Remus raised his fist to knock on Professor Questus' door early one morning, and Questus opened it before Remus' fist could even make contact. "Why do you do that?" asked Remus, sighing. "There's no in-between. Either you tell me to open the door and let myself in or you open the door before I can even ask."

"More interesting that way," said Questus. "Mixing it up a bit. Come on in. Black went home this morning?"

"Yes, sir," said Remus. Sirius had left for James' house bright and early, still whistling his G# merrily. The house had felt incredibly empty after his departure, so Remus had gone back upstairs, sat in his room, and breathed. He'd never had to entertain guests for so long, and he was feeling quite exhausted. But after a few minutes of sitting on his bed, catching his breath, Remus had walked over to Questus' house, because his house had felt too quiet and miserable, and it was a bit ominous rather than relaxing.

"I all but live at your house, Lupin," Questus was saying in a horribly exasperated tone of voice. "Please do not call me sir."

"But you still call me Lupin."

"Yes, but I don't call you Mr. Lupin. That would be the formal version."

"Did you ever call me that?"

"No. I wasn't a very formal teacher. So you don't need to be a formal student, especially since you're no longer my student."

Remus frowned in lieu of a response. "Come to think of it, you go out of your way to call my whole family by our surnames. Why is that? I don't think I've ever asked."

"Don't do first names."

"Why not?"

"Couple reasons. The first is that it's funny to watch you three utterly confused. Your father jumps whenever I say 'Lupin', you know, even when I'm not talking to him. It's quite entertaining. The second is that I don't understand the practicality of people having multiple names. Seems to stupid to me, that's all. The third is that I've only ever called a couple of people by their first names, and all of them are now dead." Questus took a sip of tea. He'd already made a couple of cups, apparently. "I'm not a superstitious person, but I don't want to mess with fate."

Remus was feeling a little flippant that day for some reason. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm fairly certain that everybody dies. Oh, wait... everyone drinks water, too! Perhaps it's the water that's killing us! We should all stop drinking water!"

"Sheesh, Lupin. That's a lot of sarcasm for a kid your age... but I like it. Don't change a thing. There's nothing rational behind my reasoning, I'll admit, but that's why I gave you three reasons and not just the one. The other two are perfectly reasonable, so just pick your favorite. Besides, I don't think that you're one to talk. You seem like to type to have irrational fears. Though mine's not really a fear... more of an odd aversion."

"I don't have irrational aversions or fears, actually. They're all perfectly..." Suddenly, Remus remembered the fact that he couldn't sleep next to a window. "Point taken."

Questus chuckled. "What is it?"

"Windows."

"You're afraid of... windows?"

Remus stuck his chin out. "I'm not afraid of windows. I merely find it difficult to sleep when in close proximity with one."

"Huh." Questus was staring at Remus, and it made Remus feel a bit uncomfortable. "Want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"The night you were bitten. Never said anything about it before."

"How... did you know...?"

"There's no other reason to be afraid of windows, Lupin. So do you want to talk about it?"

"No," said Remus. "No. I'm sorry. I can't."

"Okay." Questus shrugged, finished his tea, and then poured himself another cup. "I promised myself I wouldn't push you on this particular matter when you first came to Hogwarts. Have to leave you at least a bit of privacy, as curious as I am."

"It's got nothing to do with privacy. I literally cannot force myself to talk about it."

"I must confess that I think you're being dramatic. Want some tea?"

Remus' hands were shaking, so he declined. "Maybe in a few minutes."

"Wonderful. I thought that, on the topic of privacy, we should talk about something that I've been meaning to bring up for a very long time. Now that you have friends, you need to start thinking about certain rights."

"Rights?"

"Yes. I think that information is a right, don't you? That's why lying is seen as immoral—it goes against a person's right to accurate information. Hm?"

"Sure."

"So let me ask you this. Do you think that everybody should know everything? If somebody were to ask you a question, do you think that it would be the moral thing to give an accurate, detailed answer, no matter how uncomfortable it may be?"

"Er, no. I think that giving away all the information all the time would be exhausting to both people involved."

"Good. Lots of people think that. Now that you've recognized that, you need a qualifying statement. What gives someone the right to know?"

Remus thought about it. "I don't know, what?"

"Don't ask me; I'm asking you. This is your opinion. I'm asking you to form solid qualifiers to help you decide what information to divulge in the future. Right now, you're stuck between 'they're my friends and they need to know' and 'I deserve privacy', aren't you? So set yourself standards. It'll help you make faster decisions in the future. What information do you think that people deserve and why? Your friends, specifically."

"I... I dunno."

"Let's start at the opposite end. What information do you think that your friends do not have the right to know?"

"I guess... the night I was..."

"The night you were bitten. Merlin's beard. You're allowed to say the words. That's a good start. What else?"

"Anything that they won't understand, I suppose. No point wasting my time."

"I don't think that they've fully understood anything you've told them."

"I'm not saying I won't tell them... I'm saying I reserve the right not to if I don't think that I can explain it."

"Good. Very good. What else?"

"I... can't think of anything else. I think that... since they're being my friends even though they know what I am... they sort of deserve any information I can give them. They should know the implications of being my friend, because it comes with certain dangers, whether they like it or not."

"Solid reasoning. Does this extend beyond your friends? What about others who know the truth? Teachers, Ministry workers, parents...?"

"My parents know everything. They deserve all I can tell them. The teachers... yes, I suppose it does apply to them. I'll answer whatever they ask; I suppose I owe it to them. And I have to answer the questions of Ministry workers, because it's kind of the law."

"Indeed. And people who don't know? What do you owe them?"

"Er... I don't think I owe anyone the information that I'm a werewolf. I could never just tell someone. Unless... unless it could save the person's life."

"Okay. Perfect. You have your boundaries. I do this a lot, you know; I find it helps to set guidelines for myself when I'm in sound mind so that I don't have to think about what I want to do when I'm not. It's a good exercise, hm?"

"So what are your boundaries for information, then?"

Questus laughed. "Mine? Lupin, check who you're asking. I think everybody has a right to any kind of information." He paused. "Well, I used to. Beginning of the year Dumbledore did manage to convince me to keep your secret." He paused again. "You know, your whole situation ended up changing my credo a bit. And my own current situation... I suppose I currently believe in sharing information that is either necessary to know or asked of me... unless it's likely to hurt someone. Physically." Longest pause yet. "Or emotionally, though it hurts me to say. Oh, no. I seem to be losing my one defining character trait."

"Don't worry, Professor. You're still the most tactless person that I've ever met."

"Don't call me Professor. And I seriously doubt that."

"Well, you're the most tactless person I've ever met who doesn't hate werewolves."

"Who said I didn't hate werewolves? You did call me tactless. Such an insult certainly merits hatred."

"I'm wounded."

"Good thing you have a high pain threshold, then."

"See? Tactless. And rude. I rest my case."

Questus snorted and took yet another sip of tea. "How's the situation with your parents?"

"So much better. I... it seems like everything I've ever known about them is wrong. I really can't believe that we..."

"I can't believe it either. Idiots, the lot of you."

"We talked a little yesterday... seemed mostly like we were testing the waters. It's been awkward. It's still not as comfortable talking to them about such matters as it is... to you, or even my friends, but... maybe one day. We're working on it." Remus shook his head. "I just can't believe they thought that I was so mentally fragile for so long."

"You thought the same about them."

"I know... They really made you promise not to tell me?"

"Yep. 'Don't tell Lupin that we can talk about it so naturally; we're afraid he'll be offended that we aren't taking it as seriously as we should be...' Oh, it was ridiculous. And you made me promise, too, remember? That's another thing about information—I may have believed that you deserved that particular information, but I'm a man of my word. I wanted to gauge the damage, too: determine how bad it had been by taking into account how long it took for one of you to notice. I was curious."

"Nosy of you."

"What can I say? Right to information. Speaking of information, how much of my duelling book did you read? I recall that you wanted to discuss that with me."

"Yes... er, I haven't read it yet. I don't think... well, I don't think I'm the best person to receive it. It's a lot, Professor."

"Don't call me Professor. I know it's a lot. It's my life's work."

Remus rolled his eyes. "You're not helping."

"So what do you think I should do with it? Just keep it around my house? I really do have all of it memorized, so that would be pretty useless."

"Why don't you get it published or something?"

"Why don't you use your brain or something? Come on, Lupin; it won't be useful if it's published. I don't want any of these pages to be mass-produced or to fall into the wrong hands—they're very good tips, and I'm not exactly keen on helping the other side out. If you give both Quidditch teams a hundred points during the match, then no one's actually earned any extra points at all, right?"

"I guess. But still... please find someone else. It's pointless giving it to me."

"Pointless? You may have started learning magic earlier than your peers, but you're talented for a first-year. And you obviously enjoy duelling."

"It's not as if I'm going to be able to use it for anything. I won't ever be an Auror, I won't ever do anything good for the world, I probably won't live long, I'm ill all the time..."

Questus sighed and shook his head. "You won't be an Auror—you're right about that. And you're ill all the time, certainly—or at least not in good health. And I can't see you living long at all, even though the 'life expectancy' passages in textbooks are ridiculous. I have my own theories about that. But there's a war brewing, and everybody with talent is going to need to pitch in somehow. You'll definitely be doing something for the war effort, and you really do have potential to be a very good duellist."

"So do my friends."

"They won't study, though, will they? The book focuses on strategy; it's not practical. Your friends won't have the patience for it. Besides, you and I are very similar in terms of the ways we learn—you'll get a lot out of this, I know you will."

"I don't need to be a fantastic duellist. I only started learning so that I could protect myself just in case."

Questus raked his fingers through his hair. "Fine. You want me to be straight with you?"

"Always."

"Right, then. I'll be straight with you. Look, Lupin, here's the thing. You're a werewolf, and you were bitten as a very young boy—which means that it's all you've ever known. Yet you grew up in human society. I need not remind you how rare that is. You know what it is to be a werewolf far more than you know what it is to be human, yet you have an education, talent, empathy, a loving family, friends, and relative health. You are quite possibly the only werewolf on Earth with all of those things, and you are most certainly the only werewolf in Britain. You keep saying that you have no potential, which might be true. But in a war... you could be useful."

"Useful?"

"Yes. Your enhanced senses give you a split-second advantage. With my duelling tips (and lots of practice), you could be better than me, which is really saying something. Your werewolf status gives you the ability to work undercover in shady areas—perhaps even a werewolf pack—and your human appearance, demeanor, and social skills give you the opportunity to work undercover in other places as well. You essentially have a foot in both worlds, which is incredibly useful. Then there's your book knowledge, which you can't deny that you have a lot of after utter isolation and boredom for six and a half years. You won't be an Auror, no, but you could be useful in a vigilante organization, and I suspect that there will be a lot of them—"

"What sort of organization would take me?"

"Any organization that isn't unfathomably stupid. Told you, you're dead useful. Besides, I suspect that the attitudes towards werewolves will be shifting one way or another in the next couple of years. They could get worse—and I suspect they will, mostly because of Greyback's efforts. They also could get better, I suppose, if Greyback attacks enough people to push back... but I digress. Fact is, werewolves will become a very real threat at some point instead of their current status as the monster under the bed. Already starting to."

"You mean... they aren't? People don't think of werewolves as a real threat?"

"They kind of do, but the general population isn't worried about werewolves, per se. You are because it's a part of your life, but most people consider werewolves to be like serial killers: real, but you'll probably never meet one."

"I'm like a serial killer? That's a comforting thought."

"Well, if someone were to let you out on the full moon then you would be a serial killer. But never mind. Point is: I meant what I said earlier. If any werewolf were to do something good for the world, then it would be you. You have all of the components. You could potentially change human views towards werewolves, could you not? Show new werewolves that they have another option besides a pack? That could be huge. You could do a lot."

"Wow. No pressure or anything."

"None at all. I mean it, Lupin. Keep the notebook. It's worth a read-through, and it'll be something else to talk about. Our letters are getting rather redundant now that you aren't panicking about your friends all the time." Questus shrugged. "Also, I want to show off. Told you, it's my life's work. It starts when I was in fifth year and ends... oh, about eight years before I was sacked. For the first time. So you're the only person I know who actually has time to sit and read it, and I would love to share it with someone."

Remus laughed. "Right. Okay, Professor."

"Don't call me Professor."

There was a long, awkward silence. Remus played with a loose thread on the couch, and Questus sipped at his (third? fourth?) mug of tea. "You're really learning the piano?" Remus asked, because it was clear that Questus wasn't going to be the one to clear the incredibly awkward silence. The man was awful with social cues.

"Yes," said Questus nonchalantly. "Gives me something to do. I remember a bit from when I learned as a child, but I'm not nearly as good as your friend Black. Goodness, I'm not even as good as you are."

"I'm not good. I only know Moonlight Sonata. That's not really playing the piano."

"'Course it is. That's not an easy piece."

"I only know the first movement, and it's a simplified arrangement."

"I can't believe that that didn't clue your parents in on the fact that you're comfortable talking about werewolves. As a kid, you learned Moonlight Sonata? And they thought it was just a coincidence instead of a werewolf joke?"

"But, Professor, I wasn't comfortable talking about it. Not at first. Not before Hogwarts. They didn't know that I was comfortable with it because I didn't know myself. I wouldn't even think about it—I'd just force myself to stop and think about something else, like sheep or something. It wasn't until I had to start explaining it to the teachers that I realized that talking about it wasn't so bad after all. When I started learning Moonlight Sonata... I think that my parents just thought I was being self-deprecating. I sort of thought of it as a joke, but I can see how they didn't."

"Well, that's fair. You are extraordinarily self-pitying. And don't call me Professor."

"Thank you. And no."

"Cheeky. You know, my parents were quite the opposite of yours. They always wanted to talk about things. Constantly bringing up things that I didn't want brought up. It got tiring, but I suppose it had an effect on me."

"What happened to them?" asked Remus in a moment of courage.

"I'm not entirely sure. I think my father died in a car crash. Muggle, he was. My mother was most likely killed by opposing forces when Dark activity started to rise in the sixties. She lived in that general area. I got an invitation to the funeral, but I never went—didn't like her much."

"Like Sirius? He doesn't like his parents."

"No, not like Black. Black resents his family, but I just... don't care one way or another. I didn't like her, sure, but I never hated her. I didn't rejoice when she died. I was a little sad, but no more than when you hear of the death of a person whom you barely know. Sad, but not enough to affect me much."

"Why didn't you like her?"

"Well, she didn't like me, so I reciprocated. I told you, I'm not a very likeable person."

"That's all?"

"Well, obviously there's more, but that's the heart of the matter."

"Professor, I feel like—I feel like you know everything about me and I don't know a thing about you."

"Well, when you want to know, then all you need do is ask. But I must warn you that it's going to be a very long conversation—one that you don't have time for if you want to be back at your house by supper." Questus stood up, downed another Pain-Relieving Potion, and stretched. "I'll go, too. Haven't been there yet today—I was avoiding Black—and I haven't cooked supper at my house yet. Supper will be a lot more comfortable now that I can actually mention werewolves in front of both you and your parents, hm? Come on." He grabbed his cane, and then he and Remus discussed mundane things all the way back to Remus' house.

It was quiet without Remus' friends, but sometimes quiet was good. Still... Remus couldn't wait to see them again once Christmas holidays finally ended.

AN: The word "turtle" has such a pleasant shape to it.