Aurora stayed in her classroom and adjoining private chambers the entire day, too consumed by her nerves to venture out. Her quarters, connected directly to the History of Magic classroom, became a safe haven as she wrestled with her fears. She was so anxious about what the day might hold that even basic necessities, like going to the bathroom, slipped her mind. In her haze, she completely forgot she was supposed to meet Remus after classes had ended.
The sudden knock on her office door startled her so much that her heart leapt. For a brief moment, she panicked, thinking she had missed a scheduled class. But then her gaze flicked to the clock, it was past six in the evening. Classes had ended hours ago.
Aurora quickly hurried to the door, and when she opened it to find Remus standing there, she immediately wanted to slap her forehead. She had completely forgotten about him, and now a wave of embarrassment swept over her.
"Merlin, I'm so sorry, Remus, it completely slipped my mind," she blurted out in one breath.
"It's alright, no harm done," he assured her gently. "If you're busy, I can come back another time."
"No, no!" she said quickly, her voice a little too loud. "Come in."
She stepped aside to let Lupin enter, then closed the door behind him.
"Long day?" he asked, settling into one of the chairs in front of her desk, the ones usually reserved for students seeking consultations about their grades.
"And stressful," she admitted, joining him as she sat down in her own chair behind the desk. "What about you?"
"I could say the same thing. You weren't at breakfast and lunch," he noted.
Aurora had the strange feeling that he didn't want the topic to move to him, as if he wanted to avoid attention.
"I swear, I couldn't swallow anything from stress. This day reminded me of the stress I experienced before every exam in college."
A small smile appeared on Remus' face, but when their eyes finally met, the woman could see the worry in his eyes.
"You should eat something, otherwise you'll faint. It's a good thing dinner starts soon."
"I promise to eat everything on my plate as a good girl," she said, laughing.
He laughed at that too.
"You were supposed to tell me what you had planned for this year," he noted.
"Oh, you're right, I'm telling you everything now."
~•~•~
Aurora and Remus enjoyed their conversation in her office, but when it was time for dinner, they reluctantly had to break it off and head down to the Great Hall.
Together, they entered the massive room brimming with students from all four houses and slid into their seats at the teachers' table.
"I have to admit, it's refreshing to see someone finally taking History of Magic seriously," Lupin said sincerely. "I'm sure you'll do very well."
"Thank you," Aurora replied, her smile warm. "That really means a lot to me."
"I just have one question, though," Remus added, a glint of curiosity in his eyes.
"Yes?"
"Why did the seventh-year students suddenly start asking me about retired ghosts? They mentioned you sent them with that question."
Aurora burst into laughter, a genuine, infectious sound. Realizing they were at the teachers' table, she quickly tried to stifle it, not wanting to draw too much attention.
"Sorry," she said between chuckles, "it's just that some of them seemed very curious about Binns' fate. They wanted to know if he'd crossed over, and, well... I didn't have an answer. Ghosts aren't exactly my area of expertise."
Remus smiled, amused by her response. "Honestly, I didn't know what to tell them either."
"And where did that leave things?" she asked, tilting her head.
"I told them that Professor Binns' personal life, if you can call it that, was his own private matter, and not something he ever shared with the school," Remus said with a chuckle.
"Not a bad excuse," Aurora remarked with a grin, taking her first bite of food. She sighed contentedly. "Merlin, I really needed that."
Remus smiled before adding, "Some of the students, especially the boys, have been asking about you too."
Aurora froze mid-bite and promptly choked, coughing as she scrambled to recover.
"Are you okay?" Remus asked, leaning toward her with genuine concern.
"Yeah," she managed after a moment, her voice hoarse. "I'm fine. Just... surprised. I know I'm not that much older than them, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm their teacher."
Aurora hadn't anticipated anything like this when she'd accepted the job at Hogwarts. She'd assumed her role as a teacher would firmly establish how the students viewed her. It hadn't even crossed her mind that some might think otherwise.
What startled her even more was discovering that while her students were asking about Lupin, his were apparently just as curious about her.
"They asked about you in my classes too, especially the girls. They seemed... infatuated."
"Looks like we've become their scapegoats, huh?" Remus chuckled lightly. "I have to admit, some of them asked if you were 'available'."
"Oh." Aurora blinked, her response caught in her throat. "Well, that's... Never mind. Forget it," she said quickly, cutting the topic off.
It wasn't an easy subject for her. Less than three months ago, she'd ended a two-year relationship that had unraveled in the worst way. Nathaniel had grown distant, his affection fading like a fire burning down to embers. Awkward silences turned into unanswered questions, and then the truth hit her like a curse — he'd been seeing someone else. Someone who, unlike Aurora, had taken their relationship to the next level. She'd held onto her boundaries, and he'd thrown them aside.
Aurora forced herself to meet Remus' gaze again, though her chest felt tight.
"I'm sorry," he said, sounding genuinely regretful. "I shouldn't have brought it up."
She shook her head, offering a weak smile. "No, it's okay. You didn't know."
Remus hesitated, as if choosing his next words carefully, then leaned back slightly in his chair. "If it's any consolation, I think it says more about the students' curiosity than anything else. They're just looking for something to gossip about."
Aurora let out a small laugh, grateful for his attempt to diffuse the tension. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. Teenagers will be teenagers."
~•~•~
The first week had been exhausting for Aurora. Every morning, she found herself wide awake around three, her mind too restless to sleep. Late nights weren't any better, as she pored over her lesson plans, tweaking every detail to perfection. History of Magic had no shortage of material, and even though she'd graduated at the top of her class from the University of Magic, Aurora still needed detailed notes to ensure she remembered every nuance. The pressure of meeting her own high standards weighed heavily on her, but she refused to let it show in front of her students.
Even though she had loved the subject she now taught during her studies, back then—long before her final year at Hogwarts—Aurora hadn't been certain of her future. It was her mother who first encouraged her to explore History of Magic.
Mrs. Moonridge was endlessly fascinated by the magical world, despite not being a part of it herself. Aurora's father was the wizard in the family, and when he revealed his greatest secret to the woman he loved, he also unveiled an entirely new world. She had been spellbound, not by magic itself, which she could never use, but by the stories, the history, and the people who had shaped it.
Aurora could still remember her mother's awe as she pored over books her father brought home for her. The ones about spells and incantations held no use for her, but the History of Magic volumes were her treasures. Her fascination was insatiable, and it became a common sight in the Moonridge household to find her jotting down questions to ask Aurora's father about the magical world's past.
"History," her father had once said, "is the one magic everyone can access, no matter who they are." His passion for the subject had planted a seed in Aurora, though it was her mother's relentless enthusiasm that nurtured it.
Aurora mentally scolded herself for the third time that evening, frustrated at her inability to focus on the stack of parchment in front of her. She had assigned students from every year (except the first) a simple task: to write down everything they could recall from their previous History of Magic lessons. It wasn't for a grade; she had made that clear. She only wanted a sense of where they stood, what they remembered, or perhaps more importantly, what they didn't.
And yet, here she was on a quiet Saturday night, perched in the Astronomy Tower, grading the haphazard collection of memories her students had submitted. A single flickering candle illuminated her work, casting soft, shifting shadows on the stone walls. The cool night air seeped through the cracks in the tower, sending an occasional shiver up her spine, but she hardly noticed.
Her thoughts, as they so often did, wandered. They tugged at her attention, pulling her away from the task at hand and toward anything else. Her doubts, her insecurities, the endless questions about whether she was doing enough, whether she was good enough.
Aurora shook her head and sighed, forcing her eyes back to the scrawled words on the page before her.Focus. Just focus.
Aurora had always loved the Astronomy Tower. As a proud graduate of Rowena Ravenclaw's house, she felt a special connection to this place, a sanctuary that exuded peace and quiet. It was a haven rarely visited after class hours, much like the Hogwarts kitchens—though far easier to access.
But it was at night that the tower became truly enchanting. From here, she could see the moon hanging in the sky, a beacon of silvery light that Aurora had adored for as long as she could remember. The moon, especially during its full phase, was mesmerizing. Perfect. Beautiful. Enchanting, even. It filled her with an inexplicable sense of solace, as if its soft glow could somehow calm the storms inside her.
During her own school days, this had been her retreat. She spent countless evenings here, surrounded by stacks of books borrowed from the library, her feet tucked beneath her as she scribbled notes and essays on endless rolls of parchment. And now, years later, she was back—though this time, the parchment wasn't hers to write on but to read, as she diligently checked her students' assignments by the flickering light of a single candle.
And then Remus Lupin entered her thoughts. For him, the full moon meant only one thing: suffering. Every month, when the full moon rose, he endured the agony of transformation—the monster inside him taking over.
Aurora, having gotten to know him, couldn't reconcile the man she knew with the idea of a beast. He was calm, kind, and genuinely caring, nothing like the creature she imagined he must become under the moon's influence.
She felt a deep sorrow for him. No one deserved that kind of fate. Not him.
Aurora focus. Just fucking focus.