Rating:
PG-13
House:
Schnoogle
Characters:
Minerva McGonagall Remus Lupin
Genres:
Romance Drama
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban
Stats:
Published: 02/05/2004
Updated: 03/24/2004
Words: 41,937
Chapters: 14
Hits: 13,403

A Year in the Life

samvimes

Story Summary:
A different take on history -- see the events of Prisoner of Azkaban through the eyes of Remus Lupin, who is not just a teacher at Hogwarts and a friend of Harry's father, but a man falling in love with the unlikeliest of women...

A Year in the Life 07 - 08

Chapter Summary:
A different take on history -- see the events of Prisoner of Azkaban through the eyes of Remus Lupin, who is not just a teacher at Hogwarts and a friend of Harry's father, but a man falling in love with the unlikeliest of women.
Posted:
02/06/2004
Hits:
668

VII. Dancing

Remus Lupin stood outside the door of Minerva McGonagall's rooms, trying to breathe.

He would have felt like a student called onto the carpet, except that...

Well, all right, he did, but only because he was nervous, and the only time he'd ever been this nervous was when he'd been in trouble at school. It was well and good to hunt kappas in Brazil and field the vicious academia of American universities, but another thing entirely to face Minerva McGonagall after thrice making an idiot of himself in front of her.

Have dinner with me. Of course she'd said no. She'd never actually admitted to anything more than a friendship with him -- though one that was deepening by the day, and borne of a unique brand of honesty that only Minerva could pull off with a straight face.

The truth was, when he'd said that yes, he did want to kiss her, she hadn't said he ought to. She merely said he ought not to be a coward. When he'd told her he fancied her, she'd merely stared, and agreed that he shouldn't drink too much spiked tea. When he'd asked her to dinner, she'd very gently said no, using the excuse that it wasn't his turn to provide the hospitality that their friendship was built around.

But she did tell you to ask again, he thought, as he raised a hand to knock on her door. She answered promptly, and he stepped inside amid the usual pleasantries exchanged by colleagues and friends on occasions like this. They had almost developed a habit; he would sit in the wing-chair while she prepared the tea, and then they would share stories and occasionally gossip, over the magic, brandy-spiked tea.

"Best be careful with that, this time around," Minerva said, as he sipped slowly. He grinned, and nodded.

"I promise," he replied. "I hear you had quite the exciting morning in class today."

She leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. "One of the fifths decided to adjust my assignment a little."

"Yes, we heard the screechings in my first-year class. What was it?"

"My best estimation is, a cross between the owl it was supposed to be and the turkey vulture they decided to make it instead."

"Now there's an unhappy creature," he laughed. "I believe I remember that lesson -- books into birds, yes?"

"In this case, a dozen outdated copies of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three," she answered. "Though by the time we turned the monstrosity back, it was some sort of awful adventure novel."

"I'd rather like to read that," he answered. "Bit keen on adventure novels."

"I'll lend it to you," she said. "But I want you to see this, as well. One of my NEWTs honours students came up with it in class yesterday." She rose, and he followed her, intrigued, to the large desk nearby, on which sat something covered with a yellow cloth.

"She calls it Partial Transfiguration," she said, removing the cloth carefully. He regarded the object, fascinated.

"It's a Muggle turntable," he said, crouching to be on eye-level with the machine. "Where on earth did you find one of these?"

"How do you know what it is?"

"I encountered them when I was working in South America, once or twice. You don't actually own any LPs, do you? Other than the one on it now?"

"Any what?"

He put out a hand to touch it, and she pulled him back before the player arm leapt up and snapped at him. He stared at the small black beak which he'd mistaken, briefly, for a needle.

"How...?" he turned to her. She picked up a jar, and took out a scoopful of what appeared to be birdseed, mixed with sunflower seeds. She poured the seed into a slot in the top of the machine.

"She took a songbird -- see the feather pattern in the wood? -- and transfigured it only partially, on purpose. Feed it, and it makes music," she said. Remus was eyeing the black beak, warily. After another few pinches of seed, Minerva picked up the arm and rested it on the turntable, which he could now see was simply a black-grooved circle, not an LP at all. It began to spin.

A low warbling filled the room, and he grinned, glancing at her.

"That's brilliant!" he said, straightening and putting his hands on his hips. "Does it play different -- "

He stopped as actual music began to overlay the warbling, obviously scored for instruments, each part replaced by birdsong.

"It's a waltz," he said. He saw Minerva give him a surprised look. "Does it always play that?"

"No, it never seems to play the same thing," she answered.

"I have never seen anything quite like that," he laughed. "Listen! That's a dancing tune -- "

He didn't wait for her to reply, because she would have some safe, or possibly taunting, answer for him; instead he stepped forward and pulled her away from the desk, moving her into the fast waltz that the songbirds were playing.

She gasped as he swung her around, and he realised she probably hadn't danced in some time, though it was inconcievable to him that Minerva McGonagall did not know how to -- and he was right. After a few more steps, she seemed to fall into the rhythm of the music, and they turned and turned, barely missing the desk, the table with their tea things, the wing-chair Remus had claimed as his. When the music finally stopped -- apparently the turntable was hungry again -- he was nearly breathless.

Minerva had continued moving for a second, bringing her closer than they'd been while dancing; his hand was still on her waist, and one of hers on his shoulder. It was the most natural thing in the world to bend his head slightly, and draw her forward, and kiss her. She was warm, and curved into his arms, and she was kissing him back...

When she stepped away, he followed for just a second before letting her go.

"Yes," she said.

"What?" he asked. This situation had fast gotten beyond his control.

"Yes, I will go to dinner with you tomorrow," she answered. "In Hogsmeade, at Graves', at seven."

"Oh," he said, stupidly. Then, "Good, that's -- that's good, I'm glad." He paused. "Would you mind terribly if I did that again?"

She was only halfway through "not at all" before he cupped her chin and kissed her a second time. And, technically, a third, though the pause between the two was hardly worth mention.

He felt her fingers on the collar of his waistcoat, and after a moment, felt her gently push him back.

"Well," she said, "I see your continued education outside Hogwarts has extended past history and music."

He laughed, and covered her hand in his.

"I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow," he said lightly, and kissed her once more, and brushed past her, turning to give her a last grin as he opened the door. "And in Hogsmeade at seven!"

He saw her put her hand to her lips, thoughtfully, before he closed the door.

VIII. A Walk In The Snow

It was coming towards the holidays, at Hogwarts, and while the week had been sunny, snow often fell overnight. Quite a lot of it had fallen the night Remus Lupin kissed Minerva McGonagall in her sitting room, and at breakfast even Severus Snape could not discourage Lupin's good cheer.

"Be breaking up snowball fights before the day is through!" he said happily, devouring his breakfast. He and Snape were at opposite ends of the table, to prevent the students from ever having to testify at a homicide hearing, but they both ate early enough that there was a regrettable lack of filled chairs between them. Snape merely glared. "Liked a good one myself on days like this -- not that I would ever tell the students that," he added, as a few of the senior professors looked at him askance.

The children noticed his good cheer, and as students sometimes do, picked up on it. By the end of the day there had been at least four snowball fights, including one which had ended in a charmed snowball soaring through a second-floor classroom, much to the disgust of the professor teaching the course.

"All right you lot, settle down!" Remus called, as he walked out into the courtyard. He ducked two snowballs and batted a third aside. "Weasley, Weasley, and Smith, don't think I didn't see who threw those," he added. "Come, now," he continued, wading into the fray and slowly petrifying those too rebellious to immediately comply. By the time he'd made it to the far side of the courtyard, it looked rather like some kind of Greek temple, full of statues dedicated to the God Of Winter Clothing.

"Points for imagination, Professor Lupin!" called a voice from one of the towers, and he turned, saluting with his wand.

"A pleasure to serve, Professor McGonagall," he called back.

Something wet and freezing hit him in the back of the head. He didn't look to see who had done it; he merely gave Minerva a contemplative look, and then bent slowly, packing a large, hard snowball in his hands. He turned and tossed it up and down a few times.

Blaise Zabini was hiding behind one of the frozen students. Remus grinned.

"Don't dish it out if you can't take it, Zabini," he shouted, and hurled the snowball as the student began to run. The rest of them applauded as it knocked the unfortunate Blaise flat.

"I didn't spend seven years here without learning a few things," he announced, scooping up another handful of snow. "Anyone else care to try your luck?"

It was the cockiness that did him in, he decided, as a cascade of snow from McGonagall's windowsill landed on his head.

By the time he'd recovered, one of the lucky students had unfrozen the others, and they were dispersing. He helped a few of them get fully mobile again, and then glanced up once more at Minerva's window, before ducking inside to dry off and warm up.

He was perfectly dry, and already had his hands around a cup of hot coffee, by the time she arrived at Graves' cafe in Hogsmeade, that evening. It was an unspoken agreement that they would meet there; both were private people, and neither wanted to draw particular attention to what was, despite four extremely good kisses, still not much more than a friendship.

"That was entirely unsportsmanlike of you, this afternoon," he said, standing to greet her. She unwrapped her muffler and pulled off her coat, hanging them on the chair back before sitting down.

"Well, one has to take the Junior faculty down a peg, once in a while, otherwise you'd be chasing my job next," she said, with a smile. "Besides, you were the one who hit Blaise Zabini with a snowball. Bad for your image, that. Makes the children think you're human."

"Yes, well, that was turnabout, and therefore fair play," he replied. "What you did was a blatant offensive move. If I wasn't a gentleman..."

She raised an eyebrow, but he merely blushed slightly, and looked away.

"Classes go well, today?" he asked, after a minute. "No more screeching turkey vultures?"

"Not today," she agreed. "Did you hear about the first year Herbology class, though?"

His eyes sparked with interest. "No, do tell."

It was, she considered, not really any different from any other evening tea they'd spent together, really; they talked, and ate, and in-between lapsed into a sort of comfortable silence. She decided he must have spent a good few years learning to live with silence. Perhaps too many years alone.

"I thought we might walk back together," he said, as they pulled their coats on against the bitter evening wind outside. "At least as far as Hogwarts' front entrance. It's really...I don't think it's so very wise to be walking alone after dark, especially after this...business about Sirius," he said, his voice tightening slightly. She touched his arm.

"Still worrying you?" she asked softly. He shrugged as they began to walk, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"No more than it ever did, which is strange, all things considered. I've reached the point where I try to ignore it most of the time. Which is ironic, really, as he was always the one telling me I needed to be more philosophical about life. It's easier, now..."

"Oh?"

"Well. On days like this." He looked up at the darkening sky. "I mean, of all the places I've been, and I've been a good many, including some that I'd rather forget about...I've never found anywhere that gives such perfect days as Hogwarts. Really perfect days. They just happen here. You don't even have to try. You just get them. Perfect."

There was no other sound than their shoes crunching on the snow, until he finally looked sidelong at her. "Perhaps I said too much," he said quietly.

"I was just thinking that I'd never met anyone who said it so well," she answered. They had left the town behind, and there was only a bridge across a little inlet of the lake, before the wide path through the forest which led to the Hogwarts gates. She moved to lean on the railing, looking down at the frozen water. She could see his breath in the air, where he stood facing her.

"I don't know why it should be this way, because we've known each other barely three months, but it is," she said softly. "I don't count your time as a student."

"Neither do I," he replied. "That was different."

"I don't think of you as a student."

"That's probably good," he agreed, with a smile. He bent to ask her something, but as his mouth was opening she kissed it, and he was quick to respond, kissing her back, gloved hand rising to touch her jaw, to guide her a little closer. This was not the half-playful gesture of the night before, exhilirated from dancing and from brandy-tea. This was deliberate, unhurried, with an element of exploration about it -- how far they could safely go, standing in the snow on the bridge to Hogwarts.

"What was it you had said about dancing, the other day?" she asked, when it ended. He stared at her, breathless.

"I think I could get used to it," he said.

"I'm pretty sure that wasn't it," she smiled.

He shook his head a little. "I'm changing my opinion."

She held out her hand; he offered her his arm, and she took it. They ambled slowly towards Hogwarts, almost dawdling; at the front gate, he drew away a little.

"Perhaps we ought to..." he began, then faltered.

"Sneak in?" she asked.

"I'm fairly certain the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts does not sneak, but it's practically required, as a professor associated with the Dark Arts, that I lurk at least a little, once in a while," he said lightly. "I ought to speak to Hagrid at any rate, I've some rather intriguing creatures coming in for a lesson and I thought he'd be interested to see them."

She nodded. "Breakfast, perhaps, on Saturday?"

"I'm rarely awake early enough, they're usually done by the time I get to the -- "

"I didn't mean in the Great Hall."

"Oh," he said. She saw him glance at the ground, and then back up. "Your rooms?"

"Perhaps ten-thirty or so. A nice change from our usual teas."

He nodded. "That...sounds fine. Yes."

"Saturday it is, then."

"Saturday, yes."

"Yes."

They were silent for a moment, almost awkwardly; finally she put a hand on his chest, and he glanced at her.

"I thought you said you weren't afraid of me," she said gently.

He looked uncomfortable. "I'm not," he said. "It's just...Minerva, that was a really great kiss. I mean, do you have any idea how good a kiss that really was?"

"Some," she said, amused.

"And I don't want to be clumsy about it -- "

She leaned up and kissed him again, quickly, on the lips. He exhaled, as she stepped back.

"Goodnight, Remus," she said, turning to walk back up towards Hogwarts.

"Goodnight, Minerva," he murmured, watching her go. She heard him turn in the snow, and followed the sound of his footsteps towards Hagrid's hut, until she was inside the castle.