Boys Will Be Bugs

Chapter 9: Prejudice

Things began to settle down at Hogwarts, in the sense that Remus was finally able to catch up with the classes he'd missed. So far he'd tended to stay up till quite late finishing off essays, which inadvertently caused him to lose focus in class the next day, but all in all, he was managing to keep up with everyone else. So what if he lost a little bit of sleep? He could sleep after the full moon.

As for making friends, Remus was actually doing alright on that front. He talked to Peter between classes, and during lunch he spent a lot of time with Lily and Owain. They enjoyed each other's company, and Remus could relate to both of them in some way or another, whether it was Lily's muggle background, or Owain's familiar stories of growing up in the Welsh countryside, so they always had something to talk about.

Remus still hadn't conversed much with James and Sirius, as he frankly found them a little intimidating. They were already becoming quite popular among the first years, especially James, and especially after their first flying lesson, when James had shown off his skills for riding a broomstick. Unfortunately for Remus, their first flying lesson had happened on the day that he was stuck in the hospital wing, and he'd missed it, which disappointed him no end. But Madam Hooch came up to him a day later and said he could practice after school before the second lesson on Monday if he wanted.

"It's only the basics you need to go over," she explained. "Getting the broom in the air and hovering above the ground. I'll lend you one of the school brooms."

"Okay." There was a slight catch though, but it didn't turn out to be much of a bad one.

"I have my hands tied with Quidditch trials at the moment, so I'm afraid I can't supervise you," she said. "However, as long as you practice outside the Quidditch grounds, Professor McGonagall can watch you from her window, to make sure you don't get up to any funny business."

"I won't, Miss."

"Well, I wasn't really talking about you. Practice should only take you an evening and anything you don't pick up will be gone over in the next lesson. You might as well have someone to help you, though, so I was thinking perhaps that Mr. Potter could. I take it you know him?"

"Yes."

"So far he's excelled in flying, so he could help you go over the lessons. I could ask him if you want."

"Oh, um..." Would James want to do that? He didn't want to take up his time and then have James be pissed off at him for doing so. But then again, Remus would feel a bit of a twat practicing on his own, under the watchful eye of McGonagall. He decided to brave it. If worse came to worse, he could always tell James that Madam Hootch had forced them both to attend the practice session, and that he had had no choice in the matter.

"Alright," he agreed.

***

James, it turned out, was perfectly happy to help him, much to Remus's relief. It ended up being a nice opportunity to finally get to know him, and James was certainly very talkative. He also wasn't half bad at teaching either, though he was perhaps a little scatty, forgetting to finish a sentence before immediately starting a new one. Remus could hardly get a word in edgeways, but what was nice about James was that— despite his chattiness— he still asked questions. He didn't ignore Remus or go off on a one-way conversation. He was talkative, but he listened. Remus liked that.

"You sure you don't want to try out for the Quidditch team when you're older?" asked James. So far, over the course of the early evening lesson, Remus had shown a rather natural talent for flying. His broomstick had flown into his hand after only his second attempt at shouting 'up!' and he was perfectly steady as he sat hovering above the ground. James had asked if he played Quidditch, to which Remus had replied in the negative. Truth was, he had never played Quidditch before because he had grown up in an isolated muggle town, so there weren't many Quidditch playing opportunities. But that wasn't to say he had never watched Quidditch. His father took him to a match every month and Remus loved it, both the game and spending time with his dad. He'd never really entertained the idea of actually joining a Quidditch team, though. That wasn't really his thing. He'd be more suited to observing and commentating. He'd always liked the commentator, had always listened to what they were saying, wishing he had that kind of confidence. He sometimes pretended to be one in the bathroom mirror, until he had found out that his parents could hear every word he was saying; then he stopped out of embarrassment.