Remus Lupin and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Chapter 9: Bright Inside

[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]

The moment he left the train, he commandeered the train's official owl, sending word to Professor McGonagall about Harry's adverse reaction to the Dementor. The owl took off at once, and he watched it's form recede out of sight through the pounding rain, toward the dimly glowing squares of the castle windows and felt a fundamental shift somewhere deep in his core. First official act as a Professor on Hogwarts grounds. This was it. Time to decide who you are going to be to this school, Remus. He blinked in surprise, brows furrowed as he watched shrieking students pull their cloaks up about their head and dash through the rain. His mother had said that to him the night before they set off to London to take him to the platform.

He had been beside himself, practically vibrating with excitement and terror in equally potent measures and couldn't seem to do anything but pace around the living room. His father had said gently said he was going to wear a ring around the room, but he couldn't help it. This place and his parents were essentially all he had ever known. And he was going to be away, with people, learning from someone other than them. Hiding. The most important part to all of them had been that he was kept a secret. Not because they were ashamed of him, they would assure him-- insistently until he showed some sign of surrendering that notion-- but because people could be small minded and cruel. The Professors could keep the others safe from him, come the full moon, but they were worried that they could not keep him safe from them.

Mother hadn't known much more about Hogwarts than what Father had told her, but she understood public schooling, she said, and she understood how cruel children could be in this time of their lives. Even more so, she understood parents. Whenever she said that, she and Father would exchange a sad look when they thought he wasn't looking. He always saw.

"What are you looking forward to?" she had asked him lightly.

"I...I don't know, honestly. Learning? Probably? Yes. Learning."

"What about the feasts?"

"Er...I mean...."

"What sort of friends do you think you'll make?"

That had stumped him. "Er...what sort of friends are there?"

She'd gone quiet for a long time, looking into the fireplace where it reflected in her pale eyes. "Sometimes...I wonder if we've done you a bad turn, my love."

He hadn't known what to say to that, but felt that he needed to protest on principle. "No, ma, you--you and dad have given me everything I could need."

This time, she turned to look at him to speak. Her gaze was intense, almost pleading for understanding. "We have tried. But there are some things that we haven't given you because we've been too afraid. And that's no way for a child to live." She sighed. "So...I'm glad. I'm excited for you and this opportunity that Professor Dumbledore is helping us with. I know I don't know enough about the Wizarding World, and I'm just a Muggle. But I look at you..." She stopped, held out her hand and he automatically moved to her, reaching out and taking it. "And I know your heart. And I know your mind. You are going to make so many friends, love, because if I was young again, I would want to be your friend. You're not going to this school as a werewolf, or as Hope and Lyall's son, or even as a Wizard. You are going as you. And now, it's your time to decide what that means. Time to decide who you are going to be to this school, Remus. And whatever it is, I'm going to be so...so proud of you."

The flash of this memory opened a yawning gap behind him in his mind, a vacuum where she and his father had once stood at his back. Where his friends had. Here he was, standing on this platform, staring up at this school again, hearing Hagrid shout out for first years to follow him; alone. Not Hope and Lyall's son. Not a Marauder. Not an alumnus. Just Remus. Who are you going to be, this time around?

The question remained as he slowly made his way to the coaches. The very fact of his "adult-ness" made the students shy away, so he stepped up and sat alone as the thestral pulled his coach slowly nearer to the castle. Who? He bumped down the path, which, unfortunately, led right past a pair of Dementors at the gates. He closed his eyes against the chill wave, breathing evenly and focusing on the thought of Harry, as if he could mentally bolster the boy through his own hope alone. His hands began to ache again and he rubbed them. His scars burned and he ignored them. The slow ebb back into relative warmth as they receded behind them grounded him more than anything. The smell of damp straw and mold, rain and mud, the still lingering taste of chocolate on his tongue sprang up against his senses. He could handle this, he could. He had faced worse pain and fear before and undoubtedly would do again. And who will you be then?

When he stepped off the bobbling carriage, suitcase in hand, the rain had slowed to a faint mist. The smell of wet earth was rising, wraithlike, through the chilly air and the smell of bread and meat and sweet things rolled down from the open castle doors. His chest seemed about to burst as nostalgia and homesickness and joy swelled like a bubble within him. As he strolled up to the shining, wet steps, he heard raised voices and looked up to see the same pale pointed face, bright hair, and hereditary bad attitude as his father on what had to be his son. He seemed to be barring the way for Harry and his friends and looked particularly triumphant, which never boded well, for those sorts of people. "Did you faint as well, Weasley?" the boy was projecting loud enough to be heard at the carriage drop-off, hands on his hips. Smarmy little prick, muttered a James-sounding voice. Bully, he corrected internally. "Did the scary old Dementor frighten you too, Weasley?" Bullying Harry.

Hand in his pocket and hoisting on an intentionally neutral face, he stopped and called, lightly. "Is there a problem?"

As a proverbial bucket of ice water, it did the trick and doused the rising aggravation he'd sensed as all of them whirled, a sliding spectrum of various guilty faces. Malfoy recovered quickly and gave him the same once over Lucius had done, but this time, Remus bore it with no shame or worry, curiously empty of all resentment. Child, you are not someone that I fear. "Oh, no--er--Professor," he simpered, insincerely, smirking to his friends as he beat what was still a hasty retreat. He watched the rest of him shuffle away into the doors, not making eye contact and talking in undertone. That's right, I'm going to be your Professor, boy.

Because he knew, now. The first time around, he had been desperate for a friend, any friend, and he had gotten 3 somehow. He would have done anything to keep them from finding out what he was, and then, when they had known, he would have done anything to make them stay. And he had. He had overlooked a great many things as a friend and as a prefect. He had let a lot of things slide by that should have been addressed.

Name it.

James and Sirius had been bullies. They had. And he had loved them, and they had always treated him well. They had bullied Severus and, sometimes, Peter. They were children and they had grown. James had, especially, and had even tried to make amends with Snape. Sirius...obviously, as 2 paths might diverge any way, Sirius took the darker one, by far. Bully to traitor to mass murderer. To think....

Remus pulled himself back from this particular mind-numbing vortex of despair and mentally turned away. He was here. He looked around himself and saw the chattering crowd had given him respectful berth as he stood like an ingrate in the middle of the steps, staring up at the vast doors before him with their beckoning warmth. All ages and genders and colors and backgrounds, all excited, all reconnecting, all placing their trust in this ancient institution. What are you going to do for this school, Remus?

He set his jaw, squeezed the handles to his case and stepped forward, taking his place in the flow of people funneling into the castle. No more bullies. No more letting things slide. No more being complicit. Teach.