The Never-Ending Diary of Remus Lupin aged 34 1/2

Chapter 3

Wednesday, November 17^th

Sirius,

During lunch, Madam Pince was gracious enough to point out that I forgot to return the books on demons and Dark creatures of the Far East to the library last week. Dear Merlin, not again. I am bound to get blacklisted like in school--or worse, since I can't rely on the Black charm as a backup weapon any longer. Madam Pince might not have smiled when you tried to jolly her along, but she relented once or twice and let me off without a fine.

I spent the evening tutoring the sixth-years--it is a stroke of luck that I won't be teaching Harry the Patronus Charm until next term. Right now I don't know how I will cope with everything, but I have to. Perhaps it will help to have others around--I don't know how I survived with a minimum of human contact before I came to teach. Having Rolanda for tea or playing a game of chess with Flitwick in the staff lounge always relaxes me.

Friday, November 26^th

Sirius,

There, now I'm properly acquainted with all of Hogwarts' teachers. Sybill Trelawney was the last one and introduced herself impressively enough after the staff meeting after dinner. At least I supposed it was meant to be impressive, but one doesn't need to have Second Sight to realise that I have led a hard life, all one has to do is look at the scars in my face and the state of my robes, or to reason that if I haven't killed myself by now, I am likely to hang on to life for a while yet. I wrangled out of her offer to crystal-gaze for me by saying I needed to check up a few books in the library. I hope I'm not too bad a person for trying to ensure that our meetings are few and far between.

No, Sybill will hardly make me change my general fatalism--whatever happens, happens. You tried to make that point to your parents, when you were fighting with them to let you take the new elective Dumbledore had introduced, Muggle Studies. Whatever talent there was for divination in your family passed you by, though I always suspected that you failed your OWL out of spite. You paid more attention to James's Muggle Studies books anyway.

Thursday, December 2^nd

Sirius,

Rolanda has repeated her proposal that I come and visit her and her younger sister Geraldine in Birmingham, tempting me with the fact that Geraldine plays the Wunderhorn with the WWN swing band (I've despaired in my attempt to make her see that swing and cool are two different creatures.) While it'd feel good to get away from Hogwarts for a while, I can't help feeling like an intruder. Christmas is a time for family after all, and I am going to be an outsider wherever I go. But I wouldn't intrude that much, would I? Full moon being on Christmas Eve, it would just be for a couple of days.

Friday, December 10^th

Sirius,

Minerva wanted to know whether I would be staying in the castle over Christmas and smiled approvingly when she found out that I had made other plans. Are all staff members except Snape conspiring to make me have a life?

The simple truth is, I don't know if I can stay here with the memories. James had left his Invisibility Cloak with us before going on holiday, we had the dormitory to ourselves, and I think both of us knew that come New Year, we would have been as close as two persons can get to each other. Not that the thought didn't scare me despite the scrupulous preparations I'd insisted on--a certain amount of rule-bending had been involved, permission to visit Hogsmeade didn't cover Apparition to Glasgow to get supplies last time I checked. Nervous though I was I can recall every step on the way to the Prefect's Bathroom--sweaty hands slipping on the neck of the champagne bottle, the great tub filling up way too fast, painful realisation that soap isn't a good lubricant. Objectively speaking it probably was a disaster, so it may just be my memory playing tricks again when I remember it as a beautiful experience. Better than kissing with tongues, in fact. But I am grateful that Lily scared Moaning Myrtle out of grassing on us.

Wednesday, December 15^th

Sirius,

New Grindylows are beginning to hatch down in the lake, and the Merpeople have said that I can keep the one in my office if I want it. The problem is that I don't particularly--catfish and guppies are better suited to my temperament. I've decided to brush up my German skills and send owls to the headmaster of Durmstrang and to Vasile Kovacsi, who teaches Dark Arts and Creatures there. Since Grindylows aren't indigenous to the Continent, they might be interested to get one in exchange for a Pogrebin.

Monday, December 20^th

Sirius,

Can hardly believe it's nearly Christmas and the last day of term. It came none too early, I'm going to need some time for myself in order to make new plans. I have some ideas already--perhaps I can get Duncan Scrimgeour to come and talk to the fifth-years about what Auror work is like and about Unforgivable curses to the NEWT classes, or I could tempt some of Gringotts' curse-breakers. I took it up last staff meeting--how can we expect Muggle-born students to make good career choices without proper information? I was trying to make them see that it is a question of equity, though I had no real support except from Donata Pinkstone, the Muggle Studies teacher.

Rolanda says the teachers are going to have a small party this evening and invited me specifically--in her exact words, "Don't you dare chicken out, Remus Lupin." And in fact, I don't think I will chicken out. Wine, cheese and good conversation doesn't sound like too much of a hardship, and the last time I was in Hogsmeade I found a set of dress robes at Gladrags' Wizardwear, simple, understated and a bargain. It would be a real shame if I never got to use them.

- Much later -

The party wasn't too bad. It didn't take long for the conversation to turn to other subjects than students and teaching and the Black situation, and that was when the fun started. It was ages since I had proper conversations with Arngrim Fairfax and Donata Pinkstone--Fairfax used to be one of my favourite teachers, and Pinkstone is involved in her cousin's Muggle support campaigns. Always a good idea to catch up with the developments in Muggle relations, though Hypatia Vector and Rolanda were frowning a bit at my souring the Christmas spirit by talking politics. Minerva and Flitwick popped in on their way to Hogsmeade, about to pick up Cornelius Fudge, and even Snape was there. I suspect it was to make sure that I was a good boy and didn't drink anything stronger than Gillywater, but he needn't have worried; red wine doesn't agree with me. I thought briefly about going down to the Three Broomsticks as well, but a party sans Fudge is probably more relaxed. He might not be quite as reactionary as certain society segments, but I don't think he would voluntarily drink with a werewolf.

Sunday, December 26^th

Sirius,

I had to insist on being allowed to walk to Hogsmeade instead of Flooing from Dumbledore's office. Poppy has been a bit wary of letting me go and already talked me out of Apparating, all because I was rather out of it when she came to knock on my door at dawn. She didn't let me check on the wards before I left, either, so I just have to put my faith in the last-minute touch-ups I did before Christmas. And would you believe she actually followed me down into the village? While it's very sweet of her, it makes me feel like being eleven years old and having my mother following me to the Hogwarts Express, inquiring if I had my sandwiches and pumpkin juice, all my books, my wand and enough clean pants, loud enough for a gang of older Slytherins to hear.

But the oak and the field do look the same.

So now I am in Birmingham. We've taken a short tour, and the city hasn't improved much since last I saw it. The channels do look nicer these days, and I spotted quite a few interesting Balti restaurants, one of my weaknesses though I've never mastered the art of using only a piece of naan bread as a fork.

It seems I worried needlessly again, by the way. Rolanda's sister Geraldine and her girlfriend Amrita have pulled out all the stops to make me feel at home. Even their charming but undisciplined Crup has cheerfully attempted to show his goodwill by trying to steal every pair of socks I brought with me. Rolanda and I took it out for an evening walk, keeping up the pretence that it was just an uncommonly spirited Jack Russell terrier.

Perhaps it was just my loneliness that made me a misanthrope before I came to Hogwarts--am rediscovering the schoolboy who liked a good joke and spirited discussions, something I thought I had lost. There are good people in the world too. I should have an elderly female relative stitch those words on a wall hanging for me, put it where I can see it from my bed.

Tuesday, December 28^th

Sirius,

I take back everything mean I ever said about Birmingham. We were at the Art Museum today and had a delicious afternoon tea once I managed to pull myself away from the Impressionists. We are doing a few of the Tolkien landmarks tomorrow--were you ever aware that one of your favourite authors had grown up in Birmingham? Perhaps I had better not think about it or I'm going to imagine you enthusiastically investigating every tree in Moseley Bog, hands full with author biographies and Lord of the Rings.

Geraldine and Amrita invited a few of their friends for a party tonight, and I ought to get ready, stop brooding and see if I can do anything to help out in the kitchen. Who would have thought it, Remus John Lupin is transforming into a party animal.

Wednesday, December 29^th

Sirius,

Bugger, bugger, bugger. Why didn't I see that coming?

Rolanda and I went out alone tonight to give Geraldine and Amrita some time for themselves, found an Indian restaurant that played jazz music. As I was picking the coriander leaves out of my chicken and red lentil balti--I used to give mine to you and then had to ward off your kisses--I suddenly realised what I heard her saying, with the kind of brave, brittle voice I never thought I would associate with brisk, no-nonsense Rolanda Hooch.

I think I handled it rather badly at that, mostly out of shock. How was I to know that she fancied me? I am a prematurely old, rather nondescript fellow with no idea of Quidditch League results or the rules of Quodpot, my grasp of modern music stops some time in the 1950s. Besides, she knows I am a werewolf and that usually puts paid to closer relationships. What does an attractive, striking-looking, tomboyish woman like Rolanda see in me?

Jesus Christ, I can't sit here and write while she's doing who knows what. As if I didn't know that offering to "just be friends" feels like a slap in the face--really brilliant, Lupin. In some way I have to fix this.

Sunday, January 2^nd, 1994

Sirius,

Rolanda and I came back to Hogwarts yesterday and immediately got an update on the Black situation. How the hell have you managed to procure a Firebolt for the boy and what have you done with it? How did you get your hands on it?

I took the Floo from The Three Broomsticks to Quality Quidditch Supplies, but all they could tell me was this: some days before Christmas, they had received an Owl Order for a broomstick, to Mr H J Potter, care of Hogwarts, to be paid from vault 711. I don't recognise the number, and the goblins' lips are sealed, as usual. They wouldn't do more than politely but rather smugly inform me that it is one of their high-security vaults. We used to have an ordinary vault in common for our household expenses, but this isn't it. That vault wouldn't have held enough for a Firebolt, anyway--I asked about the price. Blimey, you were never one for half-measures.

Saturday, January 8^th

Sirius,

Why is it that as soon as you actually need a Boggart, you can't find one for your life? I have searched the castle for two days, asking all the ghosts for help. Nearly Headless Nick is always willing to help former Gryffindors, The Fat Friar would help anyone, and I was always on good terms with The Grey Lady. I even went out of my way to look for The Bloody Baron, but no one had seen or heard anything. I started to fear I would have to cancel Harry's Anti-Dementor lesson.

Enter next fact of life: Start searching for something else and you find what you were looking for in the first place. I had given up hope and received grudging permission of Filch to look in his filing cabinet for the Marauder's Map when I realised that one of the drawers were rattling in a suspicious manner. Yes!

No map, however. Never mind. Maybe I will find it the next time I am searching for clean socks.

The Boggart seems happy enough in the desk cupboard I cleared out for it. Rolanda shook her head as she came to fetch me for our scheduled session of Firebolt torture (figuratively speaking, of course), and said that I kept weird pets for such a nice bloke. I replied that I like pets with a personality (first time we have been at ease with each other since you-know-what.) But the broomstick still hasn't reacted to anything, neither tests for simple jinxes from the Quidditch rulebook, nor to spells straight out of the Necronomicon. We will find whatever you did to it, however, it is only a matter of time. Am keeping ink and parchment at my bedside in case I get a brainstorm during the night.

For goodness' sake, I was supposed to write about Harry and his first anti-Dementor lesson, not blather about broomsticks or maps. He shows a real talent for Defence Against the Dark Arts--produced a spectral Patronus on the third try. Amazing, really, considering that he can't have that many happy memories to feed it. I know it is unrealistic to hope that he will be able to produce a true Patronus anytime soon, but I keep hoping for it. It takes so much out of him that I wonder if I'm doing the right thing, but no one should have to hear his parents dying in his head, again and again. Stupid he isn't--he must've been putting two and two together, because I'd remember if I'd told him that I knew you in school, or about you and James being best friends. Something smells wrong and I ought to investigate, but there's hardly enough time in the week for teaching, let alone for testing Firebolts or having personal problems.

The situation with Rolanda still feels awkward--I should have handled it better. I offered to do the honourable thing and leave for Hogwarts before New Year, but she told me not to. Said that would only make things worse, and I suppose she was right. What do I know, I still feel completely out of my depth. Is it because I never thought that anyone, except for crazy Sirius Black with his werewolf fetish, could like me in that way, or does it always feel like this when you have to turn someone down?

Monday, January 10^th

Sirius,

Gryffindor third-year classes are tense. Harry, Ron and Hermione are at war over the Firebolt--it seems she was the one who told Minerva about it. It is an admirable thing to do, I don't think I'd have had the guts to do the same in her position, but telling Ron and Harry that she did the right thing isn't very popular right now. It's too bad you don't know; you might get a couple of laughs out of being able to estrange Harry from a friend.

Written several letters this afternoon--one to the Loch Ness team, asking if anyone would be willing to come and tell the third-years about the most famous Kelpie of Scotland; one to the Auror HQ, sounding the waters for interested people; two to Durmstrang (my infamous Grindylow letters, finally finished). I should just have time to run up to the Owlery before I have to go to the evening's tutor group.

Wednesday, January 20^th

Sirius,

My diary-keeping habit is slipping, but there are so many other things to do that the free time slot hardly makes any difference. Teaching classes, tutoring NEWT students. Patrolling the castle, teaching Harry the Patronus Charm, researching anti-jinx tests. Figuring out a safe way to send a Grindylow--it's going to need a large tank, food and fresh sweet water. At least Kovacsi says sending a Pogrebin won't be a problem.

Honeydukes had late opening hours yesterday, and I took the chance to stock up on chocolate and Butterbeer. Harry deserves anything that can cheer him up. I thought about cancelling the anti-Dementor lesson next week--full moon again--but he has made such progress that I can't let him down. It has to be enough if we keep the lesson in my office, I can lock myself in immediately after he leaves.

Harry isn't the only one who needs cheering up. I made a spur-of-the-moment decision to invite Hermione for a cup of tea in my office as well, since she has been looking downcast lately. I had been checking up spell books in the Restricted Section--after all, it might take powerful Dark magic to interfere with a broomstick like a Firebolt--and she was the last in the library, as she always seems to be these days. Her classes must be taking their toll, but she still had enough energy to ask how the testing of the Firebolt was proceeding. And frankly we are running out of tests--the blasted thing doesn't react to anything we have done to it so far. I reached the far end of the Restricted Section in my search for broomstick magic today, and on Saturday I will pay a visit to the Library of St Brigid the Bluestocking in Oxford. Of course, one of the brightest students ever to attend Hogwarts, tutored by the most powerful Dark wizard of a century, would probably have other tricks up his sleeve, things you can't find in books in self-respecting, law-abiding libraries.

Friday, February 4^th

Sirius,

Couldn't sleep tonight, so I made myself useful and did a surprise inspection of the Astronomy Tower. After shooing couples off to bed, I stepped out on the battlements, thinking to sit down for a while, smoke a fag. A bad habit, I know, and I thought I had kicked it for good, several years ago. But it gives me some semblance of quiet.

On midnight in February Orion stands over the lake, stirring up the Milky Way with his club. Without thinking I followed the line made by his belt downwards, the way one teaches first-years, until I found your namesake. Your parents named you aptly--after the chieftain of stars, peerless in all aspects, fierce and brilliant like lightning. It makes one wonder why Cornelius Fudge has authorised the Kiss in your case. I know you irritated him even back when he was a busybody official in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. You couldn't have been any different from him had you tried, Trainee Auror with over-long hair, a big mouth and a lack of proper wizard pride, the scion of one of the oldest pureblood families of Great Britain with ancestors from the days when the Romans ruled, who had chucked everything Fudge could only dream about out of the window.

I can't bear to think of you without a soul, even after what you did. I have had nightmares about Dementors clamping their jaws to your lips and about the fire slowly dying in your eyes. I can promise you one last friendly favour--I'd rather kill you myself than let that thing happen, if they get their hands on you. Don't misunderstand me and call it mercy, but the thought of it makes me feel physically sick.

Harry doesn't feel the same. He sees things in black and white like any teenager would do, but since you never gave him the chance to get to know you, I should say he has a good cause for it. Nevertheless, that blind hatred--"He deserves it," he said yesterday, without faltering--disturbs me. There was so much love in James and Lily, there has to be some in him as well. But I keep forgetting; he isn't thinking about the doting godfather, who used to change into his Animagus form to entertain his godson--Harry liked to sit on Padfoot's back and pull his ears even more than he liked to tug at your sideburns--but of the traitor and spy who betrayed his parents.

There isn't a trace of magic on that blasted broomstick, and we have tested every twig. I am probably blushing as I write this, but we even tested for things out of the schoolboy repertoire, like Pincushion and Woodworm hexes. It makes no sense, but I know you are involved in it, in some way--sending the boy the best broomstick money can buy would be just like you. Rolanda raved about it but didn't see anything wrong with it as Harry was flying. I promised to keep an eye out during the game tomorrow, just in case. Imagine, this is going to be the first time I see Harry fly.

I had better try to get some sleep, I won't be much help if I fall asleep in the stands tomorrow morning.

Chapter 4

Saturday, February 5^th

Sirius,

Owl from the Loch Ness team this morning--they'll be delighted to send someone. Aurors too busy, so that is one of my grand plans shot down in flames. Gringotts' curse breakers are all out on the field as well. I've asked if the Loch Ness person could come in May, as a bit of a last treat for my students before the exams start. And I could certainly do with a break. Have to go down for breakfast now, and then down to the pitch.

- Later -

It seems Harry's Firebolt was harmless anyway, we didn't find anything wrong with it and Merlin knows we tried our best. I even asked Snape for advice, for crying out loud (having to endure barbs about my incompetence, but I think he was flattered to be recognised as an Authority all the same). Could it be your idea of blood money? To buy yourself out of all you owe Harry--a home, parents, siblings, godfatherly guidance? Nice try, Black, but a hundred Firebolts couldn't do that.

No matter. The Firebolt saved the day, the Gryffindors have retired to celebrate and I can begin to collect my thoughts. Harry's Patronus was corporeal for the first time, and it gave me quite a turn to see its shape. I hope I will one day get the chance to tell him why his Patronus is a stag.

Now that I can concentrate on teaching again, I need to do something about the library. When I went through the Restricted Section last month, I couldn't help noticing that the vampire section is sadly outdated. The most respected school of witchcraft and wizardry in Europe doesn't have anything newer on the subject than the collected works of Arminius Vambery. It is a disgrace, and then I haven't even started about the coverage of magical traditions outside Europe. So this evening I have been filling in forms for new acquisitions and writing an application for money to the board of governors. Hogwarts' day-to-day budget won't cover the expenses needed to update the library. I know I am not likely to be training vampire hunters here, but we most definitely do not want a repeat of what happened in the nineteenth century. Even the Muggles began to notice, and the Ministry had to contract people to write basic primers, disguised as fiction. Not that I will ever get the more bigoted students to understand that a Squib like Stoker wrote the most accurate account of how to recognise and kill a rogue vampire ever published in the English language. And it got the job done, even with all the trouble we got in the International Confederation of Wizards for exposing Scholomance in the mountains above Lake Sibiu to the Muggles. As if all the rot about devil worship could have kept it hidden for much longer.

Sense another headache coming on--damn, is it that late? Is Poppy still awake, I wonder?

Monday, February 7^th

Sirius,

Snape cornered me in the staff room earlier today when I was looking for a bunch of lecture notes I'd misplaced.

"Once may be coincidence, Lupin," he said. "Twice, and one begins to wonder."

I swallowed my comment that if I had been helping Black get inside the castle, he would never have needed a second try. Be like that, Severus, and see if I ask your advice again. I shouldn't have taken that Dreamless Sleep potion Poppy insisted on giving me, should never have let it slip that it was the second night in a row I'd slept poorly.

But hang it all, Sirius, how did you get in this time? Are my wards too weak, did your magic change that much in twenty years? Did Voldemort teach you to turn into mist, like vampires? Did you choose the wrong bed deliberately or was it a mistake? Are you really mad--though I have ruled out that possibility--or are you playing cat and mouse? Is that the message: next time you break in, you won't miss?

Tearing the curtains of Harry's best friend's bed is much too close. I set newer, stronger warding and alarming spells and made up my mind while I was working with them. If there is ever any indication from them that you are trying another break-in, I'm going to go straight to Dumbledore and tell him about your being an Animagus, see if I won't.

Hagrid is getting tense; he'll be taking Buckbeak to London in the end of the week. I'll nip down to his cottage and encourage him one of these evenings, not that I think he needs it. He is going to be fine; what Hagrid doesn't know about Hippogriffs isn't worth knowing. I have met Hermione a few times on the way, alone--odd, the boys can't still be upset about the Firebolt--but they will have to sort it out for themselves, I'm afraid.

Now where are my damn notes? What is it with me, I've never been this distracted before, and I need them tomorrow. Wonderful, so much for preparing ahead.

Thursday, February 10^th

Sirius,

I had another nightmare about you tonight. Usually I never remember my dreams, and those I do remember are always the same--I have grown breasts and have to teach a class in the nude, which is incredibly embarrassing.

This one was different, much more disturbing than the ones where you are Kissed. We were taking a bath together, here in my rooms. You were lying in my arms and your body was covered with festering wounds, but it didn't seem to bother you, you were too busy suckling my nipples like a baby. I was trying in vain to untangle that matted mess your hair had become, knowing that everything would be all right if I could only get it done, but I didn't have a comb and your hair was infested with disgusting creatures; worms, cockroaches, spiders. Then the bottom fell out of the tub and we were sinking together, drowning, and I was choking on your hair while it wound itself around my neck, like snakes. I woke up at five in the morning and couldn't go back to sleep.

The Gryffindor third-years were rather perceptive. Harry and Ron even stayed after class to ask me if I was all right. I didn't tell them much, but Ron in particular was quite sympathetic when he heard that my nightmare had featured spiders. I could ask Sybill Trelawney to interpret it for me, but I have a distinct feeling she will only predict my gruesome death by the tentacles of a Kraken, so I won't bother. I don't need dreams to tell me that I'm thinking of you too much.

Ended up rewriting my lost lecture notes from memory and made a pig's ear out of the lesson. Quite the scatterbrained professor, ha. When we were in Spain on holiday, you bought me an awfully kitschy, mass-produced painting of St Anthony of Padua--protector of animals (since werewolves weren't on the list), paupers and seekers of lost articles. Perfect patron saint for old Moony.

Saturday, February 12^th

Sirius,

Teaching is fine, but the staff meetings are turning into a pain in the neck. I hate having to fight with people I like about petty things like Hogwarts' scarce resources. Rolanda probably hates me now because I think it is more important to get books on Defence Against the Dark Arts than it is to buy new school broomsticks.

And I can't believe it, I have misplaced another bunch of lecture notes. Why am I this distracted all of a sudden? I even failed to give Hagrid what little support I could give him. The hearing was yesterday, and I clean forgot. How could I--only this Monday I made a mental note to visit, then forgot all about it. Do I deserve to have friends, the way I treat them?

Hagrid shrugged off my apology when I ran down to his cottage; he seems to think that nothing would have made any difference. He lost. What should one say--what can one possibly say to make it better? Better luck next time?

- Late at night -

I thought I would have more time to spare after we'd cleared the Firebolt, but it doesn't seem to work that way. Somehow or other the rest of my duties expand into every nook and cranny of the schedule.

I was right about Harry having a knack for causing trouble. He has been sneaking into Hogsmeade without permission, courting death even more eagerly than we did during the full moons, the stupid boy. I'm starting to understand Snape's viewpoint, I really am.

Snape summoned me into his office in the middle of my looking for my notes, whereupon I found 1) one irate Potions Master; 2) one Harry Potter, trying too hard to look innocent and only succeeding to look like he had something to hide; and 3) one certain old map from our schooldays, with our nicknames boldly proclaiming Snape to be an idiot, a slimeball and I don't know what else. What was that again about finding something while searching for something totally different?

For a second I was certain my mind had split in two--one half, belonging to the teacher, winced in sympathy with Snape, while the other, belonging to the former troublemaker, was concerned with damage control. How much did he know back in school? Had he ever seen us use the map even if he obviously didn't know the password?

Snape is going to try and get me for this, I don't doubt. I am still shocked that I got away with it, though I had to sober up quickly enough and tell off Harry for what he did. It seems he has James's tendency to like forbidden fruit in spades.

Another headache on the way. I have tried to cure them myself with infusions of sweet balm, willow bark and lavender, but infusions don't make me relax. I'd need stronger potions for that, but for that I ought to go see Poppy, which is out of the question. And Snape will quite likely feed me poison if I go down to his dungeons again.

That pack of cigarettes was full a week ago. Not good. At least I finally found my notes; some kindly soul had crammed them into my pigeonhole. Things would be much easier for me if people didn't try to be helpful all the time.

Tuesday, February 22^nd

Sirius,

Once again, I had to dash to the library with a pile of soon-to-be overdue books. Saw the trio working there together--it seems they have overcome their disagreement. Nice that some things turn out well. My application for money didn't--it was turned down by the board of governors, who stated that they didn't see the need to upgrade the library with more vampire literature since there have been no vampires in Britain since the late nineteenth century, vampires are protected in the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-magic Part-humans and so on. I'd like to see that kind of political correctness catch on in Central Europe. I am a Part-human myself per Ministry definitions, only allowed a wand and a magical education thanks to a technicality, and if I ever kill, I will want someone to stand prepared with a silver-tipped arrow. I am certain there are reformed vampires who feel the same way about the garlic, the stake and the sharpened axe.

Snape meanwhile gets all the nasty, expensive potions ingredients and rare books he wants without any trouble. One begins to wonder if being a halfblooded werewolf works against me, or if I haven't got the right kind of connections.

- Late at night -

I fell asleep at my desk around nine, on a pillow of third-year vampire essays and first-year doxy drawings. Now I can't make myself feel the least bit sleepy, even after grading the rest of the papers. I know I should ask Poppy for a sleeping potion again, but I don't dare. What if you break in again and I can't be woken when the wards are breached? I start to think I am overworked, but I think I can manage until the Easter holiday. I will be able to rest up then.

I think I had better go down to the kitchens, see if there are any house-elves awake at this time of night, check if I could get a pot of coffee to take up to my rooms. Maybe I can find something more interesting to read than vampire essays.

Sunday, March 6^th

Sirius,

The Pogrebin from Durmstrang arrived safely. I'm keeping it tightly confined, and God knows what I'm going to do with it after I've shown it to my students. It's not as though I need a depression on top of everything.

Poor Hagrid is a mess. I've been to see him ever so often, trying to fish for anything unusual, any sightings of large black dogs around the place. You wouldn't draw attention to yourself by stealing Fang's food, would you? And why have you suddenly stopped trying to enter the castle? Are you just biding your time, waiting for Harry to stray out of bounds again?

Tuesday, March 15^th

Sirius,

I am beginning to get worried. I've been snapping at the NEWT groups and feeling more and more indifferent to preparing my lessons. This isn't like it should be. Or am I just a bad teacher despite having deceived myself that I am pretty good at the job? If I were a natural at educating teenagers I shouldn't be feeling like this.

Owl from one Fergus Ogilvie saying May is fine--was slightly bemused before I realised that this is the fellow who is going to come and teach the Kelpie classes. I sort of remember the name from the Sorting in our fourth year. Ravenclaw, I believe. Owled him back and suggested the first week in May.

Friday, March 25^th

Sirius,

Godric, Merlin and Morgana, I have never been this humiliated before. Why couldn't I have kept myself from cracking until after Snape brought the Wolfsbane?

Nothing tops being discovered crying over a heap of essays by Severus Snape, of all people. Absolutely nothing. It is a weak comfort that he seemed to be so flustered upon discovering me that he wasn't his usual self. I'm just lucky he was very Snapish about it and didn't rub it in by patting my head.

"Contrary to your beliefs, Lupin, the Hogwarts staff won't thank you for working yourself to death," was all he said when he placed the goblet of Wolfsbane on my desk. "If I may make a suggestion, discussions at the staff meeting will be rather irrelevant to Defence Against the Dark Arts. Your presence will not be required."

I didn't dare say anything though it rankled. Who is he to say what is relevant for my classes or not? I drank the Wolfsbane as quickly as I could, for once not noticing the taste, asked him to get out and hoped he would depart without a parting shot.

Which he did not.

"A house-elf will be bringing you a Restorative Draught presently. You would do well to take it." And then, finally, he left. Apart from that house-elf, no one has been in, except for Sprout who Floo-called to say that she had cancelled my post-dinner NEWT group, mostly Hufflepuffs.

I feel better now, perhaps I can make it to the staff meeting anyway. Even as I write, Snape is probably in full speed, gloating over poor Lupin who can't even keep himself together.

Good Friday, March 28^th

Sirius,

Rolanda says this is the only diary entry I shall be allowed during the Easter Holiday, and I need to make it short as I am leaving for Glencoe in an hour. Minerva has kindly invited me to her family home until Easter Sunday. After that I will spend three days with Rolanda, Geraldine and Amrita. They have informed me that books or diaries are not allowed on this trip, whatever good that is going to do me. Anyway, I will get back to it when I am back at Hogwarts.

April 10^th

Sirius,

Godric's whiskers, but I'll be glad when the Quidditch final is over. First I had to confiscate wands. Then I played with the idea of mollifying them into getting along with each other by giving them some duel training, but the foolish puerile brats would probably jump at the possibility to hex each other. Finally I had to rearrange the NEWT classes completely, and I'm afraid I was rather short with Wood and Flint when they argued that their training schedules would be messed up, implying rather heavily that they had brought it on themselves.

It's impossible to keep Gryffindors and Slytherins in the same room any more. Here I thought I was progressive and clever, dividing students not by Houses but by their weak subjects, thinking them to be mature enough to realise that Quidditch is just a game while their NEWT results are going to affect their whole lives. No such luck. Some days you feel that adopting the Snape Theory of Education wouldn't be such a bad idea.

I'm glad to have my diary back, however, and even happier that people have stopped pussyfooting around me. Of course I realise that it was insane of me to try and work around the clock, do they think I am stupid enough to do it again? Easter wasn't bad--an extremely colourful experience, from fishing in Glencoe to clubbing in Birmingham. Geraldine and Amrita bemoan the lack of decent gay clubs, but the one we went to was good enough for me. One is very much like the other, and the people much the same. Still, dancing wasn't bad.

Found another letter from Fergus Ogilvie in one of the paper piles in my office, and can't remember answering it before Easter. Come to think of it, I mishandled a lot of my correspondence before Easter. I answered it anyway, feeling slightly stupid when I apologised for perhaps answering twice. The dates of his visit are now officially settled.