A Year in the Life

III. Looking

The library of Hogwarts School was a bright, warm place to sit and study, purposefully so; it was designed to encourage students to spend their time there, as long as they were quiet and orderly about it. As a student, Minerva had loved the library, and over her years as a teacher at the school, she had come to know every inch of it. She had a spot she always went to, to read at; just behind the more advanced books on Magical Creatures, near a window that looked out onto the Quidditch Pitch.

She looked up when she heard footsteps, too heavy to be one of the younger students; probably a fifth or sixth year, doing research for a paper. They were carrying candles, by the look of the light sliding along the hall corridor; she'd have to reprimand them for that, whoever they were.

She kept quiet as the tall figure rounded the corner and turned to face the bookshelf -- he hadn't seen her, and she was just as glad of that. Remus Lupin stood in front of the shelf, one hand unself-consciously scratching the back of his head, the other, palm up, holding a small ball of green flame. It turned his greying-brown hair a deep, almost copper colour, and picked out the threadbare patches on his white shirt -- a Hogwarts shirt. It looked as though he'd raided the school's lost-and-found for any Hogwarts uniform shirts that would fit him, and some that didn't, quite. The one he had on was a size too big for his gaunt frame.

Certainly after nearly two months at the school, drawing good salary, he couldn't be so poverty-stricken as all that, she thought; perhaps his scrounging was habit. She could well understand why he didn't wear robes when he didn't have to. One more thing that would wear out, fall apart, need patching.

He ran the fingers of one hand across the book spines, illuminating their titles more brightly with the small green flames. He took down two slim volumes, and continued looking. Finally he reached a gap, where Minerva herself had taken out a book, ten minutes before. He let out a little sigh of frustration.

"Looking for this?" she asked, and he started so badly that the flame went out, shrouding his face in shadow.

"Bloody, give me a heart attack," he said, clutching his chest dramatically. "How long have you been there?"

"About twenty minutes," she answered. "I think I've got the book you want."

He cocked his head at the book, lying on the study table, turning so that he was reading it only partly upside-down. "That's the one," he replied, setting the other two books down and circling the table to lean over her shoulder. She began to close the book, but he put out a hand to stop her.

"All I really need is a reference," he said, more to himself than to her, marking her place and flipping pages deftly. "I'm working on a lesson about handling dark creatures used in transformative charms -- thought it might be a nice class for Hallowe'en. Here we are..."

He bent further forward, eyes scanning the text, face now on a level with hers. "Selkies shed their skin and I know it's used in the Proteus Curse, but I wasn't positive how..."

"I believe it's worn like a cloak," she said, following his finger as it ran over the writing.

"No, I think that's a different charm altogether -- this is a curse, they don't work so well if you have to force the victim -- ah, perhaps this is it."

"Oh, I recall this now. It's mainly for use in making sure transfigured wizards stay that way, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes, that's the one." He turned his head to smile at her, and their faces were suddenly very close together; she could see the black rings of his pupils in his brown eyes. She waited patiently for him to speak, but he just stayed there, head tilted slightly. She watched as a faint blush spread across his cheeks, and he turned his head away, clearing his throat.

"But I'm nearly sure Skamander says elsewhere that it's not accurate..." he murmured, reaching out to turn a page, and she stopped him gently.

"Remus," she asked, quietly. "Did you want to kiss me?"

His whole body tensed.

"Yes," he answered.

"Why didn't you?" she said, as if asking a student a particularly complex question.

"It would be inappropriate," he said, still looking down at the book.

"Is that all?"

He bowed his head a little, in a gesture she'd seen once or twice since he'd returned to Hogwarts -- his hair would fall across his face, and you couldn't see his eyes. It was his way of hiding.

"You mightn't have liked it," he whispered.

"Or I might have."

She heard him catch his breath.

"You wouldn't have known unless you'd tried," she continued, closing the book. "I think you ought to forget Skamander, he was researching for a children's textbook and he's likely to simplify things. Try Bios' monograph on Selkies, they stock copies of it in Flourish and Blott's."

"Certainly. Thank you, Minerva," he said, stepping back as she stood and straightened her robe, picking up the book. She smiled.

"We're not equals, Remus, but we're on the same footing," she said, slowly. "We're both teachers. We're both human."

He rubbed his neck again, and smiled faintly. "Neither of us completely, on the other hand."

She matched his smile. "I'll leave you to your research," she said, vanishing into the stacks. She could hear him mutter something to himself, and then the quiet rustle of books being opened.

IV. Visitor

It wasn't as though it was unknown, among the faculty, what Remus Lupin was. They had all been sworn to secrecy by Dumbledore; Severus Snape nearly twenty years ago, the rest...more recently. At first there had been some dark grumblings about marking calendars, and wearing silver, but Lupin proved a polite man, never lost his temper, and soon most of the faculty stopped noting when the full moon was up -- especially since Remus so rarely dined in the great hall in the first place.

He was a solitary figure, not yet accustomed to the faculty habits of the place, still retaining some boyhood awe of the others, most of whom had taught him. Minerva could see him smile when a student addressed him as professor, as if bemused to find himself in such a position, at least at Hogwarts, where he'd grown up.

She'd taken to watching him, lately; it had really started after her visit in September, when she'd apologised for fighting his appointment to professor. She hadn't been aware of it until recently, though. They had become...if not friends, then at least closer acquaintances. She sensed they shared an intellectualism that also seemed to link him to his students, a love of learning that few were able to communicate well. Lupin was among them.

She already knew the house elves wouldn't go into his rooms; they said it smelled wrong, and they were frightened to clean there. She didn't blame them, though all she smelled in his office, the few times she'd been, was orange tea, and dry paper.

She knocked gently on the door to his rooms, a few hallways down from the entrance to Gryffindor tower. As with his office, he had charmed the name on the door with a fussy perfection that made her think he must be rather more proud of his position at the school than the scruffy threadbare robes and scuffed shoes would show.

"Come in," came a voice, magically magnified through the door. Minerva pushed it open, and peered into the narrow, many-windowed sitting room. Every curtain was thrown wide, and the windows themselves flung open. The room smelled of cut grass from outside, and yes -- there was the orange tea that Lupin drank like a fiend...

And quite a lot of dust, she saw, disapprovingly. If the house elves wouldn't do it, the man might shift for himself. Still, the room was tidy, she couldn't fault him there.

He appeared in the doorway, wrapping a scarlet robe around his patched white pajamas. At least the robe looked new.

"Headmistress, this is a..." he stopped, coughing. "A pleasant surprise," he finished. His cheeks were hollow, his forehead lined, but his eyes were bright and warm, almost affectionate. "You'll excuse me...I've just woken."

"I'm sorry, if I had known," she began, but he held up a hand.

"You didn't wake me. I was expecting Severus, in fact. He usually checks up on me to make sure I haven't killed anyone in the night."

She looked at him, taken aback, and he smiled. "My little joke. I think he feels...responsible. For making sure the potion works. There was one time it didn't, oh, nearly a year ago now -- I didn't have so reliable a brewmaster as our good Professor Snape. It took me a week to recover." His eyes faded, slightly. "One doesn't bounce back from these things at thirty-four the way one does at fourteen. Would you like tea? Broth for me, I'm afraid..."

"We always seem to end up with tea, don't we?" she asked, with a small smile, to cover the mild horror at the thought of how calmly he accepted this. He moved like a man twice his age, but still gracefully, as he prepared hot water, added some sort of bluish powder to his cup and a tea-bag to hers.

"Lemon, yes?" he asked, and she nodded, accepting the cup from him. He dropped into a chair, pulling the robe across his legs. "To what do I owe this pleasure? I hope my students haven't been disruptive."

"No, not at all. I merely thought you might enjoy some company. Professor Snape gave me to understand you usually spent the day in your rooms."

"He does so delight in discussing my infirmity," Remus murmured, without quite as much good humour as earlier. "Still, I have nothing but gratitude for his services, so I suppose I might overlook a...character flaw, or two."

"Or two dozen," Minerva replied, before she thought about it. He laughed, hoarsely.

"Headmistress! I'm sure I didn't hear you remark upon the personality of one of your most dedicated junior faculty," he said, sipping his broth. "What a very Gryffindor sentiment -- appreciate the man, whether or not you actually like him."

"I am a Gryffindor," she replied.

"As am I," he answered. "Though I never made a very good showing of it, out in the world. Somehow mindless bravery never appealed to me."

"I hear that you did all right for yourself. You traveled, didn't you?"

"Extensively," he replied. "If not for the conscious choice to do so, the word 'homeless' might indeed apply. However, I believe the term on my records is 'itinerant'. Gypsy destroyer of boggarts, capturer of household pests, small and large, occasional rescuer of damsels in distress, though come to think of it that was just the once. It wasn't much of a living, but it kept me on the move. Kept, if you'll excuse the pun, the wolves from my door."

She listened as he spun out a story about a wrestling match with a vampire in Sweden, which from Gilderoy Lockhart's mouth would have sounded ridiculous and egotistical, but which, told in Remus Lupin's easy manner, simply seemed entertaining. She matched it with one of her own, about a summer spent in the wilds of Africa, studying African shape-shifters in preparation for her own Animagus transformation.

"Now I've a question for you," he asked, as she finished the story, both her tea and his broth long since finished. "Did you choose your animal, or did it choose you?"

"I've never thought," she answered. "It's sort of muddled, you see, remembering the process. I quite like being a cat. It would be interesting to hunt up the rest of the registered animagi, and ask. I would reckon it depends on the person."

"Yes, I suppose so. I know Peter was -- " he stopped, as if he'd said too much. After a second, he recovered. "Peter was planning on becoming one," he finished weakly. "Peter Pettigrew, I mean. He wanted to be a hawk, but..." he shrugged. "Idle curiousity. Perhaps there's a paper in it."

"Perhaps so," she answered. "Will you be teaching again tomorrow, do you think?"

"Oh, I should think so. A night's sleep will do the world of good, it always does." He glanced down at his empty cup. "I just finished giving that lesson I was researching, you remember -- the Selkies. That monograph you recommended was extremely helpful. I find I learn as much as I teach," he added, gesturing to what were clearly lesson plans, laid out on a desk.

"You seem to enjoy it."

"Oh, I do. I hope -- " he set his cup on a nearby table. " -- I hope I'll be allowed to stay on. Next year, I mean."

"The children like you."

"I like them."

"The mark of a good teacher."

He smiled. "Thank you. As I've said," he added, standing as she did, "I learned it from you."

"I'll leave you to your planning," she said with a smile, and turned to the door.

"Minerva, wait," he called. She stopped, and glanced back inquiringly.

"Thank you for coming," he said, formally. "I enjoyed this, very much. You're far superior company to Severus. Not saying much, I know, but...I can't imagine anyone I'd rather have visit."

She nodded. "You owe me a visit, now, I believe. I still have that tea you took from Fred and George."

"Perhaps...I'm chaperoning the children to Hogsmeade next weekend, and...and Saturday I am sure I shall be a wreck."

"Saturday evening, then," she answered. "Good afternoon, Remus."

"Good afternoon, Minerva," he replied.

The smell of cut grass and the taste of orange tea remained with her all afternoon.