Year In The Life 21 - 27 of 27
XXI. Moony, Prongs, Padfoot, Wormtail

"You will never, in a thousand years, guess what happened today."

Remus Lupin looked up from his chair and his tea. Both were comforts that he was loathe to be without; they were two parts of a formula he'd become used to, over the months. The third and most important part was sitting at his window-seat, framed by the early mid-March foliage outside, setting down a pile of papers to grade and smiling at him.

"Other than my getting called onto the carpet by Snape -- who by the way does not have the authority to call me onto any carpet, anywhere -- and being forced to confiscate an extraordinary magical toy from Potter and Weasley?"

She glanced up. "Which Weasley? Is that tea?"

"Ron. Yes -- would you like me to pour?"

"No, I'll do it," she said, rising and crossing to the kettle. "What was Severus angry about?"

"As if he needs a reason," Remus said drily. "He thinks I gave some silly toy to Harry and Ron."

"Did you?"

"Of course not. I took it away from them. Why, what happened to you today?"

"It's not what happened to me. It's what happened to Draco Malfoy."

He sipped his tea, and shifted slightly so that he could watch her as she settled back into the window-seat and picked up her papers, pausing for dramatic effect. He waited.

"Draco Malfoy," she said, "was slapped, in the hallway, by Hermione Granger!"

"I knew it!" he exclaimed. She stared at him.

"Knew what?"

"He propositioned her, didn't he? I was sure that he fancied her!"

Her mouth opened, then closed.

"Er. That is what happened, isn't it?" he asked.

"They're thirteen!" she said, scandalised.

"Well, when I was thirteen -- that's not the issue," he finished hastily. "And I'm sure when you were thirteen -- "

"You weren't born yet, when I was thirteen, so keep a civil tongue in your head if you please, Professor Lupin."

He laughed and stretched, slouching down in the chair. "So what happened? Do you know? Come on, Minerva, you get all the good gossip and you never share any of it."

"All I know is that Malfoy's lurking about with a bruised face and ego, and the Gryffindors are all saying it was Hermione Granger who did it," she answered. "You don't...you don't really think he fancies her, do you? He's such a little..." she paused. "He's a student, and I never speak ill of students," she said primly. "Now, you haven't finished telling me about Severus and his traumas."

"Not much to tell. Actually it's quite amusing. I wanted to be angry, but really..." he snorted. "Well. When we were boys -- the four of us, you know -- "

"Never saw one without the other three," she sighed.

" -- we took to inventing jokes and the like."

"That explains the low marks you took in sixth-year Divination."

He looked blankly at her. "I'm sure that's not something you've had committed to memory for all these years," he said.

"I went back and looked up your grades," she answered smugly. "So that when you got too cocky, as you have a habit of doing, Professor, I could take you down a peg or two."

"Does the Headmaster know about your mean streak?"

"Why do you think I'm Deputy Headmistress? You were telling me about jokes, I believe."

He frowned. "Right. We invented a bit of parchment that insults anyone who tries to read it. It's been circulating since we left -- really, nobody ever throws anything out around this place -- and Harry somehow got hold of it. You wouldn't believe Snape's expression. 'Lupin, I want a word!' he snaps, and so there I go, and when I get there..." he went off into a chuckle. "There's the parchment reading 'Mr. Wormtail bids Professor Snape good day, and advises him to wash his hair, the slimeball!'"

"Wormtail?" she asked, and she could feel him tense, suddenly.

"It was...er...it was our nickname for Peter. We didn't use our own names, of course," he said warily.

"That's an odd nickname for a boy."

"He picked it," Remus said, somewhat defensively, she thought. She shrugged, and turned back to her paper.

"I do hope Harry's not in too much trouble."

Remus waved a hand. "Harry's fine. Snape's problem is that he doesn't understand that children get up to trouble sometimes."

She glanced up at him. "The sort of trouble James got into when he played pranks on Severus?"

He looked guilty. "But this wasn't like that. It was just a bit of fun."

"Severus doesn't see the distinction."

"Exactly my point!"

"Neither, I must say, do I."

He looked surprised. "Surely you see a difference between owning a bit of rogue parchment and showing the school someone else's unwashed underthings?"

"Not when a Professor turns a tolerant eye," she said. "If a child is led to believe they can get away with smaller infractions, they may attempt the larger."

He mused on this in silence.

"I can't agree," he said finally.

"I'm not asking you to agree. Teachers at Hogwarts adhere to an honour code, but are given leeway within that code for personal interpretation for exactly this reason."

"Yes but...if a student is allowed a little bit of lenience, he rarely wants more than simple pranks. Restrict a child too much, and they rebel all the more."

"And that," she said, with a smile, "Is the secret of good teaching. Knowing how to turn a blind eye without appearing to do so."

He gave her a look of admiration. "So as long as we don't actually look like we're letting them get away with it..."

"I never said a thing," she murmured, returning to her papers. He set his tea on the table and folded his hands. "But you have just figured out in what -- seven months? -- what it took Severus three years to discover." She sighed. "Three extremely trying years."

He smiled and stood, crossing to stand by her, hand on the back of her neck, looking out the window. She leaned against his hip, affectionately. After a moment, he laughed again quietly.

"What?"

"Just remembering the look on his face when that parchment told him to keep his abnormally large nose out of other peoples' business," he answered. "I know it's awful of me..."

"Indeed it is," she said severely. "However, I think you might be forgiven."

"Oh?" he asked, wide palm stroking her cheek.

"Well, you did confiscate it from Harry," she answered. "And I imagine saved him from an outrageous punishment at the same time. What will you do with the parchment?"

She could feel something tense in him again, and wondered idly why.

"I put it away in a book," he said, voice tightly controlled. "It was funny at the time, but then when I took it back to my office...seeing all our handwriting like that, it's not...good for me."

"Oh," she said thoughtfully. He moved, crouching, pulling away slightly so that he could kiss her, taking the paper she was grading out of her hands.

"The snow's melted," he said softly.

"We could...make sure no-one's making trouble on the grounds," she suggested. "How do you feel about a walk?"

"I feel a walk would be good," he replied, rising and pulling her off the window seat at the same time. She fell against him, which was, she knew, his entire intent. He released her after a moment, and reached for his coat.

"I hear the seventh-year Herbology students are growing orchids," he said.

"Those aren't that useful, are they? Magically, I mean?"

"No, but they're delicate -- it's good practice for growing less durable plants, outside of school. Teaches them how to cultivate growing things properly."

"Hmm, not at all like our job," she said, as he held the door. "Lead the way then, Professor Lupin."

"My pleasure, Headmistress," he replied.

***

XXII. Glory and the Game

The first that either student saw of it were two broad hands, a professor's hands, coming towards them.

Then they saw the ceiling.

"I did try to tell you lads to stop," Remus Lupin said, with a sigh. He didn't like laying hands on students, but flattening them on the floor with a Horizontum! seemed to be the best way to get them apart.

It was the fifth corridor-fight in two days, and while Lupin was for the most part a pacifist, he had finally given up. When he couldn't put himself between two scrabblers he'd simply knock them flat, gently, which usually made them stop, if only for a moment.

"Ten points each from Gryffindor and Slytherin -- I don't care who started it!" he said sharply.

Then he grinned, suddenly.

Then the other children around him grinned. Leeks were sprouting slowly out of the ears of the combatants, no doubt from a partially-deflected hex gone wrong.

"Right. You two had better...Percy?" he called, as a crowd of Gryffindors approached -- Harry's honour guard, he thought wryly. They went everywhere with the boy, ostensibly protecting him from Slytherin treachery.

"Yes, Professor?" Percy asked, detaching himself from the crowd.

"Take these two up to the hospital wing, would you?"

"Of course, sir," Percy said proudly. Remus fought the urge to smile at the slightly pompous young man.

"Run on, you two. You're lucky I'm not giving you detention for a month as well," he called as they followed Percy, the leeks already reaching their shoulders. The rest of the hallway was slowly dispersing, and he joined the general flow of students towards the Great Hall for dinner.

"Fight number five," he murmured to Minerva, as he passed. "Leeks in their ears."

She choked on the water in the goblet she was drinking, but didn't say anything in reply.

***

The house rivalries had always been vicious, he recalled; Gryffindors hated Slytherin, Slytherin hated Gryffindors, Ravenclaw thought them both almighty fools, and Hufflepuffs just tried to stay out of the way. He was a teacher, though, and should be well out of the whole mess by now; he wasn't even a House Head, and only a few of the students knew he'd been a Gryffindor. Still, the excitement on the night before the match was almost tangible, and it made for restless sleep.

It made for no sleep at all, in fact.

Which was why he was awake at an ungodly hour, wandering down the hall, half-hopeful that he'd see a light on under Minerva's door as well. The nights were beginning to warm now that it was April, but the stones were still cold under his bare feet, and they helped to clear his head.

His way took him past the entrance to the Gryffindor common room and the Pink Lady, dozing in her frame. There was a scrabbling from within, and then the portrait swung open and a thin body shot out --

"Harry!" he cried, catching him by the arm. Harry started back and nearly screamed, but Remus raised his lit wand to his face. "It's okay, it's me -- Merlin, what's happened?"

Harry stared at him, wide eyed for a moment, until recognition dawned.

"A Grim," he said. "I saw a Grim."

Remus pulled him against the wall opposite the Pink Lady, and with a gesture lit the torch above their heads. "What?"

"I saw a Grim and Crookshanks and then they disappeared and Ron was asleep -- "

"Harry, calm down. No, listen to me, calm down. Tell me what happened."

"I told you, I -- "

"Harry, you are not five," Remus said sharply, and it seemed to work. "Start with why you're awake at this hour."

Harry took a deep breath. "I had a nightmare," he said. "About the game. I got up to get a drink of water. From the pitcher near the window."

He nodded, and Harry took a gulping breath before continuing. "And then I looked out through the window and there was something on the lawn, but I thought it was just Crookshanks..."

"Hermione's cat?"

Harry nodded. "And, and it WAS Crookshanks, but then..." he gulped again, and Remus put a steadying hand on his shoulder. "There was this thing coming out of the shadows -- this giant black shaggy dog..."

Remus felt his pulse freeze in his veins.

"And they walked across the lawn and I tried to wake Ron up and when I turned back they were gone -- "

"It's okay, Harry," he said, hearing himself as if from very far away. "It's probably just a stray."

"But -- "

"Harry, trust me. Considerint the amount of people looking out for you," continued the voice that wasn't quite his, "your seeing Grims is probably a sign the world is coming to an end. No, listen," he said, when Harry opened his mouth. "Harry, it was just a stray. You'll be fine tomorrow."

Harry looked up at him.

"You'll be all right," he repeated. "I promise."

Harry drew a deep breath. "I should...I should go back to bed," he said. "Got the game and all."

He nodded and released his shoulder, gently. "Go on then. Sleep well."

He watched as Harry ducked back through the portrait-hole, and after a moment, doused the torch he'd lit. He wanted nothing more than to run down the corridor and bang on Minerva's door until she let him in. He could lose himself in her; he often had, even just kissing her, forgetting the world and everything but her, her, her...

He covered his mouth to stop the ragged breaths he was drawing.

He had responsibilities. He was a teacher. He was paid to guide these children and keep them safe. How could he go to her now knowing that Sirius was wandering onto the grounds at night, how could he touch her when he hadn't told her what Sirius was, how could he hold her when his own cowardice might mean --

He pressed against the wall, thinking fast. He would not make trouble, not now, not so close to the game, the catharsis that these children desperately needed. Sirius hadn't...hadn't done anything to Harry. He'd just...crossed the grounds. Heading away from the school. None of what Sirius had done had been obviously aimed at Harry. Perhaps Sirius couldn't bring himself to kill his godson. Perhaps he could be captured.

And a little bit of him wanted Sirius free, because he had seen what Dementors did to a person and nobody, not even Sirius, deserved that. Sirius might have betrayed him, and James and Lily, but for the ten years they'd known each other, Sirius had been one of his best, his only friends.

When the year was over, he would...he'd leave, for a week or two, and track Sirius down. Sirius would follow Harry, probably, and it was much harder for a giant black dog to hide, in suburban England.

In the meantime, he would make sure Harry never went anywhere alone.

***

The day of the match dawned bright and crisp, and it was a damn good game; watching Lee Jordan commentate was half the fun, and watching Minerva try to wrestle the microphone away from him, twice, before giving up because Slytherin were such obvious cheats -- well, that was amusing too. Remus wished he'd brought a camera, but he could see little Colin Creevy snapping away, down below his high back-row perch, and made a mental note to buy some prints off the boy later.

Harry won, of course.

By god, he looked like James.

Remus stood in the back of the stands, watching, eyes sweeping both the Pitch and the grassy spread beyond; if Sirius was going to try and kill the boy, now -- when Harry was being lifted to the shoulders of his teammates and paraded towards the school -- now would be the time. When the professors were as lost in the moment as the students...he could see Minerva crying, wiping tears away with the edge of a Gryffindor flag, and made a second mental note, to tease her about it later.

He had a crystal clear moment where he saw his own detachment -- saw himself as a lone figure up in the stands, watching what was going on below like...

Like a ridiculous fool.

He ran to the ladder and nearly slid down it, crossing the field to catch up with the tail end of the mob, trying to push through to where Harry was, to congratulate the boy. And, in one swift movement, to push past Harry once he'd cried a few words up to him, and grab Minerva McGonagall by the elbow and pull her away from the crowd, behind a corner of the building...

She started in surprise but only for a second, as his hand covered her mouth before she could shriek a hex in protest. "Got you," he whispered, and felt her body relax a little. She turned to look up at him, and he bent to kiss her as she turned, wanting nothing more than the feeling of her mouth on his, her fingers in his hair.

"Remus!" she said, pulling back a little. "Anyone could have seen -- "

"Only if they got past the distracting charms I cast," he answered into her mouth, not releasing her long enough for her to escape completely.

"A dirty trick -- "

"Very possibly," he agreed, walking her slowly backwards until she was pressed against the stone wall of the castle, until they were standing between two rosebushes. "Congratulations, Professor McGonagall, Gryffindor won the cup."

"And I should be -- "

"Here with me, celebrating," he finished, lining kisses down her neck. "Splendid game."

"Yes..." she sighed, fingers curling around the edges of his jacket. "Very well -- mmm, played."

He laughed against her throat. "Indeed. Do you remember that essay I wrote, seventh year?"

"There was one..."

"Got me in heaps of trouble."

"About Quidditch and..."

"...other things," he said, pressing close against her, warm and firm. She laughed and tapped her fingers against his collarbone, gently pushing him away.

"We have to go," she said. "They'll wonder where we are."

He bent for one last, hungry kiss. "Let them wonder."

"You know you don't mean that," she said, sliding her hands down his chest. "Come, the children are waiting."

"Right," he answered with a sigh, straightening his shirt. "The children. Right."

"However, if you are well-behaved, I may let you walk me to the great hall," she said magnanimously. He wrapped his arm around her waist.

"If you let me cast another distracting charm -- "

She shook her head, and he sighed.

"Fine, fine. The sacrifices I make," he said mournfully.

"And if you behave yourself that long," she added, as he released her and stepped back, brushing a few wisps of hair back neatly, "I may let you walk me to my rooms."

He grinned, and followed her into the castle, pausing only briefly on the steps to look back, as if he expected to see Sirius -- his old Padfoot -- at the forest edge.

If Sirius saw Harry play, he thought, turning to catch up to Minerva, he could never want to harm the boy.

***

XXIII. Roof Lessons

In June, after the Christmas-like excitement of the Quidditch Cup, exams began in earnest. The professors were not immune to the pressure; they had to create them, after all, and lead reviews, and make sure some of the less ambitious learners were at least minimally caught up. Then there were students coming by their offices at all hours of the day, and classes to keep focused (when really all anyone wanted was to be outside) and evenings spent grading term papers.

Grading would not have been such a chore, Remus Lupin reflected, if he could have had someone else around while doing it, but he had discovered that with the proper company -- ie, Minerva McGonagall -- he got very little grading done. He would read her a particularly entertaining passage, and half an hour later they would still be talking, and his papers would lie forgotten on his desk, hers on the window-seat that she'd claimed as her own.

So they had imposed a sort of moratorium on common-time together, and thus for a week and a half had seen each other mostly at meals, or passing in the hallways. As used as they were to each others' presence, the situation rankled him. He was too tired in the evenings to do more than undress and tumble into his bed, and he was sure she must feel the same. In fact, he had confirmation of it after the first day, and a particularly disastrous second-year exam. His fault, really; either he hadn't taught them well enough or he'd made the test too hard, but considering everything, he wouldn't fail them for his lack of forethought.

Minerva, he'd decided, had looked just as frustrated and tired as he did at dinner. He'd been thinking about it for a few hours, and finally had come to the conclusion that a late-night date, even if it was only tea, would be a welcome relief.

She obviously had the same idea; they'd met in the hallyway, he on his way to the kitchens, she possibly on her way to his room. He caught her around the waist, pulled her into a shadow, and kissed her.

"Going somewhere?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. He grinned.

"Not anymore..."

"I was coming to see if you wanted a late tea. I've papers still to work on, but once I have those done..."

"Stuff the papers."

"You're always saying things like that and you know you don't mean it," she responded, as he cupped her face in his hands.

"Because you always scold me for it," he said, kissing her again. "A late tea, you were saying?"

"I should be done around eleven, and I know you don't have any more exams until tomorrow afternoon," she said, against his cheek. "If you steal the cakes from the kitchen I'll provide the tea."

"Tempting," he answered, an idea forming in the back of his mind. "But let's do this instead. I'll steal the cakes if you bring the last of your mead, and meet me at the portrait of Gren the Green on the top floor of the north wing."

"What are you plotting?" she asked, suspiciously.

"A surprise," he replied.

***

He was a little late in arriving, but when he did he carried an odd-shaped bundle under one arm and the promised stolen tea cakes in a box in his other hand. She eyed the bundle warily.

"You know, Professor Lupin, I'd hate to think you were considering indulging in anything illegal," she said disapprovingly. He grinned and kissed her forehead in greeting, and turned to Gren the Green.

"Polaris," he said, and the portrait swung aside. She stared at him.

"How did you know that was there?" she asked.

"Seven years with too much time on my hands," he answered absently, stepping through. Inside the corridor there was a stairway upwards, and the dim hall was illuminated by starlight, without ceiling, leading to...

"The roof?" she asked.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of heights."

"What on earth are we going to do on the roof?"

He grinned. She blushed.

"Come on. It's really a splendid view," he said, starting up the stairs. He offered his hand to help her out onto the roof of the school, and she had to admit that the amount of surrounding landscape was breathtaking.

"There's more," he added, leading her along a narrow, flat pathway. The Astronomy tower loomed ahead of them, and she saw an iron railing on the outside that she'd never noticed before, with a narrow row of stairs leading up to the flat battlement roof.

"How come this is never used?" she asked, as they reached the top. He shrugged.

"Nobody knows it's here. Except me. And you, now, and probably Dumbledore, I've yet to find something he doesn't know," he said with a grin. He set down the box, and shook out his bundle. A thick padded blanket unrolled, and he laid it on the stone.

"A star picnic," she said with a smile. He offered her a cake.

They sat on the blanket, drinking and eating, talking of the past week and what they'd been working on. He told her about the Exam Disaster and listened to her advice, as well as her own troubles with her Transfigurations third years. Finally he stretched and laid back, his head near her thigh, looking up at her and at the stars. She shifted, moving to lie next to him, pushing him over slightly, and he grinned.

"I could never pay attention in Astronomy come spring," he said. "I did all right, but I still can't name spring and summer constellations. Besides, I get confused when I travel and the stars aren't in the places they're supposed to be. As if Hogwarts was the centre of the universe."

"And the constellations just moved around the castle?" she asked. He laughed.

"Something like that. The universe could do worse than Hogwart's School for an axis."

"You really love it here, don't you?"

He propped himself up on one elbow, looking at her instead of the stars. "I do," he said softly. "But sometimes...what are you doing this summer?" he asked abruptly, and she shrugged.

"I hadn't thought about it. Stay here, prepare for the new school year. Why?"

"Let's go away together," he urged, eyes bright. "Somewhere no one knows us...Wales, or northern Scotland, or somewhere. Where the first language still isn't English."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, with a smile.

"What's ridiculous about it? I've saved a little, and I'm sure you must have. We can rent a flat in some tiny village and spend the summer...I don't know, reading awful novels and birdwatching and that. There's loads of magical creatures still wild in some parts, I bet we could get Dumbledore to pay our rent out of Hogwarts' funds if we bring something interesting back for Hagrid."

"You don't just pick up and run off to Wales," she said.

"I do. I miss traveling. I can get a Muggle job, even, I've done it loads of times," he said. "Think about it. A whole summer without anyone watching us, without anyone to tell us what we can and can't do." He bent to kiss her, then rolled back until he was looking up again. "We can watch the constellations from an entirely different part of the world."

There was silence for a while, and he turned his head to look at her.

"Unless you'd rather not," he said. "Or...you'd rather not with me. I know we're not...we never really say, I mean, what we are, and maybe that's too much -- "

"I love you," she said, "and that's not too much."

"Oh," he answered, turning back to look at the stars. "That's...good."

"I've never thought about just going away. Without a reason to."

"I'll find a reason," he replied. "I'll -- "

He paused, and then rolled suddenly, pressing a hand to her lips when she opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing. "Astronomy exam," he whispered, just as the chatter of sleepy student voices drifted up through the windows below. His body was pressed against her, fingers on her mouth; after a moment, his lips replaced his fingers.

"Students," she said as softly as she could.

"They won't hear us," he replied, lips brushing hers. "Say yes, Minerva."

She smiled as he nuzzled her neck. "Yes?"

"Say yes. Come somewhere with me this summer. Just us," he continued. She twined her fingers in his hair, tugging gently, and he laughed a little, trying to muffle it against her skin.

"Yes," she murmured. "Where shall we go?"

"Anywhere you like."

"I don't care."

His lips grazed her ear. "Say yes again."

She smiled, and listened to the soft chatter below, felt the warm breath on her skin.

"Yes," she said. "Yes."

XXIV. Failed Everything

Hysterical laughter was not a sound one generally associated with Professor Lupin's office. He was a nice enough man, a good teacher, and his sense of humour, while quirky, was far closer to a student's idea of funny than most professors' would be. He was not, however, given to the sort of laughter that was emerging from behind his office door.

McGonagall, herself smiling, knocked gently, and heard a thunk -- as of someone's feet hitting the floor -- before his footsteps approached and he opened it, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Oh, I hoped it was you," he said. "Come inside. I've been going over my notes on the third years' exams..."

She stepped inside and he shut the door behind her, throwing himself into one of the wing-chairs around his desk. She took the one next to his, and rested her head against one edge, watching him.

"I gave them the obstacle course," he said, still drying his eyes. "And there was a boggart -- I thought if I had him in my desk all term I might as well make use of it."

"Oh, don't tell me...Ron and the legless spider," she said. He shook his head.

"Ron got flummoxed by a hinkypunk, and Ron Weasley waist-deep in mud is funny enough, but oh, it was Hermione..." he went off into laughter again, slouching down in his chair. "She climbed into the trunk to fight the boggart, and she came bursting out of it screaming..."

"I don't find that very funny," she observed. He held up a hand.

" 'What's the matter?' I asked her, actually quite worried, it's not like Hermione to lose her head...and she turned to me and gasped," he imitated her voice as best he could, " 'Professor McGonagall! She said I'd failed everything!' "

She covered her mouth, and after a shocked moment, burst into laughter herself.

"Oh, Hermione," she shook her head. "Poor girl."

"It almost, but not quite, topped Severus Snape in Neville's Gran's dress," he chuckled. "I just found my note about it and remembered the look on her face..."

The lines around his eyes crinkled pleasantly, and she privately added it to the list of reasons Remus Lupin was worth every risk they took.

"What about you?" he asked, when they had laughed themselves tired. "Any more nasty literary accidents in Transfigurations?"

"No, though my seventh-years are doing some very interesting work," she answered. "The NEWTs candidates are going to stun their examiners."

"Partial transfiguation?" he asked, and she nodded. "Reckon there's a living to be made in that, somehow," he observed.

"It wouldn't be my first choice," she answered. "You should see some of the messes they make when things go awry. I don't let them work with animals unless they've tested the technique on something else...one of them transfigured a stuffed bear into a pancake-thin splatter, and very little more."

He frowned. "What on earth would one use a stuffed bear for? Or a real bear?"

"Their idea was for living bearskin rugs. Comfortable to walk on and a good house-guard," she replied. He covered his eyes, and shook his head.

"Interior decoration that eats intruders, it all sounds a bit Dark Arts."

"Well, as they had reason to discover, it's not the most practical of plans," she said, "so the point is philosophical."

"My favourite kind," he remarked. "Good NEWTs turnout this year, then?"

"Oh, yes, I think so. Certainly they'll do no worse than some years," she said serenely. "Which reminds me..."

She reached into her pocket and drew out something wrapped in tissue paper. "I asked Miranda -- she's the girl who transfigured my turntable for me -- if she would look into this as a project for extra credit."

She offered it to him, and he held out his arm, letting her place the small, heavy object in his palm. He weighed it carefully before unwrapping it with his other hand.

"A music-box?" he asked, curiously. It was square with small curling feet, about the size of a match-box, though deeper; dark green enamel covered the sides, etched here and there with yellow filigrees and brown edges.

"A music box which once was a yellow poppy," she explained. He opened it but no sound came out; there was no mechanism inside, merely another enameled surface, a slightly lighter green. "Hold it under the window."

He looked perplexed, but obeyed, lifting the box into one of the last rays of sunlight to slant through his office drapes. He opened it again, and soft music emerged this time.

"It needs sunlight and air to play," she said as he listened, fascinated.

"It's the waltz," he replied, after a minute. "The one we danced to."

"I asked for that specifically."

He closed the box and returned to his chair, bending to fetch the tissue paper from his desk as he re-wrapped it. He held it out to her, but she shook her head.

"It's for you," she said. "A gift."

"For me? Whyever?" he asked, amused.

"A congratulations gift. For completing your first year at Hogwarts," she replied with a smile. He laughed and removed the tissue paper, putting the box in a place of prominence on his desk.

"If ever there was a hard-earned gift..." he said, still smiling. She rose and came to stand behind him, one arm around his waist, cheek against his shoulder. His right hand fumbled for hers.

"Were you ever nervous?" he asked. "When you were a student? About passing exams and such."

"No," she answered, as his thumb rubbed across the pads of her fingertips. "I always knew I would pass, because I'd always studied hard."

"And when you were a teacher?"

"Well, they don't give teachers exams -- "

"No, weren't you...afraid of failing your students? Not having an answer to a question? Or grading them and then not being able to explain why?"

She considered it. "It's been a long time since I thought about that."

"When I started I...I had nightmares about it, sort of. About not being prepared. Not rising to expectations, I suppose. But the longer I do this...I'm a good teacher, you know," he finished, and there was just a bare note of questioning in his statement.

"Yes," she agreed. She felt him relax a notch. "You are."

"And I'll get to see them -- the students I mean -- get to see them grow up, learn more, graduate. Is it hard?"

"Seeing students graduate? Of course," she replied. "You'll see when your seventh-years leave. But there are always more children to care for."

"I like children," he said softly.

"Me too. Otherwise I would have left Hogwarts long ago." She paused. "You don't have to be afraid, you know. Of that, not knowing the answers, not teaching well. You're a smart man. And the children like you -- they'll forgive you even if you do make a mistake."

"Better than I am," he said, more to himself than to her, and she wondered what he meant. She didn't ask; merely held his hand, and leaned into his shoulder, and enjoyed the warmth of him. He didn't speak either, for a while.

"Thank you," he said finally. "For the waltz."

***

XXV. Sunrise

There had been theoretical discussions in some of the more scholarly Wizarding forums in recent years, about the werewolf phenomenon; every so often when things were quiet someone would bring it up, and the debate would bounce around for a while before dying out again.

It started with a theory that nobody could place the origin of, that since werewolves were only hostile towards humans, if confronted with other animals, or animagi in animal form, they might not be entirely aggressive. More learned exponents of the theory would point to Muggle studies in which animals were used as therapy for people with various medical conditions, including emotional instability.

Minerva, wandering in the dark, eyes wide and reflecting what little light was to be had, fur on end and tail high in the air, hoped the theory was correct, as it was about to be tested.

It is a little-known fact that cats are as good as, if not better than, dogs, when it comes to scent-tracking. Humans have not discovered this yet, because cats are far too intelligent to show the sort of useful traits that have gotten dogs in so much trouble. Nobody asks you to fetch them a rope when you're a cat, or lead them to where Timmy fell down the well.

Dumbledore found her after MacNair's angry roars had roused most of the professors from their beds. It was the first she knew of any of it; MacNair and Snape shouting about Harry and something about Black escaping. Before she could ask, however, Dumbledore had pulled her aside and, in a few quick sentences, sketched out what had happened -- Harry, Hermione, and Ron in the hospital wing, Peter Pettigrew back from the dead and a betrayer to boot, Sirius Black innocent (though she rather thought that Dumbledore barely kept himself from adding 'if slightly unbalanced') and escaped from a brief imprisonment through unlikely means he would explain later...

And Remus loose in the Forbidden Forest, Changed and dangerous.

"There's not time for more discussion," he said. "Buckbeak and Sirius are well on their way to safety by now, but nobody is safe on the grounds with a werewolf loose. He won't attack an animagus, not without provocation -- Sirius has told me as much."

"How would Black -- "

"He is also an animagus," Dumbledore said impatiently. "You must find him, Minerva, and do what you can to keep him from harming anyone before sunrise. Take this," he added, thrusting a blanket into her arms. She nodded, slowly, and stepped backwards. The advantage of Animagus transformations was that one's clothes, and anything in one's hands, went along; in feline form, the blanket in her hands was merely transmuted into the feeling that her fur was slightly thicker.

She flattened her ears against her head, crouching down and gathering her bearings; when she had acclimated herself to the feeling of four feet and whiskers, to the monochrome vision but heightened senses of smell and hearing, she turned and skittered away, towards the stairways down to the entrance of the school.

He wasn't hard to follow; werewolf scent stood out like a neon sign in the midnight air. She tried not to think about what a werewolf could do to a cat. She tried not to think about what the rest of the denizens of the Forbidden Forest could do to a cat. The world was different, as a cat; emotions were simpler, and while logic was still accessible, it never seemed as important.

When she found him, he was attacking a tree.

Possibly, werewolves were not the brightest things on four legs.

That was a cat thing to think, and she squashed it quickly. This was Remus, her fellow professor, her...the cat said mate but Minerva was not so melodramatic. He was her...something.

Ah, and now she saw he was trying to get at a squirrel, chattering animatedly down at them from a high branch. She smirked mentally.

She stepped forward, into his line of sight, and his eyes fixed on her immediately, head whipping around. She arched her back a little, flattening her ears. So much of conversation in the animal kingdom was body language...

He snapped at her, moving forward slowly. When he was three feet away, she hissed, and her claws shot out. He stopped, and a short growl emerged from his throat, questioning. She hissed again, and he slid his front paws forward. Vicious claws gleamed on the end, longer than true wolves' claws by at least an inch. He slid down into a sitting position and glared at her.

She let her own claws slide in again, and crept forward, ready to jump and run at a moment's notice. She could probably get up a tree pretty quickly, but getting down was always the difficult bit.

He didn't move.

She put out a paw, tentatively, and batted his nose. He snapped, half-heartedly. She hissed again. He whined. The next time, he didn't move. She could see something in his eyes, even as a cat; it looked as though he was just sane enough to realise what was going on, now.

Interesting.

She moved forward again, hesitating every few inches, and finally rubbed the side of her head along his, just below his ear, very carefully not thinking about the fact that his head was the size of her entire body. He whined again, but he didn't move.

Satisfied, she jumped away, and watched him scramble to his feet, tongue lolling out briefly. His teeth looked awfully sharp.

All she had to do now was make sure he didn't eat anyone (including her) before sunrise.

Oh, was that all.

***

Remus woke -- well, 'woke' out of the Change -- to find himself in the woods; he could tell by the smell, the feel of dirt under his naked body, the slight chill in the air. Shaking, half-blind as he always was, he scrabbled to push himself upright, waiting for the tang of blood in his mouth, the horrible nausea that came with the vague memory of crunching something tiny up in his huge horrible jaws...

The memory never surfaced, and instead there was the distinctly puzzling one of following a cat. And not wanting to eat the cat. That was the puzzling part. A ten pound cat was a nice meal for a hundred pound wolf.

Something warm wrapped around his shoulders, and he started, turning his head. The world was a blur, and a monochrome blur at that. He reached out blindly.

"Shh, it's okay."

Minerva. Well, that explained the cat.

"Where -- oh g-god -- Sirius -- " he managed, shaking his head, trying to clear it. Hands tightened the blanket around him, and supported his back when he tried to sit up.

"It's all right, everything's fine," she said, soothingly.

"No, Sirius -- Peter -- "

"Shh, just breathe."

"But H-harry -- "

"Remus, they're safe."

"I lied to you," he blurted. "S-sirius is an anim-magus..."

"Dumbledore told me," she said gently. His vision began to clear, and he looked into her face, trying to discern her features.

"You came for me," he said, wonderingly.

"Of course I did. Dumbledore sent me. We couldn't have you getting hurt, or hurting someone."

"Much more l-likely to be the l-latter," he said, trying to get his voice under control.

"Shh, don't talk," she said, stroking his hair. He blinked away the last of the blurred vision, and shook his head.

"Harry?" he asked.

"Safe. When I left he was sleeping in the infirmary, unhurt."

"Sirius?"

"Escaped, Dumbledore didn't say how. Peter too, unfortunately."

He let his head fall back, and tried not to weep. He was always weakest right after the Change, and in those last three years at Hogwarts, the others had mercifully left him in the Shack to sleep it off, or one of them would sit with him, usually Peter.

Peter.

He was too exhausted to feel much rage, but as he fell, his arms no longer supporting him, he felt Minerva catch and hold him. He shook helplessly.

"Sirius is still free," she whispered to him. "He's innocent and still free. Harry's not hurt. You'll be fine. I watched over you. It'll be all right."

No it won't, he wanted to say, but couldn't. Peter is gone again, and Sirius is innocent, and I lied to you. How can it ever be all right again?

He shook against her, trying to gather his strength. He would not let her see him weep over this.

"You're all right," she continued, voice soothing, hands stroking his hair, his back under the blanket. "It'll be all right."

"Yes," he said thickly, giving up and believing her. He wanted to. She was here, after all, and would care for him. She came for him when he was in trouble.

The first rays of sunrise trickled through the leaves, falling on the pair of them, until it was indistinguishable where the division between them lay.

***

XXVI. Departure

He was used to packing quickly. He'd had to do it many times, and this time was no different. There were always regrets and there was always that ache, familiar to him since before he could remember, that once again his Difference had changed things, made them difficult, made them go wrong.

They'd encountered Hagrid when Minerva was bringing him back to the castle, just after sunrise, and he'd reassured the Groundskeeper that he hadn't...well, hadn't eaten anything, the night before. By the time she left him in the infirmary, to be examined by Madam Pomfrey -- the school was in uproar and she was needed more elsewhere -- he already knew he had to leave; if he'd had two days to think about it he might have talked himself out of it, or been talked out of it by Dumbledore, but Snape --

His hands shook a little as he pressed his new clothes -- the nicest he'd owned in some time, bought on a real salary -- deeper into his suitcase, laying some papers from his office desk on top of the white shirts. He forced himself to be steady as he added the small green-and-gold music-box Minerva had given him, wrapping it carefully in a handkerchief.

I am not angry at Severus, he told himself. If anything I am grateful. He forced me to do something I would not have had the courage to do on my own.

He'd already tendered his letter of resignation, and Dumbledore, who usually heard everything that happened in the castle sooner or later, had accepted it without protest. By then the Slytherins already knew he was a werewolf, and were spreading the news.

He sensed Harry before the young man knocked on the door-frame, and located the Marauder's Map on his desk, checking it to be sure. When Harry did knock, he looked up and forced himself to smile.

"I saw you coming," he said. Harry, with all the directness of youth, did not stop to greet him before demanding if it was true that he'd resigned.

He had not been looking forward to this discussion, and had hoped he could avoid it. It was one of two he simply did not want to have, but when faced with it, what choice was there?

Harry didn't want him to go. The thought warmed him a little, as did being able to give him back James' invisibility cloak and the map. Being able to explain to Harry, with a steady voice, that there were people less tolerant in the world, who would not want a werewolf teaching their children...being able to tell Harry he was proud of him, something he was afraid to do most of the time in case it should seem like favouritism. Remus had trained himself to look for the good in every loss. One had to, in order to survive. These goods were so small, though, and the loss was so great.

Dumbledore's arrival cut him short, and he nodded to Harry, shook the Headmaster's hand, and fled. It was a dignified bolt, but there was no doubt as to what it was.

He slunk through the corridors, keeping as much as he could to back-ways and shadows, hoping not to encounter anyone else. Once on the grounds it was a short walk to the gate, and he refused to look back as he loaded the small briefcase and slightly larger aquarium into the carriage --

"Remus!"

Oh god. The other conversation he really, truly did not want to have.

He turned around. Minerva McGonagall stood in front of him, breathless; she must have run from the castle.

"Madam Pomfrey said you'd gone -- " she gasped, then clutched her stomach, catching her breath. He waited. It would be rude, now, not to. "I was torn between chasing after you and finding Severus Snape and slapping seven kinds of hell out of him..." she added, with a small smile. He steadied her, holding her by the shoulder.

"You'd be reprimanded," he said gently.

"It would be worth it," she answered, breathing a little easier now. "I'm glad I caught you."

"Severus only did what he had to, in order to protect the children. You once did the same," he reminded her, dropping his hand from her arm. Anger flared in her eyes.

"And wasn't I wrong?"

"No. In the end, you were right."

She moved forward as if to hug him, and he moved back.

"I don't -- I'm dangerous," he said. "I can't help that. But I could have saved us all a lot of trouble...I lied to you..."

"You protected Harry."

"Not very well."

"Remus, stop being an ass."

He gave her another small smile. "I'm trying to make this easy for us. Please don't make it harder, Minerva. Surely you see I'd never be allowed to stay here."

"Do you love me?" she demanded.

He stared at her. "Of...of course I do...but that's not the -- "

"Marry me."

Surely he'd misheard.

"Marry me," she repeated. "Marry me and stay here. You can't be thrown out if you're married to a professor at the school -- "

"No, but you can be fired," he whispered, stunned.

"I've taught at Hogwarts for thirty years. I'll fight that battle. I'm good at fighting."

"Minerva, I can't."

"Yes you can -- I'll help you -- "

"No, you don't understand," he said. "I can't marry you."

She looked as though he'd slapped her. "Why not?" she demanded. He flinched.

"Ministry regulations," he said, spreading his hands. "They...I can't marry without written certification from the Ministry. No werewolf can."

She stared at him in horror.

"And..." he continued, wretchedly, "And they'd never give me permission to marry you."

Silence fell. After a moment, he shrugged.

"I was going to write to you when I was far enough away," he said softly, looking down. "I was going to explain everything, I was going to apologise..."

He felt her hands on his face, tipping it just slightly, and her body pressed against his when she kissed him. Oh, it was like the first time he'd kissed her, after dancing, both of them breathless and tense, his arm around her waist just like that and she was so warm, so real...

"I'll write," he promised, against her lips. "I'll write to you -- I'll be back for visits -- to check on Harry, to, to go to Hogsmeade, and see Dumbledore, and it'll hardly seem like I'm gone at all..."

"That's not good enough," she said, pressing her face against his neck. "I don't want letters. I want you."

He sighed, stroking her hair, wanting to remember the smell of her, the feel of her, wanting to remember that right this minute, when he held her, he could feel that she was still wearing the charm he'd given her.

"If I could stay I would," he said softly. "But I can't; it's too dangerous, too difficult. I can't stay in Hogsmeade, they'll know and I'll never find a job there now. I can't even marry you."

He released her, and summoned a true smile from somewhere. "I have to go," he said, stepping back. "I'll owl you as soon as I know where I'm headed."

"Just a day or two -- "

"I can't, Minerva. We both know that."

The hardest three steps in his life were the ones it took to get him into the carriage. She stood there, fingers on her mouth where his lips had been a moment before, and the world jerked and rattled as the carriage moved away. He sat back in the seat, covering his face with his hand, and tried to remember how to breathe.

When he'd had a few moments to gather himself, he opened the suitcase on the seat next to him, and took out her music box, flipping up the lid and setting it down where the sunlight would hit it through the carriage window.

The waltz played all the way to the station.

***

XXVII. It Must Be True

June 18
My dear Minerva,

It's been a long time since I wrote a proper letter; you'll have to excuse me if I'm rusty at it. It's been even longer since I wrote to anyone I truly cared for.

I wanted to tell you so many things, and I feel I said so many things wrong, that last day at the school. I know it made you angry. I hope more with the state of the world than with me. I don't want you angry with me. You are, at the moment, my one touchstone with the real world, such as it is: a world where a person stays in one place more than three weeks at a time, and the whole of existence isn't taken up with finding where your next meal's going to come from. (Please don't worry on that front; I have savings from this past year, and I've never actually starved yet.)

When you -- how foolish do I feel, writing this? -- when you asked me to marry you what I wanted to say was yes, this minute, tell me where and when, and what to do.

But we are both realists, and so when I said that you could be fired and that I couldn't marry you because the Ministry wouldn't allow it, I was thinking realistically. I know you are too rational a person not to see that, though I also know that love tends to make even the most sensible of people irrational. Else why would you ever have taken up with me in the first place? Not the act of a rational woman, Minerva. For shame.

I want you to know that if I could have said yes, I would have. If I felt I could have asked you, I would have. I wanted to. Asking you to come away with me this summer was what happened instead.

I miss everything about you.

Remus

The letter arrived by owl post early one morning when the teachers, those who had not yet gone for the summer, were still dining. Severus Snape looked up and saw her turning pale; he inquired, blandly, if she was ill.

"No," she said, re-folding the parchment carefully. "Just a letter from Lupin."

It seemed strange to call him Lupin, but she would not give Severus the pleasure of seeing her discomfited.

"Ah. And will you write back?"

She turned to regard him coolly. "I'm surprised you take an interest."

He shrugged. "Idle curiousity. I would think, considering his continual lies, deceptions, and I hardly need add -- "

"That will do, Severus," she said sharply.

"Consider carefully," he continued, after a pause. "Consortion with a known werewolf cannot be good for either your reputation or the school's. He decieved you in ways that could have endangered yourself and the students."

"So did you," she replied. He went very still.

"And what, Deputy Headmistress, did you think of me when I did so?" he asked. She saw shame in his eyes, for his lies about how he had saved Harry and the others, though she heard none in his voice. "But perhaps romance makes us blind," he added.

She ran her thumb along the crease of the letter, thoughtfully.

June 30
Minerva,

I am sorry not to have heard from you, but I understand the aftermath of exams and classes must take a while to recover from, and there must be many jobs to do to prepare for next year.

If you can come to Sheffield on the eighth of July, I shall be waiting at the address on the back of this letter. I've two months' employment here, writing for a Muggle paper. It's not exactly Wales and birdwatching, but there are theatre tickets, and my sublet flat is too big for one person. Write and tell me if you can come.

Remus

When she got the letter her heart rose. She could see him again -- two whole months --

The other letter, still resting on her desk, rustled when she picked it up, and she heard Severus' words again. Over top of those came her own thoughts, now; that he had lied to her, and in ways that betrayed her trust more deeply than almost anything else he could do. He'd endangered the children, which in her mind was worse.

And if she saw him again she didn't know that she could leave him. Or let him leave her twice.

She sighed, and laid the letter on the desk, next to the first.

July 10
Minerva,

I am sorry. I know I lied to you.

I didn't want to lose you.

I didn't think I had.

You did ask me to marry you, you know.

At least write to tell me you don't hate me. I couldn't bear it if you hated me, but the silence is worse.

Remus

She couldn't even read that one. She could see that it was only a few sentences, and she didn't know what he had said. She didn't want to know. If he was angry with her, she didn't want to think about it; if he missed her, her resolution might break. And the worst of all, if he was writing to tell her not to write to him after all...

July 19
Minerva,

I hope something isn't killing the owls. Have you looked into having the gargoyles removed from your guttering?

Please write back. Please. I am not particularly proud but I have never yet begged a woman for anything.

Please, please, please write to me, if only to tell me not to write anymore.

Remus

There were no words. No words came. She tried so many times but there were no words, there was no way to answer him, no way to write on paper the ache, the fear...she was not accustomed to feeling fear.

She tried all through one long night and in the morning she threw all four letters into the fire, one of them still unopened.

July 25
Minerva,

This has to work sooner or later.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

(There, see, I said it three times, it must be true.)

Remus

Dumbledore found her sleeping, fitfully, in a chair in the library, the letter on a nearby table, crumpled and smoothed many times. He was not sorry he read it. He was only sorry there was nothing he could say to her.

July 30
Minerva,

Dumbledore tells me you're well. I won't write again.

I'm so sorry.

I love you.

Remus

The letter went astray. His hands had been shaking too badly when he'd addressed it.

August 8
Minerva,

You don't have to write back. Please make sure Harry can afford all his school supplies. If not, I'm enclosing two Galleons, seven Sickles. It's not much, but it'll buy a new cauldron or some school books.

Remus

She only opened it because it was heavy and obviously there was something inside; when she finally did, and found the carefully-wrapped coins, along with his instructions to look after Harry, she set them down in neat piles on her desk. She knew what the amount meant; he was sending all the money he could spare. Two Galleons, seven Sickles. For Harry.

There was a knock on the door, and she rose to open it.

Severus Snape stood there, a letter in his thin, pale fingers. He offered it to her.

August 8
Severus,

If there was anything to forgive between us, I have; perhaps it was owed to you, my humiliation, for what I did not prevent when we were at school. Indeed, perhaps the debt is still mine, for the Wolfsbane.

I bear you no ill will. I hope you bear me little. I wish you would watch over Harry; I know you don't like the boy but I also know that you would not turn down a further debt I could owe you.

Please, Severus, look after him. Ask what you like in return, but don't make life harder for the lad. Think of your own childhood.

Remus Lupin

She looked up from the letter.

"Write to him," was all he said. "I have no wish to see you unhappy."

August 10
Remus,

I love you.

You're a fool.

Don't starve.

Minerva

The reply was unsteady, and hastily written, with cheap ink and a nearly-broken nib.

August 12
Minerva,

Please come to Sheffield. There are two weeks yet before school term starts.

Remus

When he opened the door to the knock, she was standing on his doorstep.

"I brought dinner," she blurted, holding up a basket. "And tea."

He smiled.

Minerva,

When I woke up this morning and you were still sleeping I saw you and I wasn't sure whether I wanted to touch you or run away.

So I've decided on a compromise, and gone to get breakfast from the shop around the corner.

I'll be back soon.

I love you more than I thought possible.

Remus

END

In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife
Five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes
How do you measure a year in the life?
-- Rent