Remus Lupin and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Chapter 8: Protection, Connection

[AN: The dialogue that happens between Remus and the students is straight out of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and belongs to J.K. Rowling; I'm using it to reframe the scene from Remus' point of view. No copyright infringement is intended]

Remus jerked awake amidst chaos. In one moment, he hadn't even been aware he had fallen asleep and the next, he was in pitch black, filled with squabbling young voices. It took several seconds of intense confusion to place himself--his flat? The park? The Leaky Cauldron? Captive somewhere, in the First War?-- before his awareness seeped back. Train. Dark? Why....

He could feel something. Not necessarily intuition, not exactly wolf sense, but something deep in his chest felt something stirring at the end of the train, something that brought silence and...

"Not here, I'm here!" someone nearby complained.

Sleep still slowed his thinking, like wading up out of glue. Students... He should... There was something.

There came a loud, "Ouch!"

He was still trying to piece together a plan of action when something in him went cold. In that wash of chill clarity, he stood. "Quiet!" His voice was rusty from disuse and sleep, but it did what he needed; the others in the train car fell silent. Something was coming down the corridor. He could feel it.

No. They wouldn't be here. Surely, no one would let them on the train, near the students. He drew his wand and pointed the tip to his palm, conjuring a pale, cold flame that washed over the cabin. 5 young faces were staring at him apprehensively, rendered slightly ghoulish in the flickering light. With a start, he recognized Harry, watching him without recognition, a ghost's face with none of the memories. Turning his attention to the door, he rose, measuredly, wary, warning the children, "Stay where you are."

He had intended to face whoever-- whatever-- it was in corridor, but the door gave a soft click and slid open slowly with all the gravitas of an executioner. Immediately, all the twinges in his bones and body were magnified as if he were being held under freezing water and the hand holding the flame shuddered involuntarily. The thing that glided in was tall enough to be unnerving on it's own, but the vile presence that cloaked it....The Dementor sucked in a rasping gulp and Remus nearly staggered, a cloying dullness weighing at his knees, his chest. So tired. So weak. And to delude himself that he knew anything about being a Professor, about protecting anyone. When had he ever been anything except a burden? When had he ever had anything genuinely helpful to offer anyone? Never. Only diseased. Only the one who needed accommodations for him to even be near normal people. Only a thing. His scars throbbed. He tasted blood in his mouth. Not his. Oh, god.

Look how you've helped, his mind hissed, dredging up the memory of James' body, pale and disturbingly limp in death, lying amid the rubble of his house. Glasses cracked and crooked, mouth open, empty eyes wide. There had been a note written on the palm of one slack hand; need milk. What did you do for them? Lily had been face down, splinters all through her red hair. One of her socks had been missing. Where were you then? The single bloodless finger, foraged from amid other bodies, other parts, other people who did no more wrong that pick the wrong day to take their children out to go shopping. The frigid air seemed to be stuck somewhere in his chest as he stared numbly up at this...thing.

Like you. A dark creature. Like you.

Something collapsed across his feet. Someone. Blankly, he stared down until the vague, pale shapes coalesced themselves into a recognizable pattern against his conscious mind. Harry. NO, said something louder, stronger, angrier than the other voice. You will NOT.

Rage was hot. Rage was clarifying, like a fire searing away cobwebs until he could see and think. Dementor. Unacceptable. Children. No. Joy, said the fierce voice. You need joy.