"REMUS! It's time to leave!"

"I can hear you, Mum!" said Remus impatiently. "You don't have to yell!" He walked downstairs and grabbed a biscuit on his way out. "Bye, Mum!"

"Bye, love! And don't forget..."

"Five-thirty. Yep. Got it."

"Have fun!"

"Thanks. I'll try."

Remus raised his fist to the door, but it opened, once again, before he could knock. "How do you know exactly when I'm coming?" he asked Questus.

"Window," muttered Questus. "I may not be able to walk very well, but I can still see. Come on in. Afraid I'm not much up for tea today."

"Are you feeling all right?" said Remus, waiting for him to hobble away from the door. He was using a cane now. Remus supposed that was reasonable, though it was a bit weird.

"Not really. I'm a little shaky."

Indeed, Questus' hands were shaking a considerable amount. Remus grimaced. "Try sitting on them," Remus, who had considerable experience with shakiness, advised. "It's less distracting that way, at least."

"I'm not going to sit on my hands. I've still got some pride left, you know." Questus sat down on his armchair with a slight groan. "How have you been?" he asked, and Remus noted that his voice was about as croaky as Bufo's.

"I've been fine," said Remus. "I mean, since yesterday. Er... do you have a fever?"

"How do you know that? How can you tell? Is that another werewolf ability?"

"No," said Remus. "It's just... really, really obvious."

Questus sighed and wiped some sweat off of his forehead. His face was bright red. "I was afraid of that."

"Do you want me to go home? I think you need some sleep..."

"No. It's not contagious; don't worry. And I've been sleeping all day, so I couldn't possibly sleep any more. It's just the curse taking effect. Pomfrey says it's getting better, at least, but it still feels like death itself."

"The bleeding is better," said Remus.

"Indeed it is."

Remus knew exactly how it felt to have a fever, chills, nausea, and general pain. He knew those things so well that he nearly felt them all over again just watching Questus. But Remus was glad, kind of, that he had someone who understood what it was like to be constantly ill... then he felt very selfish for feeling so. "Are you sure you don't want me to make tea?" asked Remus. "Sometimes it helps."

"No, thank you. I'm very nauseous."

"Ah."

"How do you deal with that? Werewolves are nauseous all the time, hm?"

"My nausea's not really that bad, unless it's the day of the full moon. And even then, it's only when I'm near something with a strong odor. If the potions cabinets weren't so heavily charmed and didn't have such thick glass, I wouldn't even be able to spend time in the Hospital Wing."

"Right," said Questus. "Well, I'm glad I don't have that, at least. Still... I haven't eaten since this morning. Feels like someone's hacking me apart from the inside-out."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't vomit," said Remus. "Strong sense of smell, you know."

Questus snorted. "I have no plans of doing so. Hey, tell me about your uncle. Bryson Lupin. I didn't reckon you were close, but your father mentioned him a few times yesterday while you were sleeping."

"I'm not close to him," said Remus immediately. "But Dad... kind of is. They go out for lunch sometimes, and I think he came over for Christmas when I was at Hogwarts. Er... Uncle Bryson doesn't like me much."

"Because you're a werewolf?"

"Er," said Remus again. "Yeah. But he's not afraid of me, and that's something. There are three kinds of prejudice, mainly. Either people are afraid of me—like Sprout and Sidus and Hooch—or they hate me—like Uncle Bryson and Mr. Ragfarn from the Ministry. And then some people are far too interested in me for comfort."

Questus raised his eyebrows. "Like me?"

"No. Not like you, because you... I dunno. See me as something else than just a werewolf. There's a difference between being curious and treating me completely differently because being a werewolf is the only thing about me. I'm not talking about questions; I'm talking about normal, day-to-day treatment. Like Professor Slughorn. He doesn't hate me, but he still treats me oddly because I'm a werewolf to him and nothing else."

"Ah. I see what you mean." Questus paused and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, considering. "You could look into that quite a bit. It seems to me that people fear you because of ingrained prejudices; people are interested in you because of human curiosity; but people can only possibly hate you for a good reason. I'd imagine most who hate you probably have some experience with werewolves."

"Most of the time, yeah," said Remus slowly. "I think Ragfarn, for instance, had a relative somewhere down the line that was murdered by a werewolf. He's in his thirties, I think, and he works with the Werewolf Registry. He joined the W.C.U. directly after leaving school out of pure spite."

"And your uncle?"

"Well..." Remus thought about that for a minute. "You have to understand that everyone in my dad's family dislikes werewolves—dislikes Dark creatures in general, really. It's sort of a prejudice that's been with the family for generations. My dad's job was hunting and getting rid of Boggarts and other spirituous apparitions, you know—even before I was born. And then he joined the D.R.C.M.C. when I was... four."

"Before or after you were bitten?"

"Just before," Remus muttered. "Er... anyway. Believe it or not, wolves have been a big part of the Lupin family culture for a while..."

"Hadn't guessed that, with a name like 'Lupin'."

"Yeah," said Remus, sheepish. "Most everybody in my family has a wolf-related first name. Even Uncle Bryson does, but he goes by his middle name—his first name's Adolphus. It's been a sort of joke for as long as Dad can remember, so they felt it on a personal level when I was bitten. I think they were embarrassed."

"Sure."

"And that's not all, of course. Dad was always close with Uncle Bryson, and I suppose Uncle Bryson blames me for... straining his relationship with his family, I guess? Dad's family have all cut ties with us, save Bryson. Most all of them have even changed their surnames. They honestly think that Dad is... you know, keeping around a monster for purely sentimental reasons. And Uncle Bryson shares that view... he loves my dad, you know, and he thinks that I'm putting him in danger. He thinks he's being noble. They all do."

"Complicated situation."

"Yeah."

"I'm guessing most of your family were Gryffindors?"

"It's mixed. Bryson was, and his father was, too. Dad was Ravenclaw. His mum was in Hufflepuff. I don't think we've got any Slytherins."

"Ah, pity. The world needs more Slytherins," Professor Questus, who had been a Slytherin, said with a grin. "Multiple Gryffindors in the family makes sense. You know, delusions of nobility is often a Gryffindor's strongest value, so there are often clashes in mostly-Gryffindor families when ideas differ. You're all determined to do the right thing, but you all have different opinions as to what the right thing is. And then you're all too stubborn to change those opinions. Your father's a Ravenclaw, so he managed to change his mindset without too much trouble when you were bitten, but I imagine the Gryffindors in his family were a bit more reluctant to do so."

"Gryffindors are capable of changing their minds," Remus, a Gryffindor, said stubbornly.

"Sure they are. But they don't often want to. Since Gryffindors so highly value doing the right thing against all costs, they often have more of a black-and-white mindset and stick to their guns, so to speak. Determination to do the noble thing can be a very good thing. But when your father's family has a mistaken idea about what the noble thing even is... well, that creates problems. Hufflepuffs' minds can be changed pretty easily. Ravenclaws and Slytherins look at the more logical solution, so all you've got to do is argue with them. But Gryffindors already think they're being the hero, and heroic delusions are hard to squash."

"I suppose," said Remus. "Yeah, they only think they're doing the right thing. But the clash between Dad and Bryson is terribly annoying."

"I bet. Your father's seen sense and he's frustrated your uncle can't do the same. Your uncle thinks your father is being selfish. I can't imagine their relationship is very good."

"I don't think it is. I think Dad's just happy that at least one person from his family will still talk to him. Apparently, I've been the cause of many a shouting match between the two of them. But... Dad still loves him. They grew up together. I haven't seen Uncle Bryson since Christmas two years ago, though—I was ten."

"And how did that go?"

"He was not polite," said Remus with a small laugh. "There were loads of thinly-veiled insults. Dad got angry with him, and Mum nearly threw him out. There was a bit of a row. I think I ended up hiding in my room for the rest of the evening."

"That's unfortunate," said Questus.

"I suppose. But I don't really care if he likes me or not. I don't like him much, after all." Remus smiled. "Oh, and you called him 'Bryson Lupin' earlier, but that's not his name..."

"I figured since he was your father's brother..."

"Yeah. It should be Bryson Lupin. It was, at least. But he changed it; now it's Bryson Adams."

Questus made a face. "Is that the name the rest of the family adopted?"

"Yes."

"That's in bad taste."

"Mm-hm." Remus remembered why they'd chosen the name. His father had been furious. Adam—the Hebrew word for man; representing human civilization. A sharp contrast from Lupin; one letter off from lupine. "I don't mind. They're not my family; they've completely disowned me. I've never really met any of them since I was three, so they can do whatever they want."

"Pretty grim, that your... well, former... family went so far out of their way to cut ties with yours. All of them changed their names?"

"Well, a lot of them did. If my condition ever became public knowledge, then... you know. They wouldn't be well-off, to be connected with me. So I think all the ones in Britain did. But I have a few distant ones, I think, that figured that they were far enough away that it wouldn't be a problem... but they don't like me, either."

"So why didn't your father avoid telling them about the lycanthropy entirely?"

"I think he wanted comfort. They were his parents, and he wanted to talk to them about it. He was a relatively new parent and he didn't know what to do. And they did try to help, for a bit, when they didn't think that he was going to... keep me, but then, when they found out..." Remus raised his hands helplessly. "They didn't want anything to do with us."

"That's stupid," said Questus.

"Yeah. We should have been the ones to change our surname," said Remus pensively. "That would have made things easier on me, at least; the name's a dead giveaway..."

"I meant the fact that they completely cut ties with you out of fear."

"I know," said Remus, rolling his eyes. "I know that's what you meant. I was joking. Dad couldn't've changed our names if he wanted to. It's too much trouble to go through the Ministry, especially since they'd have to see my records and might refuse... and then it might become public knowledge if that department didn't swear secrecy."

"I was wondering about that. Well. That's very... messy."

"Yep," said Remus. "At this point, though, my father's family wouldn't recognize me if their lives depended on it—you know, with the exception of Uncle Bryson. So that's good, at least."

"So you last saw them when you were four, hm? Do you remember them at all?"

"No," said Remus shortly. "I hardly remember anything before."

"...Before you were bitten," Questus elaborated after a long pause. "For goodness' sake, Lupin, you can say it. And your memory lapse isn't because you're a werewolf now, if that's what you were thinking. That's idiotic."

"It's not idiotic," said Remus. "Everything else changed. Maybe I just changed so much that I don't remember being human at all."

"Yeah? You said you have a werewolf friend? Susi, her name was? You said you saw her at the Werewolf Registry every year."

"...Yes."

"You told me a story about how she got angry, was embarrassed, and then Apparated away."

"Yes. I don't see what that has to do with..."

"She can Apparate, so she's significantly older than you."

"Early thirties."

"Do you think she had complete and utter amnesia after being bitten by a werewolf?"

Remus was silent. "I'd never thought about it like that."

"I should say you didn't. You like to isolate yourself, you know, but you're not the only werewolf in Britain. You're not as special as you think you are; there are others going through almost the exact same thing. There's no possible way that being bitten by a werewolf causes total memory loss. We'd have confused werewolves wandering around the streets all the time."

"But I can't remember anything. Not really. Only small flashes."

"No one can remember much from when they were three, Lupin! Childhoods are hard to remember. And you had an extremely traumatic event that probably messed you up a little. Life changed entirely, new information overload, lots of pain, young age... I'd say that's what caused it, not being a werewolf. Merlin's beard. Calm down."

"Thanks," said Remus, even though he was already perfectly calm and did not need to be told to calm down. "But I am different now, aren't I? I wouldn't remember... human emotions and morals and feelings..."

"You've mentioned this before," said Questus.

"Well, I worry about it a lot."

"I can't give you any answer besides the ones I've already given."

"You honestly don't think that I'd have been any different if I weren't a werewolf?"

"I never said that," said Questus. "I think you would have been remarkably different. I think a lot of your personality has been affected. I think you're very different from your peers because of it, and I don't think you're ever going to have anything that even somewhat resembles a normal life."

"Oh."

"Yep."

"You really think so?"

"Absolutely. You'd have to be daft to think otherwise. But the changes, Lupin, don't come from being a werewolf. They come from growing up as a werewolf. Do you understand?"

"Not... not particularly, no."

"Lycanthropy itself has not changed your personality at all. It's changed your emotions, maybe. Instinct. Senses. Temper. But it's nothing you can't control, as you've demonstrated over and over again. Growing up as a werewolf, however, has changed some things. You're used to isolation. You're slow to socialize. You like to read. You don't like to be around many people. If someone were to find a cure for lycanthropy, right now, you'd still be the same as you are now. If you'd been bitten a little later, you'd be different—though still just as lycanthropic as you are currently. Got it?"

"I suppose."

"It's environment that shapes a person. You, as a werewolf, have grown up in a different environment from your peers. It seems to me that lycanthropy makes it harder to control one's impulses... but not impossible. You still have your free will. Won't change you unless you let it. See what I mean?"

"Not on full moons," Remus muttered.

"Not on full moons," Questus agreed. "But that's one night a month, and you're locked up."

"Right. Thank you, Professor."

"Don't call me Professor."

"Your school lists came today," said Remus' mum, brandishing a letter with a Hogwarts seal. "Well, I assume that's what this is. I don't know why else Hogwarts would be sending you a letter."

"Oh, thank goodness," said Remus. He tore open the letter. "Yep, it's my book list, all right. I was mostly right about the books for next year. Except... wow. Except Defense Against the Dark Arts. I totally got those wrong."

"What books did they assign?" asked Remus' father.

"Erm... only three new books. Julius Caesar... Romeo and Juliet... and... Mindfulness Made Easy."

"Shakespeare?" parroted Remus' mum.

"Yeah. I can't say I was expecting that."

"Mindfulness Made Easy?" parroted Remus' father. "Who wrote that?"

"Someone named Joy Pensley. I've never read anything of hers."

"That sounds like..." Remus' mum blinked. "It sounds like the new Defense professor is the exact opposite of Questus."

"Yeah," said Remus, laughing. "Oh, he'll hate this."

"I got my book lists, Professor Questus."

"Hm. Anything good?"

"Oh, yeah. The Defense teacher assigned three completely new, non-textbook-regulated books."

"Really?"

"Yep. Mindfulness Made Easy, by Joy Pensley, and—er... two Shakespeare books, one of which is Romeo and Juliet."

Professor Questus spit out his tea.

Remus' father promised to take him to Diagon Alley to get school things on Saturday, which was absolutely perfect. James had been writing to them all week reminding them that he was going to be at Diagon Alley at 2pm on Saturday, and Remus very much wanted to see him again. But it was only Thursday, and Wednesday was so far off. Remus sat on the couch and read a bit of Romeo and Juliet—his mum had been assigned Shakespeare when she was in school, so Remus now owned a heavily-annotated copy of both Shakespeare books. He thought the annotations were hilarious. His mum did not.

"Mum! You were so funny as a teenager!"

"I'm still funny," said Remus' mum, looking affronted. "And Remus, I'll thank you not to judge. We were assigned annotations, but our language teachers never said what they had to be about—I don't even remember what I wrote in there."

"Well, here. Romeo says, 'What shall I swear by?' and Juliet responds, 'Do not swear at all,' and then you wrote an exclamation point, a percent sign, an 'at' sign, and the 'and' symbol..."

Remus' mum brought a hand to her face and groaned. "Remus."

"These pictures, Mum! They're brilliant! Romeo says, 'I would I were thy bird,' and then you drew... I think that's a bird."

"It is a bird!"

"Are you sure? It looks more like Bufo..."

"I'll have you know I was seventeen. You weren't born for another fourteen years. I would have been quite the Seer to know what Bufo looks like back then."

"Gosh, Mum. This is incredible."

"Well, you're welcome. It wasn't nearly as incredible when I actually had to read it. I must say, I'm glad that wizarding schools teach at least a little of what Muggle schools do..."

"They don't usually," said Remus' father, who was reading the newspaper before leaving for work. "That's why it's so unusual."

"Well, I'm glad they are. Now Remus has to suffer through what I did. I don't know why I find that so appealing."

Remus stuck his tongue out at her. "I've already read some Shakespeare."

"Correction. You read the abridged versions that Dad and I bought for you when you were young. As you can see, it's very different."

"I can read Latin, Mum. This is fine."

"Sure. Say that again when your teacher is talking about it in class and you realize that you haven't comprehended any of it at all."

"I'm not sure what it has to do with Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Remus' father frowning. "Muggle Studies, sure. But Defense? I seriously doubt that."

"We'll see," said Remus. "I'll write to you when I find out." Then he started laughing again. "Dad, you have to come here and see what Mum drew by 'nay, good goose, bite not'..."

AN: It's almost 2022...