1971

Earlier that day, four first-year Gryffindors brought a set of fireworks into transfiguration class. These four were Remus, Sirius, James and Peter. They had class with the Slytherins that day, and knew exactly where little Snivellus Snape would sit. All the had to do was arrive early and tape the fireworks to the bottom of the desk, and with one accurate wave of Remus' wand (the other boys were far too giddy to do it right), they assumed Professor Minerva McGonagall would think Snivellus had done it. Remus had his doubts, but the little eleven-year-old boy was simply so excited to have friends who wanted to include him in anything. He couldn't say no.

Sure enough, Snivellus sat exactly where the four boys assumed he would, and sure enough, Remus was able to change ever so slightly his wand movement during a practical session of class so that the fireworks would explode. But he didn't do it quite right—and on purpose, too—because he had realized that Severus could get hurt. And he didn't want that. The fireworks half-exploded, leaving the Snape boy stunned and angry, but absolutely unharmed. James, Sirius, and Peter didn't even seem to notice—they were chuckling. Remus turned bright red, and Minerva McGonagall didn't have to think twice. She had clearly seen Mr. Lupin change the flick of his wand.

"Detention, Mr. Lupin," She said rather lazily. The three other boys snickered and gave their good friend Remus friendly pats on the back. Remus, however, froze: what would happen to him?

After class, Remus was about to leave when he heard:

"Mr. Lupin? A word."

"Ooo Remus, Minnie wants a woooord," sang Sirius Black, grinning. James whacked him on the head.

"You get your head out of the gutter. She's telling him about detention—that's all. Best of luck, there, Remmy," James cooed. "You really did us a solid there. Next time, you won't get caught. We promise."

"Promise," Peter squeaked. Remus sighed, looking at his friends rather darkly before turning around to face his professor.

"Mr. Lupin," McGonagall began. "My office, 8PM. Bring a quill and parchment: you'll be writing lines."

That night, Remus slowly walked up to his professor's office, and at 8PM sharp knocked on the door.

"Come in, Mr. Lupin," Minerva began. "You're right on time."

Remus walked in, looking sheepish, and silently took a seat in front of his professor.

"Now, Mr. Lupin, I must say I'm surprised," She began, looking severe as ever. "I didn't peg you as a troublemaker—I thought that was a term normally reserved for your friends." Remus looked down at the floor, unable to make eye contact with McGonagall. Minerva sighed. "That being said…The prank was supposed to harm young Mr. Snape, was it not? Only, you didn't let that happen. Do correct me if I'm wrong?" She asked. Remus shook his head.

"They never wanted to hurt him…just get him in trouble. But they never think things through," Remus said, a bit exasperated. "Clearly those fireworks could have blown him up. I should've stopped them, but…"

"But instead, you let them believe their plan had worked, likely stopping things from going further. I must say, Mr. Lupin, you have a funny way of misbehaving. I must say, I almost want to give points to you for doing what you did," McGonagall said, her thin lips almost forming a smile.

"But I feel guilty!" Remus sputtered. "I...I wanted to do something fun with my new friends, but I just feel so bad about it," he tried to explain. Professor McGonagall pursed her lips together. Her severe look turned slightly less...severe.

"While you certainly broke a school rule, Mr. Lupin, no one was hurt," she explained. "There's no reason to feel guilty."

"It's not that, professor, it's...I'm lucky enough to be here and to have friends to begin with. If I act out...I feel like Professor Dumbledore put his trust in the wrong person."

"Remus, you're younger than you feel. You're allowed to make mistakes here. And with those friends of yours, I can't imagine this is the last time I'll see you in detention. But pranks and tom foolery are natural. You were accepted here as an 11-year-old wizard and that's exactly what we expect you to be."

"I'm not like the others," Remus muttered morosely. "I shouldn't be treated like them."

"Remus Lupin, that is enough!" The professor exclaimed. "You are an exemplary young wizard and I won't have you sulking about like this. Hogwarts is your home—surely you've misbehaved at home?" McGonagall asked, staring straight at Remus. He gulped. It suddenly occurred to Minerva that perhaps this boy truly didn't misbehave. "You do misbehave, don't you Mr. Lupin?" She asked kindly. Remus turned a bit pink.

"I…er…I don't enjoy vacuuming…I told my mum I did it once, but I didn't really…" Minerva chuckled.

"Then misbehave here like you would if you had to vacuum all of Hogwarts," She suggested. "And I'll be here to catch you, give you a slap on the wrist, and send you on your merry way. But you don't tell your friends—this offer does not extend to Messers. Black and Potter, I can tell you that much."

"But Professor!" Remus yelped. "I…I broke a rule! I have to write lines!" Minerva pursed her thing lips together and nodded.

"Right you are. Grab your parchment and quill and write for me…100 times…'Hogwarts is my home.'"

Years later, a young Hufflepuff boy with tawny hair had released a stink bomb in a certain Defense Against the Dark Arts class, resulting in the Professor leading them out of the classroom for a more…practical lesson. The first year Hufflepuffs, rather than learn about hags, were then led around the school in search of some. Having not identified any hags, the children were let go from class nearly a half an hour early—though, said tawny-haired boy did earn himself detention with a certain Professor Lupin.

At 8PM sharp, the boy entered Professor Lupin's office.

"Er…Professor?" The young boy asked, noticing a sort of fuming goblet on his professor's desk. "Are you…busy?" Remus simply beamed.

"Not at all, my boy! Come, sit," He said, motioning to the chair across from his desk. He noticed the boy's eyes shift to the Grindylow behind him. "I see you've met Albert—I promise you, he won't hurt you. Neither will this here," He said, motioning to the goblet in front of him. "I've just been feeling a bit under the weather. Sni—Severus, your potions master, has made a rather unique little drink for me to help me feel better. I suppose I must drink it, but to be honest it tastes rather bland," He joked. "It's Ben, right? Please sit down."

Ben walked rather meekly to his professor and took a seat, unsure if the potion really did what his professor said—it looked ghastly. "I, er…I won't be…expelled, will I?" He asked timidly. Remus let out a rather hoarse laugh.

"Expelled? Merlin's beard, no," he began. "If every student who set off a stink bomb was expelled, I don't believe I would've made it past second year. Your last name is Colbert, is it not? I don't recognize the name…a fellow half-blood, are you?"

Ben, still rattled form learning his own professor once set off a stink bomb, tried to regain his composure. "Er…No, sir. Professor," He corrected, "I'm muggle born. I didn't mean to set off—"

"—I frankly don't believe you set off the little bomb at all," Remus suggested. "In fact, I am almost certain your good friend Alex set it off, and loyal as you are, you took the blame, knowing full well that he has not yet started his essay due for me tomorrow. A night of detention would set him back further. You, of course, have already finished your essay. You'll correct me if I'm wrong?" He asked, raising a brow. Ben turned rather pink. Everything the professor had said was true.

"You won't…I mean…You won't get Alex in trouble, will you?" Ben asked. Remus smiled and shook his head.

"I took the fall for my friends many a time—and for far stricter professors, I might add. I'm sure they knew I didn't actually do half of what I said, but the never went after the true culprits. I would not be living up to my values if I didn't turn a blind eye. So, Ben, how do you like Hogwarts?"

"It's magnificent, sir," Ben replied hastily. "I've never been somewhere so wonderful. My mum and dad…well, they don't really understand it, in fact I'm not sure they want me here—I was accepted to Eton, you see. Family legacy and all, but I turned it down."

"Eton certainly is a fine school," Remus began, "But you made the right choice in my book. Nothing compares to the education here. When I was your age, my parents were also nervous about sending me here—I'm afraid they weren't sure I would fit in. But soon enough, Hogwarts became my home, and they couldn't be happier. I have no doubt your parents will feel the same," Remus insisted. "Now, what did I say you would be doing for detention again?"

"Er…writing lines, sir," Ben said. "You said—"

"I said what I said," Remus remarked rather nonchalantly. "I've decided on something else, if that's alright with you. Lines are rather boring, if I do say so myself. Since I was sick last month and have a bit of work to catch up on…why don't you help me with some grading?"

"Me?" Ben asked, shocked. "But—"

"You're one of the brightest students in your year, Ben, and this grading rather simple if I do say so myself. Some third years were instructed to write essays on identifying werewolves in my absence. Now, I know they are briefly covered in your first-year text, but given that I didn't actually make the assignment, it seems cruel of me to grade them for accuracy. If the student wrote about werewolves at all, please do give them full credit. If they wrote about something else—grindylows, for example, give them half credit."

"But professor…" Ben trailed off. "Er, why did they write about werewolves if you didn't tell them to?" He asked. Remus chuckled, and took a drink from his goblet, making a rather disgusting sound having consumed it all in one gulp.

"Honestly, Ben, I haven't the foggiest," He smiled. "Just do one more thing for me, if you would," He began. Ben nodded fervently. "Please, and never forget this: Hogwarts is your home."