The Office
The clacketing of the computer keyboard echoed inside James' head. Aggressive, he thought. He must've been sitting there in the guidance counselor's office for at least seven minutes and the man, ‘Professor Dumbledore’ the plaque read, had yet to look up to him. He just sat there typing away, small grunts slipping past his lips. Creep.
As if reading his thoughts Dumbledore looked up at him, blue eyes squinting slightly. “I’ll be right with you.” Dumbledore said curtly. James nodded and the man immediately picked up the aggressive typing again, but only for a moment, as Dumbledore sighed and abruptly snapped the laptop shut in a way James was sure to have damaged the poor thing.
“So, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore scavenged at his desk before picking up a red folder. Professor Dumbledore slipped up a yellow sheet of paper, handing it to James, his class schedule. “I see you switched majors four times in a span of two years. Burn out?”
“Oh. Yeah, got broken up with-” “That’s enough dear,” Dumbledore interrupted, “I’m sure you won’t find Journalism any different than….” Dumbledore looked down at the folder, “Music, Engineering, Biology, and Pre-Law. Jesus! Here on a Football scholarship I presume? Or rich parents maybe? Anyways, same shit-for-brains snobs like everywhere else, what can you do?” Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, smiling slightly.
“Excuse me? Did you just say- Uh- Am- Am I in the right office?” James frowned, astounded at the counselor's behavior and foul language.
“Not anymore you’re not, I got a novel to finish. Find a Peter Pettigrew, ok?” At this Dumbledore’s smile only widened, sickeningly. “Now scoot.” James didn’t move a muscle, paralyzed in sheer shock. At this the counselor frowned. “Scoot!” He echoed louder and James shot up, movements jerky and walking backwards towards the door, missing it entirely and walking into the wall, and then directly into the open arms of a tall, long-haired man.
“Thank- Sorry. Uh-” “Sirius Black, back so soon?” Dumbledore said before he could even walk out. Face hot, he scurried away in embarrassment, away to find his guide.
“James Potter?” a plump blonde boy called out from the end of the hall, upon James’ dramatic exit. Pushing himself off the wall, the boy started towards James, hands extending forward for a handshake, “Peter Pettigrew, nice to make your acquaintance. I’m here to show you around the building!”
“Oh, hi!” James shook his hand, inspecting Pettigrew up and down before sighing in satisfaction, “Oh thank god, they usually send down the theater majors for this kind of job.”
Peter’s face flushed slightly, “Oh- I uh- I know exactly what you mean,” he laughed breathlessly, backing up slightly and bumping into a rack of costumes a theater student had been carting around.
“Oh, hey Pete! Where do you want these?” the cherry-red, dyed-haired girl said chirpily.
“Pete?” Pettigrew feigned confusion, walking away without further glance to the girl, leaving her confused. “Ok so, James! Here’s how it goes: Hogwarts University is badly planned and horribly budgeted so what they do is cram about five different departments in small fucking buildings. To the left you’ll have the theater department, no need for further explanation,” Peter pointed towards where the cherry girl had been walking to, “To your right you’ll have the Fashion department, don’t talk to anyone unless they approach you first.”
James followed Peter half a step behind, taking in the scenery, “Is that your rule or theirs?” He asked incredulously. Peter huffed out a laugh.
“Watch this,” Peter stopped in front of a guy, crooked nose turned up in disgust, hair greasy with what could’ve been leave-in conditioner, “Wotcher Snape!”
“Eat me,” the man, Snape, Barked back. Peter shrunk into himself a tad and turned back, pacing slightly more erratic than before, no doubt trying to get as far away as possible.
“Their rule,” Pete said curtly. “Now over here we have the English department, be quiet, no sudden movements, they’re reading at all times and will get mad if you bother them.” As if magic, a head popped out from one of the rooms briefly, shushing them. “That’ll be Frank Longbottom I think, he’s a nice bloke I swear it.
“Finally, the last one before your home-away-from-home, we have the Environmental Science department. They’re an insufferable lot. Tote bags, recycled clothes, glass straws, you name it. They’re very up in your face about their activism. And last but not least, we have the Jour-” “By the grace of god!” James exclaimed, interrupting Peter and stopping dead in his tracks, mouth agape. Peter glanced back at James, who was staring out into the distance.
“That’s my future wife, I just know it,” James finally squeaked, “What department is she in?” Peter followed his gaze, eyes landing on a tall, full-bodied, ginger.
“The ‘don’t even think about it’ department.” Peter finally said, voice stern. “Look, Lily Evans, she’s an English major-” “I burn, I pine, I perish!” James exclaimed, starstruck.
“Of course you do,” Peter sighed in defeat. “Look, Lily Evans is a beauty, of course, I mean she does a modeling gig for the fashion gits every once in a while. And I’m sure she’s deep, being an English major and all,” Peter said glancing from James to where Lily stood, slanted against a wall, tote bag slung over her blue cardigan covered shoulders, arms hugging a copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray, “but you have to forget her, mate, it’s a widely known fact that Lily Evans is so joined at the hip with her best friend that she won’t date.”
Peter nodded to a tall, lanky guy that stood across from Lily, shoulders shaking lightly in laughter. James simply mumbled something and nodded absent-mindedly. Peter’s demeanor slummed. ”Put her in your spank bank and move on. Move on!” James only whined in response. “Look, you wanna take a shot?”
“For her, I’d even learn a second language.” James said dreamily. Peter couldn’t decide if James had meant that to sound like an euphemism.
* * *
Professor McGonagall clapped twice, announcing that she had indeed arrived in the classroom, calling the attention of everyone towards herself. “Alright everyone, settle down, you are in my American Literature class now, have some decorum.”
Lily had approached Remus before the term started, asking him to take up American literature as an elective this year with her. She’d said it would be fun, and Remus, none the wiser, had said yes. Worst mistake of his life. As it had turned out, Lily Evans, bless her soul, had also invited Severus Snape to take the class. Nevermind how much of a bore McGonagall could be, Severus Snape was a git and if he didn’t stop fucking around, he sure as hell would find out.
“Alright, so what did we think of The Sun Also Rises?” McGonagall asked, snapping Remus out of his train of thought.
Mary Macdonald, who had recently decided to paint her hair a bright cherry red color that burned away at Remus’ retinas, raised her hand at once.
“Yes, Miss Macdonald?”
“I loved it!” Mary sighed, resting her chin against the palm of her perfectly manicured hand, “He’s so romantic.”
At that Remus scoffed, “Romantic?! Seriously Mary, Hemingway?” He turned to look at Mary, who in turn just rolled her eyes, “He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who squandered half his life hanging around Pablo Picasso trying to nail his leftovers.”
“As opposed to a bitter, self-righteous swot, who has no friends?” Snape retorted, dragging the vowels unnecessarily for too long.
“Sev!” Lily whispered-yelled at him, glaring daggers at the greasy creep she called a friend.
Remus could hear professor McGonagall sigh from the front of the classroom but his eyes had caught Snape who only smiled wickedly.
“Settle down, both of you.” McGonagall said, hand flying up to rest against her temple.
“I guess in this world being rich and knowing the right names makes you worthy of our time.” Remus glared at Severus before turning back to face professor McGonagall, “What about Of Mice and Men, or Little Women, or Fahrenheit 451?”
The door slammed open, a tall man, dressed in a worn out leather jacket, dark long locks, and piercing gray eyes stumbled into the room, breath heavy. “What did I miss?”
Remus leaned back against his seat with a heavy sigh, “Highly problematic authors and their no good works that fill up our education.”
“Oh, good!” There was the sound of scuffling shoes on the floor and finally a door slam.
“Mr. Black!” Professor McGonagall called after the man who had already left the room, voice exasperated.
“Professor McGonagall,” Snape’s voice echoed through the classroom, “Is there any way we can get Remus to take his Seroquel before he comes to class?”
Remus and Lily simultaneously turned their heads to glare at Severus, who only glanced at Lily innocently, as if to say I didn’t know this was a sensitive subject.
“Mr. Snape,” McGonagall called back, voice harsher, “Someday you’re going to get slapped across the face, and I’m afraid I’ll just turn a blind eye to it.” The professor, who finished her tirade with a slight hiss of the ‘T’, crossed her arms before her chest and sat at the edge of her table, eyes making their way towards Remus. “Now, Mr. Lupin, thank you for your insight, but this is my classroom and I will dictate my classes how I see fit.
“Anything else?” Remus asked, meeting McGonagall's eyes.
“Yes, go to the office, I will not have any more interruptions during my class.”
Remus huffed and puffed, standing up, slinging his tote bag over his shoulder, making sure to accidentally hit Snape in the face with it, and finally stormed out of the classroom.
* * *
Remus was sat in a horrid purple couch that faced counselor Dumbledore’s puke yellow office, counselor Dumbledore’s office whose door was wide open in all it’s plastic flower filled glory, counselor Dumbledore who was, at this very moment, not very subtly brainstorming for his gay erotica novel.
“Undulating with desire,” Dumbledore said, sentence dragging and voice velvet, eyes closed. Remus shuddered in disgust. “Gellert removes his red-” Dumbledore’s eyes snapped open suddenly, hands clattering away at his keyboard briefly before closing his eyes once more. Remus was unfortunately enraptured and watched in disgust as Dumbledore continued, “Crimson cape at the sight of Albie’s stiff and….. Dobby!!” Dumbledore shrilled, eyes opening again.
A skinny, ill-dressed, balding man stood up from his desk, next to Remus, and rushed at once to the doorway of Dumbledore’s office. “Yes, Mr. Dumbledore?”
“What’s another word for engorged?” Dumbledore looked up at Dobby, picking up his halfmoon specs and placing them at the bridge of his nose.
“Uh- I’ll look it up.” Dobby said, confused,
already walking back to his desk
Remus couldn't possibly watch any further. He stood up from his place on the couch and walked towards the office, a smile slowly plastering on his face as he leaned coolly against the doorframe. “How about ‘Turgid’?” Remus said.
“Perfect!” Dumbledore exclaims, bony fingers resuming their incessant typing.
Remus pushed himself from the frame, making his way to an equally horrendous lime green velvet chair that stood before Dumbledore’s table. He swiftly sat down, grimacing at the texture of the chair, before putting down his bag.
“So, I hear you were terrorizing McGonagall's class again?” Dumbledore said, slamming shut his laptop rigorously, and looking up at Remus.
“With all due respect, professor Dumbledore,” Remus meets Dumbledore's gaze, “Expressing my opinion is not a terrorist action.”
“The same way you expressed your opinion to Lucious Malfoy down in the Engineering department?” Dumbledore sighed, leaning against the table, “By the way his testicle retrieval operation went quite well in case you were wondering.”
“I still maintain that he kicked himself in the balls.” Remus threw his hand up in surrender.
“The point is Remus, people are starting to perceive you as-” “Tempestuous?” Remus supplied, interrupted, proclaimed, and/or said.
“‘Heinous bastard’ is the term used most often.” Dumbledore said nonchalantly, “You might want to fix that Mr. Lupin.” Remus simply scoffed.
“Always so wise, eh professor?” Remus stood up, picking up his bag, “I’ll let you get back to Gellert’s quivering member then.”
Dumbledore’s eyes bulged from their sockets and Remus walked away.
“Oh, I like that actually.” Was the last thing Remus heard Dumbledore say before he walked out of the horrid puke yellow office.