Golden Girl; 𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓦𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓵𝓮𝔂

Fifth Year: The Set Up

"Professor," Bambi called as soon as Defence Against the Dark Arts ended that Friday, striding determinedly to the front of the class. Professor Lupin had been back since Monday, but every time she'd tried to catch him for a private word, something had interrupted. She wasn't about to let this chance slip by.

"Miss Hargroves," Professor Lupin greeted her with a slightly tired but kind smile. His demeanour, though calm, held an air of someone who had been expecting this confrontation. "Did you have a question about the assignment?"

"Not exactly," Bambi replied, her tone measured. She glanced over her shoulder as the last few students filed out. Fred and George lingered by the door—well, mostly Fred—watching her with curiosity. She shot them a pointed look, and with a shared glance, the twins reluctantly left, the door clicking shut behind them.

"I see," Lupin said, setting his quill down and beginning to stack the loose papers on his desk into a neat pile. "What can I do for you?"

Bambi didn't hesitate. "Where were you during breakfast on Halloween?"

Lupin froze for a fraction of a second, the movement of his hands halting before he continued arranging the papers, though she didn't miss the subtle tightening of his jaw. "I was still under the weather that day. If you recall, I had to ask Professor Snape to cover my lessons for me on–"

"On Friday, yes, I remember," Bambi interrupted, her eyes narrowing slightly. "But you were sick on Saturday too, weren't you?"

"...Yes," Lupin hesitated, meeting her gaze with a careful look as he nodded slowly. "That's correct."

"And then you missed breakfast on Halloween."

"...Yes, we've established that," he said, his tone measured, though the corner of his mouth twitched as if suppressing a sigh.

Bambi exhaled a slow breath, her fingers drumming lightly on her arm. It was clear he wasn't eager to elaborate, but she'd come too far to back down. The curiosity gnawed at her, the burning question that had been simmering since she started piecing it all together.

"Professor," she said, her voice quieter now, her tone more serious, "I really hope you don't mind me asking this, but... what are you?"

The question hung in the air like a challenge, and this time Lupin paused fully, his hand halfway to his teacup. His dark eyes studied her closely, as though trying to read her intentions.

"I'm sorry?" he said finally, his voice calm, though the weight of the question was clear in his expression.

Bambi held his gaze, refusing to back down. "I think you know what I mean."

Lupin straightened slightly, his gaze sharpening as he set the teacup back on the desk with deliberate care. He studied her in silence for a moment, his expression unreadable, though a flicker of wariness crossed his features.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and taut, until Bambi sighed in exasperation, her patience finally snapping.

"Don't do that," she said, her tone exasperated, throwing her hands up. "You can tell . I know you can. The way it smells, the way magic feels, the bloody full moon! Don't act like I don't know what I'm talking about because I feel it too. " Her voice cracked on the last words, and she quickly took a breath, regaining her composure.

Lupin's expression softened at her words, though a shadow of unease lingered in his eyes. He leaned against the desk, crossing his arms in front of him. "You're remarkably perceptive, Miss Hargroves," he said quietly. "Though I imagine it's not simply perception, is it?"