Four To The End (prev Shifting Lines) Book Three (Marauders Era)

Chapter Ninety-Two - No Big Deal, Just Trauma

Author's Note: CW for mentioning that something feels like knives against the skin, unintentional self harm, period accurate thoughts of mental health

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On Sunday morning, Remus received a note saying he had detention that evening. So after a morning of watching James's practice and a partial afternoon of playing in the snow with his friends, when he excused himself to get a shower and changed to meet up with Charlemagne his friends were confused.

"I thought your detention was after supper, like ours," Sirius said.

"It is," Remus replied, picking off the little clumps of snow sticking to his clothes. "I'm helping Professor Charlemagne for a little while. Grading papers."

"For another detention?" Pete asked.

"No," he said slowly.

"Don't tell us it's for fun," James accused.

Remus raised his eyebrows. "It's... for fun..."

"Bloody hell, you're weird."

He adjusted his hat, trying to figure out how to say what he wanted. "I'll be helping him quite a bit for the rest of the term. Remember? I told you. And maybe next term. Then next school year I'll be helping more."

"Nerd," Sirius said, with a smile and a wink which sent shivers down his spine.

"You'll still have time for us, right?" James asked.

Remus tried not to roll his eyes. "You still have time for us even with Quidditch, don't you?"

James wrinkled his nose. "Touché. When will you be done?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps around four."

"All right well, we'll probably be in the storage room thingie—in the Room of Thrice. I wanted to see if there were any old sleds in there. That way we won't make the suits of armor mad, taking their shields as often."

Peter shifted uncomfortably, and Remus knew why. Earlier in the day, Sirius had tried to take a shield and the suit of armor smacked him with its jousting stick so hard he saw stars and had to be taken to the hospital wing to make sure he didn't have a concussion. While he didn't, he did flirt with Pomfrey every second he was there, which filled Peter's face with hurt.

Remus promised to go by the Room if he was done early enough, then hurried up to the dorms to get ready. After his shower, he wasn't sure what to do. His only nice clothes were really nice; too nice for this. It'd be too obvious he was dressing up, and felt stupid. He didn't want to wear his uniform either. So, sadly, he pulled on the pair of jeans he had gotten over the summer that had fit him at the time but now were a little too short (of course the one year he bought something that fit him properly, he actually grew), and his least battered jumper over a button-up.

He was nervous when he approached Charlemagne's office, and it took a minute or two to get the nerve to knock. Charlemagne told him to come in, and greeted him with a smile when he did.

"Good afternoon!" he said brightly, waving his hand towards a chair he had put right by his desk, adjusted so Remus could use a corner of the desk. "Would you care for some tea?"

"Ooh, erm, yes, thank you."

He sat down as Charlemagne poured him a cup of tea and pushed it over. As Remus sipped, Charlemagne explained what he would be doing: looking through a pile of essays from first years and underlining all the misspelled words with red ink. Charlemagne did not take any points whatsoever off from papers for misspelling, but he did like to point out which words were misspelled so the student could learn. This was something Peter loved, and made it easier for him to do homework, since he wasn't as stressed out about making sure everything was spelled correctly.