Teacups Have Feelings

He gets up after an inward struggle-he is tired but feels he must do some work. His eyes open, soft brown eyes with long lashes. It is still dark outside: four o'clock. The cold woke him and he is grateful; five hours is enough time for rest. Shivering, he opens the wardrobe and takes out some clothes. His glance rests on the piles of garments, like people lying safe and warm in a clean, cheery house. He smiles and shuts the wardrobe door.

Remus Lupin leaves the room very quietly, careful not to bang the door. His mother is asleep in the next room and he does not want to wake her. She is only forty, but looks much older; there are deep wrinkles on her face and her light brown hair is streaked with gray. She worries too much, it pours out of her eyes. Remus' heart aches as he thinks of it. He blames himself- his mother was never the same again after he was bitten by a werewolf and became one himself. He blames himself for many things and is always angry at himself when something goes wrong, never at the world. He sometimes cries but tries not to: crying makes his eyes painful and swollen so he can't stay up to do any schoolwork.

He sits down and carefully takes his Defence against the Dark Arts books out of his bag. His head bent low, he begins to write rapidly. School is important to Remus because he knows he is lucky to be there at all. Not everyone would welcome a werewolf into Hogwarts with open arms. He also realises that he will find it hard to get a job: he must not give people another reason to scorn him by being incompetent. He does not think ''by being stupid''-stupid is a harsh, ugly word and it hurts him, even in his thoughts. Too many things hurt him; it is one of the disadvantages of being too kind, of having too big a heart. It pains him to think of what might have been, then comparing it with what really is. it hurts him more than anything to know there is no escape from his way of life.

He writes faster and faster, and then stops. Betty will be cold, he thinks. He unlocks the door and calls softly. Betty appears. She is a big, ugly mongrel, but Remus loves her. She follows him inside and waits patiently while he puts down a bowl of food for her. She eats quickly, ravenously-like a wolf, Remus thinks. He shudders violently and feels colder than ever. He dislikes thinking about wolves; he pushes the thought away but another one enters his mind: his transformation begins tomorrow, with the full moon.

He sits down again and takes up his quill. Betty affectionately nibbles his feet, but he does not kick her away as most people would have done. He likes having her there; she keeps him occupied, as the books do. He thinks of spells and curses and the dull pain in his cold feet, and is glad that his mind is not free to wander. When he begins to think, his keen imagination grips him and leaves him scared and wild, like an animal caught in a trap; a deformed buck caught in a snare. The snare of his own mind.

It is six o'clock now; the sun is coming up. Remus gets up and goes to wash his inky hands. They are hard hands, chapped and rough from running as a werewolf. He looks at his reflection in the mirror above the sink and sighs. Pale skin, a little flushed at the cheeks, a full mouth, an unremarkable nose and over-large eyes with girlish lashes in an oval face. He knows he can never be handsome like Sirius, or good looking like James, but he wishes that his eyes were different. He dislikes the soft, almost luminous brown and the long dark lashes. He bites his lip and turns away.

He walks into the kitchen and begins to wash up, being careful not to make a noise with the crockery. He puts everything away very neatly and does not crash the things together. Somehow, he feels as though every cup and plate has feelings and would be sad and hurt at such treatment. He knows this is silly but cannot help it. He has had this thought ever since he was a child, and cherished it; it made him feel that he had dozens of friends. He boils the kettle and makes tea, putting in two spoons of sugar and one slice of lemon, just as his mother likes it. He walks out of the kitchen and trips over Betty, then apologises aloud to her as though it is his fault: he does not think of the scalding hot tea that has spilt over him, or of the fact that he will have to wipe the floor and make another cup of tea. He strokes the dog and does it all without complaint.

Finally, he carries the tea to his mother and feels a warm glow when she smiles at him.