A/N: The story has skipped ahead several years — our heroes are now in their sixth year at Hogwarts. The reason being, of course, a lot of the interesting stuff they're going to get up to will never have been able to be perpetrated by anyone younger than sixteen years old.
Slytherin Pride
Chapter 2: An Unlikely Pair
"You? You, Quidditch captain, Malfoy?"
"But of course." Draco sounded smug, his tone of voice superior. "May the best player lead the team."
Harry snorted. "Come on. You know the only reason you're captain is because Snape doesn't like me." He sounded resentful. "This is blatant favouritism — I'm the Seeker! You're only the Chaser — I should be the Slytherin captain!"
Draco flashed him an infuriating smile, then waved his wand casually, instantly conjuring something in the palm of his hand, which looked suspiciously like fruit. He offered it to Harry.
"Care for some grapes, Potter?" he drawled. "They're pretty sour."
Harry glared at Draco. "Shut up." He pointed his wand at the grapes in Draco's hand and muttered a spell under his breath — the bunch of purple fruit promptly exploded violently with a horrible squelching noise. Draco let out a yell and leapt backwards too late; Harry himself didn't manage to retreat in time either, and both of them were drenched in freshly-squeezed grape juice.
"Yeuch!" Draco glanced down at his ruined robes in disgust, then shot Harry a withering glare. "What the hell! These are my newest set of robes, you dumb git!" Draco's wand was out again in a flourish — he aimed at Harry and yelled an unfamiliar spell that Harry had never heard of.
With a Seeker's reflexes, Harry dived out of harm's way — the spell whizzed right past him like a silver Bludger and hit a startled third-year student just coming around the bend. Harry's head spun around to look at the unlucky victim, and a shocked grey donkey stood staring back at him.
"Damn!" Draco shouted, scrambling over. "See what you've done, Potter!" He swore creatively again as donkey recovered from its surprise, took one look at itself and started braying loudly in panic.
"Remind me to stand still next time you want to hex me, then," Harry said sarcastically, although he glanced anxiously along the corridor — students were beginning to appear around the corner and were gawking at the donkey standing in the middle of the path. Draco was trying to get near it without getting kicked, and was yelling a string of expletives at the recalcitrant beast. Harry thought Draco looked like he was doing a very ungainful sort of tap-dance.
"What are you doing, Malfoy?" Harry hollered, hastily ducking out of the way as the animal charged toward him. Screams sounded behind Harry as other students scattered out of the path of the rampaging donkey. "Turn it back, for god's sakes! Don't you know the reversal spell?"
"Of course I do," Draco snapped, coming up next to Harry, his face flushed from exertion. He ran a hand through his blond hair, which was still slick with grape juice, but that was the least of his worries at the moment. "Get the damn donkey to stand still so I can reverse the spell!"
"And how am I supposed to do that?" Harry retorted, breaking into a run after the donkey, Draco close beside him.
"Maybe if you lie down in front of it, it'll trip over you and get knocked out," Draco suggested. "Or if you're lucky that donkey's actually Ginny Weasley — look, it's even got a red mane — then all you'll have to do is ask it out to dinner and it'll come over to lick your hand."
"Shut up." Harry shot him a very sharp look as they raced after the donkey, which was cantering toward the library, still braying frantically at the top of its voice. Draco never failed to miss an opportunity to rib him about Ginny, Ron Weasley's sister from Gryffindor, who had been quite taken by Harry ever since they'd met.
"If we get into trouble because of this, Malfoy —" Harry started warningly, but trouble caught up with them before he could even finish his sentence.
"POTTER! MALFOY! WHAT IS GOING ON?!"
Harry groaned inwardly as he instantly recognised Professor McGonagall's crisp voice. He cast a glance over his shoulder and saw the Transfiguration teacher hurrying over to them, her face flushed with anger. From the corner of his other eye Harry saw Draco furtively shoo the donkey out of sight. He tried to offer her the best innocent smile he could muster.
Professor McGonagall drew to a halt in front of them, and suspiciously looked over Draco's shoulder at the flickering tail attached to a grey rump, all that was visible of the donkey.
"Is that — is that a donkey, Potter?" McGonagall asked sharply, although she was unable to hide the astonishment from her voice.
For once, Harry didn't know how to answer. Draco managed a sheepish grin, and said, "It's Potter's new pet, Professor."
Professor McGonagall looked incredulous. "Might I remind you, Potter, no hoofed animals are allowed on the school grounds, and Mr Malfoy, stop trying to push the beast behind the pillar, I can already see it very clearly from where I stand." Her eyes narrowed. "Are you sure that animal isn't the result of a spell of some sort?"
"No, Professor, of course not," Harry answered, too quickly. He shuffled backwards, hoping that the donkey had the sense to run away, but it hadn't — it was starting to ruminate on Draco's robes. Draco swatted angrily at it and cuffed it across its ears, making it bray loudly in protest.
McGonagall shot Harry a distrusting look. "I've never seen a donkey with a red mane, Potter," she said, sidestepping Harry to have a better view of the donkey. Draco had given up trying to prod it with his wand — nothing was more incriminating than the donkey turning back into a human right in front of McGonagall's eyes.
Again, Harry found himself tongue-tied, and Draco spoke up to cover for him.
"It's from Potter's secret admirer, Professor — dyed red to represent undying love." Draco said, managing the pun with a straight face. Harry almost gagged.
"We'll see about that, then." McGonagall raised her wand, pointed it at the fidgeting donkey and uttered, "Finite Incantatem!"
"Oops," Draco whispered under his breath, loud enough for Harry to hear.
With a rather unflattering *phump* the donkey disappeared, and in its place a frazzled boy sat on the floor, his glasses askew, his red hair in a state of disarray. He looked positively traumatised as he stared up at Professor McGonagall, who stared back at the boy in horror before turning her glare on Harry and Draco.
"Fifty points from Slytherin!" McGonagall shrieked, looking thoroughly enraged. She took one more appalled glance at the unfortunate boy, and continued her furious tirade. "This is preposterous! Potter and Malfoy, you two have caused enough trouble before, but this is —" words failed her for a moment, and she angrily jabbed a forefinger in the boy's direction. "This is positively outrageous! I am certainly not proud that my students are using Transfiguration in such a manner! Which one of you did this?"
"He did," Harry and Draco said together.
McGonagall gave them an agonised look, then seized them both firmly by the arm. "Detention for both of you," she said grimly, and signalled for some students standing nearby to take the boy to the hospital wing. "And I'll be sure to speak to Professor Snape about this."
"You tried to turn me into a donkey?" Harry said furiously, rounding on Draco.
Draco looked up calmly from the pumpkin patch he was weeding. "Yep. You're an ass. Get it?"
"Very funny. Great sense of humour you have."
"Glad you appreciate it."
"The hell I do. I'll appreciate it a lot more if your head exploded and fertilised this pumpkin patch with whatever little brain matter you have up there."
"Now you're just being a smart ass, too. Keep it up, Potter, you'll be the wittiest mule in the herd."
"Go to hell, Malfoy." Harry glared at Draco, who managed a simpering smile in return. "It's your fault that we're here, so just shut up and weed."
Harry sighed as he turned away, his gloved hands filled with soggy compost as he spread the fertiliser over the damp soil. This was their detention, the punishment for their donkey antics — Malfoy's donkey antics, to be specific. Harry had absolutely nothing to do with it, accept for the fact that he was supposed to turn into a donkey instead of that unfortunate boy.
This wasn't an uncommon occurrence at all. Harry couldn't count the number of times he and Malfoy had served detention together — Filch had even announced that any more polishing of the trophies would dissolve the top layer of metal, the reason why they'd been sent out to work on Hagrid's pumpkin patch instead.
Harry cast a sidelong glance at Malfoy, and caught him poking listlessly at a slug with his wand. Of course, nothing happened — there was a Magic Repelling Spell temporarily placed on the patch to ensure that all the work was done without the help of magic.
"Saying hello to your relative, Malfoy?" Harry remarked scathingly.
Draco looked up and scowled at him. "Smart ass."
Harry grinned and returned to his work. It was a constant competition between them — always had been. They'd sparred and fought innumerable times over the past five years, and were probably the most infamous havoc-wreckers in Hogwarts, after the Weasley twins. Of course, they almost always ended up in trouble together, but it was a victory for one when the other party was innocently punished. Such was the volatile balance of Harry's relationship with Draco over the years — always rivals, sometimes co-conspirators, rarely friends, and even grudgingly so.
No, Harry decided, Draco wasn't his friend. Friends did not send as birthday presents parcels that exploded in endless streams of bats — Malfoy did that for Harry's last birthday. (Lucky for Harry, Dudley opened it out of curiosity and ended up blind for a week when he grabbed a bat that attacked his nose and in retaliation, it squirted some toxic fluid into his eyes.)
Harry realised that he did spend most of his time with Draco, though not by choice — they were both in the Slytherin Quidditch team, and practice was almost every evening, and other than that, he and Malfoy took the same classes, slept in the same dorm, and sat at the same table in the Great Hall. They constantly bickered and sniped at each other, and their rivalry often got rather — explosive, literally. Harry was excellent at hexes and spellwork, and Draco was more than a worthy match for him — their duels often ended a dozen other people up in the hospital wing.
"Are you upgrading your broom?" Draco's voice interrupted Harry's thoughts.
Harry turned. "What?"
"Your broom," Draco repeated. A tone of boastfulness crept into his voice. "My father's got me the latest Firebolt 2000 — just out this summer."
Harry had a Firebolt — he'd bought it with the money his parents had left him. Hagrid had taken him down to Gringotts to get the gold two summers ago, since Harry didn't know how to get to his vault. Ever since he'd been put in Slytherin, Hagrid had still been on fairly cordial terms with Harry, but had kept his distance unless necessary. Harry had never gone down to Hagrid's hut to visit him before, although he'd seen a few Gryffindors, most often Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, heading in that direction during their free time.
"Why do you need a Firebolt 2000?" Harry asked caustically. "You're not even the Seeker." He grinned inwardly as he saw Draco's grey eyes narrow. This was one of the few edges he had over Malfoy, and Harry never let up a chance to torment him about having the position which Draco coveted most.
"I could knock you off the team, you know — I'm Quidditch captain now." Draco glared daggers at Harry.
Harry gave him a maddeningly smug smile. "No you can't. For Slytherin's sake, even Snape won't let you — remember what happened at that match against Ravenclaw last year? They let you fill in as the Seeker because I was injured, and oh, it was your best performance yet, Draco."
Draco's pale cheeks blushed with a tinge of pink. "Shut up, Potter."
Harry dissolved into guffaws at the recollection of it. "Once again, Malfoy —" he said slowly, as if talking to a three-year-old, and held up his left hand. "Snitch." He put up his other hand. "Filch." Harry grinned. "Ends with the same two letters, but they're entirely different things."
"Shut up," Draco said again. He looked distinctly ruffled by the mention of the incident. "How was I supposed to know that the stupid goon was putting up Christmas decorations while the match was going on? He had to climb the tree and start draping tinsel on the branches — it was very cloudy, and so when I saw something glittering I went for it!" Draco looked very annoyed. "It's not my fault! And how the hell did you know about it, anyway? You were in the hospital wing!"
"Wilkins lent me his Omnioculars — he certainly found it very amusing — so I watched the whole match from my bed." Harry smirked. Wilkins was another Slytherin sixth-year, and he and Malfoy had been bitter enemies ever since a brawl erupted between them on their first day at school during the feast in the Great Hall.
Draco called Wilkins a very unpleasant name, and Harry chortled. "But anyway, I had Filch for company for the next two days after the match, and he was more than willing to tell anyone who'd listen his version of the story. Mind, I got the extended dance remix of 'Draco Malfoy is a big blind git', with three choruses of 'He should be banned from flying for the rest of his life'."
Even Draco couldn't suppress a small smile at this. "Well he deserved it," he huffed with dignity. "He broke the handle of my broom, did you know?"
"And you stabbed him in the sternum and broke three of his ribs," Harry put in dryly. "But I'm sure you came off worse in the collision, yes."
"Next match is against Gryffindor," Draco reminded Harry. "Better make sure we steamroller those goody-two-shoes."
"We will," Harry said, somewhat complacently. Slytherin had been Quidditch champion for the past ten years, at least — and ever since Harry became their Seeker in his second year, they'd never lost a single match. This was probably the only reason why Snape (very grudgingly) allowed him to stay on the Slytherin team. For some reason unknown to Harry, Snape hated his guts even though Harry was quite the star of Slytherin. Probably jealous, Harry concluded. Snape dotes on Malfoy, he's just bummed that I'm better than he is.
"Weasley's on the team, you know," Draco said, with no small hint of disdain. He let out a derisive laugh. "He's playing Beater, I think — I'll have quite a time of running circles around him on his — Cleansweep Five."
"Ron's on the team?" Harry looked up, surprised. He knew that Ron's twin brothers had been Beaters for Gryffindor, and objectively, they were both pretty good although the rest of the team was mediocre. But they'd graduated from Hogwarts last year. "Probably taking over from his brothers, then."
"So much for a meritocracy," Draco sneered. "Looks like a place on the Gryffindor team is based on inheritance, not talent. Don't blame them, really, talent's quite a scarce quality there."
Harry didn't answer. He hadn't really spoken to Ron in a long time — probably the longest conversation they had since their first chat on the Hogwarts Express was, 'Ron — Snape wants you to see him about your detention', or 'Harry, McGonagall said to meet her about your Transfiguration homework'. Other than that, all they exchanged were brief, strained smiles before they both hastily looked away. Malfoy often gleefully took to making fun of Ron, but Harry never joined in.
Draco again noticed Harry's discreet silence. "What is with you, Potter?" he asked, sounding exasperated. "What've you got going for Weasley, anyway?"
"Nothing." Harry threw Draco a sharp look. "It's just that he's not all that bad a person, okay? So quit being so horrible to him."
"He's a Gryffindor, Harry!" Draco raised his eyes heavenward. "And he's poor as a church mouse and his family's rubbish. His dad's a real twat, you know — my father says so."
"And I'm sure his dad thinks likewise of your father," Harry stated reasonably. The Malfoy-Weasley hostility was well-publicised in the wizarding community.
"Only difference is, my dad can get Weasley's sacked," Draco pointed out haughtily. "In fact, he's talked of it, but having the Weasleys starve to death is really too humane a way to go."
"Draco!" Harry said sharply, looked genuinely shocked. "That's downright nasty, Malfoy, stop it."
"Really, Harry!" Draco looked very irritated. He seemed intent on trying to wring an insult to Ron out of Harry. "You're being a real wuss about it, you know. Weasley's Gryffindor — we're Slytherin — and that's all there is to it." Draco shot Harry a withering look, then added sarcastically, "If you like him so much, why don't you catch the Snitch and give it to him wrapped in your yellow polka-dot boxers at the next Quid—OUCH!"
Harry had flung his wand at Draco, and it hit him hard on the side of his face. Draco glared back at him, rubbing his cheek with an injured look. "Oh, really smart, Harry, you can't use magic, so hey, just use the wand instead."
"I do not like Ron, okay?" Harry said furiously, glowering at Draco. "I just think he's an okay chap, and I'm sick of you whinging on about him all the time. And —" Harry drew himself up in a dignified sort of way, "those horrid boxers were a Christmas gift from Millicent Bulstrode, who I believe gave you black lacy briefs for your present."
"Yeah, and I even agreed to model it for her, too," Draco said with a straight face.
Harry spluttered. "You what?!"
"What do you think I was doing all Christmas Eve? Just wanted to spread the yuletide cheer, that's all."
Harry stared at Draco in disbelief. "That is gross," he said weakly.
"She even took photos — wanna see them?"
"DRACO!"
Draco burst out laughing. "Oh come on, Harry. I wouldn't be caught dead in one of those." He made a face. "Especially not alone in a room with her —" he shuddered, "I think that'll be tantamount to rape, it will."
"You're more than a little bit crazy, you know that, Malfoy?"
Draco raised his chin haughtily. "I like to think of it as misunderstood brilliance."
"Or more like psychotic autism with a generous voyeuristic flavour."
"Same thing."
"And I forgot to add the twisted sense of humour, too."
"No wonder the girls love me." Draco shook his head in mock wonderment.
Harry couldn't withhold a bark of laughter. "Yeah, real hot chicks — more like chickens, really — such as Millicent Bulstrode. Might I remind you that of all the 'bare necessity' gifts from her minimalist-themed Christmas shopping list, you got the raciest present of all."
"Really, now?" Draco arched his eyebrow suggestively. "She did say that she wanted to give you a thong for Valentine's Day."
Harry's eyes widened in genuine horror. "You're kidding."
"Nope." Draco shook his head, his face perfectly serious. "She asked me what your favourite colour is, and I told her you'd like a neon green one with silver linings," Draco grinned slyly, "you know — Slytherin colours."
Professor Lupin sat in his office, and idly picked the worn scroll of parchment out of his drawer. He couldn't hold back a small wry smile as he turned the scroll over in his hands, inspecting it. It was the Marauder's Map, and it brought back bittersweet memories, like strains of a cherished childhood song.
He would never forget the times Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs roamed the Forbidden Forest, wild spirits running free where the horizons were their only limits. It was so long ago, but as he fingered the yellowed parchment in his hands, the nights felt like only yesterday. It was hard to believe that so many things had happened since then — dark, evil deeds that had taken away his three closest friends, two in death and one in cold-blooded betrayal.
Lupin uncreased the scroll, spreading it out on his table. A roll of blank parchment stared innocently back at him, a clever camouflage that had managed to fool countless teachers in their time, probably even more since then. Lupin had actually completely forgotten about the Marauder's Map, even after he had arrived as a teacher in Hogwarts last year. But he instantly recognised it when he saw the Weasley twins skulking around the one-eyed witch statue with it clasped in their hands, and had taken it back into his possession for posterity.
He picked up his wand, tapped on the parchment and muttered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Those words rolled off his tongue like the most natural phrase in the world, and the irony of them brought a smile to his face. He could almost hear Prongs and Padfoot laughing if they could see him here: Moony! You, a teacher? Joining the ranks of the enemy! Woe to the next generation of mischief-makers, you'll know every trick in the book...
Lupin forced himself to stop thinking about his friends. It still hurt too much to dwell on them, especially Sirius. It made him painfully remember what Sirius did — the most gruesome, horrendous thing that any human could have ever done.
The familiar spidery lines emerged on the faded parchment, meeting and crisscrossing as they fanned out to the extremity of the scroll as if an invisible hand was sketching out the plan of Hogwarts. Lupin sighed and sat back in his chair, absently looking over the contents of the scroll. He often perused the Map in his free time — whatever scruples of conscience that nagged at him vanished as a lot of interesting details about the goings-on in the school were revealed.
Apparently the Owlery had now taken over the Astronomy Tower as the students' favourite place for sordid little make-out sessions... and over there was Professors Vector and Sinistra, having what they thought was a private moment — and — what in the world was Snape doing in the —? Lupin blinked, and ventured a closer look. Oh — he was — never mind. Lupin grimaced. That definitely had been too much information.
Lupin quickly glanced away from the Potions master, and his eyes came to rest on the vicinity of Hagrid's hut. There he could see the dots labelled 'Harry Potter' and 'Draco Malfoy' lingering around the pumpkin patch, presumably serving their latest detention. Lupin had heard all about the donkey escapade from a very dismayed Professor McGonagall ('Really! Harry is even more trouble than James had been!'), and he chuckled softly to himself. James certainly would have been amused to see his son carrying on his legacy of mischief.
A frown furrowed Lupin's tired features. Would James really have been proud of Harry? he wondered. What would he have said if he found out that Harry had been Sorted into Slytherin? It had come as quite a shock to Lupin himself, when he had arrived at the school in the preceding year — Harry Potter, in Slytherin? That was almost as improbable as Snape becoming Head of Gryffindor (and thank goodness that didn't happen, or Lupin would really have to check that potion he'd been brewing for himself).
Lupin had gone to ask Dumbledore about it — he had been, to say the least, appalled. In response, Dumbledore had been rather cryptic about the whole matter — all he said was that the Sorting Hat had never been wrong, and that Harry would have to carve out a life for himself in the House he was Sorted into. And that he certainly seems to be managing, Dumbledore had added, with a twinkle in his eye. Harry has successfully been getting into a fine lot of trouble, with the assistance of Mr Draco Malfoy.
But all the same, Lupin had his doubts. James' son — in Slytherin? That was preposterous. But he'd wisely left it as it was. So far, Harry excelled in Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, consistently topping Slytherin and sometimes even the entire level — it was either him, or Hermione Granger from Gryffindor.
Gryffindor. Lupin smiled, and his eyes strayed over to Gryffindor Tower, which still looked familiar and unchanged from the days he had lived in it. In his time, Gryffindor was the high-flying House, best in everything from Quidditch to Transfiguration, courtesy of the sheer talent and intelligence of James Potter and Sirius Black. Probably the only subject in which Slytherin held its own was Potions, and that was because of Severus Snape. But now, sadly, Slytherin seemed to have taken over the honour roll.
Lupin glanced at the time — it was going on half-past nine, and most of the Gryffindors were (reluctantly) spending their night with McGonagall for an extra Transfiguration lesson (since Peeves had disrupted class last week when he caused a water pipe to explode, resulting in a torrential shower flooding the Transfiguration classroom while McGonagall was teaching), so the common room and the Tower was almost empty.
Almost.
Lupin started involuntarily, and abruptly leaned forward, almost unable to believe his eyes.
There was unmistakably someone in the boys' dormitory in Gryffindor Tower.
Lupin stared at the tiny black dot, his mouth slack, his heartbeat quickening, pounding in his ears. His eyes were transfixed on the small label above the dot, which was darting to and fro within the dormitory. Lupin rubbed his eyes. He must be imagining things, or Snape must have slipped a hallucinogen into his Wolfsbane Potion.
It couldn't be.
Lupin looked again. The dot was still there, clear as before, distinct against the pale parchment. And the Marauder's Map never lied.
Peter Pettigrew.
Peter Pettigrew was alive, and he was in Gryffindor Tower at that very moment.
Lupin remained frozen for a moment longer before he sprang into action. Snatching the Map in one hand, he rushed out of his office and sprinted as fast as he could in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.
Lupin crawled through the portrait hole after giving the password ('Starry night' — the teachers knew all the passwords), and dashed straight up the stairs leading to the boys' dormitory. The directions were oddly familiar — he and his friends had lived in exactly the same dormitory when they were in Hogwarts, and now one of his friends — or former friend — was right there at that precise moment.
He reached the top of the stairs and flung the door open. The dormitory was dark, except for stray beams of moonlight filtering in through the windows. Lupin's sharp eyes were accustomed to seeing in almost pitch darkness, and they quickly adjusted to the dim interior as they darted around expectantly.
There was no one there.
Lupin frowned as he strode to the middle of the room, his head swivelling from side to side as he looked into the darkened corners, expecting to see a figure of a man crouching here or there. But the room was completely empty, except for himself.
Lupin blinked, perplexed. Maybe the strong anti-depressants he used to take (and almost got an overdose of once, but that was almost fifteen years ago) had permanently damaged his mind in some way or the other.
He raised his wand, the Marauder's Map held in his hand. "Lumos," he snapped, in a rather agitated tone. Light blossomed forth from the tip of his wand, illuminating the parchment.
Lupin's eyes cut to the section representing Gryffindor Tower, and immediately saw himself standing in the middle of the room. His eyes widened as he saw the tiny black dot marked 'Peter Pettigrew' streaking right past him on the map, out of the open dormitory door and down the stairs.
"Damn!" Lupin yelled, as realisation dawned upon him. He whirled around, desperately searching the darkened floor. He swore heatedly under his breath, and started toward the door, which was ajar.
He suddenly heard a faint murmur of voices and pattering feet coming from the common room below — a glance at the Map told him that the Gryffindors were back from class. The dot marked 'Pettigrew' merged with the group of students coming up the stairs, and Lupin lost sight of it for a moment. Lupin hurried down the stairs, cursing softly — he should have realised earlier...
Down in the common room, Ron was half-listening to Hermione's theory about how a Switching Spell could be combined with a Summoning Spell in a makeshift form of Apparition when he saw Professor Lupin hurtling down the stairs from the boys' dormitory, his pale face flushed pink. The other Gryffindors looked up, startled as well.
Hermione reacted first. "Professor Lupin!" she exclaimed, looking worried. "What's going on?"
Lupin glanced wildly around, and was met with a dozen curious gazes looking back at him. He scanned the floor, but it was too cluttered with books, bags as well as tables and chairs. He looked at the Map in his hands — the dot marked 'Pettigrew' was already out of Gryffindor Tower and was swiftly racing down the corridors, clearly making its way out of the Hogwarts grounds. There would be no way he could stop Pettigrew, or alert Dumbledore in time.
Ron looked anxiously at their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher — the usually calm and collected Professor Lupin was behaving in a rather strange manner, as if something very serious had happened. He exchanged worried looks with Hermione.
Finally, Lupin sighed and took a deep breath to calm himself. He looked at the Gryffindors, who were watching him silently. "Who of you boys live in the first dormitory on the left, at the top of the stairs?" he asked, casting a sharp glance around.
That's our dorm, Ron thought. He raised his hand. "I do," he answered, and saw a few of his classmates — Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, as well as Neville Longbottom — nodding too. "So do the other sixth-year Gryffindors, Professor."
Lupin nodded thoughtfully. "Would you four boys please step aside, I'd like a word with you." He waved his hand, dismissing the others. "The rest of you may go back to your dorms, there's nothing to be worried about." The Gryffindors still looked rather dubious as they filed off, however — it was not common to see Professor Lupin looking so troubled, unless something was really wrong.
Hermione gave Ron a small wave as he stepped aside to talk to Professor Lupin. "I'll see you in the morning, then," she whispered, giving him a tell-me-all-about-it-tomorrow look. "Goodnight."
"Night," Ron answered, as he turned his attention to Professor Lupin.
Lupin looked very sober as he glanced at the four boys waiting in front of him. "Firstly," he said, noticing the slight alarm on all their faces, "there is absolutely nothing to be worried about — your dorm is perfectly safe." Neville Longbottom looked distinctly comforted by his words. "I just want to know one thing — does any of you own a rat?"
Everyone looked at Ron, who stammered slightly, "I — I do, Professor, I mean, I did."
"You did? What do you mean?" Lupin asked pointedly.
"I had a rat, Scabbers," Ron explained. "But it ran away more than a year ago — I don't know where it went."
"I see," Lupin said, a pensive look on his face. "Other than Ron, does anyone else own — or used to own — a rat?"
The rest of them shook their heads.
"How long have you had that rat?" Lupin turned to Ron, who was starting to look rather uncomfortable.
"Ages," Ron replied. "It was my brother Percy's, at first, then later he gave it to me when I came to Hogwarts." He glanced warily at Professor Lupin. "It's not against the rules or anything, is it? Did I do something wrong?"
"No, no," Lupin answered distractedly. He looked intently at Ron. "When did it run away — a year ago, did you say?"
Ron nodded. "Sometime last year, I think."
"Did it return to your dorm since then? Did it ever come back, even briefly?"
Ron shook his head. "Not that I know of." He looked worried. "Is there anything wrong, Professor?"
Lupin sighed. There were dark rings framing his usually clear blue-grey eyes, now clouded with thoughtfulness. "No, Ron, there's nothing wrong." Lupin hoped that he sounded convincing, and noticed the boys still looking at him in anticipation of an explanation for his rather unexpected line of questioning. How am I supposed to explain everything to them?
So instead, Lupin crossed his fingers behind his back and said, "There's been a suspected virus running amok within the rat population — the Headmaster wants to make sure the students are not exposed to any risks, and I was told that some of you boys own rats."
Ron gave Professor Lupin a doubtful sidelong glance — he suspected that his teacher wasn't telling them the whole truth, if at all. "No, we don't have any rats, sir — not anymore, at least."
There was no look of relief on Lupin's face as he turned away. "Very well, then, please get on with your evening. Goodnight, boys."
Lupin slid out of the portrait hole, emerging on the other side. He gave the Fat Lady a tired smile as he slowly paced down the darkened corridor, his mind heavy with conflicting thoughts. He still wasn't sure he believed what he had seen in the Marauder's Map, but he knew he hadn't been seeing things.
Peter Pettigrew was still alive. And that changed almost everything.
Lupin walked down the corridor, and instead of turning left back towards his own office, he headed in the opposite direction, to Dumbledore's office. He needed to tell the Headmaster what had transpired tonight, and ask him what to make of it, whether it could possibly mean what Lupin thought it did.
What was going on? Lupin asked himself, rubbing his temples wearily. "Sherbet lemons," he said as he reached the stone gargoyle, and it opened to permit him entry. What in the world is going on?
And for once, Lupin couldn't answer his own question.
~~~