Remus Lupin and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Chapter 13: Learning to Professor

[AN: The dialogue at the very end is straight out of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban and belongs to J.K. Rowling; No copyright infringement is intended]

The next few days were made lighter, easier by a few things; his first class didn't start until the beginning of the next week through some scheduling kindness, and actually utilizing the Hospital Wing lessened his pain considerably. Lastly, his fellow teachers. If it wasn't Pamona Sprout in the staffroom making an offhand remark about how he was looking perkier, it was Hagrid eagerly piling 3rds onto his plate, insisting that he had to try this. He ran over his curriculum with Professor Flitwick, who seemed excited at the prospect of being a mentor. Snape would generally avoid interacting with him but seemed all too happy to stay in the room he entered and brood in his direction. He would have found it annoying if he wasn't so determined to be almost aggressively polite toward him--and he wasn't exactly to solid on his own motivation. Was it to make up for their school days? Maybe. Was it because he was an adult and would act in a professional way toward his colleague? Maybe. Was it because it was one of the best ways to frustrate Severus and make him feel as if he was failing to provoke Remus? ...Maybe.

But it was as if at least part of his contentment had come back to curl up warmly in his chest. He felt welcomed. He felt safe. None of the other Professor's seemed to suspect that he would plot anything untoward. That little twinge remained, the reminder of his conversation with Lucius. The fact that a good portion of the reason that he was asked to come here at all was so that Dumbledore could keep a watchful eye on him while Sirius was loose. Dumbledore hadn't said as much but...it was fine. He was used to not being trusted. What he had was enough for him.

Speaking of Lucius, his son had taken to staggering around the castle in bandages, he had seen, alternately bewailing his "injuries" and harassing other students. It was really quite distasteful. The incident that seemed to have started it--the run in with the hippogriff--had happened while he was preoccupied with settling in and preparing for the Change. After dinner one evening, Remus pulled Hagrid aside and asked him, genuinely, how he was. The huge man immediately seemed to deflate a bit. "Can't say I've been great, I'm afraid. Reckon ol' Malfoy'll already know about it and he don't like me one bit. Don't like where it might be headed. An' all that blood," he shook his head and shuddered. "Knowing it was my fault. I shoulda done something different. Shouldn'ta started so big."

Remus felt a great swell of sympathy rise within him, a fellow new teacher and said, "No, Hagrid, you've tried your best. From what I've heard, the boy seemed to have brought it on himself. You know," he added in afterthought. "There are a few creatures that I'm going to be bringing to class. I wonder if you could help me research their care, if you have time. I think I would benefit greatly from your expertise."

Hagrid seemed to brighten up a little, at this. "Yeah? You think so?"

"Certainly. Being a dark creature myself only gives me so much experience," he said, wryly.

2 giant hands plopped on his shoulders and he blinked as Hagrid stared down at him very intently. "Yer not a dark creature, Lupin. Ye've got an illness. And makin' you something a little bit not human doesn't make you dark or any sort o' thing. Me mum's a giant, I would know, eh?" he gave him a little shake that moved him about on the stone floor a bit. "Eh?"

But you're not a monster. You don't want to hurt people, a voice protested darkly, you don't want to kill people. You don't want to eat.... "Thank you, Hagrid. I...appreciate that." True or not.

"An' I appreciate you askin' me how I'm doing." He sighed. "I don' think it's over. Not even close."

The morning of his first class with Ravenclaw first years dawned sunny and blue and he could not for the life of him remember any of breakfast. There were too many thoughts scattering through his head, too many lists of things he was mentally ticking off to make sure they were done, ordered, here. He knew at some point he had dunked a piece of toast in orange juice. And ate it. Twice. It wasn't even his orange juice, it was Professor Burbage's.

He wasn't nervous, persay. More on high alert. He knew everything was ready, he'd had the better part of a week to make sure that it was. It was. A deep steadying breath helped. It was. Dumbledore wouldn't have brought him here if he hadn't thought he would benefit the students. This alone calmed his skittering nerves enough that he was able to walk to class early at a stately pace. He walked in slowly, set his case by his chair, and examined the room bit by bit. The old, scored and scorched desks, the high sweeping windows with their thick curtains, the heavy desk at the head of the classroom. He ran his hand wonderingly over the leather stretched over its top, soft and deep brown, years and years old. A legacy of education. Years ago, he had seen this desk from the front, sitting in the class, looking at the Professor and assuming that they were as powerful and knowledgeable and self possessed as they looked. He took his seat with a squeak and shuffle and looked out at the room and neat rows of empty desks facing him expectantly. No magic descended upon him to bestow any untold wisdom and poise. Oh well; he supposed he would just have to work with what he had. He began to set up the classroom.

When a few students began to trickle in, he glanced up every so often when the door opened with a small smile. A great many of them looked a bit apprehensive and so very very young and it was that moment that any lingering anxiety disappeared. He didn't want any of them to be scared, and that's what he was here to teach them; defense. He had purpose. When the last person took their seat, he rose and smiled around at the class, saying, "Hello, everyone. My name is Professor Lupin and I'm going to be your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. It seems that we are all new here, because this is my first class teaching and you are all first years, yes? How are you enjoying school so far?"

There was a myriad of responses, ranging from indifferent muttering and shrugs, sour faces, and excited nodding. "Well, I hope this class keeps up any good streaks anyone might be having and I intend to enjoy our time working together. Now," he clapped his hands together and turned to the board. "Let us start with definitions. I know, I know," he answered a quiet groan of disapproval from the back of the room. "But, there will be wand work later in the day, if everyone is diligent. Quills ready? Alright. Let's start; the difference between a hex and a jinx. Would anyone like to guess?"

The next few days, it was like he was living in a cloud lighter than air. It was easier to smile, to laugh, to breathe. He shared tea with Professor Sprout and confided that his first few classes went like a dream and she had laughed at him. "Well, it's good to hear! I can only hope that you can keep that attitude through the year, lad, 'cause it's not always going to be obedient little ones and homework done on time."

Fast approaching was the class he was anticipating and dreading in equal measures. Anticipating because Harry would be there. Dreading because Harry would be there. From what he'd seen of him briefly in the halls and at meals, the boy laughed like James, walked like James, moved like James. He scowled like Lily and pinched his eyebrows together in the same way as her when puzzled and his smile had her dimple. There was this flash against the back of his eyes every so often when he looked at him; sometimes it was a connection to his school days. Sometimes it was a direct parallel to a memory of them. Other times, it was their dead faces. Or Sirius' gaunt mug shot searing up at him and the knowing that he was coming. He wished he could look at Harry and just see...Harry. No one dead. No one trying to kill the boy. Just a new beginning.

The train ride had switched the order of his curriculum around dramatically and it felt almost like fate when Professor McGonagall had told him there was a boggart in the staffroom just the day before his next class, because he wanted to teach about fear. He knew about anxiety and terror, he knew about how scary the world could be--he was one of the things that made it scary. And with the dementors and the threat of Sirius lurking around, the greater and more blanketing threat of Voldemort's stirrings...The children needed hope. The children needed control. They needed tools to learn not be consumed by fear and doubt. How not to crumble and give up, but instead transform their fear into something they could use; anger, motivation, humor, power. He wanted them to be ready and strong, for whatever the world might hold for them because he had desperately needed it at their age. 'Don't be scared' was just no longer an option in a world where adults let Dementors on trains for your own protection. 'Don't be scared' was never an option when you were at the mercy of something greater, angrier, more murderous than you. The students needed that. Harry needed that.

The day arrived and so did he, a little late, with a smile and his briefcase. "Good afternoon." He looked around the room and his smile widened a bit. "Would you please put all your books back into your bags. Today's will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands."