"Today we're going to be doing interpretive dance," said Pensley.

Remus didn't know what to say to that, but that was nothing new. He felt totally speechless around Pensley quite often (due to what could only be described as murderous tendencies), but he knew how to deal with it by now: the best way to avoid murdering anyone was to sit on his hands, look at the sky, and think about sheep (his all-time favorite animal). It usually worked.

Pensley, unfortunately, kept talking. "I want everybody to stand up and clear away the desks. Ready?" She pointed her wand at the record player, which immediately started playing Milhaud's La Création Du Monde. "I want everybody to pick a spell, and then I want you to dance. But not just dancing, no—I want you to dance like the spell would dance! Get into its mind! Find out its every inner working!"

Remus awkwardly stood and watched everybody else. He was far too self-conscious to do this. He felt his face growing red; thankfully, the colored lighting in the classroom was hiding it. For some reason, Pensley had turned every light fixture pink, which meant that the room was tinted in a violent pink color that made everyone look like sick flowers. Remus didn't like it, but at least it was better than the stupid scented candles (which were particularly bad today).

Remus glanced over at James, who was certainly not too self-conscious to do the assignment. He was winding his arms like a windmill and running into Sirius over and over again. "Ooh, James, I like it!" said Pensley. "What are you meant to be?"

"Oppugno," said James, bumping into Sirius over and over again. "The Attacking Spell!"

Sirius was letting James hit him. "I'm the Shield Spell, Protego," he said with a horribly bored expression.

"Lovely!" said Pensley. "Try to do it more rhythmically."

"Sure thing, Carmina."

"Professor Carmina to you, my dear! And what are you, Meg?"

Evans was standing in the corner, tossing her wand in the air lazily and catching it. "Expelliarmus," she said. She wasn't even looking at Pensley.

Pensley complimented her and moved on. "Henry! You're not dancing. What are you?"

Remus was hit with sudden inspiration. "Petrificus Totalus," he said, barely moving his mouth.

"Oh, wonderful! And Leonardo?"

Peter was moving in a circle and waving his arms like a demented fairy caught in a cyclone. "I'm Wingardium Leviosa," he said.

"That's brilliant!" squealed Pensley. "Everyone, look at Leonardo! Can't you just see the wind running through his hair? Can't you just sense the freedom? He really looks like he's flying!"

"Oppugno!" shouted James, running at Peter and knocking him over.

"And that is the perfect demonstration of how spells can be destructive as well as constructive! Spells don't stop and consider how beautiful something is before destroying it! Some spells are heartless, but every spell has a heart! Very good demonstration, Griffin and Leonardo! Round of applause, everyone!"

Pensley didn't like clapping, so everyone snapped. She asked them to do that at least once nearly every class period, and Remus was proud to say that he had finally mastered the art of rolling his eyes behind his hand whilst pretending to fix his hair.

"We have so much homework from DAD," James groaned. "It's such an easy class. Why do we get homework?"

"Because she doesn't teach," said Remus acidly. "She doesn't lecture or anything. She just sets homework, and then we dance in class. She's not even a teacher."

"Woah," said Sirius, punching Remus lightly in the left shoulder. His hand brushed against the original bite, and Remus winced. "Never seen you so angry at anyone before."

"Not angry," said James. "He's not angry. He's never angry. He's..."

"Kind of frustrated," said Peter.

"Mildly annoyed," said Sirius.

"Slightly irritated," said James.

"Confused and discouraged," said Sirius. "Why d'you hate her so much?"

"I don't hate her," said Remus. "I strongly dislike her. There are a few reasons. First of all, there's a war brewing, and we need to learn how to defend ourselves. She's not helping with that."

"I can tell you've been talking to John," James muttered, but Remus ignored him.

"And, if you must know," continued Remus, speaking over James, "it's because she thinks she can heal whatever illness I have."

"That's good, though," said Sirius. "Why are you angry—sorry, irritated—about that?"

"Because she can't. My parents have tried just about everything, and nothing helps. I hate it when people try to cure me—it's just this endless roller coaster of false hope and unpleasant experimentation. And it's not just normal cures—she thinks that meditating will solve all of my problems. Dumbledore told me that I have to meet with her every single month. That's awful."

"Hm," said James. "Well, that sounds more fun than... whatever homework we have, anyway."

"We have to read the first three chapters of the textbook," moaned Peter. "That'll take ages."

"Let me teach you the fine art of skimming, Peter," said James wisely.

"You will not," said Remus.

"What does skimming mean?" asked Peter.

"It means he's going to fail," said Remus, and James and Sirius took off down the corridor, laughing and chasing each other like maniacs.

Peter and Remus ambled behind them at a much more comfortable speed, and Remus quizzed Peter on Pixies. Thanks to Pensley, they had learned nothing about Pixies. Remus was starting to feel the murderous tendencies again, so he breathed: in through his nose, out through his mouth, in through his nose...

That night, Remus stayed up late doing homework with Peter. He didn't really understand the curriculum, and they had pages upon pages of the textbook to read. Poor Peter wasn't doing very well—he was good at a lot of things, but straight memorization wasn't one of them.

Remus sighed and looked out the window at the darkening sky.

A full moon.

No, no, no, no... how could he have forgotten? Remus never forgot full moons! How could he? He looked around for James and Sirius, but they weren't there.

"Peter! Get out!" he said, scrambling to the back of the room near his bed.

"Am I really that stupid that you need to get away from me that badly?" asked Peter.

Normally, Remus would have assured Peter that he wasn't stupid, but there was no time. "Out! I'm a werewolf, and..."

But he wasn't a werewolf. He wasn't changing. The moon was coming up, and he wasn't changing... what was going on?

And then Remus heard a growl from behind the window—a growl that was clear as day, horrifyingly familiar, and far more unwelcome than even Pensley's scented candles.

It burst open in a smattering of broken glass and Peter's screams, and then there was a werewolf standing in front of Remus, and Remus wasn't sure what to do... because this had already happened... he'd already been bitten, and he was already a werewolf...

And then there was blood everywhere and Peter was gone and Remus was coughing and lying on the ground...

"Remus!" That was Peter. Where was he?

Remus opened his eyes.

"Nightmare," he murmured, more to himself than to Peter. He was still sitting on the floor of the dormitory, leaning on his propped-up elbow. "I should get to bed."

"All right," said Peter, sighing. "It's about eleven. We're not going to finish anyway. I don't know how James and Sirius got it all done."

"They didn't," said Remus. "They're leaving it all off until tomorrow."

"But they won't finish!"

"They don't care." Remus leaned over to Peter and dropped his voice to a stage whisper. "They're the stupid ones here."

"Oi!" said James sleepily, and Remus laughed. "Go to sleep if you know what's good for you, Rem."

Remus crawled behind his curtains and pulled the covers over his eyes to avoid the window's menacing stare. Remus was afraid of sleeping next to windows, thanks to the exact same memory that he had just relived... but he couldn't tell his friends that, so he just had to suffer through. "G'night," he murmured.

"Night," said Peter, crawling into his own bed.

Remus hadn't had a nightmare like that in a while—one that caused him to wake up with a wildly beating heart and tendrils of fear running through his very veins. He'd used to have quite the problem with nightmares in first year, and Dumbledore had gifted him with a small Pensieve after Remus' slight mental breakdown in front of Madam Pomfrey. It was intended to stop memories from weighing on him; to remove them from the front of his mind and push them to the back; to allow Remus to sleep like a normal person for a bit. Remus hadn't used the Pensieve in a while—after all, he'd been at home, and there was a large bookshelf covering his window—but he took it out today.

He didn't remove any bad memories, though. Instead, he removed a very good, comforting memory: a memory of his mother reciting Lewis Carroll's The Walrus and the Carpenter to a sleepy three-year-old Remus. Remus dunked his head in the Pensieve and mouthed the words along with his mother, relishing the familiar cadence and rhymes, until he was finally calm enough to get some sleep. He certainly needed it.

Remus and Peter worked diligently until the next DAD class. When Pensley came around to collect the homework, Remus realized that they were the only ones who had finished it.

Pensley sat down next to Remus and sighed. "Class, I know it was a little more work than you're used to, but you have to work harder in my class. It's very important that you do the necessary work outside of class in order to succeed."

It's too much! Remus wanted to scream. His lack of free time over the past couple of days had been palpable: he and Peter had even worked on the DAD homework during meals.

"This is what life is going to be like," continued Pensley. "You're going to have to do work. The world isn't just Quidditch and Exploding Snap, you know! You'll get a job, and then you'll be working all the time."

Yeah, right. Remus wished that getting a job was a guarantee in his future.

"Teenagers are so lazy sometimes. Only two of you actually did the assignment. It's all right though, I'm here to help—we're not trying to torture you!" She laughed a little tinkly laugh, and Remus felt something akin to alligators in his chest. "We're only trying to teach you that, if you want something, you have to work for it. Alright-y?"

In through his nose. Out through his mouth.

Nope, not helping. Remus didn't even realize that his hand was in the air until Pensley called on him. "Yes, Henry?"

"Professor, that's a bit of a stereotype," he said. Next to him, Evans sucked in a breath that Remus couldn't quite decipher—was it an excited breath or a terrified one? Remus was leaning toward the latter.

Pensley kept smiling. Her teeth were very bright. "Excuse me?"

"It's a stereotype. Younger people aren't always lazy."

"Oh, but I'm not trying to offend! Nononono. It's just that the evidence about this particular group of students, Henry-dear, suggests otherwise. You and Leonardo are the only ones who..."

"Professor, your assignment took Peter and me every waking second to get it done in time. We worked during meals, after school, even during History of Magic yesterday. We spent hours and hours on it. If no one gets it done... perhaps that's a problem with the assignment, not the students. And we tried to contact you yesterday to tell you so, we really did—but there was a 'Meditating: Do Not Disturb' sign on your door every time we walked past the classroom."

Pensley blinked.

"I don't mean to be disrespectful," said Remus in a small voice. "But maybe you should lecture us in class so that we don't have to learn it all on our own...?"

"You're not being disrespectful!" said Pensley. "I'm glad you voiced your opinion, Henry! I've never taught before, and it's very difficult for me to gauge how long an assignment will take. Thank you ever so much for bringing this to my attention, and I'll definitely try to tone it down. I do believe that this assignment in particular could have been done much more quickly if you had paid more attention in class, but of course I shall respect your opinion—"

"Paid attention in class?" Remus muttered. "What class? This isn't a class."

He hadn't thought he'd said it loudly enough for anyone to hear, but judging by the dead silence of the classroom... he figured Pensley had definitely heard him. Fiddlesticks. One of the many downsides to having such highly-enhanced senses was that Remus couldn't tell what other people could hear and what they couldn't. He didn't know what human ears were like, so his volume was often either too loud or too quiet—mostly the latter, but apparently not today. Oh, Remus hated being a werewolf.

He slunk back into his chair and tried to breathe. His voice was shaky, and it was terribly embarrassing. "I just think that..."

"Yes?" Pensley said. Her eyes were stern, but her voice was just as floaty as ever, and Remus hated it. He felt the eyes of all his classmates on him, and his throat felt tight.

He had never played the "werewolf" card before. Not seriously, and not on purpose. In a fit of emotion, yes... but he had never had a moment like this, when he honestly thought to himself: I'm going to play the "werewolf" card. Never. But he was seriously considering it now.

What did he have to lose?

"I'm sorry, Professor. But I'm very sensitive to stereotypes. I don't like them much."

Pensley's face was unreadable. Remus wasn't sure if she understood or not, but he barreled on anyway.

"I already lose enough sleep..." He paused to let the words sink in before he added the lie. "You know, being... away from home and all that. I get tired easily. I can't spend another several hours on an assignment for you. And no one else could, either. It's not that we didn't pay attention in class; if it had been that way, then Peter would have found the assignment easy, since he always pays attention. And I try my best, too. It's just too much homework, that's all I'm saying."

"Well, what do your other teachers do?" said Pensley, still in the calm, breathy voice. "I really am trying my best, but I'm afraid I don't quite know how to teach."

"They teach us the material in class, and then they assign us essays so that we can work out the details," said a Hufflepuff boy. Remus was thankful that he wasn't the only one talking to her. He let the Hufflepuff boy take over. What was his name? Andrew? Thank heavens for Andrew.

"You assigned us three essays each, one per topic—and we had to read the chapters outside of class," said Evans. "You haven't even assigned us a real textbook. You just told us to 'research'. Usually, we get guidelines of what's most important... or at least sources. And textbook pages are far easier to read and take a lot less time when we know the material already and don't have to start learning from scratch."

"We're not even doing anything useful in class!" said Andrew the Hufflepuff. "We're just dancing and sculpting. What does it have to do with D.A.D.A.?"

Everyone started talking at once, and Pensley tried to look like she was listening. Thirty seconds later, she cut off the classical music, and the room went dead silent.

"I'll consider making a change," she said. "Thank you very much for your input. All of you. Sharing your innermost thoughts was very brave. I don't think that it should have taken so long had you done the assignment correctly, but I'll look at it. And, of course, none of you will receive any penalty—but Henry and Leonardo will most certainly receive some hefty extra credit! Henry, would you speak to me after class?"

Remus wanted to say no, but he nodded his head glumly.

The rest of class passed worryingly slowly. Pensley was reading Romeo and Juliet out loud (far too dramatically for Remus' tastes), and Remus' breath felt shallow (thanks to both the stress and the scented candles). Evans was shooting Remus glances the whole time, but Remus refused to look at her. And Pensley kept accidentally hitting Remus whenever she did a particularly massive hand gesture.

In through his nose. Out through his mouth. In through his nose. Out through his mouth...

"Professor? You wanted to see me?"

"Henry! Yes! You can sit back down; I'm not going to attack you or anything," she said with an infuriating little giggle.

Remus thought that it had been a stupid joke (not even really much of a joke), so he didn't laugh. Instead, he sat and turned to face Pensley, who was still in the seat directly next to him. Remus' nostrils burned with the scented smoke, and Pensley still smelled of peaches. She was too close for comfort. Remus tried to back up a bit, but then Pensley scooted her chair forward, and Remus looked determinedly at a spot behind her head, trying to block it all out. It was all too much.

In through his nose, out through his mouth...

"Are there any special accommodations that I should make for you?" she asked. "Because of your disability?"

Remus immediately choked on his own breathing techniques. Disability? "It's not a disability," said Remus.

"But werewolf is such a harsh word," laughed Pensley. Remus tended to agree, but he'd never admit that. And the laughter was not appropriate here.

"Er... the accepted euphemisms are condition and affliction, mostly. I guess lycanthropy, too, although that's more of a frank term than a euphemism..."

"Also harsh words."

Remus though that disability was far harsher and far more inaccurate (since, technically, being a werewolf gave him more abilities), but he wasn't about to say so. "No, I don't need any special accommodations for my... for my affliction," he said. "But giving so much homework was unfair to all of us, not just me..."

"Give me time," said Pensley. "It's not kind to be so harsh with me. It's my first year teaching and I'm doing my best. If you don't need any special accommodations, then you can leave. I just wanted to make sure—after all, I know things are hard for you and I want to help as much as possible!"

"O...kay," said Remus. "Actually, there is one thing."

"Yes?" said Pensley.

"The scented candles are... too strong...?"

"Oh! I'll get rid of a few. Thanks for letting me know!"

Remus nodded and left. He needed to write to Professor Questus later.

Dear Professor Questus,

I VERY strongly dislike Pensley. Words can't describe. She gave us dozens of hours of homework because she doesn't lecture in class. We have to learn it all on our own! I argued back in class today (you wouldn't have allowed it, but you also wouldn't have made us listen to you recite Shakespeare instead of actually teaching). I told her that it was too much, and she said it was because "teenagers are lazy"!

I have never EVER EVER used my lycanthropy as an advantage in an argument before in a premeditated, planned-out instance. But I definitely played the "werewolf" card in class today... but I don't think it helped. I told her that I '"didn't like stereotypes" and that I "lost some sleep... because of adjusting to a new place" (note the pause) and that I "didn't have time to do that much homework".

She actually started to listen, so I guess it was a little bit effective. That's when the rest of the class jumped in and started arguing their cases as well. She eventually told us that she'd "look into it". What does that even mean? Whatever it means, I doubt she'll do it.

And then she kept me after class and asked me if I "needed any special accommodations" for my "disability". I don't think I even need to tell you what's wrong with that picture.

On a brighter note (and I assume I can tell you this since you're not my teacher anymore), my friends and I snuck into the Forbidden Forest the other night. It was actually pretty fun—we had a fake duel and a picnic. But the centaurs are terrified of me, and they also seem to know that I'm a werewolf. How on earth could they possibly know that?

Hope everything is going well at home. Mum and Dad wrote me the other day and told me that you're practically living with them at this point. I'm not sure what that means; they tend to exaggerate. I'd love it if you could clear that up, because I know I can trust YOU—I think you'd rather drop dead than exaggerate.

Tell Garrison I said hello!
R.J. Lupin

Lupin—

You have definitely referenced your lycanthropy in an argument to get the upper hand before, whether you meant to do it or not. I must say, however: that was a clever way of doing it. Not too over-the-top, subtle, and not likely to give anything away. While I don't condone guilting people (and I know you don't, either), I'm duly impressed by your quick thinking.

But don't be reckless. I know you don't like her (I know how it is to dislike people, and I know equally how it is to be disliked), but you shouldn't insult her to her face. I know I sound terribly hypocritical—after all, I insult people all the time—but the fact is, I've some leeway when it comes to insulting people. You do not. Like it or not, people tend to lump werewolves together. For people who know you're a werewolf, you represent your entire species.

And furthermore, people aren't likely to cut you slack for being disrespectful. If you do anything even slightly negative, people will jump to conclusions and assume that you're trying to kill them. Such is the fate of a Dark and dangerous creature, I'm afraid, and you need to face the facts instead of letting your emotions get the better of you.

I must admit, though: she sounds awful. And the word "disability" does rather make me cringe, although I'm surprised you're making such a big deal out of it. You're usually the type to let people walk all over you. Either you're improving... or you really do dislike her enough to sacrifice your don't-ask-don't-tell behavior when it comes to werewolves. I'm impressed either way.

The Forbidden Forest is dangerous, but I'm not going to tell you off. You can handle it—nothing you haven't seen before, and nothing you can't fend off. Dark creatures seem to like you, anyhow. As long as you stay out of the dangerous areas, you should be fine. I used to go in there all the time as a teenager—quiet place to study and clear my head. It's not as dangerous as the staff say it is (if you know the spots to avoid), and I was also a good enough duellist to protect myself. You'll be fine. Just don't antagonize anything (and that includes Pensley).

As for the centaurs: I've no idea. They know a lot that we don't. It might be a type of heightened sense—not unlike your own—or something in their instincts. Perhaps their stargazing actually told them something for once, though I seriously doubt it. Or maybe Dumbledore told them. My best guess is instinct, though—sort of like how we don't need to be told that a tiger is dangerous; we just know. And, judging by how you dealt with your Defense professor, you can indeed be very dangerous.

Your parents weren't exaggerating much. All three of us are lonely and bored. We've been spending a lot of time together recently—after all, we're the only ones around besides the people in that village down the hill. Your father and I have had some very lively discussions, and your mother is very tolerable when one gets to know her. It's really no mystery where you get your sense of humor from: both of your parents are very funny. Good people, despite their misguidedness last summer. There isn't much else for us to do, so I spend most days at their house.

Werewolf the Cat is doing well. Her favorite pastimes are sleeping, napping, and sitting still with her eyes closed. Very quiet and calm, unlike most people I know (ahem: Potter and Black).

I'm healing up nicely (for the most part), and Pomfrey deems me well enough to walk around. Still have to use the stupid cane, and I have a very large stock of Pain-Relieving Potions at the ready—but I'm doing fine. Fine enough to walk over to your parents' and to make my own food, anyhow. That's really all I need to do at the moment.

You have chronic pain too, don't you? Can't imagine you wouldn't, what with the stress your bones and muscles go through every month. Any tips would be greatly appreciated.

I hate asking advice from a twelve-year-old.

—Q. (not Professor)

P.S. I don't even care if you call me by my first name (like your ridiculous friends). But DO NOT call me Professor.

AN: DRAMA