Chapter 3
By Monday, Remus had a vague outline of work for each year group and a week's worth of pretty solid lesson plans. He'd been down to Hogsmeade to make enquiries about a grindylow and had embarked on a reasonably fruitful search of the castle which had turned up not only a very angry flock of pixies (now ensconced in a large cage at the back of his classroom) but also a boggart, which was currently rattling away in a box under his desk. He had also had quite a fruitful fish around in the lake and suspected there was a herd of kelpie somewhere in its mysterious depths. The teaching over the previous few years seemed to have been patchy at best, and so he was fairly confident the lessons would be both interesting and useful and was possibly even looking forward to meeting his classes.
At the end of his first day of teaching, he sat down to dinner in the Great Hall in the best mood he'd been since he had arrived. His lessons so far had been a success: the second years had been fascinated by the pixies and Luna Lovegood had led the whole class in a collaborative construction of an elaborate net of shimmering silk to capture them. His sixth year class was very small: a direct result of years of sporadic teaching which had seen most students perform reasonably poorly in their OWLS, and they had spent half the lesson conjuring bridles, using any method necessary (Percy Weasley had pulled off a beautiful bit if transfiguration, Ronnie Davis a very impressive use of what seemed to be a variation on a knitting spell). Once prepared, they had crept down to the lake, Remus leading them through the edge of the forest, to a small group of kelpies that were standing in the shallows.
'Stand well back', Remus had whispered to them, 'remember, their coats are naturally adhesive. I don't want to have to jump in after any of you...'
When Filius sat down beside him and enquired about his day, Remus was able to join in a cheerful discussion of the Ravenclaws who had excelled in his lessons. He'd given Penelope Clearwater five points for the very advanced knotting spell she had used on a long vine she'd pulled off a tree on their way through the forest, ('oh yes,' Flitwick had said , 'she's going places that one.') And recounted Luna's success with the pixies.
'Well, again', Flitwick interjected, 'a young witch with huge potential. But then of course she should be.'
'Should be?' Remus said, taking another bite of his beef wellington.
'Well yes?' Filius looked at him, 'She's Pandora's girl. You knew Pandora didn't you?'
Remus choked slightly. Of course. She'd married a Lovegood. He reached for his goblet to try to clear his throat, as Filius continued.
'So tragic what happened there. Such a creative witch, but she did like to take risks... Her own spell. Such a shame.'
That was what Remus had heard at the time. It must be three or four years ago now. There had been other whispers of course: a beautiful young witch, very powerful, very capable, lovely family, would she really be so careless? His eyes found Luna at the Ravenclaw table. She was sitting slightly apart from the others, reading what looked like a magazine. He knew what it was like to lose a mother. He looked across the hall and found Harry. He was sitting with Ron, both laughing hard at something one of the Weasley twins was doing with a boiled potato on the end of a fork. The girl from the library was there too, a book open, but still a smile on her face. They looked so happy.
A long shadow fell across his plate and Remus was pulled from his thoughts by the tall form of Albus Dumbledore bending to his ear.
'If you are finished eating Remus, would you be so kind as to join me for a quick word in my office? I am heading up there now.'
It was not so much a request as an instruction, so Remus rose, bid Filius a good evening and followed Dumbledore across the hall and up the staircase that led to the gargoyle.
The office was the same as he remembered it: rows upon rows of portraits, cabinets full of strange objects, squashy armchairs in front of a vast desk. Remus had sat in one of those chairs before. James had sat beside him. His mother had stood with her hand on his shoulder, trembling. The memories played like a damaged showreel, flickering in and out of his mind.
'Please, do have a seat.' Dumbledore gestured to an armchair, perching himself lightly on the edge of his enormous desk. Remus sat.
'So,' Dumbledore smiled slightly, 'I hear you have had a very successful first day.' He paused, pale blue eyes looking straight into Remus', and went on, 'I always knew you would make a brilliant teacher.'
Remus relaxed a fraction. Perhaps this was just a first day catch-up with a new teacher. Perhaps Dumbledore was seeing Hagrid next, once he'd finished the entire beef wellington he had lifted onto his plate...
'Of course,' Dumbledore continued, 'you are up to date with the latest news reports.' Remus' heart sank as Dumbledore produced and unfolded a copy of the Daily Prophet.
Remus had not been reading the latest news reports. He had not been looking at the pictures splashed across the front pages, or listening to the wireless or the gossiping of the students. He hadn't been looking out of his window at the dark swooping shapes of the dementors. He had been too busy - too busy pretending that his appointment at Hogwarts was really about his teaching potential. Too busy pretending he was a completely separate person from the one who had been here before. Too busy trying not to recognise his lost friends on the faces of their children. And it had been working - he had made it almost a week, work had been done, a fantastic day of teaching achieved...
Dumbledore was holding the paper out towards him. He took it.
SIRIUS BLACK HEADED FOR HOGSMEADE?
And there he was. It was always this photograph. The man in it was only just recognisable: hair matted, face filthy and eyes wild. He was shouting at the camera. The papers had reported it as madness, but Remus knew what Sirius looked like when he was in pain. He could feel a prickling sensation beginning in his eyes and nose. He blinked hard and looked up at Dumbledore.
'Is there any evidence to support these claims?' he asked.
Dumbledore looked at him, those blue eyes boring into his. 'Do you have any reason to believe he would come here Remus?'
Remus glanced down again at the newspaper, just for a second.
'As I said when you asked me before Albus, I have never been able to predict Si-' the name stuck in his throat '-his behaviour.'
'There has been some speculation,' Dumbledore continued, 'That Sirius may have been motivated to escape, by a desire to... ' Dumbledore paused and made a motion with his hand, like he was looking for the right words. His eyes were like orbs boring into Remus, 'A desire to - finish the job he started.' Remus blinked again. He was getting hot, he could feel his collar digging into his neck.
'What does that mean?'
Dumbledore sighed and clasped his hands across his lap. 'You know what I mean, Remus. We must protect Harry at all costs. If you think of anything useful, you know where I am.'
Dumbledore straightened and turned away, moving to the otherside of his desk. As Remus reached the door he spoke again.
'Have you met him yet?'
Remus paused, without turning back. 'Yes,' he said, 'on the train.'
'Good.' Dumbledore replied quietly. 'Good'.