Chapter 29: A Competition with a Teacher

Professor Questus came to visit not long after. Remus put down his book (Ancient Greek Roots in Common Spells), and sat up as best he could.

"Good afternoon, Professor."

"Lupin," said Questus with a curt nod. "I won't say 'good afternoon', because it's probably not in your case, hm? Feeling okay?"

"Er... yeah. Much better than last time, thank you."

"I see." Questus pulled over a chair and sat by Remus' bed. "Am I correct in assuming that you'll be here tomorrow, too?"

"I hope not, sir. I'm feeling well enough to go to classes right now, actually."

"By the looks of you, I don't believe that at all. What were your injuries?"

Remus colored, but told Questus anyway. "Er, scratches, mostly. Lots of blood. Three broken bones, but nothing too serious."

"That sounds serious."

Remus shook his head. "Trust me, it was fine."

"I see," said Questus again.

There was an awkward silence. Remus tapped his finger on the sheets nervously.

"I don't believe you were listening to the lesson yesterday?" Questus asked suddenly. Well, Remus thought that it was a question—it might have just been a statement.

"No, sir... I tried. But I overestimated my abilities."

"Happens to the best of us," said Questus. "Well, that's not particularly true, actually. Most of us aren't werewolves."

"I... yeah, I know."

"Don't attend any more of my classes on the day of the full moon."

"I don't plan on it."

"Good." There was another awkward pause as Questus moved his chair closer to Remus' bed. Remus winced as the legs screeched against the floor, but it didn't seem to bother Questus. "Do you remember what the lesson was about?"

"Erm... I took notes. I could look over them. But no, I don't. I wasn't really comprehending anything, I was focused on... other things, I think."

"May I see your notes, then?"

Remus dearly hoped that he hadn't written anything odd. The Tennyson poem, he knew, had just been a dream... but he didn't remember writing anything else, so it mightn't have been. He pulled the parchment out of his bag and quickly scanned it. Everything seemed to be in order. "Offense vs. Defense?" he asked, reading the heading that he did not remember writing at all.

"Yes," said Questus, taking the notes. "Your handwriting is horrible. It isn't normally this bad. You sure you can read that?"

"Yeah, I'll manage."

"Let me go over them and make sure that you understand," said Questus, squinting at Remus' badly-written notes. "Do you know the most common offensive spell during duels, by chance?"

"I believe it's Expelliarmus, sir."

"Precisely. And why is that?"

"It disarms, but doesn't injure."

Questus nodded. "Hexes and jinxes are useful, of course, but most wizards are useless without a wand. If you can Disarm your opponent, however, then you have almost certainly won the duel. We won't be learning how to duel until next year, but I think that it is immensely important to know the basics of fending off attackers, seeing as there's a war on the horizon."

"Of course."

"Besides, I was a right good duellist, myself. One of the best in the world. Now, although this is Defense Against the Dark Arts, offensive spells can be defensive when used correctly. Sometimes an opponent will not leave you alone until he or she has been successfully disarmed or impaired. To put it in more personal terms, a defensive spell cannot be used on a werewolf. I assume you know why this is?"

As much as Remus liked Questus' lack of pity and straightforwardness, he really did not want to talk about this—especially whilst lying in bed after having been attacked by a werewolf all night. "Yes, sir," he said reluctantly, hoping that Questus would not press the matter.

No such luck. "And... why is it? I know you know, obviously. But it's part of the lesson, so I expect you to answer."

"It's like you said," said Remus, feeling very uncomfortable. "It won't leave you alone until it's impaired in some way. Instincts and all that."

Questus nodded, evidently thinking very hard. "May I ask you a question?"

Remus dearly wanted to say no. He had a hunch that this was going to be a very awkward question. But he owed Professor Questus—here he was, taking time out of his day to help Remus. The least that Remus could do was answer a question. Besides, he felt that Questus' question had been rhetorical, and that he was going to ask no matter what Remus said. "Yes, sir."

"Why do you use the pronoun it when referring to werewolves? I would have thought that you would use he or she."

"Er. I only use it when referring to werewolves on the full moon—otherwise I use personal pronouns."

"Why?"

Wasn't it obvious? "Because werewolves on the full moon are unfeeling monsters. Of course I would use it."

"So they don't have feelings?"

Remus did not want to talk about this. Not at all. Not one bit. This was possibly the worst part of the full moon; it was something that he would not discuss even with his own parents. Even with himself. He tried not to think about this, even, let alone talk about it... "It's more instinct than feeling, sir. Depending on how you look at it."

"I suppose that makes sense," said Questus. Remus was very glad that he didn't have the same pitying look on his face that Madam Pomfrey typically did. "Anyway, one must use offensive spells when dealing with very dangerous creatures and wizards—and, on Dark creatures, Expelliarmus obviously does not work."

Was that a joke? "Figured that out for myself, thanks," said Remus.

"Watch your cheek. The offensive spell that you will choose has a lot to do with who—or what—you are dealing with. Again, most any spell can be used offensively or defensively. Unforgivables, however, are always just that—unforgivable, and therefore offensive. When I was an Auror, we would aim to kill on occasion. I've killed many a person myself—"

Remus wondered how he could say that so flippantly, like it was nothing. If Remus ever killed a person (even Greyback himself, probably) he would feel guilty for the rest of his life.

"—however, we always use other spells when aiming to kill, simply because the Killing Curse is unblockable. Giving the opponent a chance, at least, is very important in the Ministry's eyes. The Imperius and Cruciatus, and their effects, are not acceptable for any reason. There's nothing that deserves torture or complete loss of control of one's mind. As I'm sure you know all too well, yes?"

Remus' heart skipped a beat. He really wished that Questus would stop referencing his lycanthropy. "Erm, I guess."

"Point being. The only time that offensive spells cannot be considered defensive is when you are the first to strike, without reason, or if you are aiming to do something other than impede (thus protecting yourself or the general public). The Unforgivables are always offensive, as I've stated, as are curses. The Aurors like to say that they are always playing defense. On the full moon, you are always playing offense. Think of it like Quidditch. Chasers are considered offensive players, but they sometimes hit the ball away from their hoops without the intent to score. In the same way, offensive spells, even though they are named as such, can be used defensively."

Remus liked the Quidditch analogy, and he thought that James would, too. He did not, however, like to imagine a werewolf being on the offensive side at all. Even in Quidditch. Perhaps it would be a funny image if it weren't so sensitive a subject, but it wasn't funny at all as a werewolf in the wake of a full moon.

"Anyway, those are the basics. I thought I would teach this lesson early in the year so that I could make sure that my students keep all this in mind when learning a spell—be it offensive or defensive. You seem to have enough notes on the subject. I'm flabbergasted at your ability to take so many notes without comprehending the subject matter at all."

"Thank you, sir," said Remus, confused. "Was that a compliment?"

"Depends on your point of view. Well, that's all for today, Lupin."

"Thank you so much, Professor."

"Yes, you're welcome. You're likely my most engaged student, you know. That's not a very big deal, of course, since most of my students are remarkably thick. But well done with the hexed book the other day. Not many people put that together."

"Thank you." Remus wondered if thank you was the only phrase in his vocabulary right now.

"Not at all. See you next class." Questus left the Hospital Wing, and Remus felt altogether tired. His heart was still beating wildly after all the mention of werewolves. But no one had ever approached the subject so casually before... like it didn't matter... like Remus shouldn't even care... like it was just a fact of life.

Remus liked Professor Questus.

"Lupin," called Madam Pomfrey, who had just healed several students whose trousers were on fire (to Remus' great amusement). "I'm going to the Great Hall to pick up dinner. Anything specific that you want?"

"I don't care much, Madam Pomfrey. Thank you."

"Does chicken sound all right?"

"I should have mentioned this earlier, actually," said Remus. He always felt ashamed telling people this—they were always so surprised, and it made his stomach turn. "I'm a vegetarian."

"Oh." Madam Pomfrey did not sound surprised at all. "I see. Well, I believe there are plenty of mashed potatoes. That would probably be better on your teeth, anyhow."

Remus had lost a molar the night before in a frenzied attempt to bite the wall, but he was trying not to think about that. Madam Pomfrey, fortunately, had grown the tooth back easily. "Yes, Madam. Thank you."

Fifteen minutes later, Madam Pomfrey returned with food for both herself and Remus. She sat down in the chair opposite his bed and placed a bowl on Remus' lap. "There you are. I expect you to finish this completely."

"I plan on it," said Remus, who was feeling very hungry. "What did my mother write you about?"

"You, mostly. Although there were no more embarrassing stories..."

"Thank goodness."

"...related to the full moon." Madam Pomfrey was wearing a mischievous smile. Remus groaned.

"What did she tell you?"

"Said that you learned to swim when you were three..."

Remus knew this story. He didn't remember the incident itself, but his parents had talked of it frequently. "Oh no."

"...at a beach in Wales. You saw a fish and didn't know the word for it. Called it a shark—very loudly, your mother says. Cleared nearly everyone out of the water, she said."

"Technically, sharks are fish."

"But fish are not necessarily sharks." Madam Pomfrey took a sip of water, her eyes twinkling a little like Dumbledore's.

"I was three."

"She also said that you had a bit of an obsession with sharks when you were four. You had a few shark books and were very fascinated by their long teeth."

"I grew out of that phase shortly after turning five."

"I figured," said Madam Pomfrey. She seemed to be trying to sound offhand, but was doing a very bad job of it. It was very obvious that she pitied Remus. "But you had a stuffed shark, she said, that you named Baynie."

"Still have it somewhere. But Bufo is much more cuddly."

Madam Pomfrey snorted. "Somehow, I very much doubt that."

"He is. Just give him a chance." Remus picked up Bufo and held him out towards Madam Pomfrey, who cringed. "Put him on your shoulder. He likes that."

"No, thank you."

"Come on... he's really not slimy at all. His skin is very dry. And he took a bath a couple days ago, too. He still smells of lavender."

"You're the only one who can smell that, Mr. Lupin. He smells very much of toad to me."

"Well, yeah. That's because he is one. Go on, Madam Pomfrey..."

Madam Pomfrey opened her mouth, perhaps to decline, but Remus leaned forward and plopped Bufo on her shoulder before she could say a word. Her mouth hung open and she froze altogether.

Bufo smiled.

"That's it, Bufo," coaxed Remus. "Show her all your froggy charm."

Suddenly, Madam Pomfrey started to laugh. "Froggy charm," she giggled. "Frogs have no charm, Lupin. Finish your potatoes; I hear a student coming in."

Madam Pomfrey left the room and shut the door firmly behind her.

Remus grinned.

Bufo was still on Madam Pomfrey's shoulder.

The following night was, predictably, rough. The Pain-Relieving Potion wore off halfway through the night, just like it had the previous month, and Remus woke up feeling every cut and scrape acutely. Madam Pomfrey patted his head a little and murmured soothing words that Remus could not understand at all through the pounding of his head and the sharp pains on his arms, torso, and legs.

He got used to the pain gradually and drifted back to sleep. There were no dreams of wolves and windows, but there was a particularly entertaining one that involved Bufo, Remus the Rock, and Quidditch teams.

He woke up once more to Madam Pomfrey hovering over him with another potion; Remus took it without even asking what it was. He didn't take mind-altering potions of any sort (for obvious reasons), but this one didn't smell like a Calming Draught or anything of the kind—it tasted of cockroaches. Remus gagged slightly.

Remus woke up that morning to sunlight streaming through the window. He stretched. His entire body ached a little; otherwise, everything seemed to be in order. "Ah, good morning," said Madam Pomfrey. "Ready for breakfast?"

"What time is it?"

"About eight-thirty."

"May I go to lessons? I'm much better than last month, and I feel focused and not in much pain at all and..."

"No."

Remus blinked. "But... please?"

"I appreciate your asking politely, but no. You're not as bad as last month, but you still need another day to recover. In fact, if this was a good moon for you, then I would expect you to stay in the Wing for two full days after every single full moon in the future. At least two full days."

"But I'm fine! This isn't anything I'm not used to! How is sitting in class any worse than sitting here?"

"My answer is no, Lupin, and I'll thank you not to argue. I'll not have you up on your feet and stressing yourself out. Here's some toast and jam. I believe you have enough homework to get you through today without feeling impossibly bored."

Remus groaned.

"Drop that attitude, Mr. Lupin."

"I'm going to fall behind..."

"You are perfectly capable of catching up."

"People will suspect..."

"We have a perfectly plausible excuse."

"I'm honestly fine..."

"That's what you said two days ago."

Remus groaned again. He felt fine, but he knew that Madam Pomfrey wasn't going to budge. "Yes, Madam Pomfrey."

"Good. Now eat your toast. I'll pick up a book at the library for you."

"Thank you, Madam," Remus said, feeling defeated. He took a bite of his toast dully. It would have tasted better in the Great Hall with his friends, but he knew better than to complain more—he really had no right to complain in the first place, after all that Madam Pomfrey was doing for him.

Over the course of the day, Remus finished all of his homework, including the essays that weren't due for weeks. He read the entire book that Madam Pomfrey had picked out for him. He finished Ancient Greek Roots in Common Spells. He gave Bufo another bath (some water spilled on the bedsheets, which seemed to annoy Madam Pomfrey, but she didn't say anything about it), and he learned four new hexes.

That evening, he woke up from his nap to Madam Pomfrey softly opening the door. "Are you awake?" she whispered.

"Am now." Remus felt groggy, and he rubbed his eyes.

"I'm sorry to wake you..."

"It's all right. I'll make up for lost time tonight. Besides, I napped all day yesterday." Remus yawned, even though it hurt his jaw to do so. "Did you know that Professor McGonagall is here to see you? She's out in the main ward."

"She's here to see you, actually."

"Me? No, that can't be right. I don't think she likes me much."

"Remus! She likes you just fine. Will you talk to her?"

Well, that was an unexpected turn of events. McGonagall? Here? To talk to Remus? And it was even more surprising that Madam Pomfrey had claimed that McGonagall liked him just fine. Was Madam Pomfrey simply being kind, or...? No, that would be ridiculous. Of course McGonagall didn't like Remus; Remus could tell. He yawned once more and then sat up with some difficulty (Madam Pomfrey made a motion as if to help, but Remus shooed her away). "Yes, of course."

Madam Pomfrey went to fetch Professor McGonagall. Remus waited patiently. Two minutes later, a cat stalked into the room.

"Er." said Remus eloquently.

The cat morphed into a human, and Remus winced at the familiarity of shifting bones and limbs. Since there were no screams of anguish and it was relatively quick, he figured that this was the "light magic" type of Transfiguration that McGonagall had talked about.

"An Animagus?" he mused, and McGonagall nodded. "You were different. You weren't you at all."

"What do you mean, Mr. Lupin?"

Remus colored slightly. "Sense of smell. It wasn't... like you. It was a cat. An actual cat. That's interesting."

"Hrm. Well, you are correct. I was hoping to see you before talking to you. I was hoping that you wouldn't notice me enter."

"Because you're afraid of me." Remus hadn't meant to say anything of the sort, and he immediately repented. "I'm sorry. It's all right, really."

"You've noticed?" asked McGonagall faintly, sitting down in the chair.

"Well, yeah..." said Remus. This really was uncomfortable. "It was rather obvious. But I don't mind."

"You... don't mind?" McGonagall did not seem as if she wanted to be there at all.

"Goodness, Professor, even I'm afraid of me."

There was a bit of a silence, but not as awkward as the drawn-out silences that Remus often shared with Questus. "Remus, I'm very sorry. I should have visited you earlier. I'm your Head of House, after all, and my behavior has been unacceptable. I'm trying very hard, but it seems as if I need to try harder."

"No," said Remus, feeling guilty at her discomfort. "No, it's fine. I get it, I really do." McGonagall did not looked convinced, so Remus tried to elaborate. "They're ingrained prejudices... It's not like you made a conscious decision not to like me. If I were to meet a vampire, I'm sure even I would be a bit wary." Remus did not think he would, actually, but it was a white lie. "I was the same way, before. So was my dad. I..." Remus did not think that he should be telling Professor McGonagall this story, but he continued anyway. "I was actually... you know... because of his prejudices..." He stopped and started over. "The fact is, you're trying, and that's all that matters to me. Take as much time as you need. I don't blame you for something that you can't control. That would be... hypocritical, wouldn't it?"

McGonagall seemed taken aback. "Well. That is a very mature mindset, Mr. Lupin. Very mature, indeed."

Remus smiled faintly.

"And I don't dislike you. I think that you are very kind, calm, and overall a very good student. The fact that you happen to be a werewolf is not your doing, nor is it something that should deter me. I won't accept that I 'can't control' it, and I'm going to do my best. That starts here. Now, why couldn't you cast the charm in Transfiguration? Is there any way I can help you?"

"No," said Remus, "but thank you, Professor."

"Professor Flitwick tells me that you're very good at Charms."

"He did?" Remus felt a bit of pride well up in his chest. He wasn't nearly as good at Charms as James and Sirius, but he was doing all right. He was a wizard, after all, and maybe someday (with lots of practice) he'd be a very good one. Who said werewolves weren't good at magic?

"Yes, he did. So what's the problem in my class?"

"I... get nervous."

"Ah." McGonagall tapped her foot three times in a gesture of deep thought. "I see. You've noticed that I'm not comfortable around you, so you're not comfortable around me."

"That's not it," said Remus, although McGonagall was exactly correct. "I'm just not good at Transfiguration."

"You needn't lie to me. I expect you've been hurt very often by those with my... ingrained prejudices."

Remus was silent. McGonagall was correct again. The Ministry, St. Mungo's, the lady on the bus, the boys from Durmstrang... All of them had exhibited the exact same behavior around him as McGonagall did. The obvious contempt and the jumpy nature always raised an immediate red flag for Remus. He was just as nervous around the other teachers... Sidus and Sprout, for instance. "I suppose we have the same problem, then," he said quietly.

"I suppose we do. What do you propose we do about it?"

"I'm... not sure, Professor."

"How about a competition?"

Remus blinked. "A what?"

"A competition. Whomever can act normally around the other first shall be declared the winner."

"Those seem like subjective guidelines."

"Well, it's a subjective problem. How about it, Mr. Lupin?" McGonagall extended her hand, and Remus nearly fainted in surprise.

Ten seconds passed, and then Remus slowly took it and shook. McGonagall didn't even flinch. "That's a start," he said.

"It is indeed. That's one point for me. And one for you, I think, though you hesitated significantly. Now, why don't we see if you can redo your test?"

"All right," said Remus, still stunned, and McGonagall conjured a broken plate out of thin air. "Reparo," he said, and the plate instantly mended itself.

"That's another point to you, not to mention a decent grade on your test. I'll have to take a few points off, of course, because you couldn't do it the first time. But this is a perfectly mended plate."

Remus grinned. "Thank you, Professor."

"Thank you, Mr. Lupin. And... I must warn you that I am extremely competitive." McGonagall smiled and left the room, shutting the door softly behind her.

Remus stared at the closed door for a second before falling back onto his pillow and smiling himself to sleep.

He loved Hogwarts.

AN: I just thought I'd point this out in case any of you noticed! I have not been using British spelling, as I'm sure you've noticed, but I am using "duelling" instead of "dueling" (and all similar variations of the word). Yes, I know that "duelling" is British and "dueling" is American. After having read the Harry Potter books for the first time in British English, though, I just can't see the act of magical duelling using any other spelling. I don't like being inconsistent, but... yeah, I don't really care. :)