Remus Lupin and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Chapter 15: Ups and Downs

Left to his own devices, Remus fell into a comfortable routine. He slept well and ate well, taught his classes with vigor and enjoyment, and enjoyed actual leisure time. In the past, he was too exhausted or too worried to do much else but work and look for jobs when he wasn't. It was often spent dreading the upcoming full moon, even when looming weeks away. But now, he had more options than he knew what to do with for the first time in a decade; some days he was in the library perusing books, others he was taking a stroll down around the lake, others still he would take tea with one Professor or the another and they would chat about various things. No one ever broached the topic of Sirius, and Remus had to wonder if that was because they were too polite or too uncomfortable. For the first time in a long time, he wasn't worried about much of anything; he was simply too busy. And too busy enjoying himself.

He had had the girl Luna in his class a few times and her questions always made him smile. They were always about the sentience of the creatures he talked about and theories and spells he'd never heard of, which he admitted to her. She offered him a copy of her father's magazine, the Quibbler, after class one day and he graciously thanked her and promised to read it. She had studied him a minute behind the fronds of a quite spectacular hat that seemed to be made of swamp material--in honor of the kappas they were learning about, she had confided when he'd asked-- then announced with great conviction. "You're doing better."

That had startled a short laugh out of him, as she so often did, and he had said, "I beg your pardon?"

She pointed at him. "Since the Hospital Wing. You look better." Her hands went to her own cheeks and pinched them. "Meatier."

He bit his lip against the snort that was trying to force it's way out of him. That's a new one. "Ah, well, thank you. And you--no more incidents with any stairs?"

The swamp hat wobbled precariously as she shook her head, smiling. "No. Most of my hats end up destroyed one way or another--but I can just build another one; I wouldn't have much room for them anyway, if they weren't." She looked down the corridor, which was draining rapidly of people down the stairs. "I'd better be off for lunch. See you on Friday, Professor."

He sighed and closed his eyes, gently tapping between his eyes with the rolled up Quibbler. If only she would just ask for help.... It had come up in a moment at breakfast with Dumbledore one day and the conversation had wandered onto her, the peculiar girl he had met.

Dumbledore had watched him shrewdly and said, "A lesson each must learn in their own time, perhaps?" And took a sip of cordial.

Remus had flushed at the poke and had gone back to his sausages.

Neville had come back in a few times to his office for tea and had brought some biscuits his gran had sent him, apparently for doing so well in Remus' class. "I figured they were partly because of you, so you should get some," he'd said eagerly, flushed face shining. And who was he to refuse that?

They hadn't necessarily talked about much in particular, just chatted about Neville's class and friends, dunking the treats in their tea. It was getting much easier to just talk with people after being alone so long. He was getting used to being addressed as Professor Lupin, now, and no longer startled when people greeted him by it in the halls. He was starting to grow into the halls, feeling less like a child playing dress up and more like an actual teacher who belonged there. From what Neville told him, Defense Against the Dark Arts was one of the most eagerly anticipated classes of the set and he had to admit, he felt deeply touched by this fact. When Neville had seen his face when he said this, he had added, "I mean, how could it not be? Especially since you don't just set pixies on us and tell us to clean it up."

Remus stifled a chuckle at the haunted look on Neville's face and nodded. "Not, at least, without telling you how, first."

As the weeks rolled on into October, however, the weather got wetter and colder and the dark began to close in around the castle earlier and earlier. The bite was starting in his office and it became habit to start his fire first thing in the morning. The next full moon grew closer. Halloween was coming. His thoughts, inevitably, drifted darker as well. He kept it to himself, but the more he heard that the students trusted and liked him--while it did please him greatly--he felt...like an imposter. Like the way that Snape still glared at him whenever he was around at meals or in the halls or in the staff room. It wasn't that he took more stock in Snape's opinion, he just felt something in him agree with it more, day by day. Traitor, it whispered. Monster. If only they knew, would they love you?

No. And he had known that. He would be feared, loathed. They wouldn't look to him with eyes brimming with curiosity. They wouldn't speak to him so readily and certainly not alone.

You're lying to them.

Whenever Neville asked a question about his time at Hogwarts, he would deftly spin the conversation away. Not only because he didn't want anyone asking questions about what the murderer Sirius Black had been like in school--loud, hilarious, arrogant, insatiably loyal. I thought-- but because the wall he had constructed so carefully between those times and himself were becoming permeable. Things were leaking through.

He had been doing well, until now, ignoring the ghosts of memories in the corners of his eyes, purposefully shoving away the familiarity of certain spots in the castle. But it was failing. 4 times, now, he had almost called Harry James when he spoke to him in class. Each time he had felt that same lurch in his stomach, for the comparison would not just hurt him, but the boy as well. And that was the last thing he wanted. He would see someone pass in front of his door that he could have sworn was Peter, hear a snatch of Sirius' laughter from down the hall. Even now when he visited the library, he would avoid looking at the table they had favored when they researched the Marauder's Map. But by avoiding it, the awareness of where he was not looking left a burning focus in his conscious mind. He stopped going.

I want to be who I am now. That hurts less. Who I am now doesn't have anything to lose, because he's already lost it.

He had made the mistake of irritably telling Peeves to get lost, one day, when the poltergeist had popped in through the ceiling and snidely asked where all his ickle friendies were. A wide, malicious grin had spread across his face and he had revolved slowly through the air. "Oooo, temper temper, Lonely Loony Lupin. You 4 played some naughty tricks, I remember you, I do. Did you wose your fwiends? Whewre have they gone?"

Remus had taken out his wand slowly while making eye contact and the little man's eyes had narrowed into mean slits over his grin, but he had blown open the door and flew through, singing at the top of his voice, "Loony Loopy Lupin! Loony Loopy Lupin!"

Peeves didn't dare bother him during class time but would take to hovering outside his office door and doing voice impressions of people who were dead. Some were bad imitations. Some...weren't. He ignored him.

A week before the next full moon and it was time to start his first inoculation of the Wolfsbane potion. Snape banged it on the table next to him at breakfast with a little more force than was necessary and stalked away without even looking at him. Remus had taken it apprehensively and peered into the smoking goblet; it was a brownish-green and smelled vaguely of compost. Promising. He glanced around, almost furtively, and taken a sip. He clapped a hand to his mouth and almost choked. It tasted worse than compost--like old socks and rotting things and metal. He forced it down and reached hurriedly toward his orange juice, but caught Snape looking at him from down the table, shaking his head. When Remus scrunched up his face in confusion, a malicious smirk spread across the other man's mouth and he slowly mimed drinking the whole thing at once. Remus stared at him. Was he serious? Nothing in between sips? Or was he just being an ass? Snape's smile grew and he raised a mocking eyebrow at him.

Ugh. He would not be dared by Severus Snape. But if that's what needed to be done. He stared at the goblet grimly with new eyes and keen awareness of exactly when and where Snape had chosen to give him this potion; in public rather than his office or the staff room or Hospital Wing. Fine. It will be worth it. No more rage. No more losing yourself. No more fear every full moon that this will be the time that you escape and...

Determined, he lifted the goblet and drained it in one, long pull, trying his very best not to gag, but unable to keep the twist of revulsion off of his face. It was even worse, now, with the aftertaste in his mouth as well. He felt the whole thing writhe down his throat and slosh in his stomach. Eyes closed, he willed it to stay down, still gripping the goblet hard, but after a few moments, his gut settled. Slowly, he went back to eating. He did not look at Snape, but he also did not drink any orange juice.