The Good Die Young
As a teacher, and not the Defense Against Dark Arts professor – the jinxed position, Filius Flitwick had taught numerous students. He never denied that he had some preference. Though as a teacher he should not show it, still he liked some students better than others. But who could blame him? It was only natural and inevitable. Just look at how McGonagall cheered for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.
After all, he was a Ravenclaw, who had valued and preferred sharp intelligence. He did like Ravenclaws better than Hufflepuffs in general, and extraordinary students in other houses would always stand out, like Hermione Granger, the Weasley twins, Severus Snape, James Potter, Sirius Black, and of course, Remus Lupin.
After all these years Remus Lupin remained one of his favourite students. True, he was intelligent enough to be almost sorted into Ravenclaw, and he was benevolent, courageous and always in-control, but Flitwick took to him for yet another reason.
He was also a half-breed.
It was like a dirty little secret between them. No one was rude enough to question him if he was half-elf or half-Goblin, but someone had to know it. Lupin was not so noticeable as his other two notorious friends, but Flitwick happened to notice his regular absence. He was almost sure that Lupin knew it was their shared secret, for he was the only teacher Lupin would come to to ask some extra questions after class, though he was not his Head of the House. He would invite the boy to his office to have some chocolate, just like any Ravenclaws. The boy never found it difficult to answer the questions to get to his office, so he deserved to be treated as a real Ravenclaw.
Being a teacher was a unique experience. He knew students had their own life, or respective fate, perhaps determined long before they came to Hogwarts. Still, watching them and teaching them was like making a clay model out of nothing by hand. You could feel the warmth of the earth, shape it, break it, reshape it, gently or severely, then wait and see the final work of art. You knew you were not the maker, but it was still your work. It never and would never belong to you, but you would still feel like you were Pygmalion, waiting for your sculpture to breathe, to come to life, even to kiss you his gratitude.
However, Remus Lupin was never a student who would choose to be close to any teacher. He hardly liked to be close to anyone except his fellow marauders. It was easy to understand, at least for Flitwick. Human beings were not to be trusted. The instinct in the other half of the blood always told them so. Even after such long years of trust-building, some of the Hogwarts staff were still the only human Flitwick could really trust. And Remus Lupin was still a pup. He needed more time to know human, to know their kindness and evil, and then to trust. Though mild in manners, he was yet to be tamed, yet to be domesticated.
So during those long afternoons, they would sit in his office, sharing chocolate and afternoon tea, talking about some new charms or ancient magic, and sometimes Lupin would ask some really interesting and intriguing questions and his amber eyes would shine like melt sunshine, a mischievous glint lighting up his scarred face, but nothing more. Never. They never talked about themselves. Flitwick was almost sure that they both knew what each other really was, it was just the fact that they never touched this topic. Their talk was always so strictly academic, yet subtle with a sense of secrecy. They both hid some secrets, well enough to never let it slip, and at the same time poorly enough to let each other catch the scent. They just never asked.
And to a teacher a student was always a student. He might become your friend, your colleague, your comrade or enemy, but he remained your student. A teacher couldn't help but feel protective towards his student. That was how Flitwick felt when he flung himself into the battle of Hogwarts. His students were fighting his students. His students were trying to kill his students. His students were injured. He was injured.
His favourite student was killed.
Remus Lupin was killed. Right in front of his eyes.
His favourite student, half-breed, with amber eyes and self-inflicted scars was killed right in front of him.
It was a flash of light, and the handmade sculpture of Pygmalion was shattered, broken beyond repair. All your effort and time and life you'd put into it was dismissed, the god-sent life gone.
This was how a teacher felt when his student died. He was never yours yet you still felt something that belonged to you was personally deprived.
So he had to defeat Dolohov. He had to take the revenge. As a teacher he had to do it, and as a former Duelist Champion, he would definitely do it.
He had to kill the man who stole his precious dirty little secret. No one could steal anything from a Goblin without a price.
Now it was time to let the Goblin out.
End