Madam Pomfrey released Remus later that day with a few stipulations. "I'm going to give you a cup with markings," she said. "Each morning, you'll pour the potions up to the 'two', all right? And rinse the cup after you've taken each potion."

"Okay."

"I'm trusting you to do this yourself. Some other students have to come here to take potions every morning. Please be responsible."

"Aren't I always?"

She smiled. "Remus, talking of responsibility… I want you to come here every time something hurts more than it normally does so that I can look at it. If it's nothing, then I'll send you on your way, and you won't be here more than five minutes. If it's something, then you won't have to walk around on a fractured leg for days. Done deal?"

"Done deal."

"Very well. Have an excellent evening, Remus Lupin."

"And you as well, Madam Pomfrey."

He left, feeling triumphant and defeated all at once.

The next day, Remus was to help Professor Flitwick with Duelling Club. He arrived to Flitwick's classroom about an hour early so that they could plan and prepare over tea—but to his surprise, there was another person in the room as well.

"Do you need me to come back later?" he asked Professor Flitwick, slowly backing out of the classroom as he spoke.

"Oh, no. Of course not. This is David Lucero. He's interviewing for the Astronomy position."

"Professor Sidus is quitting?"

"Within the next couple of years, yes. Mr. Lucero is thinking about teaching an Astrology class next year to acclimate himself to Hogwarts, and then he'll take over for Astronomy as well if he so desires after that."

"Oh." Remus would never admit it, but he was a bit happy that Sidus was quitting. Sidus wasn't bad—not really—but he'd never really quite warmed up to Remus.

However, there was something… off about Lucero's scent. Strange. Remus made a note of it—he'd tell Flitwick after Lucero left.

"I hear you're helping with the Duelling Club," said Lucero in an unexpectedly baritone voice. "You like to duel, then?"

"Yes, sir," said Remus. He wasn't sure what else to say.

"Well, how about we warm up a little before the club starts? I've recently been getting into duelling myself—it seemed necessary once the war started up." He smiled and pulled out his wand. "Was it… Lupin? What do you say, Lupin?"

"Ah." Flitwick frowned. "You don't have to if you don't want to, Lupin…."

But Remus did want to. He loved duelling with Professor Flitwick, who was so much more talented than Remus would ever be, but Flitwick was beginning to get a little predictable. He could still beat Remus, obviously, because he was faster and more magically talented… but Remus was getting tired of being beaten by the same person.

"A duel sounds fun," he said—but before he could even pull out his wand, Lucero had hit him with a Tickling Charm.

Fortunately, Remus wasn't at all ticklish. His nerves had been stretched and reformed hundreds of times, and his pain tolerance was incredibly high. Tickling didn't bother Remus one bit. Instead of being incapacitated, like Lucero had probably intended, he pulled out his wand and tried to Disarm Lucero in one fluid movement.

Lucero's eyes went wide as he put up a shield. "Wow," he said.

Now Remus was playing offense, which was exactly what he'd wanted. He sent three Body-Bind spells towards Lucero in quick succession, and while Lucero was still fending them off, he cast a Disarming Charm with exactly the right spin on it to hit Lucero from behind. Remus caught Lucero's wand, and the duel was over.

Lucero stood there, mouth slightly ajar. "The kid's a prodigy," he said.

"You're pretty new to duelling," said Remus with a shrug. "I've probably been at it for longer than you have."

"I suppose, but… wow." Lucero laughed. "You've taught him well, Filius."

"It certainly wasn't all my doing," said Flitwick, also laughing. "Lupin is an exceptional duellist. He passed the first round of A.N.N.O.Y.E.D. tryouts, even though he wasn't able to move forward—for technical reasons; nothing to do with his skill. He's going to do great things someday."

Lucero frowned. "I'm sorry… what's A.N.N.O.Y.E.D., exactly? I was raised by my Muggle grandparents on my mother's side."

"National duelling team for youth. A National Organization for Young Excellent Duellists."

"There's no second N, but they really wanted to make a word out of it," said Remus helpfully.

All at once, he realized several things: Lucero had Muggle relatives. That explained why he wanted to learn duelling so badly in light of the war. Perhaps he was afraid of who might attack him or his relatives—perhaps he was even Muggle-born (though Remus doubted it, based on his scent). But if Lucero was accustomed to prejudice, or if he feared it… well, Remus almost hoped that was the case, because that meant that he would be much more empathetic toward a werewolf at Hogwarts when he inevitably found out.

"You're welcome to stay for the club," said Flitwick. "Lupin and I will be doing a partially-choreographed demonstration, and it's really quite impressive what he can do in a larger-scale duel."

"Thanks, but I need to talk to Albus," said Lucero. "Thank you very much for doing that with me, Lupin. I'm looking forward to teaching you if the opportunity ever arises."

"Me too," Remus managed. He always found himself unbearably awkward around new people, especially people who, upon being hired, were going to find out about his werewolf status.

He watched as Lucero left, and then he turned to Flitwick. "Is he… human? There's something off about his scent."

Flitwick smiled. "He's a Dhampir. His father was human, but his mother was a vampire. He doesn't have any vampire traits besides pale skin and slightly pointed teeth."

That made sense. "Oh. I wonder how he's going to feel about me, then. Historically, vampires and werewolves don't get on well."

"Hm," said Flitwick, hiding another smile with his left hand. "Yes, I wonder."

"What was that?" asked Remus, alarmed. "What do you know? What's going on?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You're smiling! What's going on?"

Flitwick chuckled now and flicked his wand at an empty cup—it immediately filled with tea, and Flitwick pushed it toward Remus. "It's nothing, Remus," he said. "It's just that… well, Mr. Lucero already knows."

"He already knows? That I'm a werewolf?"

"Of course. Professor Dumbledore told him when it became clear that he was our top candidate. Unfortunately, many people aren't entirely comfortable with the idea of being in close proximity with a werewolf, and Professor Dumbledore wants to ensure that your professors are at least somewhat ambivalent with the idea of teaching you. We don't exactly want them to quit upon hearing the news and have no backup."

Remus' mouth fell open. "But he was so normal about it!"

"I daresay he knows what it's like to be associated with a Dark creature. I daresay he knows what it's like to want to be treated normally regardless." Flitwick shrugged. "That's why he and I were talking. I'm the other part-human professor, after all, and he wanted to know how tolerant the environment was. He's already spoken to Hagrid."

Remus took a sip of tea, almost elated. "Wow," he said. "I really hope he gets that job."

Flitwick laughed. "Between you and me, I think he will. Now, what do you say we practice that choreographed duel? We're teaching different blocking methods and choice of shield, yes?"

"Yes, sir. I had a few ideas for other techniques we can demonstrate…"

Remus arrived back in his dormitory, humming happily. Duelling Club had been excellent. His friends hadn't shown up—probably busy digging that hole in the Forbidden Forest—but that was all right. Remus had gotten to duel quite a few new people, and the demonstration had gone perfectly.

He opened the door to his dormitory. "Hullo, Wormtail. Prongs. Padfoot."

They didn't respond. Peter was sitting on his bed, looking rather despondent. James was standing by his bed with his arms crossed, and Sirius was sitting on Remus' bed.

"What's going on?" asked Remus. "You look like someone just killed your owls." He held up his hands. "I promise I did not eat any owls last full moon. I would have remembered if I did. Feathers, you know—not very digestible."

Nobody laughed.

"Are you dying?" asked James.

Remus laughed, surprised. "Am I dying? I don't think so."

"We overheard Poppy talking to Albus," said Sirius. "She said that the transformations were taking a more permanent toll on your body."

"Since when does that translate to dying?"

"She said your bones were getting weaker."

"They are."

"She said you were getting started on daily potions."

"I am."

"So you're dying!" said Peter.

"No. Well, slowly, I suppose… just as everyone is." Remus sighed. "Come on, you lot. It's not a big deal. It's just that all the transforming to and fro is strenuous on every single part of my body, and Madam Pomfrey thinks that some daily potions would help with the damage. It's preventative. I'm not dying anytime soon, I don't think."

James sighed violently and collapsed onto the floor.

"Wow," commented Remus, bemused. "Bit dramatic there, mate. What's this all about?"

"I can't fix this," he said, voice muffled through his hands. "We're going to fix your post-moon injuries, Moony, I promise. We're going to dig that hole and make that potion, and we're going to become Animagi. We're going to fix how nervous and sad you are all the time. We're going to fix how much school you miss. But this isn't one of those things! It's just…"

"Incurable," finished Remus. He crouched and awkwardly patted James on the hand, unsure of what to do. "Yeah, you can't really fix this. But it's not as if I'm dying—I promise. I just… need a little more help to keep up with everyone else, I guess." Remus pointed to the potions, which now resided on the windowsill next to his bed. "Those are the cure, technically. I suppose."

"My grandfather started on daily potions just before he died," came James' muffled voice.

Remus wasn't sure what to say to that. "Well, this isn't the same thing. I think I would know if I were dying."

"How long can werewolves live, discounting the full moon injuries?"

"That's a good question. No one's really sure, because werewolves who don't have to go through full moon injuries aren't Registered, now are they? But… Fenrir Greyback is still going strong, so I'd suppose I have plenty of time left."

"Was Greyback was bitten before you were?"

Remus swallowed. He had to have been, out of necessity for Remus' bite, but of course his friends didn't know that. "Yeah, years before. He rose to prominence when we were young, didn't he?"

"Don't remember."

"I'm still not sure if I should be encouraging this Animagus nonsense, but… I do think my physical condition will be improved if I'm not so nervous for each transformation. Werewolves can thrive in the wild, which means that there must be some mental component. Professor McGonagall talked about it in our first year, remember?"

"Of course I don't remember," said Sirius. "I never pay attention in class."

"I remember," said James, who never forgot anything at all. "You asked if turning the pig into a desk hurt the pig, and…" Suddenly, James' mouth fell ajar. "Oh!" he said. "That makes so much more sense!"

"What?" said Peter.

"I thought he was joking—you know, yanking Minerva's wand, trying to take up class time—but you were asking an honest question, weren't you?"

"Of course I was. Can't very well do transfiguration morally if I know that the transfiguree is going through what I go through twice a month. But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about when I asked her how viciousness affected transfigurations, and she said…"

"That it's easier to transfigure a creature who wants to be transfigured," said James. "That's it, isn't it? She said that docile creatures are easier to transfigure."

"Yes, precisely. I try to read and meditate and what-have-you before full moons to calm myself, because I know it'll help in that sense—and it really does, I think. But when I'm positively dreading the transformation, I think it's harder on my body. That's why it's so much easier for Greyback and his ilk—their minds work with the transformation instead of against it."

"So we can help you by becoming Animagi," said James with a grin. "It's pretty much the only way to get your mind to work with the transformation without looking forward to murder sprees every month, isn't it? If we get your mind to enjoy being a wolf, then your body will follow suit."

Remus smiled. "That's the idea. I still wouldn't be opposed if you quit this whole Animagus thing, of course. It's terrifically dangerous."

James had perked up considerably from his previous despondence, and Peter and Sirius seemed cheerier as well—now James was pacing frantically, an excited fire in his eyes. "Well, we're definitely not stopping now," he said. "You know me, Moony. I'm worked up about it now, and I won't be able to focus on anything else until it's done."

Remus feigned disappointment, but there was a larger and larger part of his mind every day that would, in fact, be dreadfully opposed if his friends did not successfully become Animagi. He was selfish, he knew, but he was also too weak to be anything else.

It had been almost ten years, and Remus' mind and body were wearing thin. He needed a change—needed it so deeply that he feared he would implode—needed it so deeply that he felt physically sick even thinking about it. This was his change, and he was too weak to let it pass by.

And honestly? He didn't even feel bad about it. He trusted his friends, and he was excited for what was to come. "It is rather fun, isn't it?" he said, grinning. "The whole Animagi business, I mean."

James grasped Remus' hands and started swinging him around the room. "That's the spirit, old chap!" he cried. Peter and Sirius joined in their swinging only a moment later, and Remus collapsed into bed that night dizzy, exhausted, and happy. He slept very well, and he suspected it was not all due to the potion.

The next day, Remus ended up on a bench outside Dumbledore's office, jiggling his knee.

He was a horrible person. He was selfish, he was willing to let his friends possibly die for his benefit (not even to save his life; just to make him more comfortable!) and he made himself sick. What kind of Gryffindor was he?

He wasn't being noble! He was being a complete coward! How was this any different from Greyback murdering people? Remus was putting others in danger just to save himself some pain! It was the exact. Same. Thing.

He was about to tell Dumbledore about the Animagus plot. He was going to get it shut down, and he was going to suffer silently for the rest of his life, just as he always had.

Who was he kidding? No, he wasn't.

Remus groaned and stood up, pacing wildly. Pros and cons. Yes, that was what he would do. He would make lists.

Pros. If Remus let his friends become Animagi, he could live a more normal life. He could save himself endless pain. His friends would have good fun mucking about as animals. James wouldn't be so agonized about Remus' condition if he knew he'd done all he could do.

Cons. They could die.

Remus very nearly vomited as he imagined his friends—any one of them—literally dying because of Remus. He would never forgive himself. It was unthinkable; unfathomable; unbearable. Why had he ever gone along with this?

Because he trusted his friends! Somewhere deep down, in his heart of hearts, he was totally confident that they would live.

But he wasn't confident in his head—only in his heart—and that wasn't enough. That was ridiculous. All the books said that becoming an Animagus was dangerous—not unfrequently fatal—and Remus knew this heart-feeling was just hope, just wishful thinking, and that sort of operation by feeling was not good or noble at all. It was selfish.

But would telling Dumbledore really help? He couldn't stop them! No one could stop them!

Was it really Remus' fault if no one could stop them, not even Dumbledore? If they died, but he'd tried his best?

Remus groaned again and smashed his head against his fist. Here he was, being selfish again. He was caring more about his own personal accountability than their lives. No, he had to put an end to this. Not only was it a terrible thing to do, but it was turning Remus into a terrible person.

He was going to do it. He was going to tell Dumbledore. It was entirely possible that his friends wouldn't want anything to do with him after that, but it was better than their deaths. It was also possible that they wouldn't stop, but Remus would keep a close eye on them and keep snitching to professors whenever he saw something. They could not do this. Remus would not allow it. He would tell Dumbledore, and…

Remus heard footsteps, and Dumbledore appeared at the door. "Were you waiting for me, Remus?" he said pleasantly. "I heard you pacing."

Remus felt himself go red. "No," he said.

"There isn't anything you'd like to speak with me about?"

"No."

"Are you quite certain?"

"Yes."

Remus felt pale now, and he touched his face. There was a prominent layer of sweat on it, and now he felt it on his palms and under his arms and…

Suddenly, he was struggling to breathe. Hold for ten, he reminded himself desperately through the pain and sheer terror. Hold for… He was forgetting words now. He was crouching on the floor.

He couldn't think.

He couldn't do anything.

He was dying.

It subsided.

"Sorry, Professor," he said, sitting up, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I… I panicked for a moment. I'm not sure what came over me."

Professor Dumbledore stretched out a hand and helped Remus stand with surprising strength. "I think I know," he said.

"You… you do?!"

"I do. Come into my office for a moment, if you will."

Remus wordlessly followed Dumbledore. He knew about the Animagi. He knew! This was terrible.

Wait, why was Remus so concerned he would find out? He'd only just been about to tell him, after all!

No, he hadn't. Remus sighed and sat in the chair across from Dumbledore's desk, accepting some tea from Dumbledore and making himself comfortable. He hadn't been about to tell Dumbledore. He wouldn't—he'd never.

But he wouldn't complain if Dumbledore already knew. In fact, Remus would be incredibly thankful if Dumbledore knew, because then he wouldn't have to make a decision. Dumbledore always knew best, didn't he?

"You are anxious," said Dumbledore, "because of the daily potions. Although they aren't mind-altering potions, they have been known to be linked to increased anxiety while your body is getting used to the new signals."

Oh. Remus sighed once more, disappointed. No, Dumbledore still had no idea.

About anything. Not Manard, not the Animagi, and not Greyback. Dumbledore was totally clueless about the horrors happening in Remus' life, right under his own nose, and Remus wasn't about to tell him… because Remus was a coward.

"You're shaking," observed Dumbledore. He took Remus' hand in his own, and Remus looked down to see that his hand was, in fact, quivering something awful.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Quite all right. The jitters are often a side effect of the potions. You're going to be fine."

Remus looked up at Dumbledore, eyes wide. "Everything is so complicated," he said. "I just… I want out. I want to stop feeling things. I want to stop being such a burden. Sometimes I wonder if it would be better for everyone if I just… stopped existing entirely."

Dumbledore's mouth flattened ever so slightly into an almost imperceptible frown. "Remus, if you…"

"I'm not going to off myself."

"Are you certain?"

And because he was feeling so awful, because he felt so hopeless, and because everything was currently exploding in Remus' face… Remus actually allowed himself to think about suicide. Just for a minute.

It would solve his issues with his health. It would solve his issues with his friends. It would solve his issues with Manard… and to be quite honest, Remus wasn't afraid of death. He felt he'd already been through far worse. At this point, it felt as if he was just waiting for death. Why not speed things up a tad?

But… dying wouldn't solve Remus' issues with Greyback. His friends and family would still be in danger if Remus didn't solve that problem whilst still alive. Dying would disallow Remus from continuing his Arithmancy project and potentially helping loads of people. Dying would mean that all Madam Pomfrey's, Professor Questus', and his parents' hard work keeping Remus happy and healthy would be totally undone.

And besides, Remus knew what it was like to experience the death of a loved one, and he didn't particularly want to put his family and friends through that. He couldn't do that in good conscience.

But… he wanted to. The idea of being finished with it all was tempting and sweet, like a warm bed after a cold swim. He wanted it so badly that he could practically taste it. He felt like he'd been through enough already—besides, he was a werewolf, and he was going to die before his friends and family anyway. Better to die now and give them ample time to grieve. Better to maximize the amount of time they could spend living without a pitiful werewolf to care for.

No. That didn't make sense. Greyback was still out there, so Remus couldn't die yet. And Madam Pomfrey had promised that things would get better, so Remus had to live, if only to prove her wrong.

He dragged his eyes back to Dumbledore, who was staring at him scrutinizingly. "Yeah, I'm certain," said Remus. "I… I mean, I… I can't. I couldn't. I wouldn't."

"Good." Dumbledore leaned forward, eyes boring into Remus'. "You've been through more than most do in a lifetime," he said quietly, "but you've been handling it brilliantly. You are a good person, and the world needs you—and, even if you were a bad person, the potential of becoming good would be too precious. The world needs more good, and it needs it desperately—eradicating bad is not an equivalent solution. You of all people know that well."

Remus sighed. "Yes," he said.

Dumbledore flicked his wand at Remus' tea, which was going quite cold, and it immediately warmed up again in Remus' hands. "I want you to finish that," he said, "and then I want you to go to the Hospital Wing and have a warm bath. Then you're to report straight back to your dormitory, where you will pile all your favorite blankets and pillows onto your bed. Next, I instruct that you read a book, preferably about something that makes you happy and calm. And then sleep."

"That doesn't seem like a typical prescription."

"It's not, but it's the best way to feel better if you refuse to take a Calming Draught." Dumbledore took a sip of his own tea. "I trust you to get over this hump safely, Remus, and please come back here should you ever need to talk."

Remus desperately needed to talk, but he wouldn't. He couldn't. He was too much of a coward to tell anyone, including Professor Dumbledore, what was really going on, and now he was going to pay the price.

"Thank you, Professor," he said, and then he followed Dumbledore's instructions to the letter.

They helped immensely, to tell the truth.