Remus was to go back to school on January eighth, and he prayed for an owl pertaining to the Werewolf Registry every single morning. And, now that his family could freely talk about werewolves for the first time in years, Remus made sure to voice his anticipation aloud at every chance he got. "I really, really want it to fall on Christmas holidays," he told his father over breakfast the next morning. "I'd hate to miss school for this."

"Getting a little late for that," commented Questus, looking up from yesterday's Prophet (he'd been particularly absorbed in it recently. Remus wouldn't have been surprised if it had, in fact, been attached to Questus' hand with a Permanent Sticking Charm for the past twenty-four hours).

But Remus was undisturbed by Questus' unrelentless pessimism. "Last time I got a summons only three days prior, so I still have hope. What day is it, January third? So I could get it today or tomorrow, go on January seventh, and then be back at school on Monday..."

"I hope it's not on January seventh," said Remus' mother. "If you're going to school on the eighth, then you need your rest... and it drags on so late into the night..."

"But the train doesn't leave until eleven the next morning. If we leave for King's Cross at ten, then I have a full eight hours even if we get back as late as two in the morning. And you know very well that I can function on less than eight hours."

"But if we're driving there..."

"Then I can sleep in the car. But... it's not like I can decide, anyhow. They'll probably pick a random Tuesday on the day of a Charms test or something. I hope they pick January sixteenth!"

"That's two days before the full moon."

"But it's also my meditation day with Pensley. I'd love to miss that."

Remus' mother frowned. "I hope it's on a Saturday."

"I have to work on the thirteenth, though," said Remus' father. "I'll miss work if I have to, of course, but it might arouse suspicion from my coworkers."

Suddenly, an owl flew through the open window, and Remus perked up—but alas, it was only Bluebottle with the Prophet. "It's just the paper," he said, disappointed. He tossed it to Questus, who caught it expertly (even when injured, the man had outstanding reflexes). "Anything interesting, Professor?" Remus asked. He hadn't bothered to read the Prophet recently; he knew that Professor Questus would mention anything important.

"Don't call me Professor. Some pro Quidditch player broke his spine and he'll be out for the rest of the season."

Remus remembered his own spine injury, just a few months, prior and winced. "What team?"

"Ballycastle Bats."

"Oh. James supports Puddlemere United, but I don't really follow Quidditch."

"Nor do I," said Questus, "but that's the most interesting thing in here. I've been watching for more Death Eater attacks—they seem to be on the rise. It seems as if something big is coming."

"Big?"

"Can't you feel it? Nothing else has happened for a while. Last big incident was the attack in Peebleton, and that wasn't a big deal... werewolf attacks happen all the time."

Judging by the look on Remus' father's face, he still wasn't entirely comfortable with discussing brutal and bloody werewolf attacks with Remus in the room. He continued anyway, of course, rubbing a hand across the stubble on his face in a nervous sort of manner. "You think we'll see another terrorist attack?"

"I have no doubt," replied Questus. "The only question is when... much like your anxiety over the Werewolf Registry. Hey, someone tell me about that. Why is Lupin Registered as a werewolf with the Ministry? Isn't it voluntary? I always got the impression that hardly anyone Registered at all."

"Seeing as I was five, I didn't have much of a choice," said Remus. He'd meant it as a joke, but his father looked ashen.

"I'm sorry, Remus... we would have explained, but you didn't really understand. I didn't know that it would be this bad..."

Remus sighed. "Dad. I was joking. I don't mind. I'm very glad you did it." He turned to Questus. "It's voluntary, yeah, but if a werewolf happens to break a law... well, it's not as if they treat Registered werewolves fairly, but Unregistered werewolves would probably..."

"Be executed without much of a trial," murmured Remus' father, looking at Questus meaningfully. "That's what happened to Martin L. Doves last summer... you know, one of the werewolves caught after the Peebleton attack. Wasn't a fair trial at all, and he didn't even hurt anyone. He could have, yes, and he deserved to be locked up... but the death penalty without much of a trial is still frankly appalling."

"Being Registered sort of communicates to people that I'm trying to be an upstanding citizen," added Remus. "And I'd be in a lot of trouble if someone found out and I wasn't Registered... a werewolf going to Hogwarts with permission and precautions is one thing, but a werewolf undercover at Hogwarts without the Ministry's knowledge is another. If I want to be involved in society, then it's just insurance."

"Hm," said Questus. "But now you have to follow the new werewolf laws that the government passes?"

"Well, that's the tricky part," said Remus' father. He'd probably thought about this a lot before Registering Remus for the first time. "All werewolves are expected to follow them, but the Ministry only keeps tabs on Registered werewolves. Unregistered werewolves in wizarding or Muggle society are expected to read the laws in the Daily Prophet or some other means and then follow them. They could be punished for not doing so, but following the laws puts them at risk of being discovered. Even though the Ministry says that Registering is voluntary, it's... well, it's a little dangerous not to, though most werewolves successfully fly under the radar. Unregistered werewolves have to be very careful, very attentive of news since they don't receive personalized letters from the Ministry notifying them of law changes, and ensure that no one finds out. It's... not the life that we wanted for Remus... but, granted, neither is this. The Ministry isn't helping as much as it could."

Remus shrugged. "It's unpleasant either way. At least this way I'm not a fugitive. And there are other pros, too."

"Er... like what, dear?" said Remus' mum.

"I learned to write my name, remember?" said Remus with a grin.

The air hung heavy, and Remus almost regretted the comment. Unsurprisingly, it was still awkward discussing such topics with his parents after having carefully avoided them for so long. Sometimes Remus wondered what gave his parents to right to be more upset about the whole thing than he was. Remus didn't mind discussing such things, and they'd said that they didn't, but maybe it was still a little rude to bring up painful memories...

But, suddenly, Remus' father started to laugh. "I do remember that," he said." I didn't think that you remembered, though."

Questus looked up from the paper again. "What's this?"

"Remus was a little late learning his letters," said Remus' mum, who was now smiling, too. Thank goodness. "He was... an energetic child. Too busy climbing couch cushions and chasing girls with sticks to sit down and learn anything. Extremely hyper. We weren't worried—Lyall was a quick reader himself, but I didn't learn all my letters until I was nearly six. We figured he'd settle down and want to learn eventually."

Questus snorted. "That's a nice image. Hey, Lupin, why didn't you chase girls with sticks when you were at Hogwarts? Evans might have liked that. Would have certainly livened things up a little."

"I was too busy chasing Peter and James and Sirius with sticks," Remus deadpanned. "Really, Mum? Which girls did I chase?"

"Girl named Sally at your preschool. You liked to horseplay, but Sally wasn't into it. Your teacher had to send notes home."

Questus was openly laughing now, and Remus shot him a dirty look. "It's not funny, Professor. I'll bet Sally was an awful person. I was doing humanity a favor."

"What a hero," said Questus dryly. "And don't call me Professor."

Remus' father smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He twiddled with the cuff of his sleeve quietly before he said, "Anyway, he... er..."

"Settled down after I was bitten," said Remus quickly. Maybe it would be less awkward if he didn't take long to say it. "Lots changed. I was ill and couldn't do much, so I learned to write and read pretty quickly. There wasn't anything else to do. Didn't have as much energy as I'd used to, either."

"Hope and I took him to be Registered as soon as he could, er... reliably stay conscious," said Remus' father awkwardly (and just as quickly). "He didn't know his letters at that point. The problem was, there were a lot of forms that the Ministry wanted us to sign... just to ensure that we understood what we were expected to do. They wanted Remus to sign as well, but he couldn't write a single letter. Especially not with a quill. He'd never used anything but crayons, and everything that he drew was sort of a scribble."

"It was abstract art," Remus sniffed.

"Anyway, we asked for an exception, since Remus was only five, but the worker said that it was extremely important that the patient sign it himself in this particular case. So Hope... my wonderful, perfect wife... picked up a quill, sat him down, and taught him to write his name. It took two hours for him to get through the stack, but he had improved a lot when he was done... remember that, Remus?"

"I had no fine motor skills."

"No, you did not."

"I could barely write with a quill, Lyall," said Remus' mother with a smile. "I don't know why you didn't do it. It was extremely difficult to teach a five-year-old to do something that I hadn't mastered myself."

"He was trying not to shout at Madam Macmillan," said Remus.

"Yes, I seem to recall him pacing around and banging his head against the wall."

"And looking guilty."

"Poor Lyall, so wrought with guilt that his wife had to do all of the hard work..."

"Since when is spending time with me a chore?" said Remus.

His mother laughed. "Since I had to teach you to write your name in a few hours... with your nondominant hand at that, since your other arm was still injured. It was barely legible. In fact, the Ministry sent a couple forms home over owl because you'd missed the line completely, and then you had to redo them. I took a picture!" Remus' mum ran out of the room and returned with a small album. "These are all Muggle photos. Lyall's usually the photographer around here, but I took these ones. Erm... here it is!" She pulled out a photograph and handed it to Professor Questus. Remus wandered over and peeked at it over his shoulder.

"Merlin's beard," Remus muttered. "Ancient runes are more legible than that."

Questus looked silently amused. He looked up at Remus, brandishing the photo and smiling slyly. "Coming from someone who read your essays for a year... I don't see much of a difference."

Remus' mouth fell open. "You...! My handwriting is fine! It's better than James' and Peter's, at least! Oh, if I had my wand, I'd..."

"Coming from someone who duelled with you for a year... you'd lose."

"You don't know that. I've gotten better, I bet."

"Better than a former Auror with over thirty years of experience in the position? You really think you can win against me, Lupin?"

"I don't need to win. I just need to turn your ears into carrots." Remus reached for the photo, but Questus yanked it away (with his fantastic Auror reflexes. Remus couldn't say he wasn't jealous).

"You still make your uppercase L's like that, I think. At a forty-five degrees angle. And you still slightly curve the stems of your lowercase H's."

"It's not the same! Mum, help me out."

Remus' mum, however, was looking at one of Remus' letters (which were still tacked up on the wall). "He's right," she said pensively.

"No, he's not! I don't write like a five-year-old!"

Remus' father held up his finger. "Hang on. I don't think he does."

"Thank you! See, Dad's on my side..."

"He splatters the ink a lot less now. You didn't learn to do that until you were six. So you write like a six-year-old. Big difference."

Remus groaned. "You're all terrible people," he said, but he was smiling. His parents would have been terrified to talk about anything to do with the Registry so casually just a couple of weeks ago... especially anything to do with that awful first time in the dark room with the mean Ministry worker.

It was astounding how happy it made Remus to talk and joke about taboo topics as if they were nothing at all.

Professor Questus, too, was a lot more talkative now that he didn't have to restrain himself to non-werewolf topics. "Lupin," he said one afternoon—he was sitting on the couch with Werewolf the Cat, drinking another mug of tea and reading a book. "Have you read any of my duelling notes yet?"

"No. Saving them for January eighteenth. I'll be incapacitated from the full moon."

"It's a lunar eclipse, isn't it?" said Questus thoughtfully. "Does that change anything?"

"I don't know. Maybe. There's no predicting."

"Hm. Well, bring them down. The duelling notes, I mean. I want to see them."

Remus obeyed and handed the notes to Questus, whose eyes immediately lit up. Remus sat next to him on the couch, smiling, and listened to him chatter and point out particular portions for the next hour and a half. Remus had never seen Questus so excited about anything (save the day that the Ministry invited him back to be an Auror again and whenever he received a particularly interesting new bit of werewolf trivia), so it was a bit of a foreign expression on Remus' former professor's face.

"I forgot about this," Questus said fondly. "Look, this was when I was fourteen. The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and the Charms teacher were dating, I remember... it didn't last long, but the rumors were incredible. Professor... hm. I don't remember. It must be in here somewhere... oh, yes, here it is. Professor Becker and Professor Connelly. They started a Duelling Club together, and I remember taking notes religiously." He chuckled. "I was such a boring kid."

"Not as boring as me, probably," said Remus.

"I was definitely more boring than you. You're a terrifying Dark creature; that's not boring. At least, I never thought you were boring."

"I know. You analyzed my mental state in your free time."

"You're not wrong. Anyway, when I taught at Hogwarts, I tried to start a duelling club of my own for second-years and up. No one joined. Everyone was rather afraid of me, I think."

"I'd've joined."

"You basically did. Duelling lessons. It was a club for one." Questus flipped another page. "Dear heavens. My handwriting's changed a bit since then. But at least I didn't write like a five-year-old..."

"Oh, be quiet."

"This doesn't belong here," said Questus suddenly, pulling out a piece of paper and staring at it amusedly. "These are History of Magic notes. You know, Binns was alive back then—barely, but he was. He died a few years after I left, I think. That was... oh, more than thirty-five years ago. Never mind, I remember why I put this in here; it's about wandlore. I thought it might help. I'll leave it in here; perhaps you can figure it out someday." He flipped another page. "Casting patterns. I was proud of this discovery."

Remus leaned closer to read the diagram. "That looks complicated."

"It is. I didn't perfect it until I was a year into my Auror training... that's page one-hundred-ninety... here it is. I was trying to determine the likely pattern that a person would cast spells, but it had a few more variables than I'd originally thought—it all depends on speed, duelling experience, type of wand, wand hand, et cetera. I made a chart, and it's about ninety-four percent accurate. See, a right-handed person, when casting three spells in succession as quickly as possible, will often move his or her wand in the pattern of left, right, center..."

Remus listened for a few seconds, but it was a little too complicated for him to understand. "Wouldn't you lose time trying to recognize these factors and apply them?" he asked.

"Nope. Not if you know them well enough. It's like reading. Children recognize individual letters and sound them out, but adults read them as one fluid phrase. I've practiced enough that I don't recognize individual factors... wand hand, speed, wand type... I recognize them as a whole at this point and subconsciously know how to deal with it all. Well, I'm out of practice now, but I used to. Some people can recognize these things without noting the individual factors at all—that's called talent—but I didn't have any of that. Had to work from the very bottom to the top. Oh, this was when I started color-coding my notes. I don't know why I used the color orange so much; it's quite ugly..."

The letter came on Saturday. Remus eagerly opened the envelope, paid the owl, thanked it (despite Questus' protests that he needn't thank the owl), and then visibly deflated. "This is stupid," he muttered.

"What day is it?" said Remus' father, stirring his porridge with an anxious look on his face.

"Tuesday," said Remus. He flopped onto the couch and stared at the words viciously, hoping that they would change to literally any other date... but they didn't. "It's on Tuesday. They scheduled it for Tuesday, January ninth. The day after I return to school."

Remus' father stood up and grabbed the letter out of Remus' hands. "You're right."

"Yeah, Dad, I can read numbers." He took the letter back from his father. "We won't have classes on Monday, but we will on Tuesday. I'm missing first day of classes. And there's no point in riding the train to Hogwarts on Monday because I'll just have to go back to London the day after."

"What did you do for the Registry last year?" asked Questus. "I seem to remember it being during a school day."

"Madam Pomfrey took me to Hogsmeade, and then Dad Apparated Mum and me to London. But I absolutely hated that, because Dumbledore had to take me back to Hogwarts... and it was really late at night... and I don't want to bother my friends in the middle of the night... and I really hate special treatment." He scowled. "That's why I was hoping it would be over holidays. Now there's no point in going back on Monday at all—I'll just have to miss two days of school."

"Not to mention that the letter only gave us three days' notice again," said Remus' mother. "That's not very fair."

Remus' father furrowed his eyebrows. "And the Ministry knows the Hogwarts schedule; I know they do."

"They're singling you out," said Professor Questus slowly. "Aren't they?"

Remus had been afraid of that. He was, after all, the only werewolf attending school... and they'd targeted him before, only a year ago, when they'd issued the stupid law forbidding werewolves from enrolling in a school. Dumbledore had gotten it repealed almost immediately, but it had still hurt. He, Remus Lupin, was being watched by the Ministry of Magic itself, and they were actively trying to make life difficult for him. It was horrible. "It's hard for any employed werewolf," he murmured. "But no, they really don't want me at Hogwarts."

"Nope," said Questus. "Which is why you need to stay all seven years. Out of spite." He grinned. "This is a great opportunity to mess with the Ministry, Lupin. A werewolf at Hogwarts, top of the class, getting better marks than any human student..."

Remus laughed humorlessly. "That's one way to look at it."

There was a long moment of silence as Remus stared at the date, staring at the ugly numbers sprawled across the page as if they were mocking him (which they probably were). "I'd better write to my friends and let them know that I won't be riding the train," he said, unintentional bitterness lacing his words. "You are free that day, right, Dad?"

"No, but I'll take off work. It'll be fine. If anyone asks, I'll say I'm volunteering at the Registry, just like I have in the past—it's more than plausible."

"Thank you." Remus rubbed his face and sighed. "I'm going up to my room. Let me know when lunch is ready."

He climbed the stairs, sat on his bed, and fished the enchanted notebook out of his bag.

I won't be riding the train on Monday, he wrote.

James wrote back almost immediately. Why not?

Werewolf Registry, wrote Remus. I have to be there all day on Tuesday.

Sirius' distinctive handwriting appeared, evenly flowing across the page in lines of embellished cursive. My dad's working it again this year! Feel free to tell him that you're a werewolf if you want. I totally want him to know that I have a werewolf friend.

Remus' heart sank. Don't even joke about that. I hope he doesn't find out. I'll be back at school on Wednesday.

I'll take notes for you! wrote Peter.

That would be fantastic. Thank you so much.

Remus watched the page, waiting for a reply, but it seemed that his friends were done talking (though he expected many questions from James upon returning to Hogwarts). He sort of wanted to keep writing, because he knew it would be a massive load off his chest if he could just write down everything that was bothering him half to death in one massive, 3,928-word paragraph... but he didn't. Instead, he merely started pacing around his room, trying not to think about the entire Ministry singling him out and carefully choosing the date that would hurt him the most.

AN: Questus switching into Teacher Mode is one of my favorite things—right after daffodils, brass quintets, and rain.