Hi, guys! Okay so, don't kill me for coming up with another story because technically this one isn't new, it's been written for a really long time, I've just had to polish it a little bit and work out a few things. In case you haven't noticed it, I kinda have a massive crush on our beloved Professor Lupin - always have, from the moment I first read the third book in the series. I love him both in younger versions and in the original one as they all bring out different kinds of feelings. Also, and I feel like I should make this very clear, I have nothing against Tonks, I think she's awesome and I loved them as a couple, I kinda wish they would've portrayed their relationship a little more and better in the movies because I feel like a lot was left out. Having said that, me and my overactive imagination can't help creating different characters, stories and scenarios for this wonderful man.
In "I Hold the Moon", I'm going to be using a lot of passages and stuff from the book but from my characters' perspectives because, as you'll find out, Tristan is one of Harry's closest friends. There is of course a reason for that and it'll play out later on in the plot.
As usual, I'm very nervous about posting a new story. It's funny how it never stops being scary no matter how many years I've been doing it. Anyway, I hope you beautiful people enjoy it. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome as long as you always remember to be kind. I feel like it's always good to reinforce that.
Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban Timeline
"He Holds the Moon"
ooo
"You don't find love, it finds you. It's got a little bit to do with destiny, fate,
and what's written in the stars."
- Anais Nin
HOGWARTS EXPRESS
In a remote part of Wales where sea meets rock, up a steep little hill near the beach sat a lonely two-story cottage. It was built on ash-coloured stone cobbled together in no particular style and had a dark, clumsy-looking thatched roof which had clearly seen better days. The front porch was crumbling to pieces, the wall circling the garden in need of a good scrubbing. Inside, it was in similar state. A small foyer spilled into a cluttered living room with a rundown couch, two tattered armchairs and an old fireplace. Several tall bookstands stood against the wall, filled top to bottom with books.
Upstairs, at the far end of the hallway, an alarm clock was wailing loudly. Remus reached out from under the covers and smacked the shut off button. He swung his legs off the bed and raked his fingers through his bedraggled hair before walking over to the window and opening the curtains. It was luminous outside, with a slight sheen of damp. Pale sunlight poured through a thin layer of silvery clouds, making the sky glow like the inside of a pearl.
It would rain soon, he thought, seeing the clear line over the ocean. He remembered his mother inevitably. Rainy days, Hope Lupin would often day, ought to be spent at home with a cup of tea and a good book.
Cold floorboards creaked under bare feet as he made his way to the bathroom. The tub, like everything else in that house, was old and used, with bronze clawfeet and white porcelain, not at all convenient for quick showers, but he made do with it. He turned on the tap and closed his eyes to enjoy the lukewarm water. With the full moon only days away, it seemed as though his whole body was aching and feverish, tense like a piano string.
After slipping into comfortable trousers and a red knitted jumper, he went to raid the kitchen for something to eat. Food was running low. He would have to go into town soon.
Out of sheer luck Remus managed to scavenge a piece of stale bread and settled for some toast, coating it generously with jam. Meanwhile, he waved his wand and got the teakettle heating. A nice cup of earl grey was in order, he decided. It agreed with the weather.
He had just sat down with the Daily Prophet when the doorbell rang.
Odd. No one ever visited him, except perhaps his father but he always sent an owl beforehand. Certainly Albus Dumbledore, of all people, never in a million years would have crossed his mind.
"You're a hard man to track down, my friend," the old man said, smiling in a way that made his blue eyes twinkle. "May I come in?"
It took Remus a minute to react.
"Oh! Yes, of course!" He blinked through his surprise as he scrambled backwards into the hallway to allow Albus in. "Apologies, I'm a bit out of sorts. I don't usually get visitors and, well… I didn't count on you showing up at my doorstep."
"I would imagine not," replied Albus, pleasant smile still in place as they walked into the kitchen.
"Can I offer you some tea?" Remus was already opening the top cabinet. "Coffee maybe?"
Albus pulled out a chair at the table. "I've never been one to turn down a nice cuppa."
A few minutes later, they both sat facing each other with their hot beverages. Remus drummed his fingers on the table, watching anxiously as the old man lifted his chipped mug for a sip.
"Came as a surprise to me that you've been living out here on your own all these years. I assumed you would've wanted to move back home after your mother passed to be with your father."
Remus glanced toward the muggle polaroid that was pinned to the refrigerator door, the one where Hope Lupin was smiling brightly at the camera, the lake behind her, soft breeze ruffling her blue dress, hair glistening like spun gold under the sun. He remembered the day he took that picture. It was summertime and he had been moping around the house because he desperately missed his friends. His mother decided he needed some cheering up, so she took upon herself to drag him all the way down to the lake for a picnic. They spent the entire afternoon eating finger sandwiches and reading poetry.
Thinking about those happy days brought an ache to his chest. He had to drag his eyes away from the photograph and clear his throat.
"I did go home for a while, but it was too painful. In any case, a grown man shouldn't have to impose on his family, much less one with a condition like mine. My father doesn't need me disrupting his life."
Albus made a contemplative hum, reaching inside his eccentric robes and pulling out two pieces of yellow candy. He offered one to Remus, who declined politely.
"Don't take this the wrong way, Albus," he pressed on, looking at the man sharply. "It isn't that I'm not happy to see you. But what exactly are you doing here?"
Albus popped a sherbet lemon in his mouth. "I trust you have heard the news about Sirius."
Remus felt his stomach plummet right out of his body. He had tried bloody hard not to think about Sirius over the years, however the thought of him was never gone for long and he often found himself lost in bittersweet memories. To this day, he was still trying to make sense of all that happened. He couldn't think of a single moment when Sirius might have given any sign of having switched sides. He never would have betrayed James, never would have killed Peter. They were brothers, all four of them.
At first, he had wanted desperately to believe Sirius was innocent. But then, he confessed. He told the Aurors that he'd killed them. Why would Sirius confess to a crime he didn't commit, knowing fully well where he would end up in?
Reading in the newspaper about the escape shook Remus, but he couldn't exactly say it surprised him. Sirius was always ingenious when he put his mind to something. The real wonder was that it took him so long to master a plan.
"I did hear, yes," he finally answered.
Albus nodded, "You should know, then; we have good reason to believe he might be going after Harry."
"He wouldn't." Remus tightened his grip around the porcelain mug. "Sirius would never harm Harry. He adored him, would hardly ever leave his side whenever we went to visit."
"I understand why you would want it to be so," Albus argued placidly, hands gathered in front of him as he continued to regard Remus sombrely. "We both know Sirius is no longer the same man, hasn't been for a long time. Several people in Azkaban claim to have heard him talking to himself about Hogwarts, right before he escaped. Whether those were simply the ramblings of a lunatic or he plans to finish what he started thirteen years ago, the Ministry finds best if Harry is placed under protection until they capture him."
"Seems reasonable enough," Remus said slowly, still failing to grasp what any of it had to do with him.
"Come September, they will be stationing dementors in Hogwarts."
"Dementors in a school? Have they gone mad?Albus, how could you let them?"
"I'm afraid they were quite insistent." Albus ate the other sherbet lemon as if to sweeten the bitter taste in his mouth. "When I expressed my concerns to the school governors, I was outvoted. Which brings us to the reason of my visit." He paused to give Remus a meaningful look. "The Ministry believes the dementors will keep Harry and Hogwarts safe, however we both know dementors are of a ruthless nature. I can't trust them with the safety of my students. What I do need is someone capable, someone who can protect them while also teaching them how to protect themselves."
At last the pieces of the puzzle connected. Remus stared at the man in astonishment. "You couldn't possibly mean it."
The old wizard just smiled patiently. "Would I be here otherwise?"
"That's madness!" Overcome with emotion, Remus stood and went to wash his mug and the dish he ate breakfast with. "I have no business teaching children in my condition, it's too dangerous."
"It doesn't have to be," Albus countered promptly, as if he already expected him to raise the argument. "Severus has agreed to brew Wolfsbane every month if you were to accept the position. This way you wouldn't need to leave the castle, you could spend the transformation in the comfort of your office without endangering anyone, including yourself."
"And why would Severus Snape ever agree to anything that might benefit me?"
"Because I asked him."
Still with his back turned, Remus pulled a face. He seriously doubted Snape's sudden keenness to help the likes of him. Older or not, some things didn't change. But he decided it was best he kept his opinion to himself.
"You are a brilliant man, Remus," Albus ventured, switching tactics to point-blank flattery. "Perhaps one of the sharpest minds I've ever had the pleasure of meeting in my very long life. You are also dedicated, kind, passionate, and exceptional when it comes to dealing with the Dark Arts. There's no one more suited to the position."
"You're flattering me, Albus."
The opportunity was almost too good. He loved both children and teaching. In fact, he had trained some of the youngest members of the Order during the war, as well as his friends whenever they lagged behind in some of their classes because they were otherwise too distracted with causing mischief.
He never so much as allowed himself to consider a teaching job in the past. No one would hire him with his condition and regardless, he was always too afraid of hurting someone by accident. With the Wolfsbane Potion on the table, it was a different story. He could retain most of his faculties while fully transformed. Some symptoms were impossible to suppress as the wolf was inherently part of himself, but he wouldn't pose a danger to others. Just like Albus pointed out, he could simply spend the night quietly in his quarters.
Remus closed the tap with a sigh, leaned back against the sink and, crossing his arms, stared at the cunning old man sitting at the table. "Isn't the position cursed?"
Albus grinned triumphantly behind the brim of his mug. "Perhaps you'll break it. A curse for a curse, seems like a fair trade to me."
The first of September rose dark and gloomy. Soon it started to rain. First, only a gentle late summer drizzle that coated the extensive gardens of Cavanaugh Manor with shimmering droplets. Then, the sky blackened and split open with lightening. Flashes of white and blue burst with loud, thunderous uproar.
Nora sat by the window in her bedroom with her knees drawn to her chest, watching rain pour down and lash against the glass. She loved storms. The wind, the smell of wet grass and moist earth, the beautiful explosions of light. One of nature's most hypnotising and dramatic displays of impetuous force.
The booming of thunder droned out the sound of her father who was screaming at her grandmother downstairs. Her grandmother wasn't by all means a pleasant woman, but Nora couldn't imagine what she had done to anger him now. Then again, it didn't take much for her father to lose his temper. Maximus Cavanaugh was a cruel and cold man who often thought the answer to his problems lay at the bottom of a whiskey bottle. She was just glad she wasn't the one at the end of his wrath this time.
When the antique clock in the foyer struck nine, she walked up to the full-length mirror in her wardrobe. Clear blue eyes stared back at her. They were too big, Nora decided, and far too expressive, but she had a pretty face with sharp cheekbones, full lips and a delicate chin. Her pale skin was sprinkled with freckles that gathered at the bridge of her nose like stardust. Average in height, willowy and elegant in figure. She'd lost weight over the summer as was evidenced by the way her collarbone slightly jutted out. It was nothing new and she wasn't overly concerned, usually she gained the weight back over the first weeks of school, but the circles under her eyes had got darker and the bruise on her cheek was still perceptible, even under all the foundation and powder she had on.
Self-consciously, she ran her fingers through her raven locks, styling them in way that partially hid the right side of her face before turning away from her reflection, grabbing her purse and leaving the room. She made her way down the main staircase and into the foyer where her brother was already waiting for her.
Tristan had inherited the same raven locks as Nora, which were long overdue a good trim, and eyes that were a deeper shade of blue, with tiny speckles of gold. His youthful face was starting to show some resemblance to their father's, mainly in his angular jawline and wide lips, but thankfully Tristan's warm and cheerful disposition softened some of the harsher lines.
He flashed a big, toothy grin, "Took you long enough!"
The rascal had gotten taller over the summer again, Nora thought. Almost at her height now. Thirteen years... Where did the time fly off to?
She brought her fingers to his unkempt hair, smoothing it back from his forehead. "All set?"
"Yeah, of course," Tristan replied at once. "That new manual for Care of Magical Creatures was hard to pack, though. Thing's a menace."
"I told you not to open it on your own."
"Couldn't resist." His grin broadened and his eyes sparkled. "I finally got the hang of it. Ron nearly had his nose bitten, he wrote me about it the other day. Wish I'd been there to see. Who do you imagine decided on it?"
"Definitely not Professor Kettleburn, that's for certain," Nora said thoughtfully. "He wouldn't risk losing another limb when he's got so few left. But do you know who would have a field day with it?"
They both echoed "Hagrid!" simultaneously.
The unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps put an immediate end to their carefree mood. They recognised the heavy dragging and knew their father wouldn't be happy to find them standing around in the hallway goofing off. After an urgent nod from Nora, Tristan flung the front door open and slipped out just in time.
Maximus Cavanaugh was tall and imposing, with long limbs and broad shoulders. Many would say he was a handsome man due to his regal bone structure, but Nora didn't think someone who never smiled could ever be good-looking. He often kept his true nature hidden by playing the part of well-educated, highbred pure-blood for his colleagues at the Ministry—a polished façade that crumbled as soon as he was home.
Pitch black eyes zoomed in on her, sharp and cold. She suppressed a shiver. He was even more frightening when he was sober. At least with alcohol in his system he was sloppy and easier to run from.
"Where's your brother?" Maximus asked with as much ice in his voice as he had in his stare.
"Helping Charles load the car," Nora answered curtly, knowing he wouldn't bother going outside to check. As he began making his way to her in slow strides, she struggled against the urge to recoil from him. It would be worse if she did.
"Well, remind him I expect perfect grades, less than O's in every subject is not acceptable. It's bad enough he goes around school with those blood-traitor friends of his. He needs to spend more time studying and cultivating friendships with important people. As for you, Evanora, your grandmother has made it very clear to me you are to be married off as soon as you're done with school. If I am to find you a suitor, its best I don't receive another letter from your professors because you cannot carry yourself like a Cavanaugh."
Nora bowed her hear meekly. "Yes, father."
Last year, she had landed herself in a bit of trouble while doing a favour for Tristan and his friends, and Professor Snape had seen fit to let her father know his daughter abused her Prefect privileges to sneak into his private pantry and steal potion ingredients from his stash.
"Look at me when I'm speaking to you," Maximus demanded.
She did, teeth gritted so tightly her head actually started to hurt.
When he raised his hand, she prepared for the familiar sting, only it didn't come this time. He took her chin and grazed his thumb along her jaw, over her cheek, then lower, down the curve of her neck. The sweet caresses made her sick to her stomach. She would've preferred a slap.
"So much like your mother," he uttered quietly to himself, eyes out of focus as he brushed her hair, threading his fingers through silky strands, choosing one and twirling it with a frown. Disappointment settled over his face. Nora didn't dare move, not even an inch, too afraid the smallest of movements would set him off.
Finally, Maximus stepped back and let her go. Soon as he was gone, she released the breath she'd been holding. Her whole body convulsed, breaking into cold sweat. She rushed out of the house, feeling dirty and sullied, and had to hold herself against the front door for a minute to keep her breakfast from finding its way out and all over the porch. Her fingers closed over the locket around her neck, trying desperately to seek comfort from it.
"Nora?"
Her brother's voice reached her as if from far away even though he was at the bottom of the stairs. She squared her shoulders and climbed down the steps, keeping one hand lightly over the railing just to be safe. Her legs were still a bit shaky.
"What did he do?" Tristan demanded angrily.
"Nothing, don't worry," she tried to reassure him.
He pursed his lips tightly. She tossed an arm over his shoulders and steered him to the sleek Rolls Royce parked in the driveway. He slid in the back while she sat in the passenger seat next to Charles.
Nora let her head fall against the leather headrest with a heavy sigh, begging her tense body to stop trembling.
"Something wrong, Miss?"
"No, Charles, everything's fine." Because the old man sounded concerned, she put on a smile for him. "Let's go, please."
In the back, as the car pulled out of the driveway, Ophelia let out a loud, frustrated meow.
"She really hates this thing," said Tristan, poking his fingers through the crate to pet the cat. "Can I let her out?"
"Sure." Nora shifted in her seat, watching with a smile as he wriggled the crate open and Ophelia leaped gracefully onto his lap, purring loudly in demand for affection.
The ride to King's Cross Station was quiet and fast. There, Charles helped them load their trunks and school supplies onto the trolleys, then gave Nora's shoulder a friendly squeeze and patted Tristan on the back before vanishing into the throng of people.
They drove their trolleys through the crowded station, easily finding their way to and through the magical barrier. On the other side, Platform Nine and Three Quarters buzzed with energy. Children dashing up and down, laughing and shouting at each other. Students gathered in small groups sharing tales of their summer holidays. Witches and wizards cloaked in lavishing robes bidding goodbye to sons and daughters while helping them load their belongings onto the scarlet locomotive waiting patiently in the railways.
Nostalgia prickled Nora in the heart as she recalled the first time she had stood there, a small eleven year old, bony and gangly, scared out of her wits yet so full of hope. For seven years, Hogwarts had been her home, her safe haven, the only place where she was ever free. But that was all going to end next June, and the uncertainty of the future terrified her. She hadn't a clue as to what she was going to do with her life. The only thing she knew for sure was that she was going to find a way to leave Cavanaugh Manor and she was taking Tristan with her.
The Hogwarts Express released a shrill whistle, a warning that it was almost time. Nora hurried her brother along to drop off their trunks in the loading wagon, and afterwards he went off to find his friends while she headed out to the Prefects carriage.
The Prefects carriage was like one big compartment with benches along the windows on both sides. There were twenty four Prefects total, twelve boys and twelve girls, eight of each team and two per year from the fifth year up. The Head Boy and Girl were responsible for coordinating all of them, distributing patrol rounds, assigning jobs and providing guidance. Nora still couldn't quite believe Dumbledore had made her Head Girl. She'd gotten beyond ecstatic when she found the little golden badge tucked inside an envelope attached to her Hogwarts letter. On the other hand, she wasn't the least bit surprised by Percy Weasley waltzing in right behind her with a similar badge pinned to his robes. Percy was an overachiever by definition. As a Prefect, he had also been a strict enforcer of school rules. A tad too much, in her opinion as they'd had several arguments whenever he caught Tristan and his friends out of bed after curfew. The way she saw it, a little rule breaking never hurt anyone, especially when for a good cause.
As the meeting kicked off, it soon became apparent that the title of Head Boy had gone to Percy's head. He had the whole agenda planned out to the last detail. When Nora tried to get a word in, he shushed her with a finger and went on as though nothing had happened.
The prat, she thought, crossing her arms and glaring at him from her seat. Laura Prescott, a seventh year Hufflepuff Prefect who was sitting next to her, found the whole thing incredibly funny and very nearly choked on her spit, laughing her head off.
Halfway through the meeting, the door slid open again and Caito walked in. Nora felt a lump form in her throat. She had forgotten he was a Prefect.
He froze in the archway, eyes glued to her.
"Are you going to stand there all morning or do you plan on actually joining us?" said Percy, annoyed. "You're plenty late as it is, Dearborn."
Caito rolled his eyes and tucked his hands in his pockets, stepping fully inside. As a Chaser, he was tall and fit, built for speed and agility. There used to be a certain gentleness to him, even in the way he moved, but to Nora, who had known him since they were children, he seemed harsher, colder, and much more guarded now than before.
"Yeah sorry, had to deal with something for my team."
"Let this be the last time it happens." Percy puffed his chest out to better show off his Head Boy badge. "Being Quidditch Captain doesn't excuse you from your other obligations, you know."
"Get off my case, Weasley. Said sorry, didn't I?" Caito snapped as he grabbed the only vacant seat left on the far end of the carriage.
Percy stuck his nose in the air. For a second it seemed like he would launch into another lecture. Luckily, he thought better of it and moved on with the meeting. Nora, finding the sound of his voice grating, tuned him out five minutes into it.
She picked Ophelia up when the cat rubbed against her legs and brushed her silky fur. She could feel Caito's intense stare on her, but every time she lifted her head he would look away. Although she expected his distance, it still hurt her.
Laura leaned in. "What happened with Dearborn? Did the two of you have a row over the summer?"
"Something like that," Nora answered vaguely.
"That's too bad, I always figured you'd end up together."
It wasn't the first time she heard someone say that, and she had a feeling it wouldn't be the last.
Tristan was huffing and puffing by the time he found his friends in the very last compartment at the end of the train. They all looked up as he leaned against the doorway trying to catch his breath—Ron, freckly as ever; Hermione with her long, bushy hair; and Harry, the boy who lived. The four of them had been friends since first year.
"Had to choose the last bloody compartment, did you?" Tristan flopped down next to Harry. "And where were you anyway? Thought we were meeting at the barrier."
"This was the only compartment left," Ron explained. "And the Ministry drove us, that's why we were late. Here, mum sent this for you—"
He produced a small bag from his coat and tossed it over to Tristan, who quickly pulled out one corned beef sandwich.
"Brilliant!"
Ron scrunched his freckly nose. "Dunno how you can eat that crap…"
"'Cuz it's great," Tristan said over a mouthful. He then noticed the man fast asleep under a cloak by the window on the other side of Harry. "Who's that?"
"Professor R. J. Lupin," answered Hermione, fixing Tristan with a disapproving look. "Lower your voice. Can't you tell he's sleeping?"
"I have eyes on my face, don't I?" But Tristan did lower his voice as he studied the man's profile with vague interest. From what little he could see of him, Professor R. J. Lupin looked terribly ill and exhausted. "Must be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Think this one'll last the whole year?"
"Fingers crossed," Ron said doubtfully. "He looks like a good hex could finish him off, doesn't he? Anyway… We're all here now, Harry, so what did you want to tell us?"
Tristan polished off the rest of his corned beef sandwich while Harry got them up to speed about an argument he had overheard between Mr. and Mrs. Weasley regarding Sirius Black escaping from Azkaban and the very near certainty that he was planing to come after him. By the time he was done, Tristan and Ron were staring at him with their jaws open and Hermione had her hands over her mouth.
"Sirius Black?" Tristan repeated dumbly.
"Oh, Harry…" Hermione lowered her hands. "You'll have to be really, really careful. Don't go looking for trouble—"
"It's trouble that usually finds me!" Harry protested indignantly.
Ron jumped to his defence. "How thick would Harry have to be to go looking for a nutter who wants to kill him anyway?"
"I think we should actually," Tristan said, rolling his eyes when both Ron and Hermione looked horrified at the suggestion. "Think about it, we'd definitely have the jump on him, wouldn't we? Bet he wouldn't expect that."
"Because it's madness!" Hermione hissed.
Ron nodded, shifting uncomfortably, "Who knows what he's capable of? No one's ever gotten out of Azkaban before, no one has any idea how he did it either. He was a top-security prisoner."
"I know, Nora's been reading about it all summer." Tristan stuffed another sandwich in his mouth. "She was obsessed with figuring out how he escaped. You know how she gets with mysteries, doesn't stop until every piece of the puzzle fits. She had to with this one, though. It's looking damn well unsolvable."
"But they'll catch him, won't they? I mean, they've got all the muggles searching for him as well," Hermione offered earnestly.
"I wouldn't count on it. He killed twelve muggles before the Aurors got him the last time, I'll bet my right arm he can do it again..." Tristan trailed off when a faint, tinny whistle reached his ears. "What's that noise?"
"What noise?" Hermione looked around the compartment.
"I think it's coming from your trunk, Harry..." Ron stood and reached for the luggage rack. He pulled out from Harry's robes a small object that resembled a glass spinning top and was ringing loudly, glowing red and blue while spinning fast on the palm of his hand.
Tristan's eyes brightened. "A Sneakoscope!"
"Yeah. Mind you it's a very cheap one. Went haywire just as I was tying it to Errol's leg to send it to Harry."
Also interested, Hermione stood to have a better look. "Were you maybe doing something untrustworthy at the time?"
"No!" Ron's face went a bit red. "Well… I wasn't supposed to be using Errol. You know he's not really up to long journeys… but how was I supposed to get Harry's present to him?"
Tristan inspected the Sneakoscope closely. "Wonder why it's going off now..."
"Just stick it back in the trunk before it wakes him up," said Harry, nudging his head toward Professor Lupin as the device let out another piercing whistle.
Ron stuffed the device into a pair of old socks to muffle the sound, closed the lid on it, sat back down. "We could have it checked in Hogsmead. They sell that sort of thing in Dervish and Bangles, magical instruments and stuff. Fred and George told me."
The new change of topic had Hermione perking up. "Do you know much about Hogsmead? I've heard it's the only entirely non-muggle settlement in whole Britain."
"Yeah, I think it is," Ron replied in an offhand sort of way. "But that's not why I want to go. I just want to get inside Honeydukes!"
"What's that?"
"It's a famous sweetshop," Tristan told Hermione. "Nora says they've got every candy you can dream of."
Ron sighed dreamily, "Pepper Imps…"
"They'll make you smoke from the mouth," Tristan elaborated.
"… great fat chocoballs…"
"Which are obviously chocolate balls filled with strawberry mousse and clotted cream."
"… and really excellent sugar quills you can suck in class and just look like you're thinking what to write next…"
"But Hogsmead's a very interesting place, isn't it?" Hermione pressed on, ignoring both boys. "In Sites of Historical Society it says the inn was the headquarters for the 1612 goblin rebellion, and the Shrieking Shack's supposed to be the most severely haunted building in—"
"… oh, and massive sherbet balls that make you levitate a few inches off the ground while you're sucking them," continued Ron, who was plainly not listening to a word Hermione was saying.
Tristan did much the same, if only to irritate Hermione, "Those are loads of fun, Nora bought me a box last year." He turned to Harry and elbowed him lightly. "It'll be exciting to leave the castle and explore. I'll buy us all a round of butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks to celebrate our first trip."
"I can't go," Harry said bitterly. "The Dursleys didn't sign my permission form. Neither did Fudge when I asked him."
"You're joking!" Tristan was outraged. "You should've blown them up too, or at least threatened to if they didn't sign it. And I can't believe Fudge refused... I mean, who does he think he is?"
"He's the Minister."
Tristan shot Hermione a peeved look.
Ron tried to stay positive. "I'm sure McGonagall will sign it if you ask!"
Harry let out a hollow laugh. Tristan had to share the sentiment. He doubted Professor McGonagall would ever agree to it; she was the strictest teacher in school. One would think she could go a bit easier on the members of her house.
"We can have Fred and George sneak you there," Tristan suggested. "They know every secret passage in the castle, there's got to be one or two that lead outside."
Hermione looked at him in a very McGonagall-fashion. "I don't think Harry should be sneaking out of school with Black on the loose!"
"I expect that's exactly what McGonagall will say when I ask for permission."
"But if we take Nora with us, Black wouldn't—"
"Oh, Tris, don't be silly," Hermione cut off sharply as she grabbed the basket next to her. "Didn't you say so yourself? That Black's already murdered a whole bunch of people right in the middle of a crowded street. Do you honestly believe he's going to worry about attacking Harry just because we have your sister with us?"
She had started fumbling with the straps of the basket as she was speaking. Seeing this, Ron darted with his hands forward to stop her, "Don't let that thing out—"
But it was too late, Crookshanks was already slithering from inside the basket. The large, orange cat stretched his long limbs with a yawn, then pounced onto Ron's knees, sniffing at his coat's pocket, where Scabbers was hiding.
"Get out of it!"
"Ron, don't!"
"C'mon, mate, it's only a cat!"
Not so amused, Ron was getting ready to fire something certainly rude when Professor Lupin suddenly stirred. They all froze, watching apprehensively, waiting for him to rouse, but the man turned his head the other way, mouth slightly open, and remained fast asleep. There was a collective sigh of relief.
"Well, that was exciting," Tristan laughed, grabbing Crookshanks off Ron's lap so he could pet him into submission.
The cat's yellow eyes didn't stray from the pocket of Ron's coat even as he settled. Tristan was trying not to laugh because Ron could be very sensitive about his rat, although he really didn't see the point in all that fussing when Ron spent a copious amount of time complaining about how useless Scabbers was anyway. If it was up to him, he would've fed the pest to Ophelia ages ago.
As the train exited rural England and ventured into darker, wilder sceneries, the storm continued to rage without mercy. Harsh wind rattled the windows and rain poured with renewed vigour. Outside, the sky grew pitch black. Not long the lights flickered to life.
Around one o'clock the old lady pushing the food cart stopped by their compartment.
"Do you suppose we should wake him up?" Ron jerked his chin toward Professor Lupin. "Looks like he could do with some food."
Hermione approached the man carefully, "Err… professor?" He didn't move. "Excuse me, professor?"
"Don't bother," Tristan told Hermione. "He's out like a rock."
"It's all right, dears," said the old lady as she handed Harry a large stack of cauldron cakes. "If he's hungry when he wakes, I'll be up front with the driver."
Humming quietly to herself, she slid the door closed and moved along to the next customers.
"I suppose he is asleep, then? I mean, he hasn't died, has he?" Ron asked quietly
"Nah, he's still breathing." Tristan tossed a cauldron cake in his mouth after Harry handed one to him. "I'm surprised you can't hear it from there, it's really heavy."
Heavy-breather as he was, and overall not very thrilling company, Professor Lupin's presence ended up having its uses. Particularly when, around mid-afternoon, their three least favourite people decided to pop by for an unwanted visit — Malfoy and his croonies, Crabbe and Goyle.
Perfect, Tristan thought; just what they needed.
"Well look who it is," Malfoy taunted in his usual drawl, pulling open the compartment door. "Potty and company."
Crabbe and Goyle cackled, like two dumb trolls.
Malfoy was a slim boy with a pale and pointy face that seemed permanently set in a sneer. Tristan had loathed him since the moment they met at a party thrown by the Minister that he was dragged to by his father, one year prior they both came to Hogwarts. After becoming friends with Hermione, and then Harry and Ron, their animosity for each other had grown exponentially.
As for Crabbe and Goyle, they seemed to exist solely to do Malfoy's bidding.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Tristan demanded, bolting to his feet and dropping Crookshanks on the seat next to him.
"Oh, nothing much," Malfoy sneered arrogantly. "I wanted to see how you'd faired this summer, Cavanaugh. We had a bet on it, you know? Us Slytherins, I mean. I heard your father had you on house arrest and I was sure you'd come back with another black eye like last year."
Tristan curled his hands into fists, ready to pounce. Ron, sensing a fight, reacted similarly, standing from his seat so fast that he knocked Crookshanks's basket to the floor. The noise drew a snort from Professor Lupin.
Malfoy eyed the sleeping man and took a step back. "Who's that?"
"New teacher," Harry answered as he stood up too in case he needed to hold back his friends.
Malfoy's eyes narrowed; he wasn't a fool to pick a fight right under a teacher's nose. Tristan flashed a cocky smirk.
They held each other's glare until Malfoy, realising his defeat, gritted his teeth and walked away with his croonies.
"If Professor Lupin wasn't here…" Ron trailed off angrily.
Tristan took a breath and sat back down. "Don't know about you, but I'm not putting up with Malfoy this year. I've had enough of him hearing him talk rubbish of me and my sister."
"Honestly, when have you ever put up with anything? Last year you hexed Malfoy in the courtyard because he called Nora ugly," Hermione said with only the smallest hint of disapproval.
"Served him right. Nora's not ugly."
"That's not the point, Harry."
"The point's that Malfoy needs a lesson learned," Ron replied angrily while rubbing his knuckles. "If he makes one more crack about Nora or my family, I'm going to get a hold of his head and—" He made a violent gesture mid-air.
"Watch it, Ron!"
"I'll hold him down for you, mate," Tristan offered.
The primly look Hermione sent his way greatly improved his mood. He loved her, but she was too easy to provoke, and it was much too fun to resist.