Remus was on his seventh repetition of "The Walrus and the Carpenter", and now he was mumbling it out loud. He didn't care about Questus at this point: the man had seen Remus crying, bleeding, unconscious, talking about forks and soap, unable to button his buttons and losing his marbles over a frog. He figured that Questus couldn't possibly think any less of him. "'I weep for you,' the Walrus said: 'I deeply sympathize.' With sobs and tears he sorted out those of the largest size, holding his pocket-handkerchief before his streaming eyes. 'O Oysters,' said the Carpenter, you've had a pleasant run! Shall we be trotting home again?' But answer came there none—and this was scarcely odd, because they'd eaten every one."

Questus snorted. Remus hadn't realized that he'd been listening. He usually didn't listen when someone in class started rambling. "Who wrote that?" Questus asked. "Never heard it before."

"Er, Lewis Carroll again."

"Is it just a Lewis Carroll kind of day?"

"It's always a Lewis Carroll kind of day."

"Hm," said Questus, the strange look appearing on his face once again.

Remus rearranged his pillow so that he could sit up. Questus seemed open to conversation, so he'd figure he'd try to instigate one—after all, he was bored. "What was Auror training like?" he asked. Questus never shut up about his former Auror career, so Remus figured he'd probably take the bait.

Questus got a faraway look in his eyes, and Remus knew he'd won. "Oh, long. Grueling. Expensive. Lots of hard work. Only a couple people ended up passing—me and two other people. Crawford and Simmons, their names were. There are sometimes several years on end during which nobody passes at all."

"Really?"

"Yep. Being an Auror requires a wide variety of talents, so there's something difficult for everybody. Everyone had a trouble spot: even me, and I started studying the craft as a third-year at Hogwarts."

"What was your trouble spot, then?" asked Remus.

"It sounds as if you're trying to learn and exploit my weaknesses," said Questus, grinning. "Planning on murdering me in my sleep, are we? Well, I suppose the textbooks were right—werewolves really are pseudo-human creatures that lure one into a false sense of security, only to strike when the time is right."

Remus laughed, because of course Questus was joking. Of course he was. Right? Right. He definitely was. "I'm only trying to make conversation."

"I know," said Questus. He was still grinning, so Remus relaxed. Yes, it had been a joke. "I don't have any weaknesses anymore, anyway. I worked through all of them in Auror training. Mine was teamwork. Pretty much everyone hated me, and I hated everyone right back. Any sort of group project whatsoever rendered me very disliked by the other Aurors-in-training." He paused. "Actually, I'm still bad at teamwork. But I don't consider it a weakness. After all, I'm so good at everything else that I don't often need the likes of other people."

Remus smiled: Professor Questus was reminding him slightly of James. "So everything else was easy for you, then?"

"Oh, no. Not easy; never easy. I was fresh out of Hogwarts. No matter how good I was, I was not prepared for intensive professional combat. I learned quickly, of course, but the first couple of weeks were tough. And then we were dealing with Unforgivables and all that. Unpleasant. Not to mention my first practice mission, which went so badly that they nearly kicked me out..."

Remus made a questioning noise.

"I shan't tell you the details, but I will say that I was partnered with an absolute idiot who could barely cast a single spell. We ended up failing abysmally. Only reason they didn't kick me out was that they later found out that she was drunk to high heaven on Firewhiskey and purposefully sabotaging the mission..." Questus shook his head. "But that's neither here nor there. Point is, we almost murdered an entire city of people. Would have done if the higher-ups hadn't stepped in."

"I would make an awful Auror," Remus muttered. "That's a lot of pressure. And what did you mean, 'Unforgivables'?"

Questus was looking at Remus with a thoughtful expression. "I don't think you would make an awful Auror, actually. Your willpower is quite good for a child your age."

"I can't be an Auror." Remus almost laughed aloud as he imagined the Ministry hiring a werewolf. That was ridiculous.

"Well, I know you can't be an Auror. Obviously. I thought we were speaking hypothetically." Questus put down his newspaper and picked up his wand, twiddling it between his thumbs. "As for the Unforgivables. We're expected to be able to work through the Imperius Curse."

Remus made a face. "That's awful."

"Have you ever been under it?"

"No," said Remus. "But... I think I know what it's like, for the most part."

"No, you don't. It's much better than a transformation, I can guarantee—and it's quite possible to control. I could do it straightaway, of course. Had a natural ability. The Ministry attributed it to my being 'unfathomably stubborn'."

Remus giggled. He could see that. "They didn't put you under any of the others, Professor?"

"And I assume any of the others is a euphemism for the Cruciatus, seeing as you're not stupid enough to think that they cast the Killing Curse on me?"

Remus nodded, a little embarrassed.

"Yes, they did. Wanted me to know what it was like; be more prepared in case it ever came my way. It was about as bad as it sounds."

"I thought the Ministry didn't approve the use of those curses by anyone?"

"They don't anymore. But I trained to be an Auror... oh, thirty years ago. A lot has changed since then. I suspect that, once the brewing war really gets thrown into motion, they'll be handing out permission to use Unforgivables. Now, some Aurors tend to use Unforgivables anyway when in a pinch, even though they're illegal at the moment... but the Ministry doesn't need to know that."

There was a bit of silence, and Remus noticed for the first time that Questus was wearing spectacles. Thin, wiry spectacles. Remus assumed that they were reading spectacles of sorts; he'd never seen Questus wearing them before. Questus' brown-grey hair was tousled, and Remus supposed that he hadn't brushed it in a while. His robes were rumpled, too. Remus knew that it was his fault and immediately felt guilty. But Questus would just tell him that he was being stupid, so Remus pushed the feeling down.

"I wanted to speak with you about your essay," said Questus, and Remus jumped at the sudden noise, hoping that he hadn't been obviously staring.

"Yes, sir?"

"The last paragraph was quite amusing."

"Which essay, sir?"

"The werewolf one."

Oh. The werewolf one. Remus remembered writing that essay, half-asleep and a few days before the moon. He had woken up in the middle of the night with visions of Greyback, and he'd decided to get some homework done—after all, it had been a much-needed distraction from the terrifying images that had still been bouncing around in his head. James, who had been "kept awake all night by the scritching of his quill" had been very annoyed at him. "I wasn't completely awake when I wrote that..." said Remus apologetically.

"Don't even think about apologizing. You were completely correct, and I didn't take marks off for it. The last paragraph, I mean. I did take off marks for the grammatical problems. But... anyway, I noticed something about you."

"What would that be?"

Questus steepled his fingers under his chin and looked at Remus with a very odd expression. "You have a very morbid sense of humor. Very sarcastic. Quite disrespectful, at times. But only sometimes. It's a very off-and-on-again thing. Why is that?"

Remus thought that that was a weirdly personal question. "My parents are like that, so joking makes me feel... I dunno, closer to home. But I don't do it very often because..." Remus trailed off as he remembered the Registry. "A disrespectful werewolf isn't really... well, what people want to see. I'm only playing into the stereotypes. But it makes me feel... in control, I guess? So I'm afraid I've made quite the plethora of sarcastic comments to the people at the Werewolf Registry."

To Remus' surprise, Questus snorted. Remus had figured that Questus would be a little more supportive of the Registry workers—after all, he'd been one himself—but apparently, that was not the case. "Goodness knows they deserve it," Questus said savagely. "Those people are the worst of the worst. You think the Ministry's pompous and snobbish, and then you meet the Registry. Worse than a dragon in a kerosene factory. Merlin's beard, they're awful."

"I suppose they are," said Remus, a bit taken aback to hear someone other than his father talking about the Registry like that. "Have you met them?"

"Most of the people who work at the Registry don't do it as a full-time job—they work in other areas of the Ministry, too. So yes, I've met a lot of them, even though I've never been to the Registry area directly. Which ones have you worked with?"

"Ragfarn, mostly. Sometimes Fawley. And Madam Macmillan..."

"I hate all three of those people." Questus wordlessly filled Remus' glass again, and Remus picked it up obediently. He was very glad that Questus was able to tend to him without making much of a fuss. "Fawley's a pompous prat. Macmillan is so stupid she can hardly walk in a straight line. And Ragfarn is the worst of the lot."

"Believe me, I know." Remus smiled grimly. The Registry was a bit of a joke, but his father had insisted that Remus be Registered. Remus was one of the very few werewolves in Britain who actually did so—most preferred to fly under the radar, since Registration was completely voluntary. But, even though Remus knew that being Registered was helpful (probably), in some small, roundabout way... it was absolutely awful. "I don't actually mind Macmillan," he said thoughtfully. "She always works as the secretary—just checks us in when we enter the premises. She thinks I'm funny, I think, even though she won't show it."

"She was a year above me in Hogwarts," said Questus. Remus could not imagine Questus as a student. "Bitter, she is. About as stupid as a troll. I tutored her in History of Magic in my sixth year, even though she was a year above me."

"Surely there was someone else...?"

"Nope. No one else. And I needed 'people experience' for becoming an Auror, Dippet said. I never was good at socializing."

Remus laughed a bit. "And it didn't go well?"

"Oh, it went well. After I threatened her with some well-placed hexes. Don't tell Dumbledore."

Remus laughed harder. "I would have loved to see that. She really is unpleasant. I've been to the Registry six times now, and she still calls me by the wrong name every time. As long as the first word starts with R and the second starts with L, and they both have two syllables with the stress on the first, then anything's fair game." Remus was still laughing, though he didn't know why. It had never been funny before. "My favorite was Raymond Lochness. She does it on purpose at this point. When I was eight I... erm, accidentally... dropped a spider on her desk that I'd found behind the Ministry bench."

"You couldn't have done something a little less juvenile?"

"I was eight. Give me a break."

Questus grinned. "How's Ragfarn, then? All my interactions with him have been downright awful."

Remus stopped giggling immediately. "Yes, he's rather horrible. Don't think he's ever called me by my name, either, but his nicknames are quite insulting."

"Such as...?"

"Loving terms of endearment like werewolf, half-breed, monster, creature, and, my personal favorite: bloodthirsty, evil beast of the Dark. He can get creative."

Madam Pomfrey would have panicked at that and probably owled the Ministry to complain, but Questus only snorted in amusement again. "I can think of some pretty creative names for him, myself, none of which are appropriate for eleven-year-old ears."

"Come find me in a few years and let me know. I think my mum is rather tired of my 'accidentally' misspelling his name to end with a T."

"Better than nothing," said Questus. "And Fawley? He's a little better than Ragfarn, isn't he? He's never seemed all that spiteful to me."

"He's terrified of me. It's quite humorous. Dad says that I need to stop teasing him, but... it's too easy. He jumps every time I move. Ooh, I can't wait to see his face now that I've got a wand..."

Remus was making light of it, but the truth remained that Registry Day was absolutely awful. Everybody treated Remus like a monster, people snapped at him, and he felt so small and insignificant. But sarcasm and snark helped him to feel a little more in control of his surroundings. His parents didn't like it, but they understood why it was necessary. It was dangerous, yes, but... well, Remus had a penchant for mischief, after all. Teasing the people who treated him like scum was the only bright part of his day. And he was always careful to avoid getting in trouble. Well, mostly.

Remus found that talking to Questus about such subjects was easy. He didn't know why. Maybe it was because Questus fired back with jokes of his own. Perhaps it was because Questus had already desensitized Remus to his bluntness. Maybe it was because Questus already knew the people at the Ministry, so Remus didn't have to start from the ground up. Perhaps it was simply because of his sense of humor and lack of pity. But Remus had never made so many consecutive werewolf jokes in his life, and he was a little bit giddy. He didn't even think of sheep once.

He and Questus talked through the afternoon, and Remus learned a few things about him. Questus preferred to ask questions than give answers, so Remus didn't learn much about his personal life. But he did learn that Questus had gotten in trouble with the Ministry multiple times because of his unfortunate lack of a filter when he spoke, that he'd been offered both Prefect and Head Boy (and turned down both, for some reason), and that he had gotten all O's for both his OWLs and NEWTs.

Remus also learned that he and Questus had a lot in common (besides the over-use of the word fine, according to Madam Pomfrey). Questus and Remus had very similar senses of humor. Questus was even more stubborn than Remus was, and both of them tended to look on the darker side of things so that they could "be prepared". Neither of them were reliant on things like hope and optimism—Remus because he had been let down too many times; Questus because he wanted to be on his guard.

Remus finished off another piece of toast, some eggs, a salad, and a cup of tea. "Want something more filling?" Questus asked him. "You didn't eat at all yesterday, I hear. A ham sandwich, perhaps? That's the main course in the Great Hall."

"I'm a vegetarian."

Questus furrowed his eyebrows and looked at Remus, who tried very hard not to look away. Suddenly—much to Remus' surprise—he started to laugh. Actually laugh. Questus hardly ever laughed.

The laughter started bordering on hysterical, and Remus was beginning to feel offended. "It's not funny, you know."

Questus managed to get his laughter under control. "It really is. It's hilarious. You're a vegetarian. A vegetarian... werewolf..." Questus shook his head and laughed some more. "I'll get you a cheese sandwich. Stay here."

"I plan on it, thanks."

The audible laughter stopped, but Remus could hear soft snickering until Questus finally left the Wing and shut the door behind him.

It really wasn't that funny, but Remus laughed a little to himself in spite of the fact.

John Questus was a reasonable man, and no reasonable man ever anticipates that someday he will fill in for a matron at a boarding school. And reasonable men definitely did not anticipate caring for injured werewolves after the full moon—especially not injured werewolves who were fond of poetry and wont to panic.

Questus returned to the Hospital Wing with a cheese sandwich (he also never anticipated fetching food for said werewolf, but here he was) and talked with Lupin for a few more minutes. The boy's eyes were starting to get heavy, which wasn't surprising. Questus couldn't imagine how many calories a werewolf transformation burned. Besides, Lupin's diet didn't quite make up for the lost calories—he ate like a bird. And a vegetarian. Really. Questus chuckled again, and Lupin gave him an odd look.

It was just like him, such a painfully Lupin-esque thing to do: to avoid everything that reminded him of werewolves, no matter the cost. Lupin's diet was suffering because of it. After all, he desperately needed protein, what with how small he was and how often he was ill. Frighteningly thin, really. The skeletal and fragile look of his limbs made it look like he would crumble to bits at any moment.

"You should take your potions before you fall asleep," said Questus. "And I need to change the dressings on your arm."

"I can do it," said Lupin, which was stupid. He was looking a little pale—well, paler than usual—and he could hardly keep his head up at that point. Questus scoffed and rolled up Lupin's sleeve. Lupin looked away, presumably embarrassed.

"I don't know why you're embarrassed," said Questus sharply, unwrapping the dressings with deft fingers. "You realize much bigger men than you have fainted with injuries half this bad. I've wrapped up cursed injuries for fallen co-workers more times than I can count. It's not as if you could do anything to stop this."

"I could have stayed home," Lupin protested. "I didn't have to come here."

Was he still hung up on that? "No, you didn't. But it's a right good thing you did—I daresay your classmates are going to need someone who actually pays attention in History of Magic before the OWLs roll around. In any pain?"

Lupin mumbled a negative response and started tapping his fingers anxiously. "I hope I'll be out of the Hospital Wing day after tomorrow," he said, and Questus nearly laughed out loud. Like that was going to happen.

He looked down at the wound, which was still an angry red. It seemed to be growing more and more swollen by the second, and it was still bleeding and blistered. Deep teeth marks were visible. It was quite a gruesome sight, though Questus had obviously seen worse. "How strong is your stomach?" Questus asked, and Lupin rolled his eyes—rolled his eyes!—before responding.

"Pretty strong, thank you," he said. Questus had figured as much, though the dryness of Lupin's tone was a little unexpected.

"Watch your tone. Could you tell me how normal that is for you?"

Lupin turned his head to study the wound on his arm. Sure enough, he didn't even flinch. "Er, not normal."

Questus examined it a little more closely. "We might have to wait until Pomfrey comes back. I don't want to mess that up for you any further. Here, take these potions right here; Pomfrey left me very specific orders."

Lupin did, and then slumped back onto his pillow. "Is there Defense homework?" he asked.

"Class isn't until tomorrow, but we'll be learning how to heal other cursed wounds. I'm inclined to give you full marks automatically since you're currently doing a bit of a practical lesson."

Lupin smiled a little. "It could be extra credit for the werewolf lesson." He gesticulated a little, obviously drowsy and delirious from the potions. "Everyone else wrote an essay and revised their notes, but I actually went and got myself bitten."

Why was he even more morbid and snarky when under the influence of potions? "Trust me, Lupin, you don't need extra credit. And I would never assign that for fear of encouraging your friends, who seemed rather excited about the prospect of becoming werewolves."

"Do you think they'll..." Lupin's voice trailed off, as it was wont to do when he was too sensitive to finish a sentence.

"Honestly? The Potter boy might accept you, but I doubt Black will. And Potter's not going to choose you over Black. Same goes for Pettigrew—he's a coward as it is. He'll stay with Black and Potter."

"That's not what I was going to say." Lupin's eyelids drooped a little more, and Questus assumed that Pomfrey had worked some sort of sleeping drug into one of the potions. Or perhaps Lupin was just tired somehow, even after sleeping all day. "I was going to ask if you thought that they would let me leave quietly. You know, keep it a secret."

"Oh." Questus thought it over. He was rather impressed that Lupin didn't have false expectations, as so many boys his age often had. "It's like I said before. They may not remain your friends, but I see no reason why you would have to leave Hogwarts. Dumbledore can convince nearly anyone, even a Black."

"Just Sirius is his name," mumbled Lupin, and he was asleep before Questus could even ask what he meant by that.

Questus watched him for a minute, thinking.

He'd had his doubts about Lupin's humanity, of course. Anyone would after watching werewolves attack humans whilst still in human form. But there was no way that this boy was a monster. He was too... well, weak wasn't quite the right word. Not anymore. No, he was... mild-mannered. Calm, most of the time. Not a monster.

And after talking with Lupin—the boy, not the werewolf—Questus could finally say that he had him mostly figured out.

Questus leaned back on the chair and picked up the Prophet again.

Then why wasn't the itch satisfied?

AN: Yesterday, I realized that all the clocks in my house are set to different times... and not one of them is correct. That feels like a metaphor, but I don't know how or why.