Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns it and I do not.

Summary: Professor McGonagall sets a 'goal setting' task for the class of 1978; each student must write a letter to their thirty year old self outlining their career, career goals and lifestyle.

The letters written are somewhat different to what she expected, so thank goodness this assignment was never handed in...

REMUS

Dear Remus,

Will I remember writing this? Of course not.

I'm pretty sure I'll remember thinking I was superior to everyone else in the cohort doing this task, because I was the most realistic and didn't consider myself to become a famous quidditch player or auror by the time I find this letter.

I'll remember sincerely wishing McGonagall didn't set this task; because it is incredibly mundane and frankly, my future is not going to look any different from my present.

I feel like apologising to you, thirty-year-old Remus John Lupin, because I'm pretty certain I'm still going to be the same old tag along, with the same unemployed status, with the same aspirations (however big of a pipe dream it is) and the same old 'furry problem.'

But I have one consolation; I hope that my friends will still have stuck by me, despite my worthlessness in a world which cannot accept me for who I am – who I will still be.

I'll remember that I wrote this with my friends in mind; because they're the only thing I look forward to in the future. My only future; because they are the most important things in the world to me.

I bet thirty year old R. is laughing at my depressing writing right now, and picking up grammatical errors on the way.

My friends. Prongs, Wormtail, Padfoot...and maybe even Evans.

James will surely stay the same.

The same old James; with a moderately-large ego and a colossal crush on Lily Evans (or will it be Potter by the time this is read?). Prongs; the scheming, witty, light-hearted but fiercely loyal James, who would do anything for his friends. What I wouldn't give to be him.

Prongs that is so lucky, it is sometimes hard to be civil towards him. Everything he wants he gets, on a silver platter no less. He'll still be that rich pureblood (albeit talented), with the world at his feet. Not that it means a thing to him; he prefers to follow Lily around, practically stalking her wherever she goes.

That's one of the things I like about James. He doesn't give a damn about some things.

It might be easy to be jealous of him, but the way he handles the fuss, with such ease and charm, and puts everything into real perspective, is admirable. One day, when I read this, I'll probably remember Prongs as the least serious of the lot; the one with the least to lose, the one with the most to gain. But I will be wrong.

He is serious; he's serious about fighting, about his friends, his Lily. I doubt that Lily would ever bring herself to admit that she is his, (she was always his). However the pure, impervious love he has for her, even though it is not always evident, is overwhelming.

I'll remember telling myself to trust myself on this one fact; I've experienced the pains of the Lily-induced trauma which still affects the disgustingly lovesick adolescent. It really is a blessing on all of us that Lily finally succumbed to his endless harassment.

He is serious about his friends; including me.

The sacrifices he makes for me, which they all make for me, are far beyond the confines of any normal friendship.

Then there is Wormtail. I'll remember him as my companion, the one who secretly and shamelessly boosts my ego, my confident when Padfoot and Prongs go home together for the summer and temporarily forget about us for three months.

I'll remember Wormtail always being so trustworthy, so predictable and stable; that's why I can't bring myself to ever disregard him as one of my closest friends, despite his highly strung nature which had the ability to frankly piss me off.

I'll remember all those times I almost killed Wormtail accidently in wolf form; stepping on him or snapping at him with razor sharp fangs. Of course; I never really remember these, but it never makes me feel any better in the morning when James and Sirius fill me in on his absence.

Pete is always a little easily convinced, I have no doubt he is a bit of a wuss, which always troubles me as to why he was sorted into Gryffindor. I will probably still hope that this lack of bravery is made up in loyalty. He has never given me any reason to doubt him.

Evans has only just become my friend.

I'll remember her as the fiery redhead with a sharp tongue and a hopeless crush on Prongs. Her stubbornness is the source of so much angst for me, as Prongs' unlucky friend.

I'll probably recall wondering for so long why love can't simply be an exchange of those three little words and be done with it.

Perhaps a good snog.

But then what would I know about love? I probably still have no clue. Because that is my other secret, and it's currently eating away at me. Tell me what to do thirty-year-old-Remus.

Padfoot. Sirius. Black.

Gregarious, flirtatious, witty and loveable.

Everything I wish I could be, and everything I probably will still want.

I'll probably remember this as my 'little secret' (in comparison to the life-changing, scary secret) or my dance with the other side.

It happened very slowly, and almost unnoticeably, the little shift from brothers to...to what I'm still unsure.

It began with a night of fire whisky and dares in one of Hogwarts' unscheduled Hogesmeade visits when, in the middle of a very inappropriate discussion, I swear, he winked slyly at me, and I remember not feeling exasperated.

But I pushed it aside because I must have imagined it.

It followed when I was on a camping trip with the marauders and I watched the three of them play in the cold water which I was completely against approaching. Watching with admiration at James' swimming ability, laughing at Wormtail's incompetence, and staring, shamelessly staring at the boy with shoulder length dark hair and grey eyes, which lit up as the droplets of water splashed all over his face.

But I pushed it aside because I must have just been staring into space.

It came back to me when he carelessly draped an arm over me at the Ravenclaw/Gryffindor quidditch match, and it felt warm and comfortable, to the extent where I wished I could just melt into him and become one.

But I pushed it aside because I must have just been tired.

It haunted me when I began dreaming about him, everything about him, and waking up to find myself utterly confused. He, James and Wormtail snickered at me for moaning in my sleep so I began casting a silencing charm over my bed every night. It would be embarrassing to murmur his name.

It became impossible when I began to dream about me and him; together.

But I pushed it aside because it was probably a phase.

It intensified when he tackled me to the ground when he thought I had stolen his cologne and our faces were inches away from each other. I inhaled sharply, and breathed in the tension.

But I pushed it aside because it was just brotherly love.

It became unbearable when he yelled at me for being the object of Marlene McKinnon's affections. I'll remember being ropable after he decided to 'get back at Remus' by making out with Athaliah di Penates, and thinking it was a strange way of retaliating against claims that I was merely 'ditching the Marauders.' Now I think about it, it could have been...

But I pushed it aside because he was just worried about the Marauders splitting up.

It became impossible to ignore however, when I saw him, beyond drunk, at the quidditch cup after party (insert comment from James about how brilliant his chasing is) and he approached me, brilliant and beautiful as he was absolutely hammered, and threw his long arms around my neck. I'll remember the feeling of shock I had, the fact that everyone else in the room but James was oblivious, the way I saw Prongs' eyes flash, as if he had just solved a complicated algorithm.

I'll recall, vividly, the way he collapsed into my arms, his still clinging around my neck, his face warm against my cheek as he hugged me tightly. I'll still shudder when I remember the way he whispered 'Moony' into my ear and innocently pressed his mouth into the place where my shoulder and neck met, onto the strip of skin, uncovered by my t-shirt.

I'll regret the fact that I stepped away, holding him upright with my arms and leading him over to a couch to make sure that he didn't fall asleep where he stood.

That time I couldn't push away that nagging feeling. Perhaps I still can't.

Dear thirty year old Remus. Wake up to yourself; you've fallen for your best friend.

Sincerely,

Remus J. Lupin. Aka. Moony.