A Year in the Life

XIII. Scarlet and Gold

Memories of the Change were always, and mercifully, hazy; it was like rising in the night to get a drink of water -- you knew it had happened, you just didn't remember how you'd managed it. Usually, these days, he would be conscious for the Change, and then stumble into bed and sleep a few hours, fitfully, waking sometime mid-morning with the feeling he'd caught a bad 'flu.

He had never, in recent memory, woken to the smell of hot food and tea steeping nearby. He wondered for a moment what had happened.

"Good morning," Minerva McGonagall said, with a smile. "Happy Christmas."

He pushed himself up on one elbow, squinting; the window-blinds had been flung open and bright sunlight filtered through.

"Good morning," he answered, bewildered. On a table near the bed were two trays; one had a teapot and two cups, plus a tin of loose-leaf; on the other was an enormous breakfast, still steaming. She sat next to the table, in one of his battered wing-chairs, a book resting on her knee. "What...?"

"You said I could come see you," she continued. It was a tacit agreement between them that on full-moon days, he was left alone unless he asked; it was a private experience, and she respected that.

"And you catered," he observed, trying to preserve his dignity with the blankets, unsure precisely why he bothered -- it wasn't as though, since the holiday started, she hadn't seen him in less. Their daily teas in Hogsmeade were pleasant affairs, and more often than not led to even more pleasant evenings, usually in her rooms.

He crossed his legs on the bed, facing her, blankets across his lap. She offered him the plate and he ate hungrily, as she sipped her tea.

"Thank you," he said, fervently, around bites of sausage and waffle, fried eggs, potatoes, and sliced apple.

"The house-elves made it, I merely stole some," she said. "How...do you feel?"

"No more sick than usual. Awful way to spend Christmas, but I've had worse," he said, gulping tea before realising it was some of the brandy-tea he'd given her at the beginning of the term. She smiled as he nearly choked.

"Slow down, I promise it won't run away," she said. He set the plate down and concentrated on the tea.

"Sometimes I'm starving," he said, around slower sips. He knew he looked tired, and worn; he always did, afterwards. "Sometimes it's like a hangover, I couldn't eat if I wanted to. I'm not sure why...could be a fiddly variation in the potion."

"I'm sure Severus wouldn't intend to hurt you."

"You have a lot more faith in him than I do. The only reason I think he hasn't given me a bad batch is that it would injure his reputation." He finished his tea, and poured some more, setting it down on the table. "Have you had a good Christmas so far?"

"I think so, yes," she agreed. "It's been quiet. The children are preoccupied with their gifts, and such."

"Ah, speaking of which..." he turned to the nightstand next to his bed, and rummaged in a deep drawer, fingers closing on a slim, gold-wrapped box. "Happy Christmas, Minerva."

She accepted the box with a smile, and opened it deftly, lifting out some tissue paper and laying it aside on the bed.

Inside the box was a long, black silk ribbon with a heavy, silver-coloured clasp, and a small charm strung on it, shaped like a holly sprig. She lifted it out carefully, glancing up at him. He looked hopeful, and worried.

"It's lovely, Remus," she said softly. "But silver?"

"No -- it's pewter. I just...like how it looks," he said, as shy as a schoolboy. "I...it needs some explanation."

She held the thin ribbon in her hand, weighing it. "It's charmed, isn't it?"

He nodded. "I know you'd said that...when you were...well. When you Changed, sometimes if you went to Hogsmeade the dogs tried to chase you. The charm should keep them off," he added. "It's not exactly...I wish it were nicer, but -- "

She kissed him, stopping his excuses. "It's beautiful. And thoughtful." She offered it to him. "Put it on?"

He nodded, eyes dark and pleased, and put out his left hand to unbutton her high collar, holding the necklace in his other. When he wrapped it around her neck it was snug, flat against her skin, and she could tell how much pleasure it gave him to see it there. He straightened the charm, fussily.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "What a lovely gift, Remus."

He smiled happily. "You're welcome. I'm glad you like it. I hoped you would. It's...been a long time since I could give something to someone I..." he coughed, and took a sip of tea. "Well. I'm glad you like it," he repeated.

"I do. And..." she bent, retrieving a brightly-wrapped red package from below the table. He took it, looked at the gold box his gift to her had come in, and laughed.

"Scarlet and gold," he said, through his laughter. "We are so terribly Gryffindor, Minerva."

She smiled as he shook his head, tearing the red wrapping off with slightly less care than she'd taken. His eyes widened when he saw what was inside, and he removed the rest of the paper more slowly.

"A first edition?" he asked breathlessly, opening it with the utmost care. "Oh...with the Latin included..."

"It's quite a long book," she remarked. "I thought it would keep you occupied on...bad days. You mentioned it once..."

His fingers touched the pages, stroking the print as if he could feel the words. "Oh so appropriate," he murmured. "Metamorphoses."

"You might appreciate it, more than most," she said, with a small smile. "And I know you have an unusual respect for books."

"It's perfect," he breathed, eyes scanning the text. "I've been looking for a copy with the Latin included but I could never aff..." he stopped, eyes lighting on a particular line. She watched as he read a passage with unadulterated pleasure. When he looked up at her again, she caught her breath sharply.

"No one else would have understood," he said, his voice almost harsh. "A book about magical transformations -- they would have thought it tactless or rude...no one else could understand."

"About this book?"

"You Change," he said. "You know what it's like. Do you know how -- " he stopped, abruptly, and closed the book, fingers still tracing the cover. "It's a wonderful gift, Minerva. I'm sorry, I'm still tired..."

"Of course, and me keeping you up," she said severely. "You should sleep."

"No, stay a while -- "

She kissed him, and pushed him gently down against the pillows. "Sleep. I'll bring you dinner this evening."

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

"Oh." He let the book fall onto the blanket, next to him, and looked up at her. "I'd like that." A pause. "Will you wear it tonight? At the feast?"

She touched the hollow of her throat, where she could barely feel the holly-sprig charm under her shirt-collar.

"Of course." She smiled. "Read your book if you can't sleep. I recommend Atalanta's transformation into the lion."

He grinned. "I always liked Pygmalion."

"You would." She stroked his hair. "Sleep a little."

"Yes, Headmistress," he said facetiously, closing his eyes. His breath evened, slowly, and she was as silent as she could be when she left, carrying the gold box and scarlet wrapping-paper with her.

The snowball hit the outside wall of Minerva McGonagall's study with a soft thwapping noise. She studiously ignored it; probably stray-thrown ammunition from a snowball fight amongst the students staying at Hogwarts over holiday.

The next one hit her window square.

She scowled, and looked up from the trunk she was sorting through. She carefully opened the window next to the one that had been assaulted, and leaned out.

"Good morning, Headmistress!" came a voice from below. "It's a beautiful day for a walk!"

"You'll wake the whole castle," she scolded. "Are you still a sixth-year, Professor Lupin?"

"Sixth years have more sense than to throw snowballs at your study, Headmistress!"

"Yes, they do," she replied, leaning on the windowsill. He shot her a grin just as a nearby window also opened.

"Good morning, Headmaster!" Lupin added, giving Dumbledore a cheery salute. "Just breaking up a snowball fight!"

Albus Dumbledore leaned out the window, looked from him to a furiously blushing McGonagall and back, and smiled.

"Carry on then. Mind you don't wake Severus," he advised, and slid the window shut.

"Are you coming down or shall I come up?" Lupin asked. She put a finger to her lips.

"Come up, if you must," she said, trying at once to be as quiet as possible and still allow him to hear her. He vanished into the doorway of the school, and a few minutes later she heard him stomping the snow off of his thin-soled, well-scuffed boots, outside her door.

"Come in," she called, anticipating his knock. The door opened, and he sidled sheepishly inside, meeting her embrace with a kiss before unraveling his muffler.

"Sorry, I know it was foolish but it's so beautiful out, and the temptation was too much."

"Detention," she murmured, helping him off with his coat. It was only then that he looked around, and then, very slowly, turned to look at her.

"You haven't been ransacked, have you?" he asked. Then, realising how that sounded, "Your rooms, I mean."

She turned to regard the messy piles of books, stacks of papers, and furniture-covered-in-clothing. He must be stunned; she was a neat person by nature, and the chaos in front of them would never have occurred on its own.

"I'm cleaning," she said simply. He regarded her thoughtfully.

"Isn't that a spring...thing?" he asked.

"I've always liked to do it on New Year's. It means you go into the next year with a clean home and much less clutter," she added.

"That makes sense."

"Plus, you find the most amazing things," she added, picking up a stack of books and piling them into a trunk carefully. "And it lets me dust really thoroughly -- " she paused. He was standing by her desk, watching her, snow still melting in his hair. "What?"

***

Normally Minerva McGonagall wore her hair back in a tight bun -- not even hair dared disobey McGonagall. While cleaning, however, several wisps had worked their way loose, and he found himself contemplating them admiringly.

He sometimes felt he admired everything about her. And now he could add independence of thought to the list; she hadn't apologised for the mess, merely explained it, and hadn't tried to clean up, merely kept cleaning what she'd started. If he didn't like it, he could leave.

Having been forced to cultivate independence in himself, he liked it in others.

"What?" she asked, and he realised he'd been staring at the way her hair framed her face.

"Nothing...can I help at all?" he stammered, noticing the books on the highest shelves hadn't been taken down. She followed his gaze, and nodded.

"You're welcome to, if you'd like," she said with a smile. "I haven't bothered with those in years -- they're not really worth getting up on a stepstool for, just a set of old books that came with the rooms. An encyclopaedia of some sort. I thought they finished the shelf nicely."

He reached up, easily running his fingers along the spines, pulling them down two or three at a time, stacking them on the lower shelves. He was just lifting the last of them down when something on a lower shelf caught his eye.

"That's peculiar..." he tugged at the scrap of paper caught in the wood, pulling it free.

"What is it?" she asked, and he grinned, looking down at it. "Remus, what did you find?"

He turned it around, and held it up, still smiling like an idiot. "And this, my dear Minerva, is the reason half the Gryffindor house had a crush on you the year I graduated."

In the photo, a young, dark-haired woman in witch's robes was laughing, showing off some sort of complicated spell. She couldn't have been more than eighteen, but the keen brightness in her eyes and the knowing look on her face meant she could only be one person.

"I haven't seen this in years, I didn't even..." she took the photo from him. He circled the desk, sliding an arm around her waist.

"Quite the handsome woman," he said, and she smiled.

"I was, yes. Didn't think so at the time. Thought my nose was too long."

"I wasn't talking about her," he said softly.

She shook her head. "We both know that's not true. I don't mind -- "

She stopped as one of his hands, nimble and slightly calloused, smoothed her hair back, tipping her head gently against his shoulder.

"It's true to me."

She set the photograph down, smoothing it slightly. From thirty years ago, the young witch in the picture grinned and rolled her eyes.

"A far cry from how this year started," he continued. "I seem to recall a very pale, very stern Deputy Headmistress coming in high state to my office to -- "

"Hush," she answered, and he turned his head to kiss her for a moment before she pulled away and returned to her books. "I've got to get on with this cleaning."

"I love you," he stammered, and then had to suppress a wave of horror at what he'd said.

***

Despite having been out in the snow, he was warm when he pulled her close so that he could look at the photo as well. His coat was thin, but he had an impressive collection of mufflers and thermal shirts to wear underneath it.

She half-thought what he'd said had been flattery. Remus had a certain amount of boyish enthusiasm that spilled over into an odd charm, and sometimes made him say things more than he might actually mean them.

As she went back to her books, his hand followed for a moment, on the small of her back, and she swore she heard him say "I love you."

"What?" she asked, before she could think, as she turned abruptly. She wasn't quite able to believe what she'd heard -- or even whether she wanted to believe it, to trust the pleasant feeling that crept over her when she considered him saying it.

He stood there, surrounded by dust dancing in the morning light, hand still outstretched a little, grey-brown hair still damp from the snow. Young eyes watching her carefully in a face older than his years.

She opened her mouth to speak again --

He raised the hand he'd held out, pointing quickly to the bookshelves.

"Above you," he said, and there was barely a trace of -- guile? Guilt? -- in his brown eyes. He coughed. "The erm, the shelves are above you anyhow, I think you should just leave them."

She stared at him for a long moment. He ducked his head. His hair fell across his eyes.

Oh.

"Yes..." she said slowly. "Perhaps it's...time."

He stayed where he was, not looking at her, as she faced him, hands full of books from the table.

"Time?" he asked, after the silence had stretched out almost to a breaking point.

"For a change, I mean. New Year's is a good time for changes. You should clean your rooms, too."

He let out an anxious laugh. "I don't own enough to warrant cleaning house."

"Stay and help me with mine, then?"

He was still standing there, still not looking at her.

"Remus," she said quietly. "Look at me, please."

He lifted his eyes to hers.

"Stay," she said.

"But perhaps I ought to -- "

"Stay." She set the books down. "I know what I'm saying to you. Stay."

He exhaled, slowly. After a second, he reached out and picked up a plain black hatbox sitting on one of the chairs.

"Where should I put this?" he asked.

She smiled.