Remus did not want to talk to his parents.

He just sort of wanted to sit here, alone with Professor Questus, read a book, forget all this had ever happened, and then go to Hogwarts in September. He wanted to cast some sort of Oblivion Charm on himself and his parents so that they could forget that everything had ever happened and never, ever speak of it again. He wanted everything to be normal again, yet he knew that was impossible. Because Remus' parents only had two settings: uncomfortably avoid itor make an unnecessarily big deal about it, and Remus definitely didn't want the latter.

Yet here Remus' parents were, standing at Questus' door, and Remus knew that, unless he wanted to pretend to have serious amnesia (a possibility which he did indeed briefly consider)... then he would have to talk to them. And Remus' father would look guilty, and Remus' mother would cry, and the entire thing would be thoroughly unpleasant... but Remus didn't have a choice.

"Door's open," called Remus, making an agonized face at Questus, who grinned.

Remus heard the door open, but he didn't look—it was much easier to continue making faces at Professor Questus instead. Alas, his averted gaze did not prevent the inevitable. Only moments later, there were the sounds of footsteps as his parents made their way to the sitting room. "Remus, love," Remus heard his mother say. "We're so..."

"Don't be," said Remus.

"No," said his father. "No, what I said was completely uncalled for, and I shouldn't have..."

"Nope."

"Your concerns were perfectly legitimate, and it was childish to..."

"Stop talking."

"We definitely shouldn't have sprung that on you on the last day of August..."

"I don't mind."

"And we're so sorry that you felt you had to..."

Utterly exasperated, Remus looked at his father for the first time. "Dad, it's fine."

"Oh, come on," Remus' father sighed, "why must you keep interrupting my speech? I worked hard on that."

Remus laughed and shook his head, but Professor Questus only looked intrigued.

"What did you say to him?" asked Questus. "From what your son told me, it was a completely normal disagreement that doesn't warrant such desperate apologies as long as you make it right."

"It was," said Remus.

Remus' father didn't seem to agree, judging by his horribly guilty expression. "No, I said some... things that I definitely shouldn't have."

"Over and done with," said Remus.

Remus' father looked at Remus' mother and sighed again. "Where did he come from, Hope, dear? I don't think he's mine."

"No clue," said Remus' mum, shrugging. "If I didn't very clearly remember giving birth to him, I'd be worried that he wasn't mine, either. He read Romeo and Juliet in less than a day. I, on the other hand, never even finished that book, and I got a D on my essay..."

"Really?" asked Remus' father. "What did you write the essay about?"

"I wrote it about Romeo and Juliet. Weren't you listening?"

"Must have missed that part."

"Much like I missed the entirety of Romeo and Juliet."

Questus gave Remus an exasperated look. "Mr. and Mrs. Lupin. I know for a fact that all three Lupins tend to deflect tension with humor—your son vehemently included. But now isn't really the time. You are going to tell your son that you've changed your mind and that he's going back to Hogwarts, correct?"

Silence.

Remus did a mental facepalm.

Questus steepled his fingers and narrowed his eyebrows. "So... let's talk about this."

"I'm going home to take a nap," said Remus hurriedly. "Have fun, Mum. Dad. And don't... I dunno. Don't kill them, Professor."

"I'll certainly kill you if you call me Professor one more time."

"Noted."

Remus' parents looked mildly terrified.

An hour later, Remus' parents came home. Remus was most definitely awake (he'd been staring at the wall and worrying for the past hour or so, which happened to be a favorite pastime of his), but he pretended to be asleep when his father opened his door. "Are you sleeping?" Remus' father whispered.

Remus opened his eyes. "No," he admitted. He didn't have the energy to lie. He did enough of that at school, and he really didn't want to worry about that at home, too.

Remus' father sat next to him on his bed, and Remus scrambled into a sitting position and leaned into his father's arm. It was nice, after all the tension that had been going on between them for the entire morning. Remus hadn't ever argued with his parents like that before—not ever—and he didn't like it one bit. Remus' parents were the only people he'd had contact with for six and a half years, and they were the most important people in his life.

They sat like that for a moment, and Remus entertained the notion that everything was going to be all right after all. "That professor of yours sure is blunt, isn't he?" asked Remus' father after a moment, and Remus smiled.

"He wasn't rude to you, was he? Well... er. Of course he was rude. He's Professor Questus."

Remus' father chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Nothing we didn't deserve. He made me feel like a schoolboy all over again. But he's good discussion... sharp as a tack... speaks the truth. I can see what you were talking about before. He's a very good person to talk to, isn't he?"

"Yeah. No one's ever called me an idiot as many times as he has."

Remus' father laughed. "I might have beaten your record in one hour alone. But it's a friendly sort of 'idiot', isn't it?"

"Mm-hm. And he makes good tea, when he can actually walk."

"I'm sure."

Remus rubbed his eyes, afraid that he was going to start crying. Even though things seemed like they were okay, he still felt terrible. "I'm really sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"My feelings? Don't worry about my feelings. You're a preteen boy who's never given us any trouble at all. You were only standing your ground on a matter that your mother and I were completely wrong about. Besides, arguing with one's parents is completely normal at your age. We're just lucky that we got a kid who doesn't snap at us over every little thing. You should have seen me when I was your age." Remus' dad started talking in a high-pitched voice that hurt Remus' ears a little—but it was funny enough that he didn't mind. "Mummm. You're talking too loudly. You're embarrassing me. You're smiling too much. The food is too hot. Dadddd."

Remus giggled. He couldn't imagine his father like that.

"My point is, you're a good kid. A very good kid. And it's good to argue sometimes. Hogwarts sure has made you more argumentative."

"Has it?" said Remus, alarmed.

"No, that's not the right word. More... confident, I suppose. Nowadays, you tell us when you don't like something—most of the time. And you won't let us do something that you know is wrong. You're old enough to make your own decisions... just as you constantly remind us. Which is a good thing. You're not being selfish at all, you know. I was just frustrated."

"Me too," said Remus.

"So... I suppose it's your decision, not ours. And it's not as big of a deal as I thought it would be—not when Professor Dumbledore is looking out for you. And your friends, Questus says, are good people."

"Yeah. It's going to be fine, I think."

"Of course it is. I was frightened, that's all." Remus father fell silent for a moment; when he started speaking again, his voice was much quieter. "I know you don't like to talk about this, but you must understand that I had reason to be afraid. I work at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, which is a bit of an awkward place to work when a man has a son who's..." Remus' father laughed slightly and then trailed off. "My point is, Remus, there's a certain kind of... a certain kind of hatred towards you that I see on a daily basis. People talk, you know. I didn't want you to experience that, but..."

"I already have."

"You already have." Remus' father blinked hard before continuing. "Keeping you safe is my top priority, and I thought I understood the ins and outs of both your world and the outside adult world as it pertains to you. But you were right. I don't know a thing about your world—I've never been under the same circumstances as you are—and I hadn't considered how unfair it is to ask a child to give up his future. I suppose I just forget sometimes that physical safety isn't always the most important thing. It's an easy thing to forget, especially when your physical safety is jeopardized day after day, year after year... I've seen you broken and bleeding after so many full moons that physical pain is my default worry, I suppose."

"But nothing's going to happen anyway since Dumbledore's there. Right?"

"Chances are good that you'll be absolutely fine. And you're capable of protecting yourself, too—which means you're also capable of making your own decisions. So..." Remus' father sighed and then smiled a bit sadly. "What would you like to do, Remus? Your choice, not ours."

"I want to go back," said Remus. "Please. I want to go back tomorrow."

"All right, then."

There was a comfortable silence. Remus burrowed into his father's robes and internally thanked Professor Questus and Professor Dumbledore and his father and his mother and the four founders of Hogwarts themselves.

"I want you to go, too," Remus' father finally said. "Also, stop crying into my robes. You'll ruin them."

When Remus ventured downstairs to talk to his mother, he learned that she'd invited Questus over for breakfast the next day.

"Are you sure he's well enough?" Remus asked.

"He said he'd be fine," said Remus' mum, and Remus almost laughed. Madam Pomfrey didn't like it when he said that word. "Anyway, I think we need to thank him. He's done a lot for us—you, your father, me—and a good-old-fashioned goodbye is in order before you leave for Hogwarts."

"All right," said Remus. "Hey, guess what? I have everything packed for tomorrow already!"

"I hope you don't already have your toothbrush packed, because you still need that."

"I meant my books and things," said Remus, rolling his eyes. "Hey, Mum?"

"Yes?"

"You're okay with me going to Hogwarts?"

"Yes! Of course. I don't know what your father and I were thinking. You're so much better because of it—and some of the things that Questus said were absolutely correct. I don't know how he does it. He gets right to the heart of the issue, doesn't he?"

"Yeah," said Remus. "What exactly did he say to you?"

"Oh, the entire hour was basically him monologuing," said Remus' mum with a smile. "Talked about how home and school affected you—both positively and negatively—and then started talking about the wizarding world in general. He brought up a lot of good points about perceived danger versus actual danger..."

"He's pretty intelligent."

"Yes, he's wonderful conversation. Have you finished your summer assignments?"

"Mum. Obviously. I wonder how Peter's doing on the books that I owled him. And Defense Against the Dark Arts is going to be terrible this year; I can tell—I've already promised Professor Questus that I would write to him about it. Oh, and I've been studying Transfiguration, so I should get better marks on the next exam. And James told us that he's getting a new broom—and Sirius is coming with James to King's Cross. He got away from his parents for almost the whole summer. And Peter's birthday is today, so I'm wondering what we're going to do for it when we get back to school, and..."

There was a knock on the door, and Remus opened his eyes blearily. After what had seemed like decades of waiting, it was finally September first. He shot out of bed and got dressed as quickly as possible, listening to Questus chatting with his parents downstairs (when had he arrived? Remus wondered how early Professor Questus tended to wake up, if he was already here. Then again, Remus didn't have faith that Questus' sleep schedule was particularly good—not when he looked like death warmed up half the time).

"Is he still asleep?" asked Questus from afar.

Remus' mum laughed. "Goodness. I swear, the world could end and Remus would sleep right through it. Lyall, would you—"

"I'm awake!" yelled Remus.

"Of course you are!" shouted Remus' mum.

"You don't have to shout!" yelled Remus, pulling on his Gryffindor jumper from Sirius. He combed his hair as quickly as possible—it had indeed grown out enough since his haircut, thankfully—and pulled on some socks before scurrying downstairs. "Hi, Professor."

"Don't call me Professor." Professor Questus was looking a little healthier than the day prior, which was good. He was sitting at the Lupins' dining table with Remus' dad, who was pouring pumpkin juice. "I see you're dressed as a proper Gryffindor."

Remus grinned. "Sirius gave this to me for my birthday," he said.

"Gryffindors," Remus' father scoffed. He glanced at Questus and rolled his eyes. "I was a Ravenclaw, myself."

"Slytherin," said Questus, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "But honestly, I preferred the first-year Gryffindors last year to students of my own House. Brilliant, some of them."

"Mum would've been a Gryffindor," said Remus.

Remus' father scoffed. "She most certainly would not have been a... oh. Er, no, actually, you're right. You're Gryffindor through and through, Hope."

"Am I?" said Remus' mum mildly. "What do Gryffindors do, then?"

"Well," said Questus, "they stand on top of tables and play guitars, they push people off of staircases, they play a lot of Quidditch, they decorate Dumbledore's office for Christmas, they sneak around the castle at night, and some of them name Grindylows and have pet Boggarts."

"That does indeed sound like me," said Remus' mum. "Uncanny, really. I'll have you know I played the guitar as a kid."

"Did not," said Remus. "You weren't that cool."

"Guilty as charged," sighed Remus' mum. "But I'll have you know I was very cool."

"Were not," said Remus. "I saw your school pictures. You definitely weren't cool."

She laughed. "Would I have been cooler if I'd played guitar?"

"Dunno. Maybe."

"I never played an instrument," said Remus' dad. "Remus can play... what?... one piece on piano?"

Remus nodded. "Moonlight Sonata," he informed Questus. Questus stifled laughter admirably.

"I played the piano for one year," said Questus. "Mostly just "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" and all that. My sister and I drove our parents mad. After she levitated it to the ceiling and stuck it there with a Temporary Sticking Charm—which is far worse than a Permanent one in this particular case—we had to get rid of it."

"I didn't know you had a sister," said Remus, surprised.

"I don't," said Questus.

Remus was confused.

"Dumbledore wrote to me the other day," continued Questus as if he hadn't said anything particularly strange at all. "He wants me to come back and teach. He'd pestered me about this before, but now he's being a bit more persistent—he must not have much confidence in this new Defense professor. Anyway, he told me that I'm free to return as soon as my health improves..."

"Will you?" said Remus' father.

"Nope. Honestly, I don't think I will improve. Certainly not improving much now. And I hated teaching. Hated it. Words can't describe."

Remus listened to his parents and Professor Questus chat for a bit. He usually liked talking to Questus, but he was a bit impatient today.

Time passed. Loads of times passed. Eons of time passed. And, after about twenty-seven years, it was finally, finally, finally time to go. Remus was positively wriggling with excitement. "All right, Remus," said his father. "Time to..."

"Go!" said Remus. "Finally." Questus gave Remus an amused look as Remus bounded out of his chair to grab his trunk. His father was seeing him off today, and his mum was going to stay home—she was probably going to discuss Muggle culture with Questus for a little bit longer; the topic fascinated them both. "Bye, Mum!" called Remus. "Bye, Professor. I'll write to you—all of you—except maybe Garrison, who can't read."

"Don't call me Professor," said Professor Questus.

"Okay, Professor!" Then Remus' stomach twisted, there was a cracking noise, and he was standing in a secluded area of London. He squeezed his father's hand, and they made their way to King's Cross station together.

He was very, very glad to be going back.

"Remus!"

Remus rushed onto the train and smiled warmly at Peter. "Peter!"

"REMUS!" That was Sirius.

"Sirius!"

"REMUS!" And... that would be James.

"James!"

They all clumped together and moved into a compartment, and Remus was immeasurably happy to see them again—so much so, in fact, that he hardly had time to wave goodbye to his father (who, all things considered, didn't seem to mind all that much). "How's John?" James asked Remus.

Remus shrugged. "He's fine. He came over for breakfast this morning. It was weird."

James gagged, and Sirius mirrored him. "Ugh, I bet."

Remus leaned back into his seat, perfectly contented, and grinned. "Have you read the books for Defense, Peter?"

"I tried... but I don't think I understood any of it," confessed Peter.

"Typical for you," said Sirius. Remus got the urge to chide him for being so rude to Peter, but he was still recovering from his recent argument with his parents. He didn't really want to risk another one so soon afterwards.

James laughed. "You know, Dad says Shakespeare's full of inappropriate jokes."

"How does your dad know Shakespeare, mate?" asked Sirius. "He's probably yanking your wand."

"Dad knows Shakespeare because of his Muggle rights campaign a few years back. And he's telling the truth. Right, Remus? He is, isn't he? I think you're the only one of us who actually read Shakespeare over the summer."

"He's telling the truth. Mum doesn't think Shakespeare is appropriate for twelve-year-olds at all."

"Cool," said James, who was certainly the type of person to appreciate the occasional dirty joke. "I love things that aren't appropriate for twelve-year-olds."

"We're not just twelve, though. Most of us are nearly twelve and a half, except Peter," pointed out Sirius. "On that note, Remus, we already had a birthday party for him. Yesterday. James' house. So you needn't worry about it."

"...Oh," said Remus, a tad disappointed. He felt very left-out.

Sirius didn't seem to notice. "Ooh, my parents are going to be even angrier when they find out about Shakespeare's inappropriateness. I'm really curious about our next DAD professor."

"I know she's female," said Remus. "Professor Questus mentioned it."

James pulled out Mindfulness Made Easy. "As if a man would assign this. Have you read the whole thing, Remus? It's awful."

"I have," said Remus. "Have you?"

"Yeah, and it's—" James blinked. "I don't know how you just got me to admit that I did some summer reading, but I'm considering tossing you out the window, you self-assured git."

Sirius laughed. "Yeah, we read it. Me and he actually read it out loud. Danced around his bedroom and adopted a bunch of weird voices. It was pretty fun."

"Sorry..." said Remus. "But did you just say... 'me and he'?"

"Yeah."

Remus shook his head sadly. "There's no hope for you."

Remus knew that Sirius was doing it on purpose. He had grown up in a Pureblood household. There was no way that he actually didn't know the rules of proper grammar. But Sirius had begun adopting more and more of James' lighthearted grammatical errors back in first year, and it was actually kind of sweet to watch. Remus didn't want to stop correcting him, though. It was too much fun, and Sirius seemed to like being corrected... for whatever reason.

"So... back-to-school prank," said James. "Remus, mate, you're out of the loop. Peter spent hours and hours at my house over the summer, and Sirius spent the whole last few weeks. We already came up with a really good practical joke. We were gonna write to you, but you take forever to respond."

"It's not like I'm staring at that notebook all day and waiting for writing to pop up," said Remus indignantly.

"You should be, considering how interesting we are," said James. "Anyway. We're dressing up all the suits of armor in the corridors... as teachers!"

Remus wasn't sure how to feel about that. "And how, exactly, do you expect to do it?"

"Well, there's a pretty cool Transfiguration spell that lets you copy clothing," said James, eyes sparkling. "I've been practicing it all summer. And the Color-Changing Charm... not to mention the Hair-Growing Hex. It's gonna be really cool."

Remus grinned. "That's a stupid idea," he said, and it was. But he was excited nonetheless, and every single Marauder on the train knew it. Things were different when Remus was with his friends, and he was immeasurably thankful for the fact.

But then... "I'm bored," said James.

"Read a book," suggested Remus.

"I'm not that bored. Hey, Sirius, let's go hex Snape. He's in the compartment behind us, I think. With Evans."

"Yeah!" said Sirius.

"I wanna come," said Peter.

Then the three Marauders turned and looked at Remus. "Coming?" asked Sirius.

Time froze. "N-no... no, I don't think so," said Remus slowly.

"Okay. Have fun riding the train by yourself. Let's go!"

Remus watched them go for a few moments, feeling very sorry for himself. No, he didn't want to hex Snape. But he didn't want to be alone, either. He felt a bit hurt—was tormenting another student really more interesting than talking to Remus? Wasn't Remus interesting enough? Remus hadn't seen his friends all summer, and he wanted to spend a bit more time with them, especially since they were coming so close to finding out the truth...

But there was no point in complaining, even to himself. Remus' friends were rude, inconsiderate, and prone to hexing others, but that was just how they were, and Remus liked them no matter what. What was the point in trying to change them? He loved them just the way they were.

With that in mind, Remus pulled out a book. If this was the price that he had to pay for having friends, he could do it. He could pay this price. This was fine. This was worth it.

Wasn't it?

He heard Snape yell, he heard a few hexes, he heard an angered shriek from Evans, and for a moment, he wasn't so sure.

But then he remembered being alone at home... those nights in the cellar... his argument with his parents... thinking that he wasn't going to go back at all... and then he decided that it absolutely was.

AN: Unrelated, but I hate cherry flavoring. I can't tell whether I hate it because I used to take cherry-flavored medicine, or if I hated the medicine because I hate cherry flavoring. One of the great mysteries of the universe, I suppose—a bit like the chicken and the egg.