A Grateful Mind
Title: A Grateful Mind
Genre: General
Ratings & warnings: PG
Word count: 4104
Summary: Remus Lupin has the chance of a lifetime; more than that, he's being given a life. But does he know what it will cost him? (Set at the start of PoA.)
Author's note: Written for fandomfusion's Harry Potter genfic challenge, "Beware the Ides of March." I've used a famous quote from a famous film about halfway through this, which should be instantly recognisable as definitely not my words. Feedback, comments, concrit, as always, much appreciated. :)
Prompts:
#25 "No man, against my fate, sends me to Hades. And as for fate, I'm sure no man escapes it, Neither a good nor bad man, once he's born." Homer, the Iliad.
#46 No more talk about the old days, It's time for something great. 'Atoms for Peace', Thom Yorke.
A Grateful Mind
He’d thought he was prepared, but that first sight of Hogwarts, rising majestic and timeless against a grey-flecked sky, nearly did for him all the same.
Children were brushing past him in their hurry to get out of the freezing rain, a familiar voice in the background was yelling for the attention of the first years, and suddenly he was eleven years old again, with another battered suitcase clutched tightly in his hand, looking up at the giant oak doors above him. Hoping they’d swing open to bring him welcome and not disgrace.
He wondered if his initials were still carved in the broad wooden mantelshelf above the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. Along with three sets of others.
A fair-haired boy, his attitude and looks so like those of his parents as to be unmistakable, was shoving his way roughly through the crowd to block Harry’s path. Remus could remember standing on those same steps many times in his group of friends, just as Harry and Ron and Hermione were doing now. Shoulder to shoulder. Friend alongside friend.
He sorted them out as the boy, who must be a Malfoy, was drawling out the word fainted with derision a few inches away from Harry’s sickly-looking face. Remus saw the insolence in the stare and heard the hesitation over the word Professor as the boy stalked off. He’d spent so much time thinking about those he was looking forward to teaching that he’d given little thought to those he wouldn’t. But the use of the word served as a sharp reminder that nostalgic wallowing wasn’t going to get him very far, except to end up at places he didn’t want to go, and that Dumbledore would be waiting for a report on the Dementor so unexpectedly and horrifyingly on the train.
Time to accept he really was a professor at Hogwarts. Time to make the most of the chance he thought he'd never have.
And yet his feet remained still and irresolute at the thought of carrying him into the Entrance Hall and the warmth of the flickering torches ahead.
A diminutive figure standing to his right seemed to share his hesitation.
He turned his head to see Ginny Weasley, her red hair dark and wet on her shoulders, gazing up at the castle while the rain she seemed unaware of drove into her upturned face. She’d been in the train carriage as well, and it was no wonder that she’d sunk back into her seat as white and stricken as Harry. Dumbledore had only told him briefly of the events of last year, but it had been more than enough. The threat to Harry was ever present and because of that to others.
And now the most direct threat of all was out there. Hiding, and being hunted, and...hunting?
Ginny seemed unaware of Remus's scrutiny. For a moment he debated trotting out some cheery platitude about not catching their death of cold, and missing dinner into the bargain, but that would be to belittle what she’d suffered. And what she’d survived.
“Bad memories?” he asked her quietly.
The pale face, which had yet to make up its mind whether to be pretty or plain, regarded him gravely, rather as though he was the child asking the question.
“Bad memories,” she agreed, and her eyes rested on him with what looked like two contrasting emotions. As though wariness of a stranger was at war with what she’d observed on the train.
“I - I lost someone who I thought was a friend,” she added. “Trusted someone I shouldn’t have and he wasn’t a friend at all, as it turned out. It wasn’t very nice.”
“No.” The rain fell a little harder on them both. “But good memories, too?”
“Oh yes.” She gave a little smile, suddenly, and he saw the strength underneath the delicate features. “Though getting drenched out here like an idiot won’t be one of them!”
He laughed, said, “Come on then,” and they half-ran up the steps, him making his feet turn in the opposite direction when they reached the top to where they were once used to going. He smiled a quick farewell at her, trying not to wish he could delay his visit to Dumbledore a little longer.
“Have you as well?” she asked, squeezing a small puddle of raindrops from the ends of her hair and going rather red as though surprised at her daring.
“I’m sorry?” He couldn’t think what she was asking.
“Got - you know - good memories of here?”
The answer was automatic.
“The best,” he said.
Far too frequently for comfort, his worst nightmare as a boy, had been to wake up suddenly in what should have been the safe confines of his canopied bed in the Gryffindor dormitory, only to find that the eyes of the other occupants were resting on him. He could never see their faces clearly but then he didn’t need to. The eyes said it all. Accusation and disgust. Betrayal.
They’d found out. They knew.
Now he’d just walked into the Hogwarts staffroom for the first time ever (legitimately, at least, and it was probably not a good time to remember the dare that had preceded the other occasion, or the week’s bathroom-cleaning detention for all concerned that had followed it), and there was no disguising the fact that this time all eyes were most definitely on him.
Well, they certainly knew all right. That was another first.
For a moment, the sheer implausibility of all this hit him. He tried and failed to imagine himself casually announcing to the room as a whole, “Transformation time next week everyone, by the way. Anyone available for cover?”
It was absurd. Completely, utterly absurd, and yet it was what he’d always wanted. Always believed he could do. And one man believed in him enough to give him the opportunity. He took a slow breath and looked round the room, which was both warmer and cosier than he’d remembered. A wardrobe near the back which he knew was used for spare robes because James had once tried on a member of the female staff’s, who was currently sat directly on Remus’s right. (What was that about absurd?) There were cups, a plate of biscuits, and a bubbling kettle laid out on a table in the corner with newspapers and journals piled crookedly alongside. Professor Flit- no, Filius, was grinning up at him while pouring out some tea.
Grinning?
Remus took in another, far quicker breath, and the fact that some glances were friendly, some were cautious, and a few, thank Merlin, only a few, looked as if they’d like to move their chairs and themselves back a few feet to immediate safety. He didn’t know any of them. Poppy Pomfrey was smiling at him and so was Pomona Sprout, if a lot more doubtfully. Minerva McGonagall was watching him closely, her face quite still behind the square spectacles, but you always knew when Minerva was displeased about something and he could tell she wasn’t. There was the expected chill of disdain (or was it fury?) emanating from Severus Snape, sat alone and aloof in a dark corner. People were at least reacting normally and not reaching for either wand or pitchfork. Yet.
It would be up to Remus to prove both his trustworthiness and ability to do the job. There were bound to be serious doubts about Dumbledore’s sanity and reasoning from those who didn’t know him, but he had hoped that those who did…
A joke about the return of the prodigal werewolf was almost certainly not the best ice-breaker.
“Hello,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as sheepish as he felt. “I’ve always wondered if it was true that the teachers got the best biscuits.”
The smallest of pauses. Then Minerva gave an equally small nod.
“Not only that,” she said, “but the house elves send up a tray of cakes on a special occasion. Such as the start of a new term.”
“Birthdays,” added Pomona, still doubtful, but gamely following Minerva’s lead.
“Some events only the Inner Eye and those who are blessed with the Sight can perceive,” said a very thin, colourful witch with huge, magnified eyes behind her glasses. She adjusted one of the many strands of beads draped round her neck and blinked at Remus like some large, mournful dragonfly. “Your future seems shrouded in swirling clouds of uncertainty, Mr Lupin, but I foresee-”
“The end of term being a long way off right now,” Filius cut in cheerfully. “Which is my favourite cake celebration along with anniversaries. If you get past thirty years of service here, you can expect to double your weight in calories.”
“And we also celebrate the arrival of new staff members. So you can see how very pleased we are to have you and Hagrid join us.” Minerva gestured to the empty chair next to her. “Come and sit here, Remus. You’ll be equidistant from both fire and the tea tray, it’s an ideal spot.”
He looked round quickly again as he sat down. The faces that had regarded him with doubt seemed more inclined to give him the benefit of it for now. Either that or the werewolf was proving disappointingly dull. Remus was all in favour of dullness where he was concerned. Conversation was resuming, and a wizard who’d been staring gave a nod of curt acknowledgement before returning to the front page headlines of The Quibbler.
Remus could see them quite clearly from where he sat: Sirius Black located sleeping in Muggle greenhouse! Aurors examine footprint left next to geraniums!
“Settling in all right?” Minerva asked briskly. “Found your way round your office?”
“Thank you, yes.” Remus smiled. The sight of the dark room and the obvious disarray it had been left in might have been off-putting to some but not to him. His first move had been to relocate the heavy oak desk next to the window, and then he’d started to sort through the avalanche of papers and books left in haphazard piles. There’d been the faint smell of chalk and ink in the air and motes of sunlit dust danced gently round him as he worked.
He didn’t kid himself that the room welcomed him but he certainly welcomed it. Perhaps it could tell.
“I was hoping to find some notes on the students and their previous lessons. I took classes this morning with a lot of guesswork as to where they were all up to,” he began, but stopped as Minerva gave a small snort. “Er, not much chance of that then, I take it?”
“Neither of your most recent predecessors could be described as the diligent type.”
Her compressed lips confirmed what he’d already thought. What Remus knew of Lockhart by reputation alone had been reinforced in triplicate when the first thing he had found in the desk drawer was a stack of signed and winking photographs. Along with, apparently, an important reminder note saying You want fame? Well, fame costs. And right here’s where you start paying - with Witch Weekly’s most charming smile! Make sure you use it to dazzle out there!
Remus nearly laughed just thinking about his jaw-dropping discovery again (and the idea of seeing if it would work for him), but managed to turn it into a smile at Filius who was offering him a choice of biscuits or cake.
He went for a slice of walnut cake. “I take it then, that my first task is to think of some more special occasions for the teachers to celebrate?”
“You see, my boy, you’re learning the ropes already. Fitting in.” Filius nodded approvingly. “It’s the first time I’ve had students walking into Charms still discussing the lesson before, unless it was to moan about it or the homework. You’re obviously giving them something to think about.”
Remus hadn’t expected that at all, especially as he felt the lessons had been somewhat thrown together out of necessity. A feeling that he’d rather find out through practical application both how the students coped and something about them at the same time. He felt his cheeks redden. Filius hadn’t spoken that loudly but it seemed one person at least had overheard. With an ugly scowl, Severus Snape got to his feet, glared pointedly at Remus and stalked out, slamming the door shut behind him.
Filius looked at Remus, a glint in his eye.
“You’ll find Severus isn’t much of a cake person,” he said.
Routine. Remus found himself thriving on it.
He’d taught before, but never for a sustained period and he found himself revelling in it. Even while he told himself wryly that the novelty would probably wear off after a few months of trying to decipher Millicent Bulstrode’s handwriting, of persuading Ernie Macmillan that sometimes it was only necessary to answer without two feet of elaboration, and reassuring Luna Lovegood that, worrying as the memory loss from Fuddle Flu might be, he had yet to see proof it existed. (Though he’d had to fight to keep a straight face when she pointed out he probably wouldn’t remember.)
Actually, he didn’t think the novelty of this ever would wear off.
The tale of Neville’s Boggart had done his standing amongst the other teachers - as well as the students - no end of good. The doubters no doubt still waited to say I told you so, but there were only a couple of professors who he was conscious of deliberately avoiding him. It was just a pity that it seemed to have come at Severus’s expense, though Neville’s worst fear had been a sight Remus thought he could cheerfully behold over and over again. Of course, it was also a pity that someone had left a large red handbag by the side of Severus’s chair in the staffroom for him to find the day after…
Remus sighed. Grinned. The staffroom door wasn’t going to last long with all the slamming it was enduring of late. He probably ought to worry if he’d survive the next batch of Wolfsbane.
He’d dreaded the first transformation but it had gone smoothly enough and, whatever else he thought about Severus, he’d forgive the man any number of personal insults because he’d recovered quicker than ever before. The fear of those escorted monthly trips to the Shrieking Shack so long ago, was now very different to shutting himself quietly away in his rooms. The Defence office more than lived up to its name by having a multitude of locks, and the wolf simply curled up by the fire and peacefully slept the night away. There was no signs of it padding restlessly round as was often the case.
Security, again. Apparently they both appreciated it.
The memories were still there at every turn: the Whomping Willow looking that much bigger now, the spot under the beech tree by the lake which the Marauders had made their own, and the fact that every stone and blade of grass at Hogwarts felt as familiar to him as when he’d roamed it as a boy. Most of all, there was Harry Potter himself, a vivid reminder of James and yet, occasionally, and most painfully of all, reminding Remus of Lily in a way he couldn’t quite pin down.
But those memories he lived with, both with sorrow and affection. It was the ones that were ever present, always just on the edge of his thoughts trying to break through into others, that were far more troubling. Sirius. Always lurking. Always waiting.
But surely unable to enter Hogwarts?
Dumbledore wasn’t convinced of that and neither was Remus. If Sirius could escape from Azkaban after twelve years of deprivation and starvation, then one impregnable castle wasn’t going to stand in his way for long. Which was why Remus checked the secret passageways and every entrance that he knew of every night, and put spells on them to sound alarms throughout if disturbed on the nights he was absent.
It wasn’t quite enough and he knew it. Knew he was privy to one vital piece of information that Dumbledore wasn’t. But then if Sirius did find a way into Hogwarts it would be using those dark arts he’d so fiercely professed to hate. And he had to make it through the Dementors, who had taken to massing outside the gates late at night.
Remus thought they, like everyone else, were simply waiting.
He'd become expert over the years at letting himself warmly remember Sirius, the loyal friend, in one compartment of his mind. The adult Sirius, that stranger he’d mistaken for someone else entirely, was frozen somewhere else and not allowed to surface. Nothing about him made sense.
Others, though, did want to talk about him. Hagrid, Poppy, and Filius. One by one they came to the man who should have known Sirius better than anyone left alive, and yet whose judgement was clearly so faulty that he hadn’t known him at all.
“I still can’t quite believe it, even now,” said Minerva one evening as they were making their way back to their rooms, and stopped in the Entrance Hall to part.
“No.”
“I know a lot was made of his family at the time - but he hated their pure-blood beliefs, Remus. Everything they stood for and tried to impose on him. He hated that, wanted nothing to do with it.”
“Yes.”
“I know he had a less than charming side to those he disliked - Severus reminds me of that often enough - and I know we’re not supposed to have soft spots for students, but he and James… All of you. I haven’t forgotten what an inventive mischief maker you were, either, underneath that polite exterior.” She smiled, though it looked a shade forced, and he found one in return to maintain the fiction they were sharing a harmless joke. “But those two. They were incredibly bright and fun and wicked, but I thought in the same sense that the Weasley twins are now.”
“Yes.” Remus had had that thought himself.
“And thirteen Muggles with one curse, as well as James and Lily and Peter,” Minerva broke off, her voice thick. “It just beggars belief, and I have so many questions that seem to have no answers. As must you.”
Remus realised she was looking at him and that another answer was required here.
“It’s a very long list,” he said, and smiled faintly.
Minerva nodded silently and he wondered how many she had compared to him. Why had Sirius not killed Hagrid as well and taken Harry there and then? Why had he given him his motorbike? Why had Peter uncharacteristically gone after Sirius on his own? Why, oh why, had Sirius ever betrayed James and Lily, of all people? And Harry… Remus had seen Sirius’s face light up when Harry smiled at him.
Why, why, why…
He’d nearly gone mad asking the questions and the only answer, in the end, had been to stop.
“Did you think he was capable of it?” Minerva murmured, so low he barely caught the words.
“No.”
It wasn’t entirely true. In the agonising days that had followed Sirius’s incarceration in Azkaban, Remus had done nothing but wrack his brains for signs he had missed. And the only time he’d ever wondered just what his friend was truly capable of was when Sirius had sent Severus Snape down the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack. Nothing had mattered then except Sirius’s need to teach Severus a lesson he wouldn’t forget.
At the time, Remus had seen Sirius’s seemingly genuine remorse, and lived with it, dealt with it, got over it, as the spur-of-the-moment act of a thoughtless and completely stupid bloody idiot. Something to be forgotten as one hasty act weighing very little compared to so much else. He'd thought Sirius, too, might have learned a painful lesson. But it had formed the tiniest seed of dormant and ignored doubt in Remus's mind.
Once you doubt, you’re halfway to accepting something as fact.
“He must have been mad,” said Minerva, sadly. Which seemed to be the one answer everyone always arrived at.
“Anyway,” she made an effort to sound like her normal brisk self. “Hallowe’en tomorrow. There’ll be a feast to look forward to in the evening after the trip to Hogsmeade for the students.”
Remus smiled. “Yes, and I have a pile of marking to do before any of that. Good night, Minerva.”
“Good night, Remus.”
He made his way up to his rooms, carefully not thinking of much at all, except that he'd patrol round checking the entrances twice later on. He’d probably run the risk of bumping into a certain Potions Master twice as much as well (did the man ever sleep?), but then as Severus was suspicious of his motives if Remus so much as blew his nose it wouldn’t make much difference.
Until then, he was resolved not to think of Sirius or the events of a lifetime ago.
He picked up the first essay from his fifth year class, which he’d set about Grindylows: whether it was possible to domesticate such a creature and if prevention was as much a part of Defence Against the Dark Arts as anything else. The essay in his hand was from George Weasley, and he’d made both him and his twin repeat their initial attempts. They were capable of brilliance when their imagination was captured and barely bothering when it wasn’t.
First time round, they’d not bothered in the slightest.
Professor Lupin had called them back after class in his crispest voice and pointed out that twelve inches of writing rarely equated to three feet.
“Thought you weren’t in the habit of measuring parchment if the quality was there.” George grinned.
“Which is why I measured this.” Remus looked at him, aware that he’d perhaps laughed once too often with them and now they were pushing to see how far they could go. Filius had told him that he’d know he’d been accepted by them when he received the first chocolate-smelling essay or something similar. They only took time and trouble for people they respected.
“Grindylows,” George pulled a face. “Bit stupid, aren’t they? Living at the bottom of lakes, waiting to grasp their prey. Bit dull, all that.”
“Bit boring,” put in Fred. “They just want to kill things and eat them. They're vicious animals. What else can you say?"
“It’s actually called instinct,” Remus said, rather sharper than he planned. “They are water demons, creatures whose instinct is to hide and hunt by stealth. They simply want to survive; they don’t bother about rights or wrongs, or excitement levels for you two. I, however, do. Think about the benefits if we could live in peace alongside them. And use those vivid imaginations you’re so proud of and make it interesting for you to write and me to read. I’d like three feet of parchment from each of you, gentlemen, by tomorrow.”
The result of George's efforts to produce something interesting for Professor Lupin to read were at least four foot long. Closer inspection revealed it had all been written by a certain Cap’n George Weasley, who was wantin' t' go to sea an' not wantin' t' end up in Davy Jones' Locker at the mercy of them there Grindylows. Up t' me t' find a way t' be shipmates wi' th' little blighters.
It was all in pirate speech.
Remus didn’t allow himself to laugh till he’d checked that, in amongst it all, were several excellent points, well argued and well put. Then he roared.
It was only after he’d read it twice, frequently shaking his head at the effort they’d put in, that he realised his eyes lingered each time on the same part.
Feelings o' affection dasn't count fer much when ye be dealin' wi' a creature that has its own desires an' cares only fer them. Kill or be killed be th' code 't lives by and woe betide ye if ye get in its way. Your own choice be simple if ye know starboard from wrong.
So much for not thinking about the past. Or a werewolf in the present.
Those words came back to him after the Hallowe’en feast the next night ended with the discovery that the portrait of the Fat Lady had been slashed to ribbons by an enraged Sirius Black, apparently unable to force his way in to get to Harry.
He’d been living in a very foolish paradise where Hogwarts wasn’t only the chance of a lifetime but giving him a life. Thinking it was that simple. Kidding himself that he wouldn’t have to come to terms with Sirius, the best friend he could wish for, and Sirius, the cold-blooded murderer, at one and the same time.
He wondered if he could kill the boy who’d spent three years learning to be an Animagus for him. If he could kill the man who’d betrayed and murdered James and Lily, left Harry an orphan. If he should tell Dumbledore what he should have told him from the very start.
Doubts everywhere he looked.
Once you doubt yourself, you’re halfway to accepting it as fact.
NB. "You want fame? Well, fame costs. And right here’s where you start paying" is, of course, from the film/TV series 'Fame'. I thought Lockhart might be a fan...
Genre: General
Ratings & warnings: PG
Word count: 4104
Summary: Remus Lupin has the chance of a lifetime; more than that, he's being given a life. But does he know what it will cost him? (Set at the start of PoA.)
Author's note: Written for fandomfusion's Harry Potter genfic challenge, "Beware the Ides of March." I've used a famous quote from a famous film about halfway through this, which should be instantly recognisable as definitely not my words. Feedback, comments, concrit, as always, much appreciated. :)
Prompts:
#25 "No man, against my fate, sends me to Hades. And as for fate, I'm sure no man escapes it, Neither a good nor bad man, once he's born." Homer, the Iliad.
#46 No more talk about the old days, It's time for something great. 'Atoms for Peace', Thom Yorke.
A Grateful Mind
He’d thought he was prepared, but that first sight of Hogwarts, rising majestic and timeless against a grey-flecked sky, nearly did for him all the same.
Children were brushing past him in their hurry to get out of the freezing rain, a familiar voice in the background was yelling for the attention of the first years, and suddenly he was eleven years old again, with another battered suitcase clutched tightly in his hand, looking up at the giant oak doors above him. Hoping they’d swing open to bring him welcome and not disgrace.
He wondered if his initials were still carved in the broad wooden mantelshelf above the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. Along with three sets of others.
A fair-haired boy, his attitude and looks so like those of his parents as to be unmistakable, was shoving his way roughly through the crowd to block Harry’s path. Remus could remember standing on those same steps many times in his group of friends, just as Harry and Ron and Hermione were doing now. Shoulder to shoulder. Friend alongside friend.
He sorted them out as the boy, who must be a Malfoy, was drawling out the word fainted with derision a few inches away from Harry’s sickly-looking face. Remus saw the insolence in the stare and heard the hesitation over the word Professor as the boy stalked off. He’d spent so much time thinking about those he was looking forward to teaching that he’d given little thought to those he wouldn’t. But the use of the word served as a sharp reminder that nostalgic wallowing wasn’t going to get him very far, except to end up at places he didn’t want to go, and that Dumbledore would be waiting for a report on the Dementor so unexpectedly and horrifyingly on the train.
Time to accept he really was a professor at Hogwarts. Time to make the most of the chance he thought he'd never have.
And yet his feet remained still and irresolute at the thought of carrying him into the Entrance Hall and the warmth of the flickering torches ahead.
A diminutive figure standing to his right seemed to share his hesitation.
He turned his head to see Ginny Weasley, her red hair dark and wet on her shoulders, gazing up at the castle while the rain she seemed unaware of drove into her upturned face. She’d been in the train carriage as well, and it was no wonder that she’d sunk back into her seat as white and stricken as Harry. Dumbledore had only told him briefly of the events of last year, but it had been more than enough. The threat to Harry was ever present and because of that to others.
And now the most direct threat of all was out there. Hiding, and being hunted, and...hunting?
Ginny seemed unaware of Remus's scrutiny. For a moment he debated trotting out some cheery platitude about not catching their death of cold, and missing dinner into the bargain, but that would be to belittle what she’d suffered. And what she’d survived.
“Bad memories?” he asked her quietly.
The pale face, which had yet to make up its mind whether to be pretty or plain, regarded him gravely, rather as though he was the child asking the question.
“Bad memories,” she agreed, and her eyes rested on him with what looked like two contrasting emotions. As though wariness of a stranger was at war with what she’d observed on the train.
“I - I lost someone who I thought was a friend,” she added. “Trusted someone I shouldn’t have and he wasn’t a friend at all, as it turned out. It wasn’t very nice.”
“No.” The rain fell a little harder on them both. “But good memories, too?”
“Oh yes.” She gave a little smile, suddenly, and he saw the strength underneath the delicate features. “Though getting drenched out here like an idiot won’t be one of them!”
He laughed, said, “Come on then,” and they half-ran up the steps, him making his feet turn in the opposite direction when they reached the top to where they were once used to going. He smiled a quick farewell at her, trying not to wish he could delay his visit to Dumbledore a little longer.
“Have you as well?” she asked, squeezing a small puddle of raindrops from the ends of her hair and going rather red as though surprised at her daring.
“I’m sorry?” He couldn’t think what she was asking.
“Got - you know - good memories of here?”
The answer was automatic.
“The best,” he said.
Far too frequently for comfort, his worst nightmare as a boy, had been to wake up suddenly in what should have been the safe confines of his canopied bed in the Gryffindor dormitory, only to find that the eyes of the other occupants were resting on him. He could never see their faces clearly but then he didn’t need to. The eyes said it all. Accusation and disgust. Betrayal.
They’d found out. They knew.
Now he’d just walked into the Hogwarts staffroom for the first time ever (legitimately, at least, and it was probably not a good time to remember the dare that had preceded the other occasion, or the week’s bathroom-cleaning detention for all concerned that had followed it), and there was no disguising the fact that this time all eyes were most definitely on him.
Well, they certainly knew all right. That was another first.
For a moment, the sheer implausibility of all this hit him. He tried and failed to imagine himself casually announcing to the room as a whole, “Transformation time next week everyone, by the way. Anyone available for cover?”
It was absurd. Completely, utterly absurd, and yet it was what he’d always wanted. Always believed he could do. And one man believed in him enough to give him the opportunity. He took a slow breath and looked round the room, which was both warmer and cosier than he’d remembered. A wardrobe near the back which he knew was used for spare robes because James had once tried on a member of the female staff’s, who was currently sat directly on Remus’s right. (What was that about absurd?) There were cups, a plate of biscuits, and a bubbling kettle laid out on a table in the corner with newspapers and journals piled crookedly alongside. Professor Flit- no, Filius, was grinning up at him while pouring out some tea.
Grinning?
Remus took in another, far quicker breath, and the fact that some glances were friendly, some were cautious, and a few, thank Merlin, only a few, looked as if they’d like to move their chairs and themselves back a few feet to immediate safety. He didn’t know any of them. Poppy Pomfrey was smiling at him and so was Pomona Sprout, if a lot more doubtfully. Minerva McGonagall was watching him closely, her face quite still behind the square spectacles, but you always knew when Minerva was displeased about something and he could tell she wasn’t. There was the expected chill of disdain (or was it fury?) emanating from Severus Snape, sat alone and aloof in a dark corner. People were at least reacting normally and not reaching for either wand or pitchfork. Yet.
It would be up to Remus to prove both his trustworthiness and ability to do the job. There were bound to be serious doubts about Dumbledore’s sanity and reasoning from those who didn’t know him, but he had hoped that those who did…
A joke about the return of the prodigal werewolf was almost certainly not the best ice-breaker.
“Hello,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as sheepish as he felt. “I’ve always wondered if it was true that the teachers got the best biscuits.”
The smallest of pauses. Then Minerva gave an equally small nod.
“Not only that,” she said, “but the house elves send up a tray of cakes on a special occasion. Such as the start of a new term.”
“Birthdays,” added Pomona, still doubtful, but gamely following Minerva’s lead.
“Some events only the Inner Eye and those who are blessed with the Sight can perceive,” said a very thin, colourful witch with huge, magnified eyes behind her glasses. She adjusted one of the many strands of beads draped round her neck and blinked at Remus like some large, mournful dragonfly. “Your future seems shrouded in swirling clouds of uncertainty, Mr Lupin, but I foresee-”
“The end of term being a long way off right now,” Filius cut in cheerfully. “Which is my favourite cake celebration along with anniversaries. If you get past thirty years of service here, you can expect to double your weight in calories.”
“And we also celebrate the arrival of new staff members. So you can see how very pleased we are to have you and Hagrid join us.” Minerva gestured to the empty chair next to her. “Come and sit here, Remus. You’ll be equidistant from both fire and the tea tray, it’s an ideal spot.”
He looked round quickly again as he sat down. The faces that had regarded him with doubt seemed more inclined to give him the benefit of it for now. Either that or the werewolf was proving disappointingly dull. Remus was all in favour of dullness where he was concerned. Conversation was resuming, and a wizard who’d been staring gave a nod of curt acknowledgement before returning to the front page headlines of The Quibbler.
Remus could see them quite clearly from where he sat: Sirius Black located sleeping in Muggle greenhouse! Aurors examine footprint left next to geraniums!
“Settling in all right?” Minerva asked briskly. “Found your way round your office?”
“Thank you, yes.” Remus smiled. The sight of the dark room and the obvious disarray it had been left in might have been off-putting to some but not to him. His first move had been to relocate the heavy oak desk next to the window, and then he’d started to sort through the avalanche of papers and books left in haphazard piles. There’d been the faint smell of chalk and ink in the air and motes of sunlit dust danced gently round him as he worked.
He didn’t kid himself that the room welcomed him but he certainly welcomed it. Perhaps it could tell.
“I was hoping to find some notes on the students and their previous lessons. I took classes this morning with a lot of guesswork as to where they were all up to,” he began, but stopped as Minerva gave a small snort. “Er, not much chance of that then, I take it?”
“Neither of your most recent predecessors could be described as the diligent type.”
Her compressed lips confirmed what he’d already thought. What Remus knew of Lockhart by reputation alone had been reinforced in triplicate when the first thing he had found in the desk drawer was a stack of signed and winking photographs. Along with, apparently, an important reminder note saying You want fame? Well, fame costs. And right here’s where you start paying - with Witch Weekly’s most charming smile! Make sure you use it to dazzle out there!
Remus nearly laughed just thinking about his jaw-dropping discovery again (and the idea of seeing if it would work for him), but managed to turn it into a smile at Filius who was offering him a choice of biscuits or cake.
He went for a slice of walnut cake. “I take it then, that my first task is to think of some more special occasions for the teachers to celebrate?”
“You see, my boy, you’re learning the ropes already. Fitting in.” Filius nodded approvingly. “It’s the first time I’ve had students walking into Charms still discussing the lesson before, unless it was to moan about it or the homework. You’re obviously giving them something to think about.”
Remus hadn’t expected that at all, especially as he felt the lessons had been somewhat thrown together out of necessity. A feeling that he’d rather find out through practical application both how the students coped and something about them at the same time. He felt his cheeks redden. Filius hadn’t spoken that loudly but it seemed one person at least had overheard. With an ugly scowl, Severus Snape got to his feet, glared pointedly at Remus and stalked out, slamming the door shut behind him.
Filius looked at Remus, a glint in his eye.
“You’ll find Severus isn’t much of a cake person,” he said.
Routine. Remus found himself thriving on it.
He’d taught before, but never for a sustained period and he found himself revelling in it. Even while he told himself wryly that the novelty would probably wear off after a few months of trying to decipher Millicent Bulstrode’s handwriting, of persuading Ernie Macmillan that sometimes it was only necessary to answer without two feet of elaboration, and reassuring Luna Lovegood that, worrying as the memory loss from Fuddle Flu might be, he had yet to see proof it existed. (Though he’d had to fight to keep a straight face when she pointed out he probably wouldn’t remember.)
Actually, he didn’t think the novelty of this ever would wear off.
The tale of Neville’s Boggart had done his standing amongst the other teachers - as well as the students - no end of good. The doubters no doubt still waited to say I told you so, but there were only a couple of professors who he was conscious of deliberately avoiding him. It was just a pity that it seemed to have come at Severus’s expense, though Neville’s worst fear had been a sight Remus thought he could cheerfully behold over and over again. Of course, it was also a pity that someone had left a large red handbag by the side of Severus’s chair in the staffroom for him to find the day after…
Remus sighed. Grinned. The staffroom door wasn’t going to last long with all the slamming it was enduring of late. He probably ought to worry if he’d survive the next batch of Wolfsbane.
He’d dreaded the first transformation but it had gone smoothly enough and, whatever else he thought about Severus, he’d forgive the man any number of personal insults because he’d recovered quicker than ever before. The fear of those escorted monthly trips to the Shrieking Shack so long ago, was now very different to shutting himself quietly away in his rooms. The Defence office more than lived up to its name by having a multitude of locks, and the wolf simply curled up by the fire and peacefully slept the night away. There was no signs of it padding restlessly round as was often the case.
Security, again. Apparently they both appreciated it.
The memories were still there at every turn: the Whomping Willow looking that much bigger now, the spot under the beech tree by the lake which the Marauders had made their own, and the fact that every stone and blade of grass at Hogwarts felt as familiar to him as when he’d roamed it as a boy. Most of all, there was Harry Potter himself, a vivid reminder of James and yet, occasionally, and most painfully of all, reminding Remus of Lily in a way he couldn’t quite pin down.
But those memories he lived with, both with sorrow and affection. It was the ones that were ever present, always just on the edge of his thoughts trying to break through into others, that were far more troubling. Sirius. Always lurking. Always waiting.
But surely unable to enter Hogwarts?
Dumbledore wasn’t convinced of that and neither was Remus. If Sirius could escape from Azkaban after twelve years of deprivation and starvation, then one impregnable castle wasn’t going to stand in his way for long. Which was why Remus checked the secret passageways and every entrance that he knew of every night, and put spells on them to sound alarms throughout if disturbed on the nights he was absent.
It wasn’t quite enough and he knew it. Knew he was privy to one vital piece of information that Dumbledore wasn’t. But then if Sirius did find a way into Hogwarts it would be using those dark arts he’d so fiercely professed to hate. And he had to make it through the Dementors, who had taken to massing outside the gates late at night.
Remus thought they, like everyone else, were simply waiting.
He'd become expert over the years at letting himself warmly remember Sirius, the loyal friend, in one compartment of his mind. The adult Sirius, that stranger he’d mistaken for someone else entirely, was frozen somewhere else and not allowed to surface. Nothing about him made sense.
Others, though, did want to talk about him. Hagrid, Poppy, and Filius. One by one they came to the man who should have known Sirius better than anyone left alive, and yet whose judgement was clearly so faulty that he hadn’t known him at all.
“I still can’t quite believe it, even now,” said Minerva one evening as they were making their way back to their rooms, and stopped in the Entrance Hall to part.
“No.”
“I know a lot was made of his family at the time - but he hated their pure-blood beliefs, Remus. Everything they stood for and tried to impose on him. He hated that, wanted nothing to do with it.”
“Yes.”
“I know he had a less than charming side to those he disliked - Severus reminds me of that often enough - and I know we’re not supposed to have soft spots for students, but he and James… All of you. I haven’t forgotten what an inventive mischief maker you were, either, underneath that polite exterior.” She smiled, though it looked a shade forced, and he found one in return to maintain the fiction they were sharing a harmless joke. “But those two. They were incredibly bright and fun and wicked, but I thought in the same sense that the Weasley twins are now.”
“Yes.” Remus had had that thought himself.
“And thirteen Muggles with one curse, as well as James and Lily and Peter,” Minerva broke off, her voice thick. “It just beggars belief, and I have so many questions that seem to have no answers. As must you.”
Remus realised she was looking at him and that another answer was required here.
“It’s a very long list,” he said, and smiled faintly.
Minerva nodded silently and he wondered how many she had compared to him. Why had Sirius not killed Hagrid as well and taken Harry there and then? Why had he given him his motorbike? Why had Peter uncharacteristically gone after Sirius on his own? Why, oh why, had Sirius ever betrayed James and Lily, of all people? And Harry… Remus had seen Sirius’s face light up when Harry smiled at him.
Why, why, why…
He’d nearly gone mad asking the questions and the only answer, in the end, had been to stop.
“Did you think he was capable of it?” Minerva murmured, so low he barely caught the words.
“No.”
It wasn’t entirely true. In the agonising days that had followed Sirius’s incarceration in Azkaban, Remus had done nothing but wrack his brains for signs he had missed. And the only time he’d ever wondered just what his friend was truly capable of was when Sirius had sent Severus Snape down the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack. Nothing had mattered then except Sirius’s need to teach Severus a lesson he wouldn’t forget.
At the time, Remus had seen Sirius’s seemingly genuine remorse, and lived with it, dealt with it, got over it, as the spur-of-the-moment act of a thoughtless and completely stupid bloody idiot. Something to be forgotten as one hasty act weighing very little compared to so much else. He'd thought Sirius, too, might have learned a painful lesson. But it had formed the tiniest seed of dormant and ignored doubt in Remus's mind.
Once you doubt, you’re halfway to accepting something as fact.
“He must have been mad,” said Minerva, sadly. Which seemed to be the one answer everyone always arrived at.
“Anyway,” she made an effort to sound like her normal brisk self. “Hallowe’en tomorrow. There’ll be a feast to look forward to in the evening after the trip to Hogsmeade for the students.”
Remus smiled. “Yes, and I have a pile of marking to do before any of that. Good night, Minerva.”
“Good night, Remus.”
He made his way up to his rooms, carefully not thinking of much at all, except that he'd patrol round checking the entrances twice later on. He’d probably run the risk of bumping into a certain Potions Master twice as much as well (did the man ever sleep?), but then as Severus was suspicious of his motives if Remus so much as blew his nose it wouldn’t make much difference.
Until then, he was resolved not to think of Sirius or the events of a lifetime ago.
He picked up the first essay from his fifth year class, which he’d set about Grindylows: whether it was possible to domesticate such a creature and if prevention was as much a part of Defence Against the Dark Arts as anything else. The essay in his hand was from George Weasley, and he’d made both him and his twin repeat their initial attempts. They were capable of brilliance when their imagination was captured and barely bothering when it wasn’t.
First time round, they’d not bothered in the slightest.
Professor Lupin had called them back after class in his crispest voice and pointed out that twelve inches of writing rarely equated to three feet.
“Thought you weren’t in the habit of measuring parchment if the quality was there.” George grinned.
“Which is why I measured this.” Remus looked at him, aware that he’d perhaps laughed once too often with them and now they were pushing to see how far they could go. Filius had told him that he’d know he’d been accepted by them when he received the first chocolate-smelling essay or something similar. They only took time and trouble for people they respected.
“Grindylows,” George pulled a face. “Bit stupid, aren’t they? Living at the bottom of lakes, waiting to grasp their prey. Bit dull, all that.”
“Bit boring,” put in Fred. “They just want to kill things and eat them. They're vicious animals. What else can you say?"
“It’s actually called instinct,” Remus said, rather sharper than he planned. “They are water demons, creatures whose instinct is to hide and hunt by stealth. They simply want to survive; they don’t bother about rights or wrongs, or excitement levels for you two. I, however, do. Think about the benefits if we could live in peace alongside them. And use those vivid imaginations you’re so proud of and make it interesting for you to write and me to read. I’d like three feet of parchment from each of you, gentlemen, by tomorrow.”
The result of George's efforts to produce something interesting for Professor Lupin to read were at least four foot long. Closer inspection revealed it had all been written by a certain Cap’n George Weasley, who was wantin' t' go to sea an' not wantin' t' end up in Davy Jones' Locker at the mercy of them there Grindylows. Up t' me t' find a way t' be shipmates wi' th' little blighters.
It was all in pirate speech.
Remus didn’t allow himself to laugh till he’d checked that, in amongst it all, were several excellent points, well argued and well put. Then he roared.
It was only after he’d read it twice, frequently shaking his head at the effort they’d put in, that he realised his eyes lingered each time on the same part.
Feelings o' affection dasn't count fer much when ye be dealin' wi' a creature that has its own desires an' cares only fer them. Kill or be killed be th' code 't lives by and woe betide ye if ye get in its way. Your own choice be simple if ye know starboard from wrong.
So much for not thinking about the past. Or a werewolf in the present.
Those words came back to him after the Hallowe’en feast the next night ended with the discovery that the portrait of the Fat Lady had been slashed to ribbons by an enraged Sirius Black, apparently unable to force his way in to get to Harry.
He’d been living in a very foolish paradise where Hogwarts wasn’t only the chance of a lifetime but giving him a life. Thinking it was that simple. Kidding himself that he wouldn’t have to come to terms with Sirius, the best friend he could wish for, and Sirius, the cold-blooded murderer, at one and the same time.
He wondered if he could kill the boy who’d spent three years learning to be an Animagus for him. If he could kill the man who’d betrayed and murdered James and Lily, left Harry an orphan. If he should tell Dumbledore what he should have told him from the very start.
Doubts everywhere he looked.
Once you doubt yourself, you’re halfway to accepting it as fact.
NB. "You want fame? Well, fame costs. And right here’s where you start paying" is, of course, from the film/TV series 'Fame'. I thought Lockhart might be a fan...