Moony's Musings

Chapter 4

By Trep092

I'd like to thank my beta Erik's Song for all of her assistance translating this from Trep092 language to English.

Disclaimer: Repeat after me, "Trep092 does not own Harry Potter." Good! Now lather, rinse, , repeat!

There are direct quotes from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban chapter 5 "The Dementor". I don't own it.

A/N: This chapter is very long, and it is mostly made up of a memory. At one point there is a memory inside a memory (inception anyone?). I hope you enjoy. Please review.

*** September 1, 1993 (present) ***

Inky darkness pressed against his open eyes. At least he thought they were open. For all the good it did he might as well have kept them shut.

"What's going on?" asked Ron.

"Ouch!" Hermione gasped. "Ron, that was my foot!"

"Do you think we've broken down?"

"Dunno..."

There was movement in the darkness and a squeaking sound. Ron was standing in front of him attempting to peer out of the dark, steamed-up window.

"There's something moving out there," Ron said. "I think people are coming aboard..."

So it was confirmed. Dementors were coming aboard. The Hogwarts Express never stopped to pick up hitch hikers.

The compartment door slid open and someone entered, and by the sounds of pain issuing from that direction, they had tripped on someone. There was a clamour of voices as the person blundered around in the dark and then sat on what sounded like a very angry cat.

"I'm going to go and ask the driver what's going on." Hermione said and slid open the door.

He was about to stop her—it would be a nasty surprise for her when she ran into a dementor—but she was halted when she evidently ran into a person trying to enter the compartment as there were more squeals of pain.

All of the peoples' voices were swirling around inside his mind. He was trying to listen for cries of fear that would indicate that the conductor had let the monsters on board, but he couldn't hear anything over the sound of the jostling of bodies trying to find a place to sit.

"Quiet!" he said forcefully. His voice came out a lot hoarser than usual due to his not drinking anything all day and his not speaking for the same period of time.

He thought that he might have to repeat the command, but the compartment fell instantly silent. That was much better. Slowly he rose, and, making use of his prowess at wandless and non-verbal magic, he summoned a handful of flickering flames to illuminate the compartment.

"Stay where you are," he said in the same hoarse voice and began to walk towards the compartment door. He was going to go find the dementors and banish them off the train. Sirius Black was not among them and the students didn't need to be terrified for no reason. He agreed with Dumbledore's view that the dementors were not fit to be among humans, and it was wrong for the Ministry to trust them so blindly.

He had nearly reached the door when it slid slowly open. It was not another student seeking refuge in the compartment. It was a tall and putrid dementor.

He heard a gasp to his left, and turning slightly, he saw Harry go rigid and fall forward out of his seat on to the floor in front of his feet.

He then felt the wave of cold despair flow over him, purging any thoughts of hope and happiness he'd managed to build around the void of misery in his heart, and freezing him to the spot.

"Why are you here?" the dementor seemed to ask. "You are useless. Dumbledore is only taking pity on you. You shouldn't have left your hovel. All your friends die because of you and all these students are feeling misery because of you. Look at the Potter boy. Something's wrong with him and all you can do is stand here and feel sorry for yourself. You are wretched and unfit to live among humans..."

Each barb hit him straight in the heart. The dementor's ability to suck all happiness from its surroundings was causing him to think of things that would completely incapacitate him with misery.

He was usually adept at ignoring such despairing thoughts, or at least pushing them aside, but his weakened mental barriers proved unfit for containing the thoughts that the dementor's breath was unearthing.

Images were beginning to assault his mind. A werewolf running at him while he was frozen in terror, the Potters' cottage destroyed, their single grave marker...

There was something he should be doing, though he couldn't think what it could be as his mind was foggy and his limbs felt like lead.

He had to think of something happy. That was it. He searched his clouded mind feverishly but only came up with images of death and destruction.

Gritting his teeth he managed to wrench a small part of his mind away from the consuming desolation of the dementor's breath. He searched frantically for a memory that held even the smallest glimmer of happiness. Finally he settled on the memory of Dumbledore arriving at his home a week ago to offer him a job.

*** August 25, 1993 (one week prior) ***

Hunger clawed at his belly as he sat at the rickety wooden table in the small room he called home. Well it was his home for now. His rent was paid up until the end of the month but then he'd have to vacate it.

Sighing, he carefully piled the meagre supply of Muggle money he had been counting back into his wallet. He had enough for a few days of food in which he would be searching for a new job and residence. If he couldn't find a job within that time he would go hungry. It wouldn't be the first time, and most assuredly it wouldn't be the last.

Rising, he turned and surveyed the room. It was quite small and sparsely furnished. It held the table at which he was just sitting, a single chair, a pallet on which he slept, and a box holding his few possessions. The walls were painted white, though time and a lack of proper maintenance were responsible for their peeling and grubby state. A small grimy window overlooked a back alley and an overflowing dumpster.

He had taken a job a few months ago at a small Muggle grocery store owned by an eccentric but benevolent old man. The man (Mr. Brown) had offered him a job, and hadn't minded when he disappeared for a few days a month.

At first he had told Mr. Brown that being ill was the reason for his absences. But the old man was quite convinced that he had a girlfriend and he was sneaking off to visit her. Finally, he told him that he was right; that he had a girl in Scotland that he visited once a month. The old man was delighted for him and willingly gave him the time off. After all he was a hard worker and worked enough overtime hours to cover his absences.

The only drawback to this was that Mr. Brown was quite a gossip and demanded to know what he had done and where he had gone with his girlfriend. So he had to use his knowledge and imagination to create plausible scenarios. Mr. Brown, being a lifelong bachelor, had eaten it all up delightedly, and then told him how crazy he was forever thinking of losing his freedom to a girl.

Mr. Brown had set him to stocking shelves and occasionally minding the till. It had been easy work for little pay, but it had been enough to keep him fed and sheltered.

He had worked for Mr. Brown for half a year—longer than he'd worked for anyone Muggle or Wizard—when the old man passed away in his sleep. His will left the business to his Nephew Henry who wasn't much of a businessman. Henry was closing up the store and laying off the few employees including Remus.

So now he was out of work again. Luckily he had paid his rent on his small room for the month so he had shelter for a few more days.

He stretched and yawned. His stomach chose that moment to growl loudly once again. He needed to eat. Searching through his meagre supply of food he selected several granola bars and a banana for his dinner. It wasn't exactly gourmet but he was never any great shakes at cooking even with magic to help the process along. He knew he should eat more, he could feel the strange pulling sensation in his gut that told him the full moon was near, and after his transformations he was never hungry for a few days, But he had to conserve his rations. God knew when he'd be able to get food again.

He hated living like this. Living from day to day never knowing where his next meal would come from. When he was lucky he'd have work, but eventually he'd be kicked out on to the streets again. Some days, especially those times around the days of his transformations, he wondered what he was doing trying to prolong his existence. He was a creature of peoples' nightmares. He served no use to society.

But then he'd remember how precious life was. He'd remember his dead friends and realize that they wouldn't want him to pine away. After all, he was the one with life yet to live. He should try and make the best of it. That was what having friends had taught him. That there was life outside of the little bubble he'd created around himself and his lycanthropy. James, Sirius, Lily and yes even Peter had all shown him a world in which he could exist happily and be accepted for who he was. God how he missed them.

Raising his glass of water, he said softly, "to friends," and then drank deeply.

After he had eaten and cleaned up after his meal, he settled down on his pallet with a battered well-worn book.

Reading was something he had enjoyed in his youth, and still loved as an adult. He had an insatiable appetite for knowledge and read anything he could get his hands on. He didn't just read books about magic, and those by Wizards. His mother had been a Muggle born and she had passed on to him the love of Muggle books. He loved how they thought, their history, how they accomplished everyday tasks, and most of all, their views on magic. He was currently working his way through a thick book that contained the three novels of the Lord of the Rings Series.

Shifting his position on the pallet, he cracked open the book to where he had left off the night before. He instantly lost himself in the words on the page. He forgot his plight, the pull that told him the full moon was near, and eventually himself. The only reality was a world in which nine people of differing races sought to destroy a ring to save Middle Earth.

A loud knock on his door brought him back to reality with a jolt. He leapt to his feet and the book fell heavily to the wooden floor. He never had visitors.

Wildly he thought it might be the woman who rented him his room, but she was quite old and found it nearly impossible to climb the stairs.

He did a quick inspection of his room. Nothing was visible showing his identity as a wizard except for his wand which sat on the table. He quickly snatched it up and tucked it into the waist band of his pants underneath his t-shirt. The knock came again.

swiftly he went to the door and opened it a crack, then flung it wide when he saw who was waiting in the corridor.

"Professor!" he gasped staring at the old man in shock.

"Good evening Remus," Dumbledore said with a smile.

He couldn't believe it. He hadn't seen Dumbledore in—could it possibly be twelve years? It didn't seem that long. He realised his mouth was hanging open and shut it quickly.

"How-why?" he asked eloquently.

"I believe such questions would be best answered sitting down," Dumbledore replied with a twinkle in his eyes behind his half-moon spectacles.

"Er—of course professor. Come in," Remus said standing to the side to allow his old headmaster to enter into the small room.

Closing the door, he surveyed the seating possibilities. He gestured for Dumbledore to take the only chair and he perched on the cardboard box holding his clothes and books.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked as he uncomfortably watched Dumbledore's eyes inspect the room. He was acutely aware of the fact that his bedding was rumpled and the whole room could do with a good scrub.

Ignoring the question, Dumbledore pulled a bottle from the pocket of his robes and summoned a couple of glasses. "Drink?" he asked comfortably.

Remus felt his cheeks flame with embarrassment. He was the host and he should have offered a drink to his guest, but a combination of shock, curiosity and not having a guest in more years than he could remember, made him forget his manners.

"Er—thank you," He said awkwardly, taking the proffered glass of mead from Dumbledore.

They sat in silence for what seemed like many minutes but was probably less than one. Remus wasn't sure what to say. He'd been essentially cut off from the Wizarding World for several years save for occasional correspondence with a few people and his subscription to the daily prophet. It had been at least three months since he had received an owl bearing a personal note. Thus he was baffled as to why Dumbledore had sought him out in person.

Finally, unable to bear the uncomfortable silence and Dumbledore's scrutiny, he blurted, "how did you find me?"

"Poppy told me where to find you," Dumbledore said matter-of-factly.

Oh yes, Madam Pomphrey. She was one of the few people who kept in touch with him. He had grown close to the matronly lady during his tenure at Hogwarts. Besides Dumbledore, she was the only person who knew of his lycanthropy, and like Dumbledore, she didn't judge him for it. To most people she displayed an air of sternness, but she seemed to have a soft spot for him which he knew was kind-heartedness rather than pity. She always had had a listening ear, and a compassionate word for him when he needed it.

After he'd left Hogwarts he hadn't expected to hear from her ever again, but she sent him an owl every few months asking after his health.

"And how is Madam Pomphrey?" he asked Dumbledore curiously.

"Oh, just spiffing." Dumbledore replied.

They fell into awkward silence again. Remus took a small sip of the liquor from his glass. It burned a trail down his throat. He set the glass aside. After an incident nearly twelve years ago he'd given up drinking alcohol.

"I'm sure you are curious as to why I've shown up on your doorstep," Dumbledore said shrewdly.

Remus nodded, gesturing for his hero to continue.

Dumbledore leaned forward, resting his chin on his long fingers, and said, "Unfortunately the Hogwarts staff is yet again short a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. I'd like you to fill that position."

Remus was stunned. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined that. In his fifth year he had been confronted by the task of choosing a career. Not being naive, he had realized that he wouldn't be able to carry out many of the careers offered, and the ones he could possibly do—potionier, herbologist—held no interest for him. He couldn't talk to his head of house or any other teachers because they wouldn't know why he was unemployable. He tried to ask his friends for help, but they just made wise cracks about his situation.

Finally, with the deadline for his career advice meeting drawing near, he sent a desperate letter home to his parents. Their reply was full of love and encouragement, telling him he could do anything he set his mind to. He usually loved this kind of support from his parents, they after all had worked tirelessly to get him a place in the Wizarding World, but this time he through their letter into the fire in disgust. They obviously hadn't accepted the fact that he was looked down on and virtually unemployable. He couldn't go on like he was now, making up excuses for his disappearance every month. He knew that people were suspicious and weren't buying the stories he was concocting these days. After all, there were only so many times he could claim his mother was ill.

So the day of his career advice meeting arrived and he shuffled off to Professor McGonagall's office not knowing what he was going to say. It was when he was sitting in front of her desk, and she had asked him the all important question, that he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. The only thing he'd ever dreamed of doing was teaching. Professor McGonagall actually smiled at him and told him that she could envision him teaching at Hogwarts someday.

Her praise had thrilled him, and he had gone on to receive high marks in all of his NEWTs. But he'd never actually thought he would be allowed to teach. So after Hogwarts he had joined the Order of the Phoenix with his friends and became a full-time agent. Now he sat here, fifteen years after graduation, and he was being offered the impossible.

"I of course would have liked to have you years ago," Dumbledore was saying, "but you isolated yourself from the Wizarding world and I didn't wish to hassle you. But I find myself in quite a bind, and I hope that you'll take me up on my offer."

"But sir—how could I?"

"As I do recall, you wanted to be a teacher, or has this changed?"

"Of course I'd love to—"

"Then I see no problem. Unless," here Dumbledore's eyes swept around the sparsely furnished room, "you have a job you'd rather have. I'd never desire to take you away from your work."

"Well no, I'm currently unemployed—"

"Well that suits us perfectly," he said with a small smile, "And as I do recall Minerva has recommended you highly on several occasions. Also I can personally attest to your vast intellect, your cool-headedness, your patients, and your bravery. You will make a fine teacher Remus."

He was bowled over by Dumbledore's high praise. For the first time in days he felt a smile creep onto his face. A warm glow was spreading inside him, and he was positive it had nothing to do with the small amount of alcohol he'd consumed.

"I'd love to take the position," he said, and seeing that Dumbledore was about to interrupt he quickly added, "but I must decline, Headmaster. I don't think a person in my er—situation should be teaching students. Look what nearly happened in my sixth year. I could have killed a student."

"Do you not think I took that into account? You could always use the Shrieking Shack—"

"No!" he nearly shouted. "No I couldn't. It's not safe."

"—or," Dumbledore continued patiently, "you could avail yourself of the services of our Potions Master, who possesses the necessary skill to brew the Wolf's Bane Potion."

"But that would entail me revealing my true identity," he said thoughtfully. He had gone so long with people only suspecting, never knowing, who and what he was.

"This individual already knows. Our Potions Master is Severus Snape."

A chill ran down his spine. While he didn't harbour the same loathing towards Snape that Sirius and James had, the name and resultant mental image still made him cringe. Snape had been an odd kid that had provoked James's and Sirius's ire on their first trip to Hogwarts, and their relationship had never improved. He never joined in with the bullying of Snape—it wasn't in his nature—though he had never tried to stop it from happening. He didn't personally dislike Snape, he actually had felt an odd connection of being an outcast between them. While he could never be friends with Snape, he felt that he could work alongside him. Severus was, after all, willing to brew the Wolf's Bane potion for him and of course Dumbledore trusted him.

Dumbledore must have seen the acceptance on his face, for he continued, "it is my feeling that your true condition should be revealed to the entire staff as well. It's only right to trust them with this, and I know that they will accept it. After all, most of them have all ready suspected it and they know you Remus. They trust you as I do."

He doubted that they would all accept him, but he had a feeling that Dumbledore was right. The staff was mostly made up of people that had taught him at school, or had fought alongside him in the Order. They hopefully knew him as a good person who had fought for Dumbledore against Lord Voldemort and the Death Eaters. And maybe, just maybe there opinions wouldn't change when they knew he was a werewolf. He had many doubts, but he trusted Dumbledore, and if he said it would work, then Remus could only believe him.

"Okay," he finally said into the silence left in the wake of Dumbledore's last remark. "I'll do it!"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily as he smiled broadly. "That's wonderful news Remus."

They sat for a while discussing the DADA syllabus and Hogwarts. Eventually the conversation turned to Harry Potter and his exploits, and then to Sirius's escape from Azkaban and its implications. It was at this point that Dumbledore asked him if he would travel on the school train in case the ministry ordered dementors to search it. Of course he agreed readily. Dumbledore had done much for him, and he would do anything to repay him.

Several hours and a great deal of talking later, Dumbledore rose and begged his leave. After walking him to the door, and bidding him a good night, he turned to face his home. A few short hours ago he was dreading his leaving, not knowing where he'd end up. But now he could relax. He had his dream job, a safe and stable place to live, intellectual company and he would have transformations that would be no less painful for him, but would be much safer for anyone who could stumble across him. He felt as though a burden the size of Hogwarts was lifted off his shoulders.

Smiling broadly, he went over to the box of his belongings, and began to sort through it. Finally, from the depths he pulled a small package. Walking to his bed, he sank onto the blankets and unwrapped the old crinkled brown paper from the parcel. He uncovered a tiny object that he enlarged with his wand.

It was a leather brief case whose edges were held together by neat knots of string. He softly stroked the supple leather and then examined the small name plaque. It read "Professor R. J. Lupin."

His parents had given it to him as a graduation gift on his last day at Hogwarts. His heart felt as though it would burst with the warmth of Dumbledore's praise and his parents' remembered words.

"We are so proud of you, son. We told you that you could do anything you put your mind to."

"Yes," he whispered as he placed the case on top of the table with the name plaque proudly facing the room, "yes you were right. I only had to wait fifteen years to see that the World hasn't completely turned its back on me."

He had niggling worries about what he was going to do, but he couldn't help feeling happier in that moment than he could remember being in a very long time.

*** September 1, 1993 (present) ***

A bubble of happiness inflated inside his mind, pushing away the hopelessness that the Dementor was causing. Stepping over the prone figure of Harry he moved towards the horrid fiend towering in the compartment doorway.

"None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks. Go," He commanded. The dementor didn't move, it just drew in another long rattling breath.

"That's right Lupin," he thought scathingly, "demand that it leave. That will definitely work."

Drawing up every modicum of happiness he could from his memory, he pulled his wand out of his pocket and said, "Expecto Patronum."

A cloud of silver vapour burst from his wand. It wasn't a corporeal patronus-his happy memory was evidently not happy enough—but it succeeded in driving off the dementor.

Quickly, he knelt beside Harry's form on the floor and checked him over. He was unconscious but all right.

Rising, he told the two students hovering nervously over their friend, "He's okay. You can try and wake him."

As the two students—Ron and Hermione he assumed having actually never seen them—began talking to and shaking Harry, trying to rouse him, he dug around in his case for the large bar of chocolate he had stowed there. Just as his fingers closed around the chocolate, the train came back to life with a jolt; the lanterns winked back on and the train slowly began to pick up speed.

"Harry! Harry! Are you all right?" Hermione's voice was shrill with worry.

"W-what?" Harry groaned as he regained consciousness.

Ron and Hermione helped Harry to his feet and onto his seat. He looked pale from the effect of the dementor's breath. His bangs were stuck to his forehead in clumps by sweat revealing his lightning-shaped scar, and his glasses were knocked askew.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked Harry nervously.

"Yeah," said Harry, looking quickly towards the door where the dementor had stood. "What happened? Where's that—that thing? Who screamed?"

"No one screamed," Ron said apprehensively.

"But I heard screaming—" Harry said confused.

The dementor had obviously affected Harry a great deal more than the others. It was no wonder though. He had witnessed and experienced much in his young life, from the death of his parents to meeting their killer Lord Voldemort on no less than three separate occasions. From what Dumbledore had imparted to him as well, he had nearly died on all those occasions.

With a loud snapping sound, Remus began to break the chocolate bar into six rough pieces. Handing the largest chunk to Harry he said, "Here. Eat it. It'll help."

Harry took the piece but instead of eating it he looked at Remus curiously and asked, "What was that thing?"

"A dementor," Remus replied as he handed the remaining chocolate pieces to the other students, keeping one for himself. "One of the dementors of Azkaban."

He crumpled up the chocolate wrapper and placed it into his pocket. Looking around he saw that the five students were all staring at him still holding the melting chocolate in their hands. "Eat. It will help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me..."

With that he strolled out of the compartment and into the corridor. A few feet down the train he stopped and leaned against the wall. He needed to get his head on straight. That dementor had affected him greatly. It had made him hesitate and that was unacceptable. He gritted his teeth and forced his feelings back into the pit they had come from, and shoved a lid down on them. He knew it wasn't a healthy solution to bottle up his feelings, but it would work for the present. He wouldn't be able to teach or look after students if he kept doubting himself. He knew what he was doing, and Dumbledore trusted him. He just needed to trust himself.

After his little mental pep talk, he felt a bit steadier. he straightened and walked through the train until he reached the glass partition separating the driver's booth from the rest of the train. He wrapped on the glass, and when the man opened the door, he said sharply, "I need to borrow an owl." The driver recoiled at his tone.

Remus knew that it wasn't the Driver's fault that Dementor's had boarded the train—he probably had orders from the ministry to allow their search—but he couldn't help being irritated with the man.

"A-an owl?" the man stammered.

"Yes, an owl. I need to send a message to the school."

"We'll be there in fifteen minutes..." said the driver uncertainly.

"This can't wait," Remus said exasperated. "The dementor you let aboard made a student ill."

Wordlessly, the driver gestured to a perch where a large barn owl sat looking down imperiously on the proceedings. It was kept there to send messages in case of emergencies.

Quickly, Remus pulled out the wrapper from the chocolate. Flipping it over and flattening it out he wrote

Minerva,

Dementors boarded train. Potter collapsed. Get Poppy to check him out.

R. Lupin

He tied this brief note to the owl's leg, carried it to a window, and let it fly off into the downpour. Nodding to the driver, he turned on his heel and strode back to his compartment. As he walked, he shoved his piece of chocolate into his mouth. He instantly felt better. Some of the burden that weighed down his shoulders seemed to be lifted.

Stopping at the compartment door, he saw that the five students still sat talking and ignoring the chocolate he'd given them.

The new lightness in his heart allowed a smile to touch his lips as he joked, "I haven't poisoned that chocolate, you know..."

The smile grew larger as he saw the surprised expressions on their faces once they had taken a bite of the chocolate.

"We'll be at Hogwarts in ten minutes," he added as he went to his seat and pulled his case down from the luggage rack.

As he turned he saw Harry looking at him. Yet again he felt a squirm in his gut. He looked so much like James. Except for his eyes. He had Lily's eyes. He was about to turn away when he realized that he was being stupid not talking to him. He would remember James and feel the pain of his loss whether he talked to Harry or not, and as he was going to be teaching the boy, he should speak to him. After all, Harry was not James, and it was about time he realized it. Grabbing the bull by the horns he asked, "Are you all right, Harry?"

Harry ducked his head in obvious embarrassment and muttered, "fine."

"See," he internally chided himself, "not that difficult, was it?"

The final minutes of the train ride were passed in silence in the compartment. As the train swayed to a halt at Hogsmeade Station, there was a mad scramble of students vacating the train. Quickly, he stepped into the corridor and began to direct the mayhem.

As he finally stepped off the train into the cool, damp night, he heard the unmistakable sound of Hagrid calling, "Firs' years this way!"

A small smile stretched across his face. He was back in the Wizarding World, where he belonged.

*HP*HP*HP*HP*HP*HP*HP*HP*HP*HP*HP*HP*

Please review, my RL is terrible right now and I could do with a smile.