Chapter Eight: The Halloween Faculty Rager

"Can I walk you back to the castle?" Remus asked, sliding off the barstool. Two empty pint glasses apiece stood on the counter and it was getting late.

"Actually Rosmerta's offered to let me stay over," I said.

"Oh," he said, his voice falling. He started to gather up his coat.

"But, um, otherwise I'd say yes."

He stopped what he was doing to look at me. The way his eyes brightened gave me a flutter of hope.

"This was nice," I said. "Really nice."

"Yes," he said, his hands bunching up the material of his coat. "Do you want to…do this again, sometime?"

"Yes," I said, breaking into a smile. "Yes, I'd like that a lot."

He leaned forward a little on the stool. "Maybe…next week, after midterms?"

I nodded.

"Okay," he said, exhaling in relief. "Yeah. Next week." He put on his coat. "I mean, I'm sure I'll see you before then."

"Yeah," I said, brushing a stray strand of hair behind his ears.

"Well," he turned to go. "Have a good night."

"Are you gonna be all right going back to the castle?"

"I'll take Hagrid with me," he said, smiling. Hagrid was chatting happily with what was definitely an illegal animal dealer in one corner of the pub.

After hesitating a moment longer, he headed over towards Hagrid, and I sat there, grinning like a fool.

"He's definitely into you," said Rosmerta. It was later that evening, and we were sitting on the bed in one of the guest rooms in the upstairs of the Three Broomsticks. "I don't know what you said to him, but girl…" she grinned.

"Then why hasn't he said anything?" I said. "I mean, it seems like we're going on a date, but it's all very ambiguous."

"Hmm," said Rosmerta, who was currently cuddling one of the bed pillows. "He might be afraid. I don't remember him ever dating anybody at school. Which is not to say that things haven't happened between now and then, but still…" She was silent for a moment, as if trying to capture a half finished thought. "Yes. I think that's it. He's definitely afraid of something, anyway."

"How do you know all this?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I don't know. I just do. You get to know people pretty well in this business—I mean, not individuals, necessarily. But people."

I nodded. "What do you think I should do?"

"Wait and see, I guess," she said with a shrug. "But if he doesn't say anything after your second date, I'd advise asking for clarification. A friendly drink now and then is one thing, but whatever happened tonight definitely isn't just a friendly drink."

"Okay," I said.

"You could have gone with him, you know," she said. "I wouldn't have minded. Things might have developed."

I did wonder what might have happened if I'd gone back to the castle with him. Especially since we lived in the same tower… "I didn't want to leave you in the lurch," I said.

"I do appreciate that," she said. "But really, in the future I will understand if you suddenly dip out for a moonlight stroll with Remus Lupin."

I shrugged. "Guess we'll see. But I know better than to prioritize men over friendship." And maybe I was a little afraid too.

She smiled. "I mean, I will confess I was dying to hear what you had talked about."

I gave her a detailed recap of the rest of it. "What do you think he meant about feeling like a monster?" I asked.

Rosmerta considered this. "There was something funny, when he was at school. Rumors and such."

"What kind of rumors?" I asked.

"Oh, people would say anything. Some people said he was secretly a vampire. Or a werewolf. I never put much credit to them. But he was ill a lot."

"Have there been werewolves and vampires at Hogwarts?"

"Not students," she said. "We get the occasional visitor."

I swallowed. "You don't think he's…dying, do you?"

"No," she said firmly. "Dying's the sort of thing that convinces you you're human. It could be some kind of curse, though. Or maybe he's secretly in league with Sirius Black. Or he could just be being emo about being human, like you were."

"Hey!" I said. "I'm not emo."

She gave me a look.

"Okay. Maybe a little emo," I said. "Or just really repressed."

"A repressed emo," she said with the air of one passing judgement.

I sighed, deflated. "Put it on my bio."

"I don't know, the more I think about it, the more I think he's just scared," she said. "Dementors don't have anything on emotional vulnerability."

I laughed ruefully.

As it turned out, I didn't have long to wait. The day before our second ambiguous date was Halloween, which is kind of a big deal at Hogwarts. There's the child-appropriate feast in the Great Hall, of course. But there's also the Halloween Faculty Rager after all the kids have gone to bed. Or gone off to whatever secret shenanigans they get up to when no one else is looking. Last year the rager had been interrupted midway through by the news that a basilisk had petrified poor Mr. Filch's cat, which kind of put a damper on things, but up to that point it had been one of the wildest parties I'd ever experienced. Which really isn't saying very much. Then again you don't really forget seeing Dumbledore twerk. I wish I could.

The rager was held in the Room of Requirement, a room that changes itself to be whatever you need it to be—a closet to hide stuff in, a bathroom, a temporary zoo, a place to hide yourself in, a way to escape the castle, a quiet place to study or take a nap. It was on the seventh floor. The nice thing about the room was that it would work for muggles as well as magic people—you just had to walk past the door three times and think about what you needed it for. Like if you need a place to hold a rager where it won't disturb the students. And it really did deliver. It looked like a 70s disco inside—a light-up floor, tons of strobe lights and disco balls, bizarrely-shaped furniture and crazy wallpaper. And a fully-stocked bar. And a smoke machine.

I will admit, when I walked in, I was a little terrified. Last year, I'd found a quiet corner to go have a drink in and work up the nerve to go out on the dance floor. I cast an unsure look at Remus—we'd run into each other on the way over. He gave me a sympathetic look—but then the music changed. He took my hand and grinned. "Come on' it's 'Dancing Queen!'" he yelled, his voice faint over the music.

"Okay!" I said, following him onto the big light-up dance floor. We were momentarily brought to a standstill by the sight of Snape getting down on it.

"Can't let him get the better of us, can we?" said Remus, breaking out some truly bad dance moves. Everyone else was rushing onto the floor, and we found ourselves singing along with "Dancing Queen."

The energy was infectious. To say nothing of the open bar. We jumped up and down and spun around sang along at the top of our lungs to "Don't Stop Believing" and "Shut Up and Dance." The room spun and swirled with flashing lights in more colors than I knew existed. Firenze was an astonishingly good dancer. You can do a lot with four legs I guess. Best of all, though, was McGonagall. She loves to dance. All kinds of dancing. Ballroom? Obviously. The Macarena? Definitely. She may be close to 70 but her hips do not lie.

We all drank a lot, so some of my memories are a bit hazy—Madam Puddifoot had somehow bullied Snape into taking her as his date, which honestly was an impressive feat. I never did find out how she did it. He did his best to chill her enthusiasm with icy rudeness, but it didn't seem to be working. Professor Trelawney put in an appearance, and turned out to be surprisingly good at karaoke—she and Rosmerta killed it on "Wannabe."

Later, towards the end of the party, "Take a Chance on Me" came on. This part I remember very clearly. Remus had been swept off into some other part of the dance floor, which seemed to go on for miles, but the song made me want to find him. I turned around, singing absently, searching the crowd. If you change your mind, I'm the first in line. I spotted him a few feet away. He saw me, and started towards me. Honey I'm still free, take a chance on me.

It took us a minute to get through the swirling crowd to each other, but when we did, he caught me up and spun me around the floor. He was singing too, although I saw his lips moving more than I heard the sound. If you need me let me know, gonna be around. I spun him around too, and as he came back around, our eyes met. Take a chance on me. I felt my mouth form the words, saw the corners of his eyes begin to smile—and yet his face held a deadly seriousness.

And in the moment I knew—something. Felt suddenly sure, as if some invisible barrier had come crashing down. The dancers whirled around us, or us around them.

We cheered along with everyone when the song ended. I took a step toward him. "Do you—" Then Rosmerta caught my hand and dragged me off into another dance. I cast an apologetic look at him, but he just shook his head good-naturedly and said "go dance!"

A few songs later, I found him waiting at one of the cocktail tables.

"I think I've had about all the party I can take," I said.

"I'll walk back with you," he said, getting up abruptly, and then pausing. "That is—if you want me to."'

"I do," I said.

We made our way out of the Room of Requirement, our ears still ringing from the music and the noise. The corridors were blissfully quiet.

"That was fun," I said breathlessly.

"Yes," he agreed. "I can't remember the last time I've been to a party like that."

"I don't know if there's any party quite like it," I said. "Outside of Hogwarts anyway. Or are wizarding parties always that wild?"

"It depends," he said. "The weddings can be even wilder. Or funerals. If you go to the right kind."

"I'm afraid to ask," I said.

He glanced up the hallway. "I think there's a secret passage somewhere around here that should take us back to the faculty tower."

"Oh really?"

He examined the wall on the other side of the giant torch, which had a tapestry with a unicorn on it. "Yes," he said, lifting the corner of the tapestry. "I think…" he felt the wall and counted off the bricks, then pressed one in. There was a grinding noise as the bricks began to shift aside.

"Frick yes," I said. "Secret passage."

A narrow, dark passage was now visible. He drew out his wand, and said "Lumos!"

The ceiling of the passage was suddenly ablaze with little lights like stars. They were stars, I realized. Constellations, anyway.

"Wow," I said.

"Yeah," he said, beaming.

I followed him inside. The door ground shut behind us. "How'd you find out about this place?" I asked. The passageway was just wide enough for us to walk beside each other.

"To be honest, I practically fell into it," he said. "Filch was coming after me with a mop, because he'd got it into his head that I was the one who turned Mrs. Norris bright blue."

"I'm sure you were completely innocent," I said, grinning.

"I was," he said. "This time. Anyway, I slipped on the wet floor and crashed into the tapestry—and suddenly there I was. I could hear him coming after me so I had no choice but to figure out where it led to. Came out the tunnel and ran smack into Dumbledore in his bathrobe. Apparently he was staying in the faculty tower while they were remodeling his rooms."

"Oh no!" I said, stifling a giggle.

"Oh yes," he said.

"What did he look like?"

He shrugged. "Given his taste in dress? Not that much different."

I laughed. "What did you do?"

"Well, I thought the ground was going to open and swallow me up. I stammered out an apology. But he just raised his eyebrow and said 'I believe the Gryffindor common room's down that way.' And I made my escape."

"Goodness," I said, shaking my head. "You know, McGonagall's the same way—about pajamas I mean. I think she puts on even more clothes to go to bed than she does when she's awake. I ran into her once during the whole Chamber of Secrets thing. Kind of caught us all napping. Gilderoy forgot to take out his curlers."

He laughed.

"What about you?" I teased. "Do you also go to bed in three sweaters and a trenchcoat?" I didn't realize just how flirty that sounded until it was out of my mouth. My filter was a bit gone at this point.

Even in the silvery light I could see his face go red. "Only when it's very cold," he replied lightly.

"As opposed to the rest of the time, when the castle is just moderately freezing," I said, shivering for emphasis. The warmth of the party had worn off, and my dress was beginning to feel rather thin.

"Are you cold?" he asked, looking at me anxiously. "You can borrow my coat, if you like."

"But then you'll be cold," I said.

"I'll have my three sweaters, remember?" he said, with a crooked grin. "Besides, I think we're almost there."

Had I really wanted to argue about it, which I didn't, I could have pointed out that I could tough it out, if we were almost there. "I mean, if you really don't mind," I said awkwardly.

"Not at all," he said. He stopped, and took it off. "I'm—I'm afraid it isn't much."

He held it out for me to slip it on. I did, and felt his hands brush gently against my shoulders, and then he stepped back almost instantly. I snuggled gratefully into the coat. Despite being worn, it was a substantial coat, and it still held some of his warmth. "Mmm. Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said, as I pulled my hair out and fluffed it.

I looked down at the several inches of coat that were pooled on the ground. "I'm afraid it might drag a bit."

"Won't hurt it," he said.

I stood there for a moment, looking at him. I realized I had never seen him without his coat before. Somehow he looked taller. More angular. He stood looking back at me, not saying anything.

"Well," I said, brushing back an escaped strand of hair. "Guess we'd better keep going."

I turned, and promptly tripped on the coat. I caught myself, laughing with embarrassment. "Just ignore me."

"Hang on, you're losing your flowers," he said.

Sure enough, I looked back and several of them had fallen to the floor—tiny blood-red roses and starry twists of jasmine to go with my red velvet witch dress. In a few strides, he had picked them up, and returned to me. Instead of handing them back to me, however, he began carefully, gently putting them back into my hair.

I think I stopped breathing.

I stood there, staring up at him with parted lips, and felt a shiver of pleasure as his fingers caressed my hair. And then he just stood there, staring at me, with his dark, dilated eyes, as if rooted to the spot. Surely, I thought. Surely now is the time. But he didn't move.

I was beginning to wonder if someone had cast a body-bind curse on him. "Well," I said. "Are you going to kiss me, or not?"

Light blazed to life in his eyes. He bent down, and I reached up to him, nearly on tiptoe. We were so close now that I breathed in his "yes," and then felt the warmth of his mouth pressed hard against mine. There was nothing tentative about it. It was messy, fervent, as if we hadn't realized how much we wanted it, starved, desperate kisses, a strange, terrifying, delicious hunger. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him in closer, and he pressed me up against the castle wall, each kiss deeper and more sure.

And then a shrill, familiar voice pierced through the air. "Professor Lupin!"

We froze—and then hastily disentangled ourselves. Remus moved in front of me to shield me from view—but I could still see Professor McGonagall standing in the passageway.

Clustered behind her was the entire school staff—Dumbledore, Snape, Flitwick, Sprout, Trelawney, Hagrid, Poppy, Pomona, and Filch. They were all staring in openmouthed, bug-eyed astonishment.

The silence was palpable. I closed my eyes and wished that the ground would open up and swallow us, while at the same time being very aware that I regretted absolutely nothing.

Recovering herself with remarkable speed, McGonagall said, "I suppose neither of you happened to notice that Sirius Black is escaping through this passage?"

"What?" said Remus, dazed.

Professor McGonagall stared forward. "Sirius Black is in the castle. And he's getting away!"