It's not until I sit down among my new housemates that I see him. I scanned the staff table earlier—the familiar face must have been hidden behind the bulk that is Professor Hagrid. He catches my eye, gives a wave and a wink.
Anger floods my stomach for the second time tonight. If it weren't for the growing weight on my mind, maybe the momentary rush of pleasure at seeing his face would have lingered. The food is glorious, but I have no appetite. I make it through the rest of dinner, nibbling at a lemon tart and exchanging stories and small talk with my new family.
Speaking of.
"Hello, Uncle John."
He hides his surprise well.
"Annie." With a sigh. "Office-breaking already?"
"Yep."
"I should be glad you didn't start with the headmistress'. I don't suppose this could wait until tomorrow?"
I swing my legs off the sofa's arm but don't sit up.
"Nope."
"Can we just call my presence here a happy coincidence?"
This doesn't deserve a reply, and John doesn't expect one. He sighs again. "In theory, you could be pleased that your favorite uncle is teaching at your new school."
One small, treacherous part of me is pleased. I quash it mercilessly, fixing him with a glare.
"My only uncle."
"Not your…"
"My only uncle who openly acknowledges my existence," I amend. "You know, when he's not too preoccupied."
The fact that we're not biologically related isn't relevant enough to mention. He's been around as long as I can remember, and Mother and I have always been able to count on him. Until now.
John unfastens his dusty traveling cloak with a sigh and drapes it on the back of an armchair. After a moment he steps forward and drops into the chair himself.
"Thanks for making up the fire."
I shrug.
"Welcome."
"Magic?"
I wave a hand at the mantle, a gesture that says, do you see any matches?
Uncle John attempts a smile. "I always said you'd be top of your class."
Neither of us speaks for moment, both staring into the scarlet-orange blaze. The flames send shadows flickering across the stone walls but don't penetrate the darkness in the corners of the room, where a couple of large trunks wait to be unpacked. I want to either hug him or hurl something at his head. I break silence before I start leaning toward the latter.
"What do you teach?"
"Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Of course. Mum always said he and Dad would have gotten on great.
Not thinking about Dad.
"I'm looking forward to it."
"I'm glad."
There's a short silence again. I'm not really sure what to say. Of course it's all quite clear, now—the sudden 'business' trips, the lack of close friends nearby, all the little things that didn't add up over the years. I've never even been inside his house; no doubt it's full of unicorn horns and dragon skin sofas or whatever else wizards decorate with.
What it doesn't explain is how shabby and tired he looks. Uncle John has never been the picture of health, but now the circles under his eyes, more pronounced in the firelight, make him appear positively ill.
It also doesn't explain how little of him I've seen over the past year.
"Where've you been?"
"Business. I'm always busy at summer's end, Annie, you know that. Before start of term, I work very closely with the Auror department—sort of the wizard police, you know—"
"Couldn't be bothered to come by when Mother was losing her mind?"
Probably an exaggeration. He doesn't bother to point it out.
Uncle sighs.
"It isn't easy on your mother, is it? What you can do."
I laugh. It's a grating sound, even in my own ears.
"What we can do," John corrects.
"It's not just Mother, Uncle John." My voice is rising, and I let it because the alternative is dropping to a hiss. "I want to know why I spent the last year terrified I was going out of my mind. Strange things happening to a...normal family is unsettling. But you know we've received threats."
"A long time ago."
"She still remembers! You could have helped!"
He wilts a little. "Annie…I wanted to come by. I wanted so badly to put your minds at rest concerning the magical world. But there was the fact of my own deception. With you gone, she needs a shred of normalcy, a shoulder to cry on. Mary and I will still be there for her."
I open my mouth, but he plows on.
"And before you ask—and I know this is what really bothers you—I couldn't have helped with the magic. Surely you realize I couldn't have told you what I was, Annie. Not before the headmistress' visit. There are laws. Several of which," he raises his voice slightly, "proscribe instructing an underage witch in magic. Particularly in a Muggle setting."
I let out a breath and look away.
"I learned, anyway."
"I knew you would."
Both our heads snap toward the fireplace as a pocket of sap overheats and explodes with a violent pop. The logs settle as indigo flames shoot upwards. The wood isn't normal either, then. Nothing here is.
"You were different," I say distantly, watching the flickering fade back to orange. Not all of the smoke from the minor explosion makes it up the chimney, and something about the stuffy atmosphere is making my head feel heavy. I lever myself up straight in an attempt to clear it. "There was always something different about you. No explanation."
John nods, waving his wand. I watch the cloud condense and soar up the chimney.
"Mother said it was just that you liked us…"
John tilts his head sharply. "Did she?"
"No," I lie, wishing I could swallow my words.
John looks at me and back into the fire and sighs, all regret and untidy gray hair. His face lights up in surprise when I embrace him. Mum always said that Uncle John's smile could tame a caged tiger. The tiger in question was generally me, beginning when I was small and woke screaming almost nightly.
No, it wasn't just that he liked us. And that wasn't why I liked him, either. Uncle John—with his mysterious scars, and the graying blonde hair that always needs cutting, and his uncanny ability to turn up whenever he's most needed—he showed me that it was okay to be different. That different can be good. You hear that message a lot, but you don't often see it demonstrated. Or believed in. I love to read nearly as much as Mother does, but she always says I don't trust the words, and it's perfectly true.
My face stays buried in his shoulder for a moment. I'm still angry, still slightly in shock to find an old family friend here, and still too exhausted to work out whether I forgive him, so I turn toward the door, thinking I'll leave it for another day.
And then I turn back, one foot in the corridor. Uncle John rose when I did and walked to his desk. He's pouring boiling water from his wand into a kettle, rummaging in a drawer for tea leaves, and looks up when I clear my throat.
"I'm glad you're here, Uncle John."
There's the smile again, the familiar hazel gaze. "And I'm more than happy you're here with me."
I'm nearly outside the door again when he adds, "By the way, it's Professor Lupin here. Just so you know."
A different name in each world. Maybe it's a wizard thing.
"Good night, Professor."
I've stepped into the carpeted maroon corridor and shut the door before realizing I have no idea where my common room is. I can't bring myself to reenter Uncle John's office. So instead I light my wand and make my way back to the entrance hall. The talking portraits can help, I suppose. They were helpful enough before…
An hour after dinner, the Great Hall is nearly empty. The last few candles have descended to hover just above the entranceway, still lit, and beneath them Professor McGonagall is engaged in conversation with a…centaur.
I muffle a gasp and turn to walk away, but the sound of my footsteps echoes on stone. I curse under my breath. McGonagall's voice rings out.
"Is someone there? Do you need something?"
Now I'll look a complete prat; the girl who couldn't get through the first night of term without a chat with the headmistress. I grit my teeth and turn back to the hall.
"Sorry, Professor. I'm just wondering where my common room is—I met up with an old friend after dinner, and missed the memo. Stupid of me." I blush convincingly.
"Quite all right, Miss—?"
"Andrea." I rarely give my surname.
"Andrea. You were one of those I visited personally. London, wasn't it? How is your mother?"
"Fine, thank you," I get out.
"I hope you both enjoyed Flourish and Blotts?" I'm astounded to see the fleeting ghost of a smile in McGongall's expression. Evidently she recollects the overstuffed bookshelves lining our tiny flat.
"We did," I lie. Mother has never set foot in Diagon Alley.
"The transition can be difficult for non-magical parents. Well, I certainly understand your desire to catch up with an old acquaintance after the holidays. I do, however, advise against wandering the corridors at night. It's against the rules at best, and lethal at worst. Lights out is at ten." The piercing gray of the headmistress' eyes mirrors the sudden steel in her voice, no doubt triggered by fond memories of old students. I hope she's joking about the lethal part.
"Understood."
The centaur, who has stood listening for the last few moments in polite silence, now steps forward into the light streaming from the doorway. The strike of hooves on stone echoes through the Hall. I try not to stare.
He extends a slightly furry hand. I take it. "Professor Firenze, Divination. I'm pleased to meet you, Andrea."
I look up. He's beautiful. I try not to stare.
"Pleased to meet you too, Professor."
"Your House?" he prompts.
I drop my eyes, a second too quickly this time. "Slytherin."
"Down three floors. Take the corridor to your left and the second passage on the right. Your dormitory will be on the first level of the leftmost staircase leading from the common room," McGonagall tells me. "The password is 'bezoar'. Staircases rotate in nine minutes, so don't linger."
"Thank you, Professor."
"Best of luck with your first year, Andrea," she calls after me.
I walk a little faster to hide my embarrassment.
"Good night."
My common room, it transpires, is in the dungeons. The dungeons.
Perhaps the stupid hat was trying to tell me something.
It's quiet, mostly deserted. I suppose that most people are in bed by now, or still sorting out their belongings. I make my way to the first year girls' dormitory and stop short as a slight lapping sound echoes around the dark room. I expect to be stuck next to the door, but the bed next to the window at the far end of the room is the only one unoccupied. I don't understand why until I'm nearly touching the dark glass. Then I leap backward as something pale flashes by.
The lake.
I'm sleeping three feet from the lake. Complete with sharks, kelpies and a giant squid, if the rumors are to be believed.
For some idiotic reason I snort with laughter. I guess I got my wish to see into its black depths. No doubt I'll be staring into them in my dreams.
The lights are out, the other girls breathing deeply, evenly. I would expect insomnia and tears the first night in a new place, but they must be as exhausted as I. And this is, after all, Hogwarts. The long-awaited place of learning and friendship and learning-how-to-jinx-your-little-brother-into-a-tea-cozy-if-he-annoys-you. No wonder we all feel at home.
Most of us. One of them is faking sleep. There's a slight catch in her breathing.
I shake my head and let it pass, pulling closed the curtains around my bed. It's none of my business, and frankly I'm too worn out to care. I undress in darkness and crawl between the sheets.
Insomnia? Tears, maybe? Thoughts of Mother and London and what on earth will she do without me and John?
I'm asleep in moments.
