parents after all

chapter 4

Chapter 4 - Schoolboy Grudges

The next day went like a haze. Having no appetite, Remus skipped breakfast and schlepped himself towards the Charms classroom after James, Sirius and Peter came up from the Great Hall and roused him. The usually fascinating charms class wore on and soon Flitwick's squeaky voice pierced Remus's mind like a thousand needles poking in. Transfiguration was no better; not only did Remus failed to transfigure his cushion into a rabbit, he also fell asleep under McGonagall's nose (to which she turned a blind eye) and was only subsequently roused by Sirius when class was over.

Finally, Remus was ready for another night of torture and pain in the Shrieking Shack, which had not been put to use since he was last here (of course, he had no idea his future self had only been here in June).

Some twenty hours later, Remus awoke with a stiff body and sore muscles in the Hospital Wing. Considering it was his first transformation after arriving in the future, it was not a particularly bad moon: there were splinters of broken wood and glass in his right arm, a deep tore near his belly, a few broken rips and a sprained ankle on his left leg. Otherwise (if you ignore the countless scratches and claw marks on his body, that is) he was fine, and when he was still drifting in and out of consciousness, Madam Pomfrey had tenderly put healing spells on the deeper wounds, so now he was feeling awake enough to attend classes.

'You shouldn't stress yourself too much, dear,' scolded Madam Pomfrey, though love spilled from her kind, wrinkled eyes. 'I think you should spend one more night resting before going to class.' She handed Remus a glass of pain-relieving potions and shook her head slightly, 'as much as I'm impressed by your diligence, Remus, it is in your best interest that you spend the day resting.'

Remus peered outside the window. The afternoon sun spilled golden lights on the grounds, silhouettes clustered around the clearing near Hagrid's cabin, who was now the Care of Magical Creatures Professor, no doubt students were having class with the big man.

'No, thank you Madam, I think I'm well enough to go,' said Remus softly. 'I have fallen behind those who had class this morning already.' He looked down at his timetable, where 'Potions' gleamed smartly under today's date. Remus's stomach tightened; after three years of learning he still hadn't mastered the art of potions making, and Potions had soon become his least favourite class not long after the start of his first year. Half of him wanted to stay in the soft, warm bed, and half of him held on to the promise he made to his parents that he would work hard on Potions. After a minute of internal debate, Remus let his rational side took over and hauled himself out of bed.

            

'I wonder if Sluggy is still teaching at Hogwarts?' James hopped energetically in the corridor to show off his stamina, the Potions book clutched tightly in one hand.

'If Bubblefield has retired it's reasonable that he isn't,' replied Peter sensibly, 'they look about the same age.'

'Nonsense, Dumbledore and McGonagall haven't,' argued Sirius, 'I hear Dumbledore is turning five hundred and seventy-two this year, and McGonagall's turning a hundred and sixty.'

They sauntered into the dark, cold dungeon and found an empty table. Peter was busy fumbling with his textbooks and cauldron when he continued, '... impossible, Dumbledore can't be that old. No man can last that long.'

'I'm afraid you won't last long either if you don't keep your lips sealed and sit down this second,' said a cold voice behind them.

'Sniv –' Recognising the hated voice ( he had developed an instinct of recognising his mortal enemy's voice in a heartbeat even in the deepest sleep), Sirius spun around and froze, his evil grin was half-formed when shock replaced it, causing his face to grimace in a strange fashion. Directly in front of him, a man with sallow skin and greasy hair parted in the middle stood like a statue, black robes billowing slightly. He looked at the Marauders, now the only students standing in the classroom under his large, hooked nose, his black eyes bore into them so intensely that they could drill holes on them.