Chapter Four: Lessons
Remus awoke the next morning to find the dormitory empty. Terrified that he had overslept, he dressed hurriedly and snatched up his satchel. As he came racing down the stairs into the Gryffindor common room, he realized that he had made yet another foolish blunder.
Half of the first years were milling around, most of them still in their pyjamas. There was a spattering of upper-year students, but most of them seemed to be still abed. The clock on the mantelpiece showed it to be another twenty minutes before breakfast was even slated to be served.
'Is the Tower on fire?' James Potter asked, looking up from a glossy magazine with brightly clad Quidditch players flying to and fro across the cover.
'I thought…' Remus let his voice trail off helplessly.
'Never mind. Come and sit down.' James gestured at an overstuffed armchair nearby.
Remus perched on the very edge of the cushion, lowering his bag to the ground and putting his left hand protectively over it. When he said nothing, James turned languidly back to his magazine. Remus wondered if he dared to initiate conversation. After all, the other boy had stood up for him last night.
'I thought I was late,' he said timorously, finally articulating his thoughts. His voice sounded very loud, despite the half-dozen dialogues being carried on nearby. 'Why is everyone up already?'
'It's the first year advantage,' Potter said, still studying the periodical in his lap. 'Bigger students are up late snogging or sneaking around or writing four rolls of parchment on the definition of a catalytic mineral and its purpose pursuant to potions-brewing, so they sleep late too. This is the only time of day the firsties can get the good seats down here. Besides, it doesn't hurt to have the first pickings at breakfast, either.'
Remus had absolutely no idea how to reply to that explanation. 'Oh,' he said flatly, because had to say something.
'I've been meaning to ask; what's your name, anyway?' He licked a finger before turning the page.
'Remus.'
'And are you the only Remus in England?' asked Potter.
'I… I don't know. I don't think so. Maybe?' Remus stammered, hopelessly confused by the question.
James rolled his eyes. 'I mean what's your last name, of course.'
'Oh.' Why hadn't he just said that? 'Lupin.'
The other boy whistled softly. 'Lucky you,' he said. 'Get teased about that a lot when you were little, did you?' He made a growling noise deep in his throat. 'Boy raised by wolves, right?'
'No!' Remus yelped. 'I mean, yes. Yes, you're right.'
'Huh. My parents never went in for Latin names, thank goodness. Hey, look at this,' he said, turning the magazine around so that Remus could see a picture of a very angular young witch with a long nose grinning out in full colour. 'New Keeper for the Harpies certainly looks the part, doesn't she?'
Remus nodded frenetically. He didn't know the first thing about Quidditch, but he was anxious to please. 'Are they quite a good team?' he asked.
'They're quite a scary team,' James said, flipping forward several pages. 'I'm a U. man myself.'
Afraid to show his ignorance, Remus said nothing. It was enough just to sit here, he told himself, and watch the other boy read. At least he wasn't being driven off.
'Hey, are you ready to go?' Sirius Black came ambling down the stairs, his book bag slung artfully over his shoulder. His hair was damp and he smelled of soap. He was looking right at Remus. 'You're sitting with me at breakfast, aren't you? Let's go!'
Remus swallowed hard. Once again it seemed he was caught in the middle. He was starting to feel rather afraid of Sirius, and he didn't want to refuse him. But on the other hand he didn't want to insult James. He knew that it ought to be a small decision; who to sit with at breakfast. All around him the other students were making similar arrangements, breaking into small groups and drifting out of the portrait-hole together. But he didn't know what to do. There was no obvious answer, and it seemed crucial that he make the correct choice.
'Come on, Remus, let's go.'
It was the way that Sirius said his name that settled the matter. There was no hint of mockery; no cutting remark about boys raised by wolves. He just let it roll casually off of his tongue. Remus bobbed his head rapidly and picked up his bag. As he followed the taller boy out of the common room, he glanced back over his shoulder. James Potter was still contentedly poring over his magazine as if he hadn't even realized that Remus was gone.
~discidium~
The Gryffindor first years had Herbology first thing that morning. After breakfast they all they assembled outside of Greenhouse One to await the teacher's arrival. Remus had followed Sirius out of the Great Hall. They had said very little over breakfast; at first they were occupied with eating, and then Remus couldn't quite keep up his end of the conversation, which had run towards some recent scandal involving an aide to the Minister for Magic. Now Sirius seemed to have no more use for him; he was looking around the grounds with the avid eye of a conquering cartographer.
Some distance away Remus saw James Potter, deep in conversation with Aeolus Andrews. His third dormitory-mate was standing off to one side looking somewhat forlorn. Remus slipped cautiously away from Sirius and move towards Peter. He tried to work up the courage to wish him a good morning, but he didn't get the chance. A moment later Professor Sprout appeared in a flurry of pea-green robes, and the lesson began.
History of Magic was next, but Remus was late. Somehow he managed to get separated from the rest of the class in the winding corridors, and it was seven minutes after the lesson had begun when he finally found the right room and slipped into a vacant desk at the back. He waited anxiously for the teacher to reprimand him, but Professor Binns – the elderly wizard who had drifted off three students into the Sorting the night before – didn't seem to notice. He kept right on droning through his lecture without even a pause.
~discidium~
'Little side trip on the way to class?' James Potter asked, jogging to catch up with Remus in the corridor. 'I guess now we know whose lessons it's safe to cut. He didn't even see you!'
'We couldn't cut lessons,' Remus said anxiously.
A perplexed voice to his right startled him. 'It's a joke,' Sirius Black said, coming up from behind. 'That's about the fifth time you've done that. Don't you understand what a joke is?'
Before Remus could answer, James tugged on his sleeve. 'You're sitting with me at lunch, right?' he asked. 'We never did finish our conversation this morning.'
'You know, I can't wait to explore the grounds,' Sirius said, as if the other boy had not spoken. 'I hear they planted a Whomping Willow this year; a great big one! And of course there's the Forest.'
'It's off-limits to students,' Remus said quietly.
'Which team do you support? You didn't say.' James, too, seemed determined to ignore the other dialogue.
'I don't really—'
'Aw, that's just the sort of thing adults always say,' Sirius went on. 'If there were any real danger it would be roped off or something wouldn't it?'
'But the Headmaster said…'
'Do you play?' asked James.
'But that's just my point,' Sirius continued; 'he would say that, wouldn't he? I mean, that's what rules are for: to keep kids in line so that we can't have any fun.'
Remus thought of the one household rule he had broken long ago, and his stomach grew tight. 'I don't think that's what rules are for,' he said softly.
'I've got a Shooting Star at home,' James was saying; 'but of course first years aren't allowed broomsticks. The fix is in, if you ask me. They just don't want us outflying the upper years. Bet you I could make circles around the whole Slytherin team.'
'Sure they are!' Sirius laughed. 'How else do you explain the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery? It's obviously the result of adult paranoia.'
'You must be very good,' said Remus, turning to his left. Then to his right he said, 'But unqualified wizards can be dangerous.' He was frantically trying to keep up with the two conversations, but as he found it quite difficult to manage even one, he was fighting a losing battle.
'Not the clever ones,' Sirius began again. 'I think—'
He was interrupted by an unpleasant female voice as the three dormitory-mates entered the Great Hall.
'Look who it is,' cooed an older girl, sailing across the room from the Slytherin table. 'The little blood-traitor himself.'
Remus looked at the other two boys, wondering whom she was addressing. It did not take much guessing; Sirius had gone white, and suddenly Remus recognized the girl as the one who had seemed so startled by his Sorting into Gryffindor.
'Hiyah, Cissy,' Sirius said, tossing his head in what he clearly thought was a nonchalant way. 'Enjoying our first day back, are we? Caught up on all the clucking yet?'
The girl wrinkled her nose in patrician distaste. 'I took it upon myself to write to Auntie, you know, telling her of your disgrace. I expect she'll be most displeased. Poor Auntie, her eldest son winding up just another Gryffindor nobody. And she set such store by you, too.'
'You watch what you say about Gryffindor,' James said dangerously, wand in hand. 'Just because you're a girl doesn't mean I won't hex you.'
'And who are you?' she asked disdainfully. 'One of ickle Sirius's Mudblood friends?'
James flushed pink at the vile word. 'I'll have you know I'm as pure-blooded as you,' he said. 'And you can write and tell Auntie that, too!'
'I'm sure it's not my affair if Sirius chooses to disgrace the family,' the girl drawled, studying her nails. 'I'll just leave you to it, then, shall I? I suggest you enjoy it while you're still able to.'
So saying, she turned on her heel and strode regally back to her place among the Slytherins.
'Who's that?' James asked, turning to Sirius. 'Your girlfriend?'
'She's my cousin, you knuckleheaded twerp,' Sirius growled. 'Why would my girlfriend call my mother "Auntie"?'
'Well you are Mr Toujours Pur, after all,' James baited. 'How do I know you haven't got some kind of consanguineous arranged marriage in the works?'
Sirius glowered at him, but said nothing. He stomped over to the Gryffindor table and deposited himself wrathfully on the bench.
Remus was not sure what he ought to do, but James grabbed hold of his elbow and steered him over to sit next to Sirius. James took up the place on Remus's other side and began to fill his plate. The meal was not a pleasant one; neither boy seemed willing to talk to the other, and Remus sat uncomfortably, trying to make himself as small as possible between them.
~discidium~
After dinner they had Potions with Slytherin – a double-block class. James and Sirius were silent but livid as they descended to the dungeons. Remus felt rather like a prisoner being frogmarched by soldiers of two opposing factions at once. The classroom door was locked when the trio arrived, and they joined the crowd of students waiting to be let in. Sirius began to look restless, and Remus was just starting to fear that he would pick another fight with James merely to relieve the tedium, when the dungeon door opened with a pop.
'Well, well! Everybody come and find a table!' a buoyant voice said from within. There were about four minutes of chaos as fifty-some students pushed and jostled one another in their haste to get into the room. A big Slytherin boy brushed heavily against Remus's shoulder as he passed. He stumbled, but Sirius Black grabbed his arms and steadied him.
'Easy there,' he said with a small smile. 'You don't want to get trampled.'
'Thank you,' Remus whispered.
Sirius grinned. 'C'mon, let's go before the good spots are taken.'
They managed to get a table together. James Potter was on the other side of the room, looking studiously away from them. At the head of the class stood the fat, balding wizard with the large moustache.
'First years!' he said gleefully, rubbing his hands together as he surveyed the sea of faces. 'First years! Such untapped potential, such untried talent. Well, come in, children, come in! Everyone find a table! Hurry up now! No time to waste!'
There was a little more shuffling, but in the end everyone had a table and a partner. 'Well, then!' the teacher said merrily. 'Welcome to Hogwarts and the art of Potions. I'm Professor Slughorn: those of you from my own house surely know already that I'm Head of Slytherin! But don't let that put you Gryffindors off: I want to get to know each and every one of you, so don't be shy! We'll begin with a register!'
He plucked a large roll of parchment out of the air and unfurled it. As he went through the names he paused more than once to remark upon a student who caught his eye.
'Athena and Aeolus Andrews!' he read.
'Present!' the twins chorused.
'Are you… forgive me… by any chance related to Poseidon Andrews, the current Minister for Magic?' Slughorn asked with a sycophantic smile.
They both nodded, Aeolus looking a little uneasy at the revelation. An impressed murmur coursed through the room.
A little further down the list, he came to Sirius. 'And why aren't you in my house, my boy?' he demanded, his eyes narrowing shrewdly. 'Never had a Black in any other house than Slytherin, have I? Unheard-of.'
Sirius set his jaw defiantly. 'Take it up with the Sorting Hat if you don't like it,' he said. 'Sir,' he added, almost as an afterthought.
Slughorn shrugged and turned back to the register. 'Zara Carr—not Captain Carr's great-granddaughter?'
'Er…no, sir. No, I don't think so.'
'Captain Divinder Carr of Her Magesty's Magical Navy?'
'N-no.'
'Oh. Pity.' Slughorn sighed a little. 'Quintilla Crouch. Related to Bartemius Crouch of the Wizengamot Administration Services?'
'My father's first cousin,' Quintilla replied, smiling.
'Ah, excellent! Excellent!' This seemed to make up for his error about Zara. Slughorn continued, smiling broadly. He did not pause again until he got to Remus, who had been praying that his name would pass without remark.
'Here,' he mumbled, keeping his eyes on his table.
Slughorn looked at him piercingly. 'Your father… Ross, wasn't it?'
Remus nodded miserably. Everyone was looking at him, and he wished the ground might open up and swallow him.
'Works at the Ministry, doesn't he? Something or other to do with primary education?'
'Curriculum aids, yes, Professor.'
'Pity. Had such potential. I expected great things from him, I really did. Much better than a dead-end job in a stuffy little office somewhere. If he'd played his cards right he could've been head of the department by now. Pity.' Slughorn shook his head. 'Betta MacFusty! My dear! A MacFusty of the Hebredies, of course!'
'That's right,' she said, laughing.
'My, my! Finest dragon breeders and guardians in the world, the MacFusties! Welcome to Hogwarts, my dear! You must be sure to tell me all about your family's work! Tryphaena and Tryphosa MacGreggor, the living images of your mother, of course! And Idwall McKay?'
'Present!'
'Io McKinnon? Sister to Eldritch in third year, naturally?'
'Naturally.'
'An excellent Keeper. My own house team could learn a thing or two from him. Milana Morenzo?'
'Present!'
'Peter Pettigrew?'
'Present!'
'James Potter?'
'Present!'
'Son of Fleamont Potter, Esquire? Heir to one of the greatest private fortunes in Britain? Am I right?'
'More or less,' James said, grinning.
'A pleasure, my boy, a pleasure. We must expect great things from you, mustn't we?'
'I suppose we must, sir!' James said. Next to Remus, Sirius was scowling almost enviously.
'Of course! Senellus Snape?'
'S-severus.'
'What? Oh, yes, of course. Eulaile Spode?'
'Present!'
'Stephanie Utumno?'
'Present!'
'Vivian Viridian? Another one who ought to be in my house but was stolen away by Gryffindor! What do you mean by it, my dear?'
'I…I…' A thin, black-haired girl stared miserably at the countertop.
'Katrina Weatherby?'
'Present.'
'And Charlotte White! Well, that's everyone! Shall we get down to business? We're going to make a simple solution of Invisible Ink today, so turn to page three of your texts and follow along…'
~discidium~
James was in an excellent mood as the class filed out at the end of the lesson. He jabbered happily in Remus's general direction as they walked back to the Gryffindor Tower, apparently unaware of Sirius's presence. The common room was crowded with students bent over homework assignments or deep in conversation with their friends. Someone called out to James, diverting his attention from his soliloquy. Sirius elbowed Remus in the ribs.
'Let's get out of here,' he muttered, jerking his head towards the portrait hole. 'There's almost two hours before supper. Let's go exploring.'
'We have to work on the herbal catalogue for Professor Sprout,' Remus reminded him.
'Aw, that'll take ten minutes, tops. We could probably dash it off Monday morning before class, and here we've got the whole weekend to work on it. Besides, we can find our way to tomorrow's lessons. You don't want to be late again, do you?'
Remus hung his head. 'You noticed that too,' he mumbled.
'Everybody noticed, apart from old Binns,' Sirius said. 'Buck up; it doesn't matter. I'm sure it'll happen to most of us one time or another. They ought to issue first years with maps.'
He moved towards the portrait hole, and Remus followed him. They started down the corridor, and Sirius went on. 'You know what to do when you're lost, right?' he asked. Remus said nothing. It was obvious that he had no idea what to do when he was lost. 'Ask the portraits, of course!' Sirius said brightly. 'They know the castle better than the prefects. Of course you might come across one or two who are a little unpleasant, but just show them who's boss.'
Remus nodded politely to show that he was listening, but he did not really think he would have the audacity to show anyone that he was boss. Nevertheless he followed as Sirius ambled through the corridors. Together they found their way to all of their classrooms, the library, and the Owlery, where Sirius introduced Remus to his bird.
'He's a beauty, isn't he?' he asked as an enormous sooty owl wheeled down to settle on his forearm. 'Which one is yours?'
'I don't have one,' Remus admitted. 'Father said the school has owls everyone may use.'
'That's true, I guess,' said Sirius as he scratched the ruffled feathers around his owl's neck; 'but everyone who's anyone keeps their own.'
'I guess I'm no one, then,' murmured Remus.
Sirius laughed as if he had said something amusing. 'You're all right by me, d'you know that?'
He didn't seem to remember the way he had behaved the night before, and Remus didn't like to remind him. If Sirius wanted to forget it, he was more than happy to do the same – especially if it meant gaining the other boy's approval.
'D'you want to hold him?' Sirius offered generously, nodding at the bird.
'Yes, please,' Remus replied, a tiny smile touching his lips.
'Put out your arm just like mine,' Sirius instructed. 'No, don't lock your elbow. Crook it up at shoulder height and hold it steady.' Carefully he lowered his own arm until it was level with Remus's. 'Come on, Hermes,' he said to the owl. 'Hop down.'
The bird regarded him sceptically. Sirius frowned. 'Down, Hermes,' he repeated with more force.
This time the owl put out one foot and took hold of Remus's forearm. He lifted the other and ruffled his wings a little as he settled onto his new perch. His talons pricked through the sleeve of Remus's robe, but the boy hardly felt it. He was staring in awe at the pale, intelligent eyes before him.
'How wonderful,' he breathed, afraid to move lest he should startle the creature. He had never had much congress with owls, unless one counted the bird that had brought his Hogwarts letter. At home there was no one to send him any post, nor anyone to whom he could write.
Hermes apparently decided that he had had quite enough for one day. He spread his wings and vaulted up to a perch near one of the windows. Remus gasped as he took flight, and Sirius chuckled.
'That's more consideration than I got from him the first time,' he said. 'It's why I chose him; didn't want one of those silly smaller breeds that fairly worship you. He hasn't got much say in where he goes or what he does, but at least he knows his own mind.' He stared up at the bird with a distant, thoughtful look in his eyes, then turned back to earth and shrugged. 'We better get moving if we don't want to be late for supper.'
~discidium~
Supper that evening was almost pleasant. James found a seat across and just to the left of Remus, who of course sat with Sirius. No hostile words were exchanged, and Sirius even made a perfectly polite request that James past him the pot of mustard. When they returned to the dormitory there was no quarrelling. Neither Potter nor Black seemed inclined to focus on their Herbology assignment, but at least they let Remus get on with his without trying to engage him in duelling conversations. Peter Pettigrew tried to talk to James about his Quidditch magazine, but James did not seem especially interested in speaking to him.
When Remus retreated behind his curtains to change into his nightshirt, Sirius made no disparaging remarks. The four boys settled into bed under a comfortable truce, and Remus found himself able to fall asleep almost once.
~discidium~
The next morning at breakfast all four boys sat together at the Gryffindor table. Sirius and Remus sat next to each other with James across the table. Peter slid in next to bespectacled boy without hesitation or invitation. Remus was rather envious of the other boy's ability to see where he wanted to be and to take the necessary steps to get there.
The post came in near the close of the meal; all four boys had letters from home. Remus tore his open eagerly, his eyes feasting on Mother's delicate hand. She and Father had spent the day in London after seeing him onto the train, and they were now back at home. It was raining. The house was very quiet without him. She hoped that he would write if he ever had any worries or difficulties. She reassured him that no one would ever find out anything he didn't tell them.
Peter was reading more slowly, his lips moving as he sounded out the words. Next to him James had unwrapped a brightly coloured card, three sheets of parchment covered in neat handwriting, and an enormous box full of sweetmeats. He proceeded to pass the latter around, much to Peter Pettigrew's delight. When Remus's gaze reached Sirius, however, he found his new friend staring blankly at his own letter, somewhere between rage and tears.
'Hey, mate, what is it?' James asked, when Sirius did not accept anything from his box of treats.
'Mum,' Sirius muttered. 'She… well, she and Dad aren't… aw, just mind your own business, Potter! If I hadn't wound up in this stupid House I wouldn't even have this bloody letter!'
'You just watch what you say about Gryffindor!' James snapped. 'It's the best House there is, and you're stuck here now, so you'd might as well get used to it!'
So ended the fragile peace.
~discidium~
Their first class that day was Charms, followed by Transfiguration. The dreaded Defence Against the Dark Arts was scheduled to fill the afternoon.
Professor Flitwick, the little Charms teacher, was a great deal of fun. He, too, began by taking a register, which was helping Remus immensely in the learning of his housemates' names. After a thoroughly pleasant class of theoretical notes, the Gryffindors filed into Transfiguration.
Professor McGonagall, the Transfiguration teacher and the Head of House for Gryffindor, was the young, stern-looking witch who had stepped up to take over the Sorting. Although Remus was still in awe of her self-assurance, he found her class to be rather difficult and frustrating. She had them trying to turn matches into needles, which proved to be all but impossible. Peter was almost in tears through most of it, and even Remus, who knew his own faculties too well to be discouraged by an initial failure, had to concentrate with all his might to stay focused on the ultimate goal rather than the current disappointment.
James managed a straight pin, which he promptly used to attach Charlotte White's braid (she was sitting in front of him) to his desk. When she tried to stand up and uttered a cry of pain, James removed the projectile, and hastily swapped it across the aisle for Remus's match.
The ultimate result was that Charlotte had no evidence in her case, James escaped blameless, and Professor McGonagall praised Remus's efforts, showing the pin to the class while he stared down at his hands and wished desperately that no one would notice him. The students who achieved the next nearest thing were Lily Evans and Rowena Smythe, each of whom managed to make very shiny, pointy matches. The rest of the class (Remus included, contrary to Professor McGonagall's assumption) had effected no change whatsoever.
'Why the long face, Remus?' James asked at dinner. 'I kept out of trouble, and McGonagall thinks you're a prodigy. Maybe it wasn't perfectly honest, but there's no reason to go about looking that glum!'
Remus glanced up from the potato he had been absentmindedly demolishing with his fork. 'Oh, no, of course not,' he said numbly. 'But it's Defence Against the Dark Arts next.'
'So?' James asked. 'Alfstin's ancient. Used to train Hit Wizards, but he's been out on retirement for almost twenty years. Dunno why he's here.' He shrugged. 'It can't be that bad!'
As it turned out, James Potter was almost right. It wasn't as dreadful as Remus imagined, but it was still less than pleasant. They arrived early to find the door open. Professor Alfstin was seated at the desk. He frowned slightly as they entered.
'Good afternoon, Professor Alfstin!' Sirius said, so politely that Remus turned anxiously at him, looking for sarcasm and seeing none.
'Sit,' Alfstin said dismissively, turning back to the roll of parchment he was reading.
They took three desks near the front of the class. Peter, trying to get a seat nearby, wound up in the front row.
'Buck up, old sport!' Sirius whispered to Remus, who sat with his head bowed, feeling ill and pale. 'He's not about to chop your head off.'
When the bell rang, class began.
'The Dark Arts,' said Professor Alfstin in a soft and dangerous voice that made Remus's skin crawl. 'Most students come with the notion that this class will teach them how to ward off confrontation. I assure you—' he brought his yardstick down upon Peter Pettigrew's desk with a loud reverberating crack. The boy cringed in fright. '—it will not. Fear must be faced. Foes must be vanquished. Evil must be destroyed, and the world is full of evil.'
He surveyed the class with glowering eyes, setting down the yardstick and toying with his wand. 'But, to fight evil you must first understand it. Who can name one of the six fundamental characteristics of a simple hex?'
Severus Snape raised his hand. When Alfstin acknowledged him he began to rattle off the answer. 'Rapid onset of action, limited duration of effect, narrow spectrum of damage, fully reversible—'
'I said one characteristic,' Alfstin interrupted coldly. 'Is it too much to ask for you wretched children to learn how to count?' He flicked his wand at the board, where rapid onset of action appeared scrawled in green chalk. He eyed the class. 'Someone else?'
'Limited duration of effect and narrow spectrum of damage, obviously,' James muttered, rolling his eyes.
Sirius raised his hand crisply. 'Narrow spectrum of damage, Professor,' he said. It earned him a dirty look from James, but a curt nod from the professor.
'Narrow spectrum of damage,' Alfstin said with relish, his lip curling unpleasantly. 'That is comforting enough if you are on the receiving end of a hex, but it behoves you all to remember that hexes are not effective in high-risk combat situations. If you turned a knee-reversing hex on a werewolf, for example, you would not even slow the beast down.'
Remus felt his stomach shrivel under his ribs. The image Alfstin's words conjured sprung before him in lurid detail. He tried not to imagine the wolf stumbling, rising up, lunging forward to tear into the offending wizard…
Alfstin was still speaking. 'When you are in immediate danger, do not trouble with hexes: aim to kill. That is what the curses you will learn in seventh year are for. A hex is little more than an annoyance… in the name of Merlin, boy, cease those ridiculous contortions!'
His limbs went cold as Remus realized that the teacher was singling him out. He tried to tear the look of nauseated dismay from his face, but he knew that he only succeeded in grimacing horribly. He longed to duck his head under the desk, but he could not move.
'You'll have to get used to the idea sometime,' Alfstin snapped; 'it might as well be now. There are dangers in the world that you can scarcely imagine, and I promise that feral part-humans aren't the half of it. Now try to grow a backbone and stop interrupting my lesson. Five points from Gryffindor.'
He turned away and started polling the students on the other side of the room for the four remaining properties of a hex. Remus frantically tried to control his expression. He had to learn how to hide his thoughts. It was the second time in as many days that he had reacted incautiously to an offhand comment. He spent the remainder of the lecture staring down at his parchment and struggling to quell the fire of mortification creeping up and down his neck.
~discidium~
On Friday evenings the first-year Gryffindors left the Tower at eleven forty-five, bound for Astronomy. The lesson was held at the top of the tallest tower, where the teacher was waiting for them. It was the unpleasant-looking witch with the long hoary hair. She introduced herself as Professor Arachne.
The lesson was miserable: tedious, difficult, and bitterly cold. Overhead the pendulous waxing moon shone brightly, an ominous and silent threat. Although he was meant to be seeking out the Big Dipper, Remus could not help but stare at it over rim of his telescope. It was calling his name, and within him the shadow of the wolf stirred discontentedly.
At last the clock struck one and the Gryffindors were allowed to return, bleary-eyed and shivering, to their beds. Remus did so despairingly. If this was how it was going to be at Hogwarts, he felt he might as well go home.
