You Taught Us Well

You Taught Us Well

The letter read like this:

Dean,

I dunno mate, I know what you're saying about it all, I'd love to see it happen as well, but I doubt it could change anything. But if you want to try I'd be more than willing to help. Just say when.

Seamus.

I tucked the letter into my desk, knowing that the rest of them would probably echo Seamus' in some way or other: they would be willing to help, but doubtful it would do much good. Sighing, I traced the numerous scrapes and bumps on the surface of my desk and took out the other letter.

See what you can do, Dean,

Lavender had written, because if anyone can do it, I'm sure you can.

That made me blush. Lavender had probably just been trying to boost my self-esteem with that generous compliment. Awful nice of her, wouldn't you say? Did she know it would make me blush? She had expected it, no doubt.

I had, so far, written to everyone in my year, except for one person (I referred to that person as my "ace-in-the-hole.")

The thing is, Dean,

Hermione's letter had read, he's resigned, Dumbledore's probably already filled his position, so what more can we do?

And, I hate to ask this Dean, but do you even know what you're going to do?

Hermione is, of course, the voice of reason, and here she was so brimming with the stuff it was enough to convince I, Muggle-born Dean of mediocre looks and slightly higher than that grades, was not fit in any way, shape, or form to perform the task I had set out to do.

Right now, however, reason was out to lunch. I had the idea in my head and I'd be damned if I didn't at least, as Seamus had said, try.

* * * *

The pipes need to be fixed was the first thing that popped into my mind when I woke up that morning. An odd sentiment, I admit, but it was quite true, the Patching Charm I had put on the leaky pipes needed a replacement.

I desperately hate household-y spells. Not that I'm that bad at them, I've even got a knack, you could say, but it doesn't mean I have to enjoy them. If you live in a creaky old flat like mine you'd feel that way eventually, too.

To stop complaining and get to the point, it was a week after I had left Hogwarts and I was back in London in my creaky old flat. I enjoyed being back in the city, where I was simply another haggard face in the crowd. This was a feeling that brought my last day at Hogwarts, the day after Sirius and Buckbeak had escaped, into sharp relief, when I had entered the Great Hall to see every single pair of eyes stare back, the room awash in whispers.

That feeling, which I thought was similar to being dunked in boiling water, coupled with the stupidity I had felt after the whole Black affair came to light was enough to convince me to go back to London, to...I wasn't quite sure what I was returning to other than this pitiful little flat, but being able to sink into the anonymity one can always feel in large cities was enough to convince me that leaving Hogwarts and the Defense Against the Dark Arts post to different hands was the best course for all involved.

Little did I know at that moment, guilt was set to arrive at my doorstep very soon, being plotted by several former students of mine.

* * * *

Listen, just tell us your plan,

Ron's scrawling letters said, it's a great idea, but we need something to appeal to him. If it's just a bunch of his snot-nosed former students writing him a letter he probably won't be convinced, unless the letter's REALLY good. And that would mean Hermione would have to write it, but I think the shrillness of the whole thing would put him off us more, dontcha think?

Certainly Ron was using that more as a way to have a go at Hermione, but he still had a point.

Maybe a gift?

Parvati's letter had said. I guess that's a little stupid, but I can't think of anything else. A gift would certainly catch his attention.

Indeed it would, but I, Muggle-born Dean of mediocre grades, looks, and even less than that funds, didn't know what to get nor how much money it would cost to get it. No, gifts probably weren't the way to go.

Have you written to Harry yet?

Ron's letter had continued. I know he tried to talk Lupin out of it the day he quit, but obviously that didn't work.

That troubled me even more. I had thought if Harry was in on it Lupin would be a little more easily persuaded, being that Harry and him had had all those anti-dementor lessons, but if Harry had already tried and failed, what chance did I have?

Who cares?

I told myself firmly, so what? Do you want another Lockhart/Quirell/(and this is the worst of all) Snape-like teacher?

Certainly not. Something needed to be done, we needed Professor Lupin back and some stupid prejudice about werewolves or whatever was not going to stand in our way.

Now if I only had an actionable plan to attach that battle cry to.

* * * *

I sat in my office, humming and watching the phoenix burn before my eyes. When the flame smoldered itself out, I went over and picked up the phoenix chick.

"Well, I'm certainly glad that's over, wouldn't you say?" I asked the bald, ugly little thing, certainly not expecting any form of verbal answer.

The chick squeaked in a weary sort of way.

"My thoughts exactly. Hello, what's this?"

An owl I did not recognize flew into my office at that moment. It was about the size of an apple, only if an apple darted around as much as this one did it would already be applesauce.

"Calm down, let me see what you've got."

"Merlin, Albus, who do you know who keeps such a creature?" one of the portraits on the wall asked.

I did not answer immediately, for I had managed to release the owl from its burden. I sat down at my desk and read:

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

We, the soon-to-be fourth year Gryffindors, respectfully request a favor. We are curious as to who will be filling the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts, seeing as Professor Lupin, our highly satisfactory former teacher, has resigned. If you would respond with this owl we would be much obliged.

Yours sincerely,

The Gryffindor fourth years.

My first inclination was to chuckle slightly, but I answered the portrait.

"If I'm not much mistaken, Phineas, it belongs to one Ronald Weasley. He's writing on behalf of the fourth years."

"What about?"

"Remus Lupin."

The portrait's eyes widened. "The werewolf?"

"Yes indeed. They want to know if his position has been filled yet."

"And? What will you tell them?"

I looked up from the letter finally, staring at the portrait. "The truth of course. The candidate I have in mind has not confirmed his acceptance yet."

"Hmm. Any idea why they're so interested?"

"I can only imagine," I told the portrait, smiling.

* * * *

The letter to Dumbledore was Hermione's idea. Smart girl, no? We used Ron's new owl (hyperactive little blighter, he was) and got the response that no one was in the position definitely. They were all undecided as of yet. (Who these people were Dumbledore did not say). Dumbledore warned us, however, that Professor Lupin had not been at all keen on coming back to Hogwarts, but should we make any attempt to convince him otherwise, he advised us to, to paraphrase his words, go for it.

This was why, as I sat in my parents' house in Rickmansworth, I had my sketchbook with me. I, Dean Thomas, may have unremarkable looks, grades, and funds, but I do know how to draw. Drawing, I thought, not Harry, might very well be our ace-in-the-hole.

I started it on Tuesday and finished it on Friday. Then I sent it to Harry, with an explanation on it and instructions to send it to each member of our year.

I got it back two weeks later, after it had made the rounds, and, truth be told, I actually thought we had a chance.

Another word I should add to my self-description is naïve.

* * * *

I got the placard from Dean the day I also got a letter from Sirius. That was why when I sent the placard on to Ron I used the colorful tropical bird rather than Hedwig (she got rather sore at me afterwards), telling the bird to return here before he went back to wherever Sirius was. I thought Ron would be impressed by the quality of bird Sirius used in his letters to me and also by the quality of Dean's drawing, which I thought would convince anybody to return.

I, like Dean, was incredibly naïve.

* * * *

The first thing you noticed about Dean's drawing was the color. It had a very odd background, it was silvery-white and almost shimmered. It looked smooth but also appeared, if I wasn't very much mistaken, to be littered with craters. Every so often on the surface the sweeping pencil lines would appear to form little round ridges on the cardboard, even though the surface was quite flat.

Ah

, I thought, finally understanding. It's the moon. Craters and all that.

That was appropriate, I thought.

The whole thing was done on those thick piece of corrugated cardboard that I imagine Muggle children do their science projects on. It was about as big as a chess board and around the edges of this cardboard were little face portraits of several people, all my former students. First there was Ron, with his fiery hair and long nose (very long for caricature purposes), then Hermione, her hair and teeth also somewhat exaggerated (like I said, it was a caricature), then Seamus, Neville, and so on. (Dean is not there, I imagine because he was not comfortable drawing his own face.) Harry is even there, a minute scar visible on his forehead. They are all grinning widely and had signed their names under their respective mini-portraits.

In the middle of it all is, surprisingly enough, me standing in front of a blackboard with a grindylow tank beside me.

I'll spare you a detaileddescription of that (or, more accurately, spare myself) but I will say I was a bit surprised about it, mostly taken with Dean's artistic ability. The only thing you could really say about it was that it looked quite accurate. Written beneath my own face were very, very strange words, I thought.

YOU TAUGHT US WELL. COME BACK.

Very short and to the point. Dean had more a way with a pencil than he did with words. Under that it said:

Created by Dean Thomas, from the Gryffindor third years (and the Weasleys)

I looked, and sure enough, Fred, George, and Ginny both made an appearance on the placard.

Under that, in small writing that I suspected belonged to one of the Weasley boys:

Besides. Do you really dislike us enough to give us SNAPE for a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher? .

Fair point. I took a sip of my coffee. How to respond to this...

Five minutes (and perhaps about ten sips) later, I was still staring at the placard that was littered with faces and appeared to be set on the surface of the moon.

I decided I would write a letter.

Dear children,

No, that sounded too patronizing.

Dear students,

Too formal.

Dear Dean, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Seamus, Parvati, Lavender, Fred, George, Ginny, and Neville,

That was rather extensive but I thought it the best so far.

I'm incredibly touched that you all took the time to make the poster (it's remarkably well done, Dean, I'm surprised you could draw us all so well considering we were not even there for you to see) and flattered that you'd like me to return. I would love to but there are circumstances...

I stopped. I could see where this was going. I was going to resort to making excuses again. Just like I had told James, Sirius, and a certain rat so many years ago that my monthly absence was simply my mother getting ill, I was lying to shield all of us from the truth.

I sighed. If I had learned anything this past year it was to tell the truth. No more lies, no more deception.

I continued.

I would love to but at the same time I would not feel right and it would simply not work out for reasons I'm sure you all by now know. My departure from the faculty of Hogwarts is due partly to that and also because of a blunder of my own I have made. I wish I could change both these things but I'm sure we all know that that cannot be the case.

It was a wonderful experience teaching all of you, and what I regret most of all is that I will no longer be able to see the fruits of my efforts.

I wish you all good luck in the future.

Yours sincerely,

Professor Lupin.

It needed something else. Perhaps I should assure them there was no way Snape would get the position. But that wouldn't be very responsible of me, would it?

Ah, what the hell.

P.S.: I'm quite sure that Professor Snape won't be the one who takes the vacancy, so no worries there.

There. That was the truth. The whole truth and it was exactly what the lot of them deserved.

* * * *

I got the letter from Professor Lupin and sent it in turn to each of my classmates. I was a bit down, of course. I, Muggle-born Dean, may have average looks, grades, funds, and be very naïve, but I have been able to pick up quite a bit on the patterns of the wizarding world during the past four years. They are just as susceptible to prejudices and discrimination as Muggles are. A bit sad, if you think of it, since people like Draco Malfoy are always acting so very superior to the Muggles, but in actuality the two worlds are more alike than you would've guessed. They both have their convenient views of what people and things should be and if you fail to fall into that view you are automatically labeled as a "Mudblood" or a "half-breed" or any one of those vile names Muggles call each other.

Very sad, when you think of it. I thought of it as I sat in my room in parents' house in Rickmansworth. It was especially sad that if because of those certain prejudices I would end up with Snape or someone worse as a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Now that would be an even bigger tragedy