Remus reported directly to Professor Leek's classroom the following Saturday.

"I can't stay long," he said, "due to the fact that James has a Quidditch game against Slytherin, and he'd kill me if I missed it. But I've finally completed all one hundred full moon memories, and I want to know the next step."

"You have?" Leek's eyes lit up, and he beckoned for Remus to hand him his notebook, which Remus did proudly. Leek flipped through the fully-inked pages with utmost joy. "Excellent. Excellent. Very, very well done."

"Thank you," said Remus, beaming. "So… what's next?"

"Well, I'm afraid the next step is very difficult."

"As if it hasn't been difficult so far, sir?" said Remus with a sigh.

"Oh, of course. It's been very difficult so far. But the next part… well, I'm afraid that's more logic-based than anything else. It's a different kind of difficult. Instead of grappling with your thought processes and emotions, or doing something boring and time-consuming… well, you're going to have to do a lot of arithmetic."

"Ah."

"Technically, you already know how to do this. We've been practicing it on a much smaller scale in Arithmancy. You're going to have to do a lot of trial-and-error, as well as make some difficult calculations. Your goal is to end up with a chart something like… hm. I think I have a similar one around here."

Remus waited patiently while Leek rustled around in some drawers. He bided his time staring at an old photograph on the wall, which included Leek, along with about ten other people that Remus didn't know.

"Here," said Leek. He handed a large number chart to Remus. "This chart is used for magical fireworks. It predicts their colors, height, and the size of the explosion. There are enough factors for both input and output that it should look very similar to your finished product."

Remus stared. It was an intensely complicated chart, with squiggles that Remus didn't understand, hundreds upon hundreds of numbers, and a few flaps that opened up to reveal more numbers. "This is going to take forever, isn't it?"

Leek shrugged. "Probably, but that's the fun of it. Don't worry. This is the part I specialize in." Leek pointed toward the photo that Remus had been staring at earlier. "See, that's a photograph of the team who worked on this number chart. It was me, Robert, and Theseus who worked on this step. I spent so many nights slaving away in front of a sheet of parchment, trying every single combination, and I learned to love it."

"You learned to… love it?"

"Of course. Light a few candles, sharpen your quills, play some music, and just relax." Leek smiled. "The thing that I love about arithmancy is that it's time-consuming, but it's not completely mentally taxing. It's exactly in the sweet spot where you can choose to stop thinking about the troubles of the outside world and completely devote yourself to the work, or you can do it passively and mentally work through the events of the day. It's incredibly relaxing."

Remus sighed once more. "I suppose I do need something relaxing."

"I get it—arithmancy can be grueling, especially when you're so excited about the outcome of your project. Just hang in there."

"I'll try my best, sir."

"I'll get you started, and then… how about I visit you the day after the full moon every month to check in? I imagine you'll be needing something to do right about then. I mean, if you're okay with that…"

Remus smiled. "Absolutely. Is two days after okay?"

"Of course. I'll swing by around three."

"Erm, maybe four-thirty? Three is when I nap."

"Done deal." Leek pulled out some pieces of parchment and wet his quill. "So here are the formulas you're going to want to start with…."

James won his Quidditch match (per usual) and he made some downright amazing saves. What was especially odd, though, was what happened directly after the match.

Sirius, Peter, and Remus went to meet him outside the tent, as they usually did, along with a large crowd of students intent on congratulating their star Keeper. But when James emerged from the tent, he did not bask in the glory like he usually did—instead, he went straight for a boy whom Remus did not recognize, who was standing to the side, still in his Slytherin Quidditch gear.

James stomped toward him, a fire in his eyes, and Remus considered stopping him… but no, it was probably best not to get involved.

"Oi! Travers!"

The boy turned around. "Potter. Congrats on the…"

All of the sudden, James reared his fist back and punched Travers directly in the face.

"YEAH!" cheered Sirius. "LET'S GO, POTTER!"

Travers' hands flew up to protect his nose and eyes, and Remus saw flashes of scarlet on his chin. James grabbed the collar of Travers' shirt and pulled him close: with Remus' enhanced hearing, however, he could still hear what James hissed into his ear. "Don't you ever speak ill about my friends again," he said, "or you've got a lot worse coming."

There was a shout, and Remus whirled around to see McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey, and Flitwick jogging toward the fight. "BACK OFF, POTTER!" shouted McGonagall. While Flitwick and Madam Pomfrey pulled them away from each other, McGonagall looked around, her gaze finally landing on Remus. "Lupin!"

Remus felt his cheeks go red. "I… I wasn't involved," he whispered.

"I know, which is why I'm entrusting you to take Potter to my office and make sure he stays there until I return."

"Gladly!" shouted James. He pulled his wrists out of Flitwick's grasp and stomped toward Remus. "Let's go," he said.

Sirius started to walk with them, but McGonagall stopped him. "Absolutely not, Black," she said. "I'm not entirely convinced you weren't in on this yet."

"You trust Remus, but not me?"

"Precisely."

Sirius shrugged. "Yeah, I can't argue with that."

Remus started walking toward the castle, and James followed. When they were safely out of earshot of the staring, clamoring students, Remus asked, "What did he say?"

"Who?" asked James.

"Don't play dumb. Travers. What did he say about me?"

James rolled his eyes. "Not everything is about you, Moony."

"You threatened him that you would hurt him worse if he ever said anything bad about your friends again."

"Yeah. Wasn't you."

"Then… who was it?"

James sighed. "Wormtail was being an idiot. The Slytherins invited him to eat lunch with them one day while you were in the Hospital Wing, and… well, me and Sirius were busy talking to Snape and Evans…"

"Talking?"

"Arguing. Anyway, Wormtail agreed, because he's an idiot, and they're popular Quidditch players. He ended up telling them about his dad."

"What? It took him ages to tell us that!" Remus remembered the story quite well. It hadn't been until their second year when Peter had told them that he had seen his father murdered in front of him—his last living relative—and then had been adopted by Mrs. Pettigrew. Peter had only been officially adopted now for a few years.

"Well, he didn't tell them everything. Just that he was adopted."

"And they made fun of him?"

"You know them. Stupid Pureblood Slytherins. They started following him around, calling him nonsense like 'Little Orphan Annie'. They thought it was hilarious. You know, stupid, cruel tosh like that." James' face, looking absolutely irate, was turning a little red.

"Wow. That's just… that's just awful."

"I know. Peter's not that bright, he's short, he's not a quick runner, he's not quick-witted… so they've got no right to be making fun of him. They can pick on me all they like; I've got thick skin and I fight back. But it just makes me so angry when people pick on people who can't stand up for themselves."

James' fists curled into balls by his sides, and Remus could hear him grinding his jaw. They walked in silence for a moment, and then James stopped walking entirely. "How do you do it?" he asked. "You get angry all the time, don't you? Isn't your temper worse or something? Because you're a werewolf?"

"Erm, yeah, technically. There's evidence to state that werewolves may have shorter fuses, and I feel it sometimes."

"But you're so calm. When you're comfortable, you'll come up with something scathing to say, but it's never cruel. You don't punch people. You never, ever seem to want to hit them. You never even raise your voice! How do you do it all the time?"

"I have to worry about my image. If you punch a kid, you'll get off with a few detentions. If I punch a kid, and someone at this school reports me to the Ministry… well, it's a matter of life and death, probably. I have to be perfect."

"Ugh." James sighed. "You know what? I don't regret punching Travers. Sometimes you have to show people who's boss. Travers and his friends were being rude, and I showed him! They'll never do it again."

Remus pulled James' wrist gently, and they began to walk again. "Did he say something on the pitch?"

"Yes. Probably trying to distract me. He said things about all of you, but the things about Wormtail made me the angriest."

"What did he say?"

James straightened up, puffed out his chest, and said in an annoying, haughty voice: "How are the friends, Potter? What are their names again? Dumb, Dumber, and Dumbest? Weakling, Fatso, and Blood Traitor? It looks like Pettigrew's been stealing all of Lupin's food recently. He's right ugly, too. It's no wonder nobody wants him—not even his own parents! Did his dad die of a broken heart when he saw him for the first time?"

Remus grimaced. "Merlin's beard."

"Just stupid playground insults, really. I didn't think too much of it when I was on the field—had to focus, of course—but as soon as we got off, I knew I wanted to see his nose broken."

"Well, if you ever have a deep desire to see a broken bone, just visit me sometime after the full moon."

"You do break a lot of bones, don't you?"

"Broke my wrist the other day out of nowhere while pouring tea."

James laughed. "Sorry… that's just really funny."

"Not that funny, mate," Remus said, but he was laughing now, too.

They arrived in McGonagall's office and both took a seat. "How long until she gets here?" James asked after a couple of minutes of comfortable silence.

"Five," said Remus, estimating based on her nearby scent and sound of her footsteps.

"Five what?"

Remus grinned. "Four. Three. Two. One."

The door opened, and McGonagall's heels clicked into the room. She shut the door behind her, and the room was completely silent.

"Thank you, Lupin," she said. "I will award you five points to Gryffindor for helping out, but I'm afraid they will be immediately canceled out by the large amount that Potter is about to lose. You may go."

Remus left, but he didn't go very far. He waited behind a corner on a bench, close enough that he could still hear what was going on in the room, but far enough away that it wasn't too suspicious.

"Mr. Potter," he heard McGonagall say. "I'd like to think that I know you well at this point."

"I should hope so," said James.

"So I will merely ask you one question." There was a pause, and Remus strained to hear her next words. "Which one of your friends was he making fun of, Potter?"

"Peter, mostly."

"I see."

"Professor, you know Peter. You know he won't stick up for himself. Travers and his friends have been making all sorts of awful comments lately, and Peter just laughs. He thinks they're joking! Someone needs to stick up for him."

More silence. Remus took that time to feel sorry for himself and inordinately guilty, because he simply hadn't been around enough to hear his friends make fun of Peter. He'd been recovering… with Manard… working on his project… with Mallory… it had been a massively complicated couple of weeks, and Remus had most certainly been neglecting his friends. Remus hadn't been there for them recently, plain and simple.

"Potter," McGonagall finally said, "I do admire the fact that you stick up for your friends. You are the epitome of a brave, noble Gryffindor, and I am proud of you."

"So am I off the hook?"

"Heavens, no. I'm taking thirty points from Gryffindor, and I'm giving you a week of detention. Attacking another student is never okay. We do not fight with violence."

"Then how do we fight?"

"We fight, Mr. Potter, by reporting them directly to a professor."

"But that's boring!"

"So is a week's worth of detention, and I will see you tonight at seven for your first one. Have a good day, Potter, and do not go near Mr. Travers again."

"Don't worry," mumbled James, "I think I've made my point."

Remus, who was subjected to violence and humiliation every month, did not fully approve of James' tactics… but he could say with absolute certainty that James had, in fact, made his point quite clearly.

That night, Remus took James' Invisibility Cloak to the library and found a secluded corner. Mrs. Norris, he knew, was currently somewhere on the other side of the castle with a bad head cold, so it was the perfect night to get some work done away from Peter's snoring.

Remus was having trouble sleeping that night. It just happened every so often: the strain of countless transformations had caused some long-term muscle problems, and he found himself in more pain than normal after certain stressful or strenuous activities (like, for instance, talking to Manard or watching his friends get into a fistfight).

Tonight, it was his leg. He always seemed to hurt his right leg on full moons more than any other limb—perhaps it was because it was accessible, or perhaps it was merely because it was there. Remus was currently sitting in a very awkward position, with one leg on the ground, the other propped up on another chair with a bag of charmed ice resting on it, and the rest of his body twisted around to see the calculations in front of him clearly.

His arithmancy project was overwhelming. Remus didn't even want to think about the countless hours of work that lay ahead of him.

After about two hours (during which next to no progress had been made), he decided to read instead. His leg was twinging mercilessly, and he needed to switch his efforts from focused and direct to something a bit more passive. Fortunately, he was surrounded by books, and there was plenty to read.

He wandered through the aisles for a bit, dragging a hand across the shelves to avoid putting any more weight on his throbbing leg than he had to. The other hand held the lantern, though Remus reckoned he had good enough night vision that he didn't need it. There were books on pixies, unicorns, and Grindylows… charms of all sorts… curses, music, and wizarding photography. Remus flipped through a few of them out of sheer curiosity, but none of them sparked his interest enough to read more than a couple of pages.

He stopped in front of the aisle that he knew to contain the books about werewolves, and then he walked down it.

Taming the Beast: Tales of Terrible Monsters and How to Escape Them.

From Wizard to Wolf.

A Case for Mass Werewolf Execution.

Shapeshifting Secrets and Lunar Legends.

Magical, Medical, and Mental Care for Werewolves.

Remus paused in front of the last one. He'd walked down this aisle many times—it was a treat that he only allowed himself when nobody was looking—and he had never seen that book before. He carefully pulled it off the shelf and looked at the table of contents.

Pre-Moon Illness. Post-Moon Injuries. Chronic Pain and Fatigue. Brain Fog and Mental Strain. Depression.

Remus blinked. He had no idea that a book written specifically for the medical care of werewolves was even out there, much less in the Hogwarts library. And… depression had a section all to itself?

Remus cautiously flipped the book open to the introduction and started reading, leaning fully against the shelves to let his leg rest.

Due to the widespread prejudice against werewolves, there is very little information about the care of werewolves. Experts today prefer to devote themselves to the killing of werewolves, despite the fact that dangerous werewolves exist partially due to the fact that humans do not know how to handle them. A werewolf's medical history is extensive and unique, both physically and mentally. This book aims to prepare any person, regardless of medical expertise, to understand the medical plight of a werewolf.

Remus flipped to the inside cover. He'd been right: the book had been written very recently, and the first and only person to check it out had been Madam Pomfrey, merely one week earlier.

Remus began to flip through the book slowly, reading a paragraph here and there, and each one horrified him more than the last.

The book was extremely inaccurate.

"Werewolves can be violent when distressed," he muttered. "It's advised to stay at least five feet away while casting any healing charm. An injured werewolf may revert to more primitive methods of communication, like growling or snapping. In extreme cases, a concussed or delirious werewolf may go feral?"

He snapped the book shut and placed it back on the shelf. He'd had such high hopes.

Miserably, Remus trudged back to his table and decided to start working on arithmancy once more. His leg was hurting even more than before, and now his head was hurting as well.

He couldn't focus.

After a very long time of staring at his full moon notes, frustrated and wide awake, sleep claimed Remus—first his eyes started to cross, then he began to close his eyes, and then his head was resting on his arms and he was sleeping on the desk. When he finally awoke, a very familiar scent crowded his nostrils, and he sat up immediately, accidentally knocking a few papers to the ground.

"Mallory," he said breathlessly. "What's… what are you doing here?"

She shrugged. "Couldn't sleep. My roommate was snoring again. Just my luck, eh?"

"So you came to the library?"

"Yeah. Well, actually, first I went to the Kitchens, where Mrs. Norris and Filch just happened to be sleeping. I got in big trouble. Four detentions! But then I came here… tripped over a few things… knocked down a portrait…." She smiled sheepishly. "It hasn't been a great night."

"Oh. I was just doing some work. You're welcome to join me."

"Yeah, if you're sure that's okay."

Mallory settled in the seat across from Remus and pulled a large book out of her bag. "May I ask you a question?"

"Erm, sure, I suppose."

"Do you think I should tell people about my curse?"

Remus blinked at the blunt, unexpected question. "I… don't really think it's my place to give you advice, Mallory. I mean, I can't tell anyone about mine—that would be pure stupidity—so I've never really thought about such matters."

"I know. It's just that I want people to know, sometimes, that it's not my fault that I bump into things, and say all the wrong things, and fall down a lot, and break things, and am usually late to class… you know? When they think I'm normal, they think all these things are my fault!"

Remus could understand that. How many times had he done something embarrassing because of his lycanthropy, and how many times had he been forced to shoulder the blame? He wished, sometimes more than anything, that he could just tell people that it wasn't him, that he didn't deserve what was happening to him… but alas, doing so would mean the end.

"I suppose it depends on whether you think your friends would be sympathetic," said Remus. "I don't see why they wouldn't. Personally, I don't see many disadvantages of telling people about your curse."

Mallory sighed. "Well, there's the fact that I despise pity. Other than that, I suppose you're right." She was silent for a moment, absentmindedly scratching her nail on her robes. "It's just… I don't want to let the curse win, you know? I wanted to try to be normal."

Remus shrugged. "Normality is different for everyone."

They fell silent again, and Remus began to work on his project once more. Suddenly, his keen senses picked up on a person coming down the corridor… well, a person and a cat.

"It's Filch," he hissed.

Unfortunately, there was nowhere to go but under the Cloak, and Remus did not want to give up James' secret. So instead they merely waited until Filch and Mrs. Norris found them, and Remus was assigned a detention.

He went back to his dormitory after that, but he did not sleep.

AN: Sorry it's been such a long time since the last chapter! I want to post consistently, but life and health has caught up to me. I'll do my best. Just hang in there—I've got so much prewritten that I have NO plans to abandon this anytime soon!