Friday with Professor Questus was just as pleasant as Monday had been. Questus was looking even more ill, but he was hardly bleeding at all—that was probably a good sign. Fatal, Remus scoffed internally. Madam Pomfrey didn't know what she was talking about.

"Did you hear about my exam results?" Remus asked, eyes glinting as he handed Questus another cup of tea.

Questus snorted. "Lupin. Everybody has heard about your exam results. Trust me."

"Top of the form!" Remus exclaimed. "I'd never expected to do better than James and Sirius."

"You spent hours upon hours revising in the Hospital Wing. I'd be surprised if you weren't top of the form," said Questus. "No one revises for first-year exams. Honestly. They don't matter."

"I don't care," said Remus sunnily. "I'm the most educated child-turned werewolf in Britain, probably."

"Probably," Questus agreed. "In the world, I'd wager. Perhaps in all of human—werewolf—history."

There was a silence, and they both took a sip of tea in perfect sync.

"Hang on," said Remus. "What do you mean, 'everyone's heard about my exam results'?"

"Well, there's a stereotype that werewolves are irresponsible, dumb animals," said Questus, and Remus winced. "Oh, calm down. We both know it's not true. But the fact that you're top of the form—like you said, above two extremely bright Pureblood wizards—is a rather notable accomplishment. The teachers have known for a while that you're a good student. But, after results came out, they were forced to admit it." Questus grinned. "The look on Sidus' face. And Craff's! Especially Craff's. Oh, it was glorious."

Remus laughed. "Did they say anything?"

"Yeah, actually," said Questus. "First off, Sidus is pretty confused about how you managed to be top of the form after missing about nine assignments..." Remus blushed. Sidus had set them an assignment in which they'd had to draw the full moon, and Remus (for obvious reasons) couldn't do that. Sidus had offered him an alternate assignment, but Remus had been too stubborn for that—instead, he'd just taken the bad marks every time. "And some of the teachers think you cheated," continued Questus thoughtfully.

"What?" Remus hadn't expected that at all.

"Yep. They're too stupid to understand how werewolf senses work, but they know you have them. They think you could somehow hear behind the door as you waited your turn for the practicals... or that you have amazing eyesight and could see others' papers during the written."

"There were Soundproofing Charms on the doors! And I don't have amazing eyesight! The only way that I could have possibly cheated is..." He trailed off.

"Yes?" Questus raised his eyebrows. "Please tell me you didn't cheat."

"I didn't. What do you take me for? But sometimes people whisper or mouth things to themselves during the written exam. I make a point to avoid writing down anything I overhear, though, I promise. Which is not beneficial at all when it's multiple-choice." Remus smiled. "Question seventeen and question thirty-eight on your exam. The answer to seventeen was C: Grindylows, and the answer to thirty-eight was A: Verdimillious. I heard a Ravenclaw boy whispering to himself about it, so I got them wrong on purpose."

Questus put down his mug, evidently stunned. "Hang on. Do you see that drawer? Behind you?"

Remus looked behind him and pointed. "That one?"

"Yeah. Would you bring me the top three papers?"

Remus opened the drawer and removed the top three papers. He recognized it as his own exam. "Professor! You're not supposed to keep these!"

"I made copies of a few of them." Professor Questus rolled his eyes. "And don't call me Professor." He waved his wand, and the papers flew out of Remus' hands and into his own. He flipped through the papers deftly. "You're right," he said, "and those were the only two questions that you missed."

Remus smiled. "Yes, they were."

"You should have gotten a perfect score."

"Yes, I should have."

"You got two questions wrong on purpose and were still top of the form..."

"Yes, I was."

"Wow." He flipped through the pages again. "You didn't have to do that, you know. You knew the answers already. It wouldn't have been cheating."

"Maybe not... but I wasn't sure what kind of anti-cheating charms were on the exam, and I didn't want to risk it."

"Anti-cheating charms do not account for werewolf hearing," said Questus. "Just unregulated quills and other magical devices. If they were whispering, then they were the ones who technically cheated, not you." Questus adjusted the blanket wrapped across his legs, still flipping through Remus' exam. "I really wish you hadn't done that. A perfect score on the D.A.D.A. exam would have been so much fun. Can you imagine...?"

"I know," said Remus, grinning. "Professor Craff's face."

"The staff thought that you'd be particularly terrible at my exam," said Questus, "even though I tried to tell them you were gifted. Dark creature, you know, taking Defense Against the Dark Arts. They didn't think it would work out."

"And I did the worst at Transfiguration," said Remus. "That's ironic, too, seeing as I transform into something else every single month."

"McGonagall was impressed in spite of herself at your exam, even though she couldn't give you any more points than she did. Apparently, it was the first time you'd ever attempted transfiguring a living thing?"

"Yeah. It... makes me nervous. So I didn't really practice that particular transfiguration."

"You really do need to work on that," said Questus. "But McGonagall was impressed anyway. She mentioned that you'd never done it in class before—just sort of stared at your desk and helped Peter and laughed at James and Sirius. She'd chalked it up to reluctance to do magic in front of others. She's heard about the endless schoolwork and practice you do in the Hospital Wing and figured you were practicing on your own."

That made Remus feel awful. "I should have done," he said. "I just... couldn't..."

"Do stop snivelling, Lupin. She did the same thing. Felt horribly guilty about it all, you know. She thinks it's her fault—after all, apparently you asked a question in one of the first Transfiguration lessons that implied you had trouble watching living things get transfigured?"

"I only asked her if it hurt the pig, to change into a desk," said Remus uncomfortably. "And I told her that the issue had been resolved when she answered my question. She had no way of guessing. I should have said something..."

"But you were afraid of being pitied," said Questus. "Don't worry. I'm not disagreeing with you. I think it was your fault entirely."

"Thank you," said Remus shortly. "It was."

Questus smiled and took a sip of tea. "My point is, Lupin, she was impressed. Not many first-years can transfigure a living thing on their second go, even if it's only halfway. I don't want to inflate your ego, but seeing as you don't have much of an ego to begin with... you're shaping up to be a marvelous wizard."

Remus grinned. He liked to be categorized as a "wizard" far more than he liked to be categorized as a "werewolf".

"You didn't ace all your exams, though. Your Flying exam was only decent... but that class is only required for first-years, so I don't care. Speaking of which, how many electives are you planning on taking in your third year? If you keep attending Hogwarts, that is."

"I haven't really thought about it. To be frank, I don't think I'll be able to keep attending Hogwarts all the way to third year."

"I could help teach you from home, if I don't get back my Auror job," said Questus. "Do you remember when the stupid werewolf law was passed a few months ago? I said I'd help tutor you over the summer if you couldn't return to Hogwarts. Things were different when I was a teacher and had summers off, but I meant it."

"Really?"

"Of course. I like teaching you. You're not infuriating."

"Thank you... I guess."

"Now, I don't know how much time I'll have—I might be too ill to visit some days—but if you ever have questions, I'll be more than happy to answer them. You usually ask good questions."

Remus blinked hard. "Thank you."

"I want you to keep learning from home, though. I know it won't be the same. I know you probably don't need my prompting; you're going to do it anyway. But if anything will get you somewhere in life, it's an education. Granted, it probably won't do much... but it might. And you clearly enjoy it. You have to have a purpose, and education will provide you with small goals, at least... what? Why are you smiling like that?"

"You're acting like you're the expert here on boredom," said Remus, and Questus shot him a look of good-natured exasperation. "What? All I'm saying is... you're the one who's inviting a twelve-year-old to have a cup of tea with you three times a week..."

"Do shut up," said Questus. Remus giggled. "Point being. We'll see what happens, shall we?"

"Yeah."

"And start thinking about those electives. Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes are the obvious choices. Honestly, I'll kill you myself if you take Divination or Muggle Studies."

"I'm not taking Care of Magical Creatures," said Remus incredulously. "Seriously?"

"It's an easy class, but arguably important," said Questus. "It's crucial to know how to defend yourself against certain magical creatures. Defense Against the Dark Arts only teaches you about Dark creatures and otherwise dangerous creatures, but Care of Magical Creatures is an important practical introduction to magical creatures in general—many of which can be dangerous even though they're not inherently Dark. Kettleburn can be a bit stupid, and the class is seen as an easy O.W.L.—but I'd take it if I were you."

"I know about magical creatures already. My father works at the D.R.C.M.C."

"Still, Creatures is infinitely better than Divination or Muggle Studies. Muggle Studies is important for people who come from wizarding-only families, but not for anyone with a Muggle parent. Divination is bogus. But Creatures has some practical use, at least. You should take it."

"Professor! Do you even hear yourself?"

"First: don't call me Professor. And second: I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"I am a magical creature! I am literally the subject of the class!"

"Well then, you should be very good at it indeed."

"I'm a Dark creature. I am a werewolf."

"Really? That explains a lot."

"Professor! Some magical creatures can tell, and they're terrified of me!"

"Oh." Questus was silent for a minute. "Don't call me Professor. And I never noticed that in my class. The creatures we worked with all seemed to tolerate your presence."

"We only work with Dark creatures," muttered Remus. "They don't mind me; I'm one of them."

"Hm. I suppose that makes sense. I'd read about werewolves and magical creatures in books, of course, but I thought it was just another rumor."

"It's not," said Remus. "So I can't take the class."

"Pity," said Questus. "You know, I'm sure Kettleburn will find a way. He's looking forward to meeting you. Very interested in you."

"Not like Professor Slughorn's level of interest, right?" Remus asked.

Questus laughed. "I don't think so; although it's hard to tell since he's never met you. But I like him, actually. He's annoying sometimes, but he doesn't coddle his students like some."

"So... do the teachers talk about me often, then?" Remus asked, feeling a little uncomfortable about the prospect.

"Merlin's beard, yes. You're the first werewolf at Hogwarts, and the school's been established for nearly a thousand years. It's either an in-depth discussion about your talents and disposition or a very careful avoidance of the subject. You know, if it's any consolation, they don't say anything bad. Not about you, per se. There are some pretty awful things about werewolves in general, but all of your teachers are forced to admit that you're a good student. And there's nothing you've done that ties you to the rest of your kind."

Remus winced. His kind. He didn't like that phrase.

"And none of the teachers... well, except for the ones that know you well... suspect you had anything to do with the various disturbances that your friends have caused. No, you're far too quiet and mild-mannered to decorate Dumbledore's office for Halloween and help write the lyrics to your friends' tabletop rendition of Jingle Bells, hm?"

"Oh, yes," said Remus, grinning. "Far too quiet."

"Most of the teachers don't mind you as a person and as a student. I wouldn't worry about that. Some are horribly, awfully prejudiced, though." Questus' eyes suddenly hardened in a manner that surprised Remus half to death. "I don't care about 'ingrained prejudices' or whatever nonsense phrase Dumbledore called them. It's not that difficult to treat you as a twelve-year-old. I didn't like you at first, and I did it. It's not that hard."

"I can't blame them," said Remus in a low voice. "It's not like I wasn't afraid of werewolves before."

Professor Questus raised an eyebrow. "Before you were bitten? So when you were three?"

"And when I was four! I think. I can't really remember thinking much about werewolves at all, so I'm not sure I knew they existed. But I would have been scared if I'd known."

"Every three- and four-year-old is afraid of werewolves! But being afraid of a twelve-year-old as a highly accomplished, middle-aged wizard or witch is just embarrassing. It's not comparable." He sighed. "Mental prejudices are okay, and ideas that have been passed down to a person that have manifested themselves over the years are okay... but not doing anything about them is not okay."

"I can't blame them," said Remus again. "I am dangerous. They should be afraid of me."

"Once a month," said Questus in a dangerous tone that Remus had never heard before. "Once a month. Merlin's beard. You're more scared of yourself than I'm scared of you."

"Well, you're not the one whom I bite and scratch every month," Remus said stiffly. "I've plenty of right to be afraid of myself, thank you very much."

"See, that's exactly my point. What right do they have to be afraid of you? You go through plenty just to avoid hurting them. You make sacrifices to ensure their safety. Refusing to treat you as the person you are is a pretty poor way to repay you."

"The sacrifices that the school has made for me are payment enough, Professor. They go out of their way to give me an education."

"Two things," said Questus. "One: don't call me Professor. Two: most of the professors don't make any sacrifices at all. Has Hooch ever gone out of her way to help you make up the Flying classes that you've missed?"

"No, but..."

"Has Sprout ever so much as told you what you missed while you were out?"

"No. But, Professor..."

"Don't call me that. There are precious few staff members who actually make sacrifices for you. I can think of five: Dumbledore, Pomfrey, McGonagall (to a point), Hagrid, and myself. And if we actually want to do it, if we're getting paid for it, and if it's not unpleasant whatsoever... then it's not really a sacrifice, now is it?"

"I guess not, but..."

"In fact, I'd even go as far as to say that Pomfrey is the only one making sacrifices here, since Hagrid likes visitors, Dumbledore likes helping students, McGonagall's only really trying to overcome her prejudices for her own sake, and I enjoyed teaching you. Pomfrey doesn't like healing you, but that's only because she hates seeing you injured. I think she'd hate not-healing you even more (hence her visit last full moon), so even she's not making many sacrifices."

"But..."

"Suffering through the noise of the Great Hall, waiting in a shack on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, going through unimaginable pain, suffering nightmares, learning how to socialize with people your age, enduring the teachers' prejudices, spending days on end in the Hospital Wing, catching up on missed schoolwork all on your own—and not to mention locking yourself up to keep others safe, suffering injuries that most wizards cannot even imagine as a result—I think that that's the real sacrifice here."

"But I'm getting an education in return," Remus argued. "And friendship. I like those things, so they're not sacrifices."

"Then those aren't the sacrifices. But you still can't deny that you are making more sacrifices than your teachers are—so no, they do not have the right to be prejudiced. I don't even know why we're talking about sacrifices, because they wouldn't have that right even if they were making sacrifices. That's a ridiculous sentiment to begin with."

"I don't care about who's making what sacrifices. The staff don't have to thank me for doing what's expected of me by completely rewiring their minds."

"Which," said Questus, "according to your own words, is necessary—because it's what's expected of them. Just as it's basic decency to avoid murdering a school of students, it is also basic decency to treat one student as a person. And they're not 'completely rewiring their minds'. Are you really so self-centered so as to think that a person's every thought revolves around werewolves?"

"No!" said Remus. "That's not what I meant at all. And... it's not basic decency to treat one student as a person, because basic decency is determined by society, and society doesn't like werewolves."

Questus grinned and leaned back slightly. "Good point," he said. "This is incredibly entertaining, Lupin, thank you. But you did get one thing wrong: basic decency is not determined by society."

"Then what...?"

"No one knows—or at least no one can prove—what determines the conscience. Self-preservation, some say. Collective preservation, other argue. But it's not society. If it were, then every single society would have a wildly different moral code. It might be okay to steal in Russia, or murdering would be acceptable in Finland, or betraying one's friends would be admirable in Australia. But no. All humans have a similar moral code." He paused. "I say humans and not people because you don't have the same moral code on the full moon, and some other Beings—besides humans—do not. But I think you understand my point.

"Moral values may differ some, but they're only our own ideas about how to fulfill the universal moral code that we all share to a degree. Stealing, murder, and betrayal are abominable in nearly every society. Even children can separate right from wrong in many cases, even though they have trouble carrying it out—and you know children don't care about what society wants at all. And people who do bad things know that they're doing bad things; they just don't listen to their conscience—and that's what makes them bad people. Even though this is a pattern, not a rule, morals are remarkably similar between people who have never had any contact with others. So it's not society."

"Then why isn't it in everybody's conscience to avoid prejudice?"

"Because they think that, in being prejudiced, they are protecting others and themselves. And protection is in the universal conscience; we generally try to do as little harm as possible."

"Then they are being moral."

"No, they're not. They're making a logical error, so they're objectively incorrect. Because you're not dangerous. So they're wrong. They think they're fulfilling the universal moral code, but they're not, because you aren't dangerous whatsoever."

"But..."

"And you're wrong as well. It is basic decency to treat a person well—that's most certainly in the universal moral code. Even if the person happens to be a little different. As long as the person is not actively attempting to murder anyone, as long as the person doesn't pose a danger to society, then treating the person as an animal never complies with basic decency."

Remus wasn't sure he understood, actually, so he just nodded. Questus sounded like he knew what he was talking about, at least. "Okay."

"Did you get all that?"

Remus considered. "To tell you the truth... no. Not exactly. Maybe if you wrote it down? And gave me a couple hours?"

Questus laughed. "You just sounded so clever there for a minute that I forgot you were twelve years old. Let me put it into simpler terms." He steepled his fingers under his chin. "What if I was a werewolf?"

"Then I would feel very sorry for you. Also, you never would have been allowed to teach at Hogwarts."

Questus laughed again. "Fair point. But what if I was a werewolf, and you were a human? Would you think it okay to treat me as some of the teachers have been treating you?"

"Maybe," said Remus stubbornly. "Most of them have only kept their distance, and that's perfectly okay if they're scared."

"But you'd feel guilty about it, hm? If you knew I wasn't dangerous... if you knew I didn't like to be treated like that... if you knew that I only wanted to be normal...? And if I only ever tried my hardest to make other people happy, even if it meant going against my own needs? You'd feel guilty for avoiding me, wouldn't you?"

"Look, I don't know. It's not like I know what it's like to be human. Maybe your morals are different from mine."

"They're not," said Questus firmly.

"But what if they are? I was four. And I can't even remember; I wouldn't know..."

"They have not changed, Lupin."

"How do you know?"

"I was a teacher. I spent a lot of time around children your age. You're no different from them."

"My morals seem pretty different from my friends'..."

"Your friends?" Questus scoffed. "Black was brought up by a family who often directly opposes doing the moral thing. Potter's family never enforced the rules; he's rather spoilt. And Pettigrew can be easily convinced to go against his own judgement to follow the crowd. It's their morals that are skewed, not yours."

"But..."

"You grew up around two adults. You were constantly taught right from wrong. You were never let out of their sight. Of course you have a stronger conscience."

"But..."

"And you seem to be implying that werewolves have more strict morals than humans, which..." He snorted. "Is pretty ridiculous, according to your own views on yourself."

Remus couldn't really argue with that.

"Have I finally convinced you that the teachers should at least try to treat you like the harmless twelve-year-old that you are?"

"I..." Remus couldn't argue, but he still didn't really believe it. "I guess. Up here." He pointed to his head. "But I still... I still don't think it's fair to ask that of them. And being angry with them and wanting them to change isn't going to help anything."

"True," said Questus. "Goodness knows I've tried to convince them, and they don't listen to me. But you need to recognize that it's wrong, at least. Hating yourself isn't doing you any favors—even though a loss of self-worth isn't nearly as crucial a problem as a surplus of self-worth. But in this case, you should definitely expect more from other people; otherwise, you're going to waste away."

"I... I suppose," said Remus.

Questus' grin was triumphant. "That was better conversation than I've had in a long time. I never expected to be arguing with a student about whether or not he should be treated as a person." He laughed. "And I certainly never expected to be on this side of the argument. I haven't had a philosophical discussion like that since before 1932. Hope you weren't too bored listening to me ramble. I've been incredibly bored, and I might be going the slightest bit mad stuck in my house alone."

Questus was fifty-two, Remus remembered from an earlier conversation, though he might have had a birthday since then. "1932? You'd have been... what? Twelve?"

"Around that, yeah. It's been a while. Anyway, Flitwick loves you. He ranted about your pineapple for a good eleven minutes straight... yes, I was timing him. He talks a lot. And Sidus said that..."

"What did you talk about at Questus' today?" said Remus' mum as Remus walked through the door at exactly five-thirty.

"Er... he mostly complimented me on my exams," said Remus. "And he pattered on for a bit about the... universal moral code, or something... and I just listened and pretended to understand."

Remus' mum laughed. "Sounds scintillating."

Remus definitely couldn't tell her that they had been debating Remus' personhood.

And he definitely, definitely couldn't tell her that he had been arguing against it.

So he just laughed, smiled, nodded, and then set to helping his mum cook vegetable lasagna. Overall, it had been a pretty good day.

AN: I always did think Questus would be a C.S. Lewis fan. If I'm remembering correctly (I haven't read it in a long while), the "universal moral code" discussion was partially pulled from Mere Christianity. Credit is given where credit is due!