Chapter 9
Christopher wandered down the sidewalk, lost in thought. People do not simply disappear at will; there must be a logical explanation…. The very thought that there was no logical explanation was intolerable. He stopped, noticing for the first time that he had absentmindedly walked into a park. Wooden benches lined a pebbly walkway that was relatively empty except for himself. He turned around and headed back towards the exit, hoping to make it back to the Childe's flat in time for tea. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a shadow separate itself from the thick trunk of an oak and glide swiftly after him. Curiously, he only first felt a flash of annoyance rather than fear. Even so, his hand instinctively groped for something in his sleeve that wasn't there.
Fear shivered unpleasantly down his spine as he realized he was utterly defenceless against the unknown danger. So, he did the only thing he could and followed his instincts. Find a crowd, quickly! Unobtrusively picking up his pace, Christopher exited the park and fell into step right behind a large group of touring Americans led by a squat woman with an accent distinctly from the Manchester area. A pair of females eyed him with interest but he was too busy glancing discreetly behind him to notice.
The shadow was gone and the sense of imminent danger he had just felt faded to a heightened wariness. He stayed with the tour group a bit longer before slipping silently into a side street where he made his way to the Childe's flat as quickly as possible.
* * *
Harry brushed his hair out of his eyes for the umpteenth time with a sudsy hand, leaving a trail of bubbles that stung slightly on his forehead. Mrs. Skower sure knew how to brew some strong stuff. His hands were protected by a pair of thick black rubber gloves that made his hands smell funny after he took them off.
The hair flopped right back into his eyes as he bent over the desk again, scrubbing furiously at the bits of melted plastic and other unidentifiable materials clinging stubbornly to the surface of Neville Longbottom's old Transfiguration desk.
He'd saved Neville's desk for last. After the few days that he'd already been working on Professor McGonagall's classroom, Harry knew that if any desk would be the hardest, it would be Neville's. Harry shuddered when he thought of Neville's potions table. That would be the worst… especially if Snape decided to take a break from ward-weaving and come torment him with snide comments about him, his unfortunate tendency to get into trouble, his parents... Harry frowned. No, wait a minute. Snape had always scorned James Potter openly in front of Harry but he couldn't remember a time when the Potions Master had ever mentioned Lily Potter, his mother. Strange that he'd never noticed that before. Harry wondered why. Perhaps Lily had been a shy girl and had been largely ignored by Snape. No, that didn't sound right. Neville was very shy and Snape seemed to enjoy tormenting him as often as possible even when Neville was doing something right in class, which, Harry admitted to himself, wasn't often.
"Hard at work, Cinderella?"
Harry jerked his head up, prepared to give the laughing voice a piece of his mind. All words left his mouth, however, when he saw the speaker. Remus Lupin leaned against the doorjamb to the classroom, chuckling quietly. Aside from a few more silver hairs and a tiredness in his face, Professor Lupin looked much like he had the last time Harry had seen him three years before.
"That'll be ten points for your cheek, Professor," Harry grinned and stood, "Did you just get here?"
"About an hour ago," Lupin replied walking further into the classroom, his patched robes looking much more frayed than Harry remembered. "And please," he continued offering his hand to Harry, "call me Remus. I'm not a professor any more."
Just as Harry pulled off his gloves to shake Lupin's hand, Sirius appeared at the open door. "There you are, Remus!" he said, sounding a bit annoyed. "Dumbledore wants to start on the wards on the western side right away."
Remus nodded and smiled at Harry. "I'll talk to you later, Harry. I want to have a chance to catch up."
"Sure," he replied and went back to work on Neville's desk.
* * *
A few days later, Harry sneezed from the dust on an ancient book that Professor Flitwick liked to use as his step stool. He reached for the feather duster again, wishing that the dust wouldn't make his eyes itch so much….
"Ah-choo!" he sneezed again, stirring up another cloud of dust. This is ridiculous, thought Harry looking around vainly for a box of tissues to mop up his nose. I have to get some fresh air… perhaps Dumbledore will allow me to cast an anti-allergen charm on myself…
Stumbling to his feet, Harry walked quickly out of the room
Christopher wandered down the sidewalk, lost in thought. People do not simply disappear at will; there must be a logical explanation…. The very thought that there was no logical explanation was intolerable. He stopped, noticing for the first time that he had absentmindedly walked into a park. Wooden benches lined a pebbly walkway that was relatively empty except for himself. He turned around and headed back towards the exit, hoping to make it back to the Childe's flat in time for tea. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a shadow separate itself from the thick trunk of an oak and glide swiftly after him. Curiously, he only first felt a flash of annoyance rather than fear. Even so, his hand instinctively groped for something in his sleeve that wasn't there.
Fear shivered unpleasantly down his spine as he realized he was utterly defenceless against the unknown danger. So, he did the only thing he could and followed his instincts. Find a crowd, quickly! Unobtrusively picking up his pace, Christopher exited the park and fell into step right behind a large group of touring Americans led by a squat woman with an accent distinctly from the Manchester area. A pair of females eyed him with interest but he was too busy glancing discreetly behind him to notice.
The shadow was gone and the sense of imminent danger he had just felt faded to a heightened wariness. He stayed with the tour group a bit longer before slipping silently into a side street where he made his way to the Childe's flat as quickly as possible.
Harry brushed his hair out of his eyes for the umpteenth time with a sudsy hand, leaving a trail of bubbles that stung slightly on his forehead. Mrs. Skower sure knew how to brew some strong stuff. His hands were protected by a pair of thick black rubber gloves that made his hands smell funny after he took them off.
The hair flopped right back into his eyes as he bent over the desk again, scrubbing furiously at the bits of melted plastic and other unidentifiable materials clinging stubbornly to the surface of Neville Longbottom's old Transfiguration desk.
He'd saved Neville's desk for last. After the few days that he'd already been working on Professor McGonagall's classroom, Harry knew that if any desk would be the hardest, it would be Neville's. Harry shuddered when he thought of Neville's potions table. That would be the worst… especially if Snape decided to take a break from ward-weaving and come torment him with snide comments about him, his unfortunate tendency to get into trouble, his parents... Harry frowned. No, wait a minute. Snape had always scorned James Potter openly in front of Harry but he couldn't remember a time when the Potions Master had ever mentioned Lily Potter, his mother. Strange that he'd never noticed that before. Harry wondered why. Perhaps Lily had been a shy girl and had been largely ignored by Snape. No, that didn't sound right. Neville was very shy and Snape seemed to enjoy tormenting him as often as possible even when Neville was doing something right in class, which, Harry admitted to himself, wasn't often.
"Hard at work, Cinderella?"
Harry jerked his head up, prepared to give the laughing voice a piece of his mind. All words left his mouth, however, when he saw the speaker. Remus Lupin leaned against the doorjamb to the classroom, chuckling quietly. Aside from a few more silver hairs and a tiredness in his face, Professor Lupin looked much like he had the last time Harry had seen him three years before.
"That'll be ten points for your cheek, Professor," Harry grinned and stood, "Did you just get here?"
"About an hour ago," Lupin replied walking further into the classroom, his patched robes looking much more frayed than Harry remembered. "And please," he continued offering his hand to Harry, "call me Remus. I'm not a professor any more."
Just as Harry pulled off his gloves to shake Lupin's hand, Sirius appeared at the open door. "There you are, Remus!" he said, sounding a bit annoyed. "Dumbledore wants to start on the wards on the western side right away."
Remus nodded and smiled at Harry. "I'll talk to you later, Harry. I want to have a chance to catch up."
"Sure," he replied and went back to work on Neville's desk.
A few days later, Harry sneezed from the dust on an ancient book that Professor Flitwick liked to use as his step stool. He reached for the feather duster again, wishing that the dust wouldn't make his eyes itch so much….
"Ah-choo!" he sneezed again, stirring up another cloud of dust. This is ridiculous, thought Harry looking around vainly for a box of tissues to mop up his nose. I have to get some fresh air… perhaps Dumbledore will allow me to cast an anti-allergen charm on myself…
Stumbling to his feet, Harry walked quickly out of the room