When they arrived at Professor Dumbledore's office, Manard lifted his cane, rapped it on the door three times—thunk, thunk, thunk—and then glanced at Remus one last time as if to remind him what to do.

Remus arranged his face into what he hoped was a neutral expression just in time. A moment later, Dumbledore opened the door and gave Remus a long, searching look. "It's good to see you both," Dumbledore said. "Come in."

Manard gestured for Remus enter first, the same smile on his face that he'd worn while greeting students as they filed into the classroom earlier that day. Remus complied, despite the fact that he was slightly afraid to turn his back on Manard.

"First day went great, Albus," said Manard, sitting next to Remus. "I must admit, I was a little bit worried about teaching—I'd never done it before—but your fourth-years are perfectly lovely. Even the infamous Marauders." Manard winked at Remus, who smiled weakly. "I'm very fond of them all, of course, and I think we'll have a great year together."

"I am very glad to hear it." Dumbledore's words were pleasant, but his eyes did not twinkle, and he wasn't even trying to smile. "I think you both know by now what I'd like to speak with you about. Tea?"

"Yes, please," said Remus and Manard at the same time.

Dumbledore waved his wand, and then a steaming cup of tea appeared in front each of them. "I'm expect you've mentioned your former career to the class, Sal?"

"I have. I spoke with Remus about it after the class was dismissed, and we've come to a mutual understanding."

"I see." Dumbledore took a sip of tea, and so did Remus—as soon as Remus put his cup back down, Dumbledore looked directly into his eyes and asked, "Remus, is that true?"

"Yes, sir," said Remus, and he prayed there was no insincerity in his voice. He was used to lying, of course—he'd lied to his friends for about a year, he lied to his fellow classmates on a daily basis, and he even lied to his parents on occasion. But Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard in the world, an extremely perceptive man, a very accomplished Legilimens, and the sort of person who often knew things without being told—things he had no way of knowing. How was Remus supposed to lie to him? Was it even possible?

Dumbledore stared at Remus for a few more moments, and then his eyes slowly slid away. "And you, Sal?" he asked. "How do you feel about it all?"

"I think that Remus and I are going to get along just fine," he said. "He's a bright boy, a good student, and extraordinarily well-behaved. I have no complaints about him. Just because I have only ever dealt with monstrous werewolves doesn't mean that all of them are monstrous. I only receive complaints about the bad ones, after all—the good ones tend to fly under the radar, and for good reason."

"Yes, that is exactly what I told you when I was advocating for Remus' acceptance to the school," Dumbledore said.

"I think I understand now."

Dumbledore frowned. "Very well. May I speak to Remus alone, please? I am sure you understand how uncomfortable this must be for him, and I would like to see what he has to say when you're not in the room, sitting directly next to him… with your cane on his foot."

Remus looked down. Sure enough, the end of Manard's cane was resting lightly on his foot. He'd been so absorbed in maintaining his neutral expression that he hadn't even noticed. It seemed to Remus that Manard was more or less flaunting the cane as much as possible—while Professor Questus had kept his hidden away, mostly, Manard was bringing it up every chance he got—probably as a subtle way of reminding people that werewolves were dangerous. A werewolf rendered me nearly crippled, he was saying with his cane, because werewolves are dangerous, powerful, and should not be given free reign to roam a school full of children.

Manard took the cane out of Remus' line of sight. "I'm sorry," he said. "You should have said something, Remus. I'll leave right away."

Then Manard stopped and looked at Remus. Remus didn't avoid his gaze—would that look suspicious?—but he didn't meet his eyes—would that also look suspicious?—so he ended up staring at a spot above Manard's shoulder. "You know you're perfectly free to tell me how you feel, Remus," said Manard. "I know we can work something out. I understand this may be terribly uncomfortable for you, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to help you learn in what you feel is a safe environment."

"Yes, sir, I know," said Remus as clearly as possible. "Thank you ever so much."

Manard smiled, and then he left Dumbledore's office—clack, clack, clack. A physical weight seemed to lift itself off of Remus' shoulders as soon as Manard was gone, but the weight of lying to the most powerful wizard in the world remained.

"What would you like to hear, Professor?" he asked, staring into his tea.

Dumbledore was silent, so Remus lifted his head and met his eyes. They weren't nearly as flat as they'd been with Manard in the room—not twinkling, no, but softer and kinder. "I just want to hear your thoughts," said Dumbledore. "Talk to me."

Remus knew quite a bit about lying. He knew that half-truths helped, he knew that added uncomfortable details made lies more believable, and he knew that he should act as he normally would have in the situation. What would Remus be feeling if there had been a former werewolf hunter who had been genuinely good and kind, instead of the type who blackmailed Remus for no good reason and dropping his things in ink because he wouldn't get the door?

He wouldn't go the full nine yards and pretend to be Manard's "best friend", as Manard had asked him to do. That was terrifically suspicious and strange. No, he'd be himself—guilty, tentative, and uncertain. He'd overthink everything, because that was just how Remus was.

"He's been very kind to me," said Remus slowly, as if he were sharing an uncomfortable truth. "He seems to want me to like him, and he really does seem to like me. I don't think he's… evil or anything, and he doesn't seem prejudiced in the least bit, which is rare and very pleasant indeed."

"But…?" Dumbledore prompted. "Forgive me, but I have known you long enough to suspect that there is a 'but' involved."

And here was the complicated part: Remus would have to find the perfect blend of Remus-Lupin guilt and confusion, without going too over-the-top and without getting too close to the truth. "His past bothers me… a little," Remus confessed. "I mean… he doesn't seem awful, no, but it is a rather unfortunate career choice."

"That's perfectly understandable."

"Here's the complicated bit," said Remus, and now he wasn't lying anymore. He was in the clear for now. "Werewolf hunters aren't all bad, just like werewolves aren't all bad. Aurors kill werewolves sometimes. Professor Questus used to kill werewolves on occasion."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, stroking his beard, eyes still firmly planted on Remus. "That is correct," he said.

"I support killing transformed werewolves," Remus said. "If they're out and about, then they're a danger and should be killed. And since I support that, then I should support what Manard does, shouldn't I?"

"I sense another 'but' on its way."

Remus sighed. Here, he'd have to lie a little again, as well as figure out how to sprinkle in enough half-truth to keep Manard from being angry with him. "Yeah. He… makes me a little uncomfortable," Remus said, which was the understatement of the century. "I don't feel entirely… right around him."

"Has he done anything to warrant your discomfort?"

"Of course not," Remus lied. "No, I like him. I'm beginning to think that it's just… prejudice of my own, you know? Which makes me feel very hypocritical. Even though he's not dangerous, I can't see past a very benign thing that doesn't influence his personality or his actions. It's the same thing that people do to werewolves. Because of my upbringing and societal expectations, I'm unable to keep an open mind."

There was a brief silence, and then Dumbledore chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "You never cease to amaze me, Remus," he said. "You know, this particular trait of yours has astounded me since your first year."

"What trait?"

"Your ability to see both sides of the story." Dumbledore steepled his fingers, still smiling. "When confronted with prejudice or injustice of any sort, you empathize rather than blame. You try to figure out why as soon as you are confronted with it. You really and truly respect and admire those with different worldviews and opinions—not just for show, not just superficially, but genuinely. You have a deep understanding of nuance, and you are always willing to recognize when you are the one at fault. I admire you for this. However…"

"Yes?" asked Remus. A stone was beginning to form in the pit of his stomach. Did Dumbledore believe him?

"I wonder, perhaps, if you are too eager to blame yourself sometimes," Dumbledore said softly. "I trust you, Remus—perhaps more than you trust yourself—and I trust that your instincts are good and nearly always right. Perhaps you should follow them every once in a while."

Remus snorted. "Sorry, did you just say that my instincts are good and nearly always right? Did you forget my unfortunate predilection for murdering humans once a month?"

Oh, Remus knew instinct—he knew it all too well. He knew exactly what the pull of instinct felt like: it felt like itching, mainly, an all-encompassing need in his claws and his teeth, a niggling feeling in the back of his brain that told him that he had to bite down on something; attack something. And so Remus paced around, snarling softly, searching for something to satiate his instinctive desire; when he found nothing, he attacked the furniture, the walls, and (most gruesomely), himself. Alas, nothing relieved the horrible itching in his teeth—nothing, that was, except for the transformation back, whose all-encompassing pain drained the itching from of his system most admirably.

"There is a difference," said Dumbledore gently at the sight of Remus' disgusted face, "between wolf instinct and human instinct. Instincts are paired with survival. Transformed werewolves have predatory instincts, because attacking and eating is how they survive. When it is not the full moon, however, you are a person, and people have different self-preservation instincts."

"Like what?"

"Like fear. When you have a feeling, Remus, it shouldn't be written off as impossible simply because it doesn't conform to what you feel is the most obvious logic. It is possible that the feeling is the subconscious part of your mind recognizing danger before the conscious part does. It's possible that Professor Manard has certain mannerisms or expressions that set off warnings in your subconscious, and those warnings should not be ignored."

Yes, thought Remus. Yes, there are warnings going off in my head whenever I go near Professor Manard. In fact, he's vocalized a few of those warnings himself.

"Why are you telling me this, sir?" Remus asked with a frown, because that was what Remus would have asked in this situation had he not been lying. "Do you distrust him?"

Dumbledore looked at the sky, and then he looked back at Remus. "I think Professor Manard is a talented man," he said slowly, "and I would not have hired him if I'd believed he would do anything to harm you or anyone else. And yet… I do have my suspicions about his motives."

"What do you mean?" asked Remus, even though he knew perfectly well what Dumbledore meant.

"Well—and you must not tell Professor Manard I said this, you understand—the people at the Ministry have been watching me closely recently."

"Because you let a werewolf into the school."

Dumbledore laughed. "That, Remus, is merely one item on a long list of personal transgressions. The Ministry does not support your presence here, no, and I feel you should understand that. But the Ministry also does not support my decision to stay headmaster of the school, nor do they support many of the things I have said over the years."

"What? Why?"

"At the risk of sounding very full of myself, I am a powerful wizard. Some Ministry members believe that I should be working as an Auror. They believe that I should be in direct combat as much as possible, especially when Voldemort himself is involved."

"Why… why don't you? Forgive me, but wouldn't that be more… productive?"

"Immediately productive, yes. But in the long run, I believe that educating children for the future is far more important, and I am doing quite a bit for the war efforts as it is. I will step in when the Ministry needs my help directly, of course, but I've never enjoyed direct combat. I prefer to look at things from a bird's-eyes view, and I am very good at it, too. I believe I am doing the right thing. The Ministry believes I am being selfish."

"And what else have you said that they disagree with?"

"Small things. Werewolf rights, obviously. My stance on rigorous Auror training. I believe that anyone who wants to fight should be able to, regardless of marks and O.W.L.s. I believe there should be a separate category for lower-level combat specialists (completely voluntary, of course). The Ministry disagrees. I also believe that the Ministry should be taking more steps to protect Muggles. All in all, the Ministry is well aware that my views do not fully align with the Minister's."

"So… Manard was sent to spy on you."

"I wouldn't use the word spy. Perhaps 'keep a close eye on me'. I did not want to hire him at first, both for your sake and my own, but he was the only willing candidate. I believe he is here to watch me carefully, and I would not be surprised if he watches you as well—after all, if you attack a student in any way, then that is grounds to remove me from the Wizengamot… and likely my career as Headmaster."

Remus swallowed.

"Don't worry, Remus, I have full faith in your ability to refrain from attacking students," Dumbledore said lightly.

"I don't!"

"Well, then I have full faith in my magical abilities to keep you safe when you cannot refrain. You should have faith in me, too. I understand that trust can be a very difficult thing when your life and reputation, along with the lives of your fellow students, are at stake, but some trust is necessary in order to live a fulfilling life."

Remus nodded. "I do trust you," he said quietly.

"Excellent. Furthermore, Remus, just because Professor Manard arrived with a purpose does not mean that he cannot be a good teacher. It also does not mean that he cannot grow to like and respect you, which he may already be doing."

"I think he is," said Remus. "I really do think it's prejudice on my part rather than some… magical subconscious knowledge. How can I tell the difference?"

"It is very difficult," said Dumbledore. "After all, prejudice is merely overpowered instinct. We fear what we do not know. An oversimplified way to tell, then, is this: if it is prejudice, then the more you get to know Professor Manard, the less you will fear him. If it is instinct, then the opposite will be true."

"I see. I still think it's prejudice. I think it's my problem, not his."

"And it may very well be. But Remus…" Dumbledore sighed and took a sip of his tea. "He is paying very close attention to you. I do not tell you this to scare you; I tell you this to warn you to be careful. Be your normal, respectful, pleasant self around Professor Manard. Do not let your guard down. Do not say anything that may incriminate you. And please come to me if he does anything that makes you uncomfortable, however trivial that thing may be. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, while you finish your tea, why don't you tell me about your summer? Numerous staff members have mentioned how healthy you look—including Madam Pomfrey, and you know how hard she is to please."

Remus told Professor Dumbledore about some of his adventures with his friends, talking until his tea grew cold, and then he finished the rest of it in a couple of sips. "Thank you, sir," he said.

"No, thank you for entertaining an old man's rambling," Dumbledore said. "Please enjoy the rest of your day."

"Of course." Remus stood up—just as he was about to walk through the doorway, however, Dumbledore called him back. "Yes, Professor?" said Remus.

Dumbledore was staring at Remus over his half-moon spectacles, searching for something in Remus' face. "Please tell me one more time that there is nothing wrong," said Dumbledore.

Remus summoned all his courage and said, "There's nothing wrong, Professor."

A moment passed, and then Dumbledore nodded; Remus smiled and left the office as quickly as possible without seeming suspicious.

He'd just successfully lied to the greatest, most perceptive wizard in the world. Even though he wished he hadn't needed to, he was oddly proud of the fact. And now was the tricky part: Remus had to keep up the lie for the entire year, no matter how awful Manard got to be, no matter how many terrible things happened. That was going to be near impossible.

Remus turned a corner, and then he ran into Professor Manard.

"I'm sorry," he babbled, backing up. "I'm sorry. I didn't… I mean, I didn't see you… well, of course I didn't see you, but oddly enough, I didn't… well. Sorry."

"It's quite all right," said Manard, same smile on his lips. "I understand. There's something about being distracted that seems to dull the senses, isn't there?"

Remus nodded, terrified. "Sorry," he said again.

Manard laughed. "Well, don't look so terrified! I'm not going to hurt you! It was only an accident."

Remus looked around. There were a couple of students walking past, and some were glancing at Remus and Manard to see what all the commotion was. That explained why Manard was being so horribly nice. The fact that Manard was a very pleasant person only made him more unsettling and unhinged, in Remus' opinion.

"Here, let's go into my classroom," said Manard. "You seem to have hurt your finger when you bumped into me. I'll fix it right up for you."

Remus glanced down at his finger, which was perfectly fine. "No… no thank you," he tried.

"I insist. You're not imposing at all! Here, follow me."

Remus might have stayed back again if he hadn't seen the dangerous glint in Manard's eyes—but he had, so Remus followed Manard to his classroom, ignoring the twisting snakes in his stomach. As soon as they were inside the classroom, Manard shut the door behind him and turned on Remus. "Well?" he asked impatiently.

Remus searched his mind, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what Manard was asking. "Sir?" he asked quietly.

"I'm asking how it went with Albus, obviously," said Manard. "What does he know? What did you tell him?"

Remus decided to tell Manard the truth. "I told him that I was uneasy, but that it was my own prejudices rather than your fault. I said you'd been perfectly kind to me and everyone else. I said that, with time, I thought I'd be completely comfortable around you. He also… knows you're watching him."

"Well, of course he does," said Manard impatiently, waving his hand. "I knew that. He just can't prove it. And did he buy it?"

"Buy what?"

"Your lie!"

"Oh. Yes. Definitely."

Manard shook his head. "You seem like such a bad liar when I'm around, but I suppose that's just because I can see through them," he said, and Remus very nearly punched him. "It is impressive, what you can do… assuming I can believe you."

Manard leaned closer, pressing his cane onto Remus' foot so hard that it would surely leave a bruise. "Remember," he commanded, "if I'm sacked, or if Albus speaks to me about mistreating you, or if I catch wind that anybody has found out in any way, or if you attack me… the world will know your secret. So tread with caution."

Remus nodded, terrified, and Manard stepped back. "Now, let's do something about that finger," he said, pleasant and smiling once again.

"But I didn't hurt it," said Remus.

"I know. It was a lie. I needed to get you alone without looking suspicious, which is why I performed a mild Confounding Charm on you before you got near enough to notice me. But everyone will be suspicious if I don't fix it for you, won't they?"

"I'll just say you healed it if they ask, then," said Remus.

"Not good enough." Manard flicked his wand, and then Remus' hand was stinging with pain. There was a large gash from the tip of his index finger to the knuckle—it wasn't serious nor deep, but it was bleeding.

"That seems unnecessary," said Remus.

"Ah, werewolves and their high pain tolerance. It's what happens after numerous full moons, isn't it?" Manard frowned. "Unfortunately, I don't trust myself to fix it magically. I'll just have to wrap it up."

"I can fix it," said Remus. "I'm pretty good at that charm."

"You just don't get it, do you?" sneered Manard, grabbing a bandage from his desk and wrapping Remus' finger (much too tightly). "I'm not trying to find a solution for anything. I'm trying to hurt you, because I don't like you. I want you to be reminded to keep this a secret, and I'm hoping this will help. You'll let it heal naturally, and the bandage—as well as the pain—will serve a reminder, as well as a punishment for refusing to come to my classroom the first time I asked. Werewolves really are dumb beasts, aren't they?"

Remus didn't respond. No, he wasn't stupid, and he knew exactly what Manard was doing. He just knew that, if he wasn't allowed to be cheeky or disobedient, then playing an idiot was his only chance in preserving a little bit of autonomy, and he would grab onto whatever chance he had. He would play the idiot until the end of the world if it annoyed Manard. He couldn't lay a finger on Manard, no, both for personal and legal reasons, but he could certainly annoy him as long as it didn't get him into trouble. And being a little slow couldn't possibly get Remus into trouble… so long as he didn't overact.

"There," said Manard, magically tying the bandage. "Now go back to doing whatever it is that werewolves do in their free time. And don't forget that essay you have for me… oh, is that your wand hand I injured? That's unfortunate. That will make it much harder to write."

"It's all right," said Remus, adding faux forgiveness to Manard's faux apology. Yes, he was still playing the idiot, and he was enjoying it.

"Go away," said Manard, and Remus practically ran.

He hated Professor Manard.