Dear Remus,

I miss you ever so much, dear, especially this time of year. Halloween decorations are all over, your father is excited to decorate the new house (it's so much larger than anything we're used to!), and I can't help but think of when I thought that magic was an imaginary phenomenon—one that I only ever considered once a year. Witches were saved for Halloween night, nobody rode on broomsticks, magic spells and cauldrons were only decorations, and ghosts didn't exist… and neither, as you very well know, did werewolves. But here I am, remembering my prior way of thinking as silly and naive.

On Halloween, as I look at the decorations your father is putting up, I think of you. You're so far away, in a school filled with witches and wizards and other Halloweenish things. I wonder how Hogwarts will celebrate Halloween. I wonder if they decorate with cauldrons—oh, that would be like decorating with mixing bowls and spatulas for me, wouldn't it? I wonder if your friends will dress up this year, and I wonder if they'll cause any mischief.

And, on this Halloween in particular, I think of you. I am so sorry that the full moon falls on Halloween this year, Remus. I am sorry that you won't get to celebrate with the rest of the school. I am sorry that this affliction takes away so much of your life. I think of you right now, as I stare at the little circle on the calendar that marks the full moon. I think of you when I hear people at the grocery wondering if a Halloween full moon has magical properties. I think of you whenever I see a little design of a figure flying past a full moon on a broomstick.

I think of you constantly, so this is nothing new, but I thought you should know that tonight. This all must be very hard for you.

Madam Pomfrey tells me that you've been feeling a little down recently. I would love to help you, but I'm not sure how—I do, however, trust both you and Madam Pomfrey to work everything out. I did notice that you've been writing to me far less frequently. Please tell me if there's anything I can do, Remus, or just complain—you don't complain nearly enough, and it would do you good every once in a while.

Good luck tonight, darling. Please write back whenever you feel up to it.

Love,
Mum.

Remus put the letter down and smiled. "Thanks for picking up that letter for me, Madam Pomfrey," he said. Post was usually delivered to the Great Hall, so it had become routine for Madam Pomfrey to pick up any letters for Remus (and there were always letters for Remus) on the day of the full moon.

"You're very welcome," she said. "Now, tell me: how did your homework go?"

"Oh, er… I finished my Astronomy and Herbology homework last night, and now I only have Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts to do…."

"I didn't mean that sort of homework, though I am glad you're beginning to do your homework again," said Madam Pomfrey. "I meant the homework you had for me."

"Oh. You mean the list."

"Yes. Did you finish it?"

"I did."

"Even the last one?"

"Yes."

"And how are you feeling?"

Remus smiled broadly, flexing his fingers. "Well, a little sore, but…"

"Oh, stop being obtuse. I meant emotionally."

"I know what you meant. I'm only yanking your wand." Remus stared at Madam Pomfrey's wall for a moment, where a small note was taped to the wall. Remember to buy more snakeweed, it read. "I'm doing much, much better," he said. "I'm feeling just about normal now. Erm… thank you."

"It was all your doing," said Madam Pomfrey. "Now, you're not cured, Remus. I'm glad you're feeling better right now, but this isn't a one-and-done sort of thing. I suspect you'll be struggling with mental health for the rest of your life, on-and-off. You have a hard life, and these things tend to happen to people with hard lives."

"Oh, joy."

"Don't worry. You have plenty of support."

"I know."

"Now, I want you to tell me everything that you've done on that list, one by one, in great detail. Do you want me to make tea?"

"Sure. I think I can stomach it."

She did so, and then she sat by Remus' bed, and he chattered for two hours straight about the last couple of weeks. His throat hurt, but he kept going—he was tired, but he kept going—he had an awful headache, but he kept going.

And then, after he finished that, he got out some parchment and wrote a letter back to his mother.

And then, after he was done with that, his friends came to visit him, and they told Remus all about their plans to decorate Salvis Manard's office for Halloween while he was out taking his daily walk in Hogsmeade.

And then, after he was done with that, he slept.

Overall, it was a good day, and Remus was pretty confident that he had plenty more good days ahead of him. It was hard to think about full moons, Manard, and bleak futures when so many good things surrounded him.

And some bad things, of course, especially the knot in his stomach as the moon drew nearer, as long ropes of fear coiled tightly in his stomach, as terror clutched his innards with a Grindylow's spindly fingers… but he could ignore that for now. It was just a full moon, and he knew how to handle those.

There wasn't much to do in the Shrieking Shack before the transformation happened.

Remus sat in the armchair that had been destroyed and repaired a tens of times, staring at the walls. Even though Dumbledore made a point to repair everything in the Shack, over and over, after every full moon, there were still the telltale signs of things he'd missed.

Remus drew a trembling hand from his pocket (they always got so shaky before full moons, and he was beginning to get hot and cold flashes that were terrifying and intense) and patted the fabric of the chair. There it was, a small tear, hidden and tucked away behind a fold in the cushion. Dumbledore was a very powerful wizard, but even he couldn't catch every single scrape and tear.

A jolt ran down Remus' spine, and he shivered. His limbs weren't behaving quite right, and judging by sudden spasm that made him bite his tongue harshly, neither were his muscles. He spat some blood onto the floor—it would blend in with the rest come sunrise.

His thoughts were louder in the Shrieking Shack, but he tried not to let that bother him.

He gazed at the small bloodstain on the floor and spat out some more (his tongue was now bleeding profusely), and he wondered why he even bothered. If he didn't remember to grit his teeth during the transformation, he would bite his tongue even further in the process—and after the process was finished, he'd tear most of his limbs to shreds anyway.

Remus suddenly felt very sorry for himself, but he tried to push it down.

His fingers were shaking too heavily to read, and the nausea, combined with the heightened senses, made for a very miserable and overstimulated werewolf. And so he sat, trying to ignore the hot knives of pain within him, trying to ignore the fear worming into his heart, trying to ignore the sinking sun just outside the Shack.

He buried his face into his hands, shoulders shaking, limbs vibrating. Time passed. The world spun in and out of focus.

Then he caught a very familiar scent.

"No," he said, entirely ignorant as to what word could possibly describe the horror of the situation.

Moments later, the trapdoor opened, and James Potter stood there.

"No," said Remus, shaking his head. "Nope. I'm not sure how you got in here, James, but…"

"Surprise!" said James, grinning. "Thought I'd visit you. For Animagus research purposes, you know? Wow, mate, you look—"

"Get out," said Remus, his voice low and dangerous, hands clenched tightly by his side.

"I was only—"

"Get out."

"But, Moony—"

"Get. Out."

"Come on, I—"

"OUT!"

James held up his hands, affronted. "I did my research, Moony. The moon doesn't rise for another hour. We've got plenty of time."

"No, you idiot! It's unpredictable! That's exactly why I'm doing that Arithmancy project!"

"You said you always transform around eight."

"And it's seven! That's cutting it a little close!"

"Nah, mate. We're fine. I just want to distract you a little bit before the transformation—stress makes it worse, doesn't it?"

"And you think this isn't stressing me out?! Get OUT, James!"

"Look, Moony, all I'm saying is, if we're going to become Animagi…."

"No," said Remus, almost growling. "The deal is off."

"It was never a deal."

"Out," said Remus, feeling faint. "Please. Please… please, James?"

"Okay. Fine. I'm leaving. We'll talk about this tomorrow."

"We'd better. Now get out, James."

"Fine."

James turned to leave, but the moment he did, a horrible pain ran down Remus' spine. He cringed. "James," he whispered. "James. Go. Hurry, please…"

But James wasn't quick enough, despite his lightning-fast Quidditch reflexes, and the trapdoor was stuck… the last thing Remus saw before pain erupted behind his eyelids was James' terrified eyes behind his glasses….

And then he woke up, covered in a sheen of cold sweat and panting heavily. He shifted in the armchair painfully; his chest rose and fell with his heavy breathing, and it hurt every time. The image of James' terrified face was still burned into the inside of his eyelids—oh, how lucky he was that he had woken up just then.

He hadn't fallen asleep right before the full moon in ages. The closest thing he could usually get was a slight half-sleep, the kind where he felt a little like he was floating and slight hallucinations played in his ears, but not nearly enough to be restful. Was this a good sign or a bad one? He couldn't quite tell.

It was Halloween. The seventh-years had planned a party on the lawn, and it would be starting at about eight o'clock. Remus wasn't close enough to the Hogwarts grounds to hear them, but he felt like he could. What would they be doing? They would be dressed up, surely, and Remus' friends would be there. They would probably serve punch and fly broomsticks in the chilly October weather. Girls would laugh, boys would jump in the lake, there would likely be caramel apples and games… and here would be Remus, stuck within the confines of a rickety Shack, living out the pain and Dark magic that some dared to celebrate on this Halloween night.

"Happy Halloween," he whispered, and then he leaned back and tried again to close his eyes and sleep.

Sleep never came, but maybe that was for the best.

What did come, however, was morning: it came slowly at first, like the last bit of honey seeping out of the jar, and then it came all at once in great big clumps. Before Remus knew it, he was in terrible pain once again, his skeleton ripping itself apart for the second time that night. His sanity returned to him just as the morning had, like honey, except it was far sweeter and far stickier.

Remus was himself again: a scrawny fourteen-year-old boy with pale skin, too many scars to count (and a few more after that endeavor, probably), and hazel eyes that were more brown than green. He was too numb to feel anything in particular, but he still managed to haul himself into a sitting position. Leaning against the wall, Remus stared at the dust floating in the morning sunbeam emerging from a slat between the boards. It gave him something to focus on, at least.

Madam Pomfrey appeared a couple of minutes later, and she was smiling.

"Why're'you—" Remus tried, but his mouth was sticky with blood and fatigue.

"Don't try to speak," she said, business-like, leaning next to his damaged body. "You're looking well, Remus. Okay, so perhaps not well, but you look like you'll survive the next couple of days."

"Ssssssss," said Remus, who was trying to say something acidly sarcastic, but it didn't quite come out right.

"You may be wondering why I look so happy," said Madam Pomfrey. "Well, I'm going to tell you, but not until we've gotten you back to the castle and you nap. You desperately need a nap. You haven't slept in… what? Twenty-six hours or so?"

"Ssssssss," affirmed Remus.

"Yes. You're going to take a very long nap, and then I'm going to tell you all about the amazing thing that's happening at Hogwarts in two weeks. Now you have something to look forward to. All right?"

"Ssssssss."

"Good." Madam Pomfrey was used to Remus' post-moon ramblings by now—sometimes, they came in the form of actual ramblings, fever-ridden and fervent, coherent but confused. Sometimes, they were like this: incoherent sounds that were meant to be words, but were lost in translation somewhere between Remus' brain and his mouth. He was making perfect sense in his head, but his brain was far too addled to communicate that to Madam Pomfrey.

"All done," she said, and she helped Remus to his feet. Remus leaned on her heavily, still unable to feel his limbs. They climbed through the tunnel, Disillusioned, and started the long trek back to Hogwarts, where Madam Pomfrey helped Remus into his bed and started to heal him further.

Numbness wore off, tears came, and it wasn't long before students ended up in the Hospital Wing due to an early-morning crisis. "M'dm Pomfrey," Remus murmured, breath shuddery—the words barely came. "There're people in the Wing."

She swore. "I'm busy right now!" she called, and Remus heard the people in the main ward giggle and take a seat on a bed.

"D'sn't sound urg'nt," he slurred.

"Not nearly as urgent as your current situation is."

"M'fine."

"You're not."

"I am, Madam—" insisted Remus, and then he fell asleep mid-sentence.

He woke up to pain.

"Ow," he mumbled, and Madam Pomfrey made a sympathetic noise. He tried to sit up, and—miracle of miracles—she let him. "Am I okay?" he asked, patting his head for wounds. "I feel normal."

"You're okay," she said. "You shouldn't be here for long."

"Hm."

"How do you feel?"

"Like I normally do after a full moon. Nothing's much amiss. I'm exhausted."

"Yes, you should lie back down."

Remus did so, and all the muscles in his body screamed in protest. He grimaced. "Wasn't there something you wanted to tell me?" he asked Madam Pomfrey, thinking back to the fuzzy early hours of the morning. "Something that made you happy? Good news?"

"Oh, yes," she said, smiling broadly. "Alexander Adamson is passing through, and he's offered to speak at Hogwarts. In two weeks, he's going to be giving a speech in the Great Hall."

Remus' jaw dropped. "Alexander Adamson?" he repeated. "Werewolf advocate Alexander Adamson?"

"Indeed. Seven o'clock in the Great Hall, November fifteenth."

Remus was so stunned that he barely felt Madam Pomfrey wrapping his limbs with bandages. "You're joking," he said. "There's no way parents will allow that."

"Why not?"

"Because… because people think that anyone who advocates for werewolves is a Death Eater or something. Miles Rosenblum thought that last year."

"Wasn't Miles Rosenblum's mother abnormally prejudiced?"

"I… I suppose. But…." Remus sighed. "Madam Pomfrey, this could go very badly."

"Don't you want to hear him? You've been listening to his speeches on record for years now. You've read his book about a thousand times. I'm surprised you're not more excited for this."

"I am! I'm horribly excited! This is amazing! It's just… I don't want to hear the backlash. An Adamson speech at Hogwarts will stir up all kinds of conversations."

"Hopefully good ones."

"I'm not so sure about that, Madam Pomfrey. If there's anything I've learned in the past nine and a half years, it's that werewolves hardly ever get lucky."

Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes. "Oh, stop being so self-pitying. You've been quite lucky as of late. You're the first werewolf ever to go to Hogwarts, you have friends, and you have the best medical care on the continent, if I do say so myself."

"That's not lucky. I mean, it is, but education, friends, and health are basic things that most everybody has. It's not a good thing that those very basic things are my idea of lucky."

"Well, you're not lucky compared to James Potter, no, but you're plenty lucky compared to other werewolves. You've experienced miracles, Remus Lupin, and who's to say you won't experience more?"

"I suppose," said Remus with a sigh, and then he grinned. "I really am excited. Alexander Adamson… here! That's amazing."

Madam Pomfrey smiled. "There's the reaction I was looking for."

It wasn't long before three very excited Marauders burst into Madam Pomfrey's office. "Moony!" shouted James. "Quidditch tryouts are today! And… wow. You look awful."

Remus made a face. "You could have waited a little longer before visiting me. I haven't even taken a bath yet."

"No offense, but you need one," said Sirius, observing the blood in Remus' hair with disgust.

"Figured that out for myself, thanks. What brings you here so early?"

"Well," said James importantly, "Quidditch tryouts, obviously, like I just told you! Did the full moon addle your brains or something?"

"Yes, James, it quite literally did."

"Well, that would explain it, because I've been talking about this for ages! Today, this evening, at six, I try out for Keeper! It's going to be phenomenal! I've been practicing since four-thirty in the morning today!"

Remus grimaced. He'd still been furry and violent at four-thirty that day.

"I watched for you to come out of the Willow, Moony, but I didn't see you."

"Madam Pomfrey Disillusions both of us. Emerging from a tree, broken and bloody, wouldn't be the best strategy for keeping my secret."

"Ah, I see. Anyway. I'm going to crush it today!"

Remus didn't care for Quidditch, but he did enjoy seeing the bright look on James' face as he spelled out his plans for the season. "I was a Chaser my second year," he said, "and I was a Beater last year. I bet the Keeper position will be even better! And then I'll be a Seeker, and I'll have been all four!"

"Why don't you just focus on excelling at one position?" Remus asked.

"Because I already excel at every position I try, you idiot. Obviously. This keeps things interesting. I've been practicing all week, and today is the day that everybody finally notices my incredible Chasing talent!"

"I'm good at chasing things, too," said Remus. "Specifically humans. On the full moon. In a race between you and me, I'd win."

Sirius snorted. "I like it when you make those kinds of jokes, Moony. They're funny."

"I'm always funny."

"You're in a good mood."

"I'm trying."

"Will you be able to go to tryouts today and watch me?" asked James, eyes wide and hopeful. "You look… I mean, you don't look great, but after a bath you should be okay."

Remus laughed. "I can't even stand right now, Prongs. I shouldn't even be awake. So no, I'm not going to Quidditch tryouts."

"Fine," said James, sulking. "We'll tell you all about it, I suppose."

"You look tired," whispered Peter.

"I just woke up from a nap. I didn't sleep at all last night, obviously."

"You should get some sleep. Prongs, why don't we leave and practice some more Quidditch?"

"Sounds great!" chirped James. In his excitement, it seemed he'd lost his smothering, make-sure-Remus-is-healthy instinct. Remus gave Peter a grateful look as Sirius and James left the Hospital Wing—but, to Remus' surprise, Peter did not follow them.

"You can leave," said Remus. "I know you want to play with them."

"Not really," said Peter. "James has been flying all morning. I'm sick of flying, and I've been up for a while. D'you mind if I just take a nap on that chair right there? We'll nap together."

"Oh, um," said Remus. "No. I don't mind. Not at all."

"Great," said Peter, and then the two of them intermittently slept and chatted until it was time for Peter to see James' Quidditch tryouts.

It was the best sleep that Remus had ever gotten.

And James, of course, made Keeper. No surprise there.

AN: Sorry to skip a day—I've been busy!