Remus read for hours and hours (his father went upstairs at around nine), but he wasn't reading the whole time. For long stretches of time, he'd space out, reading the same paragraph over and over again with his eyes but not his brain—because, even with the distraction of the book, the prospect of the tragic life that awaited him was too strong and painful. It eclipsed his every thought, even the ever-present and recurring thought of "shut up, I'm trying to read".

There would be no more Madam Pomfrey, and Remus already missed her. He hadn't even said goodbye. Remus would never again write a letter to his parents, because they'd be right there next to him for maybe the rest of his life. He could move out, of course, when he became of age, but it would be difficult to get a job without graduating Hogwarts, university, or even any type of school whatsoever (Remus hadn't even graduated his first year in preschool. That was bound to put a damper on his job applications). Remus couldn't live with his parents forever, and he'd be destitute if he moved out. He'd definitely die an early death—his health was bad enough with Madam Pomfrey, and it would just continue to decline without her. And, what was more, Remus' childhood had been cut short for the second time in his twelve years. How unfair was that?!

Still, though, Remus remained convinced that he'd made the right choice. Staying at Hogwarts with three friends who knew his secret? That was ridiculous! Never mind that they'd known for weeks and had acted mostly normally around him nonetheless. If Remus was more open about his lycanthropy in any way—if they found out more about werewolves—once the novelty wore off—yes, that would all change. And there was no way that they could keep the secret for nearly six years. Someone would find out, and Remus knew for a fact that his friends were the only ones stupid enough to want to keep being friends with a werewolf—anyone else would probably react horribly. No, Remus was better off at home, no matter how painful it was.

He was better here. He was happier. He was.

...Wasn't he?

Yes! He was! Even though he missed Dumbledore, and the Great Hall, and his dormitory, and the Gryffindor common room, and Quidditch games, and even the Hospital Wing... and all of the staff, and classes, and—fiddlesticks—the Hogwarts library... yes, even though he missed all that, he would be okay. He had made the right choice. He was doing a good thing, and that was all that mattered. And he was home, and that was all he'd wanted recently.

So why did he feel so terrible about it all?

There was just this gnawing, persistent feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't quite identify, and it was nearly as bad as the nausea on the full moon... was it fear? Guilt? Regret?

No, it was probably hunger. Remus went to the kitchen and got a banana, even though the prospect of eating made his stomach go all twisty. With much effort, he finished the banana, and he really did feel a bit better afterward. He read for another hour, and his mind didn't even drift all that much.

Time passed. The clock struck noon, and Remus yawned. He was pretty sure he was about to fall asleep. He hadn't taken many naps at Hogwarts (save for the many naps in the Hospital Wing)—there had been too much to do, so naps had seemed like a waste—but, now that Remus was home, his eyes were growing heavy. Because sleeping was the only way to pass the time now, wasn't it?

But, before he could drift off, he heard a very familiar voice, smelled a very familiar scent, and heard a very familiar knock coming from the doorway. "I really need to stop sleeping in," the voice mused. "I clearly missed quite a lot. Hello? Anyone want to explain why Remus Lupin, of all people, is becoming a truant?"

Remus' parents were upstairs, so Remus opened the door and let Professor Questus in himself. "Hullo, Professor," he said. It was nice to see Questus again, at least. "I'm not a truant. I'm no longer a Hogwarts student at all. Switching back to homeschooling, permanently."

"Ah," said Questus, raising his eyebrows. "Don't call me Professor—and yes, that's what I expected. Many questionable things are in your nature, Lupin, including the odd murderous tendency... but skiving is not one of them. Now, are you going to explain or just leave it at that?"

"I was going to explain, but I'm thinking maybe I won't now, just to miff you," said Remus, grinning. "Come in?"

"Grudgingly. Want to meet the cat?"

"The cat named Werewolf?"

"No, the cat named Dumbledore. Of course the cat named Werewolf. Your parents don't know its name, by the way. You told me that this family likes to pretend werewolves don't exist, so I thought perhaps you wouldn't want them to know."

"You were correct."

"Look at me, withholding useless information just for the fun of it. How very out-of-character." Questus was still holding his cane, and he leaned on it heavily as he hobbled inside and collapsed on the armchair with the most cat hair stuck to it. "Ow," he grumbled. "I'm not feeling great today."

"Worse than usual?"

"Pain that comes and goes is my 'usual', so no. Anyway." Questus cleared his throat and then said (relatively loudly): "Lupins! Your son has got some explaining to do and he doesn't seem to want to do it on his own!"

"Be right down!" said Remus' dad in a completely normal tone of voice. Remus was thankful that he wasn't shouting so close to the full moon.

"He says he'll be right down," Remus informed Questus, who nodded slowly.

"All right, then. Cat'll be around any minute. It tends to follow me when it notices I'm missing."

Remus giggled. "My parents do that, too. Sometimes they check on me in my room for no other reason than to make sure I'm still there. Where else am I going to go? Out the window?"

"Down the drain."

"In the wardrobe."

"To Narnia."

"I think Aslan and I would be very good friends," said Remus solemnly.

Questus snorted in amusement, shaking his head, and Remus smiled and picked up his book. They sat in silence for a while as Remus read; after a while, though, Remus' parents walked into the room.

"Ready to talk about it now, sweetheart?" asked Remus' mother, plucking the book out of his hands.

"S'pose. There isn't much to say." Remus glanced at Questus and shrugged. "My dormmates found out. You know. About me."

Professor Questus nodded. "Yes, figured that out for myself," he said. "You're rather predictable, and that mildly self-pitying expression wasn't doing you any favors. Congratulations on surviving that, I guess. They didn't try to hurt you? They aren't going to tell anyone?"

"No. They were fine with it, actually. Wanted to keep being my friends. They're good people, albeit a little stupid."

"They wanted to..." Questus blinked. "I never thought that would have happened. Even Black?"

"Yes."

"Then... why, pray tell, are you home? This is the chance of a lifetime, you complete and utter moron! You can't actually be serious! They wanted to keep being your friends, and you left? Why?"

Remus was sort of taken aback by Questus' sudden and completely irrational anger. Questus often spoke sternly, but he didn't often get this worked up—especially not about perfectly reasonable things (like leaving Hogwarts). "It's not very responsible of me to doom them to a life of secrets and pity, Professor," said Remus.

"Don't call me Professor. And you are twelve. It's not your job to be responsible!"

"You're right," said Remus, trying for a smile, "it's my responsibility to be responsible. Of course it's not a job. I'm not getting paid for it... though that might be nice. I'll write management later today and see if I can get a raise."

Questus dropped his head into his hands and groaned. "Lupin. You're so... you're so dumb. The dumbest person on the entire planet... and that's really saying something, because there are some pretty dumb people who work at the Ministry."

Remus frowned. "That's a low blow."

"Yeah, that was rather the point. I thought you had more sense than this. Do you realize what you're giving up? O.W.L.s. Friends. An escape. The Hogwarts library. Medical care. You could take electives or visit Hogsmeade next year..."

Remus' parents started inching out of the room. "Oh, don't you dare leave me!" called Remus, but they ignored him. Remus heard the door shut and his parents giggling as they left him completely alone to presumably walk to town. "Please don't bite my head off," said Remus to Questus, rolling his eyes. "I know what I have to do. It's my duty, as a werewolf, to protect others from myself... and do you really think my dormmates are responsible enough to be friends with a werewolf? You know what they're like—someone could get hurt! They're incredibly naïve. If I stayed, then it would practically be murder."

"Naïve, perhaps, but also clever. They won't get hurt." Questus stared directly into Remus' eyes, and Remus squirmed. "Look. Hogwarts has been very, very good for you. You're healthier, both mentally and physically, happier, and braver. I have thought for a very long time that you were going to be discovered and then forcibly removed by violent or unpleasant circumstances. That is what I have been anticipating. Do you understand?"

"That's what I've been expecting, too. The fact that it didn't happen is a pleasant surprise, not a game-changer."

"A 'game-changer' is exactly what it is, Lupin! Nothing bad has happened! In fact, something very good has happened! For someone who dislikes being pitied, you have an extraordinary amount of self-pity!"

"It's not self-pity! It's responsibility, and you're making it harder!"

"Good! I'm glad I'm making it harder, because this 'responsibility' of yours is nothing more than delusion! No one expects a child to isolate himself from the world just because he doesn't trust others to stay away from a ravenous werewolf!"

"Seriously? That's precisely what both the Ministry and society expect me to do! Or have you forgotten the rampant fear of werewolves that's currently plaguing ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the world?"

"Fine. Let me rephrase. No rational person expects a child to isolate himself from the world for no reason whatsoever, and you're not going to get very far in life if you only pander to the irrational people."

Remus frowned. "But staying their friend will be horribly unpleasant for me. You remember Potter—you remember how obsessive he can get. He'll pity me. He'll try to heal me. He'll never stop talking about it!"

"Oh, so it's 'Potter' now? All that they've done for you is completely void now that they've discovered you're a Dark creature and don't hate you? You're a fool if you think that you'll get an opportunity like this in the future. This is the chance of a lifetime—a golden opportunity! You're never getting another childhood!"

"I know that. And I never got one."

"You're getting one now, you self-pitying hypocrite. Don't turn it down. You proclaim to have 'wolfish instincts' and then you display an absolutely shoddy sense of self-preservation, which is probably the only good trait that werewolves on the full moon possess. You'll die if you stay here."

"I'll die if I go. Everyone dies. Didn't you know? It's a pretty basic fact. And it's not as if my life expectancy is—"

"Shut up, Lupin. I mean that you will die sad, alone, unfulfilled, and probably much sooner. If your life is going to be so short, by your own words, then why don't you... I don't know... live it?"

"Because I have a responsibility."

"No. You do not. And you don't believe that, either. You're running away from your problems, that's what you're doing. That's what you always do. For a Gryffindor, you're a complete and utter coward."

"I'm not!"

"You're not very loyal, either, if you'll abandon your friends at the drop of a hat. You're throwing your life away for no reason—that rules out ambition. And you're being right stupid. That covers all of the Houses, doesn't it? Lo and behold, you have no Hogwarts qualities! Maybe you should stay here!"

"I reckon I should!"

"Lupin, listen to me." Remus had been staring a hole into the arm of Questus' chair, but he lifted his eyes at this. Professor Questus could be very intimidating. "You and I are very different people, but we're also very similar in a lot of ways. We're both completely stubborn and proud. We both like knowing all the facts. We share a sense of humor and a fondness for discussion. Since last summer, I've assumed that we have another similarity: painful curses that affect our whole lives and render us bored invalids at home."

"Sounds about right."

"Nope. Because here I am, stuck with your parents, and you have the opportunity to attend the best wizarding school in existence. I'm stuck here—probably until I die—but you don't have to be. So go."

"You don't understand."

"Don't care. It was only a couple months ago that we were both arguing this point to your parents—amazing how quickly the tides have changed. Every single Lupin has happened to switch sides since then. But—" Questus shifted in the armchair and rubbed his leg with a slight groan, but then instantly recovered— "I've convinced certain Lupins to let you go to Hogwarts in the past, and I can do it again with a slightly different Lupin."

"But you don't understand!" said Remus again.

"Don't I? Enlighten me."

As quickly as possible, Remus muddled through a version of what he had explained to Dumbledore... about James' loyalty, about pity and questions and...

"I'm going to stop you right there, because you sound stupid," said Questus. "Oh no! Your friends are loyal, they care about you, and you get to answer their questions now instead of mine! That's a terrible shame! Face it: you like talking things out and answering questions. I know you do. Educating people on subjects you know about—even sensitive subjects—makes you happy. That's why you tutor Pettigrew, hm? And that's why you've entertained my own curiosity for more than a year now. Explaining things isn't the problem—I reckon you'll be relieved that you finally get to talk about it when you return, which you will. So what's the real reason? And do try to sound a bit less like an idiot this time around."

"You don't understand!" Remus said again. "You know all of the technical information, but you don't know what it's like! I live in constant fear of myself and no one else should have to go through that! I know how terrible it is, and they don't, so I can't possibly expect them to sign up for something so terrible—so awful—so torturous. I'm protecting them, and isn't that what good friends are supposed to do? You... you couldn't possibly understand, Professor."

"No, you don't understand," said Questus, "and not just that bit about not calling me Professor that I've been trying to drill into you for ages. Think, Lupin. You always made good marks in my class, so sometimes I wonder how you can be so daft. What are you doing right now? Tell me."

"Sitting."

"Don't be cheeky. What did you tell me just now? Maybe you'll hear how stupid it is if you repeat it."

"I... er. I told you that you don't understand."

"That I don't understand what?"

"How it feels."

"How it feels to...?"

"Be a werewolf."

"Wrong! You were telling me I don't understand how it feels to be affiliated with one, and then you used the wrong argument to back that up."

"No, I wasn't—"

"Yes, you were. You were arguing that I 'don't understand' how horrible it would be for your friends to know a werewolf, and then you immediately switched to a completely irrelevant argument about being a werewolf yourself. You live in constant fear of yourself and no one else should have to go through that, hm? Well, you're right. You shouldn't make your friends into werewolves. Glad we cleared that up."

"No, I was saying that..."

"I know what you were saying. You were saying that to be the friend of a werewolf is just as bad as being one, which is stupid."

"No, I was—"

"Let me finish, Lupin—because I'm right and you know it if you have an ounce of sense. You were insinuating that you know better than I do what it's like to be affiliated with a werewolf. But you don't. You're not affiliated with a werewolf; you are the werewolf, so you couldn't possibly know how your friends will feel upon your imminent return to Hogwarts. In fact, I'm in the role that you claim to know so much about. I know exactly how it is to know a werewolf personally without being one myself, and you do not. You're talking responsibility as if I don't know how your friends would feel and you do, but I would argue quite the opposite. I have been in their position, you have not, and I know for a fact that simply knowing a werewolf personally is not too much for James Potter and Sirius Black."

"What about Peter?"

"I don't think he can do it."

"No, Peter's just as good as Sirius and James, and he can do anything he sets his mind to. He's very clever, you know, just not in the way you'd expe—oh." Remus, upon realizing that he'd more or less accidentally proved Questus' point, crossed his arms at Questus, who was grinning at him. "You complete Slytherin."

"You say that as if it's an insult."

Remus laughed. "Will you tell me?" he asked, sensing that the argument was cooling down. "What it's like to... be affiliated with me. Because apparently I've got it all wrong."

"Yep," agreed Questus, rubbing his knee and grimacing. "It's all right, though. You do tend to jump to worst-case scenario conclusions, so I don't really blame you. I prefer irrational pessimists to irrational optimists, though both are annoying. Let's see... what is it like to be affiliated with a werewolf? Ah, yes. There was once this bloke in the Auror department who kept telling these awful jokes." Questus shook his head and sighed deeply. "He thought they were funny, but they weren't. They were really awful."

Remus waited. "Is that it?"

"Yeah. That's it. That's what it feels like."

"Like...?"

"Let me give you another example. Say you had a friend who was completely obsessed with Quidditch and couldn't stop talking about it. That's what it's like. Or if you had a friend who was a little thick sometimes and needed help revising? Or if you knew someone with a garishly long beard who wore bright colors that hurt your eyes?"

"James? Peter? ...Dumbledore?"

"Maybe. That's what it feels like."

"I don't understand."

"Well, it's outstandingly simple. We all have faults and quirks, and I bet you can think of at least one thing that you don't like about every single person that you know... me included."

"I can think of a great many things that I don't like about you. Would you like a list?"

Questus snorted. "Fine. Be that way. Then why do you spend so much time with me?"

"Got nothing else to do."

"There you have it. Risk vs. reward. That's how we forge all of our relationships, because we're always settling. That's all a relationship is—any sort of relationship—it's all about settling, and settling, and settling some more. You don't like some things, but you deal with them because there's something there that's worth suffering a little for. No one likes you completely, all the time, every day. Everyone sees faults in you that they hate sometimes, but they see faults in everyone. They're not going to leave you because you're not perfect. No one's perfect. And the more things they dislike about you, the more they must like you if they continue to spend time with you."

Remus frowned. "What exactly are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you are emotional, high-maintenance, annoying, stupid, and perhaps a little dangerous on the full moon. You're prone to whinging and self-loathing. You have more guilt than is even rational and you've proven yourself a bit of a coward. You're a classified Dark and dangerous monster. You're horrible at dots and boxes..."

"You cheat, though!"

"And also accusatory. Yet here I am, talking to you, even though I usually hate people like you. I'm not avoiding you whenever I get the chance, which I have full capabilities of doing. And I understand all the implications of being affiliated with you, Lupin, trust me. I've done my research. So tell me: why am I doing this? Why am I here? Why am I even wasting my time talking to you?"

"Because you've got nothing else to do."

"Precisely. The reward is greater than the risk, therefore I want to do it. Not because of loyalty. Not because of charity. Not because of pity. You're setting yourself apart from humanity so much that you don't even realize you're not the only one with faults that people have to settle for. If the reward of being your friend outweighs the risks of befriending a werewolf, then you must be a very good friend indeed—one that your friends wouldn't want to lose at any cost. And I would argue that you're a far less tiresome friend than Pettigrew." Questus suddenly held up a hand. "No. Don't argue. I didn't say stupid, I said tiresome. And you can't really argue with that."

Remus laughed, because there was no point in arguing anymore. He was tired of arguing.

"The truth is, Lupin... and you know I won't lie to you... knowing you isn't as bad as you think it is. It's way worse for you. So please honestly ask yourself if you want to go back to Hogwarts, keeping in mind that you're not really being honest if you say 'no'."

"But it really will be unpleasant, and I really did want to go home... noble delusions or not."

"Sure. You wanted a break. You wanted to escape for a moment. That's perfectly understandable, especially for someone as young and irrationally sensitive as you—"

"Oi."

"Joking. But do you really want to stay home for the rest of your life? Really? You honestly, truly don't want to go back? When you think about the future—that endless expanse of time that you're going to spend here, alone, with only three middle-aged adults for company—that doesn't make you sad? Not at all?"

Remus was silent.

"I thought so. So go back, for your own sake as well as mine. Watching a bright twelve-year-old kid waste his potential, day after day, because of some idiotic fear? Yeah, that's not really my idea of a good time, thank you very much."

Remus laughed, throat tight. For some reason, being called all variations of "stupid" over the last several minutes made the simple word "bright" feel like such a potent, precious compliment. "Well... it's not just about what I want," he said. "There are other problems, too. They don't really know what werewolves are, I'm pretty sure... they don't understand, and I really don't think they can make a good risk vs. reward decision if they don't understand the implications—and therefore, the risks."

"And I'm telling you that the implications are no worse than spending hours tutoring your friend," said Questus. "But I see your point. If I give you a solution, will you listen with an open mind?"

"Sure."

"Here's the solution, then. Go back to Hogwarts. Gauge what it's like to have friends who know your secret. Stay until Christmas holidays. Come back here for the holidays and use that time to decide whether or not you want to go back to Hogwarts. That will give them time to realize the implications, give you time to form a risk vs. reward opinion yourself... and will at least make them feel like you're giving them a chance."

"Oh. That's logical."

"Aren't I always?"

"You really think I should try that?"

"Absolutely. I don't like to tell you that you owe people things, because you seem to come to that conclusion far too often yourself. But you owe them this; you really do. You've just gone and shattered their feelings to smithereens. Going back and giving it a shot is the least you can do."

"I... hurt their feelings?"

"No. Not just hurt. You shattered their feelings. You decimated their feelings. You ripped their hearts in two. Come on, Lupin, really? They like to think they can do anything. You essentially just implied that they're weak, that you don't care enough about them to stick around, and that the friendship revolved completely around you to begin with."

Remus sucked in an agonized breath through his teeth. "It does seem like I think that, doesn't it?"

"I'm fairly certain that you do think that. You're the only person I've ever met who manages to be both painfully selfless and painfully self-centered. They have problems, too. They're annoying sometimes, too. To put it into terms a bookworm like yourself would understand: ever thought that you're not the main character?"

Remus sighed. "Okay. I'll think about going back."

Questus lobbed a pillow at Remus, and Remus caught it. "No," said Questus firmly. "Make the decision now. Right now. You have ten seconds. Go."

"Why?"

"Because if you make it now, then you won't have an impending decision looming over your head for ages."

"I can deal with an impending decision looming over my head for ages."

"Not on the full moon Monday night. You have five seconds. Five, four, three, two..."

Remus sighed again. "Okay! Okay, fine. I'll... I'll go back. Just until Christmas holidays. Happy?"

"Indubitably."

There was a long silence.

Claws pattered in the background, and the distinctive scent of cat wafted into the room. "I think the cat's coming, Professor," said Remus.

"Not surprised. I am surprised, however, that you still cannot get into your head that my name is not Professor."

They watched the cat stalk into the room in silence. It was just as Remus had remembered it, when it had been outside his house before Questus had taken it in—a brown, plain cat with an air of tired indifference. It leapt on top of Questus' lap and nuzzled into his arm. Remus giggled.

"Yes?" said Questus in mock annoyance.

"Just funny to watch you cuddling a cat."

"I am not cuddling the cat. The cat is cuddling me." Questus poked the cat with the tip of his cane, and the cat gave him a reproachful look and hopped off of Questus' lap. It sat in the middle of the floor for a moment, staring at Questus. "I won't apologize," said Questus to the cat. "You overstepped your boundaries. You need consent." The cat yawned and then ambled over to Remus. Remus repressed the urge to kick it away (kicking cats was not generally a socially acceptable activity... not that Questus cared much about "socially acceptable").

Remus grimaced involuntarily as the cat hopped on top of his own lap. "Look who's cuddling a cat now," said Questus, satisfied.

But Werewolf the cat wasn't "cuddling" Remus—he was just sitting on top of his lap, staring him down. Remus tried not to move... and then he felt claws. He felt the cat's claws... and the cat yawned again and he saw the cat's teeth... and he felt the cat's claws pricking him through his robes. He remembered another larger animal's claws hurting him through his pajamas. The bite wasn't the only injury that he'd gotten from Greyback... he had indentations all over his arms and legs and chest where the creature had pinned him down and clawed at him. Not to mention Remus' own claws, the results of which were painfully evident after each full moon...

The cat shifted, and Remus yelped.

"Are you scared of cats?" said Questus incredulously. "I'd've never pegged you for it. You're a werewolf, for goodness' sake. Why would you be afraid of cats?"

Remus clamped his teeth together, refusing to take his eyes off of the cat. "Not cats," he said. "I'm not scared of cats."

"You're scared of something; you're white as a sheet."

"I'm scared of claws," said Remus briskly. "And this cat has very long claws. Get it off of me."

Questus paused, considering. "Ah." He pulled out his wand and shot red sparks at the cat, who leapt off of Remus' lap and made a beeline for the kitchen. Remus cringed as the claws dug deeper when the cat prepared to jump. "All right?"

"Fine," said Remus. "Sorry. I didn't expect..."

"Trauma," said Questus thoughtfully.

"I hate that word."

"It pretty accurately describes your life, so you should get used to it. It's all right. I had it too."

"Had what?"

"When I was younger. Trauma. Kept me awake, gave me nightmares, certain random things would remind me of the event, et cetera, et cetera. Then it would be hard to come back to reality and stop thinking about it. Sound familiar?"

It did. "No."

"Liar."

"Sir... what... happened... to you?"

"Don't call me 'sir'. It feels ridiculous and undignified after I just spent so long shouting at you. And don't ask me what happened unless you plan to tell me in detail what happened to you."

Remus looked away.

"That's what I thought. Mind making some tea? We can discuss what to do about Hogwarts when your parents come home."

"Yes, Professor."

"Call me Professor again and I sic Werewolf on you."

Remus laughed. "Well," he said, walking to the kitchen, "the good thing about this whole incident is that I get to miss meditation with Pensley. Probably the best thing that's happened all week."

"Maybe she'll give you a double session to make up for it next month."

Remus grimaced again, but he was fighting a grin—not because of Pensley, because he strongly disliked Pensley—but because of the words "next month". Next month, he'd be back at Hogwarts, for better or for worse. Next month, he'd have a future again. What would he do next month? He'd see a Quidditch game, maybe, or play a game with his friends, or do some homework with Peter. Next month. Next month. Next month.

Remus had convinced himself that he didn't want to go to Hogwarts again, not when his friends knew the truth... but the truth was that Remus Lupin wanted to be at Hogwarts, friends or no friends, and he wanted it more than he'd ever wanted anything else (besides maybe the cure for lycanthropy, but that wasn't going to happen). It was going to be exhausting and unpleasant, yes, but all the good things usually were at times.

Hogwarts it was, then, even though Remus knew he'd have to summon all his courage to go back.

But that was all right. He was a Gryffindor, after all.

AN: In case you were curious, Questus' birthday is August 2, 1920. Just a fun random fact!