Year In The Life 2 of 3

[sam_storyteller]

X. The Risks

With the holiday coming, the students were growing restless; being cooped up inside the castle on especially chilly or snow-bound days didn't help either. There were Dementors to prevent children skiving off the grounds as they'd done time out of mind, and tempers ran high in the dormitories and hallways.

Remus was coming from the third hallway-fight he'd broken up that day. It was just past full moon, and he was still feeling it; sometimes he could sense -- sometimes he wanted to scream at -- the tightness of the skin over his cheekbones, across his knuckles, anywhere bones were close to the surface.

Still, he had enough in him to stop children from squabbling -- at least he hoped he did, otherwise he might have to relegate himself to the category of Entirely Useless, instead of Only Occasionally Hopeless.

"Professor Lupin?"

Lost in thought and too tired to concentrate properly, he started when someone called his name, and turned to see Headmaster Dumbledore moving amiably through the crowded hallway.

"If your classes are finished for today, may I have a word with you?" he asked with a smile. Lupin swallowed.

"Of course, Headmaster -- CREEVY! NO RUNNING!" Lupin yelled, as Colin once more pushed his way through the crowds at breakneck speed. He turned to follow the Headmaster down a less chaotic hallway, towards the gargoyle that guarded his office. They climbed the stairs in silence, and Remus wandered over to Fawkes' cage as Dumbledore circled behind his desk.

"Good old Fawkes," Remus murmured. "He's in fine form today."

"Yes, he seems to thrive in the winters," Dumbledore replied. "I won't waste your time asking if you know why you're here, Remus."

There were two options, of course. Two reasons he might be here, speaking to Dumbledore now. But only one of them was at all possible, because the other one -- the knowledge about Sirius Black's animagi talents, which Remus Lupin was the only living person to possess -- that one was too awful to think about. To think that Dumbledore might have discovered it was...unthinkable.

So he took a deep breath and, without taking his eyes from Fawkes, said, "Minerva."

"Yes."

"I thought you'd find out, and sooner rather than later."

"You are aware that there are...complications that arise from an affair of this nature."

Remus bowed his head and laughed a little. "Neither of us have been able to put a label to it yet," he said. "One dinner, and a breakfast ruined by the Weasley Twins. Hardly grounds for marriage proposals."

He turned and saw that Dumbledore had fixed him with a shrewd gaze -- one he'd learned, and sometimes used on his own students.

"You are aware that she is your superior at the school?"

"Yes, Headmaster."

"And you are aware of the risks of having...a relationship with a fellow teacher?"

"Yes, Headmaster."

Dumbledore nodded. "And the students?"

Remus gave him a blank look. "What about them?"

"This is a small school. These things do not have a habit of staying very secret for very long."

Remus shrugged, a little too carelessly. "Neither of us have prior commitments which would make us bad role models in the students' eyes. We're not likely to go about flaunting in public any relationship we might form. Minerva is...private. And I have learned to be."

"Very well, then. As long as your eyes are open, Remus," Dumbledore said, with a surprisingly gentle tone in his voice. "You may go."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Remus said, a little of the old schoolboy formality slipping into his address, and left as quickly as was dignified.

Outside, he leaned against the stone wall and let out a deep breath.

He was not so unreasonable a man that Dumbledore's prying made him angry. In the Headmaster's shoes, he would have done the same. And yet the idea that he could not do as he pleased, here of all places, where he had always been allowed freedoms denied him elsewhere...

It was nearly dinnertime, and his stomach was making him aware of the fact. He ducked down towards the back kitchen entrance -- good lord, it was even the same painting, with the same ticklish pear.

The house-elves in the kitchen were far too busy to notice he was even there, and if they had, they were all far too fearful of him to do anything about it. They didn't bother him as he collected enough food for two dinners, appropriate plates and glasses, and a bottle of wine from the hidden drinks cupboard (James had finally found it, sixth year, and the hangovers the next morning were truly a sight to behold).

He caught Minerva on the threshold of the Great Hall and managed to stop her before she entered.

"Minerva, come with me," he said softly, pulling her back from the doorway.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, as he continued to tug her away from the students and teachers pouring through the corridors.

"No, nothing's wrong," he said, leading her around a corner and pulling her close for a kiss. She smiled at him and backed away slightly -- this part of the school wasn't completely deserted, and a student could come along at any time. "Nothing us having dinner in your quarters won't fix," he added, holding up a makeshift basket with the food piled in it. "You did say surprise you."

This time she took his arm and pulled him away from the wall, gently. "That sounds like a fine surprise."

By the time they were near her quarters, there were few enough students that he risked putting his arm around her waist as she opened the door and let them inside.

"Now, I do not cook, and I think you should know this, but I'm really quite good at putting things on plates," he said, setting the food on the table and unpacking it piece by piece. She leaned on her desk and watched, an amused smile on her face as he very carefully and ostentatiously began to add food to the plates. He finally looked up to see her eyes dancing.

"What?" he asked, placing the rolls on the edges as a finishing touch. She shook her head, still smiling. "Did I pick the wrong wine? I don't know anything about that, either, but I didn't think that really mattered..."

"It's not that, Remus," she said, coming forward. He pulled out her chair for her, then pulled up his own.

"Well, I know I'm irresistibly amusing, but..."

"Did Albus talk to you today, by any chance?" she asked. He blinked.

"Irresistibly amusing and, apparently, seeing a mind-reader," said Remus.

"I thought he might. Did he give you the 'you are aware of the risks' speech?"

His jaw dropped. She sipped some of the wine and smiled.

"Good intuition, on the wine," she said. "Don't look so shocked. He's had to give it before, you know. You're not the first professor in the history of Hogwarts to fancy another one. Nor am I," she added, and he felt warm pleasure fill him. "He asked me to give it once. I think he enjoys it. Especially seeing the effects."

"The effects?" he asked, dumbly. She neatly broke open her roll.

"Of course."

They ate in silence for a few minutes, Minerva amused, Remus puzzled. After a while, he slowly took a sip of the wine, and covered his eyes with one hand.

"I knew you'd get it, if I gave you enough time," she said.

"He knew exactly what I'd do, didn't he?" Remus asked.

She nodded and poured more wine. "I think he probably had a good idea."

"And you knew as soon as I -- "

"Remus, do salve your wounded ego," she said, cutting him off.

"But you knew!"

"Yes, and I didn't stop you, did I?"

For the second time in an evening, he found himself speechless.

"You're charming when you're a step behind the facts," she continued.

"That's probably good, as apparently I am never anything but," he said, only a trifle sourly. She was already digging in the basket, pulling out the dessert pastries he'd packed -- some sort of chocolate-stuffed thing he probably ought to know the name of.

"You might put on the turntable," she said, indicating the wooden contraption on her desk. He nodded and crossed to it, scooping some birdseed from a nearby jar into one of the slots in the machine, careful to avoid the snapping beak that was attached to the end of what appeared to be a record-player needle arm.

The turntable always played something different, and always in birdsong; he thought he recognised the tune, this time. It sounded like...oh, he was a Muggle American chap, some time ago, trumpet player...

When he turned around, she was standing in front of him. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she cupped the back of his head, pulling him down for a kiss. He kissed back with enough intensity to make her gasp, borne of a frustrating afternoon and, recently, a full-moon locked in his rooms without much human contact.

"You're so good at this," he said, against her lips.

"You're not too terribly bad at it yourself," she answered. Even as they kissed, his hands were moving to her waist, and his hips began to sway to the music, subtly shifting her body as well.

"So did you enjoy your surprise?" he asked. He felt her against him; the last time they'd been this close was the day he'd broken, the day he'd gone to her because he was frightened, because Sirius was free and he couldn't protect Harry. She'd touched his arm and pulled him into an entirely unexpected hug, and the next time they'd met he had a nearly uncontrollable urge to kiss her.

He wondered if she thought about that too.

"A kiss to build a dream on," he sang softly, finding some of the words to the birdsong-music coming from the turntable. "And my imagination will...something..."

She laughed against his cheek. "You're off-key."

"Well, I've neglected my musical talents terribly," he answered.

"Do you suppose..." she began, then stopped. He leaned back a little, to look at her.

"Do I suppose...?"

"Well, at this point it seems as though hospitality has gone a bit far," she said, with a smile. "Perhaps it's time to stop thinking of who calls on whom."

He continued to dance, turning them slightly. "That sounds suspiciously like a good idea."

"So perhaps," she continued slowly, "when we make plans to meet...we can have dinner at Graves' again."

"Hmmm," he said, pretending to consider. "You don't think Headmaster Dumbledore would disapprove, Deputy Headmistress?"

"I don't think it would matter if he did, Professor."

The music ended on one last note, and he stepped back.

"Then Graves' sounds like a fine idea. Although..." he frowned. "The next week or so..."

She nodded. "Very busy, I'm aware. And then there's a Hogsmeade weekend before holidays end. So perhaps not until school is out?"

"I think that would be wisest." He bent to kiss her, but she felt him tense, suddenly, as he glanced towards the door.

"Someone's coming -- " he said, stepping back, out of the line of sight of the doorway. He had an uncanny knack, some werewolf sense that knew; she'd grown almost used to it by now.

Ten seconds later, there was a knock on the door. She answered it, ready to give the interlopers a short answer and send them on their way.

It was Severus Snape.

"If I might have a moment of your time, Headmistress," he said, not waiting for her to answer before brushing past her into the room. "I'd like to speak to you about -- "

He stopped, robes swirling around his ankles. Remus leaned against one of her bookshelves, looking more composed than he felt.

Snape's eyes slowly took in Remus, the table, the remains of dinner still on it. The wineglasses.

"I see," he said. "I'm interrupting," he added snidely. "Perhaps another time, Headmistress," he added, and turned to go.

"Snape," Remus said calmly. He paused, but did not turn around.

"Yes?"

Minerva could see Snape's face; it was as composed as she knew her own to be, but his eyes were sharp and angry.

"I wasn't able to properly thank you for the Wolfsbane potion, last week," Remus said. Snape turned slowly.

Something silent passed between them; she understood that the thanks was a form of debt-acknowledgement, that Lupin was making a gesture of some sort, possibly a plea.

"A simple enough thing," Snape said sneeringly, and turned on his heel, walking away swiftly. This time, neither of them stopped him.

When she had shut the door, Remus rubbed a hand over his face.

"Perhaps I ought to go," he said softly.

"Perhaps so."

"He won't tell."

"Would you care if he did?"

He was gathering the dinner things, repacking them into the basket. "No. But -- "

" -- everyone else in the school would."

"And I prefer to keep my..." he smiled as he finished packing. "My affairs to myself."

"Is this an affair?"

"Would you prefer 'romance'?" he asked, his voice low and unsure. She stroked his arm, and kissed him on the cheek.

"I think I would," she said softly.

***

XI. Holiday

"What on earth do you think you're doing?"

Minerva McGonagall, in nightclothes and dressing gown, peered down a line of books in her bookcase with her wand at the ready. Behind her, a recently-arrived Remus Lupin was watching her as if she'd gone mad.

"Doxies," she said. "Is the door shut?"

She heard him close it, and his footsteps on her carpet.

"You know, I am professor of Defs," he repeated. "I can show you my pay vouchers."

"Do you know, every time I think of Professor Remus J. Lupin, I come up with this image of a sixth-year student who got his head stuck in a wall sconce while trying to catch a loose pixie."

He sighed. "I should have known you'd bring it up, sooner or later."

"Yes, well. Be grateful I haven't told your students."

"You wouldn't!"

"It could be arranged."

She felt firm fingers on her shoulders, thumbs kneading her neck.

"With two of us here," he said, in her ear, bent over to follow her line of sight along the books, "We could handle them easily. I'll expel them and you freeze them. Then we'll toss them in a spare aquarium and I'll terrify my first-years with them."

Discussing the disposal of wayward Magical Creatures should probably not send tingles down her spine the way it did.

"Or I suppose we could leave them for now, and fortify ourselves with breakfast," he added. "It is the first day of holidays, after all. No reason to go looking for more work."

"They're not going to get up and leave my bookcase on their own," she said rebelliously, but his thumb was still making small circles on her neck, and his voice was entirely rational. And seductive.

"It'll be an education for them, I'm sure," he said, straightening as she did to avoid bumping into her. "Come have breakfast."

"If you don't mind, Professor Lupin, I do think I need to dress myself first," she said, drawing the dressing gown tighter around her shoulders. He grinned and kissed her. She could tell that he'd meant it as a cursory gesture, but he had a charming inability to control himself, and it was several seconds before they parted.

"I'll meet you in the Great Hall?" he asked, eyes bright. She knew her own probably matched his.

"Save me some toast," she answered, pushing him gently towards the door. He went, reluctantly, and she could hear him linger in the hallway before his footsteps began to move towards the main hall.

***

With only a handful of students and a few professors remaining over the holidays, the Great Hall was echoingly empty, and seating rank was not so closely followed. Remus still sat at one end of the table as befit a junior professor, with Severus nearly all the way at the other, because it was bad form for Professors to attempt grievous bodily harm on each other in front of the students. Normally Headmaster Dumbledore would be in the middle, with Minerva on one side and Professor Flitwick on the other; today, however, neither man was to be seen, and Minerva came to sit with Remus as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Remus could not help a small bubble of satisfaction when he saw that Snape had been joined by Hagrid. It wasn't that he didn't like Hagrid, but he knew Snape didn't.

"I was thinking," he said over his eggs, once she'd begun to eat, "that perhaps you might want to accompany me to Hogsmeade this afternoon."

"Do you mean after I dispatch the doxies in my sitting room?"

"Do you mean after we dispatch the doxies in your sitting room?"

"Point well taken, Professor," she said, taking a sip of lukewarm tea. "Would this visit to Hogsmeade be of the dinner variety?"

"It might include dinner," he allowed. "Actually I've some Christmas shopping to do, and I hate shopping in general. So, as per our previous agreement that dinner at Graves' was in the offing..."

She fought down a smile; it wasn't decorous in front of the students.

"After we dispatch the doxies in my sitting room," she said firmly. He nodded agreeably, and continued his breakfast.

She watched him with interest; it was unusual for her to actually be able to keep an eye on him at meals without leaning around Dumbledore. His eyes flicked over the students regularly, and she had the feeling that even if all the students at Hogwarts were in the Great Hall, he would still find out Harry Potter, most of the time.

It was natural, she supposed. Remus and Harry's father had been friends at school. She knew he felt protective of the boy; he had once nearly wept, in her office, over his inability to keep Harry from harm. Not that it was his job, she'd reminded him. Not alone, at any rate.

"I think perhaps we ought to see to those doxies," she said, to take his mind off of what looked, to her, like a really fantastic brood in the making. He glanced at her and grinned. It took ten years off his face, when he smiled like that.

***

It took them two hours to be rid of the vicious little creatures, especially while avoiding their bite; Remus let out a relieved sigh as he clamped a lid on the small aquarium he'd conjured to store them in.

"I suppose I'd best put these in the classroom," he said, leaning on the lid and tilting his head to crack the bones in his neck. "Perhaps we can mee -- mmm..."

The end of his suggestion was lost in a kiss, surprising and pleasant, as she leaned forward, her fingers resting on his arms. He slid sideways, away from the aquarium, still kissing her; she let her hands move up to his shoulders as his own hesitantly circled her waist.

"You know I'd do the removal as a public service," he said, around kisses and touches that were moving slightly beyond common propriety. "Tips are welcome, of course, but -- "

"You talk too much," she replied, solving the problem by kissing him soundly. He laughed into her mouth, and stepped back, hand rising to stroke her cheek.

"You're just trying to distract me from Hogsmeade," he said, mocking sulkiness.

"Do you really want to go?"

"No," he admitted. "But I have to -- oh..." he took hold of her wrists, firmly, and kissed her with finality. "I have to. I've finally money for decent Christmas presents this year. Some years I couldn't even send cards. I'm a wretched friend, really."

"I doubt that," she said, straightening his collar. "Who do you send them to? I would imagine, considering your travels, you haven't had much time to spend in making acquaintances."

He ran a hand through his hair, re-ordering it. "Well, it's mostly old school mates and that. Dumbledore, of course, mainly to let him know I'm still alive. I try to write to Moody when I can, he likes to hear from me. Protege of his, as it were."

"Mad-Eye Moody?"

"The very one. Taught me loads about Dark Arts. A couple others from the old Order..." he bit his lip, watching as she tucked some stray strands of hair into her bun. "I tried to send cards to Harry but they all came back, and finally I gave up. I don't know if it was Dumbledore's protections, or Harry's family..."

"Probably both."

"Could be. At any rate...well, I don't suppose I can buy Harry a gift now that I'm his teacher," he sighed. "But Dumbledore, I owe him for getting me this job, and Hagrid's been most helpful. I think I ought to get him a book on not murdering his students with magical creatures...and...and there's you, of course..."

"Me?"

"Well, yes," he said as she opened the door, leading the way out and into the hallway. "I think, considering everything, especially everything between ten minutes ago and now, that you are definitely on the Christmas list."

She smiled and walked at his side down the staircase and out onto the grounds, heading for the bridge to Hogsmeade. For years, her only association with the bridge was of chaperoning schoolchildren across it; now, as they passed the posts on the other side, she felt a small shiver of pleasure knowing they had stood there and kissed, not long ago at all. She saw his eyes on her, and knew he was thinking the same thing.

***

"Well, I feel the day was not mis-spent," Remus said, over the remains of his meal that evening. Minerva, although she had discovered his major character flaw that afternoon -- he could not properly shop to save his life -- did have to agree. He'd found a muffler for Moody that screamed out when poison was anywhere near; a book on sweets-making for Dumbledore; something he wouldn't let her see, for herself; and a few various knicknacks for people she didn't know, everything to be sent up to his office at Hogwarts. She'd also caught him looking longingly at the Quidditch books, muttering about teachers showing favouritism, before turning reluctantly away.

"I feel it would have had to go a lot worse to be considered wasted," she agreed. "Shall we ask for the check?"

He smiled. "It's taken care of."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Oh, is it?"

He was standing, pulling on his cloak. "I did them a favour, got rid of some troublesome magical...infestations, in one of the unused storage rooms. They offered me free meals for the rest of the school year. Remus Lupin plus guest," he finished whimsically.

They stepped out into the bitter December evening, tugging their cloaks tight against the icy wind.

"Going to be a cold holiday," Remus said, kicking a flurry of snow across the road idly.

"Do you think so?" she asked, wrapping her cloak tighter. He nodded, blowing on his gloved hands.

"Don't mind, really. Nice to stay inside, find a book...or some company," he added, as they passed onto the bridge back to Hogwarts, neither of them willing to stop this time. "I've papers to grade, other work to do. Never an empty moment," he added, almost...wistfully.

"And of course someone has to keep some sort of eye on the children still at school," she said quietly. "I expect you'll want to be on your guard, there."

"Sirius is still free," he said, his voice hardening slightly.

"I wasn't reproaching your motivations, Remus," she said softly. "Merely your resolution to always follow them alone."

"Dumbledore called me here as much for my protection as for anyone else's," he continued as the castle loomed before them, the candlelit windows looking warm and inviting. "I won't do anything stupid. But it's always there, in the back of my mind. Sirius is free."

She linked her arm with his, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Let it stay there, then. In the back of your mind. You can occupy the rest with better thoughts."

"Hmm," he answered, and she could feel his shoulders relax. "I'm not unhappy here."

"So you've said."

"Besides, I've got all those free meals at Graves'."

She laughed and began to step away as they approached the school, but he caught her arm and pulled her into the shadows of the entrance hall. He kissed her, one hand on her cheek, the other around her waist. It was affectionate, but there was a certain desperation in the way he held her, the way he hesitated.

"Here's where we part ways," she said, leaning into him, feeling his heartbeat through his clothes.

"Or..." he said, uncertainly. He still smelled of the snow.

"Or?" she asked, leaning back and lifting an eyebrow. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but she imagined he blushed.

"Or you could come to my rooms," he said softly.

She paused for a moment to kiss him again, and then replied.

"No, I think not."

He looked more puzzled than hurt; he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and tilted his head.

"Can I ask why?" he said softly.

She stepped back, and tugged his hand gently.

"My bed's bigger," she said, with a smile.

He seemed stunned for a moment, and then a wide grin broke across his own face as he followed her into the castle, up the stairs to the corridor leading to her rooms.

***

XII. Awakening

She hadn't thought Remus a particularly modest man, though of course she knew he was somewhat shy; it wasn't until she saw the trace of a scar on his leg that she realised why, and was patient, though her breath came short and quick and she saw the faint blush of desire on his face, the deep, quiet want in his eyes...

Slow waking, and the warmth of bodies; the press of skin on skin, knees tucked into knees, secured by a firm, a surprisingly strong arm around the waist. Slide of fingers over bared, sensitive places. Even breathing. Warmth, under the blankets, shared warmth.

"Good morning," said Remus Lupin in her ear. She opened her eyes and smiled.

"How did you know I was awake?" she asked, feeling his hand shift slightly on her stomach.

"I guessed," he replied, breath making the skin below her ear tingle. "Sleep well?"

"Yes," she answered, voice low and throaty from sleep, closing her eyes again. The smile stayed. "You?"

"I can't complain," he replied, and she laughed a little. "Although..."

"Mm?"

"We are faced with an important decision," he said, his tones mock-serious.

"It's too early for decisions."

You have to understand, he'd said, it's not as though this is something I do very often.

And there it was, dark on his skin. There they were really, two jagged scars where the jaws of the wolf had clamped around his thigh --

Six inches more and I'd be singing soprano all my born days, he'd said with a smile, and she'd said Remus, pain does make you flippant.

Oh, it doesn't hurt anymore.

That's not what I meant.

"Well, either I ought to leave now, to avoid the possibility of being caught sneaking out of the Headmistress' rooms..." he said, and she laughed at the thought, "or you're stuck with me until we make it look like I was just having an early breakfast with you."

"Stay," she mumbled, sliding her own hand over his. She heard his breath hitch, slightly.

"I was hoping you'd say that," he answered. They were still for some minutes, neither of them needed to speak to enjoy the closeness, and she suspected that he was giving her time to wake up more fully.

"There is one more thing," he said, nuzzling the back of her neck.

"Oh...?"

"Christmas," he continued. "I want you to have dinner in the Great Hall, with the others."

"Well, of course, I -- " she paused. "Won't you be there?"

"Unfortunately not. Christmas eve happens to be the full moon. And I don't want you skipping the feast on account of me, since I will probably be fast asleep for the whole thing."

"Sick on Christmas," she said softly. "How awful."

You should think about this, about me, what I am --

Do you mean, she'd said, a brown-haired man who teaches children, who likes brandy in his tea and puts his scrambled eggs on his toast?

You know what I mean. What I am, he'd answered wretchedly, tilting his head so the hair screened his face.

Who you are, I know. What you are, I don't care.

"It happens. It's worse when it comes on my birthday," said Remus, and she could hear the forced good humour in his voice.

She considered for a moment before speaking. "Would you like me to come see you?"

"You can if you like, though I can't imagine I'll be very entertaining," he replied, and again there was that note of false bravado, false humour. She'd heard it too often in students who were desperate not to show that some fear or loss was clawing at their insides, trying to break free. She heard it most often in those who were least likely to ever admit it.

"We'll have tea in the morning, like last time," she said. "And I'll bring you some dinner before the feast."

"There's really no need -- "

"Nonsense. It's Christmas."

She'd pushed the hair out of his eyes, made him look at her.

I should have known, he'd whispered as she pulled him close, as his arms went around her waist. This was always my home, always where I found myself. I should never have stayed away so long.

You're here now.

He'd smiled, his whole face lighting up. I am.

His hands had moved suddenly, sliding up her back, tangling in her hair, and his mouth was demanding on hers...

He fell silent, and after a moment she felt him move to prop himself up on one elbow, so that he could see her face. She turned her head, slightly, and let him kiss her -- unhurried, no longer anxious as he had been in those first few days. And she'd been nervous too, she could admit, only she was more adept at hiding it.

It wasn't passion so much as a very thorough affection that drove the kiss. Which was, she thought, how their entire...romance? Affair?...had gone.

"In some ways, Minerva," he said, resting his forehead on hers, "You are quite a revelation."

"Of all the things I've been called by men, I don't think revelations were ever mentioned," she replied. Their bodies began to move, to shift slightly into the increasingly familiar and far more intimate touches of the night before.

"You are unique," he continued, pausing for another kiss. "You're stern but evenhanded..." A slide of hips -- "You're strict but the children love you..." Hands, touching, his arms supporting him over her, "You have the ability to admit when you're wrong, though you rarely ever are...and you apologise. Which frankly," he was silenced for a moment by her mouth, "is very nearly unheard of." He paused and drew back to look at her, brown eyes warm and dancing with real good humour now. "Besides, as I believe I've mentioned, you kiss exceptionally well."

"Kiss?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. He made a low noise in the back of his throat.

"And other things," he said, and when she laughed, softly, he moved again, beginning to prove his point.

I never thought...

Then what were we doing, up until now?

I don't know, he'd admitted. Enjoying each other's company?

And she'd laughed, low in the back of her throat, and he'd realised why, and joined her. And then there was no reason not to kiss, and touch, and no reason not to share her big bed, warm under the blankets, warm against her body.

***

"You know, I wasn't entirely enthusiastic about the holiday," Remus said, as he buttoned the collar on his shirt. She straightened it slightly.

"Oh? I thought you'd welcome the quiet."

"Well, I do. And the company," he added. "Certainly enjoying that."

She smiled.

"But...I like keeping busy. I suppose I've papers to grade, and lesson plans to make and all the rest. For all my talk in Hogsmeade, I just didn't see how I was going to keep myself occupied."

"And now?"

"Well, I've managed the first day or two, haven't I?" he asked, pulling her close before she could finish dressing. "We've missed breakfast, you know."

"I don't care."

"Mm, me either," he agreed. "And I think I could quite easily fill up my days this way. I say we make a habit out of it."

She gave him a blandly inquiring look. "A habit out of what, Professor Lupin?"

"I was referring to the idea of Hogsmeade, Headmistress. Say, tea and scones, every afternoon, in Hogsmeade. Dignified...unimpeachably civilised..."

"An opportunity for more walks in the snow?" she asked, amused. He gave her a guilty grin. "The faculty will talk."

He tensed, and she knew it had been the wrong thing to say. After a moment he pushed his hair out of his eyes and met hers directly.

"If you're rethinking what you said last night -- I understand, if you and I were linked and the truth happened to come out about me..."

"Oh, no -- Remus, that wasn't what I meant at all," she said, as he pulled away. "I only meant that..."

The miserable, closed look on his face could break hearts.

"I meant that they always do, when two professors are involved," she said. "That's all. I wanted to warn you. Remus..."

He let himself be drawn back into an embrace, and even returned it, after a minute.

"I don't care if you're werewolf, vampire, human, or anything else under the sun," she said. "You know better than that. What I care about is that your first year here isn't marked by cruel talk. Any more than it has been," she added, knowing that his first few weeks had been difficult -- and not made any easier by her, she recalled.

"You don't know how many people...when they find out. It's so ugly," he said quietly, against her hair.

She smiled. "Believe it or not, animagi don't have it precisely easy all the time, either."

"Yes, but a housecat doesn't have the reputation of mindlessly going for the jugular."

"Obviously you've never owned cats," she said, and he laughed. "Remus...I want this. As long as you do. If you don't mind the talk, I won't."

"I don't mind," he said, stepping back. "It'll be a relief to hear Snape go on about something other than my lycanthropy."

"And don't think he won't," she said, only a little sourly. "For someone who claims to hate people, he certainly likes gossip."

"Good, I'll be paying him back for the Wolfsbane, then."

She let him step away, and they continued dressing in comfortable silence.

"Tea, then?" he asked, kissing her quickly and resting his hand on the doorknob. "Four o'clock?"

"I'll meet you on the bridge to Hogsmeade," she said.

She heard him whistling as he left.

***

XIII. Scarlet and Gold

Memories of the Change were always, and mercifully, hazy; it was like rising in the night to get a drink of water -- you knew it had happened, you just didn't remember how you'd managed it. Usually these days he would be conscious for the Change back, and then stumble into bed and sleep a few hours, fitfully, waking sometime mid-morning with the feeling he'd caught a bad 'flu.

He had never, in recent memory, woken to the smell of hot food and tea steeping nearby. He wondered for a moment what had happened.

"Good morning," Minerva McGonagall said with a smile. "Happy Christmas."

He pushed himself up on one elbow, squinting; the window-blinds had been flung open and bright sunlight filtered through.

"Good morning," he answered, bewildered. On a table near the bed were two trays; one had a teapot and two cups, plus a tin of loose-leaf. On the other was an enormous breakfast, still steaming. She sat next to the table in one of his battered wing-chairs, a book resting on her knee. "What...?"

"You said I could come see you," she continued. It was a tacit agreement between them that on full-moon days, he was left alone unless he asked; it was a private experience, and she respected that.

"And you catered," he observed, trying to preserve his dignity with the blankets, unsure precisely why he bothered. It wasn't as though, since the holiday started, she hadn't seen him in less. Their daily teas in Hogsmeade were pleasant affairs, and more often than not led to even more pleasant evenings, usually in her rooms.

He crossed his legs on the bed, facing her, blankets across his lap. She offered him the plate and he ate hungrily as she sipped her tea.

"Thank you," he said fervently, around bites of sausage and waffle, fried eggs, potatoes, and sliced apple.

"The house-elves made it, I merely stole some," she said. "How...do you feel?"

"No more sick than usual. Awful way to spend Christmas, but I've had worse," he said, gulping tea before realising it was some of the brandy-tea he'd given her at the beginning of the term. She smiled as he nearly choked.

"Slow down, I promise it won't run away," she said. He set the plate down and concentrated on the tea.

"Sometimes I'm starving," he said, around slower sips. He knew he looked tired and worn; he always did on full moon days. "Sometimes it's like a hangover, I couldn't eat if I wanted to. I'm not sure why...could be a fiddly variation in the potion."

"I'm sure Severus wouldn't intend to hurt you."

"You have a lot more faith in him than I do. The only reason I think he hasn't given me a bad batch is that it would injure his reputation." He finished his tea and poured some more, setting it down on the table. "Have you had a good Christmas so far?"

"I think so, yes," she agreed. "It's been quiet. The children are preoccupied with their gifts and such."

"Ah, speaking of which..." he turned to the nightstand next to his bed and rummaged in a deep drawer, fingers closing on a slim, gold-wrapped box. "Happy Christmas, Minerva."

She accepted the box with a smile and opened it deftly, lifting out some tissue paper and laying it aside on the bed. Inside the box was a long, black silk ribbon with a heavy silver-coloured clasp and a small charm strung on it, shaped like a holly sprig. She lifted it out carefully, glancing up at him. He looked hopeful. And worried.

"It's lovely, Remus," she said softly. "But silver?"

"No -- it's pewter. I just...like how it looks," he said, as shy as a schoolboy. "I...it needs some explanation."

She held the thin ribbon in her hand, weighing it. "It's charmed, isn't it?"

He nodded. "I know you'd said that...when you were...well. When you Changed, sometimes if you went to Hogsmeade the dogs tried to chase you. The charm should keep them off," he added. "It's not exactly...I wish it were nicer, but -- "

She kissed him, stopping his excuses. "It's lovely. And thoughtful." She offered it to him. "Put it on?"

He nodded, eyes dark and pleased, and put out his left hand to unbutton her high collar, holding the necklace in his other. When he wrapped it around her neck it was snug, flat against her skin, and she could tell how much pleasure it gave him to see it there. He straightened the charm fussily.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "What a lovely gift, Remus."

He smiled happily. "You're welcome. I'm glad you like it. I hoped you would. It's...been a long time since I could give something to someone I..." he coughed, and took a sip of tea. "Well. I'm glad you like it," he repeated.

"I do. And..." she bent, retrieving a brightly-wrapped red package from below the table. He took it, looked at the gold box his gift to her had come in, and laughed.

"Scarlet and gold," he said, through his laughter. "We are so terribly Gryffindor, Minerva."

She smiled as he shook his head, tearing the red wrapping off with slightly less care than she'd taken. His eyes widened when he saw what was inside, and he removed the rest of the paper more slowly.

"A first edition?" he asked breathlessly, opening it with the utmost care. "Oh...with the Latin included..."

"It's quite a long book," she remarked. "I thought it would keep you occupied on...bad days."

His fingers touched the pages, stroking the print as if he could feel the words. "Oh so appropriate," he murmured. "Ovid's Metamorphoses."

"You might appreciate it more than most," she said, with a small smile. "And I know you have an...unusual respect for books."

"It's perfect," he breathed, eyes scanning the text. "I've been looking for a copy with the Latin included but I could never aff..." he stopped, eyes lighting on a particular line. She watched as he read a passage with unadulterated pleasure. When he looked up at her again, she caught her breath sharply.

"No one else would have understood," he said, his voice almost harsh. "A book about magical transformations -- they would have thought it tactless or rude...no one else could understand."

"About this book?"

"You Change," he said. "You know what it's like. Do you know how -- " he stopped, abruptly, and closed the book, fingers still tracing the cover. "It's a wonderful gift, Minerva. I'm sorry, I'm still tired..."

"Of course, and me keeping you up," she said severely. "You should sleep."

"No, stay a while -- "

She kissed him and pushed him gently down against the pillows. "Sleep. I'll bring you dinner this evening."

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

"Oh." He let the book fall onto the blanket next to him, and looked up at her. "I'd like that." A pause. "Will you wear it tonight? At the feast?"

She touched the hollow of her throat, where she could barely feel the holly-sprig charm under her shirt-collar.

"Of course." She smiled. "Read your book if you can't sleep. I recommend Atalanta's transformation into the lion."

He grinned. "I always liked Pygmalion."

"You would." She stroked his hair. "Sleep a little."

"Yes, Headmistress," he said facetiously, closing his eyes. His breath evened, slowly, and she was as silent as she could be when she left, carrying the gold box and scarlet wrapping-paper with her.

***

XIV. Snow Clean

The snowball hit the external wall of Minerva McGonagall's study with a soft thwapping noise. She studiously ignored it; probably stray-thrown ammunition from a snowball fight amongst the students staying at Hogwarts over holiday.

The next one hit her window square.

She scowled and looked up from the trunk she was sorting through. She carefully opened the window next to the one that had been assaulted and leaned out.

"Good morning, Professor!" came a voice from below. "It's a beautiful day for a walk!"

"You'll wake the whole castle," she scolded. "Are you still a sixth-year, Professor Lupin?"

"Sixth years have more sense than to throw snowballs at your study, Professor!"

"Yes, they do," she replied, leaning on the windowsill. He shot her a grin just as a nearby window also opened.

"Good morning, Headmaster!" Lupin added, giving Dumbledore a cheery salute. "Just breaking up a snowball fight!"

Albus Dumbledore leaned out the window, looked from him to a furiously blushing McGonagall and back, and smiled.

"Carry on then. Mind you don't wake Severus," he advised, and slid the window shut.

"Are you coming down or shall I come up?" Lupin asked. She put a finger to her lips.

"Come up, if you must," she said, trying at once to be as quiet as possible and still allow him to hear her. He vanished into the doorway of the school, and a few minutes later she heard him stomping the snow off of his thin-soled, well-scuffed boots.

"Come in," she called, anticipating his knock. The door opened and he sidled sheepishly inside, meeting her embrace with a kiss before unraveling his muffler.

"Sorry, I know it was foolish but it's so beautiful out, and the temptation was too much."

"Detention," she murmured, helping him off with his coat. It was only then that he looked around and then, very slowly, turned to look at her.

"You haven't been ransacked, have you?" he asked -- then, realising how that sounded, added, "Your rooms, I mean."

She turned to regard the messy piles of books, stacks of papers, and furniture-covered-in-clothing. He must be stunned; she was a neat person by nature, and the chaos in front of them would never have occurred on its own.

"I'm cleaning," she said simply. He regarded her thoughtfully.

"Isn't that a spring...thing?" he asked.

"I've always liked to do it on New Year's. Means you go into the next year with a clean home and much less clutter," she added.

"That makes sense."

"Plus you find the most amazing things," she added, picking up a stack of books and piling them into a trunk carefully. "And it lets me dust really thoroughly -- " she paused. He was standing by her desk, watching her, snow still melting in his hair. "What?"

***

Normally Minerva McGonagall wore her hair back in a tight bun -- not even hair dared disobey McGonagall. While cleaning, however, several wisps had worked their way loose, and he found himself contemplating them admiringly.

He sometimes felt he admired everything about her. And now he could add independence of thought to the list; she hadn't apologised for the mess, merely explained it, and hadn't tried to clean up, merely kept cleaning what she'd started. If he didn't like it, he could leave.

Having been forced to cultivate independence in himself, he liked it in others.

"What?" she asked, and he realised he'd been staring at the way her hair framed her face.

"Nothing...can I help at all?" he stammered, noticing the books on the highest shelves hadn't been taken down. She followed his gaze and nodded.

"You're welcome to, if you'd like," she said with a smile. "I haven't bothered with those in years -- they're not really worth getting up on a stepstool for, just a set of old books that came with the rooms. An encyclopaedia of some sort. I thought they finished the shelf nicely."

He reached up, easily running his fingers along the spines, pulling them down two or three at a time, stacking them on the lower shelves. He was just lifting the last of them down when something on a lower shelf caught his eye.

"That's peculiar..." he tugged at the scrap of paper caught in the wood, pulling it free.

"What is it?" she asked, and he grinned, looking down at it. "Remus, what did you find?"

He turned it around and held it up, still smiling like an idiot. "And this, my dear Minerva, is the reason half the Gryffindor house had a crush on you the year I graduated."

In the photo a young, dark-haired woman in witch's robes was laughing, showing off some sort of complicated spell. She couldn't have been more than eighteen, but the keen brightness in her eyes and the knowing look on her face showed that she could only be one person.

"I haven't seen this in years, I didn't even..." she took the photo from him. He circled the desk, sliding an arm around her waist.

"Quite the handsome woman," he said, and she smiled.

"I was, yes. Didn't think so at the time. Thought my nose was too long."

"I wasn't talking about her," he said softly.

She shook her head. "Even in good light, Remus, we both know that's not true. I don't mind -- "

She stopped as one of his hands, nimble and slightly calloused, smoothed her hair back, tipping her head gently against his shoulder.

"It's true to me."

She set the photograph down, smoothing it slightly. From thirty years ago, the young witch in the picture grinned and rolled her eyes.

"A far cry from how this year started," he continued. "I seem to recall a very pale, very stern Deputy Headmistress coming in high state to my office to -- "

"Hush," she answered, and he turned his head to kiss her for a moment before she pulled away and returned to her books. "I've got to get on with this cleaning."

"I love you," he stammered, and then had to suppress a wave of horror at what he'd said.

***

Despite having been out in the snow, he was warm when he pulled her close. At least he had a decent coat, though he didn't seem to have spent much of his salary on new clothing.

She half-thought what he'd said had been flattery. Remus had a certain amount of boyish enthusiasm that spilled over into an odd charm, and sometimes made him say things more than he might actually mean them.

As she went back to her books, his hand followed for a moment, on the small of her back, and she swore she heard him say "I love you."

"What?" she asked, before she could think, as she turned abruptly. She wasn't quite able to believe what she'd heard -- or even whether she wanted to believe it, to trust the pleasant feeling that crept over her when she considered him saying it.

He stood there, surrounded by dust dancing in the morning light, hand still outstretched a little, grey-brown hair still damp from the snow. Young eyes watching her carefully in a face older than his years.

She opened her mouth to reply. He raised the hand he'd held out, pointing quickly to the bookshelves.

"Above you," he said, and there was barely a trace of -- guile? Guilt? -- in his brown eyes. He coughed. "The erm, the shelves are above you anyhow, I think you should just leave them."

She stared at him for a long moment. He ducked his head. His hair fell across his eyes.

Oh.

"Yes..." she said slowly. "Perhaps it's...time."

He stayed where he was, not looking at her, as she faced him with her hands full of books from the table.

"Time?" he asked, after the silence had stretched out almost to a breaking point.

"For a change, I mean. New Year's is a good time for changes. You should clean your rooms, too."

He let out an anxious laugh. "I don't own enough to warrant cleaning house."

"Stay and help me with mine, then?"

He was still standing there, still not looking at her.

"Remus," she said quietly. "Look at me, please."

He lifted his eyes to hers.

"Stay," she said.

"But perhaps I ought to -- "

"Stay." She set the books down. "I know what I'm saying to you. Stay."

He exhaled, slowly. After a second, he reached out and picked up a plain black hatbox sitting on one of the chairs.

"Where should I put this?" he asked.

She smiled.

***

XV. Nightfall

The holidays went far too quickly, and far too quietly. Not for the students, certainly not for Gryffindor tower, where Harry and Ron raged against Hermione for being a tell-tale and a thousand other horrible things; for the professors, however...

Well, Remus didn't like that Harry'd had his one really nice present taken from him, but as it did seem rather dangerous to accept broomsticks from anonymous donors, and as it was in his best interest to keep Minerva McGonagall happy, he simply ignored the whole problem and hoped it would go away.

It was the last day before the rest of the children would be returning, two days before classes were to start, and at least for the moment Minerva was quite happy. They'd relaxed their guard just a little since there were so few students about, and they were not looking forward to going back to hidden dinners in their rooms, stolen weekends at Hogsmeade when the students weren't there, and talking only of school troubles in the hallways.

Dumbledore had given the Deputy Headmistress a bottle of mead for Christmas, of the charmed type that never grew cold, and they were sharing it out of a flask that Moody had sent to his protege, finally having an address for him that year. They were sitting together in the shelter of one of the older trees near the fens outside of Hogsmeade, where you could see the sky seemingly go on forever, and getting quietly drunk to mark the end of the holidays.

"Aren't you cold?" she asked with a smile. He leaned down to kiss her, then settled his arm more firmly around her shoulders, pressing her face into his neck.

"Do I feel cold?" he asked.

"No, but your jacket's thin, and..."

"Warming charms," he answered. "And our Headmaster's excellent mead."

"Hmm." She took the flask, sipping. From the feel of it, he'd had most; still, the warmth of the drink was making her flush a little, even in the chill. "You'll be hung over tomorrow."

"I'd worry if I thought anyone would notice," he answered. "It's not as though dark circles under my eyes are much of a surprise."

"You're looking better than you did."

"I'm eating regular meals."

She felt his chest rise and fall, slowly, and his hand take the flask from her, bringing it to his mouth for another swallow.

"Was it really so bad for you?" she asked. "Were you that desperate?"

"Well, that depends on how you define 'desperate'," he said, his voice a little slurred. "Dumbledore sent me an advance on my salary, otherwise the Feast would have been my first meal in three days."

"Merlin, and I almost..." she buried her face in his thin coat.

"What? What is it?" he asked, one hand stroking her hair clumsily.

"You know I didn't want you here, it was stupid but I was thinking of the children -- "

"I don't care," he said, a note of rebellion in his voice. "Why shouldn't you defend the children? Why shouldn't you?"

"Because you didn't deserve to be starving over something you can't control," she replied quietly.

"Bollocks," he answered. "I love 'em, no reason you shouldn't. Love 'em. Love you," he added affectionately.

"You too," she whispered into his muffler. It wasn't the first time he'd said it, but it was the first time he'd admitted to saying it.

"Good. That's settled," he said, with the firm resolution of the drunk. "Splendid good. Now what?"

She laughed a little, and looked up at him. "We should leave soon. Dark's falling."

"Is it?" he asked, glancing up at the sky. She used him as a handhold to lever herself to her feet, and he struggled up as well, tucking the flask in his pocket. "So it is -- oi -- " he added, as she stumbled. "And so are you," he laughed, catching her by the shoulders. "All right then?"

"I think so," she answered, leaning on his arm as they made their way cautiously across the uneven, snow-covered ground.

"Got to be more careful from now on," he said, as they walked. "No more kissing in hallways."

"We only ever did that the once," she protested.

"And no more...no more..." he pondered this a while. "Well, that doesn't seem fair. We'll just have to keep an eye out. Eternal vigilance!" he added sweepingly.

"No drinking too much mead," she added.

"Hah! No," he agreed, as they passed over the bridge to the school. "I don't -- "

Suddenly he froze, and tensed. She stopped, glancing up at him. His nostrils flared.

"Something's wrong," he said softly.

"What?"

He looked entirely sober now. "Someone's watching us."

He turned unerringly towards the forest on the left of them. After a second he held up his hand and muttered a few soft words. Green flames leapt up from his palm as something scrabbled away in the darkness, a flitting black shadow.

"Just a dog," he murmured, but there was something in his voice that made her worry. "Let's go. Let's hurry."

They made their way quickly across the bridge and up to the entrance hall. He didn't stop until they were well inside, and then he closed his hand, dousing the light.

"Let me walk you to your room," he said, and she grinned, pulling him down for a kiss. It took a moment for him to return it, and she could still see worry in his eyes.

"Stay tonight?" she asked. He kissed her again, hungrily, but shook his head.

"The students," he reminded her. She pressed a hand to his chest, and he moaned quietly.

"They'll be here the rest of the year, you know," she said. "At some point we'll have to stop caring that we share the castle with hundreds of children."

"Merlin," he breathed, as her fingers stroked his jaw.

"And then there's summer holidays. Three whole months without papers to grade, classes to teach..."

He nodded, eyes closed.

"Tomorrow then," she said, kissing his cheek. "Goodnight. Try not to be too bloodshot in the morning."

He let her go, fingers lingering until the last possible minute, and she left him there in the stone entryway, looking out at the rapidly-darkening grounds.

***

XVI. Someday

As classes began again and the daily routine of Hogwarts was once more ordered by brief intervals between lessons, meals, and evening study, the Christmas holiday quickly began to seem like a distant memory to Remus. Pleasant, yes -- especially pleasant with regards to certain events with Minerva McGonagall -- but distant nonetheless.

"Just what in the hell do you think you're doing?"

And getting more distant by the minute.

Remus looked up from the book he was reading. His office door had been open, but now the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts had shut it, and was standing in front of it, looking -- well, looking composed, but with a glint in her eye that could definitely be interpreted as furious.

"Reading?" he asked hesitantly, suddenly feeling as though he was fourteen all over again, and caught outside Gryffindor Tower after hours.

"Hermione Granger tells me you're giving Harry Potter extra tutoring after classes," she said sharply. "Is this true?"

"Yes," he answered, beginning to divine a hint of reason behind her sudden mood swing. "We had the first one last Thursday. That's not against school policy, is it?"

"That depends on your motivations," she shot back, and he raised his eyebrows, closing the book and setting it on his desk.

"Surely you don't think I have -- "

"He's James Potter's son, what am I to think?" she demanded.

He blinked. He wasn't used to people being outright angry with him; usually nobody got to know him well enough to dislike him.

"That Harry needed extra tutoring, and so I gave it to him."

"Don't you think that might be considered favouritism? He's never had trouble with that class before."

"One might make the case that he's never had a competent teacher in that class before," he said cautiously. "Gilderoy Lockhart one year and a servant of Voldemort another hardly -- "

She hissed when he said the Dark Lord's name, and he gave her a measured look.

"And a servant of Voldemort, hardly combine to make a single decent teacher," he finished.

"Is Harry behind in class?"

"No," he admitted. "He does very well in class."

"Tutoring a student in order to give them an advantage over other students -- "

" -- is done all the time," he finished, feeling frustrated. "Severus Snape -- " he paused, and saw the look on her face. "Ah. I see. All right for Slytherins, but Gryffindor is fair and impartial, right?"

"Or should be." She put her hands on her hips. "What are you teaching him that he can't be taught in class?"

"The Patronus charm," he said evenly, meeting her eyes. He had the dubious experience of actually seeing Minerva McGonagall at a loss for words. Few ever had.

"And how," she said slowly, "Precisely, Remus, are you teaching him the Patronus charm? A charm difficult for graduates of Hogwarts, let alone a thirteen-year-old boy?"

"He's an extraordinary boy," Remus answered. "We both know that. I'm using a boggart."

"A boggart? For a Patronus lesson? Are you daft?"

He put his face in his hands. "If you'd let me explain, Minerva..."

"I am here as the Headmistress," she answered, a note of ice in her voice.

He glanced at her through his fingers. A long time ago he'd made the distinction between Minerva and Headmistress McGonagall. He'd even mentioned it to her. To use it against him like this was, he thought, rather unfair.

"Headmistress, then," he said. "Harry's Boggart is a Dementor."

He stood and walked around the desk, leaning on it. She didn't move.

"Harry's Boggart is a Dementor, and I'm keeping one in my office." He waved a hand in the direction of the boggart's cupboard. "I release it, he attempts the Patronus, and then we recapture it and try again."

"This is utter madness, you can't expose a boy to something like that on a regular basis. It's cruel!"

He gave her a shrewd look. "He asked for it. I didn't tell him he had to."

"Why on earth -- "

He made a frustrated noise, and straightened. "Do you know what happens to Harry when he encounters a Dementor? Do you? Do you know why he passes out -- why he used to pass out, since he hardly ever does anymore, now that he's had some tutoring? My god, everyone's so busy looking out for the boy that nobody's looking at him!" he nearly shouted. She watched him, wide-eyed.

"He hasn't told anyone," she said, quiet but still defiant.

"Well, he's bloody well told me," Remus continued angrily. "Harry hears his parents."

"What?" she asked.

"Harry hears his parents. When a Dementor comes near. He hears James and Lily screaming," he said. "Harry hears his parents being murdered by Voldemort."

He spat the name with such bitterness that she didn't bother to stop him saying it.

"So excuse me, Headmistress, if I'd like to at least try to teach the boy how to stop hearing his parents being executed mercilessly, over and over," he continued. "I'm sorry if I happen to have a strange habit of wanting to prevent any child from hearing that. God knows, I..."

He threw himself into the overstuffed chair on the other side of his desk, rubbing his face with one hand.

"I didn't mean to shout," he said sullenly. He heard her moving, thought she was going towards the door; he started when her fingers stroked through his hair gently.

"I didn't know, Remus," she said softly. "You didn't tell me."

"Well, you didn't exactly consult with anyone before taking away his Firebolt," he answered.

"That was for his safety."

"So is this."

"They're different, and you know that. If you'd told me your reasons I wouldn't have been so angry."

He reached up to take her hand, pulling it down to press the fingers against his lips. They were smooth and dry, and cool.

"I'm not used to having anyone to tell," he said, against her palm. "It didn't occur to me that it was anyone's business other than Harry's and my own."

"He's my student too," she chided. "As James was."

"As I was," he added wryly.

"As you were, though you no longer are. I don't want you telling me everything you do," she said, moving her hand to tilt his chin up until he was looking into her face. "But where Harry is concerned..."

"I'll stop if you tell me to," he said. "I don't love seeing him suffer the way he did when we tried it. But you should see him the rest of the time. He loves the work, he smiles so much when he gets it right. And he's so smart, he really -- "

Her thumb shut his mouth, pressing against his lips gently.

"Is it in Harry's best interest?"

He nodded.

"And not motivated by your wanting to spend more time with the boy?"

His eyes flicked away from hers for a second, but he shook his head.

"And you're taking the necessary precautions?"

"Full supervision, and chocolate," he said.

"But you can understand why I -- "

"I'm just trying to keep him safe."

"Alone. As usual," she answered, and he closed his eyes.

"I've been doing things alone for a long time. And there are still things I can't -- tell, not even to you," he said. "Believe how much I want to, Minerva."

She pulled on his shirt-collar, fingers hooking into it, and he obediently stood, awkward for a moment as she hugged him. Then his arms rose, and he wrapped them around her shoulders, burying his face in her hair.

"Someday?" she asked quietly.

"We have time," he answered. "Someday. Yes."

Standing in the warmth of his office, wrapped in each other's arms, it was difficult to imagine anything other than someday.

***

XVII. The Game

Technically, of course, professors weren't supposed to take sides on Quidditch matches, unless they were House Heads, in which case it was hardly avoidable. Still, this was easily circumvented, as Remus Lupin only owned one coat, and it was red. Or, after a very subtle charm for this particular match, green.

"I cannot believe," Minerva said, helping him straighten his collar, "that you are going to a Ravenclaw-Slytherin game dressed like this."

"Dressed like what?" he asked innocently.

"You're rooting for our rival!"

"I'm wearing a coat which happens to be green. I think it goes well with my eyes," he said.

"Your eyes are brown."

"I never claimed to be a logical man."

"No, that you certainly did not," she agreed, stepping back. "How do I look?"

"Well-wrapped," he replied. "Also perfectly presentable," he added, when she glared at him. One did not take a glare from the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts lightly. "Shall we?"

He held the door for her as they left his rooms and walked down the stone corridors, boots ringing on the floor and echoing against the walls. It was, after all, not illegal for professors to walk to a Quidditch game together, he told himself, as they passed out of the castle and into the chilly January afternoon, amongst small knots and crowds of students also making their way to the Quidditch Pitch.

Dumbledore and Flitwick were walking together, and nobody would see anything romantic in that. Not without serious mind-altering chemicals, anyway.

"So I take it a younger, more handsome man is waiting to steal you from me?" he said.

"You know I have to sit with Lee, if only to make sure he doesn't say any more unpronounceable words," she answered. The edge of her very carefully neutral red muffler flapped in the wind.

"Don't let his many charms fool you."

"I'm not in the habit of letting younger men fool me," she answered, and he laughed. "Finding that funny, Professor Lupin?"

"Not at all, Headmistress McGonagall," he said, grinning. "I would never presume to be amused in your presence."

"Quite right. Now, are you still going to insist on rooting for Slytherin, however covertly you may do it?"

"Yes I am," he said seriously, as a couple of first-years ran past, pelting each other with snow. "Just because I was a Gryffindor is no reason not to like all of my students."

"The primary and basic difference between you and certain Potions Masters we could mention," she murmured.

He shook his head. "Now, now, I owe him, and it would be bad form to think it."

"I'm not thinking it, I'm saying it."

"My Slytherins are good students."

"You're not serious."

"Considering what I teach, it's perhaps not all that surprising, Minerva. They like learning about Dark Arts, even indirectly. Draco Malfoy, for example -- "

"Draco Malfoy!"

"He's rather clever when he applies himself. Certainly not as much of an idiot as he acts."

She gave him a look that said he was out of his werewolf mind.

"Does he actually, ever, apply himself?" she inquired.

He grinned. "I told you, Slytherins like Dark Arts. He does all right."

"Not as well as the Gryffindors."

"You mean not as well as Harry," he said. "The truth is, Hermione's leading the Gryffindors. And Susan Bones is top of the year."

"Little Susan Bones? But she's a Hufflepuff!"

"Got a mean hex, that girl does," he said.

"House traitor," she murmured, so low he barely caught it. He grinned.

"Well, there's also the fact that if Slytherin and Gryffindor both beat Ravenclaw, Gryffindor'll go to the cup," he said quietly in her ear, as they reached the ladder up into the stands. She turned to him, surprised. He shrugged. "Oliver Wood tutors for my fourth-years, he mentioned it to me. After you, Headmistress."

She flashed him a quick smile and began to climb, followed by the first-years, who got a hand up from their Dark Arts professor. By the time he reached the top, she was already settled in the broadcasting box with Lee Jordan. He glanced around, looking for an open seat, waving absently to a few students who caught his eye.

"Professor Lupin!" a voice cried. "Over here!"

He followed the shouting to a raucous crowd of students down near the front, Gryffindors by the look of it, a sea of scarlet and gold stripes. "Come sit with us!" Oliver Wood called. Fred and George Weasley turned and waved as well, and he could pick out most of the rest of the Gryffindor team, plus Ron and Ginny -- and Hermione, carefully situated as far away from Ron as possible, on the other side of Oliver.

He walked down the steps and grinned when Oliver stood and shook his hand firmly.

"Brisk day for a game," he said, leaning on the railing as Oliver sat back down. "Glad you lot aren't playing."

"So're we," Angelina answered. "Do sit, sir, we'll make room."

Lupin lifted an eyebrow. "Do you really want your professor sitting with you while you watch your game, Angelina?"

She blushed. "None of us mind you, Professor Lupin."

He glanced at the others, who were mostly nodding their agreement, or watching the Pitch.

"All right then. Hermione, budge over a bit, thanks," he said, sliding onto the bench between Hermione and Oliver. "Winds aren't too bad, actually. Might be trouble -- won't knock you off your broomstick, wind like this, but it'll send the Quaffle Merlin alone knows where."

Oliver glanced sidelong at him. "You're a Quidditch fan?" he asked, then quickly added, "Sir?"

"I was, when I was at school. Never missed a game. Up Gryffindor," Lupin answered, with a grin.

Watching Quidditch with someone who played the game regularly was always more entertaining; Oliver kept his own running commentary for the benefit of his teammates, which was edifying too. Remus' attention was torn between the game and the students -- it was interesting to see Ginny sitting quietly, soaking up every word out of Oliver's mouth and glancing occasionally at Harry.

Hermione coughed, beside him, and he glanced at her.

"Haven't you got any gloves, Hermione?" he asked. "Here, take mine."

"Professor -- "

"You can give them back afterwards, I know more warming charms than you," he said, pressing them absently into her hands and returning to Oliver's rapt play-by-play with renewed interest. It wasn't long before Oliver caught his breath and pointed -- just in time for them all to see Draco Malfoy to grab the Snitch, ending the game and throwing the stands into chaos.

"I think I'll get out of here before there's a line for the ladder," Remus said, as the Gryffindor team began to gather their belongings. Oliver nodded. "Thank you, it was a pleasure hearing you discuss the game, Ja -- "

The first letter was hardly passed his lips before he froze. Oliver glanced at him, curiously.

He had not just tried to call Oliver Wood 'James'.

Fortunately, while Wood was a clever boy and a brilliant athlete, he wasn't much on subtle interpersonal relations, which Remus suddenly had cause to be grateful for, as Oliver turned away to answer a question by George.

"There's Professor Snape, excuse me," he said hurriedly, and nearly bolted for the aisle, where Snape was following a few hulking seventh-year Slytherins out. He made up his excuse quickly.

"Professor Snape," he said, and the Potions Master looked up, grimly. "Congratulations, that was a well-played game."

He held out his hand. Snape looked down at the hand, then back up at him.

"Yes," he said. "It was."

He pushed past him, carelessly.

"Still arrogant," Remus murmured to himself. "That's really going to bite you in the arse one day, Severus."

He saw that there was already a crowd bottlenecking at the ladder down to the ground, and cast around. There had been some trick to this...

"Professor?"

He glanced across the aisle. Hermione was standing there, looking solitary as the rest of the Gryffindor team pressed forward.

"Yes, Hermione?" he asked. Now, what had it been...

"Here are your gloves back," she said, holding them out. He took them, stuffing them into a pocket absently.

"Thanks..." he said. If you went all the way to the end of the stands...

"They kept my hands very warm," she said, following him.

"I'm glad," he replied, still not paying very close attention. Aha, here it was. A row of stairs down one side, hidden inside the paneling of the stands. Nobody ever used them because nobody ever noticed they were there.

She followed him down the dark stairs, curiously. "I've never seen this way before..."

"Yes, nobody ever does," he answered. "We used to use them when we were bored with a game and wanted to sneak down to -- well, that's neither here nor there," he said, catching himself. He was a professor, after all, and ought to set a good example.

"Is it safe?" Hermione asked.

"Only if you use a silencing charm," he replied, under his breath, as they emerged into the chilly sunlight once more. "Hermione, there's Professor McGonagall, I'm afraid I need a word..."

"Thanks again for the gloves!" she called after him, as he hurried to catch up with the Headmistress.

***

XVIII. Students

It is the unique prerogative of teachers, especially those of older children, that they take the place of parents on the pedestal from which, by the age of thirteen or so, most parents have fallen. Teachers become unique confidants for some students, usually the very clever or the very troubled (sometimes they are the same). More tears of adolescent angst are shed in their offices and empty classrooms than will ever be shown to the childrens' own parents. Teachers, after all, are impartial. They can comfort without smothering, can listen without judging.

On the other hand, sometimes a student comes to know a teacher too well, and gets a bit ahead of themselves...

"Mister Wood, I will thank you to keep your voice within a reasonable volume when speaking to me," Minerva McGonagall said sharply. Students trembled in their boots at that tone, but Oliver Wood had spent seven years hearing it, and had, it was true, taken a few Bludgers to the head over the years. He was not as afraid of the Deputy Headmistress as he probably ought to be.

"But I don't see why -- "

"Mister Wood!"

That voice not even Oliver Wood could disobey.

"Yes, Professor," he muttered, lowering his voice. "But really, I think it's quite unfair of you to keep such a -- if you realised what a Firebolt -- "

"I am fully aware of the capabilities of the new Firebolts," she said, slightly more gently. "But you must realise that Harry's life is worth more than Gryffindor Cup, and considering the extremely suspicious circumstances under which he received it...well. You don't want Harry dying, do you?"

"Not before he catches the Snitch," Oliver agreed. "Harry's very quick, though, and there's no reason we can't have a game played and done with by the time -- "

"Wood, I'm surprised at you! You were appointed Captain because it was assumed that you would act responsibly."

"I am! I'm thinking of the team, you know," he said, slightly reproachfully.

Minerva McGonagall fought the urge to cover her eyes. "This broomstick may very well be hexed to murder Harry," she said, measuring each word slowly. "What if it throws Harry off in the middle of a match?"

"As long as he catches the Snitch first -- "

"Consider your priorities."

Oliver sighed. "How much longer are you going to keep it, Professor?"

"As long as necessary, Wood," she said, with an air of finality. "I promise we will have it cleared as soon as possible. You may go."

Oliver, casting a regretful glance over his shoulder, left in a slouch, muttering under his breath.

***

"Professor Lupin?"

Remus looked up from a particularly ill-written paper on simple hexes, and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hermione," he said. "Come in, sit down."

He laid down his quill and stretched, popping a few stubborn vertebrae in his back. She sidled through the open door of his office and sat on the edge of a chair, letting her book bag fall to the floor. It made rather a louder thud than he expected, and he noticed it was full almost to bursting with books.

A conversation with Hermione Granger, on anything, was bound to be a welcome relief from papers. She reminded him of himself when he was a student -- well, all right, a bossier, louder, less tactful version of himself -- really, she was more like James. Still, he liked intelligence in a student, and Hermione had that in spades.

"Did you have a question?" he asked, folding his hands on his desk and leaning forward slightly. She looked tired -- closer to exhausted -- and her face was pale, eyes nervous.

"I...um...about the assignment for Thursday..." she said.

"Was something unclear?" he asked, worried. If Hermione was confused, he could expect mystified befuddlement from the rest of the class.

"No, I was wondering..." she looked down at her knees. "ficodaveanstenshn."

He tried to make sense of what sounded like a spell gone wrong. "I'm sorry?" he asked.

"I was wondering if I could have an exension," she said, slower but no louder.

He sat back and regarded her. "Are you ill?" he asked. She shook her head. "Have you been called out of school?"

"No," she said softly.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but it's school policy not to -- oh, blast."

He fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief as she began to cry, quietly and with more dignity than one normally expected a thirteen-year-old girl to possess. He crouched by the chair and offered it; she took it, stared at it for a moment, and then crumpled it in her hands, twisting it in her lap.

"There's just so much work and I haven't had t-t-time to go to the library and I can't find anything on the topic and..." she trailed off into another discreet but heartfelt stream of tears.

"Minerva told me you're taking a heavy course load," he said, then bit his tongue. "Headmistress McGonagall," he corrected, hoping she hadn't noticed, "did have reservations -- "

"I can do it!" she said defiantly. He took the handkerchief away from her and dabbed at her face.

"I've no doubt, but there's no shame in not doing it," he said, wishing Dumbledore was here. He'd barely encountered children at all before Hogwarts, how did one deal with a blotchy-faced, defiant teenage girl?

"But I can," she insisted. "Just a weekend extension, I promise I'll have it on Monday, I can even turn it in Sunday night..."

He sighed and put the handkerchief back in her hands. She swiped at her eyes with it.

"It's just Ron and Harry won't talk to me and that means Dean and Seamus don't want to and I was only trying to help," she continued, sniffling every few words. "I don't want Harry to die!"

He smiled. "None of us wants that, Hermione. Harry and Ron are being arses, I'm afraid, but that's not unusual at their age. They'll grow out of it. Most of us do."

She tried to match his smile, only half-succeeding. "You weren't ever like them, were you?"

He thought, reservedly, of a few times when he desperately wished he'd opened his mouth and said something to James.

"As a matter of fact, I was," he answered. "I was probably worse. There now, that's amusing, isn't it?"

She nodded, and blew her nose noisily. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make a scene -- "

"Nonsense," he said, sensing vaguely that this might not be the most appropriate thing to say, but not having any better ideas. "Now, about this extension..."

"Please, you can take points for lateness. I'll write an extra-long essay to make up for it," she said desperately.

"I tell you what, I'll give you until Sunday night, you can slide it under my door. But I really do think you should at least consider lightening your workload, Hermione. Between you and me and the grindylow, Divination isn't worth your time, and Muggle Studies is ridiculous when you were raised in the Muggle world." He straightened. "You look a bit better now. Run on and get some rest. And that's an assignment, not a request," he added. She smiled, and shyly offered him the damp handkerchief back.

"Thanks," she said, in the doorway. "I'm sorry -- "

"Don't be sorry, Hermione," he interrupted. "Just have the paper to me by Sunday, and get some sleep in the meantime."

She nodded and vanished out the door, leaving him with a damp square of cloth and the feeling that there were probably better ways to handle this.

***

"My god. Possible murders, upset students, civil wars, and it's only January."

Minerva smiled as she continued answering her correspondence, seated at the large writing desk in her private study. Remus was slouched in one of her chairs, feet propped on another, eyes closed, hands folded on his stomach.

"And it's full moon next week," he moaned. "This job should come with sedatives."

"You look fairly sedate already," she observed. He opened his eyes and turned his head to grin at her.

"Not for me," he answered. "For the students. I had someone weeping in my office today."

"Really? Who? No -- don't tell me," she held up a hand to stop him. "Student privacy."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Headmistress," he replied.

"What did you say to them?"

"Not much really. What do you generally say?"

She dipped her quill in the inkwell. "Depends on the student. And the problem."

"Speaking of problems, did you know the Gryffindor boys are ostracising Hermione Granger?"

She looked up sharply. "Why on earth would they do that?"

"Might have something to do with this," he said, gesturing to Harry's Firebolt, which at the moment was suspended in a tank of gelatinous orange liquid. It was supposed to leech out any harmful hexes. It looked like the biggest fruit cup he'd ever seen.

"Ridiculous boys," Minerva muttered.

"Well, it was rather a sneak thing to do, you know."

"It was the right thing to do," she replied, in the same tone of voice he'd used. "Besides, she spends entirely too much time running about with Potter and Weasley as it is. It'll do her good to socialise with the other girls."

"How delightfully parochial!" he cried. "You don't mean that, do you?"

"I do. I don't think Hermione's attitudes are entirely healthy. Of course she's the smartest witch in her year, but intelligence will only ever do her so much good if she can't talk to people. Perhaps it's not so much that she should spend more time with the girls, as she should simply spend less time with two particular boys. And one particular professor," she added. He frowned.

"A professor?" he asked. She gave him a small smile.

"Surely you've noticed? She hasn't much time to spare, but she always manages to hang about after Dark Arts..." Her smile widened when she saw his confusion. "She fancies you."

"She does not!"

"She does. I'm willing to bet she's not the only one. It's one of the perils of being youthful and charming," she added. He leaned his head on the edge of the chair.

"Minerva."

"Yes?"

"Please put your quill down, stop being rational, and come here and kiss your admirer."

She smiled. "One more letter."

"You murder me." Remus clutched his chest. "He asked for a kiss and instead she wrote a letter. So be it. How was your day?"

"Well, I taught classes, ate lunch, yelled at Oliver Wood, and made myself radically unpopular with the Gryffindor Quidditch team, which is quite a lot to accomplish in an afternoon."

"I hate January," he decided. "It's cold and boring."

"At least it's almost over," Minerva answered, quill scratching away on parchment. "Not that February will be that much more interesting, I imagine, but -- "

" -- it'll be shorter," he finished.

"There is that."

He closed his eyes again, and slouched down a little further in the chair, listening to the sound of her writing -- the pleasant scritscrit of the nib on the paper, the occasional clink when she dipped it in the inkpot. It was so easy to just stop thinking for a while...

He woke from a half-doze to hear her folding paper, and when he opened his eyes the room had grown considerably dimmer.

"Enjoy your nap?" she asked.

"I wasn't napping. Professors do not nap," he replied.

"Gathering your thoughts for a lecture, then?"

"Precisely."

"So the snoring -- "

"Professors also do not snore."

She lifted an eyebrow. He grinned and slid awkwardly out of the chair, stretching. "Have we missed dinner?"

"I rang for a house-elf to bring some up," she answered, gesturing at a covered tray on a nearby table. He lifted it and presented her with a bowl of soup and a plate of hot fresh bread.

"It's gone nine already," he noted, glancing at her clock. "Remind me to be cautious when I sneak out tonight."

"Or you could sneak out tomorrow morning," she said, spreading butter on a slice of bread. He watched her. They hadn't had much spare time together since school had started again, and it was tacitly agreed that discretion would have to take more precedence than passion.

"I could," he agreed. "An early-morning consultation about some...troubled students."

"I am the Deputy Headmistress," she said.

"So, Deputy Headmistress McGonagall," he added, sliding his chair next to hers and stealing a piece of bread, "I was wondering if I could have your thoughts on some problems that I, as a junior faculty member, am having at Hogwarts..."

She smiled tolerantly as he kissed her neck before going back to eating. "Oh?"

"Yes, I've become infatuated with a fellow professor -- "

" -- Severus Snape? -- "

"Oh, it wouldn't do to tell," he whispered. "Leave the soup. Come consult with me."

He held out his hand and she took it, allowing him to pull her close as he stood.

"January's suddenly gotten better," he murmured, leading her away from the table.

Continue to Part 3

Comments

[coyotegoth.livejournal.com]

"First and last time I...take one for the team..." he winced, hand going to the buttons on his collar.

You, sir, have NO SHAME WHATSOEVER (as if today's songifc didn't make that abundantly clear!)

Love it! :D

[ineptshieldmaid.livejournal.com]

oooh, this is really lovely... :D

[illereyn.livejournal.com]

Love this story. Your characterisations are absolutely splendid.