The Beginning
The preschool classroom was always a symphony of controlled chaos. Tiny chairs being dragged across the carpeted floors, crayons clattering as they rolled off tables, and building blocks being found in any and every corner imaginable. Amidst all this chaos, one could always find Mr. Lupin—Remus Lupin, that is. The tall, universally adored teacher with a cupboard full of stickers and about thirteen variations of the same beige cardigan.
Like most afternoons, Remus was cradling a cup of lukewarm hot chocolate in one hand and a pack of smiley-face stickers in the other. He watched as the excited 5-year-olds finished up their last task for the day, a fun one—“I want you to draw a picture of yourself with anyone in the world. Mum, dad, Spider-Man, your goldfish. Whoever you’d like,” he’d told them.
And so, the sounds of scribbling began, paired with not-so-subtle whispering, and the occasional dramatic gasp over a spilt paint pot. The task had kept them busy for at least thirty minutes before Remus noticed the whispers becoming chatter and wads of paper being thrown around relentlessly.
“Alright, then little Picassos,” he announced, immediately quietening them. Unlike most teachers, Mr. Lupin had a voice so warm and gentle it could calm even the rowdiest of the bunch—or maybe they were simply just fond of him. He checked the classroom clock—2:21PM. “Time to wrap up your masterpieces. I'll come around and have a look at all your drawings before you take them home,” he smiled, waving the pack of stickers in front of the beaming children like it was a box of sweets.
Their reaction was instantaneous.
“Ooooh!”
“I want the sparkly one!”
“Can I have a blue one?”
“Mr. Lupin, can I have two if my drawing has me and a dinosaur?”
They all tried speaking to him at once, tiny hands waving pages around in the air with an increased urgency.
Remus bit back a laugh as he placed his cup at the corner of his desk. He raised his now free hand in surrender, the other still clutching the stickers. "Alright, alright,” he attempted. “Patience, you budding artists, everyones gonna get one," he paused dramatically, leaning in as if sharing a secret. "...right after we’ve finished tidy-up time.”
A collective chorus of groans filled the room. “But cleaning is booooooring!” a tiny voice wailed, just as another student accidentally knocked over a cup of water with their elbow. Remus took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the beautiful chaos that was preschooler clean-up time.
“Come on now, you lot, it’s almost time to go home,” Remus added in attempts to motivate them.
Another string of protests.
"But Mr. Lupiiiiin," a girl with two braids wailed. “We want to stay with yoooouuu.”
Remus bit back a laugh. “Aw, Charlotte, don’t worry. I’ll be here tomorrow. And the day after that… and the one after that too,” he said humorously, his tone gentle and reassuring, just enough to coax the giggles he was after.
Shortly after the not-so-graceful tidy-up, he made his way around the room, picking up each masterpiece and examining it with exaggerated care. He offered a kind word to every child, asking questions about dragons and rainbows and what was (apparently) little Timmy riding a giraffe. Each of them was rewarded with not one, but two stickers, much to their absolute delight.
“Wow Rob,” Remus said, tilting his head. “Is that you and your… cat?” he offered, slightly grimacing at his guess that was definitely wrong.
Little Robbie’s nose scrunched. “It’s me and Batman.”
“Right. Obviously,” Remus said, ruffling the boy’s blond curls. “What was I thinking?” The correction earned him a toothy grin. He chuckled, placing two stickers on the boy’s page.
Then came Harry.
The boy practically vibrated with excitement as Remus walked over to him. Immediately jumping to his feet, he proudly shoved the page into his teacher’s hands, “This is you and me, Mr. Lupin!” he beamed.
Remus took the paper gingerly. It was less a drawing and more a crayon-slash-finger-paint rebellion. It was a glorious mess of red and brown streaks with a green blob that might’ve been a jumper or possibly a radioactive swamp.
“Ah,” Remus said solemnly, crouching down to Harry’s level. “You’ve really captured the essence of our souls in this, haven’t you?”
He knew Harry had no zero idea what that meant, but the little boy beamed and nodded anyway and that made him chuckle.
“Look! It’s your scars!” Harry pointed enthusiastically at the brown squiggles on the page. “And mine! We match!” he pushed back his unruly black curls to proudly reveal the lightning-looking scar on his forehead. Then, jabbing the green blob he added, “And your favourite jumper!”
Remus felt his heart swell. He let out a soft laugh, resting a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder and meeting his eyes.“It’s perfect,” he beamed, reaching for his stickers. He peeled one off, ready to stick it onto the corner of Harry’s drawing, but before he could, Harry held the page out to him with both hands.
“You can keep it,” he said proudly. “It’s for you.”
Remus blinked, a little stunned, then smiled so wide it made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Well, I suppose these belong somewhere else then.”
He stuck a smiley face sticker onto Harry’s jumper and a gold star one onto his arm like a badge of honour. The boy grinned from ear-to-ear, profoundly happy with himself.
The moment the stickers landed on Harry’s jumper and arm it was over. A chorus of gasps rippled through the room, and just like that, Remus found himself in a whirlwind of sticker negotiations.
Little hands tugged at sleeves and pointed to foreheads, cheeks, and knees—basically any available patch of skin or fabric that would be able to hold a sticker.
Remus laughed, already knowing he’d brought this on himself. With a mock sigh of defeat, he peeled off more stickers. “Alright,” he said, holding up the sheet like a flag. “Only one more each,” he added pointedly, though he doubted anyone was really listening.
☆☽
As the school day came to a close, parents trickled in and out of the classroom, picking up their little ones, almost all of them stopping to exchange a kind word with the teacher on their way out.
Today, Harry was the last one left and Remus could tell that he was starting to get antsy after five minutes of being alone. His parents were almost never late, and if they were he wasn’t ever the last one there. So, in hopes of keeping the boy distracted, Remus got two chocolate bars from his cupboard and promptly sank onto the carpet beside him, crossing his legs and pulling a bin of giant legos towards them. Mirroring Remus, Harry got out of his tiny chair and sat next to him on the gray carpet.
He knew he’d succeeded when Harry began debating what colour arms the robot they were building needed, instead of glancing at the door every few seconds.
Then, about ten minutes later, there was a knock at the glass door. Remus looked up, expecting Lily’s familiar red hair or James’ perpetually wind-tossed mess, ever the splitting image of Harry’s own.
Instead, it was a stranger. Tall and unreasonably attractive. He wore a black leather jacket, its sleeves rolled up to reveal a sprawl of tattoos that curled down his forearms. His hair was dark and messy, falling just past his shoulders in a way that looked effortless, but no less striking. He smiled and waved enthusiastically from outside.
Remus blinked. Once. Twice.
He glanced back at Harry, wondering if the boy recognised the stranger, and his answer came immediately when Harry’s face lit up at the sight of him. Remus raised an eyebrow and woke up from his spot on the floor, dusting his pants. He nodded a greeting which the man promptly returned, and then gestured for him to step inside.
“UNCLE PADFOOT!” Harry shrieked, practically launching himself off the carpet and into the stranger’s arms.
The man—Padfoot?—let out an exaggerated, playful “Gahhh!”, more of an affectionate scream than anything, and caught Harry effortlessly, hoisting him up onto his hip like it was second nature. “Hey there, Prongslet!” he grinned, his voice warm. “Did ya’ miss me?”
“Mhm!” Harry declared with a nod so aggressive, his tiny glasses slid down his nose.
The man laughed, and then turned his gaze to Remus. His eyes were stupidly gray. “You must be Mr. Lupin,” he said, voice smooth and teasing. “Harry here talks about you all the time.”
Remus swallowed, then chuckled lightly. “Heh, all good things, I hope?”
He grinned, eyes almost sparkling. “Oh, devastatingly good.”
Christ.
It dawned on Remus then, that this was the uncle Harry had mentioned a few times in passing during class. The one who’d “made his lunch today” or was “coming home for family game night.” Somehow, Remus hadn’t quite pictured said uncle to be six feet tall with tattoos and a lethal smirk.
Harry, blissfully unaware of the tension unfolding in front of him, wiggled free from the man's arms to grab his school bag and his masterpiece (which was now slightly crumpled from enthusiasm). He left it on Remus’ desk and walked back to the black-haired stranger. “Can we go get ice cream?”
“Obviously,” he replied, ruffling Harry’s hair. “But if mum asks, no we didn’t.” Harry giggled and handed him his bag. Then, like a firework going off, he gasped as if having a sudden realisation.
“UNCLE PADFOOT. DIDYOUCOMEWITHYOURMOTORBIKE?” The words exploded from the boy in one breathless shriek, tiny hands now gripping the bottom of his uncle's leather jacket and staring up at him like he hung the stars.
The man laughed at the five-year-old’s enthusiasm and looked down, “Not today Har’, your dad insisted I bring the car instead.” He exaggeratedly rolled his eyes, giving Harry a ‘ can you believe that guy ’ look.
Harry groaned, dramatically flopping against his side, while beside them, Remus’ own brain short-circuited.
Motorbike?
The mental image materialised unbidden.
The man in that same leather jacket, with that same hair, the lip ring he'd only now noticed, and those tattooed forearms—Remus brought himself back to reality when he realised that the stranger was staring back at him, only he looked at him with a raised eyebrow, smirking as if he had noticed the unconscious staring.
“Sorry for the delay. James got held up at work and Lils had a last minute emergency. I’m Sirius, Harry’s godfather, hope it’s alright I’m the substitute…?” he asked, thoughtlessly swinging Harry's bag on his index finger.
“More than alright,” Remus mumbled, instantly regretting the words as they left his lips.
Real smooth, Lupin.
Sirius smirked, arching a brow, “Oh yeah?”
“I-I mean—it’s fine. Procedure-wise. Paperwork-wise. All the… wises .” He chuckled sheepishly.
Sirius grinned. A beat of silence.
Then, “Well, if it’s procedure , then maybe I should come back tomorrow. Y’know, just to be thorough, right?”
Remus opened his mouth. Closed it.
Before he could conjure up a response, Harry tugged on Sirius’s sleeve. “Can we go now Padfoot?”
He slung Harry’s bag over one shoulder, still watching Remus as if trying to study his every move. “Anything to sign then? Permission slips? Blood oaths?”
“No,” Remus laughed. “S’alright I’ve got it covered. Pretty sure Harry’s reaction to you was proof enough that you’re not a kidnapper.”
“Thanks,” Sirius chuckled fondly, taking Harry’s hand. “See you soon, Mr. Lupin.” He winked.
What the bloody hell was that?
And just like that, they were gone. The door clicking shut behind them.
Remus watched as they walked away. Harry bouncing with every step, making wild gestures and chattering non-stop, no doubt explaining every minute of his day with the breathless enthusiasm that came only with being five-years-old.
Sirius walked half-bent at the waist to stay at the boy’s level, his dark hair falling forward as he nodded along to whatever story he was telling. Every few steps, Harry would tug insistently on his sleeve or pocket, demanding his full attention, and Sirius would obediently pause, letting the child climb onto his boots or swing from his elbow like some kind of excitable monkey.
After observing them for just a few minutes, Remus knew that Sirius was one of Harry Potter’s favourite people in the world.
He exhaled, bending down to gather the crumpled chocolate wrappers and toss them in the bin. The classroom was quiet now, afternoon sunlight casting long shadows across the empty chairs and desks.
For some strange reason, his mind began calculating how many hours it would be until tomorrow’s pickup. With an internal sigh, he shook the thought from his head, no.
This was going to be interesting.