Year In The Life, 1 of 3

[sam_storyteller]

Rating: PG-13 (Lupin/McGonagall)
Summary: Lupin and McGonagall build a tenuous but important relationship together during the year of Prisoner of Azkaban.
Author's Note: This odd perspective on PoA probably wouldn't have been completed without the feedback, edits, and support from my regular LJ readers, to whom I owe all gratitude. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Warnings: None.

Also available at AO3.

I. Most Of Gryffindor

Minerva McGonagall was not used to feeling shame. She had decided long ago, before she became a teacher -- though the decision was excellent preparation -- that shame was an emotion for people who were wrong, and she was not going to be wrong, ever.

She'd grown out of never being wrong, of course, you had to, but she had then made the decision that if she was going to be wrong, she was going to be wrong for the right reasons.

And, if she looked, deep down, this was one of those times; she'd been wrong, but she'd been thinking of the children, and of Dumbledore's reputation. What made this different was that she'd been wrong about a person, in ways that could have caused him serious trouble.

But it was so easy to remember Lupin as a mischievous youngster, tagging behind James Potter and Sirius Black but ahead of Peter Pettigrew, in the little gang the four had formed. Well-fed, a decent student, a cheerful boy with a penchant for escaping trouble, unlike his partners in crime. But also irresponsible, and easily influenced; unable to control James and Sirius as they'd hoped he would when they made him Prefect.

He was a werewolf, a danger to himself and others for one night in every twenty-eight, and therefore also useless as a teacher during that time and during his recuperation. And then there was the fact that he was a friend of Sirius Black, and recognizably good with Dark Arts, and nobody knew how Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban.

So it was perhaps surprising to Dumbledore, though it shouldn't have been, that after a few preliminary objections Severus Snape had merely sneered and gone about his business when the new Dark Arts professor was hired. Minerva McGonagall, on the other hand, had tried every argument, ploy, and tactic in her power to get Lupin barred from teaching at Hogwarts.

That was before he'd defended Harry on the train. His owl to her about the incident had been sensible and businesslike. And then she'd seen him -- gaunt, already going grey, sunken-eyed, in patched robes and carrying a briefcase tied together with twine, for the love of Merlin. At least, she thought, no matter what else, Hogwarts might put some flesh on his bones.

Most stunningly of all, he'd become a popular teacher. The children liked him, were more or less obedient, and actually seemed to be learning something in his classes. He was unfailingly polite to the other teachers, gracious to Severus -- who happened to drop him a cutting remark or an icy glare every time they met -- and he deferred to their authority as a junior teacher.

All of which led her to the conclusion that she had been wrong, and the unfortunate accompanying shame that came with having mistrusted one of her own former students. And so now she stood outside the door to his office -- noticing how carefully he'd charmed the name on the door, neat and even -- and knocked.

"Just a moment," came a voice from the other side, hoarse but cheerful. There was a crash, as of something being knocked over, and then the door was pulled open.

She could see, in his face, traces of the boy he'd been. Now that he'd had a few square meals -- Merlin alone knew what he'd been living on before arriving at Hogwarts -- he didn't look quite so much like the survivor of a starvation diet. He brushed his hair out of his face and smiled at her easily.

"Deputy Headmistress, come in," he said, stepping back and picking up a chair as she entered, placing it on its legs again. "Just erm...still getting everything sorted...well, they were sorted, but I was doing some research -- I'm sure you know how that goes -- pardon the mess..."

He gestured around the room, and she saw that several stacks of books were sorting and shelving themselves with deliberate care.

"Do sit down. I was -- tea -- " he lifted up a pile of books and produced a battered tin. "Care for some?" he asked, breathlessly.

"That would be nice, thank you," she replied, settling onto the chair he'd recently righted.

"I'd meant to come speak to you before now, but I'm afraid between the grading and settling in, and of course classes..." He shook his head. "Well. I could wish for three more hours in a day. I'm not used to this much activity. I do like it, though."

He pointed his wand at an elderly kettle, and it whistled; he dropped one of the tea-bags in and produced two shabby but serviceable cups from a shelf.

"I've only honey and lemon," he said apologetically.

"A little lemon, please," she answered. "Did you have something in particular you wished to see me about?"

"Oh! No," he answered, passing her one of the cups. She sipped, and he leaned against the shelf, studying his own. "No, I just thought I ought to make sure there weren't any complaints about me -- above and beyond what Dumbledore warned me to expect," he added with a wry smile.

"Quite the opposite," she replied. "You seem to be a favourite among the students."

He flushed with pride, and dropped his head a little until the hair fell across his eyes; she remembered the gesture from when he'd been a student. "I thought they seemed to be enjoying...but you never really know."

"Teaching is not," she said with a small smile, "for the insecure."

He glanced up sharply, as if she'd been reading his mind.

"I came to speak to you because of the success of your classes," she said, wondering how to begin. She was unused to apologising. "You appear to have overcome nearly everyone's doubts."

"Everyone but Severus, eh?" he asked, a spark of mischief still in his eyes.

"Severus...did not overtly object to your hire," Minerva continued. "I'm sure he wasn't happy about it, but he didn't say much in the end."

"But Dumbledore told me that the faculty -- "

"Some of the faculty," she corrected smoothly, "felt that your link to Sirius Black, your...past history at Hogwarts, and yes, your lycanthropy...would be stumbling blocks."

"I just assumed he meant Severus."

"No. He meant me."

He looked as if she'd slapped him, and set his tea down slowly. "I see. Erm. No, actually, I don't." His brow creased. "You came here, because I've done so well, to tell me that you don't want me here?"

"No. I came to...apologise," she said. "For fighting your appointment to Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor."

He was silent for a few long minutes.

"Transfiguration was my favourite class when I was at school here," he said, finally. "Everything I know about how to be a good teacher, I learned from you. I'm glad you approve of the way I'm teaching." A pause. "You er...you do approve, don't you?"

"Yes. I do."

"Ah. Good." He picked up his tea, fiddled with the handle of the cup. "I don't blame you, you know. You're certainly not the first."

"It was very wrong of me to judge you solely on my memories of you at school, and your friendship with -- "

"Yes, well, as I said. You're not the first," he said swiftly. "You will probably not be the last. I appreciate your honesty."

They lapsed into silence. He drew a breath to speak, stopped, sipped, drew another breath.

"D'you know, James fancied you," he said with a small smile. She blinked. "Most of Gryffindor did. And I reckon a good percentage of Ravenclaw, too."

"I hardly see how -- "

"Just thought you'd like to know. An honesty for an honesty. It's not often you get to talk to your teachers as an equal -- more or less. Or to a former student, for that matter."

She nodded. "Remus, I do believe you've grown up."

He laughed, and it turned into a cough halfway through. He sipped tea hurriedly. "I should hope so. If not, I've wasted my time scandalously."

She finished her tea and set it on the desk. He watched her with amused brown eyes.

"I do appreciate what you've said," he murmured, as she stood to go.

"Good," she said briskly. "I'll leave you to your work."

She made it to the door before curiousity got the best of her. She sensed that no matter how surprised he would be by the question, he would never, ever take advantage of her asking it. He was deft about preventing misunderstanding or upset feelings, almost to the point of absurdity.

"Remus," she said, standing in the doorway. "Did most of Gryffindor...include you?"

He looked up from his tea. "What? Oh. Yes," he said frankly, with a warm smile. "Indeed. But then I suppose everyone fancies their teacher sooner or later, eh?"

"I suppose so," she answered.

"I'll see you at breakfast. Minerva," he added, with something like the old boyish daring.

She smiled and shut the door, fingers lingering on the knob for a minute before she started down the hallway, towards her quarters.

***

II. Question and Answer

"Professor McGonagall!"

Minerva McGonagall, moving towards the dining hall amidst a sea of hungry students, stopped mid-pace. She knew who the voice belonged to before she turned -- the mixture of student-like respect and professorial authority could only belong to one person.

"Professor Lupin," she said, with a small smile, as he caught up with her. He grinned and tossed hair out of his eyes, and for the thousandth time she was reminded of the student he'd been, twenty years before. "Did you need to speak with me?"

"Oh I -- yes -- " he dodged a second-year dashing to be early for dinner, and called an absent "No running in the hallways, Creevy!" after them. "Sorry, I'm eating in my rooms tonight, papers to grade, you know how it is, and I wanted to ask if I might drop by later. I wanted to..." he looked uncomfortable. "Er, pick your brain on a certain topic. Animagi," he said, dropping his voice so that only she could hear. It was no secret that Professor McGonagall was an animagus, of course, but she appreciated the courtesy. Then again, Remus Lupin would be the one to treat that sort of thing carefully.

"Of course, though I can't imagine I could supply anything other than personal anecdotes," she replied. He shrugged.

"I thought it might take less time if I went to the source," he continued. "If you're uncomfortable with it, of course I can do the research myself..."

"No, that's fine, I trust your discretion. With what questions you ask," she continued, a slight edge creeping into her voice.

"Certainly. Thank you," he finished. "Ah, I see Miss Granger, I need a word with her also. If you'll excuse me -- is nine o'clock all right?"

"Nine o'clock will be fine," she said as he turned to go. She watched, students still passing her, as he caught up to Hermione and touched her arm to get her attention. They exchanged a few words; he seemed to smile in relief; she continued on and he turned down a side corridor, heading towards his rooms.

She frowned, curious as to why he would have questions about animagi -- it wasn't as though he could become one, after all -- but continued on to dinner, for the most part unconcerned.

***

He arrived promptly, and came bearing gifts; a tin of biscuits from Honeyduke's and a smaller one of tea.

"Gratitude in advance," he said, as he set the biscuit-tin on the desk in her office. She smiled, more able to act at home with the man now that they weren't standing in a corridor full of students. "Though I should warn you this is a new brand that they're testing out..." he shook the tea. "According to the side of the tin, it has alcohol pre-added. I confiscated it from -- "

" -- the Weasley twins?"

He tapped his nose. "Got it in one. Apparently it's mild but quite flavourful."

She gestured him into a chair and conjured two delicate white teacups and two fine wire-mesh strainers. He measured out a scoop of the loose tea into each while she heated a kettle, pouring while he pried the lid from the biscuit tin.

"So," she said, in her best Lecturing Professor voice. "You had some questions for me about Animagi?"

He nodded, and took the teacup when she offered it. "Yes, I...well. I was wondering. I've not dealt much with Animagi in any official capacity, that is to say..." he shook his head. "In the many and varied jobs I've been fired from over the years, I've handled boggarts and red caps and the rest, but not many Animagi."

"I wouldn't imagine so. It's not as though we're particularly prone to violence."

"Unlike werewolves," he said with a small smile. "I was wondering if there was any way to detect an Animagus in human form."

She pursed her lips, thinking. "Not that I know of, and I'd think I would know. Of course, sometimes the animal form takes on characteristics of the human form, or vice versa, but it's very rare. I did know one whose nose changed entirely after his first transformation -- poor man turned into a penguin..."

"A penguin!" Lupin said, with a laugh. "Hard luck to him."

She shrugged. "He was always fond of formal wear." Lupin blinked, and she smiled again. "That was a joke, Remus."

"Oh -- of course..." he sipped his tea. "Blimey. I'm going to have to ask the boys where they got this," he said. She tried it.

"That is rather good."

"The tin's yours. Compliments of Fred and George Weasley," he grinned. "Ahm...on the topic of Animagi transformations...is there any way to force a transformation? From animal to human?"

"I believe there's a potion. You could ask Severus."

"Perhaps I'll bribe someone to ask him. We...don't get on well."

"No, I would imagine not."

"What about..." he leaned forward, growing more serious. "Would there be a way to flush an animagus out of hiding? A spell you could cast to reveal where they were?"

"There is a very old spell, not reliable at all. It's closer to an expelliarmus -- it would only work at close range, say in quite a small room. Can I ask..." she set her tea down. "Can I ask why you need to know?"

"Oh, I was thinking of doing a class unit on Animagi -- "

" -- it's not Dark Arts, you know," she said sharply. He froze.

"I know, oh, yes -- I know that, but historically many Dark Wizards -- I just thought the children ought to be informed. A sort of...Defence Against The World At Large unit, as it were," he said quickly. "I was just mulling it over. Though it doesn't sound like there's much to tell," he added. "I -- uh -- thank you for your time..."

He spilled his tea as he rose to go, and cursed softly to himself. She stood also, and offered him a handkerchief, which he took gratefully.

"It's not like you to be clumsy," she observed. He brushed at the dark tea-stain on his waistcoat.

"Sorry I...well you know..." he looked up at her, tongue-tied. "I didn't mean to imply, Minerva, that you were in any way -- "

"It's all right," she said, surprising herself. "You're right about the history."

"Inexcusable..." he muttered. He held up the handkerchief, now also stained with tea. "I'll have this washed..."

"Is there something else on your mind?" she asked curiously. She saw the fingers of his free hand twitch.

"No. Just lessons. School. And that," he said quickly. She crossed her arms.

"By god, you've gotten good at that," he observed. "If I were still eleven you'd have scared me to death."

"Did you actually come here tonight to talk about Animagi?" she asked.

"Yes...why else would I...?"

She was silent. He swallowed.

"There's something else you're worried about," she said, after a pause. He nodded. "Is it a student? Sometimes they do come to us when they're in trouble."

"No, it's..." he put a hand to his face, fingers tracing across his cheekbone, over his mouth. "It's Sirius," he said, finally. "Sirius Black."

Of course. She should have known. She should have realised. She walked around the desk and took the handkerchief from his hand. He watched her warily.

"You were friends," she said. "Close friends, if I recall correctly."

"I thought I knew him," he said, almost absently.

"You must know part of the reason Dumbledore contacted you was to bring you here. To protect you," she observed.

"I'm not afraid for myself. I could always beat him, if I needed to," Remus continued. "It's just having him loose...knowing that he might try to come for Harry, or that he might make a try for me. Harry worries me more. He's so small, Minerva. He's so young. I don't know if I can protect him -- "

"Did it occur to you that it's not your personal job to protect him?" she asked.

"Who else does he have?"

"Dumbledore. Myself. The wards on Hogwarts are very powerful."

"They didn't stop him from getting in, did they? When he slashed the Pink Lady?" He ran his hand through his hair, brushing it back. "And then, I walk into a classroom and someone has a Daily Prophet -- and there's his face. Staring at me. It hardly looks like him anymore. But it's his face, and it's everywhere. He killed James and Lily and Peter, you know..."

She heard his voice crack and saw the last shred of calm fall away -- saw the professional, cheerful, gracious professor dissolve into a frightened man who'd nowhere else to turn.

Minerva McGonagall did something she hadn't done to a colleague in years, and certainly never to a student. She reached out, drew him close, and hugged him.

He was taller than her, but she pulled his head down until his face was pressed against her hair, held his thin, sinewy body until his own arms wrapped around her shoulders, and she absorbed the shivers running through him.

She could hear his breathing, low and shallow, easing slowly, some of the tension leaving his body. He was frightened, and he'd come to her.

He was surprisingly solid and warm; anyone looking at the man would think a strong wind could knock him over, but there was a strength there she could feel -- and understand. She had the same herself.

"It's all right," she soothed quietly. "They'll catch him."

"I'm not sure if I'm more afraid that they don't, or that they do," he said, releasing her shoulders and stepping back slightly. His face was dry; she had the strong suspicion that he hadn't wept in a long time. "I'm very sorry," he continued. "You must think I'm a fool."

"Not at all."

"I didn't mean..."

"Remus Lupin, stop being a sop," she said, with a smile. He managed a weak one in return.

"Thank you, Minerva," he murmured. "I...I appreciate your understanding."

"Nonsense. I'd do the same for anyone," she lied. He nodded, and she knew he'd seen through the lie.

"I should go," he added. "I'll consider what you've told me when preparing my lesson plan."

"If you need anything else, don't hesitate to call," she agreed, as he moved towards the doorway. "And Remus..."

He turned back, patient and calm and utterly without emotion in the open doorway, hand on the doorknob.

"You will have to help me finish off this tea, some time," she said, holding the tin in one hand.

"It would be my pleasure," he answered, closing the door behind him as he left.

***

III. Looking

The library of Hogwarts School was a bright, warm place to sit and study, purposefully so; it was designed to encourage students to spend their time there, as long as they were quiet and orderly about it. As a student, Minerva had loved the library, and over her years as a teacher at the school she had come to know every inch of it. She had a spot she always went to read in, just behind the more advanced books on Magical Creatures, near a window that looked out onto the Quidditch Pitch.

She looked up when she heard footsteps, too heavy to be one of the younger students; probably a fifth or sixth year doing research for a paper. They were carrying candles, by the look of the light sliding along the hall corridor; she'd have to reprimand them for that, whoever they were.

She kept quiet as the tall figure rounded the corner and turned to face the bookshelf -- he hadn't seen her, and she was just as glad of that. Remus Lupin stood in front of the shelf, one hand absently scratching the back of his head, the other, palm up, holding a small ball of green flame. It turned his greying-brown hair a deep, almost copper colour, and picked out the threadbare patches on his white shirt -- a Hogwarts school shirt. It looked as though he'd raided the school's lost-and-found for any Hogwarts uniform shirts that would fit him, and some that didn't, quite. The one he had on was a size too big for his gaunt frame.

Certainly after nearly two months at the school, drawing good salary, he couldn't be so poverty-stricken as all that, she thought; perhaps his scrounging was habit. She could well understand why he didn't wear robes when he didn't have to. One more thing that would wear out, fall apart, need patching.

He ran the fingers of one hand across the book spines, illuminating their titles more brightly with the small green flames, taking down two slim volumes. Finally he reached a gap where Minerva herself had taken out a book, ten minutes before. He let out a little sigh of frustration.

"Looking for this?" she asked, and he started so badly that the flame went out, shrouding his face in shadow.

"Bloody, give me a heart attack," he said, clutching his chest dramatically. "How long have you been there?"

"About twenty minutes," she answered. "I think I've got the book you want."

He cocked his head at the book, lying on the study table, turning so that he was reading it only partly upside-down. "That's the one," he replied, setting the other two books down and circling the table to lean over her shoulder. She began to close the book, but he put out a hand to stop her.

"All I really need is a reference," he said, more to himself than to her, marking her place and flipping pages deftly. "I'm working on a lesson about handling dark creatures used in transformative charms -- thought it might be a nice class for Hallowe'en. Here we are..."

He bent further forward, eyes scanning the text, face now on a level with hers. "Selkies shed their skin and I know it's used in the Proteus Curse, but I wasn't positive how..."

"I believe it's worn like a cloak," she said, following his finger as it ran over the writing.

"No, I think that's a different charm altogether -- this is a curse, they don't work so well if you have to force the victim -- ah, perhaps this is it."

"Oh, I recall this now. It's mainly for use in making sure transfigured wizards stay that way, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yes, that's the one." He turned his head to smile at her, and their faces were suddenly very close together; she could see the black rings of his pupils in his brown eyes. She waited patiently for him to speak, but he just stayed there, head tilted slightly. She watched as a faint blush spread across his cheeks, and he turned his head away, clearing his throat.

"But I'm nearly sure Skamander says elsewhere that it's not accurate..." he murmured, reaching out to turn a page, and she stopped him gently.

"Remus," she asked, quietly. "Did you want to kiss me?"

His whole body tensed.

"Yes," he answered.

"Why didn't you?" she said, as if asking a student a particularly complex question.

"It would be inappropriate," he said, still looking down at the book.

"Is that all?"

He bowed his head a little in a gesture she'd seen once or twice since he'd returned to Hogwarts -- his hair would fall across his face, and you couldn't see his eyes. It was his way of hiding.

"You mightn't have liked it," he whispered.

"Or I might have."

She heard him catch his breath.

"You wouldn't have known unless you'd tried," she continued, closing the book. "I think you ought to forget Skamander, he was researching for a children's textbook and he's likely to simplify things. Try Bios' monograph on Selkies, they stock copies of it in Flourish and Blotts."

"Certainly. Thank you, Minerva," he said, stepping back as she stood and straightened her robe, picking up the book. She smiled.

"We're not equals, Remus, but we're on the same footing," she said, slowly. "We're both teachers. We're both human."

He rubbed his neck again, and smiled faintly. "Neither of us completely, on the other hand."

She matched his smile. "I'll leave you to your research," she said, vanishing into the stacks. She could hear him mutter something to himself, and then the quiet rustle of books being opened.

***

IV. Visitor

It wasn't as though it was unknown, among the faculty, what Remus Lupin was. They had all been sworn to secrecy by Dumbledore; Severus Snape nearly twenty years ago, the rest...more recently. At first there had been some dark grumblings about marking calendars and wearing silver, but Lupin proved a polite man who never lost his temper, and soon most of the faculty stopped noting when the full moon was up -- especially since Remus so rarely dined in the great hall in the first place.

He was a solitary figure, not yet accustomed to the faculty routine, still retaining some boyhood awe of the others, most of whom had taught him as a student. Minerva could see him smile when a student addressed him as professor, as if bemused to find himself in such a position at Hogwarts, where he'd grown up.

She'd taken to watching him lately; it had really started after her visit in September, when she'd apologised for fighting his appointment to professor. She hadn't been aware of it until recently, though. They had become...if not friends, then at least closer acquaintances. She sensed they shared an intellectualism that also seemed to link him to his students, a love of learning that few were able to communicate well.

She already knew the house elves wouldn't go into his rooms; they said it smelled wrong, and they were frightened to clean there. She didn't blame them, though all she smelled in his office, the few times she'd been, was orange tea and dry paper.

She knocked gently on the door to his rooms, a few hallways down from the entrance to Gryffindor tower. As with his office, he had charmed the name on the door with a fussy perfection that made her think he must be rather more proud of his position at the school than the scruffy threadbare robes and scuffed shoes would show.

"Come in," came a voice, magically magnified through the door. Minerva pushed it open and peered into the narrow, many-windowed sitting room. Every curtain was thrown wide, and the windows themselves were flung open. The room smelled of cut grass from outside, and yes -- there was the orange tea that Lupin drank like a fiend.

And quite a lot of dust, she saw, disapprovingly. If the house elves wouldn't do it, the man might shift for himself. Still, the room was tidy, she couldn't fault him there.

He appeared in the doorway, wrapping a scarlet robe around his patched white pajamas. At least the robe looked new.

"Headmistress, this is a..." he stopped, coughing. "A pleasant surprise," he finished. His cheeks were hollow but his eyes were bright and warm, almost affectionate. "You'll excuse me...I've just woken."

"I'm sorry, if I had known -- " she began, but he held up a hand.

"You didn't wake me. I was expecting Severus, in fact. He usually checks up on me to make sure I haven't killed anyone in the night."

She looked at him, taken aback, and he smiled. "My little joke. I think he feels...responsible. For making sure the potion works. There was one time it didn't, oh, nearly a year ago now -- I didn't have so reliable a brewmaster as our good Professor Snape. It took me a week to recover." His eyes faded, slightly. "One doesn't bounce back from these things at thirty-four the way one does at fourteen. Would you like tea? Broth for me, I'm afraid..."

"We always seem to end up with tea, don't we?" she asked with a small smile, to cover the mild horror at the thought of how calmly he accepted this. He moved like a man twice his age but still gracefully, as he prepared hot water and added some sort of bluish powder to his cup and a tea-bag to hers.

"Lemon, yes?" he asked, and she nodded, accepting the cup from him. He dropped into a chair, pulling the robe across his legs. "To what do I owe this pleasure? I hope my students haven't been disruptive."

"No, not at all. I merely thought you might enjoy some company. Professor Snape gave me to understand you usually spent the day in your rooms."

"He does so delight in discussing my infirmity," Remus murmured, without quite as much good humour as earlier. "Still, I have nothing but gratitude for his services, so I suppose I might overlook a...character flaw or two."

"Or two dozen," Minerva replied, before she thought about it. He laughed, hoarsely.

"Headmistress! I'm sure I didn't hear you remark upon the personality of one of your most dedicated junior faculty," he said, sipping his broth. "What a very Gryffindor sentiment -- appreciate the man, whether or not you actually like him."

"I am a Gryffindor," she replied.

"As am I," he answered. "Though I never made a very good showing of it, out in the world. Somehow mindless bravery never appealed to me."

"I hear that you did all right for yourself. You traveled, didn't you?"

"Extensively," he replied. "If not for the conscious choice to have no home, the word 'homeless' might indeed apply. However, I believe the term on my records is 'itinerant'. Gypsy destroyer of boggarts, capturer of household pests, small and large, occasional rescuer of damsels in distress, though come to think of it that was just the once. It wasn't much of a living, but it kept me on the move. Kept, if you'll excuse the expression, the wolves from my door."

She listened as he spun out a story about a wrestling match with a vampire in Sweden, which from Gilderoy Lockhart's mouth would have sounded ridiculous and egotistical, but which, told in Remus Lupin's easy manner simply seemed entertaining. She matched it with one of her own, about a summer spent in the wilds of Africa, studying African shape-shifters in preparation for her own Animagus transformation.

"Now I've a question for you," he said, as she finished the story, both her tea and his broth long since finished. "Did you choose your animal, or did it choose you?"

"I've never thought," she answered. "It's sort of muddled, you see, remembering the process; it all runs together after this long. I quite like being a cat. It would be interesting to hunt up the rest of the registered animagi and ask. I would reckon it depends on the person."

"Yes, I suppose so. I know Peter was -- " he stopped, as if he'd said too much. After a second, he recovered. "Peter was planning on becoming one," he finished weakly. "Peter Pettigrew, I mean. He wanted to be a hawk, but..." he shrugged. "Idle curiousity. Perhaps there's a paper in it."

"Perhaps so," she answered. "Will you be teaching again tomorrow, do you think?"

"Oh, I should think so. A good night's sleep will do the world of good, it always does." He glanced down at his empty cup. "I just finished giving that lesson I was researching, you remember -- the Selkies. That monograph you recommended was extremely helpful. I find I learn as much as I teach," he added, gesturing to what were clearly lesson plans, laid out on a desk.

"You seem to enjoy it."

"Oh, I do. I hope -- " he set his cup on a nearby table. " -- I hope I'll be allowed to stay on. Next year, I mean."

"The children like you."

"I like them."

"The mark of a good teacher."

He smiled. "Thank you. As I've said," he added, standing as she did, "I learned it from you."

"I'll leave you to your planning," she said with a smile, and turned to the door.

"Minerva, wait," he called. She stopped and glanced back inquiringly.

"Thank you for coming," he said, formally. "I enjoyed this, very much. You're far superior company to Severus. Not saying much, I know, but...I can't imagine anyone I'd rather have visit."

She nodded. "You owe me a visit, now, I believe. I still have that tea you took from Fred and George."

"Perhaps...I'm chaperoning the children to Hogsmeade next weekend, and...and Saturday I am sure I shall be a wreck."

"Saturday evening, then," she answered. "Good afternoon, Remus."

"Good afternoon, Minerva," he replied.

The smell of cut grass and the taste of orange tea remained with her all afternoon.

***

V. Elegance of Spirit

"You know, I really do think if I paid closer attention to Fred and George, I could feed myself without having to spend any cash at all," Remus Lupin said, settling comfortably into a chair in Minerva McGonagall's spacious sitting room. The digs for House Heads, he had to admit, were a lot larger than for junior faculty, although he couldn't imagine what he'd have done with this much space. "I could just take all the contraband they bring into school."

"As long as you didn't mind living on sweets and exotic exploding foods," she answered, sitting across from him at the small table.

"Perish the thought," he replied. "They're good lads, though. I really rather like them."

"Oh, they're smart enough," she sighed. "I could wish they applied themselves to less troublemaking."

"Still, if it hadn't been for them..." he lifted his cup, which smelled of tea and brandy. "And you know they do keep an excellent eye on the younger children."

"I imagine so. How did you enjoy your first trip chaperoning in Hogsmeade?"

He rolled his eyes expressively. "One trod-on foot from too much crowding in Honeyduke's, two children with not enough money, and a Butterbeer Incident that I would rather not discuss."

"You seem to have survived intact."

"Yes, it wasn't so bad all in all."

"And done some shopping of your own?"

He glanced down at the crisp white cuffs of a new dress shirt, and the new, unpatched waistcoat he wore. "Yes, I found I had more Galleons in my pockets than I would have expected. I'm unused to having a steady job where I'm paid every week. Besides, Malfoy really is becoming entirely unbearable. It's demoralising, having a boy who can't yet shave remarking on the state of my robes."

"For all his father's wealth, Draco Malfoy wouldn't know true elegance of spirit if it bit him," she said sharply. He smiled disarmingly at her.

"I shall take the compliment, and merely observe that I hope, some day, something does bite him," he replied. "Now I believe I was going to ask you to tell me about some adventure you had on the return trip from Africa, and then offer to swap you a story about a haunted grandfather clock in return."

They drank tea and told their stories, Remus flushing lightly after the third cup, murmuring that he'd best not have any more or he'd have to sneak back to his own rooms like a student out after curfew. Minerva, herself on her fourth cup, merely laughed quietly and agreed that it wouldn't do to be caught by Severus, who had a habit of prowling the halls.

"Why do you suppose he does it?" Remus asked, leaning his head against the wing of the chair. "I mean to say, why do you think he does any of it? He's a good teacher, the Slytherins seem to like him. Why is he such a bastard?"

Minerva tsked, and he touched a hand to his forehead in an apologetic salute. "Headmistress, I am quite sorry. But he really is, you know."

She shook a finger at him, but she was laughing, and he smiled, a particular warmth in the curve of his lips.

"It's good to be among people again," he said suddenly. "It's good to be able to make someone laugh. Although if you'd told me years ago that I'd be taking evening tea in Headmistress McGonagall's rooms, I'd have died of fright."

"Were you so scared of me, then?" she asked.

"No, I suppose...not scared. But the impropriety of it, as anything other than a Hogwarts teacher myself, might have prevented me."

She nodded, and saw the warmth in his smile spread to his eyes. "Do you remember," she said quietly, "what you said to me in the library about propriety?"

"Of course."

"And what you said to me a few months ago, about Gryffindor house?"

He nodded. "I believe," he said easily, "I said that when I was a student, most of the house was madly in love with you."

"You weren't quite that emphatic about it."

"I didn't know you then, not so well as I do now. Schoolboy crushes of course, of the worst sort, but there you have it."

"And now?"

"Oh yes," he answered. "I quite fancy you now, but I'd appreciate it if Minerva didn't tell Deputy Headmistress McGonagall that. I do still happen to be afraid of her."

She stared at him, until she saw he realised what he'd said.

"Does it strike you that perhaps one ought to limit the amount of alcoholic tea one drinks?" he asked, straightening, resting his arms on the table. She nodded slowly. "You told me that I'd never know whether you liked it or not unless I kissed you, implication being I was a coward for not seizing the moment," he said, musingly. "Once again, quite a Gryffindor sentiment."

"Are you considering it now?" she asked, surprised she could even find her voice.

"Yes, but I fear I oughtn't to. I never trust my instincts when drinking." His fingers traced small circles on the table, until she put one hand out to stop them. He looked up at her, sharply.

"Minerva, considering this rota we seem to be following, I do believe you are due to take my hospitality next, poor as it might be," he said, eyes drifting down to where she lightly touched his long-fingered hands.

"I'd like that."

"Would Friday be suitable?"

She smiled. "Friday would be lovely."

"Then I shall expect you on Friday, and see you at breakfast tomorrow," he said, standing and unnecessarily straightening his waistcoat. "Thank you for the tea, and the stories, and not pointing out how big a fool I just was."

She smiled, and watched him leave, walking steadily but slowly.

And then she gathered up the tea things, and put a lid on the brandy-tea tin, and cleaned and put them away neatly, hoping Remus did not run into Severus Snape on his way back to his rooms.

***

VI. Friday Hospitality

Perhaps it was some compulsion on his part, Minerva though, that Remus Lupin could not keep an entirely clean home.

He had dusted since she'd been last, and it wasn't as though the sitting room, with its many wide windows, was any kind of a mess; indeed, for bachelor quarters where the house-elves refused to go it was tidy and well-kept. But the books, which had been stacked neatly, were now in utter disarray. Almost none of them were on the shelves, a great many of them piled on his desk.

"Essays," he said by way of explanation, carefully carrying two cups of tea in one hand and a plate of scones in the other. He managed to deliver all three to the small round table that was the only empty surface in the room, between two wing-chairs stolen from a little-used reading room in the library. Scrounging furniture off the school was considered perfectly acceptable, especially for junior faculty. "A bad habit I picked up from Muggle academics."

"Essays? As if you were a student?" she asked with a smile.

"Well, never cease learning and all that, don't you know," he replied, dropping into the chair and turning slightly, so that he faced her. "Muggles are mad for essays. They have thousands of journals you can publish them in. I worked at an American university for nearly a year...caught the disease from them."

"What do you hope to prove by writing them?"

"Various things. In this case, that the transfigurative properties of certain potions are preferable to charms, as being more stable and less likely to fail at inopportune moments. There's a small medical journal out of St. Mungo's that might take it."

"Had anyone ever mentioned to you, Remus, that you are a bit of an odd duck?" Minerva asked. His smile widened.

"Odd wolf," he replied. "Bigger, and inclined to eat odd ducks."

"You seem quite inclined to joke about it, too."

He settled back in his chair. "To you, perhaps. You've shown you're capable of handling such an idea, and you would appear to have a...unique understanding."

"Because I'm an animagus."

"Well. Because you're you, I suspect, though that part doesn't hurt."

She regarded him as he ate his scone neatly. He matched her gaze, with the quiet curiousity that seemed an inherent part of him.

"You're fascinated by transformation, aren't you?" she asked, while he swallowed. He drank his tea and considered it.

"It is a large part of my life," he answered. "I could say the same about you -- you do teach the subject, after all."

"It is a particular talent of mine."

He nodded. "D'you know, the Greeks were obsessed by it? Gods turning people into trees and what not. Ovid wrote a whole book about it. Recording the transformative myths."

"Your travels do seem to have continued your education," she said.

"I doubt it could have been otherwise. I'm not designed for anything more than the intellectual life," he answered. "My one brief and painful encounter with real manual labor proved that. But I'm sure you understand -- you've been a teacher for many years yourself."

"I like learning, I suppose," she said, thoughtfully. "But I believe I've taught because I like teaching. I like forming childrens' thoughts, the way they see the world."

"What a terrifying idea," he replied.

Minerva smiled. "Like it or not, when you take the salary and the grades-book, you become a role model. You especially."

"Sorry?"

"You must know the children love your class. I do believe most of Gryffindor prefer it to any of their others."

He ducked his head a little, and she saw his fingers trace small circles on the arm of the chair. It was a nervous habit she'd noticed; she wondered if he did it when he was teaching.

"Dark Arts is naturally more interesting to children, I think," he said.

"Perhaps when taught correctly. I assume you've heard the horror stories from last year?"

He chuckled. "Professor Binns had some choice words about poor Lockhart, it's true."

Their conversation drifted to the usual topics -- classes, the children, the other professors -- until Remus stood to light several lamps in his sitting room, closing the wide windows against the cold.

"I should leave you to your essays," she said, also standing. He closed the last window neatly, flipped the latch on it, and turned back to face her.

"Minerva...I realise this is a very polite way to go about things, but do you suppose sooner or later we ought to stop dancing around the subject of..." he paused. "...our friendship?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well. Now is normally the time you mention that you owe me tea, and then I'll say yes, I'd like that very much, and we'll discuss the fact that Wednesday seems to be a good day..." he brushed his hair out of his eyes and, for once, met hers with a direct look. "We dance," he said softly.

"Is there anything wrong with dancing?" she asked, in reply.

"Minerva, would you have dinner with me?" he said impulsively. Before she could answer, he continued. "At Graves', in Hogsmeade? Next Thursday? At seven?"

She smiled and shook her head. He looked hurt, crestfallen.

"It's not your turn, Remus," she said. "Come have tea with me on Wednesday. Then ask me again."

He rubbed a hand across his jaw, distractedly. "I'm very nearly having a breakdown asking you once, you know."

"Then the practice will do you good," Minerva answered. "I shall see you at breakfast tomorrow, Remus."

She shut the door gently; he hadn't moved from where he stood, near the window. Once outside, in the corridor, she smiled as she walked back to her own rooms.

***

VII. Dancing

Remus Lupin stood outside the door of Minerva McGonagall's rooms, trying to breathe. He would have felt like a student called onto the carpet, except that...

Well, all right, he did, but only because he was nervous, and the only time he'd ever been this nervous was when he'd been in trouble at school. It was well and good to hunt kappas in Brazil and field the vicious academia of American universities, but another thing entirely to face Minerva McGonagall after thrice making an idiot of himself in front of her.

Have dinner with me. Of course she'd said no. She'd never actually admitted to anything more than a friendship with him -- though one that was deepening by the day and borne of a unique brand of honesty that only Minerva could pull off with a straight face.

But the truth was, when he'd said yes, he did want to kiss her, she hadn't said he ought to. She merely said he ought not to be a coward. When he'd told her he fancied her, she'd merely stared and agreed that he shouldn't drink too much spiked tea. When he'd asked her to dinner, she'd very gently said no, using the excuse that it wasn't his turn to provide the hospitality that their friendship was built around.

But she did tell you to ask again, he thought, as he raised a hand to knock on her door. She answered promptly, and he stepped inside amid the usual pleasantries exchanged by colleagues and friends on such occasions. They had almost developed a habit; he would sit in the wing-chair while she prepared the tea, and then they would share stories and occasionally gossip, over the magic brandy-spiked tea Remus had appropriated from the twins earlier in the year.

"Best be careful with that, this time around," Minerva said, as he sipped his tea slowly. He grinned and nodded.

"I promise," he replied. "I hear you had quite the exciting morning in class, today?"

She leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. "One of the fifths decided to adjust my assignment a little."

"Yes, we heard the screechings in my first-year class. What was it?"

"My best estimation is, a cross between the owl it was supposed to be and the turkey vulture they decided to make it instead."

"Now there's an unhappy creature," he laughed. "I believe I remember that lesson -- books into birds, yes?"

"In this case, a dozen outdated copies of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three," she answered. "Though by the time we turned the monstrosity back, it was some sort of awful adventure novel."

"I'd rather like to read that," he answered. "Bit keen on adventure novels."

"I'll lend it to you," she said. "But I want you to see this, as well. One of my NEWTs honours students came up with it in class yesterday." She rose and he followed her, intrigued, to the nearby desk on which sat something covered with a yellow cloth.

"She calls it Partial Transfiguration," she said, removing the cloth carefully. He regarded the object, fascinated.

"It's a Muggle turntable," he said, crouching to be on eye-level with the machine. "Where on earth did you find one of these?"

"How do you know what it is?"

"I encountered them when I was working in South America, once or twice. You don't actually own any LPs, do you? Other than the one on it now?"

"Any what?"

He put out a hand to touch it, and she pulled him back before the arm leapt up and snapped at him. He stared at the small black beak which he'd mistaken, briefly, for a needle.

"How...?" he turned to her. She picked up a jar and took out a scoopful of what appeared to be birdseed mixed with sunflower seeds. She poured the seed into a slot and rested the arm where the beak could reach in for some.

"She took a songbird -- see the feather pattern in the wood? -- and transfigured it only partially, on purpose. Feed it, and it makes music," she said. Remus was eyeing the black beak warily as it crunched up sunflower husks. Minerva picked up the arm and rested it on the turntable -- which he could now see was simply a black-grooved circle, not an LP at all. It began to spin.

A low warbling filled the room. He grinned, glancing at her.

"That's brilliant!" he said, straightening and putting his hands on his hips. "Does it play different -- "

He stopped as actual music began to overlay the warbling. The music was obviously scored for instruments, but each part was replaced by birdsong.

"It's a waltz," he said. He saw Minerva give him a surprised look. "Does it always play that?"

"No, it never seems to play the same thing," she answered.

"I have never seen anything quite like that," he laughed. "Listen! That's a dancing tune -- "

He didn't wait for her to reply, because she would have some safe, or possibly taunting, answer for him; instead he stepped forward and pulled her away from the desk, moving her into the fast waltz that the songbirds were playing.

She gasped as he swung her around, and he realised she probably hadn't danced in some time, though it was inconceivable to him that Minerva McGonagall did not know how to -- and he was right. After a few more steps she seemed to fall into the rhythm of the music, and they turned and turned, barely missing the desk, the table with their tea things, the wing-chair Remus had claimed as his. When the music finally stopped -- apparently the turntable was hungry again -- he was nearly breathless.

Minerva had continued moving for a second, bringing her closer than they'd been while dancing; his hand was still on her waist, and one of hers on his shoulder. It was the most natural thing in the world to bend his head slightly, and draw her forward, and kiss her. She was warm and curved into his arms, and she was kissing him back...

When she stepped away, he followed for just a second before letting her go.

"Yes," she said.

"What?" he asked. This situation had fast gone beyond his control.

"Yes, I will go to dinner with you tomorrow," she answered. "In Hogsmeade, at Graves', at seven."

"Oh," he said, stupidly. Then, "Good, that's -- that's good, I'm glad." He paused. "Would you mind terribly if I did that again?"

She was only halfway through "not at all" before he cupped her chin and kissed her a second time. And technically a third, though the pause between the two was hardly worth mention.

He felt her fingers on the collar of his shirt, gently pushing him back.

"Well," she said, "I see your continued education outside Hogwarts has extended past history and music."

He laughed and covered her hand in his.

"I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow," he said lightly, and kissed her once more. He brushed past her, turning to give her a last grin as he opened the door. "And in Hogsmeade at seven!"

He saw her put her hand to her lips, thoughtfully, before he closed the door.

***

VIII. A Walk In The Snow

It was coming on towards the holidays at Hogwarts and, while the week had been sunny, snow often fell overnight. Quite a lot of it had fallen the night Remus Lupin kissed Minerva McGonagall in her sitting room, and at breakfast even Severus Snape could not contain Lupin's good cheer.

"Be breaking up snowball fights before the day is through!" he said happily, devouring his breakfast. He and Snape were at opposite ends of the table to prevent the students from ever having to testify at a homicide hearing, but they both ate early enough that there was a regrettable lack of filled chairs between them. Snape merely glared. "Liked a good one myself on days like this -- not that I would ever tell the students that," he added, as a few of the senior professors looked at him askance.

The children noticed his good cheer and picked up on it, as students often do. By the end of the day there had been at least four snowball fights, including one which had ended in a charmed snowball soaring through a second-floor classroom, much to the disgust of the professor teaching the course.

"All right you lot, settle down!" Remus called, as he walked out into the courtyard. He ducked two snowballs and batted a third aside. "Weasley, Weasley, and Smith, don't think I didn't see who threw those," he added. "Come on, you'll get me in trouble with Dumbledore," he continued, wading into the fray and slowly petrifying those too rebellious to immediately comply. By the time he'd made it to the far side of the courtyard, it looked rather like some kind of Greek temple, full of statues dedicated to the God Of Warm Clothing.

"Points for imagination, Professor Lupin!" called a voice from one of the towers, and he turned, saluting with his wand.

"A pleasure to serve, Professor McGonagall," he called back.

Something wet and freezing hit him in the back of the head. He didn't look to see who had done it; he merely gave Minerva a contemplative look and then bent slowly, packing a large, hard snowball in his hands. He turned and tossed it up and down a few times.

Blaise Zabini was hiding behind one of the frozen students. Remus grinned.

"Don't dish it out if you can't take it, Zabini," he shouted, and hurled the snowball as the student began to run. The rest of them applauded as it knocked the unfortunate Blaise flat.

"I didn't spend seven years here without learning a few things," he announced, scooping up another handful of snow. "Anyone else care to try your luck?"

It was the cockiness that did him in, he decided, as a cascade of snow from McGonagall's windowsill landed on his head. By the time he'd recovered, one of the lucky students had unfrozen the others and they were dispersing. He helped a few of them get fully mobile again and then glanced up once more at Minerva's window before ducking inside to dry off and warm up.

He was perfectly dry, and already had his hands around a cup of hot coffee, by the time she arrived at Graves' cafe in Hogsmeade that evening. It was an unspoken agreement that they would meet there; both were private people, and neither wanted to draw particular attention to what was, despite four extremely good kisses, still not much more than a friendship.

"That was entirely unsportsmanlike of you, this afternoon," he said, standing to greet her. She unwrapped her muffler and pulled off her coat, hanging them on the chair back before sitting down.

"Well, one has to take the juniors down once in a while, otherwise you'd be gunning for my job next," she said, with a smile. "Besides, you were the one who hit Blaise Zabini with a snowball. Bad for your image, that. Makes the children think you're human."

"Yes, well, that was turnabout and therefore fair play," he replied. "What you did was a blatant offensive move. If I wasn't a gentleman..."

She raised an eyebrow, but he merely blushed slightly and looked away.

"Classes go well, today?" he asked, after a minute. "No more screeching turkey vultures?"

"Not today," she agreed. "Did you hear about the first year Herbology class, though?"

His eyes sparked with interest. "No, do tell."

It was, she considered, not really any different from any other evening tea they'd spent together; they talked and ate, and in-between lapsed into a sort of comfortable silence. She decided he must have spent a good few years learning to live with silence. Perhaps too many years alone.

"I thought we might walk back together," he said, as they pulled their coats on against the bitter evening wind outside. "At least as far as Hogwarts' front entrance. It's really...I don't think it's so very wise to be walking alone after dark, especially after this...business about Sirius," he said, his voice tightening slightly. She touched his arm.

"Still worrying you?" she asked softly. He shrugged as they began to walk, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"No more than it ever did, which is strange, all things considered. I've reached the point where I try not to think of it too much. Which is ironic, really, as he was always the one telling me I needed to be more philosophical about life. It's easier, now..."

"Oh?"

"Well. On days like this." He looked up at the darkening sky. "I mean, of all the places I've been, and I've been a good many, including some that I'd rather forget about...I've never found anywhere that gives such perfect days as Hogwarts. Just really perfect days. They just happen here. You don't even have to try. You just get them. Perfect."

There was no other sound than their shoes crunching on the snow, until he finally looked sidelong at her. "Perhaps I said too much," he said quietly.

"I was just thinking that I'd never met anyone who said it so well," she answered. They had left the town behind, and there was only a bridge across a little inlet of the lake, before the wide path through the forest which led to the Hogwarts gates. She moved to lean on the railing, looking down at the frozen water. She could see his breath in the air, where he stood facing her.

"I don't know why it should be this way, because we've known each other barely three months, but it is," she said softly. "I don't count your time as a student."

"Neither do I," he replied. "That was different."

"I don't think of you as a student."

"That's probably good," he said with a smile. He bent to ask her something, but as his mouth was opening she kissed it, and he was quick to respond, kissing her back, gloved hand rising to touch her jaw, to guide her a little closer. This was not the half-playful gesture of the night before, exhilarated from dancing and from brandy-tea. This was deliberate, unhurried, with an element of exploration about it -- how far they could safely go, standing in the snow on the bridge to Hogwarts.

"What was it you had said about dancing, the other day?" she asked, when it ended. He stared at her, breathless.

"I think I could get used to it," he said.

"I'm pretty sure that wasn't it," she smiled.

He shook his head a little. "I'm changing my opinion."

She held out her hand; he offered her his arm, and she took it. They ambled slowly towards Hogwarts, almost dawdling; at the front gate, he drew away a little.

"Perhaps we ought to..." he began, then faltered.

"Sneak in?" she asked.

"I'm fairly certain the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts does not sneak, but it's practically required, as a professor associated with the Dark Arts, that I lurk at least a little, once in a while," he said lightly. "I ought to speak to Hagrid at any rate, I've some rather intriguing creatures coming in for a lesson and I thought he'd be interested to see them."

She nodded. "Breakfast, perhaps, on Saturday?"

"I'm rarely awake early enough, they're usually done by the time I get to the -- "

"I didn't mean in the Great Hall."

"Oh," he said. She saw him glance at the ground, and then back up. "Your rooms?"

"Perhaps ten-thirty or so. A nice change from our usual teas."

He nodded. "That...sounds fine. Yes."

"Saturday it is, then."

"Saturday, yes."

"Yes."

They were silent for a moment, almost awkwardly; finally she put a hand on his chest, and he glanced at her.

"I thought you said you weren't afraid of me," she said gently.

He looked uncomfortable. "I'm not," he said. "It's just...Minerva, that was a really great kiss. I mean, do you have any idea how good a kiss that really was?"

"Some," she said, amused.

"And I don't want to be clumsy about it -- "

She leaned up and kissed him again, quickly, on the lips. He exhaled, as she stepped back.

"Goodnight, Remus," she said, turning to walk back up towards Hogwarts.

"Goodnight, Minerva," he murmured, watching her go. She heard him turn in the snow, and followed the sound of his footsteps towards Hagrid's hut, until she was inside the castle.

***

IX. Stay

Remus Lupin was late.

Minerva glanced at the clock, curiously. It wasn't like Remus to be anything other than prompt, and often he was early; she was sure something had delayed him, but after fifteen minutes she was beginning to wonder.

After fifteen minutes. And after Thursday night...

She'd seen him since then -- quick glances and smiles at their meals on Friday, and a passing greeting in the hall. He'd stopped to ask if he could borrow a volume for one of his students, and she'd said fine, and met his eyes. There was something...pleasant. Pleasing. In the way he looked at her.

Surely a man who looked at her that way wouldn't be...frightened? Put off? By the sudden kiss in the snow, by the hand on his chest when they parted. Surely he had already realised that she was older than him, eighteen years older, and he didn't seem to care that he'd been her student at one time.

Surely not.

Hopefully not.

Minerva McGonagall was not one to waffle about such things. She gave him a full twenty minutes and then stood, locking her door behind her as she left and proceeding down the corridors and stairways of the old castle until she reached his rooms, with the neatly charmed name on the heavy wooden door.

She raised a hand to knock, but before she could she heard a crash from inside, followed by yells and cursing.

"Professor Lupin?" she called, through the door.

"DON'T OPEN THE DOOR!" came the shouted reply, in Remus' slightly hoarse voice. There was another shout, but it didn't sound like him.

"Can I help?" she called.

"STAY THERE!" More crashing. It sounded as though his bookshelves were falling, or at least the books inside them. She heard one especially high-pitched crunch, and winced. That was probably his tea cups. She decided she could hear at least three peoples' distinct voices -- Remus, of course, and...and it sounded like -- the Weasley twins?

There was a final shouted curse, apparently from Remus, and then a deadly silence. After a second the door opened, and Fred Weasley's face peered out at her. He had his broomstick and his beater's bat in one hand, and was in full Quidditch gear. There had been a Gryffindor practice scheduled for this morning, she recalled.

"Dare I ask?" she said. He swung the door open wider.

The sitting-room was a wreck; books had indeed tumbled from their shelves, not a lamp remained unbroken, there was a large hole in the old wooden desk, and she thought she could see the shattered remains of his teacups lying in fragments on the floor --

She caught her breath. George knelt near the chairs (one now spilling stuffing out of one arm), carefully wrestling a struggling Bludger from Remus, who was curled in a foetal position she recognised as someone in immense pain.

"It got in through the window," George stammered, holding the struggling Bludger tightly against his side. "We came to help -- "

"Fetch Madam Pomfrey at once," she commanded. "And get that thing out of here -- out the window!" she added, as George made for the door. Fred scuttled out the door to find the Healer, while George dove headlong out the window on his broom.

"Where did it hit?" she asked, bending over him. He held up a hand.

"I'm okay."

"Where -- ?"

"Can't...talk," he added, rolling to his knees, his arms clutching his ribcage. "Just let me..."

She helped him up and managed to support him into the bedroom. He fell onto his bed, curling up again, breathing hard.

"Time," he said. "I'm okay, just...give me time."

She took his pulse while he drew careful breaths, and she felt the tension slowly ease out of him. He uncurled, slightly.

"Broken ribs," he said, still breathing deeply and evenly. "No...cracked. They're mending. You shouldn't have sent for Madam Pomfrey -- " he winced as he moved his arms. "I'm fine."

"That doesn't mean you don't need to be looked over."

"I'm all right, Minerva," he said, with a reassuring smile. "I know I'm late...sorry about -- uhm. Breakfast."

"Nonsense." She watched as he pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing, and then supported him by his shoulders as he sat up, dangling long legs off the edge of the bed.

"It came in through the window. Then Fred and George showed up with their bats..." he wheezed. "Bloody wrecked the place, hasn't it?"

"Very nearly."

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

"Oh -- of course not," she said, turning away politely while he unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt.

"Well, that's handsome enough. It looks like I've been sucker-punched."

She turned to see him regarding a low, blue bruise on his abdomen, almost proudly. Even as she watched, it was darkening. Higher up, there were red and purple lines where, she imagined, his cracked ribs were healing.

"That looks awful," she said. He glanced up, then back down.

"It'll be fine," he said, shedding the waistcoat and closing the shirt around his body again. He seemed to have caught his breath, though he spoke much slower than usual. "Tomorrow at this time, you'll never know I'd been hit. The one advantage of lycanthropy, other than an ability to tell real silver from a fake."

"Not much of one, is it?" she asked, surprising herself by reaching out to brush hair away from his eyes. He watched her, soberly.

"Strong and quick, good senses, quick-healing...you'd think I'd be more than fit for this world," he said quietly.

"None of us are fit for all of it. We have to find our place."

"Perhaps so." He took her hand, thumb rubbing the skin below her knuckles almost absently. "I think Hogwarts might be my place."

"Do you now?" she asked, with a small smile. "You enjoy getting attacked by sports equipment?"

"A hazard I can well brave -- " he stopped, and dropped her hand, suddenly. She looked surprised, until he turned towards the doorway and pushed himself unsteadily off the bed.

"They're coming," he murmured, walking into the front room. She had just opened her mouth to ask who he meant when Madam Pomfrey walked in, followed by Severus Snape.

"Fred Weasley just told me the most fantastic story about you getting knocked flat by a Bludger," she said, by way of greeting. Remus drew his shirt aside, displaying the bruise which was now a deep purple, green around the edges.

"Three cracked ribs as well, but they don't need to be set," he said, as Pomfrey came forward to examine them. "Professor McGonagall was kind enough to help me up and send Fred off for assistance, though I don't really need -- ow!" he cried, as she tapped her wand lightly against the centre of the bruise.

"Nasty enough, though not as bad as some I've seen in my time," she said, briskly. "I suppose healing spells are out of the question."

"They don't work on me," he said, doing up his shirt so that she couldn't jab him again. He looked past her at Snape. "Hallo, Severus, something I can do for you?"

"I was dragged along by Pomfrey," Snape grumbled.

"I thought you might have need of someone a bit larger than I, to set the bones if you'd broken anything," Pomfrey said blithely. "Would you like something for the pain?"

"Slows the healing," Remus grunted. "Just let me be for a few hours and I promise I'll be ready for another round with that Bludger."

"Bed rest," Pomfrey said, decidedly.

"Three cracked ribs, that's hardly -- "

"Bed rest!"

Remus narrowed his eyes at her, but nodded.

"And if you're out of that bed before tomorrow morning, I'll hex you!" she added. "Now, perhaps I ought to go try and calm down the twins, they're quite unreasonably hysterical over the whole thing."

"I should try unreasonable hysterics sometime," Remus said thoughtfully as Pomfrey left, Snape still trailing her like a shadow. "It sounds like fun."

"Come on, you can be hysterical once you're in bed," Minerva said. He cocked an eyebrow at her, grinning slightly as he walked into the bedroom.

"Has anyone ever told you, pain seems to make you flippant?" she called from the sitting room. She could hear him undressing, pulling on his pajamas.

"Well, it's sort of a habit," he answered. "One has to cope with it somehow." He leaned through the doorway. "I'd invite you to stay and sit up with the invalid, but I doubt I'll be a very scintillating companion."

"I'm going to fetch something, and then I'll make tea," she said, decidedly. "You go lie down."

"Yes, Headmistress," he said, his smile widening slightly as she turned to go.

By the time she'd gone to her rooms to fetch the breakfast she'd planned, as well as a few other items, the twins had spread the news; she was greeted at the door by Hermione Granger and Lee Jordan, as well as a handful of Ravenclaws.

"Is he all right, Professor?" Lee, apparently the spokesman of the group, eyed the box she was carrying.

"He'll be fine with a few hours' rest," she reassured them.

"Did Fred really hit him with a bat?" Hermione demanded.

"Whoever gave you that idea?" Minerva asked. "Let me through, please...he was hurt helping the twins capture a stray Bludger, that's all. Run along now, nobody likes to be peeped at when they're trying to rest."

The students dispersed as she opened the door, Hermione lingering a little longer than the rest.

"Go on, Hermione, he'll be fine in no time at all," she urged, and the girl reluctantly turned, wandering away.

She found Remus sitting crosslegged on the bed, blanket pulled over his lap and strewn with parchment, books, and --

She smiled. His tea set, now repaired, complete with steaming kettle and a dusty tin of loose-leaf, sat just below his feet.

"It's always tea," he said, looking up from his book with a smile. She set down the box she'd been carrying and scooped brandy-tea into both cups. He raised an eyebrow.

"At eleven in the morning?" he asked.

"It's been a long morning," she answered. "And you ought to sleep, eventually."

"Taking advantage of an invalid, Minerva?" The look he gave her made her quite sure that, whatever reservations she could imagine, he'd gotten rid of them all. "I am sorry we missed breakfast," he said, blowing on the tea to cool it.

"We haven't yet," she replied, opening the box. "I brought it along."

He accepted a hastily conjured plate heaped with toast and sausage, and helped himself to the jar of marmalade she produced.

"Do you, in fact, think of everything?" he asked, around a mouthful of toast. "I don't think I've ever met anyone so well-prepared as you."

"Well, if I'd known you were going to be murdered by the twins this morning, I would have given them a Saturday detention," she pointed out. He laughed, resting his plate on one knee, and then winced.

"Ribs?" she asked. He nodded. "How...long will it take?"

"Nearly a day, give or take, for something like that. Probably a good idea to keep me in bed, though I can't say I like it. Still, I've got work I can do. Much as I wish magic worked this way, papers do not grade themselves."

By the time they were done with breakfast, he was on his third cup of tea, and his eyelids were beginning to droop over the book he was consulting about a spell she'd mentioned. She took it from him, closed it, and set it on the pile next to his nightstand.

"Spoilsport," he murmured.

"You need to rest," she answered firmly. She began to rise to leave, but he caught her arm just above the elbow, fingers as gentle but as firm as she had been a moment before.

"Stay for a while," he said, watching her earnestly. He gave her arm a small tug, and she leaned forward, meeting him halfway.

He tasted like orange marmalade and tea, and he didn't easily release her, even to allow her to sit on the bed, leaning over him.

"You realise, of course," he said, between one kiss and the next, "that this makes our habits more complex."

She looked at him questioningly, leaning back. His fingers had moved up her arm to her cheek, and a point of warmth spread from where he touched her, through her body.

"Your hospitality, my rooms," he said quietly. "So I shall have to bring you something next time. Besides..." he leaned forward, shirt brushing her neck, kissing her with a strange mixture of hunger and laziness, "...I want to hear those songbirds again."

"Surprise me," she said, leaning back. She stood, flicking imaginary dust off her robes, aware that her face was flushed -- that he had an effect on her which had nothing to do with the brandy-tea.

"That could be dangerous," he said.

"Surprise me," she repeated, and squeezed his shoulder. "I'll send someone up to check on you this evening."

He let his fingertips brush her hand before she released his shoulder, and nodded.

When she was gone, he slid down under the blankets, curling into a tight ball, the pain wavering in the face of brandy tea and a promise of more kisses, like those he'd just had, to come.

Continue to Part 2

Comments

[kitanzi.livejournal.com]

I really don't know what I'll do when I've read through all your archives and have to wait with some pretense at patience for the new stuff. *G* In any case, thought I'd point out a typo: "This was deliberate, unhurried, with an element of exploration aboum, and she took it."

[sandstar08.livejournal.com]

i second that... *worries but then pushes it aside with the next chapter*

[ovrthinxit.livejournal.com]

I kind of feel bad saying so in a fic that doesn't have very much love (at least at this point), but I'm not convinced by this pairing. Perhaps because you've made McGonagall so much herself, the relationship doesn't work for me.

But there isn't another author that I'd even have tried reading it for.