It was no secret that Albus Dumbledore was a talented man—his research and magical capabilities were revered across the magical world—but Remus thought Dumbledore had one talent in particular that was often overlooked.

He had a very odd talent for showing up at the worst times.

The Marauders were having supper. Sirius had just told a joke, Peter had dribbled pumpkin juice down his front, and Remus was helping him pat it dry with a napkin. Peter was still laughing, and James was dropping lettuce leaves into his cup and mixing in some beef stew. Sirius was now daring him to drink it. And that was when Dumbledore chose to show up directly behind Remus—when there was too much noise and food for Remus' enhanced senses to figure out that he was there before it was too late.

"Erm… hi, Professor," said Remus, completely aware of how stupid they all looked. The pumpkin juice stain on Peter's lap made it look like he had wet himself. Peter was even more hysterically giggly at the sight of the headmaster. James and Sirius kept laughing, undeterred.

"Hello," said Dumbledore with a warm smile. "I see you are all happy to be back."

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian! Hullo! Hey, do you dare James to drink that?" said Sirius, pointing to the juice.

"I don't think that's very appropriate," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "But I won't stop you from daring him, Sirius. Who knows—lettuce, beef stew, and pumpkin juice may be the next grand delicacy. But I digress. I only came here to let Remus know that I'd like to see him in my office after supper so that we can discuss his travel arrangements for this year."

Ah, the "ill mother" lie. Remus had been keeping it up since the beginning of his first year. His mother was ill, Remus had to visit her to help his father with the general duties, and Dumbledore was allowing him to travel back and forth on days that just so happened to coincide with the full moon (which Remus' friends had noticed, but Remus had tried his best to explain it all away). Remus wasn't really looking forward to another year of lying about his mother, but he had no other option. At least he didn't have to lie about her being a werewolf—his friends most certainly knew by now that she was not.

"How are the arrangements any different from last year?" asked James.

Remus, who was very practiced in the fine art of lying by now, came up with an excuse easily. "Last year I used Professor Questus' fireplace sometimes," he said, "but I'm not using Pensley's."

"I believe she's going by Professor Jessica today," said Dumbledore.

Remus suppressed a groan. "I'll be sure to be there, Professor. I promise."

"Good. I shall see you very soon, then. Enjoy your supper."

Remus looked at James, who was now downing the juice/stew/lettuce. "I think I will," he said seriously. "Especially if James vomits on Sirius."

Upon arriving at Dumbledore's office, Remus realized that he didn't know the password. Instead, he settled for knocking on the wall next to the stone gargoyles and shouting, "Professor? You wanted to see me?"

Professor Dumbledore appeared immediately. "Ah, Remus. Right on schedule. Come in."

"Why did you want to see me?" said Remus, taking a seat. "Because I know for a fact it's not about my ill mother."

"First, I simply wanted to see how you were doing. It seemed prudent, given this summer's events."

Remus laughed a bit. "I'm doing all right. Although Professor Questus isn't happy that you tricked him into taking a house right next to mine, so I think he might turn you into a toad next time he sees you."

"Oh, I should think that it would be far more humiliating than a toad," Dumbledore said airily. "A fruit fly, perhaps?"

"Why did you tell him to move there? You'd been to my house before, so you knew that I lived in the house right across..."

"It worked out, didn't it?"

"I s'pose. He was very bored. I think he secretly appreciated the houseplant."

"He secretly appreciates your company, too, I'm sure. You'll have to forgive my meddling, Remus. I thought perhaps he'd want to hear from someone with a bit more experience."

Professor Questus had said that Dumbledore tended to play God, Remus remembered. That certainly explained this little development. "Experience in what?" asked Remus. "Boredom?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Precisely, among other things."

Like being under the influence of an uncontrollable Dark curse, Remus thought. Like constant pain. Like impending mortality. Like a lack of a future and hope. Remus had experience in all those things, but he wasn't sure how much he could help Professor Questus, who already seemed to know how to deal with such things much better than Remus did. It was Remus who came to Questus to talk things through and get advice, not the other way round.

"Talking of Defense Against the Dark Arts professors," continued Dumbledore with a smile, "how did Professor Jessica treat you?"

"Er," said Remus. He hated her. "No differently from anybody else."

"Good. She's a very open-minded person, you know. I actually asked her to meet us here so that she could ask a few questions if she wanted to."

"Questions?" repeated Remus, alarmed.

"Yes. Of course. Most people have never met a werewolf, Remus, and they're curious—it's only natural. I wanted to resolve any misunderstandings and prejudices before they became issues. I'm truly sorry if it's uncomfortable, but I am afraid that you are going to have to get used to it."

Remus was perfectly comfortable when Professor Questus asked him questions about werewolves, but he wasn't entirely certain he'd be comfortable if anyone else did the same. "Of course," he said, even though he hated the idea of talking to Pensley one-on-one with all his being. "That seems reasonable."

"Madam Pomfrey wanted to see you this weekend for a check-up, but I managed to convince her to let you have a few days of peace. I don't know how much longer that's going to last, but…."

Remus smiled. "Thank you. I'll go see her sometime this month."

"Good. I do hate to see her worry. Why don't you tell me about your summer?"

Remus detailed the most interesting events of his summer (supper with Questus, his parents finding out about Nolan the Grindylow, Madam Pomfrey's visit, Diagon Alley, the Muggle bookshop), and Dumbledore seemed appropriately interested. Suddenly, Remus trailed off and glanced towards the door, which smelt strongly of scented candles and peaches. "Professor…?"

"Ah, is that Professor Jessica?" said Dumbledore. "She doesn't like to knock—she thinks it's jarring. Come in, Jessica!"

"She's not here yet," said Remus after a moment of awkward silence. "She's still at the end of the corridor. I get mixed up because of all the scented candles she keeps."

"I see," said Dumbledore. He stood up and opened the door for Pensley himself, and she flounced in graciously a few moments later.

"Henry!" she said. "So good to see you again!"

At "Henry", Dumbledore gave Remus an inquisitive look, and Remus mumbled a response and tried for a smile.

"Well, Professor Jessica," said Dumbledore. "First thing's first. If you have any questions regarding Remus' condition, then now is the time to ask. I want to make sure he is entirely comfortable, and a discussion with any new teachers who don't know what a good student he is seems like the logical place to begin."

"A good student?" fluttered Pensley. "Ooh, I'm sure. I don't have any questions." She chuckled and blew a floaty wisp of hair out of her face. "It's only a unique medical condition, and it's not my business, now is it?"

Remus looked up and slowly nodded, oddly thankful.

But then, Pensley suddenly pressed a finger to her mouth and looked at the ceiling. "But… you know, Henry, I could probably cure you….."

Oh no, thought Remus.

"You know, one hundred percent of the people who come to me regarding medical issues are eventually healed."

"So you're a Healer?" said Remus flatly.

"Me?" Pensley laughed. "No, no, I'm not the Healer. Nature heals all things."

Remus suppressed a groan. He knew these types of people. His mum and dad had tried to cure him in countless different ways, and none of them had worked—they'd just made him feel ill, exposed, and panicked. Many of them had hurt terribly, and Remus cringed just thinking about them. "Please don't try," he said quietly. "I'll deal with it. I don't need a miracle cure—I'm learning to deal with it on my own."

"I'm not trying anything! It's all you, Henry. All you. I was going to suggest meditation."

Remus shook his head violently. "Nope. Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. Thank you, but meditation is definitely not going to cure lycanthropy."

"Have you ever tried?"

"Obviously not," Remus spluttered. "Trust me, I…." He looked at Professor Dumbledore pleadingly. "I don't want more cures, Professor. Nothing's going to help, I promise. I'd rather…."

"Then don't think of it as a cure!" said Pensley. "Just nice, relaxing meditation… that might or might not cure you completely!"

"It might be fun," said Dumbledore, and Remus was beginning to understand Questus' anger toward the man.

"I'm busy," said Remus desperately. "I have things to do."

"Nonsense," she said.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "How about just once a month, Remus? Two days before the full moon, directly following supper? The transformation is, after all, easier when you're relaxed."

"Yes, relaxing!" said Pensley. "We can do that! Only one hour. Up to three, maybe. We'll take it as it comes!"

Remus wanted to cry. For someone so understanding about how Remus' affliction was not her business, she really didn't understand anything at all. Also, Remus wanted to throttle Dumbledore.

"Thank you, Professor Jessica," said Dumbledore.

"No problem at all!" gushed Pensley. Remus waited for her to leave, but she just sat there—smiling and tapping her long pink fingernails on her garish robes.

"That was a dismissal," said Dumbledore gently.

"Oh!" she giggled. "I'll see you soon, Henry! After dinner on the… when's the next full moon?"

"Twenty-third. Saturday," Remus mumbled.

"Of September? Or October?"

"September…?" said Remus. Was she really that stupid? "There's one every month, so the next full moon is obviously in September. The October one is on the twenty-second."

"Oh! Alright-y, I'll see you then!"

She left, and Remus stared at the door. He waited until she was all the way down the corridor, and then he swung his head around to glare at Dumbledore. "What was that, Professor?!" he said angrily. "I definitely don't want someone to try to cure me!"

"It might help," said Dumbledore, smiling. "It might help a great number of things, in fact."

"It won't! And I won't… I can't…."

"You didn't like Professor Questus at first, either, if I remember correctly. And that changed, did it not?"

"That was different!"

"How so?"

"Professor Questus didn't like me; I was merely returning his sentiments."

Dumbledore laughed. "Try it out, Remus. And if you really can't stand it, then tell her so—but only after you've given it an honest, unbiased effort."

Fat chance of that.

"Am I the only one who has to do this?" Remus asked, mildly furious. "Aren't there other students who have to… meditate?" He spoke the word as if it were one of Hagrid's rock cakes—full of good intentions on the outside, but also disgusting, terrifying, and probably lethal.

"Actually, yes," said Dumbledore. "She's proposed the same thing to any child in any sort of stressful medical situation. There are a few children in other years who have chronic issues."

"There are?" said Remus. He'd always felt isolated—the fact that other children at Hogwarts had chronic medical conditions was news to him. He'd have to ask Madam Pomfrey about that someday.

"Oh, yes. Several others, I think. And I've asked every single one of them to comply with Pensley's wishes."

"But that's still not fair, sir. Shouldn't I get a say?"

Dumbledore smiled and popped a sweet into his mouth. "That is the unfortunate part of being a child, Remus. Sometimes we know what's best for you even more than you do. You might be pleasantly surprised."

"I doubt it," Remus mumbled, just quietly enough that he knew Dumbledore couldn't hear. Then he raised his voice a bit. "How do you think it'll help?"

"First, I think it'll make some interesting stories for John Questus," said Dumbledore, and Remus honestly couldn't tell if he was joking or not. "Second, it'll give you an excuse to get away from your friends every once in a while. I hear they're close to finding out the truth. Third, it might calm you down before a full moon, which is beneficial. Fourth, I know all about the lycanthropic temper—enduring Professor Jessica might help you learn to control it…."

"I control it just fine," said Remus, now feeling a little panicked. "Don't I?"

"You do. But you're also terrified of it, I think."

"I…."

"Remus. The fact of the matter is: you need a bigger circle of people you can trust, you need more pastimes, and—although this is a school—you need a break from schoolwork every once in a while. Besides… I think Professor Jessica just wants to be helpful. The staff isn't treating her kindly, you know. And I'm sure you understand what it's like to be judged for uncontrollable differences."

Keeping scented candles is completely different from being a werewolf, Remus thought. "I don't have time," Remus insisted. "I'm missing loads of classes already because of the full moon, and I need the extra time to catch up on schoolwork."

"You didn't seem to have that problem when you had twice-weekly duelling lessons with John Questus," said Dumbledore with a smile.

"But—that was entirely different—"

"Remus." Dumbledore peered at Remus over his half-moon spectacles, and Remus felt a bit like he was being X-rayed. "May I say something harsh? In the spirit of John Questus?"

"Yes, sir. Of course you may."

"The fact that you dislike Pensley so much is your problem, not hers. She is not a bad person. She has done nothing to merit your dislike. She is a very good person, who is trying her best to do good things, and you're judging her unfairly solely based off of her quirks and personality."

"You don't understand how awful she is."

"Don't I? And what, pray tell, is so awful about her?"

"She... well. Where do I start? Her voice is annoying, she makes us play with clay, she made us sculpt something we were afraid of... that wasn't very nice of her, was it? Someone could have panicked or something! It wasn't very nice to make us think about things like that."

"I believe John Questus was a proponent of facing fears as well. You didn't seem to mind when he encouraged his students to do the same."

"Are you seriously comparing Professor Pensley to Professor Questus? Because that doesn't make any sense."

"Professor Jessica, Remus. And no. I am merely trying to point out your double standards."

"She... she has all these posters in her room! And they say these utterly cliché things, like believe in yourself and you're special and all that..."

"Ah, Remus. Since when were those bad messages? Clichés are often clichés for a reason."

"That's not the point! She treats us like children!"

"That is often the unfortunate part of being a child, yes."

"But..." Remus let his hands fall to his lap, frustrated. "The scented candles! Do you have any idea how difficult it is to focus? It's like a werewolf torture chamber in there, Professor!"

"Have you talked to her about them?"

"No, but..."

"I'm not sure how you'd expect her to know, then."

"She doesn't know anything! She didn't even know that every month had a full moon!"

"You seem to be a lot more patient with Peter Pettigrew's academic shortcomings than you are with hers."

"Well, he's not totally infuriating, Professor!"

"Remus." Dumbledore's voice was a little bit firmer now, and Remus shut up. "You are being unfair, and this is uncharacteristic for you. You are one of the most caring, nonjudgmental, accommodating people that I know. I ask that you find it somewhere in your heart to treat Professor Jessica with the respect she deserves—as both a person and a teacher. Do you understand?"

There was a long moment of silence, and Remus felt horribly ashamed of himself. Not ashamed enough to like Professor Pensley, no, but ashamed all the same.

"Very well, sir," he conceded. "But I reserve the right to utter a very stern 'I told you so' when it ends up being awful."

Dumbledore chuckled. "That's more than fair. Thank you, Remus."

"My pleasure," said Remus, but it definitely, definitely wasn't.

Dear Professor Questus,

You asked me to write to you about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and I figured I might as well, because a) I have some extra time, and b) you're probably bored out of your mind. This is going to be a very long letter, so feel free to ignore it if you want. When I'm in the Hospital Wing, though, I usually read every letter I receive nine times through—five forwards, one backwards, two sideways, and one from memory (if I can, which I usually can't). It keeps me sane... well, either that, or it drives me insane enough to stop caring, which is also nice.

Everyone in my dormitory is currently asleep, which is just as well because Sirius and James keep trying to read my letters. Before you ask, I haven't talked to them about their visit on the August full moon, and I have no plans to do so. But they're definitely curious, and my parents are bad enough liars that I'm sure they suspect something. Fortunately, they haven't reached the right conclusion quite yet. Here's hoping they never, ever will.

I've written to my parents already, and I suspect my mother is writing me another BOOK. You should have seen them last year—most of them were normal-sized letters, but some of them were large, stapled packets of paper that nearly killed the owl. I'm sure she would have written more if the owl hadn't started firmly nipping her fingers whenever she tried to give it a letter that was the size of my Transfiguration textbook.

Everything's more or less fine right now. There was a little bit of a problem when we got off the train that I thought you could help with, though. I noticed something pulling the carriage—I could hear its breathing, you know, and it had an odd scent—and I thought that perhaps it was an invisible horse of sorts. I asked my friends if they knew what it was (James and Sirius know a lot more than I do about certain things, since my mum and dad didn't expect me to go to Hogwarts until summer before last), and they said that there was nothing there. I figured it was an invisible animal of sorts, but Peter COULD see it.

A couple wild guesses ran through my head before I finally decided that James and Sirius were trying to tease Peter and me and just pretend that they couldn't see it. I figured that it was something only humans could see, perhaps? So I pretended I could see it, too—but then James SWORE that he couldn't see it (and James is always telling the truth when he gets intense like that). Anyway, I'm not sure if you know what it is or not. Peter said it had lizard skin and bat wings, but I'm not sure if that's helpful or not.

And now I am finally touching upon the initial reason for writing this letter: the new D.A.D.A. professor is AWFUL. I don't even know where to begin. I thought I hated YOU on the first day of Defense, but I REALLY hate her. I suppose it's not very kind to hate people, though, so I'll just say that I strongly dislike her more than I dislike you when you bring up the first December full moon, and that's really saying something.

Let's start with the fact that she changes her name every few seconds. First it was Faith or something, and now it's Jessica. She has us call her by Professor, and then whichever first name she's adopted at the time. The phrase "Professor Jessica" sets my teeth on edge. James and Sirius and Peter are angry because they can't call her by her first name and get detention for it (did I say "detention"? I meant "attention").

She tried to guess all of our names at the beginning of class, but she got all of them incorrect. But for some reason, she keeps calling us those names, even though they're flat-out wrong. It's so annoying. James is Griffin. Sirius is Maximus. Peter is Leonardo. She actually likes my name a little (good for her—I don't), so I'm either Remus or… Henry. Really? Henry? Everyone ELSE gets a cool name!

And then, on the first day of class, she gave us all clay and told us to sculpt something that we're afraid of. I can't very well sculpt anything I'm ACTUALLY afraid of (lest I risk revealing something I don't want to), so mine ended up being an "abstract" lump. I told her that it represented the inevitability of tragedy, the unpredictability of life, and suffering in general. She thought it was fabulous. We can add that to my list of talents: overthinking things, eavesdropping, lying, and sculpting the inevitability of tragedy, the unpredictability of life, and suffering in general.

I have to write an essay later about whether I agree or disagree with Shakespeare's "what's in a name" thing. I'm not sure what to say. I want to pick the side that will spite her more, but I'm not sure which side she agrees with. On one hand, she calls us by any old name she wants. On the other, she seems to really like words. I just want to annoy her, and I'm not sure how.

Why do I want to annoy her, you ask? Besides the fact that she wears awfully bright robes that hurt my eyes, talks like an asthmatic songbird, and sits at a desk like her students instead of actually teaching? (Sirius and I battled it out for the last chair that wasn't RIGHT NEXT TO HER. He won, because he's bigger than I am—some werewolf I am. Now I have to sit next to her, and she accidentally hits me when she gets excited. She smells like peaches. It's awful.) All of those things are terrible, yes, but that's not the worst part. The worst part of all of this is that… she puts SCENTED CANDLES in her classroom.

Think about that for a second, if you don't already see the problem. My extremely sensitive sense of smell, a teacher who smells so strongly of peaches and scented candles that I already want to vomit, and twenty or so strongly scented candles strewn about. They're all different scents, too. Besides the smoke that's all over the place, there's all kinds of odd scents—they don't even really smell like the real thing to me. I hate it—sorry, I STRONGLY DISLIKE it. Not to mention she plays classical music in the background with some sort of magical surround sound. There's too much noise; I can hardly pay attention. Did she TRY to make her classroom into a werewolf's worst nightmare or what?

I'm sorry to say that I share your sentiments about Professor Dumbledore. He's forcing me to meditate with her every month, two days before the full moon. He thinks it'll help. But MEDITATION? REALLY? I don't know what that entails, but it sounds humiliating and horrible. She doesn't even know that there's a full moon every month, Professor! She asked me when the next one was, I told her it was the twenty-third, and then she asked me, "Twenty-third of September or October?" Seriously? I WISH it was only bi-monthly.

I don't mean to complain so much. I'm happy to be back—really I am. I just sort of expected everything to be just like it was, and it's not. I'll continue to get used to it, I suppose. Give my regards to my parents and Nolan. Also, I haven't told my parents any of the bad things—only the good things—so don't mention too much of it. They don't really like to hear it.

It's so nice to see my friends again. I'm terrified of them, though, and everything they say nearly makes me cry because I know that I'm not going to have them for much longer. I'm not sure what I'll do when I leave Hogwarts. As much as I STRONGLY DISLIKE Professor Pensley (I refuse to call her Professor Jessica)... I admit I'd rather endure peaches and scented candles than an endless summer holiday.

I hope you're doing well. Don't get too bored. And good luck making tea on your own now that I know I'm not around to help (I know I'm brilliant at making tea). I should probably tell you—there's a stray cat in the neighborhood that Dad likes to feed sometimes. If it sits outside your door and yowls, it's probably hungry.

—Remus J. Lupin

AN: The person who lived in my house before I moved in had about six or seven cats. She only moved a few houses down, so the cats were very confused for a while and kept trying to enter my house without my permission. I am deathly allergic to cats. That was a fun time.