Please please please let me hear your thoughts I live on the crumbs of comments

From the playlist:

Psycho Killer - The Talking Heads

Sparks - Coldplay

Ballerina - Yehezkel Raz

no, the moon - Teen Suicide

.

.

.

Ch. 25 - Grindylows, Gryffindors, and Grims

By Monday, rumors were whizzing through the halls like friendly fire, grazing Remus's ears in a way that made him want to crawl into a bunker. He heard them at every meal, in every passing period, and even confiscated a few notes being passed back and forth in class spinning tales about the break in. Some of the more creative ones contended that Sirius had the power to go from solid to gas, or that he'd used a shrinking solution to shrink himself down to the size of a coin to get under the doors, or that he had a briefcase full of other peoples' faces he could don at will. Remus might've been able to appreciate how imaginative they were, if it weren't for that nagging voice.

His classes went alright, he supposed. Probably better than they deserved to after the weekend he'd had. He finally got to introduce that grindylow to the third years, as well as some fundamentals of hex-deflection to his fourth years. He was well into O.W.L. prep with the fifth years, and the sixth year class began their unit on - in an almost frustrating feat of irony - dementors. No practical lesson necessary there. Thank God for his notes, without which, Remus wouldn't have been able to keep his lessons even moderately streamlined that day. He found himself reviewing them before every class period. It was as if the rumors had seeped in through his ears and were bouncing off the inside of his skull, jumbling his already foggy thoughts. It was distracting, to say the least; particularly when trying to wrangle a very pissed off grindylow.

By Tuesday, the rumors hadn't relented, and the weather seemed to be mirroring the rapidly declining morale of the student population - which, thanks to the aforementioned dementors, hadn't been all that high to begin with. The winds began to pick up, the chill began to permeate the days as well as the nights, and with the approach of the full moon tugging at every bit of sinew in Remus's body, the addition of the inclement conditions only amplified his musculoskeletal aches. Neither he nor his circulation had ever done well with pressure changes in the atmosphere, but a few years ago, his body got to a place where he started to feel the winter coming on, based on how stiff he was when he woke up. He had to spend the morning next to his hearth just to get his hands to function, and that was after spending a few minutes pressing his numb knuckles into his palms so that he could grip his wand tightly enough to conjure the fire in the first place.

He wasn't able to manage quite as much enthusiasm for the grindylow for the third year classes that morning - not with the way it went after his hand during the demonstration. Even with the glove on, the little bastard was really going for his fingers like he knew how thick all his joints felt. When it latched onto him first thing that morning, he flinched so suddenly it made Lisa Turpin scream, and he had to assure her he was alright, and that it had only startled him - not that it had squeezed the knuckle of his middle finger like it was aiming to rip it clean off the rest of his hand. By the following class period, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were rooting for the grindylow.

Speaking of his joints, that afternoon, Remus was summoned up to the headmaster's office. Six flights of stairs. Just what he needed. He'd have done it three times over and more for Dumbledore, but the timing was obviously less than ideal. Unsurprisingly, he arrived late, and apologized profusely to Dumbledore and the four heads of house as he helped himself to a chair. Snape was side-eyeing him like his delay could be attributed to something nefarious, rather than to the five or so times he had to stop to catch his breath and rest his knees.

Dumbledore kicked off the meeting with: "By now, I'm sure you have all realized why Sirius Black is so determined to gain access to the school."

If Remus hadn't already been sweating, he was certain that would've made him start.

"It's always Potter," Sprout muttered under her breath, raising a slightly teed off eyebrow. Flitwick hummed in agreement.

"I think it may be time to inform Harry of the threat he faces," Dumbledore proposed, his eyes scanning the cohort, but lingering on Remus.

His mouth went dry.

"I can speak with Potter," McGonagall volunteered, throwing herself down on the sword before Remus had to shell out some pathetic excuse as to why he couldn't talk to Harry about Sirius. "There's a related matter I've already been meaning to discuss with him."

"Thank you, Minerva."

"Forgive me headmaster, but I'm not sure if telling the boy would be prudent," Snape challenged lightly. "Potter is already far too confident in his own abilities, and has made himself notorious for entangling others in his messes when he knows too much. I'm sure I needn't remind everyone here about the conclusion of last term."

"Or the spring before that," Flitwick added, looking apologetic for doing so.

"If I may," Remus chimed in. "I'd like to think Harry is more motivated by a sense of responsibility than a vainglorious need for attention. Minerva is quite capable of putting this to him in a way which makes him aware of the danger, but lets him know that he needn't shoulder the responsibility alone-"

"With all due respect, Lupin," Snape interrupted without even so much as an ounce of respect, "you were only just appointed this year, so I cannot conceive how you could make those assumptions about Potter with such little observation."

The emphasis he'd given to the word little stung exactly as it was meant to, pouring vinegar into that gaping wound which reopened every year on Halloween. Remus slowly closed his mouth.

"I'm sorry Snape, but I'm going to have to agree with Lupin," Sprout came to his defense, which surprised him a bit. "Potter is brash to be sure, but better for him to be aware there's a knife at his back than to be oblivious. We can only hope that telling him will inform his choices rather than drive them."

"Minerva will speak to Harry," Dumbledore decided, which meant it would be the final word on the matter. "I have asked the other teachers to…keep a close eye on the boy, when possible. If you all could do the same."

By Wednesday, Remus knew he wasn't going to make it to Friday afternoon. The weather was only getting worse, and he could feel it in his bones. And his joints. And his breathlessness. And the slowly building migraine. It seemed he would have to take Snape up on substituting out of sheer necessity, the idea of which was still extremely questionable to him; but at this point, he could discern no other alternatives outside of canceling his classes. He spent his afternoon in the back of the library like he often did, transferring his notes over into more legible lesson plans, and taking his sweet time doing so since his fingers weren't really cooperating.

That was when one, very unexpected bit of sunshine poked through the clouds of his week.

"Professor Lupin?"

He knew who it was before he ever even looked up, and at first, the voice struck terror into him.

"Everything alright, Lucy?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Derek told me I might find you back here."

"Derek…Derek Khattar. Yes. We reviewed the homework on the Four-Point spell." He noticed that she was clutching some parchment to her chest. "...Do you need help with it, too?"

"No," she said gloomily. "It's History of Magic I'm having trouble with. I'm trying to find a book on the Hogwarts founders that isn't as thick as a mattress. I was just coming to say hi." She pressed her lips into an unenthusiastic smile and turned to leave.

…Don't do it. Just let her figure it out. Don't you-

"Would you like for me to take a look at it with you?"

What've you done?

Lucy peered back over her shoulder. "...Even if it's not the class you teach?"

"It's been a while, but I'll see what I can do."

Looking a little relieved, she slid into the seat around the corner from him and set down the parchment carefully. "We're having a test on the Hogwarts founders, but I couldn't even make sense of the notes I took from the lecture, and every time I go to the textbook, I feel like I can't keep track of everything…" He watched her eyes flash to the cane. "Is your leg feeling better?"

"My leg is fine. That just helps me get around sometimes."

She seemed to accept that answer with no qualms, and got back to the topic at hand. "I don't know. Some people in my class just get it. I wish I could."

Oh…God, that's frightening, isn't it?

He breathed in to speak, but the siren going off in his already throbbing brain made it a bit hard to come up with what he should say. He considered sending her off with a "just try your best" to avoid the conversation altogether, but that wouldn't have been right. If she were any other student, he wouldn't be considering doing anything less than his utmost to try and help.

"...Oftentimes, I wasn't somebody who just 'got it,' in every subject, either. I had to do a fair amount of studying to earn my good marks," he explained. "You work plenty hard from what I've seen in class. You've just got to figure out the manner of studying which makes the most sense to you."

"My dad said I should try flashcards."

"Flashcards aren't a bad idea; but there are all sorts of ways. You could try reciting things like lines in a play, or making up songs." Then, the siren subsided enough for him to recall Dean Thomas. "One of my third years found that it helps him to draw."

"I love to draw."

Thought you might.

"Perhaps you could try incorporating that into your studying somehow." He snuck a peek at the notes she'd taken - a valiant attempt to keep track of Binns's drawn out, monotone lessons. "What used to help me in history was thinking about it like a story rather than a lecture."

"How do you do that when it's so boring?"

"On the contrary, the founding of Hogwarts was far from boring."

And so he told it to her like a story: how legend said that Rowena Ravenclaw dreamed of a hog covered in warts guiding her to the very spot the castle sat on now; how Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin realized their shared dream of building a Wizarding school here, and how they'd come up with the idea to sort students into houses according to their strengths and values; how at the time, Muggles were persecuting witches and wizards, so the founders enchanted the school to be hidden from Muggle eyes; how because of this, Salazar Slytherin felt that Muggle-born witches and wizards could not be trusted, and should therefore not be admitted to Hogwarts; how the other founders disagreed - no one more staunchly than Godric Gryffindor; how this had led to a falling out, and how Slytherin had ultimately walked away from the school.

When he finished, he felt like he was exiting some trance; but Lucy was smiling so wide, he could see her new tooth coming in.

"Merlin, Morgana, and Mungo. That is a good story."

The corners of his own mouth were trying to tug upward, but Remus swallowed the full breadth of the grin and shoved it far, far down. "Hopefully, it helps you make some sense of your test."

"...Professor Lupin, can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Is that why a couple people in class laughed when I said my dad was a Muggle? Because some wizards don't like them?"

He wasn't sure this was his talk to give her, but he supposed he could frame it educationally.

"Even before the founders, there have always been those who believe that wizards should only have children with other wizards, because doing otherwise might weaken the magic in the bloodline."

"Does it?"

"Not a whit. I've known many incredibly talented Muggle-borns and half-bloods. I've also known purebloods who were mediocre with magic. It has no bearing on your abilities. You are no less capable than any of your classmates just because your father is a Muggle."

Digging yourself into a very perplexing hole with that one, Remus.

"Can I ask you something?" he returned.

"Sure."

"...I couldn't help but notice that you tend to sit by yourself during meals."

Lucy's eyes went wide, and Remus lost his sightline to that new tooth.

"I suppose that wasn't really a question, was it?" he amended. He knew he shouldn't be wondering, but it had started to concern him. As her teacher, of course. She could talk about it, or she could keep it to herself. He just wanted her to know the door was open.

"...I haven't gotten very close with the other girls in my dormitory," she revealed, looking guilty, like it was some failure on her part. Seeing that idiosyncrasy set a very unpleasant twinge in Remus's chest.

"Why is that?"

"On our first night at school, we were introducing ourselves and telling each other what we liked, and…"

"...Go on."

"...And I told them I danced, and that I liked dinosaurs. And then Romilda told me that liking dinosaurs was weird."

"Well that wasn't very nice."

"And I didn't really know what to say, so I just…stopped talking. But they all kept talking; her and Kate and Natalie and Thelma. They all eat together now."

He didn't feel very equipped to handle this, he realized. He was never very good at these things. Stop overthinking it. What would McGonagall say?

"Have you spoken to your mother about this?"

"I don't want her to worry about me," she spoke quickly, and with such chagrin that Remus suspected it frightened her more than the solitude did. "Please, don't tell her."

"I won't." It wasn't his place; but all the idiosyncrasies were becoming unsettling.

"I reckon I like being a Gryffindor now, though," she said a bit more cheerfully. "After your story."

"A Gryffindor is a good thing to be; but perhaps you could try making some friends in the other houses."

"Mum told me her friends were in her dormitory with her."

"Not all of them."

"Really?"

Shit.

Now it was definitely not his talk to give. He should not have been playing guessing games with how much Emmeline had decided to disclose to Lucy.

"Don't take my word for it. I could be misremembering," he recovered sprucely. "Regardless, it sounds like it might be time for you to try meeting people outside your dormitory."

"What if they tell me I'm weird?"

"You aren't weird, and neither are dragons-er- dinosaurs."

FUCK.

"It's okay. I like dragons, too."

Get to the point before you spew out something else!

"The point is, there are plenty of people that like dragons and dinosaurs and dancing - and plenty of people that don't, but won't mind if you do. You just have to find them. It takes a bit of courage, and a bit of trial and error; but you mustn't give up." He didn't know where the hell this sermon was coming from. He'd befriended his roommates in week one and never looked back.

But wherever it came from, it seemed to have resonated, because Lucy was looking up at him with renewed hope in her eyes as she got up out of the chair. "...You're a really good teacher, Professor Lupin. Thanks for all your help."

He lost the game of tug-o-war with the corners of his mouth.

"...Anytime."

By Thursday, he was borderline immoble, and if it weren't for the cane, he wouldn't have made it to his classroom at all. He had to teach every lesson from his seat at the desk, which he didn't enjoy doing, and his voice got more and more hoarse as the day progressed. By the time he reached the fourth year Gryffindors that afternoon, it was cracking like that of a prepubescent teen. At lunch, he sent a note down to Severus asking him if he wouldn't mind substituting the next day, which felt like such a defeat. The fever took hold just before dinner and had him in its clutches all night.

By Friday, he was completely bedridden, getting a pre-expiration trial run with what rigor mortis felt like. His wrists were painfully bent and his fingers were stuck in fists, and as soon as Promfrey saw it, she tore into him, saying she could've prevented all his weather-related misery if he'd only come to her sooner. She brought him a phial of Pepperup and some pain potions, wary of letting him take much more than the recommended dosage even though they wore off on him quicker than the average person. Severus had the decency to pass the Wolfsbane off so that she could administer it, which Remus was grateful for. He didn't think he could bear the humiliation of Snape coming in to feed it to him in bed like Pomfrey had to. At that point, he would've rather just pitched himself out the window.

The transformation was just as agonizing and horrific as it always was, but the recovery was God awful this time around. Promfrey came back early Saturday morning to find him curled up next to the fireplace, obviously starkers, more rigid than he could ever remember feeling in his life, and unable to get warm. The air around him felt sharp. Everything inside him felt sharper - needles skewering his knuckles and toes, knives piercing through his wrists and knees and cleaving between each vertebrae all the way up to here his skull met his spine.

He wasn't sure how Promfrey managed to get him back into bed, but she did. After force-feeding him something like six different potions, she left for a bit, and even with the wind howling and the rain hammering against his window, Remus finally passed out. He heard her come back through the door sometime in the afternoon.

"An improvement?"

"A little," he rasped, too weak to pry his eyelids apart.

"Let's see those hands."

Remus inched his arm toward what he perceived to be the edge of the bed, and felt her lift it to examine the swelling.

"How long have you been contending with this?"

"...How long has it been since I left school?"

She poured a few more potions down his throat and gently massaged his hands for a while, which he found to be a little embarrassing, but it felt so comforting that he wasn't willing to tell her to stop for the sake of his pride.

"Tomorrow, I'm going to start you on a course of draughts to help with this - at least in regards to the weather. Hopefully by next month, it won't trouble you quite so much."

"Thank you."

"I'll be back this evening," she promised, standing and shutting her case. "I've got to head back down to Potter."

Upon hearing that, Remus lurched up in a panic. "What? Why?"