Walking the Line

I'm walking down the line

That divides me somewhere in my mind...

It was all wrong, he thought as he assembled the books in his study, putting them in neat piles on the desk. His suitcase gaped open beside his chair, Give it to me, it seemed to say. Give to me what you've worked on for a year and I'll devour it. I'll devour all the trust your students had for you; I'll devour your happiness and the sense of belonging you thought you had found. What were you thinking? You can't be happy. This had been his first joy for many years, feeling that he was doing something worthwhile, helping young kids to get to know the world around them. And get to know themselves.

...his hands, growing larger by the second, prickle as fur spreads across the knuckles... the nails grow and become claws, powerful claws that can rip a human limb from the body...

All wrong all wrong all wrong. He had so much left to teach them, so much they needed to know. He had done good here, he knew. He had taught them about Boggarts and taught them how to face their fears. He had taught them about Kappas and taught them how to stay calm in a crisis. He had taught them about Grindylows and taught them how to be strong and act with courage. He hadn't taught them about werewolves, that old fear having stopped him once again, fear of being discovered, being hated, being chased away. If he had dared, he would have taught them about werewolves and taught them how to see beyond that which is shown.

...the muscles scream in protest as his shoulders stretch and broaden, that moment before they turn from human to wolf always equally painful... his tail sprouts suddenly, just as he drops onto his arms - his front legs...

He should have told them earlier. He should have been much more honest. He should have told Dumbledore about his Sixth year, he should have told everything about his friends' transformations, he should have told him about all they had done... no use beating himself up about it now. He had never been like that, going over things again and again until they drove him mad, he had always been rational and calm - the opposite of his wild friends. James and Sirius, how they had swept through the school, dashing and courageous... and he had gone behind, shaking his head and smiling. And Peter... Peter... Peter had gone along too, always nervous and eager to please. How could that young boy have turned into a spy? Had Remus Lupin been at fault, had he been a reason? Maybe, if he had told James and Sirius to stop hassling Peter, if he had shown him how true their friendship could be, would that boy have turned out not to become a spy but their most loyal supporter? Did Peter indeed walk away or was he pushed out?

...his teeth large and sharp fill his mouth, longing to be set into human flesh... sight and hearing is nothing, smell fills the world, the smell of forest, rat, dog, cloth, water...

He had no time to think about Peter now, alone and on his way to rejoin his lord. He had to think about his students... no, not his students. Not anymore. He paused, three tattered robes in his arms, and thought about Snape. He found that he was thankful to the man for telling on him. It saved him the trouble of having to make that decision by himself. For he would have had to, sooner or later. He would have had to resign, no matter how much his heart screamed out against it. He hadn't kept control. He could have killed someone.

...the smell of human. That tantalizing wonderful smell, so close now. He turns towards the boy beside him ...young, fresh human... for so long he hasn't bitten anyone, anything. His body craves it...

But it was wrong, he was needed here! His students needed his help - the nervous First years, the cocky Sixth years, the rowdy Fifth years (He'd never forget the day the Weasley twins let two cages of pixies loose in his class room, screaming "Oh Lockhart, please SAVE US!")... And the Third years, so confused, clashing and breaking against each other - House against House, friend against trusted friend. He knew them all so well, their strengths and weaknesses, hopes and untold fears. Neville Longbottom needed a helping hand, a kind word from a teacher who encouraged rather than mocked. Blaise Zabini needed a shoulder to steady himself against, needed to talk about his family to a listening ear. Hanna Abbot needed someone who explained, explained without tiring. And then explained again.

A dog slams into him from his right side, snaps at his neck. His survival instincts take over before his slow brain can react, twisting his body around and throwing him towards the other animal. His brain catches up - it's a dog, an animal that was once a wolf but is now a human pet, whining for sweets, wagging its tail. He snaps furiously at the dog, aiming for the throat, swiping his paws across its chest...

And Harry needed an adult.

...There is another human, a small skinny human, not much eating but tender and delicious... it is frightened, reeking of terror... black-haired, green-eyed... eyes like newly found emeralds... eyes like the ocean on a sunny day... eyes like grass in the early morning, just after the moon sets and the human mind comes back... it's Harry.

Harry needed an adult to tell him everything was good again when he has nightmares, an adult to tell him about the world, an adult to talk about Lily and James, to explain all those things a child should know from his parents. Harry needed someone to protect him. But did Harry need a werewolf?

It's Harry.

Did Harry need him?

It's Harry.

Harry?

Harry.

Harry?

Harry.

Remus Lupin sighed, laid the last books in his suitcase and closed it. He straightened up, stretching to unknot the muscles in his back, still sore since the day before. Looking around his study, he saw that all was cleared out, nodded to himself and put on his cloak. He could not remain there. He was too dangerous. He would have loved to see what road they chose, his students, would have loved to watch their steps, guide their way down that road. But they would walk it without him. And either find their own guide, or learn to walk it alone.

All wrong all wrong all wrong...

No, he thought, no, it wasn't wrong after all. It was as it should be.

Remus Lupin picked up his suitcase and walked out of his study, not to be back.

The End.