It was three o'clock, and Sirius was hiding in the shrub outside Professor Questus' house.

"Sirius, get out of the shrub," said Remus tiredly, looking at his watch.

"No! You can't make me!"

"Sirius, get out of the shrub."

"I said no!"

"Sirius..." Remus sighed and gave James a desperate look. "It's not as if he can give you detention, Sirius."

"Still don't wanna go in. Teachers are for school, not Christmas holidays. I'm staying out here."

"The shrub doesn't even completely cover you up."

"Are you calling me fat?"

"No, I'm calling you stupid."

"I'll get him out," said James, starting towards Sirius, but Remus grabbed his arm.

"Oh, no you will not. I know you two. You'll go behind the shrub to fetch Sirius, and then you won't come out. Ten minutes later you'll have created your own shrub-religion, formed a whole shrub-language with a complex grammatical structure, built a shrub-city, created shrub-life from nothing, and then become one with the shrub itself. Nope, you're staying here with me. Peter, you can fetch Sirius."

"On it," said Peter. Remus heard scuffling noises coming from the shrub as Peter began to wrestle with Sirius. Remus sighed again and knocked on Professor Questus' door. Sirius hated being alone while his friends did something without him, so he'd follow.

"Professor Questus? May we come in?" Remus called after a moment passed with no response.

Questus' voice finally came, but it was a bit weaker than it normally was. "Door's open," he said. "And don't call me Professor."

Remus started to open the door, but James put his hand on Remus' left shoulder. Remus yelped a bit and jumped. "I'm not gonna hurt you, mate," said James. "Blimey. You're so jumpy today. Just wanted to ask if you're sure it's okay to open the door—since he didn't answer...?"

"What?" said Remus. Then he remembered that James didn't have werewolf hearing. "Er, no. He answered; I heard him through the door. I just... you know..."

"Oh, right. Werewolf senses. Carry on."

Remus opened the door and stepped inside, but James did not follow.

"James."

"Yes?"

"Come on."

"No, thanks. I'm sort of with Sirius on this one."

Remus heaved yet another long-suffering sigh and grabbed James' arm, pulling him inside. Remus wasn't very strong, but he suspected his actions had probably caught James off-guard a bit. Before his friends knew that Remus was a werewolf, he would have never voluntarily manhandled one of them without being manhandled first, so this was new. Also... James was probably too frightened of damaging Remus' physical health to fight back, which was annoying (but useful in this particular scenario).

Remus dragged James into the sitting room, where Professor Questus was sitting in the armchair, the cat on his lap, and reading a book. He looked pale, he was wearing his spectacles... and he was bleeding again, which always concerned Remus. That couldn't be healthy. Suddenly, Remus realized that he was acting exactly like James, what with all this fruitless worrying, so he shook off the feelings of concern. "Afternoon, Professor," he said.

"Don't call me Professor," said Questus. His voice was slightly hoarse (which was unusual) and quite grumpy (which was not). "Do sit down somewhere. It's not kind to flaunt the fact that you can painlessly stand up."

Remus laughed and let go of James, who didn't look likely to run away anymore. "Peter is trying to get Sirius to come inside. I'm afraid he's a bit reluctant."

"Glad to see I still have that effect on students. The second I retired, you immediately started insulting me like there was no tomorrow."

"He did?" said James, eyes wide.

"I did?" said Remus. "No, I didn't."

"I warned you to avoid doing anything stupid, and then you told me that you had half a mind to tell me the same thing."

"Oh." Remus laughed. "I did. Right. Well, it was good advice." He heard more scuffling noises coming from outside—the door opened, and then Remus heard Sirius and Peter stumble into the house. It sounded as if Sirius was still struggling, but Peter was stronger than he looked... and Sirius was weaker than he looked (which made sense, seeing as Sirius had grown up in total isolation without need to do any physical work whatsoever). "Shall I make tea?" Remus asked, hoping to make Sirius and James a bit more comfortable.

Questus waved his hand dismissively. "If you want. Might make me a bit of a better host if you did, because I'm afraid I don't have enough chairs for everyone."

"Hey, I could help! I've been working on Conjuring," said James, and Questus raised an eyebrow. James pointed at an open area of the carpet and waved his wand... with no avail. He dropped his wand arm, frustrated. "I've been trying really hard, but the only thing I can Conjure correctly is a stupid hairbrush." He waved his wand again, and a large pink hairbrush appeared on the floor.

"You don't think the universe is trying to tell you something?" said Remus, nodding at James' messy hairdo.

"Tell me something?" said James. "Like what?"

Remus retreated to the kitchen, smiling. "...Nothing."

"I'd Conjure one for you," Remus heard Questus say, "but I'm afraid I'm too tired for high-level magic at the moment."

"Huh," said James.

There was a very long, very awkward silence. The kettle started to whistle. It stopped. Remus poured a couple of cups of tea. "Someone say something," he called. "Small talk should not be this painful."

"Is that a piano?" said Sirius suddenly. Remus had never seen a piano at Questus' house before, and he'd been too concerned with James and Sirius to notice it earlier—but sure enough, a quick peek in the sitting room revealed a large wooden piano set against the wall.

"No, it's a hippopotamus," said Questus. "Yes, Black, of course it's a piano. Glad you can recognize your basic musical instruments. Got the thing about a week ago—I'm trying to learn, but it's not going very well."

Remus could hear the glee in Sirius' voice. "May I try?"

"Be my guest. Try not to destroy it; I'm rather fond of it."

Remus brought the tea into the sitting room and peeked around the corner—Sirius was sitting at the piano with a look of utter delight. "Mum and Dad always make me play famous wizarding composers," he explained, resting his hands on the piano but not actually playing. "The piano was invented by a wizard—Italian—so loads of Pureblood children learn it—didn't you, James?"

"No. Dad was sick of Pureblood customs and vowed I'd have a normal life."

"Lucky. I spent my childhood learning stupid scales. Wizards always use standard minor keys and chords, and I hate minor keys as a general rule. I kept trying to play in major keys or blues chords when I was a kid, but Mum would always get mad, so everything I played sounded so depressing. And the only thing I know by heart is Magnacorum. You know Magnacorum, right? Bartholomew Magnacorum?"

"No."

"Oh. Wizard composer. Terribly boring." Without warning, Sirius suddenly started to play a few complicated chords. His left hand moved in a way that Remus had never seen anybody's hand move. It continued for a bit, and then Sirius suddenly stopped and made a face. "Oops. Missed a note. This part is boring, anyway. Here's the fast part." He started to play again. Remus couldn't fathom how anybody could play that quickly with such accuracy—he couldn't do anything that quickly. As soon as he'd started, Sirius stopped playing and made a sort of frustrated noise. "I hate the piano," he growled.

"You do?" said Remus faintly.

"Well... not the piano. I like music a bit. But I just mostly hate practicing. Mum was always looking over my shoulder and telling me what I did wrong, even though I was better at the piano than she was. Honestly, I just want to play something fun."

"Like what?"

"Like..." Sirius crinkled his eyebrows and placed his fingers on the piano again. "Ooh, it's almost Christmas. I could play 'Jingle Bells'..." He started plinking out the melody effortlessly. "And then I could add a chord here, and then... a lick right here... and maybe a slight improvisation on the D..." Remus watched in awe as Sirius spontaneously played a version of 'Jingle Bells' that Remus had never heard in his life. "Brings back some memories," Sirius said, playing the last chord. "Remember our..."

"Rendition of 'Jingle Bells' last year after spring break, performed on top of the tables in the Great Hall at a very unpleasant volume?" finished Questus. "Yes, how could we forget? Quite clever, that one, if not slightly pitchy at times."

Sirius stood up and sat on the armchair—all but on top of James' lap—and grinned. "Yeah, it was pretty great. James was great on the guitar."

"He was not," said Remus.

"An unfortunate aspect of werewolf hearing, eh?" said Questus.

Sirius perked up. "Do you have an ear for music, then, Remus? Because of the werewolf thing?"

"He can play piano," offered Questus.

"No," said Remus. "I can't play piano. Only one piece—'Moonlight Sonata', for obvious reasons—and I only know it by muscle memory after months of practice. And I don't really have much of an ear for music—I hear things louder, but I can't distinguish pitches any better than anyone else. I mean, besides the ones in 'Moonlight Sonata'."

"I can," said Sirius proudly. "I know all of my notes by ear. This is a B." Sirius started humming a note. "This is a C. This is an F. This is a D. This is an Ab. My brother can do it too, but neither of my parents can. I'm better than Regulus at piano, though, even though he practices more."

"That's really cool, Sirius," said Remus, even though it didn't sound particularly impressive to him. "You'll have to play piano at our next Musical Marauders escapade."

"Never. Piano's for Pureblood fanatics. Well, it's fun to play things that aren't written down, but I hate all the wizarding composers Mum makes me play. That sort of music is too stuffy. It doesn't even sound good. "

The conversation on music continued for a bit—Remus learned a lot about Pureblood customs, and he found it interesting how James' family had kept some and completely gotten rid of others. Remus' own father's family had been mostly wizards, but they hadn't been Purebloods (there were a few Muggles mixed in) and they most certainly hadn't complied with the complex culture of the Sacred Twenty-Eight Pureblood families in Britain. He learned that, although Questus' father was a Muggle, his mother had been Pureblood. He'd been raised with a few Pureblood customs, himself, as well as a few Muggle ones. "Felt a bit like a frog," said Questus. "Kept hopping between all-wizard and all-Muggle customs, and it was a little bit strange to adjust every couple of hours."

Eventually, though, the conversation shifted. "So... the three of you know now?" said Questus. "About Lupin being a werewolf, I mean."

Remus laughed. "If they didn't, they do now."

"Remus is a werewolf?" gasped James. "That makes so much sense!"

"It makes so much sense? What's that supposed to mean?" asked Remus in mock affront.

"The vegetarian thing really gives it away," said Peter.

"Ah. Yes, I forgot that all werewolves were vegetarians, both on full moons and in broad daylight."

Questus snorted and took a sip of tea. "I don't know why you were so worried, Lupin. They seem perfectly normal about it to me."

"I don't know why I was so worried, either. They've been nothing but understanding."

"That said—" Questus put down his mug with a small clink— "you realize that you're essentially putting your life in the hands of three twelve-year-olds?"

"I'm thirteen," said Sirius.

"Fine, three children."

"I'm not a child!" said Sirius.

"Yes, you are, but for the sake of argument... three minors. And stupid ones, too."

"We're not stupid!" said Sirius.

"Yes, you are," said Remus, waving a hand at Questus. "Proceed."

Questus snorted. "Point being. If they tell anyone or accuse you of... well, anything, really, even frightening them and damaging their mental states—you could be looking at a full Ministry trial and possibly death."

"Er, yeah," said Remus. He looked over at his friends, but they didn't seem to be listening. James and Sirius were playing paper-scissors-rock, and Peter was watching with rapt interest.

"Excuse me, boys, I'm speaking," said Questus. Remus' friends' heads snapped up apologetically.

"And you say not to call you Professor," Remus mumbled, and Questus gave him a dirty look.

"As I was saying," said Questus, "a great many things could go wrong. Your friends now have to go through life carefully avoiding certain subjects. They must watch their every word when speaking with you about mundane things. It's quite the curse in itself to know about what happens to you every month, Lupin."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't call me that. I hope you realize that simply being friendly with a werewolf could earn them disdain from family and friends... and loyalty to a Dark creature can only go so far. You four get into a fight, and then the three of them have leverage against you. Worst comes to worst, they could blackmail you into doing virtually anything, and disobeying would cost you any semblance of a normal life."

"Yeah, I know."

"Wait a minute!" said James. "What do you mean, 'loyalty to a Dark creature can only go so far'? Are you insane? He's just Remus! We would never use this against him, we'd never get into a fight, we'd never blackmail him... That's crazy! I thought you wanted him to be our friend! I thought you understood!"

Remus smiled. "He does. He just wants to make sure I understand." He looked at Questus, whose self-satisfied expression told Remus that he wasn't far off the mark. "Trust me, Professor, I know the consequences. I've gone over them in my head. I know what I'm getting into."

"Don't call me Professor. And that's good, although I have no doubt that you know what you're getting into. I wanted you to hear it, but I know that you know. I did want, however, your friends to hear how big of a deal it is for a werewolf to have friends—especially a werewolf who has been one since the age of four and has been told by society his whole life that having friends will never be an opportunity. It's not all mindless propaganda. Like it or not, there are real risks involved."

"Five," mumbled Remus.

"Five what? Five risks? There are more than five risks."

"No, five... the age I was bitten. Basically five, not four. Closer to five."

Questus rolled his eyes. "That's entirely irrelevant. My point is: the three of you understand all that, yes? Black, Potter, Pettigrew? You understand the implications?"

James and Sirius bobbed their heads in perfect unison. "He's told us," said James, "but it was less eloquent because he was stammering the whole time."

"And he was all stressed, so the Welsh accent was a little too thick to understand at times."

"It's not that bad," scoffed Remus. "You're exaggerating. If it were that obvious, I'd've noticed."

"Okay, it's not that bad," Sirius conceded. "But it's pretty funny."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Anyway, it's been explained. Perhaps they don't understand—I don't think anyone really ever can—but they do know, at least, and that's something."

"Good," said Questus. He peered at Remus' friends through his thin wire spectacles, frowning and studying them intensely. "Lupin, if you would kindly go away."

"What?"

"Go away. Scram. Get lost. Hit the road. Skedaddle. Leave. Get out of my sight. Right now, preferably, because I can't think of any more synonyms."

"Er, why?"

"I'd like to talk to your friends alone, of course."

"What... what could you possibly need to tell them that I can't be here for?"

Questus sighed. "I thought it would have been obvious. Fine. Do you want the truth?"

"Of course."

"You're infuriatingly difficult to speak with about such matters. You get embarrassed and flustered, you're reluctant, you hold back from really saying anything of substance, you ramble, and your constant self-deprecation is—although understandable—very tiring. And seeing as your friends haven't had anyone but you to talk to, I think that they deserve to ask questions pertaining your condition without you around. You can see how the subject of conversation's presence is awkward, can't you?"

Remus scowled. "I... suppose. But I think I have a right to know what they... know about me."

"I'll fill you in. You trust me to tell you what's important, don't you?"

"Yes, Professor, I just... is this really necessary?"

"It is absolutely necessary, unlike your persistent predilection with calling me Professor. Now leave. Sit in the dining room or something."

"I'll still be able to hear you, you know."

"Not if I cast a Soundproofing Charm. There are books in there. You'll be fine."

Remus stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him, still grumbling. "I still don't see how this is fair. They can ask me anything, you know..."

As soon as he heard the door click, even though he hadn't really finished his sentence, he heard a swish of Questus' wand... and then the house was eerily silent. Remus crossed his arms, sat at the table, grabbed a book (The Properties of Flora and Fauna in Potion-Making), and desperately tried not to imagine what on earth was going on in the other room.

AN: Little bit of a shorter chapter, but there was a proper break in the action! Tune in on Thursday/Friday for plenty of Professor Questus ;)