Chapter Eleven: Lupin's Pain

Thoughts of Sirius Black's escape faded from memory with September's passing as most of the students were now too occupied with anticipation for Hogwart's favorite teacher; Professor Lupin. In the course of a few weeks, Defense Against the Dark Arts was the only conversed subject in the castle corridors and at meal times. Indeed, only the Slytherin's had anything negative to say about Professor Lupin, all of which centered on the professor's shabby appearance.

"Does Dumbledore even pay him," Malfoy asked his gang as Lupin left the Great Hall one morning. "Look at the state of his robes; mother would never allow me to look like that."

But Harry couldn't care less about the state of Lupin's robes. In one short month, they had covered Boggarts, Red Caps, and finally, Kappas. All of them had been fascinating dark creatures, each with very distinctive and dangerous powers if encountered by the unprepared. The quality of Lupin's teaching would have been sufficient alone to earn Harry's respect, but after his experience with the Boggart, Harry quickly discovered Professor Lupin was unlike any teacher he'd encountered previously.

"I'm afraid I must apologize, Harry," Professor Lupin had said once the classroom was vacated. He looked more tired than he had been on the train. "I hadn't intended on you facing the Boggart, not to mention the materialization of a Dementor. I'm sorry I wasn't able to react more quickly and spare you some undeserved embarrassment."

"It's alright," said Harry. His thoughts were still on his mother's voice.

"I'm sure you heard everything I explained to the class?" Harry nodded, eyes locked to the floor. He could feel Ron and Hermione's eyes behind him and couldn't bring himself to meet the professor's gaze.

"There is nothing to be ashamed for," said Lupin, softly. "I know you feel weak and powerless right now, but I trust you understand why Dementors have such an effect on you. There are few in this castle who have horrors in their past that would match your own." Harry knew Lupin had intended to encourage him, but the professor's words had only made him feel more isolated in his struggle. Then Harry felt Lupin grip his shoulder and kneel down so that Harry couldn't look away.

"Your mother and father were wonderful people, Harry," said Lupin with a small but sincere smile. "I knew them well at Hogwarts, particularly your dad. Even in the short time I have known you and from what other teachers have told me, I know both of them would be incredibly proud of you. James had a knack for getting into trouble, but he was always his own man. He never let other people define who he was and neither should you." Lupin offered a second smile and sent him on his way with Ron and Hermione following behind. Harry left Lupin's classroom that day happier than he'd been since blowing up his aunt Marge.

Divination on the other hand quickly became Harry's next least favorite class, preceded only by Potions. Professor Trelawney, kind and respectful as she was, appeared unable to help herself from growing teary-eyed every time he entered the stuffy classroom. Perhaps most frustrating of all, though, was how much of the class would cling to the end of their seats every time the old bat would interpret one of the lopsided shapes that always resembled some horrific fate, regardless of the medium. His tea leaves, as Professor Trelawney had pointed out for the third time, would not be ignored. It was the same with Palmistry; every wrinkle in his hand told of a different, equally horrific and tragic event ready to unfold at a moment's notice.

Hermione grew equally tiresome of Divination. Neither Harry nor Ron would have ever guessed Hermione could be so confrontational with a professor. Every occasion Trelawney took to interpret one of Harry's unfortunate impending dooms, Hermione would respond with clear objection, offering a completely different, opposing interpretation. Most of the class would roll their eyes at Hermione, but Harry offered her a grateful smile every time she came to his defense.

And yet classes were not the only thing on Harry's mind as October's lingering chill grew ever present; Quidditch season had arrived. Oliver Wood, Gryffindor's team captain, was more fanatical than Harry or the rest of the team had ever seen him. He had regaled them with various reasons why the cup should have been theirs over the past two years. Mostly, however, Wood had iterated his greatest desire; it was the last chance he'd have at bringing the cup to his house. Full of determination, the team, bolstered by Wood's fanatical ambition, began the most rigorous training regimen Harry had yet experienced; three evenings a week, often extending into early darkness and regardless of weather.

And finally there was the mystery that was Hermione's impossible schedule, thought admittedly, Ron was far more concerned than Harry.

"I'm telling you, Harry, Hermione's not telling us something," said Ron over breakfast one morning.

"You're not still going on about that are you, Ron?"

"Listen," he said as though Harry hadn't said a word, "earlier today I saw her chatting up Professor Vector, you know, the one who teaches Arithmancy?"

"Nothing strange about that," said Harry.

"Yeah, but they were discussing the morning's lesson," said Ron.

"And?"

"But she can't have been there, could she," said Ron with a flamboyant wave of his fork, sending a bit of scrambled egg across the table. "She was in Care of Magical Creatures with us! It's not possible, Harry. It's impossible."

"Like she said, she had her schedule worked out with McGonagall."

"Oh bloody hell, Harry, come on," said Ron as he stabbed his fork into more egg. "I talked to Ernie McMillan a little bit ago, and he says she's never missed a Muggle Studies class, but you know as well as I do that's not possible because half of them are at the same time as Divination! We both know she hasn't missed one of them either!"

"Look, I agree Hermione's schedule is a bit of a mystery," said Harry, pushing his emptied plate aside, "but if it was really for us to know, she'd have told us, wouldn't she?"

"Mate, she's gonna crack under it all," said Ron. "You've seen how tired she is and it's not even Christmas yet."

"Maybe," said Harry, keen not to continue the conversation anymore. "We'd best head to Potions." Harry had his own concerns about Hermione's workload but knew better than anyone that Hermione had set her mind to the impossible task and no one was going to dissuade her. Privately though, he made a mental note to at least check with her to see how she was holding up.

Snape's classroom was dimly lit as usual when they arrived. Snape didn't wait for the whole class to be seated before he began the day's lessons.

"Today, you will attempt to brew the Pepperup Potion," said Snape, his eyes gazing well beyond the class in front of him. "Most of you will fail despite the potion's simplicity because you will neglect the keep the temperature of your cauldron's contents within the acceptable range. Those that manage this simple procedure will then likely fail to properly prepare the Mandrake Root. I therefore warn each and every one of you to take extra caution with your Mandrake Root as you will only be provided a single root. Instructions," he added, tapping the black board at the front of the classroom, "are on the board. Begin."

Despite Potions being Harry's least favorite class, he had been sincere when he told Hermione he was going to do his best this year. He read through each instruction twice before he progressed to the next step in the brewing process. Thanking the Dursley's for the first time in his life, attaining the required temperature was easy. To his left, however, Ron struggled to keep his cauldron at the right temperature, which Snape took immediate notice.

"Weasley, do you listen to a single word I say in this class," he asked silkily. "Aside from Longbottom, you are the most talentless potion brewer in this class. Did I not specifically call your attention to the importance of the temperature before you were instructed to begin?"

"Yes, Professor," said Ron, wiping sweat from his brow as he attempted to prod the flames beneath his cauldron in hopes of raising the temperature.

"I shall be testing your potion at the end of class, Weasley," said Snape with a thin smile. "You should know that if brewed incorrectly, the usual side effects are tripled. It will be a most uncomfortable experience." Snape then turned to Harry's cauldron. He looked down upon the red cherry-syrup color of Harry's potion, his hooked nose hovering directly above. Harry mentally braced for the on-coming snide remarks but they never came. Snape moved down their table, looked into Hermione's cauldron briefly and returned to his desk. Hermione smiled at Harry who couldn't help but return the same.

However, the temporary exhilaration of finally managing a potion without Snape's snide comments was washed away by Malfoy.

"I got news from father this morning," he drawled to Crabbe and Nott. "Father has filed an official complaint with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I suspect it won't be long before the Ministry has that foul creature executed and that oaf removed from Hogwarts."

"Pity Buckbeak didn't actually remove a limb," muttered Ron.

"No, Hagrid's really fortunate Malfoy didn't suffer worse," whispered Hermione.

"Yeah, that would be the last thing Hagrid needs," agreed Harry.

"For those of you who have managed to follow the instructions, your Pepperup Potion should have had appropriate time to simmer," said Snape as the class period drew to an end. "The color should be cherry and have the liquidity similar to syrup. Please fill a vial for examination. Weasley, you need not submit anything as we shall be testing yours momentarily."

Ron's potion had turned out quite poorly.

"Foul git, he is," grunted Ron as they were now beyond ear shot of the dungeons, red faced and with a finger in one of his ears. "He could have mentioned I'd have pus instead of steam coming out my ears."

"He did say the usual side effects would be tripled," said Hermione sympathetically. "But it was a bit unfair, wasn't it?"

"A bit," exclaimed Ron as they reached Gryffindor Tower, "a bit? I'd like to see how you feel with pus coming out your ears, never mind the fact my throat is on fire."

"You need to work harder, Ron," said Hermione. "Look at Harry," she added, beaming with a radiant smile. "You've improved a lot over the last couple of weeks. I'm proud of you."

"Just trying to keep my head down and stay out of trouble," said Harry quickly. "Considering my trouble usually comes at the behest of Snape, I thought it good for my health to start doing better. Helps when he isn't hovering over my cauldron though," he added admittedly to Ron.

"Tell me about it," said Ron as they entered the Gryffindor Common Room. Harry and Hermione took the couch by the fire place and Ron took the roomiest cushioned chair and threw his legs over and arm rest and closed his eyes, popping several Freezing Pops into his mouth as he did so. Hermione reached into her bag and withdrew her Ancient Runes textbook and started to read.

"Hermione, how are you doing, really," asked Harry.

"What do you mean?"

"With all your classes," he said. "I know if anyone can handle the workload, you can, but still, it's a lot of work, even for you." She looked up from her book and gave Harry a small smile.

"It is a lot of work," she admitted after a moment, but her eyes danced with the same determination Harry had witnessed during their encounter with Buckbeak. "But I'm managing it well enough. I'm not getting quite as much sleep as I was last year but it's enough. Although…"

"What is it?"

"Well, I'm thinking of dropping Divination," she said quietly. "It's utter rubbish, Harry."

"I'm tempted to do the same," admitted Harry, looking over at Ron who let out a low snore. He had already fallen asleep. "I tire of hearing how miserable my death is going to be." Hermione gave him a sympathetic look.

"Professor McGonagall warned me about Divination," said Hermione. "I should have listened but I wanted to take every option available. Professor McGonagall wouldn't go as far as to call her a fraud but I could see it in her eyes. I'm starting to think the same. It would lighten the course load a bit too." Harry found his opening.

"Hermione," said Harry, taking a deep breath, "I know you don't really want to talk about your schedule, but I have to ask; how are you going to all your classes? We both know it's impossible for you to be in two places at once, and yet everyone that shares Arithmancy, Muggle Studies, and Ancient Runes with you claims you've never missed a single class. I know you've worked it out with Professor McGonagall and you probably aren't supposed to tell anyone how you're doing it, but I'm worried about you."

"Thank you, Harry," said Hermione as she held his hand briefly. "And you're right; I can't tell you what the arrangement is, but I trust you know it isn't because I don't trust you, or Ron. Professor McGonagall had to work very hard for this arrangement and I wouldn't be doing her any favors by breaking my promise to her."

"Okay," said Harry. "That's all I needed, Hermione. Just promise me you'll be honest with yourself and admit when it becomes too much."

"Of course I will," said Hermione. Then she smiled smugly. "But I'm not about to throw the towel in just yet. However, dropping Divination is still a very good possibility. I only have one reservation."

"What's that?"

"You."

"Me?"

"I couldn't leave you to that old hag," she admitted.

"You think I'm staying if you leave," he asked her incredulously.

"You'd leave with me?"

"Immediately," he affirmed.

"We'll, we shouldn't take too long to make a decision," she said. "And you need to think about what you'd take instead."

"What do you mean," asked Harry. "I would be perfectly happy with a free period."

"What about Ancient Runes," she asked him, showing him the text book. "I think you'd find it fascinating, you know. You're the best in Defense Against the Dark Arts and there are a lot of applications that Runes can have with fighting the Dark Arts."

"Hermione, have we been attending the same class? You're the one who gets the top marks."

"Perhaps, but you were brilliant with the Kappas, and the Red Caps," argued Hermione. "When it comes down to it, Harry, you excel in practical application."

"Agree to disagree," said Harry.

() () ()

Several days later, Professor McGonagall addressed the Gryffindor third years at the end of Transfiguration to request their signed Hogsmeade permission forms.

"As you are all well aware, the first Hogsmeade visit will be on the day of Halloween, this Saturday," said Professor McGonagall as she observed the class over her square spectacles. "As your head of house, please turn in your signed permission forms prior to Halloween. Listen carefully as I will not repeat myself; no form, no visiting the village."

"Ask her now, mate," urged Ron as their fellow classmates lined up in front of McGonagall's desk. Harry glanced at his head of house and swallowed; he liked Professor McGonagall, even though she was very strict, and hated the idea of asking her to bend the rules for his sake. But Ron was having none of it.

"Look, she likes you, Harry," said Ron persistently. "She bent the rules to see you play Seeker as a first year and she's likely to do it again if you just explain to her how lousy those Muggles are."

"I don't think so, Ron," said Hermione. "The circumstances this time around are quite different than out on the Quidditch pitch. There wasn't a loose killer on the prowl."

"That's not exactly true," said Harry, unable to help himself. "Voldemort was roaming the castle, though no one knew."

"You've got nothing to lose," said Ron with a final plea.

"Alright, fine," said Harry, getting at the back of the line behind Ron and Hermione. Several agonizing minutes slipped past when Harry finally reached the professor's desk.

"Mr. Potter," greeted the professor as she adjusted her spectacles. "Your form, please."

"I—I haven't got it, Professor," said Harry.

"You were paying attention when I spoke to the class earlier, were you not Potter?"

"I was Professor," said Harry quickly, "but I think my situation is a bit different."

"Oh?"

"Well, my aunt and uncle…they're Muggles you see…and they um...don't like magic…"

"Go on."

"They didn't sign it Professor," said Harry, deciding it best to be forthcoming. "Actually, they refused to sign it."

"I'm afraid the rules are clear, Potter," said McGonagall.

"But you could allow it," he said, unable to stop himself.

"Even if I could, I wouldn't, Potter," said the professor, her gaze softening to pity, "I am neither your parent nor your guardian. I'm sorry, Potter, but no form, no visiting the village. That's the rule."

"I understand, Professor," said Harry, doing his best not to show his disappointment. He caught Ron's indignant sneer at McGonagall and likewise saw Hermione's torn expression.

() () ()

"I'm not going," said Hermione on Halloween morning as she walked down the stairs from the girl's dormitory. Ron stared at her with an open mouth.

"Are you bloody mental," asked Ron. "Since the train ride you've done nothing but go on and on about the bloody Goblin Rebellion and wanting to see a dusty old inn and now you don't want to go?" Hermione ignored Ron and looked to Harry instead.

"If you can't go, then I won't either," she said. "I've been none-the-wiser for the last two years, what's another?"

"Hermione," said Harry, fighting the lump in his throat, "I appreciate what you're trying to do but you shouldn't miss out on the village on my behalf."

"But it isn't fair," she protested.

"Look, you're right, it isn't," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder, "but I decided at the start of the year I was going to keep my head down and focus on school."

"But—" Hermione started to say, but Harry cut her off.

"If Sirius Black was looking for the right opportunity to do me in, Hogsmeade would be the perfect moment, wouldn't it? As much as I hate to admit it, I'm better off in the castle and so is everyone else. He killed lots of innocent Muggles to get at Pettigrew, remember? What's to stop him from killing kids?" He knew he wasn't being entirely truthful with her; of course he wanted nothing more than to go visit the village. But he couldn't let her miss out because of him.

"All the more reason I should stay," she said. Again her eyes flashed with steeled determination.

"I don't want to be the reason you don't go," he said to her, appealing one last time. "I wouldn't feel good about it." And he knew he'd won the argument then. He hated pulling the guilt card on Hermione, but he truly wanted her to get out of the castle and out from beneath the mountain of homework that would still be waiting for her when she returned that evening.

"Fine," she said finally. "But if Black hasn't been captured by the next scheduled Hogsmeade visit, I'm staying here with you. No arguments." Harry smiled and nodded his agreement and they left the common room for the Great Hall.

"We'll bring you loads of sweets back," said Ron before he stuffed the last biscuit into his mouth.

"And I'll tell you about everything I see," said Hermione. "In detail, so you'd best be ready to listen when I get back. If you can't go, you're going to feel like you did when I've finished."

"I'll take that under advisement," he said while he escorted them to the large oak doors leading to the castle courtyard and beyond. Ron waved and walked ahead, leaving a still conflicted Hermione behind him.

"Go on," he assured her. "I'll be fine. Have a good time." And before he could say anything further, Hermione had flung her arms around him in a hug so tight Harry was certain his blood circulation had been completely cut off from his arms. She let him go shortly after, gave him one last disappointed look and followed after Ron leaving Harry standing alone in the foyer of the Great Hall.

"Alright, Harry?" Harry turned on his heels to see Professor Lupin standing behind him, looking a bit paler than usual but sporting his usual full smile.

"Yeah, just seeing Ron and Hermione off is all," he said, again trying to mask the longing in his voice.

"Ah," said Lupin as he gave Harry a quick full look. "I missed my first Hogsmeade visit too," he said after a moment. "I'd be remiss though to neglect mentioning I was at the time serving a detention with Professor McGonagall." Harry wasn't sure how to respond to Lupin's forthright explanation and was spared doing so when Lupin invited him to see a Grindylow the professor had just received.

"What's a Grindylow," asked Harry as they walked along the corridor.

"Water demon," said Lupin simply. "Shouldn't be too much hassle, I hope—not after Kappas—but they can be very dangerous. As I've said before, any creature is dangerous to an unprepared witch or wizard."

"Hagrid has said something to that effect," admitted Harry.

"I'm sure he has," said Lupin with a chuckle. "And he would know better than most, I think."

Once inside Lupin's classroom, Harry saw the large glass tank sitting on the desk with an incredibly hideous, sick-green looking creature with long arms, spindly fingers, and many tentacles. More disturbing was the agonizing expression on the Grindylow's face which exposed its tiny sharp teeth.

"See the long fingers," he asked, pointing at one of the Grindylow's hands. "You never want to find yourself in their grip," he explained. "They're incredibly strong, especially the female adults. This one is a male and in his youth, but even then, the strength of his grip is probably twice that of yours. Adults are around four to five times that."

"So if you fancied holding hands with one…" Lupin raised an eyebrow.

"Several bones would break, I'd wager," he said seriously. "But there is a trick to break their grip should you ever find yourself compromised in such a fashion. They're fragile creatures, Grindylow's. You've got to break their grip is all. Sometimes easier said than done, but we'll go over that in class. Cup of tea?"

"Sure."

"Here, take a seat," said Lupin, pulling a chair over to his desk. Lupin waved his wand and levitated the Grinylow tank to the corner of the room, gave a second wave and a steaming teapot appeared on the desk with two chipped mugs.

"I'm afraid I'm all out tea leaves, but I daresay you won't be too disappointed," he added with a soft smile.

"How'd you know about that," he asked.

"Professor McGonagall told me," said Lupin. "I'll have you know if you didn't know already, there have been very few confirmed, legitimate seers in wizard history, Harry, and though I would not readily dismiss Professor Trelawney, I wouldn't wager the Goblins for her authenticity either."

"Hermione would agree with you," said Harry.

"I suppose she would," said Lupin, sipping his tea.

"Professor, I've been meaning to ask you…"

"Yes?"

"How well did you know my parents?"

"I was mostly close to your dad, James," said Lupin after another long sip. "In fact, he and I were serving detention together on the day of the afore mentioned Hogsmeade visit. So, if it makes you feel a little better, know that James didn't make his debut to Hogsmeade the first time either."

"But," Lupin went on, "to answer your question, I was friends with your dad since our first year, causing far too much chaos and mayhem until the day we graduated. After school we were virtually thrown into the war against Voldemort. We fought together in countless battles. One moment it feels as though it were only yesterday, the next, like an eternity has passed since I last heard him laugh." And then Lupin's face turned incredible sad. His eyes dimed and a frown creased his pale skin.

"I'm sorry," said Harry immediately. "I didn't—you must hate remembering it all."

Lupin waved a hand and his temporary sadness was gone almost at once.

"Don't apologize," he said. "On the contrary, I'm glad you asked. Too often we try to cast aside memories of our loved ones who are no longer with us, hoping to spare ourselves of grief, only to cause the grief we hoped to avoid. You made me think of very happy times, Harry."

Harry let silence fall between them.

"Professor," Harry asked, gathering his courage and hating himself at the same time.

"Yes?"

"Does that mean you knew Sirius Black as well?" No sooner had Harry asked the question that he wished he hadn't. Lupin's eyes darkened considerably and what color Lupin's pale face was sapped away instantly. He looked like an old man with incredible anguish.

"I'm sorry," said Harry instantly. He set his cup down and started to excuse himself from the desk but Lupin reached forward and grabbed his wrist.

"No, it's alright," he said, looking Harry directly in his eyes. "You have nothing to apologize for—none of this is your fault and it never will be—you're curious and have every right to know." Lupin swallowed and returned to his seat.

"Yes," said Lupin, his words slow and deliberate, "I knew Sirius Black. We were like brothers, the four us; James, Sirius, Peter, and myself. I know what you're asking and I've asked myself the same question for more than a decade, Harry. You want to know if we ever suspected, if he ever gave any sign he had turned…but there wasn't anything to see, Harry. We all laughed together, dined together, pranked our classmates unendingly, and fought together. I watched Sirius put himself in harm's way for me, James, and Peter, countless times. I try to hold on to the Sirius Black I knew, not the one that betrayed your parents. I hold on to selfish hope that it wasn't until the very end he turned, that every time he jumped in front of me or your dad was the same Sirius Black that slept in our dormitory as kids. I'll never know the truth, Harry, because even if I could ask him, I wouldn't know if I could trust him. If there was a monster inside, Harry, it was there buried deep beneath the surface."

And in that moment, Harry learned a grown man could shed tears. Lupin didn't cry outright, nor did he let out any anguished cry, but he let a few tears escape his weary eyes. Harry opened his mouth to speak when there came a knock on the door.

"Come in," said Lupin, quickly wiping his eyes on his robe sleeve. The door creaked open and the last person Harry expected walked in; Hermione.