Once upon a time, Lyall Lupin had made a massive mistake.

He'd made mistakes before—tiny ones, of course. He'd said stupid things, especially when he was nervous around Hope during the early stages of their relationship. He'd failed to find and catch Boggarts. He'd failed exams in school. He'd quarreled with his brother. Just stupid little things like that—things that had seemed huge in the moment, but the strong emotions attached to them had faded away with time.

There was one mistake, though—one giant mistake—one huge, terrible, horrible mistake—that Lyall Lupin would never be able to live down.

He relived it in his dreams sometimes. Crash. The window. Crack. Apparition. Bang. Spell after spell, each of them too late. Hope's voice. Lyall's own voice, saying that it probably wasn't worth it to save Remus. Hope's voice again. Screech. The tires of the Knight Bus. Hope's voice. Thud. The doors of St. Mungo's. The Healer's voice.

Then, there had been a month of frantically searching for cures, a month of being told that Remus wouldn't survive the first transformation—he was too young, too hurt, too fragile—a month of staring at Remus, taking in his every feature, committing him to memory, because they weren't sure if he would come out of that cellar alive.

Lyall still remembered the sound of his footsteps as he carried Remus to the cellar. He still remembered the click of the door as he closed it behind him. He still remembered Remus' screams, and he still remembered the crash of the mug on the floor when Hope, sick to her stomach with worry and despair, had dropped it.

The worst part of this nightmare was that it never ended. Remus' condition was always evolving, and each new month brought new horrors. Indeed: Remus' body was a fragile, confusing thing that did not always work like it was supposed to, and it was all due to Lyall's mistake all those years ago. Remus was being punished severely for a mistake that was not his own, and Lyall could not stand it.

As a result, Lyall was determined that he would never, ever make a mistake like that again. He would be the best father in the world. Remus was going to feel safe and happy with him, no matter what, for as long as Lyall was alive.

For as long as Remus is alive, a voice said in the back of his mind, reminding him of the terribly short lifespan of a werewolf.

"No," said Lyall. He would not think about that right now. He had bigger things on his plate, because (as the future greatest father in the world), Lyall was absolutely certain that something was wrong with Remus.

Nothing physically, of course. Remus had been tired and pained, but that had been expected. This close to the full moon, Remus' body always slowed. Every movement was intentional, and none was longer than it had to be. He was hurting, though he would never tell anybody just how much. Lyall wouldn't ask any questions when Remus got like this, but he would casually hand things to him sometimes so that he wouldn't have to get up for them himself.

So no—Remus' physical ailments were no different than usual. It was something to do with his mind.

Ever since returning home for Christmas holidays, Remus had been different, somehow. He was jumpier, and Lyall didn't think that was just because of the full moon. He was somewhat clingier in public situations, choosing to stay by one of his parents' sides instead of being independent. He was more nervous than he had used to be about certain matters.

Take the Winthrops, for instance. After going to Hogwarts, Remus had grown so much more comfortable in his own skin. He didn't seem to hate himself so much after spending just one year with his friends, who comforted him, and John Questus, who pushed him. After Christmas holidays in Remus' second year, the Lupins had actually started to talk about Remus' lycanthropy—joke about it—come to terms with it after so many years of pretending that it didn't exist.

Based on Poppy Pomfrey's letters to Hope, Remus was doing even better in that respect than his parents were. As the years went by, Remus was able to be more frank with his friends. He was able to talk about it with professors who asked questions. He'd even met up with a friend of his Arithmancy professor, who was also a werewolf, and had had a lovely conversation over lunch.

With the Winthrops, though? Remus was withdrawn, nervous, and still clearly uncomfortable with their presence, even after so many weeks. That was somewhat expected, because it was a new and strange situation, but it didn't feel right for it to be so tense for so long. Something was definitely wrong, and Detective Lyall Lupin was on the case.

The next night, when Lyall was certain that Remus was sleeping, he asked Stefan and Sara if they could watch the kids for an evening. "It's almost the full moon, and those can be emotionally draining," he said. "Hope and I would love to swing by the city for a while. We'll pay you."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Stefan with a laugh. "You're not paying us to watch those two. They're fourteen. They don't even need to be watched."

Lyall laughed. "All right. How does tomorrow evening sound? I don't want Remus without us too close to the full moon."

"That sounds perfect. How was his party, by the way?"

"Erm…" Lyall thought back to Remus Flooing home after the party, dark circles under his eyes. He had answered Lyall's questions minimally ("Yes, I danced. Yes, I had fun. Yes, it was crowded. Yes, I'm tired"), and then he'd gone straight to bed. Remus would have told Lyall if something big had happened at the party, so this was something else.

"He had fun," said Lyall, "but… teenagers, you know? You never quite know the specifics with that child."

But Lyall did. He wanted to, at least, and he was going to find out more.

Hope was ecstatic to have an evening out, as expected. They took the Knight Bus to London, making boring small talk until they arrived. They walked into their favorite restaurant, sat down with a couple of menus, and then Hope said, "This is about Remus, isn't it?" at precisely the same time as Lyall said, "Something's wrong with Remus."

They chuckled and put their menus down. "You've noticed it too?" said Hope.

"Of course I have. I figured it was better to take you here to talk about it, since Remus can hear us anywhere in the house… and I'm not always sure when he's sleeping, to be quite honest."

"Nor am I. You've noticed how withdrawn he's been lately? How nervous? How tired?"

"Of course. What do you think is wrong?"

Hope sighed and picked her menu back up as a waiter approached. "I don't know," she said.

They ordered their food, and then they went back to talking. "He was depressed, according to Poppy," Hope said. "Remember? It was back at the beginning of the year."

"He's depressed a lot; he just won't admit it unless it's unbearable," said Lyall. "You're right, though—from what she said, it seemed like a pretty nasty episode. Remember the one when he was nine or so?"

Hope shuddered. "I could never forget it."

Remus had been only nine years old—a werewolf for a little more than four years—and he'd been completely detached from reality. There had just been a lack of something in his eyes, and he hadn't wanted to do anything besides sleep. One full moon in particular had nearly pushed him over the edge, and Lyall had had to take him to St. Mungo's with horrific, nearly life-threatening injuries.

"Do you think it's just the depression coming back, then?" asked Hope.

"I'm… I'm not sure. Remus is usually depressed for a reason. We can usually trace it back to something, can't we?"

"People don't need reasons to be depressed. I had an aunt who was depressed very frequently for no reason at all."

"It depends on the person. Remus has always had a reason. He was depressed when he was nine because we stopped searching for cures, remember? So what is it now?"

"Usually it's when the future seems bleak. Perhaps that's it."

"But he has Hogwarts now, and he has friends. The future is brighter than it's ever been."

"Perhaps that's just it, Lyall. Perhaps he realizes that he has everything that he could ever want as a werewolf. Perhaps he realizes how lucky he is—how things couldn't possibly improve any more than they already have. Perhaps his future is brighter than it's ever been, but he sees that it's still dark and terrifying, and there's nowhere to go but down. Perhaps that scares him."

"Yes, that makes sense," said Lyall, disappointed that he hadn't gotten it first. So much for Detective Lyall Lupin.

"Or perhaps something is going on at school. We should ask him about it."

"Do you think he'll answer us?"

"Probably not, but you never know."

"You're right." Lyall sighed. "It's coming on ten years. Can you believe it?"

"Not at all. Just like I couldn't believe that he went through his one-hundredth transformation more than two years ago. It's bittersweet, but mostly bitter."

"This one will be his one-hundred-thirty-fourth time transforming. Two-sixty-eighth, if you're counting the transformation back."

They sat in silence for a moment. There was nothing to say—one-hundred-thirty-four full moons was too much to comprehend. Once a month, every month, for a full decade. Remus had been a werewolf twice as long as he hadn't. He didn't even remember not being a werewolf at this point.

The waiter arrived with their food. "Everything all right?" the waiter asked. "You two look sad."

"Erm," said Lyall. "We are. It's… the ten-year anniversary of… well, ten years ago, our son… fell out a window."

"Oh, dear. Is he okay?"

"Yes. But it still makes us very sad sometimes."

"Oh. All right."

The waiter left, and both Hope and Lyall sighed in unison.

"Do you think we're good parents?" Lyall asked Hope. "Answer honestly. If we include the mistakes we've… the mistake I've made… along with all we've done correctly, do you think we could be considered good parents at all?"

"Is there such a thing as a good parent?" asked Hope wearily. "Maybe the only thing that matters is that we raise a good person, and that he is good because of us and not in spite of us."

Lyall nodded. "That's comforting," he said, "because Remus is a much better person than I'll ever be."

There was a moment of silence, and then Hope sighed once more. "And I as well," she said.

Lyall had already decided that he would be the one to fix this. Remus tended to talk to him more than he did Hope, anyway—she was wonderful, but Lyall liked to think he understood more how Remus' mind worked. Remus didn't want pity, sympathy, or hugs, like Hope would heap upon him in times of distress. He wanted sound advice and logical arguments, like Questus had given him once upon a time.

And so Hope and Lyall arrived back at the Lupin residence with a game plan. They walked up to the door, took one deep breath, and then put it into motion.

First, Lyall walked upstairs to Remus' room and knocked on his door gently, just in case Remus was sleeping. Fortunately, he wasn't. "Come in, Dad," said Remus.

Lyall entered, only to find Mallory sitting on the floor, criss-cross across from Remus, playing a game of cards.

"I'm teaching her some Muggle games," said Remus. "She doesn't know 'Go Fish'."

"Oh, dear," said Lyall, smiling. "That's definitely something everybody should know before they die, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Did you need something?"

"Yes, but I can wait until you two finish this game."

"Please say it's urgent," groaned Mallory. "I'm losing for the sixth time. Please pull him away before I can lose for the seventh."

Remus grinned, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, we've been playing for a while," he said. "We can stop."

"All right."

Lyall watched as Remus put the cards away—intentionally, slowly, like he did everything when he was in pain—and then he offered his hand to help Remus off of the ground. "I thought we'd go out for a bit," Lyall said.

"Go out? Where?"

"It's a surprise."

"Dad, the full moon is in three days. I can't go many places."

"Don't worry; it'll just be quiet sitting. Dress warmly, though."

Three minutes later, Remus was dressed, Mallory was gone, and Lyall offered his arm to Remus. "We're going to Apparate. Count of three. One, two…"

Crack.

Lyall and his son were standing in a garden; one that they sometimes had picnics in during the summer. The garden in winter, though, was a stark contrast to its lush and vibrant summer self. The once verdant foliage was now stripped bare, and the vibrant blooms had withered away, leaving behind a barren landscape.

It was still a beautiful sight, though: bare branches of the trees stood stark against the pale winter sky, their intricate patterns of gnarled bark etched against the horizon, and snowflakes fell softly from the sky. The garden's stone pathways were dusted with a thin layer of snow, and the statues in the garden, once hidden behind the thick leaves, now stood in stark relief, their marble forms elegant. In the center of the garden, a small fountain stood frozen. Indeed—despite its winter transformation, the garden was peaceful.

Lyall looked over at Remus, who was shivering profoundly. "I'm going to cast a Warming Charm on you," said Lyall, holding his wand toward Remus, who nodded. A moment later, Remus had stopped shivering, and Lyall felt better.

"It's like it's frozen in time," whispered Lyall, because he felt like he had to whisper here. "Don't you feel as if you could stay here forever, and then return home like not a moment had passed?"

"Yeah," breathed Remus. His breath formed clouds in the air in front of him, despite the Warming Charm. "I need to sit down, though."

"That's an easy fix." Lyall led Remus to a beautiful marble bench and sat down next to him, placing his arm against the back of the bench behind Remus. "I thought we'd just sit out here and chat, if that's all right with you."

"Sure."

And so they sat, not speaking a word, letting the snowflakes fall around them in peaceful chaos.

Remus' voice broke the silence. "You brought me out here to ask if I'm depressed," he said flatly.

Lyall froze—this hadn't been part of the plan. The script that he and Hope had planned in the restaurant wasn't even close to this. What could he say?!

"Erm," he settled on, because his son deserved the truth. "I thought I would bring it up, yes."

"I'm fine," snapped Remus. "Can we leave now? I really—"

Lyall jammed a gloved finger in front of Remus' mouth, cutting him off. "Shhh. You're disturbing the peace. No negativity here, all right?"

"But—"

"Shh."

"But—!"

"Shh!"

"Dad, I—"

"Shush!"

Remus was laughing a little now. "I'm not depressed," he said. "I might have been at the beginning of the year, a little. But I'm much better now. Madam Pomfrey helped me."

"I have no doubt. Things like that can come back, though, and I wanted to check in on you. You've not been yourself as of late."

"I'm fine."

"I'm your father, Remus. I know you pretty well by now. Something's wrong. And it might not be depression, but it's something, and I think it'll help if you talk about it."

Remus stared at the fountain for a while before responding. "Yes, something is wrong," he said. "It's not a big deal. I'm being silly."

Lyall felt his heart beat more quickly with excitement, and he willed it to slow down so that Remus wouldn't pick up on it (even though he likely already had). Here it was. He was succeeding, and soon he would be able to fix whatever Remus was going through. "Emotions can be silly sometimes," said Lyall carefully. "That doesn't make them any less real."

"I…" Remus sighed. "There's just someone at school, and he seems to be able to get under my skin so easily. He says things that aren't exactly mean all the time… but he just brings out the worst in me, and the nonsense he says sticks with me for ages. I've never done anything truly horrible, but sometimes I think I might when he's around, and…"

"You're worried about quelling your temper because of the lycanthropy," said Lyall. Oh, of course this was about the lycanthropy. If this was the lycanthropy's fault, then it was indirectly Lyall's fault as well. He wasn't atoning for his sins by helping Remus; he was merely cleaning up his own mess—but only partially, because his mistake had left stains that even God himself could not remove.

"A bit," said Remus. "I think I can control myself, though, ultimately. It's just… feeling so ugly inside makes me feel like a terrible person. I hate myself when I'm around him, Dad. I feel so insignificant and helpless and awful. He reminds me of everything I fail to be. He reminds me of all the worst parts of me, and he makes me worry that there are more bad things that I'm just not seeing yet."

"Who is it?"

"Just… just another student. Snape is his name. James and Sirius row with him a lot. He's sort of nasty, really."

"He doesn't know you're a werewolf?"

"No."

"Have you gone to Dumbledore or McGonagall?"

"No. He's not… really doing anything that can be punished."

"Well, first of all, you need to avoid him if he's making you feel like this. Even if he's not doing anything that breaks the rules, you are allowed to avoid anyone who makes you feel less-than-human. You're always within your rights."

"What if…?" Remus hesitated, and then sighed. "What if I can't? It's only… he's in a lot of my classes."

"Then you need to move on to the second step, which is getting to the root of why he's making you feel so terribly. Figure out what's upsetting you, and deal with each issue one by one. What has he said that's made you scared? Draw a line to its origin, and find the dark fear hidden beneath. Then talk to someone about it—either myself, your mother, Madam Pomfrey, Dumbledore, or any other trusted adult. Work on it. Eventually, it won't bother you so much."

There was silence.

"They're not new fears," said Remus. "I haven't been able to get over them yet, and I'm not sure I ever will."

"What are these fears?"

"I'm a burden, I'm not worth the special treatment, and my life has been worse than over since the age of five." Remus shrugged. "Before you say anything, I know they're not true—at the front of my mind, at least. The back of my mind isn't convinced, though."

"All right, Remus," said Lyall, his heart breaking within him, "I'm about to give you some terrible advice."

"Which is?"

"I would say… just fake it till you make it, really. Keep pretending that you are worth it, that you have a wonderful life ahead of you, and that you are unbothered by this Snape fellow. Keep pretending. Don't let anyone see any of these fears, even yourself."

"You're saying to… repress everything?"

"No. I'm saying that, if you keep telling yourself it's true, it eventually will be. You need to act confident to be confident. That's the only way to train your subconscious… that and talking about it, which I still encourage you to do as much as possible."

Silence.

"I suppose that makes sense," said Remus slowly.

"Now, if any of these worries ever bleed into your conscious—into the logical part of your mind, that is—then that means you're overdue to feel them and talk about them. But if they're just feelings and not thoughts, then you need to recognize that they're lies. They're untrue. You need to teach yourself to ignore them and feel something else that is good and true."

Remus nodded. "Okay."

"So… show me. Right now."

"Show you what?"

"The confidence. Remus, I think you're a terrible burden who doesn't deserve all the special treatment you're getting. I think you have absolutely no future ahead of you. I think there's no possible way you can be happy."

"Erm."

"What do you say to me?"

"I…"

"More confident! What do you say?!"

"Erm. You're wrong?"

"Louder."

"You're wrong!"

"That's it! Now elaborate."

"I'm worth it, and I have a future."

"More confidently."

"I'm absolutely worth it, and I have a brilliant future ahead of me!"

"Yes!"

"I'm going to be the Minister for Magic one day!"

"Yes!"

"I'm going to rule the world with an iron fist! All will fear, love, and respect me! I am the cleverest, bravest, and best person in the entire world!"

"Yes!"

The once-peaceful winter scene had shattered with their shouting, and Lyall didn't care one bit. Remus was laughing now, and it was reaching his eyes. He was clinging to the bench, giggling, and he already looked so much better.

"Listen to me, Remus," said Lyall, pulling them back to seriousness. "You either talk about it, or you reject it. You cannot dwell on such things all alone, though—that only leads to crippling insecurity and fear. Promise me that, no matter what you're going through, you'll tell someone."

Remus' laughter was lost in the wind. "I can't promise that," he said. "I will promise, though, that I'll try to be better at it where I can."

"That's my boy," said Lyall, ruffling his hair, and then he pulled Remus into a massive hug. "I am so proud of you," he murmured.

"Of course you are," said Remus, voice muffled. "Like I said, I'm the cleverest, bravest, and best person in the entire world."

Lyall smiled and thanked his lucky stars that, even though he had made massive mistakes, he had still managed to raise a son who would not make all the same ones.