Disclaimer: If you recognize anything, that means it belongs to J.K.
Rowling, and I have to say it's hers because she doesn't share nicely.
Maybe she never went to preschool. Anyway, if you don't recognize it, it
belongs to me, except for Cambri, who shows up in the second chapter and
belongs to my dear friend and coauthor.
Author's Note—please enjoy this story I killed myself to write. Review and I'll love you forever no matter what you say. And don't worry – it gets more interesting in chapter two.
Remember
Chapter One Empty Spaces
"Empty spaces What are we living for? Abandoned places I guess we know the score ..."
—Queen
Remus walked into the room and stopped, taking a deep breath. It all had the smell of a summer classroom, coagulating ink and slightly dusty parchment, settled chalk dust and the merest hint of furniture polish. He closed the door firmly behind him and surveyed the classroom. He was surprised that the classroom didn't seem quite as big as it once had, that it hadn't grown up with him. It was a reaction he'd read in a thousand bad novels and a handful of better ones, but it didn't hit home until now.
His battered suitcase was leaned against the office door, waiting for him to come into his quarters. Now he just examined his new workplace, the neat rows of student desks, and the big, heavy desk at the front of the room. Someone had kindly left a candle burning there. Also there were a few notes. He sat down in the wooden chair, which rolled smoothly across the floor. He took his wire-rimmed glasses from his lapel pocket and read the first one. It was in spiky, crabbed handwriting almost too tiny to read. Lupin -- I have your potion simmering and will keep it going at all times to prevent tragedies, but do remember to remind me when you need it -- I don't keep track of these things.
That must be from Snape. Remus chuckled wearily. Of course, he was too busy being irritated with his students to keep track of the phases of the moon. The next one was from Professor McGonagall. Dear Remus, I am very glad that you've come to work with us. I am sure you will be an asset to Hogwarts. Below is your course schedule for the year. Minerva.
"Yes," he said aloud, rudding his eyes behind his glasses. "I'm sure I'll be an asset, considering the last one. Wanderings with Werewolves, eh? He could at least have gotten someone to edit the thrice-damned thing ... Homorphus Charm, what an idiot. I only wish ..."
The rest were simple notes of welcome from other teachers ... Professor Sinistra, Professor Vector, and Hagrid. Remus smiled a little. How he was going to get used to using their first names, he had no idea.
He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. He would have gone to bed, but after his hours of sleep on the train and the adrenaline of the dementor attack, he felt drained, but not in the least sleepy. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He was, in fact, feeling a little restless. Rising, he spied a cage in the corner with a curling label affixed to its base. He unfurled the strip of parchment and read it. In flourish-heavy handwriting and electric-blue ink, it read, "Cornish Pixies -- Handle with Care."
"I think I can do better than that with Dark creatures," Remus said softly. Fourth year had been the year he learned about Dark creatures -- he'd even assigned his classes the same textbook he had used. It had been a fascinating subject for him. The teacher was less than desirable, however -- was, in fact, the only teacher who had ever failed him out of a class. That woman had very nearly landed him in Remedial Defense, a class which was thankfully no longer offered. No matter -- Remus didn't intend that any of his students would need a remedial class.
He walked down the aisle among the desks. Then he stopped, his sharp eyes having caught something he remembered.
This was Sirius's old seat. The next one was James', then his own, then Peter's. He put his glasses back on, but he didn't need to -- he knew these desks by heart. In the lower right-hand corner of the aisle seat the initials SL(b)3 were scratched deeply into the well-waxed golden wood. Sirius Lockthorne (Black) III. Remus smiled for a brief moment, then a colder expression took its place.
He went to the windows and threw them open to air his classroom before tomorrow's morning of first years. He worked from the front of the room to the back, then walked back up the center aisle. The desks hadn't been changed in the entire sixteen years he'd been out of school. He knew every initial carved into the wood, every slightly splintery place. One desk he reached out and rocked as he went past. One leg was just a little shorter. Everyone always intended to fix that desk, but no one ever did. When he'd started school, there had been an old Encyclopedia of Magical Molds wedged under that leg. The slender, spineless volume had been just right to keep it steady. But someone had taken it -- come to think of it, he might have snagged it himself when he was stuck on his Potions homework, always intending to return it, just like everyone intended to fix the leg in the first place.
He went up to the office that served as combination workroom and living room. Beyond it was a tiny bedroom. He left his suitcase in there. He could unpack his modest wardrobe later, and bring back the spellbooks and a few other items. He'd decided to make packing and unpacking easy on himself, after being kicked out of an apartment home for the second time. It all pleased him; there was a simple tan quilt on the bed, and a cranberry-red rug on the floor before the little fireplace provided all the color he needed. It was a bit plain, and he preferred that. He'd half- expected to be assailed by more evidence of his predecessor.
Next he went back to the office. Remus smiled a little as he sat down behind the enormous, heavy carved desk. He'd been hauled up in front of it with his friends often enough for the irony to strike. He could smell a faint whiff of cologne still, and he wrinkled his nose. He rarely actually liked people who wore cologne; he wondered whether he just could smell it more strongly, rendering the scent unpleasant. Sirius had been wearing some sort of aftershave since age thirteen, but then, that was Sirius.
Having caught himself reminiscing, Remus started to rummage through the desk in order to distract himself. In one drawer he found some very ostentatious eagle-father quills. Some of the smaller ones he might use. The peacock ones he just threw away. In the same drawer were several bottles of ink. Remus kept the bottle-green, the dark blue, and even the dark red; the lilac had to go.
Still not ready to sleep, he transferred all the books out of his suitcase and onto the bookshelves. He returned the suitcase to the closet. There was a great deal of room still left in it. There were also a couple of small pictures: one of Lily and James being silly in a park shortly after their wedding, one of all the Marauders and respective girlfriends, one of his parents and brother. He set these on a small set of drawers, out of the way. He had no desire to flaunt his personal life to any student who came into his office. On second thought, he moved them into the bedroom, wondering briefly whether this was called being territorial or being paranoid.
In the desk which was in the classroom, he found more of the lilac ink. This he set outside the door to be redistributed by the house-elves. This, too, had been otherwise cleared of the odious stamp of Lockhart's personality.
He straightened and looked around the classroom. It was achingly familiar, even bared of any teacher's signature. He'd like a tank of grindylows in the back, he decided. He could share them with Hagrid. Hagrid would probably be delighted to catch him some, too, and if he had any trouble with anything ... Hagrid had managed to acquire some interesting specimens over the years, some of which Remus had been privileged to see.
I'm never going to get to sleep tonight, Remus thought despairingly. It's nearly midnight, and my brain's going full steam now.
He sat down to write out his curriculum, deciding to channel the energy into something constructive. No one here had gotten an education in Dark creatures, so the lesson plans would be almost the same from year to year. He would be careful, though, not to give anyone more than they could handle -- he had no desire to be the most difficult teacher in the school, or the most disliked. Not that he probably could, with Snape lurking in the dungeons ... Actually, it wasn't all the same, it just overlapped. He wouldn't teach his first years about vampires, and he wouldn't start out seventh years with doxies. It was all logic.
He got deeply involved in his work, and had almost finished the basic, sketchy lesson plan for the year, when he finally glanced at the clock and groaned. It was almost four in the morning. If he slept now, it would be even worse a couple of hours later, when he had to be up and dressed for the first class of the day. So he wouldn't sleep.
He reckoned up the dates of the full moon and started figuring out where he would be in the lesson plans. Dumbledore and Snape would probably help him there. Both were qualified, naturally, Dumbledore being the head of the Order of the Phoenix and Snape knowing so much about the Dark Arts he ought to be able to teach about defending oneself against them.
Remus went to the bookshelf and took out a history book he hadn't yet finished. It was tattered volume full of fascinating decriptions of dark secrets, wicked conspiracies, horrible torture and bloody coups. James and Sirius would have loved it. It was shorter and far more interesting than the text. He made himself some tea with the chipped tea set, read his own leaves and found nothing good, and remained absorbed in his book until a quarter of nine. Then he straightened himself out and went to meet his first class.
Author's Note--So there's chapter one. See that little button down there? Click on it, okay, and tell me how much you hated it. Chapter two coming, and it's more fun. There'll be some actual dialogue in chapter three ... lots of it. Have a very, very good day. You deserve it for reading my story.
Author's Note—please enjoy this story I killed myself to write. Review and I'll love you forever no matter what you say. And don't worry – it gets more interesting in chapter two.
Remember
Chapter One Empty Spaces
"Empty spaces What are we living for? Abandoned places I guess we know the score ..."
—Queen
Remus walked into the room and stopped, taking a deep breath. It all had the smell of a summer classroom, coagulating ink and slightly dusty parchment, settled chalk dust and the merest hint of furniture polish. He closed the door firmly behind him and surveyed the classroom. He was surprised that the classroom didn't seem quite as big as it once had, that it hadn't grown up with him. It was a reaction he'd read in a thousand bad novels and a handful of better ones, but it didn't hit home until now.
His battered suitcase was leaned against the office door, waiting for him to come into his quarters. Now he just examined his new workplace, the neat rows of student desks, and the big, heavy desk at the front of the room. Someone had kindly left a candle burning there. Also there were a few notes. He sat down in the wooden chair, which rolled smoothly across the floor. He took his wire-rimmed glasses from his lapel pocket and read the first one. It was in spiky, crabbed handwriting almost too tiny to read. Lupin -- I have your potion simmering and will keep it going at all times to prevent tragedies, but do remember to remind me when you need it -- I don't keep track of these things.
That must be from Snape. Remus chuckled wearily. Of course, he was too busy being irritated with his students to keep track of the phases of the moon. The next one was from Professor McGonagall. Dear Remus, I am very glad that you've come to work with us. I am sure you will be an asset to Hogwarts. Below is your course schedule for the year. Minerva.
"Yes," he said aloud, rudding his eyes behind his glasses. "I'm sure I'll be an asset, considering the last one. Wanderings with Werewolves, eh? He could at least have gotten someone to edit the thrice-damned thing ... Homorphus Charm, what an idiot. I only wish ..."
The rest were simple notes of welcome from other teachers ... Professor Sinistra, Professor Vector, and Hagrid. Remus smiled a little. How he was going to get used to using their first names, he had no idea.
He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. He would have gone to bed, but after his hours of sleep on the train and the adrenaline of the dementor attack, he felt drained, but not in the least sleepy. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He was, in fact, feeling a little restless. Rising, he spied a cage in the corner with a curling label affixed to its base. He unfurled the strip of parchment and read it. In flourish-heavy handwriting and electric-blue ink, it read, "Cornish Pixies -- Handle with Care."
"I think I can do better than that with Dark creatures," Remus said softly. Fourth year had been the year he learned about Dark creatures -- he'd even assigned his classes the same textbook he had used. It had been a fascinating subject for him. The teacher was less than desirable, however -- was, in fact, the only teacher who had ever failed him out of a class. That woman had very nearly landed him in Remedial Defense, a class which was thankfully no longer offered. No matter -- Remus didn't intend that any of his students would need a remedial class.
He walked down the aisle among the desks. Then he stopped, his sharp eyes having caught something he remembered.
This was Sirius's old seat. The next one was James', then his own, then Peter's. He put his glasses back on, but he didn't need to -- he knew these desks by heart. In the lower right-hand corner of the aisle seat the initials SL(b)3 were scratched deeply into the well-waxed golden wood. Sirius Lockthorne (Black) III. Remus smiled for a brief moment, then a colder expression took its place.
He went to the windows and threw them open to air his classroom before tomorrow's morning of first years. He worked from the front of the room to the back, then walked back up the center aisle. The desks hadn't been changed in the entire sixteen years he'd been out of school. He knew every initial carved into the wood, every slightly splintery place. One desk he reached out and rocked as he went past. One leg was just a little shorter. Everyone always intended to fix that desk, but no one ever did. When he'd started school, there had been an old Encyclopedia of Magical Molds wedged under that leg. The slender, spineless volume had been just right to keep it steady. But someone had taken it -- come to think of it, he might have snagged it himself when he was stuck on his Potions homework, always intending to return it, just like everyone intended to fix the leg in the first place.
He went up to the office that served as combination workroom and living room. Beyond it was a tiny bedroom. He left his suitcase in there. He could unpack his modest wardrobe later, and bring back the spellbooks and a few other items. He'd decided to make packing and unpacking easy on himself, after being kicked out of an apartment home for the second time. It all pleased him; there was a simple tan quilt on the bed, and a cranberry-red rug on the floor before the little fireplace provided all the color he needed. It was a bit plain, and he preferred that. He'd half- expected to be assailed by more evidence of his predecessor.
Next he went back to the office. Remus smiled a little as he sat down behind the enormous, heavy carved desk. He'd been hauled up in front of it with his friends often enough for the irony to strike. He could smell a faint whiff of cologne still, and he wrinkled his nose. He rarely actually liked people who wore cologne; he wondered whether he just could smell it more strongly, rendering the scent unpleasant. Sirius had been wearing some sort of aftershave since age thirteen, but then, that was Sirius.
Having caught himself reminiscing, Remus started to rummage through the desk in order to distract himself. In one drawer he found some very ostentatious eagle-father quills. Some of the smaller ones he might use. The peacock ones he just threw away. In the same drawer were several bottles of ink. Remus kept the bottle-green, the dark blue, and even the dark red; the lilac had to go.
Still not ready to sleep, he transferred all the books out of his suitcase and onto the bookshelves. He returned the suitcase to the closet. There was a great deal of room still left in it. There were also a couple of small pictures: one of Lily and James being silly in a park shortly after their wedding, one of all the Marauders and respective girlfriends, one of his parents and brother. He set these on a small set of drawers, out of the way. He had no desire to flaunt his personal life to any student who came into his office. On second thought, he moved them into the bedroom, wondering briefly whether this was called being territorial or being paranoid.
In the desk which was in the classroom, he found more of the lilac ink. This he set outside the door to be redistributed by the house-elves. This, too, had been otherwise cleared of the odious stamp of Lockhart's personality.
He straightened and looked around the classroom. It was achingly familiar, even bared of any teacher's signature. He'd like a tank of grindylows in the back, he decided. He could share them with Hagrid. Hagrid would probably be delighted to catch him some, too, and if he had any trouble with anything ... Hagrid had managed to acquire some interesting specimens over the years, some of which Remus had been privileged to see.
I'm never going to get to sleep tonight, Remus thought despairingly. It's nearly midnight, and my brain's going full steam now.
He sat down to write out his curriculum, deciding to channel the energy into something constructive. No one here had gotten an education in Dark creatures, so the lesson plans would be almost the same from year to year. He would be careful, though, not to give anyone more than they could handle -- he had no desire to be the most difficult teacher in the school, or the most disliked. Not that he probably could, with Snape lurking in the dungeons ... Actually, it wasn't all the same, it just overlapped. He wouldn't teach his first years about vampires, and he wouldn't start out seventh years with doxies. It was all logic.
He got deeply involved in his work, and had almost finished the basic, sketchy lesson plan for the year, when he finally glanced at the clock and groaned. It was almost four in the morning. If he slept now, it would be even worse a couple of hours later, when he had to be up and dressed for the first class of the day. So he wouldn't sleep.
He reckoned up the dates of the full moon and started figuring out where he would be in the lesson plans. Dumbledore and Snape would probably help him there. Both were qualified, naturally, Dumbledore being the head of the Order of the Phoenix and Snape knowing so much about the Dark Arts he ought to be able to teach about defending oneself against them.
Remus went to the bookshelf and took out a history book he hadn't yet finished. It was tattered volume full of fascinating decriptions of dark secrets, wicked conspiracies, horrible torture and bloody coups. James and Sirius would have loved it. It was shorter and far more interesting than the text. He made himself some tea with the chipped tea set, read his own leaves and found nothing good, and remained absorbed in his book until a quarter of nine. Then he straightened himself out and went to meet his first class.
Author's Note--So there's chapter one. See that little button down there? Click on it, okay, and tell me how much you hated it. Chapter two coming, and it's more fun. There'll be some actual dialogue in chapter three ... lots of it. Have a very, very good day. You deserve it for reading my story.