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 09 - 10

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:
686

IX. Stay

Remus Lupin was late.

Minerva glanced at the clock, curiously. It wasn't like Remus to be anything other than prompt, and often he was early; she was sure something had delayed him, but after fifteen minutes she was beginning to wonder.

After fifteen minutes.

And after Thursday night...

She'd seen him, since then -- quick glances and smiles at their meals on Friday, and a passing greeting in the hall. He'd stopped to ask if he could borrow a book for one of his students, and she'd said fine, and met his eyes. There was something...pleasant. Pleasing. In the way he looked at her.

Surely a man who looked at her that way wouldn't be...frightened? Put off? By the sudden kiss in the snow, by the hand on his chest when they parted.

Surely he had already realised that she was older than him, eighteen years older, and he didn't seem to care that he'd been her student at one time.

Surely not.

Hopefully not.

Minerva McGonagall was not one to waffle about such things. She gave him a full twenty minutes, and then stood, locking her door behind her as she left and proceeding down the corridors and stairways of the old castle until she reached his rooms, with the neatly charmed name on the heavy wooden door.

She raised a hand to knock, and before she even could, heard a crash from inside, followed by yells, and cursing.

"Professor Lupin?" she called, through the door.

"DON'T OPEN THE DOOR!" came the shouted reply, in Remus' slightly hoarse voice. There was another shout, but it didn't sound like him.

"Can I help?" she called.

"STAY THERE!" More crashing. It sounded as though his bookshelves were falling, or at least the books inside them. She heard one especially high-pitched crunch, and winced. That was probably his tea cups. She decided she could hear at least three peoples' distinct voices -- Remus, of course, and...and it sounded like -- the Weasley twins?

There was a final shouted curse, apparently from Remus, and then a deadly silence. After a second, the door opened, and Fred Weasley's face peered out at her. He had his broomstick and his beater's bat in one hand, and was in full Quidditch gear. There had been a Gryffindor practice scheduled for this morning, she recalled.

"Dare I ask?" she said. He swung the door open wider.

The sitting-room was a wreck; books had indeed tumbled from their shelves, not a lamp remained unbroken, there was a large hole in the old wooden desk, and she thought she could see the shattered remains of his teacups, lying in fragments on the floor --

She caught her breath. George knelt near the chairs (one now spilling stuffing out of one arm), carefully wrestling a struggling Bludger from Remus, who was curled in a foetal position she recognised as someone in immense pain.

"It got in through the window," George stammered, holding the struggling Bludger tightly against his side. "We came to help -- "

"Fetch Madam Pomfrey at once," she commanded. "And get that thing out of here -- out the window!" she added quickly. Fred scuttled through the door to find the Healer, while George dove headlong out the window on his broom.

"Where did it hit?" she asked, bending over him. He held up a hand.

"I'm okay."

"Where -- ?"

"Can't...talk," he added, rolling to his knees, his arms clutching his ribcage. "Time..."

She helped him up, and managed to support him into the bedroom. He fell onto his bed, curling up again, breathing hard.

"Time," he said again. "I'm fine, just...give me time."

She took his pulse while he drew careful breaths, and she felt the tension slowly ease out of him. He uncurled, slightly.

"Broken ribs," he said, still breathing deeply and evenly. "No...cracked. They're mending. You shouldn't have sent for Madam Pomfrey -- " he winced as he moved his arms. "I'm all right."

"That doesn't mean you don't need to be looked over."

"I'm fine, Minerva," he said, with a reassuring smile. "I know I'm late...sorry about -- uhm. Breakfast."

"Nonsense." She watched as he pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing, and then supported him by his shoulders as he sat up, dangling long legs off the edge of the bed.

"It came in through the window and the next thing I knew...moving target. Then Fred and George showed up with their bats..." he wheezed. "Bloody wrecked the place, hasn't it?"

"Very nearly."

"First and last time I...take one for the team..." he winced, hand going to the buttons on his collar. "D'you mind if I..."

"Oh -- of course not," she said, turning away politely while he unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt.

"Well, that's handsome enough. It looks like I've been sucker-punched."

She turned, to see him regarding a low, blue bruise on his abdomen, almost proudly. Even as she watched, it was darkening. Higher up, there were red and purple lines where, she imagined, his cracked ribs were healing.

"That looks awful," she said. He glanced up, then back down.

"It'll be fine," he said, shedding the waistcoat and closing the shirt around his body again. He seemed to have caught his breath, though he spoke much slower than usual. "Tomorrow at this time, you'll never know I'd been hit. The one advantage of lycanthropy, other than an ability to instantly tell real silver from fake."

"Not much of one, is it?" she asked, surprising herself by reaching out to brush hair away from his eyes. He watched her, soberly.

"Strong and quick, good senses, quick-healing...you'd think I'd be more than fit for this world," he said quietly.

"None of us are fit for all of it. We have to find our place."

"Perhaps so." He took her hand, thumb rubbing the skin below her knuckles almost absently. "I think Hogwarts might be my place."

"Do you now?" she asked, with a small smile. "You enjoy getting attacked by sports equipment?"

"A hazard I can well brave -- " he stopped, and dropped her hand, suddenly. She looked surprised, until he turned towards the doorway, and pushed himself unsteadily off the bed.

"They're coming," he murmured, walking into the front room. She had just opened her mouth to ask who he meant, when Madam Pomfrey walked in, followed by Severus Snape.

"Fred Weasley just told me the most fantastic story about you getting knocked flat by a Bludger," she said, by way of greeting. Remus drew his shirt aside, displaying the bruise, which was now a deep purple, green around the edges.

"Three cracked ribs, as well, but they don't need to be set," he said, as Pomfrey came forward to examine them. "Professor McGonagall was kind enough to help me up and send Fred off for assistance, though I don't really need -- ow!" he cried, as she tapped her wand lightly against the centre of the bruise.

"Nasty enough, though not as bad as some I've seen in my time," she said, briskly. "I suppose healing spells are out of the question."

"They don't work on me," he said, darkly, doing up his shirt so that she couldn't jab him again. He looked past her, at Snape. "Hallo, Severus, something I can do for you?"

"I was dragged along by Pomfrey," Snape grumbled.

"I thought you might have need of someone a bit larger than I, to set the bones if you'd broken anything," Pomfrey said blithely. "Would you like something for the pain?"

"Slows the healing," Remus grunted. "Just let me be for a few hours and I promise I'll be ready for another round with that Bludger."

"Bed rest," Pomfrey said, decidedly.

"Three cracked ribs, that's hardly -- "

"Bed rest!"

Remus narrowed his eyes at her, but nodded.

"And if you're out of that bed before tomorrow morning, I'll hex you!" she added. "Now, perhaps I ought to go try and calm down the twins, they're quite unreasonably hysterical over the whole thing."

"I should try unreasonable hysterics sometime," Remus said thoughtfully, as Pomfrey left, Snape still trailing her like a shadow. "It sounds like fun."

"Come on, you can be hysterical once you're in bed," Minerva said. He cocked an eyebrow at her, grinning slightly as he walked into the bedroom.

"Has anyone ever told you, pain seems to make you flippant?" she called, from the sitting room. She could hear him undressing, pulling on his pajamas.

"Well, it's sort of a habit," he answered. "One has to cope with it somehow."

He leaned in the doorway. "I'd invite you to stay and sit up with the invalid, but I doubt I'll be a very scintillating companion."

"I'm going to fetch something, and then I'll make tea," she said, decidedly. "You go lie down."

"Yes, Headmistress," he said, his smile widening slightly as she turned to go.

By the time she'd gone to her rooms to fetch the breakfast she'd planned, as well as a few other items, the twins had spread the news; she was greeted at the door by Hermione Granger and Lee Jordan, as well as a handful of Ravenclaws.

"Is he all right, Professor?" Lee, apparently the spokesman of the group, eyed the box she was carrying.

"He'll be fine, with a few hours' rest," she reassured them.

"Did Fred really hit him with a bat?" Hermione demanded.

"Whoever gave you that idea?" Minerva asked. "Let me through, please...he was hurt helping the twins capture a stray Bludger, that's all. Run along now, nobody likes to be peeped at when they're trying to rest."

The students dispersed as she opened the door, Hermione lingering a little longer than the rest.

"Go on, Hermione, he'll be fine in no time at all," she urged, and the girl reluctantly turned, wandering away.

She found him sitting crosslegged on the bed, blanket pulled over his lap and strewn with parchment, books, and...

She smiled. His tea set, now repaired, complete with steaming kettle and a dusty tin of teabags, sat just below his feet.

"It's always tea," he said, looking up from his book with a smile. She set down the box she'd been carrying, and scooped brandy-tea into both cups. He raised an eyebrow.

"At eleven in the morning?" he asked.

"It's been a long morning," she answered. "And you ought to sleep, eventually."

"Taking advantage of an invalid, Minerva?"

The look he gave her made her quite sure that, whatever reservations she could imagine, he'd gotten rid of them all.

"I am sorry we missed breakfast," he said, blowing on the tea to cool it.

"We haven't yet," she replied, opening the box. "I brought it along."

He accepted a hastily conjured plate, piled with toast and sausage, and helped himself to the jar of marmalade she produced.

"Do you, in fact, think of everything?" he asked, around a mouthful of toast. "I don't think I've ever met anyone so well-prepared as you."

"Well, if I'd known you were going to be murdered by the twins this morning, I would have given them a Saturday detention," she pointed out. He laughed, resting his plate on one knee, and then winced.

"Ribs?" she asked. He nodded. "How...long will it take?"

"Nearly a day, give or take, for something like that. Probably a good idea to keep me in bed, though I can't say I like it. Still, I've got work to do. Much as I wish magic worked this way, papers do not grade themselves."

By the time they were done with breakfast, he was on his third cup of tea, and his eyelids were beginning to droop over the book he was consulting about a spell she'd mentioned. She took it from him, closed it, and set it on the pile next to his nightstand.

"Spoilsport," he murmured.

"You need to rest," she answered firmly. She began to rise, to leave, but he caught her arm, just above the elbow, fingers as gentle but as firm as she had been a moment before.

"Stay for a while," he said, watching her earnestly. He gave her arm a small tug, and she leaned forward, meeting him halfway.

He tasted like orange marmalade, and he didn't easily release her, even to allow her to sit on the bed, leaning over him.

"You realise, of course," he said, between one kiss and the next, "that this makes our habits more complex."

She looked at him questioningly, leaning back. His fingers had moved up her arm to her cheek, and a point of warmth spread from where he touched her, through her body.

"Your hospitality, my rooms," he said quietly. "So I shall have to bring you something next time. Besides..." he leaned forward, shirt brushing her neck, kissing her with a strange mixture of hunger and laziness, "...I want to hear those songbirds again."

"Surprise me," she said, leaning back. She stood, flicking imaginary dust off her robes, aware that her face was flushed, that he had an effect on her which had nothing to do with the brandy-tea.

"That could be dangerous," he murmured.

"Surprise me," she repeated, and squeezed his shoulder. "I'll send someone up to check on you this evening."

He let his fingertips brush her hand before she released his shoulder, and nodded.

When she was gone, he slid down under the blankets, curling into a tight ball, the pain wavering in the face of brandy tea and a promise of more kisses, like those he'd just had, to come.

X. The Risks

With the holiday coming, the students were growing restless; being cooped up inside the castle on especially chilly or snow-bound days didn't help either. There were Dementors to prevent children skiving off the grounds as they'd done time out of mind, and tempers ran high in the dormitories and hallways.

Lupin was coming from the third hallway-fight he'd broken up that day. It was just past full moon, and he was still feeling it; sometimes he could sense -- sometimes he wanted to scream at -- the tightness of the skin over his cheekbones, across his knuckles, anywhere bones were close to the surface.

Still, he had enough in him to stop children from squabbling -- at least he hoped he did, otherwise he might have to relegate himself to the category of Entirely Useless, instead of Only Occasionally Hopeless.

"Professor Lupin?"

Lost in thought and too tired to concentrate properly, he started when someone called his name, and turned to see Headmaster Dumbledore moving amiably through the crowded hallway.

"If your classes are finished for today, may I have a word with you?" he asked, with a smile. Lupin swallowed.

"Of course, Headmaster -- CREEVY! NO RUNNING!" Lupin yelled, as Colin once more pushed his way through the crowds at breakneck speed. He turned to follow the Headmaster down a less chaotic hallway, towards the gargoyle that guarded his office.

They climbed the stairs in silence, and Lupin wandered over to Fawkes' cage as Dumbledore circled behind his desk.

"Good old Fawkes," Lupin murmured. "He's in fine form today."

"Yes, he seems to thrive in the winters," Dumbledore replied. "I won't waste your time asking if you know why you're here, Remus."

There were two options, of course. Two reasons he might be here, speaking to Dumbledore now.

But only one of them was at all possible, because the other one -- the knowledge about Sirius Black's animagus talents, which Remus Lupin was the only living person to possess -- that one was too awful to think about. To think that Dumbledore might have discovered it...

So he took a deep breath, and, without taking his eyes from Fawkes, said, "Minerva."

"Yes."

"I thought you'd find out, and sooner rather than later."

"You are aware that there are...complications that arise from an affair of this nature."

Remus bowed his head and laughed a little. "Neither of us have been able to put a label to it, yet," he said. "One dinner, and a breakfast ruined by the Weasley Twins. Hardly grounds for marriage proposals."

He turned, and saw that Dumbledore had fixed him with a shrewd gaze -- one he'd learned, and sometimes used on his own students.

"You are aware that she is your superior at the school?"

"Yes, Headmaster."

"And you are aware of the risks of having...a relationship with a fellow teacher?"

"Yes, Headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded. "And the students?"

Remus gave him a blank look. "What about them?"

"This is a small school. These things do not have a habit of staying very secret for very long."

Remus shrugged, a little too carelessly. "Neither of us have prior commitments which would make us bad role models in the students' eyes. We're not likely to go about flaunting in public any relationship we might form. Minerva is...private. And I have learned to be."

"Very well, then. As long as your eyes are open, Remus," Dumbledore said, with a surprisingly gentle tone in his voice. "You may go."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Remus said, a little of the old schoolboy formality slipping into his address, and left as quickly as was dignified.

Outside, he leaned against the stone wall, and let out a deep breath.

He was not so unreasonable a man that Dumbledore's prying made him angry. In the Headmaster's shoes, he would have done the same. And yet the idea that he could not do as he pleased, here of all places, where he had always been allowed freedoms denied him elsewhere...

It was nearly dinnertime, and his stomach was making him aware of the fact. He ducked down towards the back kitchen entrance -- good lord, it was even the same painting, with the same ticklish pear.

The house-elves in the kitchen were far too busy to notice he was even there, and if they had, they were all far too fearful of him to do anything about it. They didn't bother him as he collected enough food for two dinners, appropriate plates and glasses, and a bottle of wine from the hidden drinks cupboard (James had finally found it, sixth year, and the hangovers the next morning were truly a sight to behold).

He caught her on the threshold of the Great Hall, and managed to stop her before she entered.

"Minerva, come with me," he said softly, pulling her back from the doorway.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, as he continued to lead her away from the students and teachers pouring through the corridors.

"No, nothing's wrong," he said, leading her around a corner and pulling her close for a kiss. She smiled at him, and backed away slightly -- this part of the school wasn't completely deserted, and a student could come along at any time. "Nothing us having dinner in your quarters won't fix," he added, holding up a makeshift basket with the food piled in it. "You did say surprise you."

This time she took his arm, and pulled him away from the wall, gently. "That sounds like a fine surprise."

By the time they were near her quarters, there were few enough students that he risked putting his arm around her waist as she opened the door and let them inside.

"Now, I do not cook, and I think you should know this, but I'm really quite good at putting things on plates," he said, setting the food on the table and unpacking it piece by piece. She leaned on her desk and watched, an amused smile on her face, as he very carefully and ostentatiously began to add food to the plates. He finally looked up to see her eyes dancing.

"What?" he asked, placing the rolls on the edges, as a finishing touch. She shook her head, still smiling. "Did I pick the wrong wine? I don't know anything about that, either, but I didn't think that really mattered..."

"It's not that, Remus," she said, coming forward. He pulled out her chair for her, then pulled up his own.

"Well, I know I'm irresistably amusing, but..."

"Did Albus talk to you today, by any chance?" she asked. He blinked.

"Irresistably amusing and, apparently, seeing a mind-reader," said Remus.

"I thought he might. Did he give you the 'you are aware of the risks' speech?"

His jaw dropped. She sipped some of the wine, and smiled.

"Good intuition, on the wine," she said. "Don't look so shocked. He's had to give it before, you know. You're not the first professor in the history of Hogwarts to fancy another one. Nor am I," she added, and he felt warm pleasure fill him. "He asked me to give it once. I think he enjoys it. Especially seeing the effects."

"The effects?" he asked, dumbly. She neatly broke open her roll.

"Of course."

They ate in silence for a few minutes, Minerva amused, Remus puzzled. After a while, he slowly took a sip of the wine, and covered his eyes with one hand.

"I knew you'd get it, if I gave you enough time," she said.

"He knew exactly what I'd do, didn't he?" Remus asked.

She nodded, and poured more wine. "I think he probably had a good idea."

"And you knew as soon as I -- "

"Remus, do salve your wounded ego, it's not as though he hasn't had decades of experience with this."

"But you knew!"

"Yes, and I didn't stop you, did I?"

For the second time in an evening, he found himself speechless.

"You're charming when you're a step behind the facts," she continued.

"That's probably good, as apparently I am never anything but," he said, only a trifle sourly. She was already digging in the basket, pulling out the dessert pastries he'd packed, some sort of chocolate-stuffed thing he probably ought to know the name of.

"You might put on the turntable," she said, indicating the strange wooden contraption on her desk. He nodded and crossed to it, scooping some birdseed from a nearby jar into one of the slots in the machine.

The turntable always played something different, and always in birdsong; he thought he recognised the tune, this time. It sounded like...oh, he was an American chap, some time ago, trumpet player...

When he turned around, she was standing in front of him. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she cupped the back of his head, pulling him down for a kiss.

She tasted like the chocolate in the dessert. He kissed back with enough intensity to make her gasp, borne of a frustrating afternoon and, recently, three days locked in his rooms without much human contact.

"You're so good at this," he said, against her lips.

"You're not too terribly bad at it yourself," she answered. Even as they kissed, his hands were moving to her waist, and his hips began to sway to the music, subtly shifting her body as well.

"So did you enjoy your surprise?" he asked. He felt her against him -- the last time they'd been this close was the day he'd broken -- the day he'd gone to her because he was frightened, because Sirius was free and he couldn't protect Harry. She'd touched his arm, and pulled him into an entirely unexpected hug, and the next time they'd met he had a nearly irresistable urge to kiss her.

He wondered if she thought about that too.

"A kiss to build a dream on," he sang softly, finding some of the words to the birdsong-music coming from the turntable. "And my imagination will...something..."

She laughed against his cheek. "You're off-key."

"Well, I've neglected my musical talents terribly," he answered.

"Do you suppose..." she began, then stopped. He leaned back a little, to look at her.

"Do I suppose...?"

"Well, at this point it seems as though hospitality has gone a bit far," she said, with a smile. "Perhaps it's time to stop thinking of who calls on whom."

He continued to dance, turning them slightly. "That sounds suspiciously like a good idea."

"So perhaps," she continued slowly, "when we make plans to meet...we can have dinner at Graves' again."

"Hmmm," he said, pretending to consider. "You don't think Headmaster Dumbledore would disapprove, Headmistress?"

"I don't think it would matter if he did, Professor."

The music ended on one last note, and he stepped back.

"Then Graves' sounds like a fine idea. Although..." he frowned. "The next week or so..."

She nodded. "Very busy, I'm aware. And then there's a Hogsmeade weekend before holidays end. So perhaps not until school is out?"

"I think that would be wisest." He bent to kiss her, but she felt him tense, suddenly, as he glanced towards the door.

"Someone's coming -- " he said, stepping back, out of the line of sight of the doorway. He had an uncanny knack, some werewolf sense that knew; she'd grown almost used to it by now.

Ten seconds later, there was a knock on the door.

She answered it, ready to give the interlopers a short answer and send them on their way.

It was Severus Snape.

"If I might have a moment of your time, Headmistress," he said, not waiting for her to answer before brushing past her into the room. "I'd like to speak to you about -- "

He stopped, so suddenly that his robes swished gently. Remus leaned against one of her bookshelves, looking more composed than he felt.

Snape's eyes slowly took in Remus, the table, the remains of dinner still on it. The wineglasses.

"I see," he said. "I'm interrupting," he added snidely. "Perhaps another time, Headmistress," he growled, and turned to go.

"Snape," Lupin said calmly. He paused, but did not turn around.

"Yes?"

Minerva could see Snape's face; it was as composed as she knew her own to be, but his eyes were sharp and angry.

"I wasn't able to properly thank you for the Wolfsbane potion, last week," he said. Snape turned slowly.

Something silent passed between them; she understood that the thanks was a form of debt-acknowledgement, that Lupin was making a gesture of some sort, possibly a plea.

"A simple enough thing," Snape said sneeringly, and turned on his heel, walking away swiftly. This time, neither of them stopped him.

When she had shut the door, Remus rubbed a hand over his face.

"Perhaps I ought to go," he said softly.

"Perhaps so."

"He won't tell."

"Would you care if he did?"

He was gathering the dinner things, repacking them into the basket. "No. But -- "

" -- everyone else in the school would."

"And I prefer to keep my..." he smiled as he finished packing. "My affairs to myself."

"Is this an affair?"

"Would you prefer romance?" he asked, his voice low and unsure. She stroked his arm, and kissed him on the cheek.

"I think I would," she said softly.