Defense Against the Dark Arts class eventually ended (far too slowly for Remus' tastes), which meant that there were only about fifteen minutes until Adamson's speech would begin. Remus and his friends proceeded to the Great Hall and found a seat somewhere near the back.

"Are you sure you don't want to sit in the front?" asked James. "You're probably the biggest fan of Adamson here."

Remus shook his head. "Of course I don't. Adamson works with werewolves all the time. If anyone will see me and recognize the signs, it'll be him."

"If you're sure," said James, settling into the seat between Sirius and Remus. "Hey, about Sal today…"

Ah, here it was. James was about to grill Remus, once again, on Manard's business being a professor. He was about to try to get Remus to admit that Manard was treating him badly. And… well, he was, but Remus couldn't possibly admit that.

"Please don't talk to me about Professor Manard," said Remus shortly. "He was presenting a viewpoint that I'm sure he's heard many times in his life, and then he let me refute it. I'm sure he was just trying to build up my courage or something. And the things he said about Adamson are true. Adamson's studies are biased, and so are any other studies done on werewolves. That's what happens when the research is purely anecdotal and theoretical. People can prove numbers, but they can't prove inherent goodness. Adamson is biased, but he's still doing good."

"But it just seemed… mean-spirited, knowing you were right there," said James with a massive frown.

"Professor Questus did the same thing in our first year—he presented both sides of the werewolf argument in his lesson, too. I liked Professor Questus, remember?"

"Yeah, but…" James sighed, and then he smiled. "Okay. If you like Sal, then so do I. I trust your judgment."

"Thank you, Prongs," said Remus. If only that had actually been his judgement.

Suddenly, Dumbledore approached them, holding a satin bag that, judging by the smell, was crammed with an assortment of sweets. He gestured to the seat next to Remus. "Is this seat taken?" he asked. "I find the staff table to be one seat too short after the arrival of Hagrid."

Remus looked over at the staff table—sure enough, Hagrid was sitting in Dumbledore's normal seat, grinning ear-to-ear. "Doesn't he have his own seat?" Peter asked.

"Well, yes, but it's currently out for cleaning."

"Then why don't you just—?"

"He wants to sit near me to make sure I'm okay or something," interrupted Remus. "Don't you, sir?"

Dumbledore smiled. "To be completely honest, I'm feeling slightly guilty about inviting Mr. Adamson to speak here in the first place."

"Why?"

"It seems to be making you uncomfortable." Dumbledore sat down in the seat next to Remus and started rummaging in his satin bag. "I do believe that the students at Hogwarts need to hear his perspective, but I also wonder if I should have waited until after your graduation. There seems to be quite a bit of talk surrounding the subject, and I know that can't be comfortable."

"It's fine, sir," said Remus. "I might as well get used to it, anyway… and I really am excited to hear Adamson speak. Thank you for doing this."

"It was my pleasure. Now, I know I just sat down, but I must go introduce Mr. Adamson. Here." Dumbledore pulled four Chocolate Frogs from the satin bag and winked at Remus and his friends. "For your nerves," he said, and then he was gone, ambling out the door, presumably to meet Adamson.

Sirius laughed and plucked a Chocolate Frog from Remus' hands. "Nerves?" he parroted. "Why would any of us be nervous?"

"I am," whispered Remus. "I'm really, really nervous. I'm feeling a little nauseous, actually. Why am I so nervous? It's not as if I have to speak up there, but I feel like I do."

"You're nervous about what other people will think of his speech," said James patting Remus' hand, taking his own Chocolate Frog, and then tossing another to Peter. "Perfectly understandable. Eat your Chocolate Frog—you'll be fine."

"Suppose so." Remus carefully unwrapped his Chocolate Frog, slid the card out of the wrappings, and then nearly fainted in shock. "Merlin's beard," he whispered.

"Did you get Gregorgina the Gassy?" asked Sirius, who was still in the process of unwrapping his. "I still need her, but I'm not sure I want her—I hear her Chocolate Frog card is scented, and not in a pleasant way."

"No… it's…"

James pulled his card out, and now he gasped, too. "Merlin's pants! Moony! It's…"

"Professor Questus," breathed Remus. "Since when has he been on a Chocolate Frog card?"

"He hasn't been," said James. "I should know. I collected them all when I was nine, but I know I don't have him. It must be new."

Remus gazed at the writing beneath the image of Questus, looking directly at Remus with a half-bored, half-vaguely-interested expression. A master duellist and accomplished Auror of thirty years, John Questus is best known for his defeat of Halifax the Horrible, for saving the life of the Minister for Magic three separate times, and for leading a reform in Auror training procedure.

"I didn't know he did any of that," said Remus. "I mean… he trained me in duelling in first year, and he was my next-door neighbor in second year… we talked about a lot of things, but never this. He talked about how awful the logistics of Auror training used to be, but he never mentioned that he was the one to lead the reform."

"I bet we could find a library book on it," said Peter. "That's pretty cool that he's on a card."

"Yeah." Remus watched as the Questus in the photo pulled out his wand and lithely twirled it between his fingers, expressionless. "Especially since he was a werewolf."

"No one knew about that but Dumbledore, Pomfrey, your family, and his roommates."

"True. I think he's probably the only werewolf on a Chocolate Frog card, though… even though he wasn't a werewolf when he did any of those things, and he couldn't have been a werewolf when this photograph was taken. But still, that's… well, that's pretty exciting."

"You'll probably frame it when you get back to the dormitory, eh?" James teased, nudging Remus. "Ooh, look! Here comes Alexander Adamson!"

Remus strained to see over the crowd of students—sure enough, there was Adamson, being led to the front of the Hall by a smiling Dumbledore. They were speaking to each other quietly, but Remus couldn't hear it over the mutters of his classmates.

"He doesn't look loony," Remus heard a girl whisper.

"He's got to be," the girl's friend whispered. "He supports werewolves, doesn't he?"

Remus ground his jaw and tried to tune them all out. Thankfully, Dumbledore started speaking, and the Hall went as silent as a Hall full of students could possibly be.

"I thank each of you for coming," said Dumbledore. A quick glance told Remus that the whole school was there—every professor, including a blank-faced Manard, every student, and even a couple of pets. Remus was terrified.

"I don't have much to say, since I believe Mr. Adamson's words will speak for themselves," continued Dumbledore, "but I do ask that each of you listen carefully to what he has to say in an open and respectful manner. You may choose for yourselves what you would like to believe, but both I and Mr. Adamson believe it important that you hear both sides before doing so."

While Dumbledore talked, Remus allowed his gaze to shift back to Adamson. It was strange, seeing him in person—Remus had never even seen before what he looked like. He'd read his books, of course, and he'd heard his voice give speeches over Professor Questus' record player, but he hadn't so much as seen a photograph of the man.

Somehow, he looked exactly as Remus had expected.

He had an oval-shaped face, short brown whiskers, and brown hair that was slightly shaggy yet well-groomed. His eyes were a warm brown, and on his face rested a peaceful, friendly smile. Remus could see why so many werewolves had told him such sensitive information. He looked like a man who could be trusted—and, based off of his books and speeches, he absolutely could be.

"Without further ado," finished Dumbledore, "Mr. Alexander Adamson, renowned werewolf advocate!"

There was a smattering of applause as Adamson stepped up to the podium. Dumbledore retreated back to Remus' seat as Adamson cleared his throat and took quite a long time rearranging his notes. "Is this seat still open?" Dumbledore asked, smiling.

"Erm… yes, sir," Remus whispered.

"Good." Dumbledore gestured to the Chocolate Frog card. "I bribed Honeydukes to give me ten of those specifically, you know. It turns out there are perks to being on a Chocolate Frog card myself."

"Was it you who requested they put it on?" Remus asked, still staring at Professor Questus' face.

"Oh, no. Not me. Between you and me, I suspect it was Auror Simmons."

"Simmons?" Remus' eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "But… he hated Professor Questus!"

"I believe he felt some element of guilt."

"But he told me himself that he—"

Suddenly, Adamson cleared his throat again, and Remus went silent. He stared at the man in rapturous amazement as the voice—the voice that Remus had heard in Questus' house, in his own home, in the Hospital Wing on record—the voice that had inspired so many conversations with Questus—the voice that had gotten him through a bad bout of pain last year in the Hospital Wing after he'd nearly taken off his leg—the voice that shone through in everything he wrote, from his newspaper articles to his books—the voice spoke, and Remus heard it in person, without any sort of medium barrier between them.

"Good afternoon, Hogwarts," Adamson said. "Apologies for the late start. I needed to… set this up!" He flicked his wand, and a large projection appeared beside him. "That's for the visual learners out there. Now, this is a presentation I give fairly often. Some places ask me to speak on a particular topic, but for places like this—places that just want an overview on what I do and what I believe—I have an hour-long presentation queued up and memorized top-to-bottom. I change some things up every so often, though, just for fun!"

Remus' heart was nearly beating out of his chest. He was excited. Terrified. Nervous. Amazed. Mystified. All at once, and then some.

"My name is Alexander Adamson, as Professor Dumbledore just told you all—by the way, Professor Dumbledore taught me when I was a student. I must say, sir, you haven't aged a bit!"

Dumbledore chuckled. "You never needed extra credit, Alexander, so flattery is pointless."

"Only telling it like it is," said Adamson with a grin. "Now, I'm a werewolf advocate, which can be boiled down to a simple definition."

He waved his wand, and words appeared on the projection. Adamson pointed to each of them as he read them. "An… empathetic… person. Yes, that's really all there is to it! I possess some level of empathy, which means I don't condemn a group of people for an uncontrollable disease, just as you would sympathize with a different type of ill person. I empathize, and I try to get others to do the same—because, as I have learned from many years of talking to werewolves, discrimination hurts."

Adamson waved his wand again, and new words formed on the image. "There are so many places to start," he said, "and so many things that I want you all to know. I could teach a whole class at Hogwarts on werewolves and still not get through everything I've learned. So, if there's anything you'd like elaboration on, I would recommend owling me. I'll always respond promptly, of course. I'll also be staying for about two hours after the speech. Write your questions down so that you don't forget them!"

Remus glanced over at James, who was already scribbling furiously, and sighed.

"I've divided this speech into exactly seven parts, seeing as seven is the most magical number. First, I'll talk about the proven differences between a werewolf and a human. Next, I'll debunk some common myths about werewolves. Next, I'll present a study that I led a couple of years ago about werewolves' moral and cognitive functions. I'll follow that with statistics about life as a werewolf, tell a few anecdotes, and then propose a plan to move forward. I'll polish it all off with a public Q&A. That will be the end of my speech, but of course I'll stick around for a private Q&A."

Adamson smiled one last time, and then he was off. First, he showed diagrams of werewolf brains and human brains, pointing out the minimal differences ("The part of the brain responsible for anger is slightly different, yes, but there's plenty of proof that werewolves can control themselves while in human form. Here are two separate studies that prove that").

Then, he moved onto differences in blood consistency, heart shape, bone density, and heightened senses ("All fairly large differences, but none that affect brain function—except the heightened senses thing, of course, but sense of hearing can't determine the inherent goodness of a person. My deaf aunt Mabel would take great offense to such a statement!").

He also talked about the changes that one underwent when receiving a werewolf bite, which made Remus vastly uncomfortable. He could feel the staff staring at him, likely imagining toddler-Remus going through those same things. ("Extreme nausea and fatigue for about a month," said Adamson. "Gradual shifting of basic structures that causes pain in nearly every bone and muscle. Small changes occur in the brain that can leave a person feeling confused and terrified. Hallucinations may occur, and depression may set in—others undergo mood swings, night terrors, or anxiety, depending on the age and health of the werewolf.")

Then Adamson started talking about the transformation itself, which nearly made Remus walk out of the Hall. Yes, he'd heard Adamson go into even greater detail in his speeches and books—the bending of bones like putty, the stretching of muscle, the tendons writhing beneath skin, the throat pulling at itself, the heart desperately struggling to produce enough blood to fill the new body, hair thickening in its follicles, teeth and nose and eye sockets…. Here, Adamson gave a rather tame account of the whole thing, but it was somehow much worse with all the staff looking on, hearing about the awful things that Remus endured every month. Remus felt like vomiting.

"You look as if you need a trip to the loo," whispered Dumbledore.

Remus shook his head. "I'm fine here, sir."

"Are you certain?" Dumbledore leaned closer and whispered even more quietly, "I can remove your hearing entirely for a while if you should need a moment to recuperate."

Remus, who had lost his hearing about a year prior for a full month (it was a long story), wasn't exactly keen on that idea. "No, thanks, sir," he said. "I'm doing just fine."

And he was, once Adamson moved on to the second part of his speech. Remus listened intently as Adamson debunked every single myth about werewolves, from silver to solar eclipses to impaired morals.

"And, talking of impaired morals," he said, "I conducted a study that, in my opinion, presents a very strong case that morals are not inhibited in werewolves whatsoever…"

After that, he barreled on, sharing study results and statistics drawn directly from St. Mungo's, the Daily Prophet, and the Werewolf Registry. He talked about the age that werewolves were usually bitten, the ways that werewolves usually died, and the number of years they usually lasted after being bitten. The number was thirteen, which meant Remus would technically surpass it in his seventh year, but Adamson was very clear that werewolf lifespans were unpredictable and highly skewed by the number of people who died in the first transformation or asked to be killed immediately after being turned.

Adamson continued by sharing some stories and quotes from anonymous werewolves—one of which Remus was nearly certain was about his friend Susi—and then he finally reached the last part of his presentation, a certain fire in his eyes and calm passion radiating from his body.

"Moving forward," he said, "I think we as a society need to do several things. First, we need to stop treating werewolves like they're You-Know-Who himself. And… that's it! That's all we need to do! If we all treat werewolves like what they are—people with chronic illnesses—then everything will fall into place from there. Werewolves will be able to disclose their condition to employers and get time off for full moons. Werewolves will feel more comfortable going to St. Mungo's and getting treatment. Werewolves will be able to integrate into human society, so fewer will fall to Greyback's side and the like. Werewolves will be able to get the support they need, and then werewolves will not need to find that support through unhealthy methods. It's easy, really!"

Oh, Remus could scarcely imagine a world where werewolves were considered people. Telling people what he was without fear? Getting medical care when he needed it? Those two things alone would be enough to make his bleak future shine with the light of a thousand stars.

It was never going to happen, of course. Even Adamson wasn't able to change the mind of billions. But… well, a boy could dream.

Adamson was taking questions now, but Remus wasn't listening. He was floating, alone in a world of his own design. He was interviewing for a high-paying Ministry job. "I do happen to be a werewolf," he told the interviewer. "Will that be an issue?"

"Not at all," said the interviewer with a reassuring smile. "If you're hired—and, between the two of us, you're the most qualified candidate I've seen all day—then you'll get four days off every month for the full moon. As long as you're productive enough to cover the missed workload on other days, it should be perfectly fine."

Remus imagined having a future. He imagined working a peaceful office job. He imagined his coworkers wishing him luck for the full moon. He imagined having friends—so many that they were difficult to count—and he imagined getting married. Adopting a child. Supporting his family with the money that he was making, because he was a perfectly functional member of society.

He needed to stop. This dream was pointless, really. If it happened, it would not happen during Remus' lifetime—because a whole society could not do a one-eighty in only a few decades. It was impossible.

The questions dwindled down, and Remus stole a glance at Manard, who had a rather sour expression on his face. "Thank you all for coming," announced Adamson. "If you don't have further questions, you're dismissed. If you do, then I will be here for two more hours to answer questions privately!"

"Remus," said Dumbledore quietly as students filed out, and Remus jumped.

"Yes, sir?"

"If you should like to tell him what you are, I shall fully support that decision. In fact, I'll ask him myself to come to my office once the questions dwindle so that the two of you can speak in absolute privacy."

Remus' mouth fell open. "But…!"

"I have absolutely no doubt that he will be understanding."

Remus gazed at Adamson's kind face. He did so want to speak to Adamson personally. He had so many questions about things that Adamson had written and spoken about in the past… he was sure that he could speak to this man for hours and never get bored.

But, at the same time, Remus did not want Adamson to know that he was a werewolf. Alexander Adamson was more or less Remus' idol, and Remus was irrationally embarrassed and ashamed of his condition. It didn't make sense, but the shame was still there, burrowing into his heart like a stubborn virus.

He was tired of being embarrassed today, to be completely honest.

"No," he said. "I don't want him to know. I'm a little tired… I'm going to sleep. Thank you for all of this, Professor."

"And thank you for enduring everything unpleasant on my account," said Dumbledore. "Sleep well, Remus Lupin."

Remus retreated to bed as his friends began to grill Adamson. He really unfathomably tired and incredibly happy all at once, and it took hours for the adrenaline to wear off.

It was amazing how tiring a good thing could be.