Everything felt different now that Remus had essentially been to a different reality in which things were worse off instead of better. He spent the rest of the summer vacation trying to be respectful of his parents' sadness and trying to feel sad on his own—after all, so many people had died, and Remus had been to that town only a few short months earlier. It was still hard. It was still surreal. It was still shocking, even after several weeks. But it was less so after the Visionvines, because now Remus knew that things could have been worse. Every time he thought about how much he missed going to Questus' house for conversation and tea, he also thought about how thankful he was that Questus was the one who had died and not both of Remus' parents.

That felt sort of selfish, but Remus also knew that there was not one person alive who would rather Remus' parents die that Questus. Not even Questus himself. Not Dumbledore, not Remus, not Remus' parents… and even Questus' own family was dead. In fact, the only four people whom Remus was certain would go out of their ways to attend Questus' funeral was the Lupins and Dumbledore.

Yes, it was better that Questus had died. But it would have been still better if no one had died.

More than anything, Remus longed to talk to Professor Questus about the whole thing. He wanted to talk through his emotions and get unbiased answers from a fresh perspective. He knew that Questus would find the whole thing terribly interesting, and Remus loved seeing Professor Questus excited about things. He wanted to talk to the real Questus, not some unnatural memory… and he wanted to hear Questus' thoughts on Visionvines in general. He always seemed to know so much more than Remus did, and Remus knew that it would turn into some fascinating philosophical conversation that Remus only understood half of, but it would be a welcome distraction nonetheless.

The night before Remus was to leave for King's Cross Station, he sat down on the floor and pulled out some parchment.

Dear Professor Questus, he wrote, just for some closure and for old times' sake, and then he stopped.

He couldn't.

Nothing felt right anymore. His memories didn't feel right anymore. James had been right: every time Remus thought of Professor Questus, he was reminded of the Visionvines. He couldn't bear it.

After a moment's hesitation, Remus pulled out the Pensieve that Dumbledore had given him, grew it to twice its normal size, and lifted his wand to his temple with a shaking hand (not because he was nervous; only because it had been injured on the last full moon). Remus let the glowing strand fall into the basin, and then he took a deep breath and dunked his head in...

Now he was standing in the back of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, watching himself throw a piece of parchment at Questus. Questus' visible form materialized, and Memory-Remus quaked in fear.

"Who might you be?" said Questus, and Remus nearly sobbed at the sound of his real voice. Well, not real… but it was closer to real than the Visionvine had been, at least.

"Remus Lupin, sir," said Memory-Remus.

"I see. Well done, Lupin."

"Er… I'm very sorry, I just… who are you?"

"Questus," said Questus, and then he made a face before adding, "Professor Questus… your Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor."

The memory shifted, and then Memory-Remus, Present-Remus, and Professor Questus were the only ones left in the classroom. "I am not going to walk on eggshells for you, Lupin," said Questus. "There are a great many things in this class that you might take personally, but you should recognize it as something that the other students need to know to protect themselves against a fate like yours."

Remus laughed as Memory-Remus tried to cut in and explain himself. Questus had been correct, of course: he had never tried to walk on eggshells for Remus, and Remus was thankful for the fact.

Remus kept looking at memories of the Real Professor Questus until it was well into the wee hours of the morning. He watched Professor Questus visit Remus after the first full moon and suffer through a very awkward apology. He watched Professor Questus invite Remus for a cup of tea in his office and knock some sense back into the emotionally-distraught and illogical Memory-Remus. He even watched the first December full moon (with terrible discomfort, but he forced himself to sit through every part of it that he could clearly remember. Except for the concussion. He skipped that part). Remus watched Professor Questus' argument with Madam Pomfrey. He watched the duelling lessons with glee, and even practiced his reflexes and stances along with Memory-Remus. He watched Questus reluctantly say good-bye (reluctantly, not because he was going to miss Remus, but because he hated good-byes in general).

Then he watched the day that Questus had moved next door. He saw himself and his father standing behind his mother, who was at the door and chatting with Questus.

"Come in," offered Remus' mother.

"I like it out here, thanks," said Questus stiffly. "Nice weather we're having."

"Well, you're letting in bugs. In or out?"

"Out, thank you very much."

Remus chuckled as Memory-Remus protested that Questus owed him a few answers. Present-Remus watched the whole subsequent exchange, leaning next to the window and glancing out at the perfectly-intact town every so often. It hurt terribly to be standing in his old home, watching his old professor, next to a town that didn't exist anymore…

Remus watched every single chat with Professor Questus that he could remember. He watched the day that Questus had told Remus that he was giving up magic. He watched the cat. He watched the terrible day with the article in the Prophet about Fenrir Greyback. And then he watched the events of the next day, when Questus had taken him to the town, a heavy stone in his stomach the whole time.

"I didn't know you were that social," said Memory-Remus, and Present-Remus tried to catch the eye of every single person in the town… fifty-eight of them, now, were dead. It was impossible to think about.

A child ran past Remus' legs, and he winced. He hoped this child was amongst the survivors.

Questus' voice blurred back into focus, and Remus tore his eyes away from the child. "Come on," said Questus, "let's go to market. I need more groceries."

"Do you have money?"

"No, I was planning on robbing the innocent townsfolk. Of course I have money," said Questus with a roll of his eyes. Both Memory-Remus and Present-Remus laughed, but the phrase "innocent townsfolk" went right to Present-Remus' heart and punched a hole in it. The phrase had been funny, coming from Questus' mouth, because Remus had known that Questus would never really rob innocent people. Who would? It was absurd and unexpected, which was why it had been funny. But now… because of the war, things like that were no longer absurd and unexpected. Remus wondered if he'd ever feel safe again. He wondered if he'd ever be able to visit a small town without thinking of this one… Remus spotted another child, playing with a skipping rope. He left the memory.

When was the last time that Remus had seen Professor Questus? He couldn't quite remember… but it had probably been the time that Questus had driven with Remus and his mother to King's Cross after Easter holidays. Yes, that must have been it. Remus watched as Memory-Remus ran towards the train and bid a hasty good-bye to his mother and Professor Questus.

"Good-bye," whispered Present-Remus.

Then he left the memory, shrunk the Pensieve, put it in his trunk, and crawled under his covers to get some sleep in before he returned to King's Cross for his third year.

It didn't hurt any less, but at least Remus had closure now.

Finally satisfied, Remus drifted off to sleep beneath the light of the waxing crescent moon, and not a single nightmare came.

It felt almost like the Lupins were healing.

The morning before they brought Remus to King's Cross, they woke up early, had a hearty breakfast, and listened to an Alexander Adamson record while they ate. "I've always wondered what was on those," Remus' father said. "Only ever heard bits and pieces, but Questus wouldn't shut up about them. I can't believe he left you so many, Remus."

"He had twenty," said Remus. "It's kind of ridiculous."

Remus glanced at his mother, who was smiling rather than crying. Yes, they were healing, bit by bit, and Remus was excited to come back for Christmas holidays and see how far they'd come.

"I've heard this one," said Remus, listening to the record intently. "This was Questus' favorite."

"Why?" said Remus' father. "I'd've thought he liked the one that described the process of a werewolf transformation in detail. I read somewhere that Adamson had given a speech on that."

"He always skipped that one, for some reason," said Remus.

Remus' mother nodded. "Yes, that makes sense."

"What? No, it doesn't. He always liked thinking about that sort of thing. Why would it make sense, Mum?"

"Er," she said, her heart rate high. "Lyall, should we… I mean… he's not…"

"We promised we wouldn't tell," whispered Remus' dad. "Multiple times over."

"What did you promise?" said Remus, increasingly horrified. "What happened? What's the big secret that Madam Pomfrey talked about?"

"His girlfriend was killed by a werewolf," blurted Remus' mother.

Remus nodded and exhaled. "Oh, that. Yeah, I knew that. That's what Madam Pomfrey wanted him to tell me?"

"Yes," said Remus' mother.

"Well, I don't know why she would." Remus had the odd feeling that his mother hadn't told him the secret at all. "There's nothing else?" he asked tentatively. "Is that really it?"

"That's it."

"Okay, then. Listen, here's the part that Questus always liked," Remus said.

"The youngest werewolf on record was approximately fifty-nine months old when bitten and, to my knowledge, is still alive—although I suppose I wouldn't be alerted if he or she had died. So, even though there are patterns with werewolf survival rates, there are always outliers."

"That's me!" said Remus. "Did you hear that? That was me. I'm a record-breaker... and on a record! Professor Questus said that Adamson must have gotten an anonymous statistic from St. Mungo's. Isn't that neat?"

"Yes, he told us about that," said Remus' father, chuckling. "I didn't think you'd be so excited about it."

"I'm not. I mean, I wasn't. But it feels different now." Remus leaned back and stared out the window, watching the trees go by. "Really, there's no sense in worrying about things that ought not be worried about," he said. "And it's pretty easy to change one's outlook when one tries hard enough."

"Very wise," teased Remus' father, "and a very Questus-like sentiment if I've ever heard one. Wasn't he always on about controlling emotions and such?"

Remus smiled. "You know what? I think he had a point after all."

"Moony!" said Sirius, ushering Remus towards their compartment as soon as Remus set foot onto the train. "You're the only one here besides me. Wormtail's not here yet, and Prongs is off trying to get our stuff onto the train."

"Why aren't you helping him?" asked Remus.

"Couldn't be bothered. Plus, James is going out for Beater this year, so he's trying to build up his strength, and…"

"James is going out for Beater this year? But he loves Chaser!"

"Apparently, he wants to play all the positions before he graduates. Chaser last year, Beater this year, Keeper fourth year, Seeker fifth year, and then probably Chaser again sixth and seventh. Chaser's his favorite. But he might end up really liking Seeker, because Seeker usually gets all the glory, hm?" They arrived in front of the compartment, and Sirius opened the door…

There was already someone there.

"Oi, scram," said Sirius, kicking at the boy's boots.

"Sirius!" scolded Remus. The boy in question was a terrified-looking first-year with brown hair, about the shade of Remus' own. He had a toad on his lap, but it was a lot greener and younger than Bufo. "Hi," said Remus. And then, to Sirius: "He can sit with us, can't he? You remember how scared we were as first-years."

"I wasn't scared," said Sirius. "I know you were, but I wasn't. Not one bit."

Remus wanted to protest, but he knew that Sirius probably hadn't been scared. He'd probably just been excited to escape his parents' home and make friends with James. "Well, you're right," said Remus. "I was terrified. Hey, what's your name?"

"Miles," said the boy. He was blinking rather quickly. "I'm really sorry, it's only… everywhere else is full."

"It's all right," said Remus kindly. "I'm sure my friends won't mind at all. After all, it's not our compartment. And we're only two years older than you."

"It's pretty much our compartment," grumbled Sirius. "Besides, we've had an awful summer—mostly you, Remus—and I think we need to talk about things. Alone. Without pesky firsties."

"We have talked. You came to my house for a whole weekend, and we talked then, didn't we? Come on, Sirius. It might be fun."

"Fine," grumbled Sirius. "But just until James and Peter both get here, all right? They have to agree, too."

"Ah, come off it, Sirius. You said it yourself: I had a hard summer. I want to have my way for once." Remus turned to Miles, smiled warmly, and gestured to Bufo (who was sitting on Remus' shoulder serenely). "I have a toad, too, you know. His name is Bufo. What's yours? Does it have a name?"

"Hog," said Miles.

Remus thought about that for a second. "Like Hog… warts?"

"Yeah."

"That's pretty funny."

"My mum suggested it. I don't think it's all that funny, but it's the best that I have."

"What House are you gonna be in?" said Sirius suddenly. Remus knew that the question had to potential to lead to some very unpleasant conversations (especially if Miles said "Slytherin"). Deep down, Remus knew that he should probably shut it down and keep talking about toads. But he didn't; after all, Sirius was already giving something up by letting Miles invade the Marauders train ride, so Remus could let him have this one question.

"My mum was in Slytherin," said Miles, "so I think I'd like to be in Slytherin, too."

Fiddlesticks. Remus' shoulders sagged, and Sirius crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh, yeah?" said Sirius. "And do you always do what Mummy tells you? Are you a wittle baby who can't think for himself? Because it sure sounds like it!"

"Not all Slytherins are bad, Sirius," said Remus, but he spoke very quietly and wasn't sure that Sirius had heard him.

"I usually do what my mother tells me to, yes," said Miles coolly. "I like my mum. She's done a lot of good for the world."

Sirius scoffed at that. "How could she, if she was a Slytherin?"

"Some Slytherins are good," said Remus, but Sirius still didn't hear him.

"Slytherin isn't a bad House," said Miles, who was looking more defensive by the minutes. Remus was worried that a fight would break out.

"Everyone from Slytherin is an awful, terrible, prejudiced git," said Sirius.

Remus tapped Sirius' shoulder, hard. "Sirius…?"

"What, Remus?"

Remus nearly lost his nerve, but he kept going, despite the butterflies in his stomach. Why was he so afraid of Sirius? Sirius was his friend. He shouldn't be so afraid of his friends, right? "Erm," said Remus, picking at his thumbnail. "Professor Questus was a Slytherin."

Sirius blinked. "You're right," he said.

"I liked Professor Questus."

"I know."

"Some Slytherins are good."

Sirius looked at Remus, and a shadow of guilt flickered over his face. Then he looked back at Miles. "You should be in Gryffindor," he said, and his tone was suddenly friendly. "Gryff's the best House. Tell him, Remus."

"Er, yeah. Gryffindor's great."

"I'm going to find James now," said Sirius. "It's possible that he got buried under a pile of luggage, don't you think? He might not make Beater this year after all. See ya, Remus."

"See you," said Remus. As soon as Sirius had gone, Remus turned to Miles again. "I love Sirius and all, but he can be a right prat about Houses," he whispered, and Miles giggled. Remus' confidence was restored. "Any House is fine, honest. And it's not at all about what you are… it's about what you value. That's what Dumbledore told me when I got Gryffindor, anyhow. I didn't feel very brave at the time."

"Nor do I," whispered Miles.

"So your House doesn't have a thing to do with who you are as a person; only who you want to be as a person. Slytherins are ambitious, and there's nothing wrong with that."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. And if you don't get put into Slytherin, then that's okay, too. You're still all the things you were before. All the Houses value good and decent traits."

Miles twiddled his fingers, and Remus awkwardly played with his gloves for a second. Sirius was still missing. "What's your name?" asked Miles after a moment of unbearably awkward silence. "Are you a Prefect?"

Remus laughed at that. "No. I'll never be a Prefect, I don't think. I'm Remus."

And then, to Remus' great surprise, he saw recognition in Miles' eyes. "Remus… Lupin?" asked Miles, evidently horrified.

"Er… yes? Have you heard of me? I mean… loads of people've heard about the Marauders, but we're not… scary. You look scared."

Miles was positively white. "Don't hurt me," he squealed.

"Hurt you? Why would I…?" But before Remus could even finish his sentence, Miles was out of the compartment and halfway down the hall, the compartment still shaking in his wake from the viciousness of the slammed compartment door.

Remus had a very bad feeling about this.

"So where's Miles? Scared him off after all?" asked Sirius upon returning to the compartment with both James and Peter.

"I think I quite literally did," said Remus, frowning.

"Even the bravest of first-years fear the Big Bad Werewolf," said Sirius wisely, and James hit him.

"I think… I mean, I think you're right." Remus clutched his abdomen, trembling slightly. "My stomach hurts a little."

"Are you gonna be sick?" asked James, concerned (though he was probably only concerned for his hair).

"No. I don't think I am. I only… I think he knew," whispered Remus. He was mortified. What if Miles actually knew that Remus was a werewolf? What if he told everyone? What if...?

Sirius rolled his eyes and punched Remus' arm playfully. "Don't be ridiculous, Moony. Who would've told him? Dumbledore? Nah, you're safe. He's probably just scared of Bufo or something."

"No," said Remus. "No, he wasn't. Sirius, I know that look like the back of my hand. I know when someone's afraid of me—really, genuinely afraid. He thought I was going to hurt him."

"I'm sure he didn't," said James.

"You're being paranoid," said Sirius.

"Ooh, look, it's the trolley witch!" said Peter.

Remus tried to force himself to forget all about it, but he couldn't. He'd never imagined that he would last this long at Hogwarts. He had never imagined that he would make it to third year. But when his friends had found out and accepted him anyway, Remus had started to hope, and hope was a dangerous thing. He'd sort of taken for granted the fact that he could possibly remain at Hogwarts for all seven years.. but now, in a moment, the bitter truth that he was on borrowed time returned to him with a fervor. It felt sort of awful.

"Did everyone get permission slips signed for Hogsmeade?" asked Remus, trying to change the subject and distract himself from his woes.

"Yes," said Peter.

"Yes," said James.

"What do you think?" grouched Sirius. "I haven't been home all summer, and Mum and Dad wouldn't've signed it anyway." Then his brightened a bit. "But James' Invisibility Cloak will get me in! I've really no reason to be disappointed, do I? As long as I stay hidden, then I can do and go wherever and whatever I want!"

"Speaking of invisibility," said James, a devilish grin spreading across his face, "I think I hear Snape out in the hall."

"Ooh!" said Sirius. "Let's trip him! Or hex him!"

"Spray him with Aguamenti," offered Peter. "He could use a shower."

Sirius laughed and high-fived Peter. "Nice one, Wormtail! Didn't know you had it in you! You should come with us!" He looked towards Remus. "Coming with?"

"Er, no," said Remus. "I think I'll read for a bit."

"Sure, sure. See you at Hogwarts, Moony!"

"See you," muttered Remus, but his friends didn't hear him; they were already long gone, presumably joyfully spraying Severus Snape with water.

Remus was too busy engaging in an intense fork-fight under the table with his friends to pay attention to the Sorting, but Puttle nudged them and threatened to take points from Gryffindor as Dumbledore's speech started. Remus put his fork back on the table innocently and listened. He ignored James, who was still poking his knee with a fork and trying to get him to start a new fork-fight.

Dumbledore went through the normal rules (don't enter the Dark Forest. Do your schoolwork. Curfew), and then he introduced the new DAD professor (Professor Andrew Dilley. He looked familiar, but Remus couldn't quite place it).

Puttle led the Gryffindors to their dormitories (the password was "Modo Vincimus") and bade them goodnight. "Don't stay up too late," he said. "The walls are thinner than you think."

Panic ran through Remus' bones as he wondered if Miles had somehow found out about his lycanthropy because of the thin walls... but no, every single one of Remus' friends had assured him that the walls were not that thin, and Remus tended to cast a Soundproofing Charm anyway when they talked about such things.

The Marauders fell asleep that night at about two in the morning, because James and Sirius had decided to put on an impromptu play about dragons and wheelbarrows. That was all right, though—Remus often preferred to listen to his friends than sleep, a fact which was sometimes very bad for his health.

The sun had set, and the Marauders' bellies were filled with delicious, familiar food from the Great Hall. Indeed, Remus' third year at Hogwarts had officially started, and he had a very good feeling about it.

Or a very bad feeling.

He couldn't decide.

AN: This week on "letters and days of the week that have similar vibes"... Wednesday and Q!