A/N: Hey all! This is my submission for the International Wizarding School Championship writing competition, round 4.
Story Title/Link: The Professor
School and Theme: Beauxbatons, Hagrid's Hut – Look at those living at the border of society and how they attempt to reconnect.
Main Prompt: [Genre] Hurt/Comfort
Additional Prompts: [Action] Skipping Rocks, [Quote] "That cat looks very suspicious." / "You say that about every cat you come across."
Year: 4 (exchange)
Wordcount: 2817
In the small town of Thirsk, there was a pub, and in that pub sat the degenerates of the small town's even smaller wizarding community. At the end of the bar, a scruffy-looking man belched, sending a waft of repugnant, stale ale floating into the nostrils of the slightly-less-scruffy dishwasher walking past, who, luckily, had been working there long enough to know to hold his breath when the man took a swig. Actually, it was probably best to always hold your breath when Old Walsh was around.
Remus Lupin let out a relieved sigh the moment he stepped through to the kitchen, dirty glasses in hand. He set them on the counter, grabbing the rag he'd flung over his shoulder, and set to cleaning up the hob. If it could even be called that anymore, he thought. Grubby thing looks ready to fall to pieces.
As he scrubbed—it was a much more effective method, he'd found, than magic—he let his mind wander, drifting from what he would have for dinner to what he would get up to that weekend. Maybe he'd pop down to London for a bit of sightseeing; maybe he'd go fishing; maybe he'd put on his hippest trousers and spend the night at the club. Despite his musings, he knew for a fact that he'd sit in his single-room apartment, reading his books and tidying up—it's what he did every weekend—but it was nice to imagine.
"Oi, Lupin," Donaldson said, coming through the door and clapping a hand on his back. "Come on, let's have a fag."
"Oh, I need to finish this," Remus said, trying to sound friendly but sounding more like a wet blanket. "By orders of the great Captain O'Neil."
"Finish it later. Time for a fag." He left through the back door, not waiting for a reply.
Remus sighed, drying his hands and dropping his rag with a wet slap on the side of the sink. Donaldson was the closest thing he had to a friend, though it was more out of convenience's sake than anything. They didn't see each other outside of work; they didn't talk about their personal lives; they didn't even particularly like each other. They were simply a familiar presence and partner with whom they could smoke.
"You hear O'Neil's announcement this morning?" Donaldson said, taking a long drag. The two of them leaned against the outside wall of the dingy bar.
"You mean about how he's abandoning his great post of pub manager to finally fulfil his destiny of becoming Captain Ahab?" Remus replied. He'd always thought his angry Scot of a boss seemed too fishermanly to work as a manager.
Donaldson gave him a strange look. "No, about the new girl." He never did understand Remus's sense of humour, a fact that Remus had learned long ago, but that didn't stop him from trying to pull a laugh out of his supposed 'best mate'.
What a sad existence I live if this is my best mate now, he thought. "What new girl?" he said.
"He hired some bird. She'll be coming in next week. Apparently, she's a Squib." He spat the word with so much condescension, you'd never have guessed that he was a small-town dishwasher who received three Ts on his N.E.W.T.s.
"You don't say," Remus replied lightly. He knew better than to give his honest opinion.
"A damn shame." Donaldson shook his head in between puffs. "Between you and me, I'd rather be a Muggle than some half-breed like that."
Remus felt a shiver of self-loathing run up his spine at the word half-breed. If this was his reaction to a Squib, imagine his reaction to finding out about Remus's furry little problem. He decided to change the subject. "What'll she be doing?"
"Bottom-runger, like us." There was a pause while Donaldson finished his cigarette and lit up another. At the edge of the empty lot, a small tabby cat sauntered up, sitting in the middle of the pavement and watching the two men. "Merlin, I hate this job."
"It's not so bad," Remus said, looking away from the cat and taking his second puff of his first cigarette. "It's quite riveting when they actually let us make a drink. Besides, it pays the bills."
"There's no worse way to do it."
"Oh, trust me. There's worse. Had a job as the caretaker for the owlery in London. Spent my time cleaning up dead mice and faeces."
Donaldson chuckled. "I'll tell you, I never met someone who uses words like 'faeces' and 'riveting' who also works as a bloody dishwasher. You should be a…professor or some -ologist."
Remus smiled ruefully. "Perhaps in another life."
There was a lull as the two men silently smoked before Donaldson nodded to the cat that had been staring at them all the while. "That cat looks very suspicious."
"You say that about every cat you come across," Remus said.
"Yeah, cos the little buggers are up to something, the lot of 'em." Taking a final drag, he dropped his cigarette to the ground, digging the ball of his foot into it. "Back to the old grind, eh, Lupin?"
"Sure," Remus replied, putting out his half-finished cigarette. With a final glance at the cat, he headed back into the pub.
That evening, Remus found himself at the one spot in Thirsk where he actually enjoyed being—the pond behind the old schoolhouse. It was a picturesque spot, complete with a large oak tree, a small wood, and a nice view of the school. It was a derelict old building, with barely more than a few intact shingles, but there was something about it that just felt like home. The eerie whistling it made as the wind blew through the broken windows, the creaking as the wood settled—it reminded him quite a bit of the Shrieking Shack, if he was being honest. And while that had been a place of loneliness, terror, and sadness in his earlier school years, it had turned into his own personal clubhouse once his friends had started joining him.
He shook the thoughts away before they could even come. It never helped to think about them.
Looking over the pond, he bent down, grabbing some of the stones at the edge of the shore and flinging one out into the water. It skipped twice, then plopped below the surface. He flung a second stone. It sank after three skips.
As he skipped stone after stone, he noticed the cat from the car park emerge from the wood on the other side of the pond, leisurely making its way over to him. It stopped beside him, sitting on its behind and gazing up at him with a look that appeared far too human for the little feline.
Remus smiled down at the creature. "Hello, Professor."
The cat blinked, then morphed into a stern-faced woman.
"Please, Remus," Minerva said. "You're not a student any longer. Besides, after all we've been through, I'd say we're quite past formalities, don't you think?"
Remus chuckled. "I suppose you're right. But…old habits and all that."
Her frown broke into a fond smile. "You're looking well."
"If you can call a face of scars well." He gave her a small, tired smile.
"Well, I hear young ladies find that sort of thing attractive. Rugged handsomeness, I believe they call it."
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm not so sure they'd say that about me, though. How've you been?"
"Quite well, thank you."
"The students keeping you busy?"
She laughed, and he noted how much younger she looked on the rare occasions when she actually smiled. "More so than I would like. I'd always thought the eldest Weasley boys were bad. Little did I know, the twins were on their way. Those boys would give even the great Marauders a run for their money."
"I should like to meet these boys," Remus said, skipping another stone into the water. "See who's trying to steal our throne."
"Perhaps you could," Minerva said, her face suddenly serious once more.
With a glance her way, he asked, "What, is Molly on the market for a babysitter?"
"Not quite." There was a silence, broken only by the soft plop of the stones hitting the water. The most he managed to skip was four times before the stone disappeared. "You need to work on your form."
Remus sighed, turning to face her. He had a soft spot for her—he always had—but over the years, he'd grown so accustomed to being alone that the idea of chit-chat just unsettled him. Best just to get to the point. "What brings you here, Minerva? I don't suppose you came all the way to Thirsk for its tourism."
"I did not," she confirmed. "We're looking for a new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."
"Sorry, I'm not sure I can give you any recommendations. You saw where I work. I don't exactly get the chance to meet scholarly wizards. Or even wizards who can keep a bottle out of their hands for more than a few hours."
"I was talking about you."
The silence stretched on as Remus tried to register what she'd just said. Surely, he'd misheard her. Why in the name of Merlin's big toe would they want to hire a washed-up, friendless, often homeless werewolf? After all, every employer for whom he'd ever had the misfortune of working had fired him the moment they had found out what he was. He couldn't even imagine what the parents of Britain would say if they found out that there was a blood-thirsty monster teaching their children.
"That's a kind offer, Minerva," he started. "But I—"
"Remus," she cut in. "Please, don't start with the self-loathing."
"You don't even know what I was going to say."
"I've known you long enough to guess."
Remus bit his lip for a moment. "I can't."
"You're one of the finest wizards I know. You're brilliant, capable, and patient. And compared to our last five professors, you're practically Merlin himself."
He didn't have a response to that. He'd heard all about Professor Quirrell, and while he didn't know the details of the other professors, it couldn't get much worse than having You-Know-Who living on the back of your head, if the gossip he'd heard from Hagrid was to be believed.
"Be that as it may," he said, "I'm not a teacher. I don't know how to make a lesson plan, I don't know how to teach a class, I don't know how to—"
"Our last professor wrote lesson plans about his own heroic triumphs," she drawled. "And one of his exams included the question, 'What colour do I look best in?' I'm pretty sure anything you make will be a step up."
In spite of himself, he laughed. "Wow, Albus really knows how to pick them."
"Indeed, he does," Minerva said with a smile. "But I think he has the right idea with you. The students need someone who can teach them to defend themselves. Now more than ever," she added quietly. After a moment, she continued. "I suppose you've heard that Sirius Black has escaped?"
He'd been living on the edge of society for the past decade, so he wasn't exactly up-to-date on the happenings in the Wizarding World. But even he had heard of Pad—Black's escape. "I have," he said, returning to his rock-skipping, his face impassable.
"And I suppose you've also heard about the rise of the Death Eaters?"
He was quiet for a moment. "Hagrid may have mentioned something about that. I had hoped it was just a rumour."
"Unfortunately, no. As much as I hate to say it, I fear we have another war on our hands. And if the children don't learn to protect themselves, they'll only be caught in the crosshairs."
The two of them were quiet, staring out over the serene pond. A family of ducks swam through the water, diving for what few fish resided below. A bird chirped from a nearby tree, eliciting a response from somewhere deeper in the trees. The sound of a car droned in the distance.
"I don't want to hurt them," Remus finally broke the silence.
Minerva stepped closer, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You won't," she said softly, giving him a gentle squeeze. "You'll have access to the Shrieking Shack. And Professor Snape has offered to provide Wolfsbane Potion every month."
Remus snorted. "Offered, or was forced to?"
"The result is the same," was all she said as she removed her hand from his shoulder. "We have taken every measure to ensure your safety as well as that of the students."
At his silence, she continued. "You know, you and your friends were an absolute nightmare." He snapped his head to look at her, completely taken aback by the sudden change of topic. "You flooded my office, convinced the house-elves to serve crudely-shaped food, exploded more than a few wings of the castle… On more than one occasion, I considered expelling you all, just to be rid of the hassle."
"If you wanted to expel us, why are you asking me to come back?"
"I didn't expel you," she said emphatically, "because you were some of the most brilliant students I have ever had the pleasure of being terrorised by. You excelled in your classes, created quite a handful of ingenious if not ridiculously chaotic spells, became Animagi at the age of fifteen—" She laughed at his shocked expression. "You thought I didn't know? You boys might have been brilliant, but you were far from subtle.
"But do you know the main reason why I never expelled you? Any of you?" He shook his head. "Because of this, Mr Lupin." She gestured to the area around them. He looked around, confused.
"You didn't want me to move to Thirsk?"
"No," she said with a sigh. "Because I didn't want you to shut yourself out of the world. When you first arrived at Hogwarts, I remember that look in your eyes. You were afraid. Afraid of being shunned, rejected, found out. But then, you made friends with James, Sirius, and Peter. And you changed. You…"
"Became a nightmare?" he asked with a self-deprecating smile.
She returned the smile in earnest. "Exactly. You became one of them. You started sneaking out, you started breaking the rules—"
"I don't see how that's a good thing."
"Because it meant you were happy. You started talking more, you started laughing—you became you." Remus sighed. He couldn't exactly argue with her, loath as he was to admit it. "You deserve to be happy. And you can't honestly tell me you're happy here, can you?"
"No," he said without hesitation. "But that doesn't mean I'll be happy teaching."
"No, it doesn't," she agreed. "But it does mean you'll be among friends. Among colleagues who will accept you. And among children who have quite a bit to learn from you."
"What about their parents?"
"Who says they have to know?"
Remus smirked. "Are you suggesting we lie?"
"I'm suggesting nothing of the sort," she said quickly. "But if they don't ask, we don't have to tell them."
"How very Slytherin of you," he mumbled, tossing a large stone into the water with a plunk!
Minerva ignored his comment. "I'm sure Harry would love to meet you."
Remus' spine stiffened at the thought of little Harry. He hadn't seen him since he was a baby. Even then, the boy had looked so much like James. He couldn't even imagine just how much he resembled his father now.
The thought of seeing him again—a mini-James—was ultimately the deciding factor. He turned to face her fully. "When do you need my first lesson plan?"
She gave him the smallest of satisfied smiles before returning to her business-like demeanour. "Next week would be ideal. We need to send out the list of supplies."
Remus nodded slowly, lost in thought. "Well, better go back to the pub. I have a resignation to hand in."