Alexander Adamson was to visit the next day, but Hogwarts was not yet buzzing. The staff hadn't made the official announcement yet, so nobody knew about Adamson's visit except for Remus, his friends, and the professors. The fact that Remus' friends had been able to keep it a secret was a miracle in and of itself.

"I wonder when Dumbledore's going to tell everyone about Adamson," wondered Remus, piling some eggs onto his plate.

James shrugged. "Not sure. I bet he's holding off on it for you, though."

"You think so?"

"Yeah. As soon as they announce it, there's going to be talk all over Hogwarts of werewolves. Some will support Adamson coming in, and some won't. It's probably going to be pretty awful, and I think Albus is delaying it on purpose."

Remus frowned. "Yeah. I suppose so. Do you know what this means?"

"What?"

"You're going to have to keep your mouth shut. I know you, Prongs. The moment somebody says something awful about werewolves, you're going to want to argue. You can't argue. You just have to keep your mouth shut and pretend it's of no concern to you. All right?"

James groaned. "But Moony! It's so hard not to argue! It makes my hands itch!"

"Your… hands itch?"

"Yeah! Because I want to punch them so much!"

Remus could feel the corners of his mouth twitch as he desperately tried not to smile. He didn't approve of violence, but somewhere deep down, he was glad that someone was willing to commit it for him. The glow lasted while James shifted his attention to Quidditch, and Remus listened passively while eating his eggs.

Sure enough, the announcement came in Transfiguration, the Marauders' first class of the day.

"Listen up, everybody," said McGonagall as students settled into their seats. "I have an important announcement, and I expect absolutely no interruptions. If you have a question, please raise your hand and wait patiently to be called on. Thank you."

Here it was, then. Remus clasped his hands together tightly under the table, preparing himself for the inevitable talk of werewolves.

"Tomorrow afternoon, there will be a speaker arriving at Hogwarts. As such, every student will be missing their last classes to listen to his speech—if my timetables are correct, then the Gryffindors in this room will be missing either Divination or Arithmancy, and the Ravenclaws will miss Potions."

There was a bit of light cheering as the students considered the prospect of missing class, but McGonagall shushed them immediately. "The speaker's name is Alexander Adamson, and he is known for being one of the world's leading werewolf advocates."

Silence.

"But werewolves are—" said a girl from Gryffindor, but McGonagall's mouth flattened and the girl abruptly stopped talking.

"Thank you. I know werewolves are a sore subject for many of you, either because you're frightened of them or because you have personal ties. Some of you have family members who were attacked by one. Many of you have heard of Fenrir Greyback's exploits during the past years. I assure you, however, there is no harm in discussing a viewpoint, and many of you may learn something new."

"But what if—" a boy tried to say, but McGonagall's intense glare shut him up.

"I also know that some students in this school have friends or family members who are werewolves. I ask all of you, therefore, to be kind. Discussing viewpoints is all right, but pointless and cruel insults are not. When Adamson is speaking, I expect you all to be quiet and respectful. Any student who is not finds themselves in danger of detention and loss of House points. Do you all understand?"

There was some nodding, but a quick glance around told Remus that not everybody had nodded.

Apparently, McGonagall had noticed, too. "Are there any questions before I proceed with my lesson?" she asked.

About a dozen hands shot up into the air, and Remus suppressed a sigh. He really didn't want to listen to these questions. Thank goodness it was McGonagall and not Manard who had made the initial announcement, at least.

McGonagall shot Remus a small, apologetic glance before calling on the first student. "I don't get it," the student said. "Is this speaker going to argue… that werewolves are good?"

"Not exactly. This speaker is probably going to argue that werewolves are merely like you and me, except that they suffer few additional challenges. I believe Mr. Adamson sees lycanthropy as something like an illness, like the flu or Dragon Pox. If you don't wish to believe that, that's your decision."

"Then why are we listening to him at all?"

"Because the alternate view of werewolves being completely evil is presented more frequently in today's society. Professor Dumbledore wants his students to receive both points of view."

A Ravenclaw student was speaking now, his face twisted in confusion. "But isn't that Death Eater propaganda? Arguing that werewolves are good is like… like arguing that Nazis were good, or that You-Know-Who is just misunderstood. By condoning werewolves, we condone all that they do, and werewolves haven't been up to some very decent things lately. This seems… mistimed."

Students all around the classroom nodded, and Remus was suddenly very disappointed that he was in a class with Ravenclaws.

"No, Mr. Harston, it's not mistimed, and it's not Death Eater propaganda. In condoning werewolves, we don't condone the bad that they do—we recognize the good of which they are capable. You-Know-Who and Nazis are completely different from werewolves in that their choices made them evil. Werewolves, in contrast, are victims first and foremost. They did not choose to become werewolves, and they are powerless on the full moon, yet people treat them as if they are all cruel and thoughtless creatures."

"But there are other species out there that we tend to avoid," mused the boy, "like dragons and Grindylows. How is it bad to recognize that werewolves have violent tendencies? We see most other species as inferior, so what's the difference with werewolves?"

"Well, Mr. Harston, that's what Mr. Adamson will be speaking about. He doesn't believe that werewolves have violent tendencies, apart from the full moon. They, like us, have free will and human morals."

"But not on the full moon?"

"Not on the full moon."

"How do you know?"

McGonagall crossed her arms. "As I am not a werewolf, I cannot say for sure. The evidence seems to speak to the fact that they do not, however. Werewolves have done incredibly stupid things with absolutely no benefit while under the influence of the full moon. If they maintained all of their intelligence and motivations, it would have been evident."

Well, technically, werewolves did maintain some semblance of human intelligence on the full moon—that was what made them so dangerous—but Remus wasn't about to correct McGonagall. She was basically right, after all. Werewolves were certainly more impulsive on the full moon, so they certainly acted irrationally sometimes.

"Well, even if that were true," Harston continued, "how do we condemn the werewolves' actions without condemning the werewolves? We can't. Would you really be okay with a werewolf killing someone just because it couldn't control itself?"

"Of course not, but it should be noted that not all werewolves do that. Many werewolves lock themselves up on the full moon, injuring themselves so that they will not injure anyone else. You hear about werewolves doing awful things because those stories are the only ones that are publicized—there are many, many werewolves who live under the radar and behave just like you and me. It is quite possible to be a werewolf and not injure anybody, Harston. I am not defending werewolves who kill others; rather, I believe that intolerance harms all and helps none. Do you understand?"

Harston nodded and stopped arguing, a fact for which Remus was very grateful.

"Of course Mr. Adamson will explain everything further, and of course I shall allow each of you to make your own decision. However, I see no harm in telling you right now that my own opinions are as follows: Werewolves in their human form are people with diseases, and the discrimination toward them is cruel and unnecessary. Are there any other questions?"

There were, in fact, more questions. McGonagall called on a Gryffindor girl named Sharon. "Erm," said Sharon nervously, "you said that there were people at the school who… who have personal ties to werewolves. Who?"

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Why would I tell you that in the current climate of heavy werewolf discrimination and hatred, Miss Everly?"

"I just…"

"I am not going to tell you that. It does not matter."

"All right."

"Is that all, or can we continue with the lesson?"

"One more question," said another student. "How does Professor Manard feel about the speaker?"

McGonagall pursed her lips. "He supports free speech," she said.

Remus smiled, even though it wasn't funny at all. He was quite curious about how Manard would react to Adamson, and at the same time, he was deathly afraid.

Just as James had suspected, the whole school was in a tizzy for the next two days. It was one of the many times that Remus was not thankful for his superhuman hearing abilities—everywhere he went, there were people talking about werewolves, people talking about Adamson, people talking about Greyback… and not much else.

"I think the best solution would be to kill them all," Remus overheard someone say.

"I mean, clearly they're not doing society any favors. Who's ever heard of a good werewolf?"

"Definitely not me."

Remus exhaled heavily, and Peter nudged him. "All right, Moony?"

Remus hoped desperately that Peter hadn't overheard the same conversation he had. "What do you mean? I'm fine."

"You sort of tensed up a bit. Were you overhearing something?"

"Nope. All good. Just stepped on my leg wrong—it hurts sometimes."

"Oh."

The professors brought up Adamson in almost every single class: some in good ways, some in ways that made Remus wish they hadn't.

"Even though I'm the Care of Magical Creatures professor," Kettleburn said, "I don't know very much about werewolves. They're closer to Beings than Beasts, even though they're not fully in either category. If anyone has any specific questions after Adamson's speech, though, you can come to me, since I'm the closest thing to an expert you've got."

Not even close, thought Remus, who considered himself a bit of an expert (not that anyone was allowed to know that).

"What about Manard?" asked Snape's friend, Mulciber. "He was a werewolf hunter, and he's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Isn't he literally an expert?"

"Erm, I suppose," stammered Kettleburn. "Forgot about him. He's a little biased, though."

"Biased from years of experience?"

"Erm… yeah. Anyway, today's lesson will be about…"

Remus sighed. He appreciated Kettleburn's attempts to protect him by asking students to come to him instead of the literal werewolf hunter, but it was unnecessary, and it had made Manard look even better than he was.

Flitwick took a completely different approach when bringing it up. "Let me just say a word about Alexander Adamson," he announced at the beginning of class, his eyes sternly roaming around the classroom. "As someone who is not fully human myself, I do expect you to be respectful when it comes to his positive views toward others like me. I do not expect you to agree, but I do expect you to be kind."

"It's really not the same thing, a person with some goblin blood and a full-blooded werewolf," Remus heard someone mutter, and to be quite honest, Remus agreed.

Even Professor Leek said something, despite the fact that it was incredibly awkward. "About the Adamson speech this evening," he stammered, smiling weakly. "Just… I wanted to say that one of my friends is a werewolf. He's a right decent chap. He's… okay, fine, so he's not technically a friend of mine… more like a distant acquaintance. But he's never tried to kill me or anything. So you should really look at both points of view is all I'm saying."

Remus had met up with Leek's werewolf acquaintance last year—he had been a kind man by the name of Berwin, and Leek had taken Remus to a pub so that they could talk. Remus liked Berwin, but he also knew that telling everybody that one had a werewolf friend would not be well received.

And, sure enough, Remus was right. Comments about how stupid Leek was to fraternize with a werewolf continued all throughout Potions class. What was even worse, next was Defense Against the Dark Arts, which was the class that Remus feared the most.

Remus could tell upon walking into the classroom that everyone trusted Manard the most when it came to werewolves. They entered almost excitedly, and every single person was on time for the first time in a couple of weeks (granted, that was mostly because James and Sirius were on time—they were usually late).

"Do you want to sit in the back with us today?" James whispered to Remus. "We'll kick Wormtail out if you want. He can sit in the front with Evans."

Remus looked longingly at the seats in the back right corner. In any other circumstances, he would have agreed in a heartbeat, but…

"Can't," he said dully. "Manard assigned seats. I'm sure he expects me to sit at the front."

"He just did that so that he could learn our names. Besides, he's nice. He won't care."

"Thank you, Prongs, but I'm fine. I'll see you after class. Don't explode at him if he says anything wrong."

James rolled his eyes. "But..."

"All right, settle down," said Manard with a massive smile, and everybody scrambled to their seats. "As I understand it, this is the last class before the Adamson speech. After this, each of you will proceed directly to the Great Hall, where Professor Dumbledore will give a short introduction. I know this is very strange for all of you—after all, Mr. Adamson's views on werewolves aren't often presented, especially in a school setting. So let's be frank for a moment. How are you all feeling?"

"A little weird about it," said a Slytherin girl without even raising her hand. "I mean, werewolves are dangerous, and it's not like there are any at this school. Why do we need to know how to interact with werewolves while they're in human form? It doesn't make any sense. This issue doesn't affect us."

"Well, McGonagall said that some people at this school have personal ties to werewolves," said a boy from Gryffindor. "Maybe this speech is for them."

"Then why are we all expected to attend?"

"Excellent question," said Manard, tapping his cane against the floor thoughtfully. "My guess would be because this is a school, thus you are expected to learn things. This is an interesting talk about a frequently-marginalized group of people, and Professor Dumbledore thinks you'll learn something from it. Besides, just because you don't know any werewolves right now doesn't mean you never will… after all, werewolf attacks are increasing. Chances are, you'll meet one someday."

He glanced at Remus, ever so slightly, and Remus looked away.

"What do you think about Alexander Adamson, Professor?" James blurted, and Manard smiled.

"I'm not sure I want to tell you, as it might color your perception of his speech. I should let his words speak for themselves."

Immediately, students started protesting, and Remus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course Manard had said that. Now he could do something that was totally wrong—discredit Adamson before he even had a chance to speak, when he wasn't in the room to defend himself—and he had an excuse. They begged me, Albus, he would tell Dumbledore. They just wanted to know if they could trust him, and of course I couldn't lie to them.

"I think Mr. Adamson is a very clever man," said Manard slowly, as if he was choosing his words carefully—Remus was certain it was just for show, though. He'd probably practiced this little speech in the mirror. "He's done a lot of studies, and he has strong opinions. But… well, sometimes I wonder how biased he is."

"Biased?"

"Yes. Mr. Adamson conducts research by making friends with the werewolves, and of course people are never going to represent their friends objectively. I'm not saying he's wrong about his main message—that's something you'll have to decide for yourselves—but I don't agree with most of his statistics."

Remus frowned. Adamson got his medical statistics directly from St. Mungo's, his statistics on Registered werewolves directly from the Werewolf Registry, and anecdotes directly from the werewolves. Were they biased? Maybe, but no more than anecdotes that claimed evidence for the opposite viewpoint. Most of his questions were pretty objective, anyway.

"I do wonder why Professor Dumbledore didn't let me give a presentation, if he really wanted you all to learn about werewolves," Manard mused. "But no matter."

A Slytherin girl tentatively raised her hand. "What do you think about werewolves, then, Professor?"

"Hm." Manard tapped his chin. "Well, I think they have potential to do good things, and I think they have potential to do terrible things."

"But do you think they have human emotions?"

"Oh, there's no doubt that they don't have human emotions. The makeups of their brains are different, which has been scientifically proven multiple times."

Remus heard James shift in his seat, and he gave him a very dirty look.

"The question is where they differ," Manard continued, very cleverly walking the line. James relaxed. "Is it in a major way? A minor way? A lot of minor ways that add up? A major way that won't kick in until the werewolf has been so for a certain number of years?"

There was some mumbling among Remus' classmates as they mulled that over. Remus stared viciously at a spot on the wall behind Manard's head.

"See, we know for a fact that the typical werewolf's capacity for bad is much larger than the typical human's—I know that firsthand." Manard gestured to his leg and smiled. "But we don't know whether werewolves' capacity for good is equal to or lower than most humans. Either way, their net capacity is bad instead of good, which is why a lot of people don't support werewolves integrating freely and anonymously into human society."

This wasn't fair, even though Manard was making logical points. All of Remus' classmates were hanging on to Manard's every word. He was their favorite teacher, who came up with games to help teach them, who gave them money to buy books, who taught difficult concepts concisely and animatedly… and here he was, using that power against Remus and people like him, and Remus couldn't even argue back lest he be discovered.

Well… he could try.

Remus swallowed the risk and raised his hand, and Manard called on him with an infuriating smile. "I don't understand, Professor," said Remus slowly. "Do you think a person's worth is determined by the good that they'll do for human society? Is the person who defeats Voldemort more worthy of being treated human than a person who leads a totally average life?"

"Of course not. But once that potential for good dips dangerously below average, people are locked up. It's why we have Azkaban."

"But—I mean, I'm not supporting werewolves, because I don't really know how to feel about them yet—but Professor McGonagall told us that some werewolves are locked up when they're dangerous. They lock themselves up on full moons. So any other time they would have just as much net good potential as any other human, but on full moons, when they have net capacity for bad, they're totally locked up and safe. Wouldn't that even things out? At least a little?"

Manard smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Remus knew he'd won. After all, Manard couldn't possibly argue any further without confirming to Remus' friends that he despised everyone of Remus' species, and James Potter would definitely tell Dumbledore if he heard Manard say a thing like that.

"Perhaps you're right," said Manard, "although the danger is still there. I'm sure Mr. Adamson will explain further. Now, I want everybody to open your textbooks to page sixty-seven, and we'll continue our discussion of the many uses of Dark creature blood."

Remus smiled to himself. In whatever sick game Manard had forced him into playing, he'd just won a point.