A Year in the Life

XV. Nightfall

The holidays went far too quickly, and far too quietly. Not for the students, certainly not for Gryffindor tower, where Harry and Ron raged against Hermione for being a tell-tale and a thousand other horrible things; for the professors, however...

Well, Remus didn't like that Harry'd had his one really nice present taken from him, but as it did seem rather dangerous to accept broomsticks from anonymous donors, and as it was in his best interest to keep Minerva McGonagall happy, he simply ignored the whole problem and hoped it would go away.

It was the last day before the children began returning, two days before classes were to start, and at least for the moment Minerva was quite happy. They'd relaxed their guard just a little, since there were so few students about, and they were not looking forward to going back to hidden dinners in their rooms, stolen weekends at Hogsmeade when the students weren't there, and talking only of school business in the hallways.

Dumbledore had given the Deputy Headmistress a bottle of mead for Christmas, of the charmed type that never grew cold, and they were sharing it out of a flask that Moody had sent to his protege, finally having an address for him that year. They were sitting together in the shelter of one of the older trees near the fens outside of Hogsmeade, where you could see the sky seemingly go on forever, and getting quietly drunk to mark the end of the holidays.

"Aren't you cold?" she asked, with a smile. He leaned down to kiss her, then settled his arm more firmly around her shoulders, pressing her face into his neck.

"Do I feel cold?" he asked.

"No, but your jacket's thin, and..."

"Warming charms," he answered. "And our Headmaster's excellent mead."

"Hmm." She took the flask, sipping. From the feel of it, he'd had most; still, the warmth of the drink was making her flush a little, even in the cold. "You'll be hung over tomorrow."

"I'd worry if I thought anyone would notice," he answered. "It's not as though dark circles under my eyes are much of a surprise."

"You're looking better than you did."

"I'm eating regular meals."

She felt his chest rise and fall, slowly, and his hand take the flask from her, bringing it to his mouth for another swallow.

"Was it really so bad for you?" she asked. "Were you that desperate?"

"Well, that depends on how you define 'desperate'," he said, his voice a little slurred. "Dumbledore sent me an advance on my salary, otherwise the Feast would have been my first meal in three days."

"Merlin, and I almost..." she buried her face in his thin coat.

"What? What is it?" he asked, one hand stroking her hair clumsily.

"You know I didn't want you here, it was stupid but I was thinking of the children -- "

"I don't care," he said, a note of rebellion in his voice. "Why shouldn't you defend the children? Why shouldn't you?"

"Because you didn't deserve to be starving over something you can't control," she replied quietly.

"Bollocks," he answered. "I love 'em, no reason you shouldn't. Love 'em. Love you," he added affectionately.

"You too," she whispered into his muffler. It wasn't the first time he'd said it, but it was the first time he'd admitted to saying it.

"Good. That's settled," he said, with the firm resolution of the drunk. "Splendid good. Now what?"

She laughed a little, and looked up at him. "We should leave soon. Dark's falling."

"Is it?" he asked, glancing up at the sky. She used him as a handhold to lever herself to her feet, and he struggled up as well, tucking the flask in his pocket. "So it is -- oi -- " he added, as she stumbled. "And so are you," he laughed, catching her by the shoulders. "All right then?"

"I think so," she answered, leaning on his arm as they made their way, cautiously, across the uneven, snow-covered ground.

"Got to be more careful from now on," he said, as they walked. "No more kissing in hallways."

"We only ever did that the once," she protested.

"And no more...no more..." he pondered this a while. "Well, that doesn't seem fair. We'll just have to keep an eye out. Constant vigilance!" he added sweepingly.

"No drinking too much mead," she added.

"Hah! No," he agreed, as they passed over the bridge to the school. "I don't -- "

Suddenly he froze, and tensed. She stopped, glancing up at him. His nostrils flared.

"Something's wrong," he said softly.

"What?"

He looked entirely sober now. "Someone's watching us."

He turned, unerringly, towards the forest on the left of them. After a second, he held up his hand, and muttered a few soft words. Green flames leapt up from his palm.

Something scrabbled away in the darkness, a flitting black shadow.

"Just a dog," he murmured, but there was something in his voice that made her worry. "Let's go. Let's hurry."

They made their way quickly across the bridge and up to the entrance hall. He didn't stop until they were well inside, and then he closed his hand, dousing the light.

"Let me walk you to your room," he said, and she grinned, pulling him down for a kiss. It took a moment for him to return it, and she could still see worry in his eyes.

"Stay tonight?" she asked. He kissed her again, hungrily, but shook his head.

"The students," he reminded her. She pressed a hand to his chest, and he moaned quietly.

"They'll be here the rest of the year, you know," she said. "At some point we'll have to stop caring that we share the castle with hundreds of children."

"Merlin," he breathed, as her fingers stroked his jaw.

"And then there's summer holidays. Three whole months without papers to grade, classes to teach..."

He nodded, eyes closed.

"Tomorrow then," she said, kissing his cheek. "Goodnight. Try not to be too bloodshot in the morning."

He let her go, fingers lingering until the last possible minute, and she left him there in the stone entryway, looking out at the rapidly-darkening grounds.

As classes began again and the daily routine of Hogwarts was once more ordered by brief intervals between lessons, meals, and evening study, the Christmas holiday quickly began to seem like a distant memory to Remus. Pleasant, yes -- especially pleasant with regards to certain events with Minerva McGonagall -- but distant nonetheless.

"Just what in the hell do you think you're doing?"

And getting more distant by the minute.

Remus looked up from the book he was reading. His office door had been open, but now the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts had shut it, and was standing in front of it, looking -- well, looking composed, but with a glint in her eye that could definitely be interpreted as furious.

"Reading?" he asked, hesitantly, suddenly feeling as though he was fourteen all over again, and caught outside Gryffindor Tower after hours.

"Hermione Granger tells me you're giving Harry Potter extra tutoring after classes," she said sharply. "Is this true?"

"Yes," he answered, beginning to divine a hint of reason behind her sudden mood swing. "We had the first one last Thursday. That's not against school policy, is it?"

"That depends on your motivations," she shot back, and he raised his eyebrows, closing the book and setting it on his desk.

"Surely you don't think I have -- "

"He's James Potter's son, what am I to think?" she demanded.

He blinked. He wasn't used to people being outright angry with him; usually nobody got to know him well enough to dislike him.

"That Harry needed extra tutoring, and so I gave it to him."

"Don't you think that might be considered favouritism? He's never had trouble with that class before."

"One might make the case that he's never had a competent teacher in that class before," he said cautiously. "Gilderoy Lockhart one year and a servant of Voldemort another hardly -- "

She hissed when he said the Dark Lord's name, and he gave her a measured look.

"And a servant of Voldemort, hardly combine to make a single decent teacher," he finished.

"Is Harry behind in class?"

"No," he admitted. "He does very well in class."

"Tutoring a student in order to give them an advantage over other students -- "

" -- is done all the time," he finished, feeling frustrated. "Severus Snape -- " he paused, and saw the look on her face. "Ah. I see. All right for Slytherins, but Gryffindor is fair and impartial, right?"

"Or should be." She put her hands on her hips. "What are you teaching him that he can't be taught in class?"

"The Patronus charm," he said, evenly, meeting her eyes.

He had the dubious experience of actually seeing Minerva McGonagall at a loss for words. Few ever had.

"And how," she said slowly, "Precisely, Remus, are you teaching him the Patronus charm? A charm difficult for graduates of Hogwarts, let alone a thirteen-year-old boy?"

"He's an extraordinary boy," Remus answered. "We both know that. I'm using a boggart."

"A boggart? For a Patronus? Are you daft?"

He put his face in his hands. "If you'd let me explain, Minerva..."

"I am here as the Headmistress," she answered, a note of ice in her voice. He glanced at her through his fingers.

A long time ago he'd made the distinction between Minerva and Headmistress McGonagall. He'd even mentioned it to her. To use it against him like this was, he thought, rather unfair.

"Headmistress, then," he said. "Harry's Boggart is a Dementor."

He stood, and walked around the desk, leaning on it. She didn't move.

"Harry's Boggart is a Dementor, and I'm keeping one in my office." He waved a hand in the direction of the boggart's cupboard. "I release it, he attempts the Patronus, and then we recapture it and try again."

"This is utter madness, you can't expose a boy to something like that on a regular basis, it's cruel!"

He gave her a shrewd look. "He asked for it. I didn't tell him he had to."

"Why on earth -- "

He made a frustrated noise, and straightened. "Do you know what happens to Harry when he encounters a Dementor? Do you? Do you know why he passes out -- why he used to pass out, since he's managed not to now that he's had some tutoring? My god, everyone's so busy looking out for the boy that nobody's looking at him!" he nearly shouted. She watched him, wide-eyed.

"He hasn't told anyone why," she said, quiet but still defiant.

"Well, he's bloody well told me," Remus continued angrily. "Harry hears his parents."

"What?" she asked.

"Harry hears his parents. When a Dementor comes near. He hears James and Lily screaming," he said. "Harry hears his parents being murdered by Voldemort."

He spat the name with such bitterness that she didn't bother to stop him saying it.

"So excuse me, Headmistress, if I'd like to at least try to teach the boy how to stop hearing his parents, who happened to be my best friends, being executed mercilessly, over and over," he continued. "I'm sorry if I have the strange habit of wanting to prevent any child from hearing that. God knows, I..."

He threw himself into the overstuffed chair on the other side of his desk, rubbing his face with one hand.

"I didn't mean to shout, Headmistress, my apologies," he said sullenly. He heard her moving, thought she was going towards the door; he started when her fingers stroked through his hair, gently.

"I didn't know, Remus," she said softly. "You didn't tell me."

"Well, you didn't exactly consult with anyone before taking away his Firebolt," he answered.

"That was for his safety."

"So is this."

"They're different, and you know that. If you'd told me your reasons I wouldn't have been so angry."

He reached up to take her hand, pulling it down to press the fingers against his lips. They were smooth, and dry, and cool.

"I'm not used to having anyone to tell," he said, against her palm. "It didn't occur to me that it was anyone's business other than Harry's and my own."

"He's my student too," she chided. "As James was."

"As I was," he added wryly.

"As you were, though you no longer are. I don't want you telling me everything you do," she said, moving her hand to tilt his chin up, until he was looking into her face. "But where Harry is concerned..."

"I'll stop if you tell me to," he said. "I don't love seeing him suffer. But you should see him the rest of the time. He loves the work, he smiles so much when he gets things right. And he's so smart, he really -- "

Her thumb shut his mouth, pressing against his lips gently.

"Is it in Harry's best interest?"

He nodded.

"And not motivated by your wanting to spend more time with the boy?"

His eyes flicked away from hers for a second, but he shook his head.

"And you're taking the necessary precautions?"

"Full supervision, and chocolate," he said. "And no, I don't eat it all," he added, before she could say anything -- she knew his fondness for it.

"But you can understand why I -- "

"I'm just trying to keep him safe."

"Alone. As usual," she answered, and he closed his eyes.

"I've been doing things alone for a long time. And there are still things I can't -- tell, not even to you," he said. "Believe how much I want to, Minerva."

She pulled on his shirt-collar, fingers hooking into it, and he obediently stood, awkward for a moment as she hugged him. Then his arms rose, and he wrapped them around her shoulders, burying his face in her hair.

"Someday?" she asked quietly.

"We have time," he answered. "Someday. Yes."

Standing in the warmth of his office, wrapped in each other's arms, it was difficult to imagine anything other than someday.