A Year in the Life

XXIII. Roof Lessons

In June, after the Christmas-like excitement of the Quidditch Cup, exams began in earnest. The professors were not immune to the pressure; they had to create them, after all, and lead reviews, and make sure some of the less ambitious learners were at least minimally caught up.

Then there were students coming by their offices at all hours of the day, and classes to keep focused (when really all anyone wanted was to be outside) and evenings spent grading term papers.

Grading would not have been such a chore, Remus Lupin reflected, if he could have had someone else around while doing it, but he had discovered that with the proper company -- ie, Minerva McGonagall -- he got very little grading done. He would read her a particularly entertaining passage, and half an hour later they would still be talking, and his papers would lie forgotten on his desk, hers on the window-seat that she'd claimed as her own.

So they had imposed a sort of moratorium on common-time together, and thus for a week and a half had seen each other mostly at meals, or passing in the hallways. As used as they were to each others' presence, the situation rankled him. He was too tired in the evenings to do more than undress and tumble into his bed, and he was sure she must feel the same.

In fact, he had confirmation of it after the first day, and a particularly disastrous second-year exam. His fault, really; either he hadn't taught them well enough or he'd made the test too hard, but considering everything, he wouldn't fail them for his lack of forethought.

Minerva, he'd decided, had looked just as frustrated and tired as he did at dinner. He'd been thinking about it for a few hours, and finally had come to the conclusion that a late-night date, even if it was only tea, would be a welcome relief.

She obviously had the same idea; they met in the hallyway, he on his way to the kitchens, she possibly on her way to his room. He caught her around the waist, pulled her into a shadow, and kissed her.

"Going somewhere?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. He grinned.

"Not anymore..."

"I was coming to see if you wanted a late tea. I've papers still to work on, but once I have those done..."

"Stuff the papers."

"You're always saying things like that and you know you don't mean it," she responded, as he cupped her face in his hands.

"Because you always scold me for it," he said, kissing her again. "A late tea, you were saying?"

"I should be done around eleven, and I know you don't have any more exams until tomorrow afternoon," she said, against his cheek. "If you steal the cakes from the kitchen I'll provide the tea."

"Tempting," he answered, an idea forming in the back of his mind. "But let's do this instead. I'll steal the cakes if you bring the last of your mead, and meet me at the portrait of Gren the Green on the top floor of the north wing."

"What are you plotting?" she asked, suspiciously.

"A surprise," he replied.

***

He was a little late in arriving, but when he did he carried an odd-shaped bundle under one arm and the promised stolen tea cakes in a box in his other hand. She eyed the bundle warily.

"You know, Professor Lupin, I'd hate to think you were considering indulging in anything illegal," she said disapprovingly. He grinned and kissed her forehead in greeting, and turned to Gren the Green.

"Polaris," he said, and the portrait swung aside. She stared at him.

"How did you know that was there?" she asked.

"Seven years with too much time on my hands," he answered absently, stepping through. Inside the corridor, there was a stairway upwards, and the dim hall was illuminated by starlight, without ceiling, leading to...

"The roof?" she asked.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of heights."

"What on earth are we going to do on the roof?"

He grinned. She blushed.

"Come on. It's really a splendid view," he said, starting up the stairs. He offered his hand to help her out onto the roof of the school, and she had to admit that the amount of surrounding landscape was breathtaking.

"There's more," he added, leading her along a narrow, flat pathway. The Astronomy tower loomed ahead of them, and she saw an iron railing on the outside that she'd never noticed before, with a narrow row of stairs leading up to the flat battlement roof.

"How come this is never used?" she asked, as they reached the top. He shrugged.

"Nobody knows it's here. Except me. And you, now, and probably Dumbledore, I've yet to find something he doesn't know," he said with a grin. He set down the box, and shook out his bundle. A thick, padded blanket unrolled, and he laid it on the stone.

"A star picnic," she said with a smile. He offered her a cake.

They sat on the blanket, facing each other, drinking and eating, talking of the past week and what they'd been working on. He told her about the Exam Disaster and listened to her advice, as well as her own troubles with her Transfigurations third years. Finally he stretched and laid back, his head near her thigh, looking up at her and at the stars. She shifted, moving to lie next to him, pushing him over slightly, and he grinned.

"I could never pay attention in Astronomy come spring," he said. "I did all right, but I still can't name spring and summer constellations. Besides, I get confused when I travel and the stars aren't in the places they're supposed to be. As if Hogwarts was the centre of the universe."

"And the constellations just moved around the castle?" she asked. He laughed.

"Something like that. The universe could do worse than Hogwart's School for an axis."

"You really love it here, don't you?"

He propped himself up on one elbow, looking at her instead of the stars.

"I do," he said softly. "But sometimes...what are you doing this summer?" he asked abruptly, and she shrugged.

"I hadn't thought about it. Stay here, prepare for the new school year. Why?"

"Let's go away together," he urged, eyes bright. "Somewhere no one knows us...Wales, or northern Scotland, or somewhere. Where the first language still isn't English."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, with a smile.

"What's ridiculous about it? I've saved a little, and I'm sure you must have. We can rent a flat in some tiny village and spend the summer...I don't know, reading awful novels and birdwatching and that. There's loads of magical creatures still wild in some parts, I bet we could get Dumbledore to pay our rent out of Hogwarts' funds if we bring something interesting back for Hagrid."

"You don't just pick up and run off to Wales," she said.

"I do. I miss traveling. I can get a Muggle job, even, I've done it loads of times," he said. "Think about it. A whole summer without anyone watching us, without anyone to tell us what we can and can't do." He bent to kiss her, then rolled back, until he was looking up again. "We can watch the constellations from an entirely different part of the world."

There was silence for a while, and he turned his head to look at her.

"Unless you'd rather not," he said. "Or...you'd rather not with me. I know we're not...we never really say, I mean, what we are, and maybe that's too much -- "

"I love you," she said, "and that's not too much."

"Oh," he answered, turning back to look at the stars. "That's...good."

"I've never thought about just going away. Without a reason to."

"I'll find a reason," he replied. "I'll -- "

He paused, and then rolled suddenly, pressing a hand to her lips when she opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing.

"Astronomy exam," he whispered, just as the chatter of sleepy student voices drifted up through the windows below. His body was pressed against her, fingers on her mouth; after a moment, his lips replaced his fingers.

"Students," she said as softly as she could.

"They won't hear us," he replied, lips brushing hers. "Say yes, Minerva."

She smiled as he nuzzled her neck.

"Say yes. Come somewhere with me this summer. Just us," he continued. She twined her fingers in his hair, tugging gently, and he laughed a little, trying to muffle it against her skin.

"Yes," she murmured. "Where shall we go?"

"Anywhere you like."

"I don't care."

His lips grazed her ear. "Say yes again."

She smiled, and listened to the soft chatter below, felt the warm breath on her skin.

"Yes," she said. "Yes."

Hysterical laughter was not a sound one generally associated with Professor Lupin's office. He was a nice enough man, a good teacher, and his sense of humour, while quirky, was far closer to a student's idea of funny than most professors' would be. He was not, however, given to the sort of laughter that was emerging from behind his office door.

McGonagall, herself smiling, knocked gently, and heard a thunk -- as of someone's feet hitting the floor -- before his footsteps approached and he opened it, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Oh, I hoped it was you," he said. "Come inside. I've been going over my notes on the third years' exams..."

She stepped inside and he shut the door behind her, throwing himself into one of the wing-chairs around his desk. She took the one next to his, and rested her head against one edge, watching him.

"I gave them the obstacle course," he said, still drying his eyes. "And there was a boggart -- I thought if I had him in my desk all term I might as well make use of it."

"Oh, don't tell me...Ron and the legless spider," she said. He shook his head.

"Ron got flummoxed by a hinkypunk, and Ron Weasley waist-deep in mud is funny enough, but oh, it was Hermione..." he went off into laughter again, slouching down in his chair. "She climbed into the trunk to fight the boggart, and she came bursting out of it screaming..."

"I don't find that very funny," she observed. He held up a hand.

" 'What's the matter?' I asked her, actually quite worried, it's not like Hermione to lose her head...and she turned to me and gasped," he imitated her voice as best he could, " 'Professor McGonagall! She said I'd failed everything!' "

She covered her mouth, and after a shocked moment, burst into laughter herself.

"Oh, Hermione," she shook her head. "Poor girl."

"It almost, but not quite, topped Severus Snape in Neville's Gran's dress," he chuckled. "I just found my note about it and remembered the look on her face..."

The lines around his eyes crinkled pleasantly, and she privately added it to the list of reasons Remus Lupin was worth every risk they took.

"What about you?" he asked, when they had laughed themselves tired. "Any more nasty literary accidents in Transfigurations?"

"No, though my seventh-years are doing some very interesting work," she answered. "The NEWTs candidates are going to stun their examiners."

"Partial transfiguation?"

She nodded.

"Reckon there's a living to be made in that, somehow," he observed.

"It wouldn't be my first choice," she answered. "You should see some of the messes they make when things go awry. I don't let them work with animals unless they've tested the technique on something else...one of them transfigured a stuffed bear into a pancake-thin splatter, and very little more."

He frowned. "What on earth would one use a stuffed bear for? Or a real bear?"

"Their idea was for living bearskin rugs. Comfortable to walk on and a good house-guard," she replied. He covered his eyes, and shook his head.

"Interior decoration that eats intruders, it all sounds a bit Dark Arts."

"Well, as they had reason to discover, it's not the most practical of plans," she temporised, "so the point is philosophical."

"My favourite kind," he remarked. "Good NEWTs turnout this year, then?"

"Oh, yes, I think so. Certainly they'll do no worse than some years," she said serenely. "Which reminds me..."

She reached into her pocket and drew out something wrapped in tissue paper. "I asked Miranda -- she's the girl who transfigured my turntable for me -- if she would look into this as a project for extra credit."

She offered it to him, and he held out his arm, letting her place the small, heavy object in his palm. He weighed it carefully before unwrapping it with his other hand.

"A music-box?" he asked, curiously. It was square, with small curling feet, about the size of a match-box, though deeper; dark green enamel covered the sides, etched here and there with yellow filigrees and brown edges.

"A music box which used to be a yellow poppy," she explained. He opened it, but no sound came out; there was no mechanism inside, merely another enameled surface, a slightly lighter green. "Hold it under the window."

He looked perplexed, but obeyed, lifting the box into one of the last rays of sunlight to slant through his office drapes. He opened it again, and soft music emerged this time.

"It needs sunlight and air to play," she said, as he listened, fascinated.

"It's the waltz," he replied, after a minute. "The one we danced to."

"I asked for that specifically."

He closed the box and returned to his chair, bending to fetch the tissue paper from his desk as he re-wrapped it. He held it out to her, but she shook her head.

"It's for you," she said. "A gift."

"For me? Whyever?" he asked, amused.

"A congratulations. For completing your first year at Hogwarts," she replied with a smile. He laughed, and removed the tissue paper, putting the box in a place of prominence on his desk.

"If ever there was a hard-earned gift..." he said, still smiling. She rose and came to stand behind him, one arm around his waist, cheek against his shoulder. His right hand fumbled for hers.

"Were you ever nervous?" he asked. "When you were a student? About passing exams and that."

"No," she answered, as his thumb rubbed across the pads of her fingertips. "I always knew I would pass, because I'd always studied hard."

"And when you were a teacher?"

"Well, they don't give teachers exams -- "

"No, weren't you...afraid of failing your students? Not having an answer to a question? Or grading them and then not being able to explain why?"

She considered it. "It's been a long time since I thought about that."

"When I started I...I had nightmares about it, sort of. About not being prepared. Not rising to expectations, I suppose. But the longer I do this...I'm a good teacher, you know," he finished, and there was just a bare note of questioning in his statement.

"Yes," she agreed. She felt him relax a notch. "You are."

"And I'll get to see them -- the students I mean -- get to see them grow up, learn more, graduate. Is it hard?"

"Seeing students graduate? Of course," she replied. "You'll see when your seventh-years leave. But there are always more children to care for."

"I like children," he said softly.

"Me too. Otherwise I would have left Hogwarts long ago." She paused. "You don't have to be afraid, you know. Of that, not knowing the answers, not teaching well. You're a smart man. And the children like you -- they'll forgive you even if you do make a mistake."

"Better than I am," he said, more to himself than to her, and she wondered what he meant. She didn't ask; merely held his hand, and leaned into his shoulder, and enjoyed the warmth of him. He didn't speak either, for a while.

"Thank you," he said finally. "For the waltz."