Author's Note: Forgive me for doing like so many other authors and throwing Remus Lupin back into a teaching position at Hogwarts. In all seriousness, I don't think he would ever accept that job again simply out of pride, but for the purposes of this fic, it must be. It was just the most logical way to work him back into the action, considering that I'm too lazy to create a huge world outside of Hogwarts and happen to enjoy the setting of the castle immensely. This is a character-driven story, although I'm trying desperately for this one to have more of a plot than most of my stories do, and less expository writing. Enjoy!
****
It was a cool day in late November at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The air carried the fresh, crisp smell of leaves and the first sharp bite of coming winter. Hermione, Ron, and Harry were in deep concentration as they practiced a series of complicated defensive spells against each other – Hermione, as usual, coming off with better success than most of her peers, with the exception of Harry, who had always shown an extraordinary resilience to the Dark Arts. They were in their seventh year, all striving to become Aurors, with the looming stress of N.E.W.T.S. hanging over their heads.
Professor Lupin was making his way around the classroom, observing the progress of his students. It had been a surprise, no doubt, that he had returned to a teaching position at Hogwarts, but his presence was certainly most welcome. As the closest remaining tie Harry had to his father, the two had become closer than ever before, and Lupin his students, for the most part, seemed untroubled by the fact that he was a werewolf. Aside from the occasional sneer of a Slytherin or a loathing glare from Snape, Lupin found greater acceptance than he could've hoped for, and felt his heart lighten a bit at that thought.
It had been Dumbledore's begging for a competent D.A.D.A. teacher – as well as Lupin's desperation for a job – that had drawn him back to his Alma Matter. Even's Snape's disapproval had not been enough to dissuade his desire to eat, and in the deep throes of poverty due to joblessness, Lupin had found himself barely able to scrape up the money for food. His home was little more than a cramped kitchen and bedroom...the latter of which his bed seemed ready to burst out of due to the cramping. His only other furniture was a large red recliner in a din hardly bigger than a broom closet...and as for his clothing, it was obvious to even the most casual observer that he owned next to nothing in terms of robes. Even his "Sunday best" were patched and faded, but he had long moved past the point of feeling ashamed of it...happy instead simply to not be ostracized completely from society for his condition.
Indeed, Lupin seemed healthier than the students had known him in the past, and happier...though the grief of Sirius' death and the pressure of the war against Voldemort where still heavy on his shoulders. There were times when he felt tremendously alone and misunderstood; the two people that had known him best were both dead, their memories still echoing throughout his consciousness. No woman had ever loved him, and he had never had the heart to pursue any female, for fear that she would see the monster in him and be repulsed. It was true that he was attractive, and women noticed him for it...but they never came closer than on the physical level. With some dismay, he acknowledged the fact that he had never known true passion...and likely never would.
Werewolves were not meant for such things, after all.
****
"Aside from charms and spells," Lupin was explaining to his class, "there are other means of protecting oneself against the Dark Arts. Potions, for example."
A collective groan went up from the classroom at the thought of the difficulty of potions – not to mention the Potions Master himself, and his particularly foul personality.
Hermione noticed a small smile cross Lupin's face at the students' reaction; although it was not readily apparent, Hermione was well aware of the fact that he disliked Snape as much as his students did – a mutual hatred that stretched back through the generations to their boyhood days as students at Hogwarts.
Lupin could remember quite well the numerous occasions on which Snape had been targeted and humiliated by James and Sirius...could still see the loathing in his eyes – a loathing not only for them, but for himself.
Yet despite how loathsome Snape might be in personality, even his worst enemies could not doubt that he was brilliant, first as a student and later as a professor. Though Lupin was loathe to admit it to himself, it was readily acknowledged by Dumbledore that Snape possessed a rare intellect – a capacity to absorb knowledge beyond that of his peers. Lupin could not help but think that perhaps James and Sirius had realized this, as he had...that for all Snape's miserable social failures, they were threatened, as he was, by his sheer intelligence, and wished to punish him for more than his unfortunate appearance.
There was indeed something dark, brooding and powerful about Snape, despite his lean frame and haggard look. It was not something ever discussed amongst Lupin and his friends – indeed, the only words spoken of Snape in their presence were of the negative kind – but Lupin had the distinct, persistent thought that underneath a very unbecoming facade of greasy black hair, watchful black eyes, and a large, hooked nose, a great power lie coiled and ready to strike, a mighty snake lurking in the grass and waiting for the right moment. It had come as little surprise when Snape joined with the Death Eaters – even if he was only a spy. A certain air of darkness seemed to suit him, and his lair in the cold, dank dungeon of Hogwarts seemed a suitable home for such an outcast.
And it was that thought that scared Lupin more than anything. He did not fear that Snape was a more skilled wizard than he; indeed, he had proven time and time again through his own performance and trials that he was himself an extraordinarily smart man and gifted wizard. No, it was the fact that Snape was such a miserable wretch that frightened him – and the nagging knowledge of how easily he could've been in the same position as poor Severus, an object of spectacle and rarity to be gaped at like an animal at the zoo, kept behind bars and safely away from the happy humans who game to gawk. More than anything, it was this fear that had been what kept him from severing his ties with the Mauraders when they showed what cruelty they were capable of. "Better the bully than the bullied," he told himself – and although he never joined in their taunting of Snape, neither did he ever so much as utter a word in his defense or raise a wand to slow James and Sirius in their games.
A strange guilt gnawed at his stomach as he tried to block out the scenes that his friends caused, but he pushed it down. He still remembered vividly the scene by the pond in fifth year, with Snape dangling in midair, wandless and helpless. Lupin had sat, anchored to his spot in the shade of a large oak, reading the same sentence in his book again and again, trying to absorb the words and hearing instead only the jeers of James and Sirius and the laughter of his fellow students. "How can people be so cruel?" he thought to himself...and immediately remembered that so long as he was on the side of the bullies, he would never become the target. "It could be you – it should be you," said a small voice of reason inside him. "You're even more of a freak than he is. You're not even human." The gnawing feeling would swell into a great knot of fear, and the same self-loathing that he saw in Snape's eyes...and he looked away, ashamed...of everything that he was and everything that he was not.
As an adult, Remus Lupin had for years wanted desperately to apologize to Severus Snape. He knew in his heart – had always, always known – that he was, in Snape's eyes, guilty by association, perhaps even more loathsome for his apparent apathy in the situation. It seemed almost that Lupin's lack of hatred for Snape was more disgusting to him than the malice that his friends showed...and he had wished so many times that he could at least tell Snape that he knew he had been wrong, that he should've been the bigger man, that he should have been nobler, braver.
The urge to apologize had abruptly left Lupin upon Snape's revelation to the Hogwarts student body and staff that he was a werewolf. Hot shame burned throughout his body as students stared at him with distrust as he made his way through the halls, a kind of nausea rising up in his stomach at the knowledge that they saw him as a monster. For the first time in his life, the very event that he had dreaded for so long had finally occurred – the truth had at last came tumbling out, and the reaction was little better than he could've hoped for. As he had packed his few belongings and locked the door of his classroom for the last time, he broke down in tears in the middle of the empty hallway...warm, silent tears that nonetheless made his body heave as the sobs tore from his body, where he had been stifling them for years. It was pain enough to make the transformation from man to wolf with each full moon – but he realized very suddenly that it was a far greater pain to suffer as an outcast, to be so exposed as a freak and a misfit.
He had gotten a letter from Hermione three days after his resignation from Hogwarts.
"Dear Professor Lupin," it read, "I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for being (momentarily) wrong about you. My gut told me from our first meeting that you were a good man, but what I thought was logic failed me for the first time ever. I have to start learning to think more with my heart and less with my head.
"Please know that I don't think badly of you for being a werewolf. You are without a doubt the best D.A.D.A. teacher that we have had, and I will always remember this year and the role you played in it. I can't speak for anyone else, but I know that you will be missed – by me, and by dozens of others who simply don't realize it yet.
"Take care of yourself.
"Sincerely yours, Hermione."
Not only had he saved the letter, the edges were now torn and bruised from reading and rereading it, as he did in his times of insecurity. It was some solace to know that at least one person understood...at least one person did not think him a monster.
He had never written her back, and never properly thanked her for keeping his secret and for not abandoning him when she knew it. A sudden impulse seized him, and as she exited the classroom with Harry and Ron in tow, he called out to her and she fell back.
He pulled the letter from his briefcase and held it out to her. "Do you remember writing this?" he asked quietly.
She smiled faintly as she glanced at the piece of parchment. "Yes," she said, looking up at him. "I can't believe you still have it."
He gave a small, nervous chuckle, hoping she did not find him foolish for holding on to a letter from a thirteen year old girl. "Well, it's just that – I mean, not many people –" he stuttered, feeling as uncomfortable as he always did in vocalizing his most intimate feeling.
"I understand," she said softly, and he knew by the look in her eyes that she did. Merlin, how could a child be so wise? She had understood him then – after getting her facts straight, of course – and she understood him now.
He felt awkward and oddly warm in her presence at times, a feeling akin to being naked in front of a stranger – the feeling of knowing that someone knows more about you than you would like. It felt almost as if she were too close to fitting all the pieces of his identity together, and he had the overwhelming dread that once the puzzle was complete, she would be horrified at what she found. There was an immense part of him that he felt was dirty and ugly, and he almost wished to keep her at an arm's distance so she would never find the bruises that he carried, dark splotches on his soul that he felt at times threatened to spoil the entire apple.
"Thank you, Hermione," he said simply. It was enough.
There was a beat, and then suddenly she reached up and took his face in her soft hand, brushing her thumb softly across his cheek, his whiskers rough against her smooth skin. He was taken aback and he looked down at her, wide-eyed at the action.
"You had a bit of ink on your face," she said quietly, and with that, she turned and exited the classroom, her heels clicking softly on the floor, skirting swirling about her long legs.
****
...to be continued!
Yes, I'm obviously going somewhere with the Lupin/Hermione aspect of this...if you don't like that pairing, I'll just say this: please, try to be open-minded...it's only fiction, after all...and don't cast off my story just because you happen to ship Hermione with Harry or Ron or Draco or whomever. This is a character-driven story, and although it revolves primarily around Hermione and Remus, I plan also to have Snape play an important role, simply because I love the character, and obviously there will be some interaction with our other familiar, beloved (and not-so-beloved) Hogwarts faces. I do feel that I am a good writer, so I encourage you to continue reading my story when I update it, even if it doesn't exactly tickle your every fancy in terms of whom the main couple or characters might be. ;)
Reviews are MUCH appreciated. They're what inspire me to write more than anything. Thanks for reading!
****
It was a cool day in late November at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The air carried the fresh, crisp smell of leaves and the first sharp bite of coming winter. Hermione, Ron, and Harry were in deep concentration as they practiced a series of complicated defensive spells against each other – Hermione, as usual, coming off with better success than most of her peers, with the exception of Harry, who had always shown an extraordinary resilience to the Dark Arts. They were in their seventh year, all striving to become Aurors, with the looming stress of N.E.W.T.S. hanging over their heads.
Professor Lupin was making his way around the classroom, observing the progress of his students. It had been a surprise, no doubt, that he had returned to a teaching position at Hogwarts, but his presence was certainly most welcome. As the closest remaining tie Harry had to his father, the two had become closer than ever before, and Lupin his students, for the most part, seemed untroubled by the fact that he was a werewolf. Aside from the occasional sneer of a Slytherin or a loathing glare from Snape, Lupin found greater acceptance than he could've hoped for, and felt his heart lighten a bit at that thought.
It had been Dumbledore's begging for a competent D.A.D.A. teacher – as well as Lupin's desperation for a job – that had drawn him back to his Alma Matter. Even's Snape's disapproval had not been enough to dissuade his desire to eat, and in the deep throes of poverty due to joblessness, Lupin had found himself barely able to scrape up the money for food. His home was little more than a cramped kitchen and bedroom...the latter of which his bed seemed ready to burst out of due to the cramping. His only other furniture was a large red recliner in a din hardly bigger than a broom closet...and as for his clothing, it was obvious to even the most casual observer that he owned next to nothing in terms of robes. Even his "Sunday best" were patched and faded, but he had long moved past the point of feeling ashamed of it...happy instead simply to not be ostracized completely from society for his condition.
Indeed, Lupin seemed healthier than the students had known him in the past, and happier...though the grief of Sirius' death and the pressure of the war against Voldemort where still heavy on his shoulders. There were times when he felt tremendously alone and misunderstood; the two people that had known him best were both dead, their memories still echoing throughout his consciousness. No woman had ever loved him, and he had never had the heart to pursue any female, for fear that she would see the monster in him and be repulsed. It was true that he was attractive, and women noticed him for it...but they never came closer than on the physical level. With some dismay, he acknowledged the fact that he had never known true passion...and likely never would.
Werewolves were not meant for such things, after all.
****
"Aside from charms and spells," Lupin was explaining to his class, "there are other means of protecting oneself against the Dark Arts. Potions, for example."
A collective groan went up from the classroom at the thought of the difficulty of potions – not to mention the Potions Master himself, and his particularly foul personality.
Hermione noticed a small smile cross Lupin's face at the students' reaction; although it was not readily apparent, Hermione was well aware of the fact that he disliked Snape as much as his students did – a mutual hatred that stretched back through the generations to their boyhood days as students at Hogwarts.
Lupin could remember quite well the numerous occasions on which Snape had been targeted and humiliated by James and Sirius...could still see the loathing in his eyes – a loathing not only for them, but for himself.
Yet despite how loathsome Snape might be in personality, even his worst enemies could not doubt that he was brilliant, first as a student and later as a professor. Though Lupin was loathe to admit it to himself, it was readily acknowledged by Dumbledore that Snape possessed a rare intellect – a capacity to absorb knowledge beyond that of his peers. Lupin could not help but think that perhaps James and Sirius had realized this, as he had...that for all Snape's miserable social failures, they were threatened, as he was, by his sheer intelligence, and wished to punish him for more than his unfortunate appearance.
There was indeed something dark, brooding and powerful about Snape, despite his lean frame and haggard look. It was not something ever discussed amongst Lupin and his friends – indeed, the only words spoken of Snape in their presence were of the negative kind – but Lupin had the distinct, persistent thought that underneath a very unbecoming facade of greasy black hair, watchful black eyes, and a large, hooked nose, a great power lie coiled and ready to strike, a mighty snake lurking in the grass and waiting for the right moment. It had come as little surprise when Snape joined with the Death Eaters – even if he was only a spy. A certain air of darkness seemed to suit him, and his lair in the cold, dank dungeon of Hogwarts seemed a suitable home for such an outcast.
And it was that thought that scared Lupin more than anything. He did not fear that Snape was a more skilled wizard than he; indeed, he had proven time and time again through his own performance and trials that he was himself an extraordinarily smart man and gifted wizard. No, it was the fact that Snape was such a miserable wretch that frightened him – and the nagging knowledge of how easily he could've been in the same position as poor Severus, an object of spectacle and rarity to be gaped at like an animal at the zoo, kept behind bars and safely away from the happy humans who game to gawk. More than anything, it was this fear that had been what kept him from severing his ties with the Mauraders when they showed what cruelty they were capable of. "Better the bully than the bullied," he told himself – and although he never joined in their taunting of Snape, neither did he ever so much as utter a word in his defense or raise a wand to slow James and Sirius in their games.
A strange guilt gnawed at his stomach as he tried to block out the scenes that his friends caused, but he pushed it down. He still remembered vividly the scene by the pond in fifth year, with Snape dangling in midair, wandless and helpless. Lupin had sat, anchored to his spot in the shade of a large oak, reading the same sentence in his book again and again, trying to absorb the words and hearing instead only the jeers of James and Sirius and the laughter of his fellow students. "How can people be so cruel?" he thought to himself...and immediately remembered that so long as he was on the side of the bullies, he would never become the target. "It could be you – it should be you," said a small voice of reason inside him. "You're even more of a freak than he is. You're not even human." The gnawing feeling would swell into a great knot of fear, and the same self-loathing that he saw in Snape's eyes...and he looked away, ashamed...of everything that he was and everything that he was not.
As an adult, Remus Lupin had for years wanted desperately to apologize to Severus Snape. He knew in his heart – had always, always known – that he was, in Snape's eyes, guilty by association, perhaps even more loathsome for his apparent apathy in the situation. It seemed almost that Lupin's lack of hatred for Snape was more disgusting to him than the malice that his friends showed...and he had wished so many times that he could at least tell Snape that he knew he had been wrong, that he should've been the bigger man, that he should have been nobler, braver.
The urge to apologize had abruptly left Lupin upon Snape's revelation to the Hogwarts student body and staff that he was a werewolf. Hot shame burned throughout his body as students stared at him with distrust as he made his way through the halls, a kind of nausea rising up in his stomach at the knowledge that they saw him as a monster. For the first time in his life, the very event that he had dreaded for so long had finally occurred – the truth had at last came tumbling out, and the reaction was little better than he could've hoped for. As he had packed his few belongings and locked the door of his classroom for the last time, he broke down in tears in the middle of the empty hallway...warm, silent tears that nonetheless made his body heave as the sobs tore from his body, where he had been stifling them for years. It was pain enough to make the transformation from man to wolf with each full moon – but he realized very suddenly that it was a far greater pain to suffer as an outcast, to be so exposed as a freak and a misfit.
He had gotten a letter from Hermione three days after his resignation from Hogwarts.
"Dear Professor Lupin," it read, "I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for being (momentarily) wrong about you. My gut told me from our first meeting that you were a good man, but what I thought was logic failed me for the first time ever. I have to start learning to think more with my heart and less with my head.
"Please know that I don't think badly of you for being a werewolf. You are without a doubt the best D.A.D.A. teacher that we have had, and I will always remember this year and the role you played in it. I can't speak for anyone else, but I know that you will be missed – by me, and by dozens of others who simply don't realize it yet.
"Take care of yourself.
"Sincerely yours, Hermione."
Not only had he saved the letter, the edges were now torn and bruised from reading and rereading it, as he did in his times of insecurity. It was some solace to know that at least one person understood...at least one person did not think him a monster.
He had never written her back, and never properly thanked her for keeping his secret and for not abandoning him when she knew it. A sudden impulse seized him, and as she exited the classroom with Harry and Ron in tow, he called out to her and she fell back.
He pulled the letter from his briefcase and held it out to her. "Do you remember writing this?" he asked quietly.
She smiled faintly as she glanced at the piece of parchment. "Yes," she said, looking up at him. "I can't believe you still have it."
He gave a small, nervous chuckle, hoping she did not find him foolish for holding on to a letter from a thirteen year old girl. "Well, it's just that – I mean, not many people –" he stuttered, feeling as uncomfortable as he always did in vocalizing his most intimate feeling.
"I understand," she said softly, and he knew by the look in her eyes that she did. Merlin, how could a child be so wise? She had understood him then – after getting her facts straight, of course – and she understood him now.
He felt awkward and oddly warm in her presence at times, a feeling akin to being naked in front of a stranger – the feeling of knowing that someone knows more about you than you would like. It felt almost as if she were too close to fitting all the pieces of his identity together, and he had the overwhelming dread that once the puzzle was complete, she would be horrified at what she found. There was an immense part of him that he felt was dirty and ugly, and he almost wished to keep her at an arm's distance so she would never find the bruises that he carried, dark splotches on his soul that he felt at times threatened to spoil the entire apple.
"Thank you, Hermione," he said simply. It was enough.
There was a beat, and then suddenly she reached up and took his face in her soft hand, brushing her thumb softly across his cheek, his whiskers rough against her smooth skin. He was taken aback and he looked down at her, wide-eyed at the action.
"You had a bit of ink on your face," she said quietly, and with that, she turned and exited the classroom, her heels clicking softly on the floor, skirting swirling about her long legs.
****
...to be continued!
Yes, I'm obviously going somewhere with the Lupin/Hermione aspect of this...if you don't like that pairing, I'll just say this: please, try to be open-minded...it's only fiction, after all...and don't cast off my story just because you happen to ship Hermione with Harry or Ron or Draco or whomever. This is a character-driven story, and although it revolves primarily around Hermione and Remus, I plan also to have Snape play an important role, simply because I love the character, and obviously there will be some interaction with our other familiar, beloved (and not-so-beloved) Hogwarts faces. I do feel that I am a good writer, so I encourage you to continue reading my story when I update it, even if it doesn't exactly tickle your every fancy in terms of whom the main couple or characters might be. ;)
Reviews are MUCH appreciated. They're what inspire me to write more than anything. Thanks for reading!