CHAPTER FOUR: A Tale of Two Libraries

Of course, we didn't start our library shenanigans right away—we may set all hell loose, but we had to have our tea first. And Remus wanted to browse. He checked out Treasure Island—"I've read it before, of course, but it's been a while." And he was even more interested in my music collection. "Is that Ziggy Stardust?" he exclaimed, carefully sliding the case off the shelf. "How on earth did you get this for the library?"

"It's a reprint. One of the students—Kevin Entwhistle—his parents run the record store of Diagon Alley. His mom gives me a teacher's discount and lets me know if there's anything good coming. I think that one came from an estate sale."

He looked at me over the record sleeve, his eyes shining. "May I?"

"Of course," I said. "I think we've had enough Celestina Warbeck for one day."

I turned off the music on the computer and turned back to see him fumbling awkwardly around the record player. Using someone else's record player for the first time is a lot like trying to use someone else's shower for the first time. Although definitely less cold. I tried not to think about Lupin in the shower, and said, "It's the little lever on the right, and then the knob—but not too far—" it came out blasting, and he cranked it down frantically to a mere whisper, and back up again, as you do. "Five Years" rose and fell in its strange, gentle rhythm in the background.

He sat down on the window seat and smiled softly. "I had a record of this, from my parents, but I lost it one or two moves ago," he said. "I tried all kinds of finding spells."

"You can borrow this one," I said. "For as long as you want. Although you might need to let me listen to it occasionally." Emboldened by I don't know what, I brought both of our teacups over and handed his to him. "Thank you," he said as I sat down on the window seat beside him. At a respectable distance, of course. We listened in silence for a few minutes.

My brain hurt like a warehouse, there was no room to spare

I had to cram so many things to store, everything in there…

Never thought I'd need so many people

"Its so sad, but its…comforting, somehow," I said. "I've never understood why."

"I don't think you have to understand it," he said.

I nodded. We sipped our tea, and rain pattered on the windows, and it was pretty much perfect. The lyrics I kiss you, you're beautiful hit a little bit differently under the circumstances.

I'm not sure I wanted to kiss him at this point, but I was dying to run my hands through his soft dark hair.

We were about three songs in, in a kind of dreamy afternoon state, when he said "lord, what time is it?"

I glanced down in my watch, and started. "A little after 4—oh gosh. I was supposed to be teaching five minutes ago."

"Me too," he said, jumping up in alarm and making a dash for his cloak. "What time are you going to the other library?"

"After classes end and before dinner," I said, gathering my things.

The cloak swirled as he threw it hastily around his shoulders. "Right. Meet you there?"

I smiled in spite of my sudden stress. "Yeah."

He turned to go and paused. "There's that alcove over by the statue of Gryffindor," he said. "It's just out of earshot."

I got the feeling he'd used it as a mischief-making rendezvous point before.

There's something about arriving to class late that makes you feel like you've been doing something questionable, even if you haven't. Aside from not being there, of course. Even though I was running late, I still stopped at the door and took a few moments to collect my wits. The students were only a little surprised—I was usually a little scatterbrained, and had lost my way more than once due to those effing changing staircases. Even though I'm pretty sure my brains had transformed entirely into fluff, I still managed to coherently steer the class through four more iterations of Muggle Studies.

When I got to the little alcove, Lupin was waiting for me. He was leaning against the wall, looking out the window. He looked like it had been a long afternoon. I probably did too. But he brightened when he saw me.

"Congrats," I said. "You survived your first day."

"Well, if you can survive getting here, you can survive anything," he said.

I fished around in my bag for the muggle books. "I honestly didn't put a lot of thought into choosing these," I said.

He examined them anyway. "The Moonstone, The Portable Dante, The Wizard of Oz—that one won't work. Baum was a wizard."

"Damn," I said. "Who wasn't a wizard, may I ask?"

He held up the next one. "John Grisham definitely isn't," he said. "And Gregory Maguire wasn't. But his brother was."

"What about Dante?" I asked.

"No, he just saw some weird shit," he said. "Or maybe it was an actual spiritual experience. No one really knows."

"Was Bowie a wizard?" I asked, as I stowed Baum back in my bag.

"Of course he was a wizard," he said, grinning. "Kept the details very quiet of course. But we all knew."

"OMG," I said, because honestly what else can you say to that?

He stowed the remaining books into his bag, which I'm pretty sure was held together by magic and duct tape. Possibly magical duct tape. "Now, do we have a plan, or are we just improvising?"

"I just pick a section and pretend to look for something else," I said. "Maybe I'll look for something on Dementors."

The library was busier than usual—Snape had apparently assigned a surprise essay due on Friday. Which was two weeks earlier than he usually did. I wondered if something had happened to put him in an even worse mood than normal.

I slid around to the "Pureblood Wizard History" section and caught a glimpse of Lupin chatting animatedly with Madam Pince about filing systems.

Hermione was, as usual, in the window seat, apparently absorbed in a book. But I could feel her eyes on me when I slipped The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy in the stacks and wondered absently if Douglas Adams was a wizard. Could go either way, honestly. Terry Pratchett had to be one. Bother. This was like a whole unexplored field of literature and here I couldn't write a book on it because of the stupid statute of international secrecy. It was the sort of thing that made you wonder why Pince put up such an almighty fuss about separating the books.

I had managed to deposit Death on the Nile in the "Classics" section, and was absently trying to open the door into the next section when Pince rounded on me. "Excuse me," she said icily. "That is the restricted section."

"Oh," I said. "Would you be so kind as to unlock it for me, then? I'm looking for books on dementors."

"The restricted section is for advanced wizards only," she hissed.

"That sign says "professors only," I said, gesturing to the illuminated manuscript-level sign on the wall.

"You're not a real professor," she said. "You can't do magic."

"Wasn't in the job description," I said with a shrug. The only thing that restrained me from giving her the middle finger was that several students were now watching. I tried not to be a bad example all of the time.

At that point, inexplicably, several fireworks went off on the other side of the library. Pince gave a shriek, and dashed after them. Two gingery boys slipped surreptitiously out of the library doors.

When I turned around again, Lupin was beside me, his brow creased with concern. "It makes you feel any better, she doesn't like me either," he said. He waved his wand at the door and quietly muttered Alohomora!

"Why not?" I asked, as the door swung open.

"Too many reasons to list," he said, waving me inside. "But I think it was the time I accidentally got jam on One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. Reference books are her specialty."

"How old were you?" I asked, going inside the library.

"First year, I think. Eleven. I wouldn't touch that one if I were you. It bites."

"Lord," I said, drawing my hand back.

"And I'm pretty sure that one has a banshee scream trapped inside it," he said.

I looked cautiously at the titles on the shelves. "Let's see. Moste Potente Potions…Curses and Counter-Curses…Magick Most Eville…Slytherin's Spellbook—why the everloving f—ck do they keep that one around?"

"As opposed to the biting book?" he asked.

"I have many questions," I said. "What about Daemons, Dementors, Demons, and Druids?"

"It's just conspiracy theories," he said.

"Fleeing the Perylls of the Mynde and Soule?"

"That should do nicely," he said.

I grimaced as I pulled it off the shelves. "It sounds like a sermon collection. Why is it in the restricted section?"

"Well, let's just say there's a rather detailed section on the some of the more…seductive perils of the soul. With illustrations."

"Oh. And you're recommending this one because…?"

"Well despite the fact that the author was apparently a favorite with veela and succubi, he has the most expansive section on defense from dementors. I thought there might be something in there that explained how you managed to banish them."

"Guess we'll find out," I said.

"Professor Lupin!" hissed Pince through the open door of the restricted section.

"We're just going, Madam Pince," he said, suddenly becoming very British. We made our way towards the exit.

I offered her the book to stamp, but didn't fully let go of it. We engaged in a very undignified tug-of-war before she finally stamped it.

She scowled at us as we made our escape.

"I don't think the perils of the mind and soul've got anything on her," I said, when we were not quite out of earshot.

"No I suppose not," he said, shaking his head in disbelief as we walked out into the little stone courtyard, with the fountain. There was a short silence. I looked out at the lovely view of the grounds, not really seeing it.

I was thinking, somewhat numbly, of Pince's words. It wasn't the words so much as the way they went with the locked door. It wasn't even that I needed to be let into the restricted section, really. It was the way I couldn't just say "alohomora" and prove her wrong. Like I could learn to pick locks, or break windows, but it wouldn't quite have the same effect. Its not like I would ever prove to anyone that I was a real professor who didn't already believe it. I believed it. Most days, anyway. Most days I believed it fiercely.

"I'm sure it isn't easy, being here," he said.

I started to shrug it off, but then my shoulders sank, and I said, "It's not."

After I'd said it, I realized I hadn't ever admitted that to anyone else. Not really. Sure, I complained about things, the way you do at any job. But I'd never really admitted it. Not even to McGonagall. I'm sure she knew of course. It was just one of those things that went without saying. I'm not even sure I had thought about it all that much last year because I was too busy trying not to drown. I looked uneasily back at him.

"You know," said Lupin, sitting down by the fountain. "The students talk about you, too."

I grimaced. "I bet they do."

He smiled. "They were all buzzing when they first came in about the train with the wildest stories. Did you really punch Snape in the face? And make him cry?"

"Yep," I said, with a mixture of pride and embarrassment.

He laughed. "I can see how that would prepare you for a Dementor attack."

"What are the Dementors, then? Snape's relations? I mean, I've been putting together bits and pieces, but like…" I reached out and let the icy water of the fountain run over my fingertips.

"They feed on human happiness," he said. "If they're able, they'll drain every bit of it, drain your very soul from your body, so that you become like them."

"Oh," I said. The ground felt a little unsteady beneath my feet. I sat down beside him on the edge of the fountain and gripped its wet, mossy edges. "Oh God."

I looked out at the familiar mountains in the distance. Somewhere out there, those creatures were lurking. I realized why they hadn't told me yesterday. I either would have passed out again, which really would be too much, or committed homicide.

"You know, I've seen a lot of weird shit in the past year but this—" I threw up my hands. "Why? Why is this okay?"

"Well, the short answer is that the wizarding world government seems to somehow be even more corrupt than most muggle governments," he said. "Dementors are born out of misery and despair. The wizard prison, Azkaban, was a place of misery and despair long before it became a prison. Those in power thought it would be expedient to use them to keep prisoners from escaping."

"F-k," I said, turning back to him, my horror presumably written all over my face. "I think it would be kinder to kill them then let them live in a place like that."

"More and more people have raised concerns about it," he said. "As bad as it is here, bringing the dementors out into the open like this may make more people aware of this injustice."

"Somehow, writing a strongly-worded letter to a congressman or whatever they're called here doesn't seem like much of a solution," I said.

He shook his head. "No."

"So…how do you defend against them?" I asked. "Can they be killed? How do you kill a thing that doesn't have a soul?"

"No," he said. "They can be contained. To a certain extent, they can even be commanded, particularly by dark magic. But the magic we use is only a shield charm. It drives them away, and protects you, but it doesn't kill them."

I leaned towards him, anxiously. "What is it? How does it work?"

"It's called the Patronus Charm," he said, mirroring my movements. "It—"

But at that moment, we were stopped by a sharp voice calling out across the courtyard. "Remus! We need you!" It was McGonagall, walking fast. "Some blasted Slytherin shit has put a cursed artifact in the Hufflepuff common room."

He jumped up. "Right away." Then he turned to me quickly, clearly distressed, and said, "I'm so sorry. Tomorrow. then?"

I nodded, and he dashed off across the courtyard. I was left alone with my horror and a book on all things evil.