby hotel for a few nights," said Stefan.

"Sorry again."

"It's no issue. We're excited to see the rest of the area. Give Remus our best."

"Of course."

The door shut, and Remus kept staring at the ceiling.

The doors were locked from the outside, the air was thick with anticipation, and Remus sat in the cellar, waiting for the moon, staring idly. He'd been doing a lot of staring lately.

Suddenly, someone coughed behind him.

Remus whirled around. A ghost, perhaps? A hallucination? He didn't hear any heartbeats, nor did he hear any breathing or smell anybody. He didn't quite see it fit to panic when his every sense told him that nothing was there.

Unfortunately, something was there. It was Sal Manard, standing in the corner, a nasty smirk on his face that Remus knew all too well.

Remus concluded that it was a Boggart, and he sighed.

"I don't have my wand on me," he said. "You're going to have to stay here till morning, I'm afraid."

Vaguely, Remus wondered what that entailed. Was he purely driven by scent as a wolf, or would he see the human standing in the corner and try to attack it? Or perhaps the Boggart would morph into the wolf's worst fear. What was a werewolf's worst fear? To be quite honest, Remus did not know.

"I'm not afraid of you," Remus told the Boggart, despite the fact that his very appearance proved Remus wrong.

The Boggart merely smiled more widely.

"You don't scare me. My worth doesn't depend on what you, nor anyone else, thinks of me."

Fake it till you make it, Remus heard his father say. Pretend it enough, and it'll be true.

Manard crept closer to Remus before crouching on the ground next to him. "I'm not afraid of you," whispered Remus, trying his best not to flinch.

"Remus Lupin," hissed Manard directly into Remus' ear, and Remus lost the battle not to flinch. "The white knight, come to destroy stereotypes and prove to the world what a werewolf can achieve."

"That's me." Remus knew that Boggarts could not come up with new words. Weaker Boggarts could only say things that the victim had heard the aggressor say, especially recent ones. Stronger Boggarts could borrow the phrases from other people in the victim's life, too. This Boggart, based on its slight translucent appearance, seemed to be rather weak. Remus didn't have to worry about Manard saying anything new; indeed, he could only rehash words he'd said in the past. That was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

"They want to believe you're sharp and talented. They want to believe you're kind and goodhearted. And, if they desire so deeply to believe these things, then how can they be certain that what they're seeing is true and not just an illusion?"

"Rich words coming from a literal illusion."

"They can't," said Manard, a familiar sick smile on his face, and Remus tried not to vomit. Had the Soundproofing Charms not been on the cellar, Remus would have called his father to come get rid of the horrible Boggart—but alas, no one could hear Remus down here, for better and for worse.

"You know what, Professor?" said Remus. "This is a fantastic opportunity. I'm going to pretend this Boggart is you—actually you; the real-life Professor Salvis Manard. No one can hear me. You'll never know what I'm saying. I'm going to say everything to you right now that I've wished to say since September."

The smile on Manard's face grew wider.

"All right," said Remus, not even sure now where to start. "You're a sick, evil human being who's more of a monster than I am. You're unnecessarily cruel, and you love to inflict pain on others for absolutely no reason besides pure, unfiltered sadism."

Manard shrugged, as if to say, And? So what?

"All those things you've said to me? I don't care. They don't hurt me. People all my life have told me what I am, and I know for a fact that what you tell me contradicts all that is true. My mother and father have known me for much longer than you have, and they think I'm brilliant."

"Well," said Manard. "They want to believe you're sharp and talented. They want to believe you're kind and goodhearted."

"And you want to believe I'm a monster, because you can't bear the thought of letting a living, breathing, feeling person die all those years ago—a person who was your wife, whom you had promised to love and care for in sickness and in health!"

Ah, here it was. The wife. Remus knew that it was terribly unethical to bring her up in an argument with Manard, but Manard had argued terribly unethical things before. Besides, this was just a Boggart. What was the harm?

"You let her die," said Remus. "You killed her. She was going to be okay, living and letting live like any person would do. She was going to have a terrible life, but a life nonetheless. You could have continued to love her, but you didn't. You killed her."

"I loved her, and love can make people do terrible things," said Manard; Remus recognized it as something he had said in the Black Forest.

"You didn't love her," said Remus, although he knew it wasn't true. "You are incapable of love. You are… a soulless, heartless monster, deserving of nothing but death."

Those were the words that Remus' father had uttered to Fenrir Greyback once upon a time, and those were the words that had gotten Remus bitten. They were the most hurtful words that Remus could think of in the moment, and he wanted to hurt (even though he knew a Boggart could not be hurt as such).

"You know what?" he said, his voice getting marginally louder. "I've been so careful all my life to avoid hating people. I've substituted the word with dislike. I've done deep breathing exercises to quell my anger. I've been patient, kind, and understanding to a fault. I've tried so hard to control myself, and what has it gotten me? Nothing! You've not stopped bothering me since Day One!"

Manard sat back and placed his cane on the ground with a clack. Remus watched it there on the ground next to him.

This was the cane that made the sounds that haunted his nightmares. This was the cane that Manard had flaunted in Remus' face every chance he got—see? This is what werewolves do. This is how they hurt people—and, what was worse, it reminded Remus so much of the cane that Professor Questus had used only a few years prior.

It was plain black with a slightly ornamental silver handle—a classic distinguished cane—while Questus' had been plain and brown. Questus' had been a sign of shared suffering, one that Remus didn't mind at all. He didn't flaunt it, nor was he ashamed of it. It was a tool. Manard's was a weapon.

Remus took a deep breath and committed what was likely his first thoughtless, violent action since before he'd been bitten. He picked up the cane and threw it against the wall. Pitiful, maybe, but to Remus it was a big deal.

It fell to the floor with a clatter. "I HATE YOU!" Remus yelled. "I HOPE A WEREWOLF BITES YOU! I HOPE YOU SUFFER FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE! YOU'RE THE WORST AND I—HATE—YOU!"

The smile faded from Manard's face, and satisfaction instantly pooled in Remus' gut.

"And so…" started Manard, but Remus was ready.

"'And so your true colors shine through', yes, blah-blah-blah. I remember you saying that last night. You can't fool me."

"That temper…"

"…proves who you really are, Remus. Yeah, sure. You don't really believe that. This is the most human reaction I possibly could have had. You provoked me, and I feel no guilt."

"The guilt will wait until tonight, when you're trying to sleep…."

"Trying to sleep? Tonight? Yeah, right."

"Remus, I hope you realize that I can make your life hell…."

Remus laughed bitterly. He couldn't help it. "What can you do more?"

Manard's face began to blur slightly, and Remus realized that the Boggart was shifting—because he wasn't scared of Manard anymore. Not at all. Not one bit. Not right now. "That's right," said Remus. "Go away. I don't want you here."

Remus glanced at the cane that he'd thrown against the opposite wall. It was disappearing now, and Remus watched it fade before turning his gaze back to the Boggart.

A full moon, white and silvery, hung in the air.

Remus looked down at his hands, which were already shaking madly. His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest, and he felt so nauseous he could hardly breathe. He'd been so absorbed with Manard that he'd almost forgotten about the more real and present danger.

He gazed at the Boggart-moon, suspended sickly in the air, and sighed.

He could escape Manard here and now, where he was safe from the world (or where the world was safe from him)—but there was no escaping fear.

The world was fuzzy and a little bit warm—much warmer than it usually was after a full moon. Remus wriggled around a little, surprised that he could feel his limbs—surprised that he had been unconscious—and quickly realized that he was so warm because he was under a blanket.

Memories came flooding back. He had been conscious directly after the moon, like usual. He had sat up, like usual, and when the door had unlocked and the Boggart had morphed into Remus' father's worst fear, Remus was quick to assure him of the Boggart's false nature.

Especially since the Boggart had morphed into a dead Remus, blood spilling from a nasty head wound and eyes open and glassy. It hadn't exactly been something Remus wanted to see that early in the morning.

His father had helped him to the sofa, where Remus had collapsed, and he had immediately fallen asleep while his father had tended to his wounds. Yes, he remembered all that now. He sort of wished he didn't.

"What time s'it?" he slurred, working his jaw back and forth slowly. "Did I sleep all day?"

"It's around suppertime," said Remus' mother. "Would you like some soup?"

"Will you take 'no' for an answer?"

"I could also give you something heartier, like a sandwich and a salad."

Remus sighed. "I'll take the soup." He glanced at his body under the blankets, significantly dulled by Pain-Relieving Potion. "How bad was it?"

"It was very normal, save for some extra broken bones," said Remus' father. He was sitting on his armchair with the Prophet in his hands. "Which was surprising, because a Boggart was in the room with you." He leaned forward, eyes shining slightly. "Remus, could you tell me what happened with that Boggart? You understand, of course—as an academic, I'm extremely curious about how a transformed werewolf would react to a Boggart. What did it turn into?"

Remus racked his memory, frowning. "Er," he said. "Nothing. It was the full moon right before I transformed, and then… somewhere along the line, it disappeared completely. It was… nothing."

"Fascinating. So transformed werewolves just aren't afraid of anything?"

"I suppose." Remus frowned more deeply. He was trying to remember his thought processes under the light of the full moon, which was always a deeply unpleasant experience. "I think… hm. I think the lack of fear is inspired by the lack of thinking. As a human, I worry about the future all the time. As a wolf, I'm completely unconcerned with such things. I know I'm agitated in the moment, and that's all I know. I get angry, but I don't really… fear things."

"Fascinating," said Remus' father again.

"I think maybe I would fear something if something scary were to be placed directly in front of me. But if it's not actually there, then I'm not afraid."

As Remus' father took out a notebook and a quill to write that all down, Remus wondered if the key to being fearless was to just stop thinking altogether.

Remus whiled away his hours calling his friends, writing in the enchanted notebook, and reading. Late the next day, the Winthrops returned.

"We come bearing gifts," said Stefan with a smile. His smile wavered a bit as he saw Remus (who was still bound to the sofa and probably looked awful) but it did not fade.

"Oh, you needn't have." Remus' mother hugged Sara and led her to a chair. "How was your… erm, holiday?"

"It was wonderful," said Sara. "We went to a wizarding museum in London, and Stefan had such fun there."

"It's the dream of an academic. Aren't I right, Lyall?"

"I do love that museum," said Remus' father, smiling, "though I'm more inclined to field study, myself."

"We've brought you souvenirs." Stefan pulled three parcels out of his satchel and handed them to each of the Lupins. "Just a token of our thanks for letting us stay here."

They were simple souvenirs, but kind. Remus had received a book with old poems written in Runes. Remus' mother had received a knit cardigan, and Remus' father had received a fresh set of quills. "Thank you very much," said Remus' mother. "It wasn't necessary, but it's much appreciated."

"It was our pleasure," said Sara. "We love shopping for people."

Remus caught Sara glance at him slightly out of the corner of her eye, and Mallory had been openly staring for about thirty seconds. He sighed. "I'm fine," he insisted. "You can stop staring."

Remus' mother placed a hand on his shoulder. "Remus, honey, no one is staring."

"Are you joking? I've been a werewolf for nearly ten years. I can tell when someone is staring." He turned his gaze toward the Winthrops. "It's okay, you know," he said. "You're allowed to be curious. I'd prefer it if you asked questions instead of speculating, though."

Stefan nodded. "How long will you have to rest there? How long until you've recovered, I mean?"

Remus shrugged. "I'm probably stuck on the sofa for another two days or so. I hurt my leg, so it's hard to walk."

"Do we need to leave for another couple of days while you recover?"

"I'm all right with your staying here. I mean, if you're uncomfortable, then by all means…"

"Oh, no. We're not uncomfortable," said Stefan, smiling. "We just care about you and want to make sure you're all right, yeah?"

Remus wasn't really sure what to say to that. He looked at the pink blanket on his lap, under which he had four lacerations, a bloody ankle, and a leg that had recently been broken in three different places. "Yeah," he said softly. "Thanks."

Remus slept on the sofa that night.

Both the Winthrops and his parents were upstairs; now that Remus was out of the woods, he didn't need his parents nearby to make sure his wounds closed properly. He was also on a smaller dose of Pain-Relieving Potion that allowed him to sleep through the night, for the most part.

Not tonight, though. It wasn't because of the pain, though—it was because Remus woke up just shy of an hour after midnight to the sound of the front door opening.

He sat up and smoothed his hair down as the sound of three sets of footsteps wandered into the sitting room. "It's a good job I have heightened senses," he said. "Otherwise, I might have been genuinely frightened by the sounds of the front door opening in the middle of the night."

The Invisibility Cloak came off, and James Potter's face grew sheepish. "We wanted to tell you this in person is all," he said. "It's big news."

"Is someone dying?"

"Not yet," said James cheerfully. "It's only that we've successfully completed the next step of the Animagus process. We've taken the Mandrake leaves out of our mouths and put them in the forest for safe keeping, which was very difficult, seeing as the forest is all the way at Hogwarts. Viola!"

"Voila."

"That's what I said."

"No, you said 'viola', which is a musical instrument. You meant 'voila', which is a French exclamation."

"Well, if you knew what I meant, then there's not much of a point in correcting me, is there?" said James with a cheeky grin. "Come on, Moony. Celebrate with us! We're well on our way to making full moons so much better for you!"

"Oh, yes. Murdering my three best mates is going to be so much fun," Remus said, and then he sighed. "I'm sorry. I've been snappish lately."

"Because of the full moon?" asked Peter. He sat on the sofa, nearly on top of Remus' leg; Remus winced, but internally, he was grateful. Thoughtless apathy was so much better than pitying sympathy. The Winthrops seemed to overthink their every move around Remus, but the Marauders, fortunately, showed no trace of such behavior.

"Maybe a bit because of the full moon," Remus confessed. "Also because…"

He paused. He so desperately wanted to discuss how difficult prejudice could be. For some reason, it weighed heavy on his mind tonight, and he longed to get it off his chest. "Why don't we go outdoors?" he said. "I don't want to wake my parents… or the Winthrops."

"Are you certain you're well enough to get off the sofa, Moony?" asked James.

"Oh, please. It's been days since the moon. I'll be fine."

He allowed his friends to help drag him to the patio in the garden, praying with all his might that he would not reopen a wound and invite questions (and scolding) from his parents. "Right," he said as soon as he was situated, panting and sweating from the pain. "This is good."

"So what's on your mind?" prodded Sirius.

And so Remus told a half-truth, much like the half-truths that he felt he'd been telling all year. "It's the Werewolf Registry," he said. "It's at the beginning of the year, so I'll get a summons any day now. To be honest, I'm not feeling so great about it."

"What's different this time than all the other times?" asked Sirius.

"Erm. It's just. I'm really tired of prejudice, you know? I have to worry every single time someone knows what I am. And, with ten years coming up… it makes me wonder if that's how it'll always be."

They stared at the stars for a few moments, pondering. Remus loved the stars here at his new home—they were nowhere near a city, so the stars were bright and clear. The waning moon was, too, but Remus didn't fear it. Not right now. He had a whole month, just about.

"Well," said James, finally breaking the silence, "we like you. Who cares if some stupid people at the Ministry of Magic don't?"

More silence. A moth flew past Sirius' face. "I suppose you're right," said Remus.

"I usually am," said James. Remus' friends laughed, and then they helped Remus back indoors, from where they disappeared as if they had never been there at all.

Remus couldn't talk about Manard. But he could still get some comfort, and that, at least, was good.