A Year in the Life

V. Elegance of Spirit

"You know, I really do think if I paid closer attention to Fred and George, I could entirely feed myself without having to spend any cash at all," Remus Lupin said, settling comfortably into a chair in Minerva McGonagall's spacious sitting room. The digs for House Heads, he had to admit, were a lot larger than for junior faculty, although he couldn't imagine what he'd have done with this much space. "I could just take all the contraband they bring into school."

"As long as you didn't mind living on sweets and exotic exploding foods," she answered, sitting across from him at the small table.

"Perish the thought," he replied. "They're good lads, though, I really rather like them."

"Oh, they're smart enough," she sighed. "I could wish they applied themselves to less troublemaking."

"Still, if it hadn't been for them..." he lifted his cup, which smelled of tea and brandy, indicating it. "And you know they do keep an excellent eye on the younger children."

"I imagine so. How did you enjoy your first trip chaperoning in Hogsmeade?"

He rolled his eyes expressively, and she smiled. "One trod-on foot from too much crowding in Honeyduke's, two children with not enough money, and a Butterbeer Incident that I would rather not discuss."

"You seem to have survived intact."

"Yes, it wasn't so bad, all in all."

"And done some shopping of your own?"

He glanced down at the crisp white cuffs of a new dress shirt, and the new, unpatched waistcoat he wore. "Yes, I found I had more Galleons in my pockets than I would have expected. I'm unused to having a steady job where I'm paid every week. Besides, Malfoy really is becoming entirely unbearable. It's demoralising, having a boy who can't yet shave remarking on the state of my robes."

"For all his father's wealth, Draco Malfoy wouldn't know true elegance of spirit if it bit him," she said, sharply. He smiled disarmingly at her.

"I shall take the compliment, and merely observe that I hope, some day, something does bite him," he replied. "Now, I believe I was going to ask you to tell me about some adventure you had on the return trip from Africa, and then offer to swap you a story about a haunted grandfather clock in return."

They drank tea and told their stories, Remus flushing lightly after the third cup, murmuring that he'd best not have any more or he'd have to sneak back to his own rooms like a student out after curfew. Minerva, herself on her fourth cup, merely laughed quietly, and agreed that it wouldn't do to be caught by Severus, who had a habit of prowling the halls.

"Why do you suppose he does it?" Remus asked, leaning his head against the wing of the chair. "I mean to say, why do you think he does any of it? He's a good teacher, the Slytherins seem to like him. Why is he such a bastard?"

Minerva tsked, and he touched a hand to his forehead in an apologetic salute. "Headmistress, I am quite sorry. But he really is, you know."

She shook a finger at him, but she was laughing, and he smiled, a particular warmth in the curve of his lips.

"It's good to be among people again," he said suddenly. "It's good to be able to make someone laugh. Although if you'd told me years ago that I'd be taking evening tea in Professor McGonagall's rooms, I'd have died of fright."

"Were you so scared of me, then?" she asked.

"No, I suppose...not scared. But the impropriety of it, as anything other than a Hogwarts teacher myself, might have prevented me."

She nodded, and saw the warmth in his smile spread to his eyes. "Do you remember," she said quietly, "what you said to me in the library about propriety?"

"Of course."

"And what you said to me a few months ago, about Gryffindor house?"

He nodded. "I believe," he said easily, "I said that when I was a student, most of the house was madly in love with you."

"You weren't quite that emphatic about it."

"I didn't know you then, not so well as I do now. Schoolboy crushes, of course, of the worst sort, but there you have it."

"And now?"

"Oh yes," he answered. "I quite fancy you now, but I'd appreciate it if Minerva didn't tell Headmistress McGonagall that. I do still happen to be afraid of the Headmistress."

She stared at him, until she saw he realised what he'd said.

"Does it strike you that perhaps one ought to limit the amount of spiked tea one drinks?" he asked, straightening, resting his arms on the table. She nodded, slowly.

"You told me that I'd never know whether you liked it or not unless I kissed you, implication being I was a coward for not seizing the moment," he said, musingly. "Once again, quite a Gryffindor sentiment."

"Are you considering it now?" she asked, surprised she could even find her voice.

"Yes, but I fear I oughtn't to. I never trust my instincts when drinking." His fingers traced small circles on the table, until she put one hand out to stop them. He looked up at her, sharply.

"Minerva, considering this rota we seem to be following, I do believe you are due to take my hospitality next, poor as it might be," he said, eyes drifting down to where she lightly touched his long-fingered hands.

"I'd like that."

"Would Friday be suitable?"

She smiled. "Friday would be lovely."

"Then I shall expect you on Friday, and see you at breakfast tomorrow," he said, standing and unnecessarily straightening his waistcoat. "Thank you for the tea, and the stories, and not pointing out how big of a fool I just was."

She smiled, and watched him leave, walking steadily but slowly.

And then she gathered up the tea things, and put a lid on the brandy-tea tin, and cleaned and put them away, neatly, hoping Remus did not run into Severus Snape on his way back to his rooms.

VI. Friday Hospitality

Perhaps it was some compulsion on his part, Minerva though, that Remus Lupin could not keep an entirely clean home.

He had dusted, since she'd been last, and it wasn't as though the sitting room, with its many wide windows, was any kind of a mess; indeed, for bachelor quarters where the house-elves refused to go, it was tidy and well-kept. But the books, which had been stacked neatly, were now in utter disarray, almost none of them on the shelves, a great many of them piled on his desk.

"Essays," he said, by way of explanation, carefully carrying two cups of tea in one hand and a plate of scones in the other. He managed to deliver all three to the small round table that was the only empty surface in the room, between two wing-chairs stolen from his office and a little-used reading room in the library, respectively. Scrounging furniture off the school was considered perfectly acceptable, especially for Junior faculty. "A bad habit I picked up from Muggle academics."

"Essays? As if you were a student?" she asked, with a smile.

"Well, aun aprendo and all that, don't you know," he replied, dropping into the chair and turning, slightly, so that he faced her. "Muggles are mad for essays. They have thousands of journals you can publish them in. I worked at an American university for nearly a year...caught the disease from them."

"What do you hope to prove by writing them?"

"Various things. In this case, that the transfigurative properties of certain potions are preferable to charms, as being more stable and less likely to fail at inopportune moments. There's a small medical journal out of St. Mungo's that might take it."

"Had anyone ever mentioned to you, Remus, that you are a bit of an odd duck?" Minerva asked. His smile widened.

"Odd wolf," he replied. "Bigger, and inclined to eat odd ducks."

"You seem quite inclined to joke about it, too."

He settled back in his chair. "To you, perhaps. You've shown you're capable of handling such an idea, and you would appear to have a...unique understanding."

"Because I'm an animagus."

"Well. Because you're you, I suspect, though that part doesn't hurt."

She regarded him as he ate his scone, neatly. He matched her gaze, with the quiet curiousity that seemed an inherent part of him.

"You're fascinated by transformation, aren't you?" she asked, while he swallowed. He drank his tea, and considered it.

"It is a large part of my life," he answered. "I could say the same about you -- you do teach the subject, after all."

"It is a particular talent of mine."

He nodded. "D'you know, the Greeks were obsessed by it? Gods turning people into trees and what not. Ovid wrote a whole book about it. Recording the transformative myths."

"Your travels do seem to have continued your education," she said.

"I doubt it could have been otherwise. I'm not designed for anything more than the intellectual life," he answered. "My one brief and painful encounter with manual labor proved that. But I'm sure you understand -- you've been a teacher for many years yourself."

"I like learning, I suppose," she said, thoughtfully. "But I believe I've taught because I like teaching. I like forming childrens' thoughts, the way they see the world."

"What a terrifying idea," he replied.

Minerva smiled. "Like it or not, when you take the salary and the grades-book, you become a role model. You especially."

"Sorry?"

"You must know the children love your class. I do believe most of Gryffindor prefer it to any of their others."

He ducked his head a little, and she saw his fingers trace small circles on the arm of the chair. It was a nervous habit she'd noticed; she wondered if he did it when he was teaching.

"Dark Arts is naturally more interesting to children, I think," he said.

"Well, perhaps when taught correctly. I assume you've heard the horror stories from last year?"

He chuckled. "Professor Binns had some choice words about poor Lockhart, it's true."

Their conversation drifted to the usual topics -- classes, the children, the other professors -- until Remus stood to light several lamps in his sitting room, closing the wide windows against the cold.

"I should leave you to your essays," she said, also standing. He closed the last window neatly, flipped the latch on it, and turned back to face her.

"Minerva...I realise this is a very polite way to go about things, but do you suppose sooner or later we ought to stop dancing around the subject of..." he paused. "...our friendship?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well. Now is normally the time you mention that you owe me tea, and then I'll say yes, I'd like that very much, and we'll discuss the fact that Wednesday seems to be a good day..." he brushed his hair out of his eyes and, for once, met hers with a direct look. "We dance," he said softly.

"Is there anything wrong with dancing?" she asked, in reply.

"Minerva, would you have dinner with me?" he said, impulsively. Before she could answer, he continued. "At Graves', in Hogsmeade? Next Thursday? At seven?"

She smiled and shook her head. He looked hurt, crestfallen.

"It's not your turn, Remus," she said. "Come have tea with me on Wednesday. Then ask me again."

He rubbed a hand across his jaw, distractedly. "I'm very nearly having a breakdown asking you once, you know."

"Then the practice will do you good," Minerva answered. "I shall see you at breakfast tomorrow, Remus."

She shut the door gently; he hadn't moved from where he stood, near the window. Once outside, in the corridor, she smiled as she walked back to her own rooms.