Saturday 23rd October 1971
“Did you just never get taught?”
Remus shrugged, tired and frustrated. It was a week after the flying lesson, and Sirius had caught him on his own again. He’d been sitting quite happily on his bed, flicking through one of James’ quidditch magazines – he liked the moving pictures, even if he still didn’t understand the rules, and it was the closest thing to telly they had at Hogwarts.
“I got taught.” He replied, turning the page, hoping Sirius would take the hint and get lost. He didn’t. Remus closed the magazine. “I got taught.” He repeated. “Just didn’t learn properly. When I look at the words, I don’t think I see what everyone else does. It doesn’t make any sense; all the letters keep jumping around and changing. Teachers said I was just thick.”
No one had made much of a fuss about his problems with schoolwork at St Edmund’s. They’d barely had any homework, since no one did it anyway. Lots of the boys had problems; either they couldn’t or wouldn’t be taught. It wasn’t as if anyone expected much either way.
“But how have you been doing it?” Sirius was like a dog with a bone.
“Doing what?!”
“Well… everything! All your work, here, at Hogwarts.”
Remus looked at him as if he was the one who was stupid,
“Sirius, I haven’t been doing it. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in detention every night.”
“Well, yeah, obviously,” Sirius waved a hand, “But the other day, in Potions, I saw you – you didn’t take any notes, didn’t even look at the book, or the blackboard, and you still prepared all of the ingredients for the cure for boils perfectly – Slughorn gave you five points!”
Remus felt himself blush at the memory. He wasn’t used to getting praise from teachers.
“Oh, that was easy,” He shook his head, “Sluggy told us how to do it in the lesson before, I just remembered it.”
“Bloody hell, you must have a brilliant memory, then.”
Remus shrugged. He supposed that was true. His teachers at St Edmund’s had remarked more than once that he knew an awful lot of words for somebody so dim witted.
Sirius was staring into space now, clearly deep in thought – Remus could practically see the cogs working in his mind. Sometimes Sirius was an entirely closed book. Other times he was so easy to read it was almost funny.
“If you could read, you’d be as good as me and James. Better, probably.”
Remus snorted,
“So modest, Black.”
“Well, you would!” Sirius missed the sarcasm completely, still looking thoughtful, “Your wandwork is much more natural, and if your memory is as good as you say it is…” He chewed his lip, “I bet there’s a spell for it.”
Remus laughed,
“You’re going to cure me with a spell?”
“Why not?”
Remus had thought about it already; of course he had. But he was more aware of the limitations of magic than anyone. After all, he had scars which would not heal and a monthly nightmare which nobody could prevent.
“Magic can’t fix stuff like that.” He replied bluntly. “Why else does James wear glasses?”
“I think there are spells for eyesight.” Sirius said, “Maybe they’re just not worth the effort, or too dangerous, or complicated or something.”
