Remus was feeling an extraordinary sense of déjà vu.

It had been about a year and a half ago when his dormmates had discovered that he was a werewolf (an incident which had involved a Secrecy Sensor, the Forbidden Forest, and many puns). Now it seemed to be happening again, and Remus did not like it one bit. He'd thought he was safe after his friends had accepted him! He'd thought he would never have to worry about any of this again… but here was an additional dormmate, one who wasn't even in Remus' year, who had figured it out after a mere day of staying in Remus' room. That didn't leave Remus much hope for his secret-keeping abilities in the future.

But Remus would stay calm. He would channel his inner Professor Questus and see if there was a way out of this instead of panicking—after all, that was what Questus had told him to do in first year when he was going through this with the Marauders. He could stay calm. How hard could it be?

"What would you like to talk about?" Remus asked Miles, who was still clutching the werewolf book.

"I… I don't…" Miles stepped back, a look of abject terror on his face. "Don't come closer! Stay over there!"

Fiddlesticks. This couldn't be good. Remus feigned confusion; after all, Miles couldn't possibly have enough proof to make a definitive claim about Remus' status as a werewolf—all he had was a pro-werewolf book—so Remus could still talk him out of it. It was quite possible to be a werewolf supporter without being a werewolf, wasn't it? Wasn't it? Why couldn't Remus think straight?

He took a deep breath and tried again. "What's wrong, Miles?"

"I… look, I know I don't have a great reputation, since my brother did some things and all, but… I'm not a Death Eater, I don't approve of those ideals, and I'm sorry but I won't, and… please don't kill me," said Miles, his voice ending in a slight squeak.

"I'm not going to kill you," said Remus. "I'm a scrawny fourteen-year-old. You're giving me far too much credit. What brought this about?"

Remus glanced at Peter, who was looking back at Remus with a horrified expression. "Does he know?" Peter whispered in a voice that was likely far too quiet for Miles to hear, and Remus shook his head. Maybe not. They could still salvage it.

"What's wrong, Miles?" asked Remus gently, but he didn't dare move closer to the boy. "It's all right; you can tell us. We're not about to hurt you, I swear."

"I can't believe that," said Miles, voice shaking. "You're… you're a…"

Remus gritted his teeth and waited for the worst.

"You're a Death Eater," said Miles.

What?

"Both of you," Miles continued, and his voice was a bit stronger; a bit more hysterical. "All four of you, I'd wager. You work for You-Know-Who!"

"Wow, Miles," said Remus. "Er, no. No, we're not Death Eaters. Why would you think that?"

"My mum always said that werewolf apologists were mostly Death Eaters. And… I found this under your bed, Remus! Pro-werewolf propaganda… Death Eater propoganda…."

"Wow," said Remus. "Er, no. Not exactly. Werewolf apologists aren't all Death Eaters… in fact, the whole point of Death Eaters is that they're less tolerant than most people are, especially when it concerns blood."

"Are you calling my mum a liar? Are you calling her a Death Eater?"

"No! But—"

"Look, Lupin, I really don't want to do anything that could be associated with Death Eaters. People already think I'm a terrorist because of my brother. I don't want to spend time with someone who has Death Eater ideals, even if they're not a Death Eater." Miles's words were still harsh, but he was relaxing now, which was a very good thing—and he didn't know that Remus was a werewolf, which was an even better thing.

"I'm not saying your mum was a liar," said Remus. "I'm just saying that… well, she might have been wrong about some things."

"She wasn't wrong about anything! Don't say that, not when she's not here to defend herself!"

"I know you loved her, Miles, but people we love can still be wrong sometimes."

"But…!"

Remus took a deep breath. "Last summer," he said, "I lost someone who was very close to me."

Miles fell silent, perhaps sensing that the subject was sensitive enough that trampling on it would be rude. "I'm sorry," he said. "Was it the town? I heard you lived near a town that was attacked by Death Eaters."

"Yeah, it was. I had a… well, a friend, I guess… who was in the town, and… well, he died, and most of my other acquaintances in the town died, too. It was very sudden. Didn't see it coming at all."

"Like my mum's death."

"I… I suppose, but not exactly. Anyway, this person whom I lost was very intelligent, and he gave me a lot of very good advice over the past couple of years. I used to walk over to his house during holidays to talk about things that bothered me, and he'd always manage to help out somehow. I wrote him letters while I was at Hogwarts—even more than I wrote my parents, I think. I felt… I felt lost a lot, and so I'd ask him what to do, and he would always tell me exactly how to proceed from where I was. And it always worked out."

Remus took a deep breath before continuing. "Then he died. I didn't have anyone to talk to anymore, but I didn't stop feeling lost every once in a while. So whenever I wasn't sure what to do, I would… imagine what he'd say to me. Imagine what he'd want me to do. Try to act like him, because he was nearly always right… he was so calm and composed, he was so well-read, he was never embarrassed or emotional, and I wanted to be like him. But… I was talking to someone else yesterday… another friend… and she told me that there's a problem with that kind of thinking."

"What's the problem?" said Miles. "It wasn't as if my mum was stupid. I'm just applying values that she taught me in the past, because she was my mother and I loved her. Nothing's wrong with that."

"Yeah, but… whenever someone we love dies, we tend to look back at them as saints. But your mother was only human, Miles, and her words were never law—especially now, when she isn't alive to change and grow with the shifting times and circumstances. People can be wrong and we can still love them. I'm wrong all the time, and people still love me."

Miles blinked. Remus couldn't tell whether he was listening or not, but he kept talking anyway. "Besides, trying to guess what someone would say is… I mean, probably accurate in your case, but we're still putting words in their mouths. We're not totally certain that your mother would have told you to be afraid of a few teenagers who own a pro-werewolf book, so it's not totally accurate to assume that she would. Building caricatures of dead loved ones—caricatures who parrot the same things that they said when they were alive, caricatures who take personality traits to the extreme—that's detrimental to their memories at times."

Miles was quiet for a long time. Finally, he said, "Okay, fine. I'll… I'll hear you out, even if Mum wouldn't like it. Why do you have a pro-werewolf book?"

"Er." Remus wasn't exactly sure how to answer that without arousing suspicion, because it was pretty rare for a human to be a werewolf apologist—why would anyone care about werewolves if their plights didn't concern them directly? It was a messy subject, and hardly anyone cared without a direct connection to werewolves. "It just seemed interesting. I like hearing all perspectives."

Miles frowned. "I wasn't aware there were multiple perspectives."

"Well, my first-year Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher mentioned the other perspective. Professor Dilley hasn't?"

"No. He hasn't talked about werewolves. Only curses."

"Well, being a werewolf is a curse," said Remus. "He might talk about it later in the year… or maybe not. Perhaps it's too politically charged a topic right now."

"So… what's the other perspective?" asked Miles. "I mean, I don't really like talking about the possibility of my mother being wrong right after her death, because she never liked werewolves—disliked them even more for the past three years or so, for some reason—but I think…" He trailed off and took a shuddery breath. "Sorry."

"We don't have to talk about it," said Remus gently.

"No, I want to. I want to understand. I want to have conversations. I'm tired of my mum's death affecting every little thing I do. What's the other perspective on werewolves, then?"

Remus sat down on his bed, plucked Bufo from his pillow, and handed him to Miles. "Hold onto Bufo for me," he ordered. Bufo didn't actually need to be held onto, but (in Remus' experience) Bufo was very good at helping people relax. Miles took Bufo warily and plopped him onto his own lap.

"There are two ways to look at werewolves," said Remus carefully (because he had to be careful. He had to be. He couldn't give it away). "One claims that, when they bite humans, the humans more or less die. Their consciousnesses are replaced with something unfeeling and evil, but they continue to act like their old selves during the day. They lure people in and murder them on the full moon." Peter made a slight squeaking noise, and Remus tried not to be offended.

"There's another perspective, though," continued Remus. "Some people think that werewolves are the same as they were before they were bitten—mentally, I mean. They're people with emotions and desires, fears and opinions. They don't change in that sense. That perspective states that werewolves are just like anybody else, and that lycanthropy is like an illness of sorts. It forces them to become an unfeeling creature when the moon is high, but they're just like you or me during the day."

"So… people believe that being a werewolf changes someone's mental state during the night, but not the day? That's… a more complicated solution than just believing that werewolves are changed from the inside out all the time."

"Perhaps. But it can't be denied that they act like people during the day, so both theories hold some water." Remus was thankful that it was Peter here and not James, because James would likely start arguing with Remus whenever he conceded that the werewolves-are-monsters theory made some degree of sense. Which it did. Remus just knew better, obviously, because he was one, but he couldn't tell Miles that. "Anyway," Remus continued, "Adamson—the man who wrote that book—thinks that werewolves are victims. They have a painful and humiliating disease; that's all… they're not actually evil because of it."

"But werewolves kill people."

"Some keep themselves locked up on the full moon so that they don't."

"But some don't."

"Well, there are good an d bad werewolves, just like there are good and bad humans. Voldemort's evil, but that doesn't mean all humans are."

Miles quivered slightly at the mention of Voldemort's name. "My mum always said that people who defend werewolves only do so because they support You-Know-Who. She says the only real use for them is to join evil armies, so anyone who supports werewolves supports the evil armies."

"Well," said Remus, being very careful not to bring his own personal emotions into it, "Adamson believes that there are other uses for werewolves. He doesn't even think there needs to be a use for werewolves, actually. He hopes they can just exist peacefully and be regarded as regular people with an awful disease."

"And…" Miles hesitated for a moment. "Do you believe that?"

Ooh, now Remus would have to be extremely careful. "I'm not sure," he said. "Both sides sound reasonable, to be honest. I only bought the book because I was interested in learning about the other side. But I don't feel I need to choose a side—it's not as if the issue concerns me—so I'm comfortable staying in this in-between spot."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Miles took a deep breath. "I think I'll stay there, too."

"It's your choice, Miles."

"I really do want to learn and grow outside what Mum thought. You're right, I have been idealizing her a little. A lot. It's kind of refreshing to have a different opinion than she did."

"You're allowed to idealize her a little. She was your mother."

"I know, but I want to think for myself. I've sort of been letting her live through me lately, you know? It's time to move on."

"It's only been a couple of months since she died, Miles. You're moving very quickly."

"It's fine," said Miles fiercely.

Bufo croaked.

Remus twitched.

There was silence.

Then Peter broke it. "Hey, Miles. D'you want to go outside and fly broomsticks with us?"

"No. I'll stay here." Miles burrowed back under his blankets with a sigh after placing both the Adamson book and Bufo on Remus' bed. "Thanks for clearing that up, Remus—I didn't want to share rooms with a Death Eater."

"No problem," said Remus. "Neither do I, to be frank. Come on, Peter, let's go fly broomsticks. Miles, you may catch up with us at any time if you'd like."

Miles, however, didn't look like he was interested. Remus shrugged and left the dormitory, Peter following closely behind.

The Marauders had a tradition when it came to flying broomsticks.

Typically, James and Sirius were the only one who actually rode the broomsticks. They chased each other around in the air, laughing and shrieking, and James would try to show off as much as possible with fancy flips and spins. They would race each other across the grounds. They would shout as loudly as they could. They would see who could balance on top of their broomsticks the longest when standing on the wood on one foot.

Peter and Remus, on the other hand, almost never actually rode the broomsticks. Instead, they sat under what had come to be classified as the Marauder Tree, enjoying the shade and watching James and Sirius. Peter always watched the whole spectacle with wide eyes, and whenever James did anything particularly impressive, Peter would clap and cheer. Remus always brought a book or did his homework instead.

It wasn't because Remus wanted to be aloof, though; no, it was because he loved combining two things that he loved that did not usually go together. Remus had grown up in monotony and solitude, and he was rather used to it. Books and schoolwork was more or less his medium. He loved the predictable quiet of studying various subjects, writing essays, and reading books. But he also loved the unpredictable chaos of his three best mates—so here, sitting under a tree with a book on his lap and their shrieks in the background, glancing up whenever he heard interesting noises or came to a break in his book, commenting on James' or Sirius' flying every once in a while, making comments in Peter's ear to make him laugh… Remus figured that, if heaven existed, this was it.

But today James and Sirius weren't here.

"This isn't really the same," said Peter as he and Remus sat alone under the Marauder Tree.

Remus sighed. "It's not really 'flying broomsticks' when there are no broomsticks involved."

"Do you want to fly around by ourselves?"

Remus looked at his book, and then he looked at Peter. "Not really," he said. "You can if you want, but I don't much like broomsticks. Besides, it feels… wrong."

"Yeah," said Peter. "It does. I'm going back to the common room, I think. Maybe I'll find enough people to start a game of Exploding Snap. Wanna come?"

"No, thanks. I'm not really in the mood."

"All right." Peter looked disappointed, but he loped away without arguing. Remus stayed by the tree and flipped through the Adamson book for a few more moments.

The prevalence of werewolves in children's stories and horror tales is a major driving factor of the hatred today. It is easy to learn something new, but it is much harder to overcome a habitual way of thinking. When young children are conditioned to be afraid of werewolves, werewolves' supposed evil nature becomes a fact of life—and, since werewolves are relatively rare and so uncommonly seen in real life, that "fact" is not often contested.

Remus sighed. He knew all about how difficult it was to change one's way of thinking. He was currently trying to do that for his Arithmancy project, and it was very difficult.

On that thought, Remus put down the book and decided that he'd try to practice a bit. He could do this, right? He could think about the Shrieking Shack, just like Leek had said, and totally remove himself from the situation. He could imagine a controlled environment, as clear as day in his head, so clear that it seemed like a real memory. He could do that. Conditioning his thinking was exactly what he was asking others to do, after all, so it should be quite easy for him (lest he feel incredibly hypocritical).

So Remus sat under the tree and tried his best to imagine that horrible torture chamber of a location without involving his own feelings and emotions. He tried. And he tried. And he tried. And then he tried so hard that he felt almost as if he were floating.

He kept his eyes shut as the wind rushed across his face. That was odd. Had his line of thinking physically affected him, making him feel as if he were in a completely new location? He felt like he was flying.

Then Remus opened his eyes and saw that he was about fifty feet off the ground.

"Fiddlesticks!" he said, head whirling around to look at the thing that was holding him in the air by his robes. Peeves' grinning face looked back at him, leering cruelly.

"What?" said Peeves. "Werewolves can't fly?"

"No! Of course they can't! Put me down!"

"But I'm having so much fun!"

"Peeves, you put me down right this minute, or I'll… I'll…"

Remus fell silent, and Peeves laughed. "You'll what? Your wand is in your bag, and your bag is all the way on the ground! Looks like you're stuck up here with me!"

Suddenly, Peeves' grip on Remus' robes loosened, and Remus yelped, fully expecting to tumble to his death.

But he didn't. He kept floating.

"How am I… I mean, how are you… what did you do?" Remus shrieked, his feet dangling pointlessly. "Why am I still here? Let me down!"

"Floating powder from Zonko's," said Peeves. "Don't worry. You'll come down gradually over the next thirty minutes. For now… enjoy the view!"

Peeves flew off, cackling, and Remus floated, internally cursing James for giving Zonko's products to a poltergeist.

Oh, it was on.