Chapter Text
“It’s not too late to try and sneak you out,” Ron told Harry at the school entrance.
“Yeah,” Dean agreed, his pockets heavy with gold. “There’s got to be loads of secret paths down to Hogsmeade.” Harry shook his head and gave Ron a small bag of coins with strict instructions to spend every last Knut in Honeydukes. The other Gryffindor third years grimaced, and waved goodbye, and headed off to their first ever Hogsmeade visit.
Harry meandered back up to Gryffindor tower, fully intending to start on his homework, but he kept thinking about that DADA lesson, and the boggart, and the dementors guarding the Hogwarts gates, and Sirius Black, and his parents. He always thought about his parents on Halloween. Within an hour he was back on the grounds, broom in hand, on his way to the Quidditch pitch.
Harry drowned his sorrows in training plans. Whenever he felt overwhelmed or angry or out of control, he went flying. As he passed through a courtyard, he was deep in thought, planning what drills he would complete. He was so absorbed in his plans that he nearly collided with a professor.
“Penny for your thoughts, Harry?”
Harry startled at the voice of Professor Remus Lupin.
“Sorry, sir! I wasn’t paying attention.”
“You appeared to be paying attention to something, just not where you were going,” Lupin replied, but he did so with a smile. It made Harry feel at ease.
“Just quidditch, sir.” Lupin smiled again, but this one felt…different. His eyes seemed tighter. Harry didn’t have much time to process this however, because what his teacher said next surprised him.
“Actually, Harry, I was about to head on a walk going in that direction. I wouldn’t mind the company.” Harry had never been invited on a casual walk with a teacher before, and if any other professor had asked he probably would have felt obligated to say yes. Yet somehow, Harry felt it was perfectly within his capability to say no to Lupin. Despite this, and despite how awkward the whole thing seemed, Harry found himself nodding, and setting down towards the pitch beside Lupin. Harry held his broom, and Lupin held his cane.
“Are you feeling better, sir?” Lupin had missed dinner the previous evening, and breakfast that morning. Everyone assumed he had been sick, which would be the second time that semester.
“I forget how fast news flies around this school,” he chuckled. “Yes, a bit better. It’s why I’m out for a walk actually. It always helps. That, and chocolate.” Harry thought he did look quite a bit more haggard than usual.
“Like flying,” Harry said. Lupin looked at him sideways, clearly curious.
“In what way?”
“When I feel bad, I go flying. Not so much while I’m sick, but when I start to feel better. I feel more awake after, and it really clears my head.” Harry didn’t really know why he was sharing all of this with a teacher. Typically his interactions with his professors outside of class were short acknowledgements. “Yes, ma’am. No, sir. Sorry, Professor McGonagall.” But something about Lupin, despite the scars and the rough exterior, felt approachable.
Lupin smiled that smile again, the one that was different, and Harry realized it seemed sad. This was a confusing reaction to Harry’s statement, and it reminded him of Lupin’s face after their lesson with the boggart. When Lupin had turned to face them after blocking Harry from the boggart, and he had caught Harry’s eye, he looked sad.
“Professor, I have a question.”
“I hope it’s not about flying, because you probably know more than I do.” Harry laughed, but his face fell when he spoke again.
“No, sir, it’s about the boggart lesson.”
“You’re wondering why I didn’t let you face it?” Harry nodded. “I was wondering if you would ask me about that. I hope it wasn’t too presumptuous of me Harry, but I assumed that your boggart would take the form of Voldemort.”
Harry had never heard anyone other than himself or Dumbledore use Voldemort’s name before. More questions, these ones about Lupin, bubbled to the surface, but Harry resisted. It was probably too personal a question to ask a teacher.
“He’s who I thought of at first, but…” Harry hesitated. He felt cowardly to admit what it would have become, because it probably should have been Voldemort. But somehow, he felt like he could trust Lupin. He was still waiting patiently for Harry to respond. “But then I remembered the dementors. On the train.”
“Ah,” was all Lupin said, and they were quiet for a moment, before he continued. “How were you going to make them funny?”
“I hadn’t thought of that yet.”
“Well then, Harry, I’m very glad I cut you off. It may have been just a boggart, but when they transform into such a creature, they can have a similar effect to the real thing. It is likely that you would have been severely affected by it.” Harry felt more questions boiling over, questions he had been holding onto since he first collapsed on the train.
“Why do they affect me like that? Why didn’t anyone else faint? Am I just…weaker?” Harry felt embarrassed to admit that aloud, but Lupin didn’t ridicule him. In fact, he looked concerned.
“No, Harry. You are incredibly strong, stronger than most.” Harry felt a warmth at this statement, but immediately, a cruel voice somewhere in his head reacted. You fainted. You were the only one. Strong people don’t just pass out.
“I don’t feel like it.” Saying it out loud somehow made it feel more real, and Harry had to focus on keeping his breathe even. If Lupin noticed, he didn’t react to it.
“Harry, do you understand what dementors do?”
“I know that they make me feel…bad. Like I don’t have any happiness in me at all. And I know that they can suck out your soul, sort of.” Lupin nodded.
“What dementors do is feed on happiness. When you’re near them, they take all of your happiness from you, and what you’re left with are your worst feelings, your worst memories. And you, Harry, you have faced tragedy that most people never will. What you’re left with when dementors are near is enough to make anyone faint.”
They fell into silence again. The quidditch pitch was steadily growing in the distance. Harry thought about what Lupin had said. He had been avoiding the memory of the train journey as best he could, but now he recalled it. He remembered the hollow feeling deep in his chest, the way his thoughts turned to his parents, the woman screaming…
“When I- on the train, I heard a woman screaming, but no one else did. And if you say that they leave your with your worst memories...” Harry sat with this for a moment before continuing. “I think…I think it was my mum.”
Harry watched Lupin’s face drain of color, throwing his scar into sharp relief. The hand that wasn’t leaning on his cane moved as if to reach out to Harry, but then stopped and returned to his side. Harry didn’t know why he was saying all of this, especially to his DADA professor on a beautiful Sunday. He had never told this to anyone, not even to Ron and Hermione, and it made the scar that arched out of his hairline across his forehead burn slightly. But it was Halloween, and Harry always thought about his parents on Halloween. Now, after months of avoiding his memories of the dementor, it was all spilling out of him.
“I used to- well I still do have these nightmares, sometimes. They’re just flashes of green light, which doesn’t sound very scary, but there was always a woman screaming. And, and sometimes laughing, and I think that was Voldemort…”
They were quiet for a very long time after that. They were nearing the quidditch pitch, and Lupin had slowed considerably. His color had not improved, and his knuckles were white on his cane. Harry was grateful for the silence, as he was working very hard on steadying his breathe and blinking away the stinging in his eyes. Finally, they reached the player entrance, and Lupin spoke, much softer than he had before, and not looking at Harry.
“I hope you’ll forgive me for not telling you sooner, Harry, but I actually knew your parents. James and Lily were both my year at Hogwarts, and we were all in Gryffindor together.” Lupin’s voice wavered as he finished speaking.
Harry stood and stared, too shocked to be polite. There were many adults who had “known” his parents. Some of his professors had taught his parents. Many others merely knew of them, but felt that was enough to comment on them, tell him how sad it was that they were dead, as if Harry didn’t know. But Harry had never met someone who actually knew them. Lupin was in their year. They had been sorted together, spent evenings in the common room together. Lupin shared a dorm with his father. Harry didn’t even mean to ask a question, but he had so many that the most pressing one was forced out of him anyways.
“What were they like?”
Harry felt embarrassed as soon as he said it. It felt like such a stupid question, but Lupin turned to him and smiled, the saddest smile yet.
“James was the kind of person that filled a room with whatever he was feeling, and that feeling was almost always joy and mischief.” Lupin seemed to grow farther and farther away as he spoke. “If we let him, he would talk about nothing but quidditch all day. He was a brilliant wizard, a little foolish, very crabby when he was hungry, fiercely loyal, and such a good person. One of the most fundamentally good people I’ve ever known.”
“And Lily,” Remus sighed her name, growing even more wistful. “she was kind. She was so intensely kind. Somehow even more brilliant than James, and he was the first to admit it. We were Potions partners for most of our time at Hogwarts, and she is the reason I scraped an ‘Acceptable’ on my O.W.Ls. She was very focused on her studies, always wrote the longest essay, very methodical. But she had a rebellious streak, could pull a prank that would rival us, but she could do it without getting caught. She was perceptive. You couldn’t lie to her about anything, which was good, because she had an uncanny ability to say the exact right thing to make you feel better.” Lupin seemed to come back to the present, to see James and Lily’s son in front of him. He smiled warmly.
“And you, Harry, are so like them. Not just your appearance, although it is uncanny, I have to say. Some things are obvious, like your love of quidditch, and your propensity for trouble.” Lupin smiled at this, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “But I’ll notice it at the most surprising moments. When you sit down next to a friend, you always give them a clap on the back just like James did. When you tease your friends during lessons, I can hear Lily giving a sassy remark over the state of our potion. When I stopped you earlier, while you were lost in thought, I already knew you were thinking about quidditch because it’s the exact look your dad gave when he poured over his training plans.”
“And, most importantly, you are good and you are kind. As good and as kind as James and Lily, by all accounts.” And then, he chuckled and said, “By most accounts, anyways. I share a staff room with Professor Snape.” Harry smiled at this joke, but he doubted it looked very convincing. His eyes were wet, and his breath was shaky. He was facing Lupin’s direction, but looking behind him, up at the castle. Lupin continued, facing in Harry’s direction but looking behind him, up at the quidditch pitch.
“They always supported me, much more than I would ever expect anyone to do. I wish you could have known them.” Lupin paused and looked down at Harry, who was holding back tears.
“I hope you’ll forgive me if that was too much, Harry. Halloween is always…well, I get rather sentimental.”
“No, it’s-… I mean I-…thank you,” Harry whispered, though it didn’t feel like nearly enough. It was more than he had ever known about his parents. Lupin seemed to think for a moment, as if weighing his options, and then he reached his hand out and grasped Harry’s shoulder. His grip was surprisingly firm and warm. Harry felt a wave of fierce tenderness wash over him.
“You’re very welcome, Harry.” Lupin’s voiced seemed to crack a little when he said Harry’s name. “I’m assuming you want some space, so I will take my leave.” He let go of Harry’s shoulder and made to turn, and then paused, and turned to look at Harry again. He was misty-eyed.
“If you need anything, Harry, you can always come to me. Anything at all.” Harry nodded. Lupin seemed to find this acceptable, and walked off.
Minutes later, Harry was in the air, training plans forgotten. He circled the pitch a few times, before deciding the detention was worth it, flying over the side of the pitch, and streaking over the lake. He pushed his broom as fast as it could fly, fast enough that the wind drowned out the sound of his sobs and his tears flew off his face and fell into the lake. Far below him, his professor watched him, his cheeks wet.
**
A small mountain of sweets suddenly covered the parchment that Harry had been staring at for the last hour.
“We bought one of everything, and multiples of all our favorites!” Ron was beaming at him, his cheeks flushed with excitement. Neville, Dean, and Seamus were just behind him, each laden with their own parcels.
“We’ve got to get you a way down there,” Seamus called. “Zonko’s was incredible!”
“And the butterbeer at Three Broomsticks-“ sighed Dean.
“You should’ve seen the giant chocolate frog-“ Seamus cut in.
“We don’t have time now but after the feast you can try all the candies-“ Ron was saying.
Harry did his best to listen, but between his friends rapidly speaking over one another and his own sadness at missing out, he struggled to keep up. His mind was still reeling over his conversation with Lupin earlier, and he found Hogsmeade hard to focus on.
In their excitement, and perhaps sensing that Harry was not particularly enjoying the conversation, they ended up mostly talking with each other. Ron and Harry piled the sweets back into the bag, revealing the measly paragraph Harry had managed to write. Hermione came in not long after with the other Gryffindor girls. The others headed up to their room to drop off their things while Hermione ran over to Harry.
“Harry! Hogsmeade was wonderful, I can’t wait until you can come with us. I know you said to spend all your money at Honeydukes but there was still some left after Ron was finished and your quills are all in tatters so I bought you some new ones, I really hope you don’t mind, I’m happy to pay for them-“
“Hermione!” Harry cut in. “It’s fine, thank you.” Hermione beamed and placed a box of quills atop the Honeydukes bag.
A little while later, their parcels safely in their rooms, the Gryffindors headed down to the Halloween feast. Harry gave up on listening to their banter rather quickly. He couldn’t stop thinking about his conversation with Lupin. He didn’t just know his parents, they were best friends. It was clear in the way he spoke about them, like he knew their favorite color and their greatest fear and everything in between.
Harry scanned the staff table as they walked into the hall and locked eyes with Lupin. He felt suddenly embarrassed, a heat rise to his face, but the professor smiled and gave a small wave, which Harry returned sheepishly. Most of his friends hadn’t noticed and were now settling into their seats at the table. He sat beside Ron, clapping a hand to his back. He caught himself, and glanced back up at Lupin. He was still staring at Harry, but now chuckling.
Harry smiled back, a real one this time, and then turned to lock eyes with Hermione. She quietly raised an eyebrow. What was that about? Harry mouthed back, later. Normally, she would have pressed, but his friends had learned to be gentle with him on Halloween, and so she dropped the issue.
Harry was still quiet during dinner, but was less lost in his own head. Still, he caught Ron and Hermione furtively exchanging looks of concern with each other. After dinner, Harry simply wanted to collapse into his bed and sleep, but he knew Ron and Hermione wouldn’t let him. She followed them up to their dorm, making a show of groaning about how horrible candy was for their teeth. They settled in Harry’s bed, Ron shutting the curtains around them. He made a joke about “not sharing with these tossers,” but it was unnecessary. Everyone was gentle with Harry on Halloween.
It had gotten noticeably more challenging to share the bed with the curtains closed since the habit had begun when they were eleven. The space seemed to be filled with elbows and knees and long limbs, especially Ron’s. Still, they managed to arrange themselves around the candy pile comfortably, Scabbers in Ron’s lap chewing through a nougat, and Hermione casted a silencing spell.
“How are you, Harry?” she asked, carefully.
“Dead parents?” Ron asked. Hermione gave him a slap on his arm. She didn’t really get the way Ron and Harry communicated. She thought Ron was too harsh, and Ron thought she never got to the point. They loved to argue about it.
“Dead parents,” Harry sighed, and dug into a chocolate frog. Lupin was right about the chocolate, it really did make him feel a little warmer.
“Is it just that?” Hermione asked, biting her lip. She was more worried about Harry than he had thought.
“Well, while you were gone, I ran into Lupin.”
“Ooo, yes, it’s later!” Ron gave Hermione a questioning look but Harry pushed on before the conversation could derail.
“He knew my parents.” Hermione gave a little gasp, and Ron’s mouth fell open, revealing a half eaten nougat. Even Scabbers seemed surprised, freezing for a moment before crawling under a bit of cover on Harry’s bed. “Well, he didn’t just know them. They were best friends. In the same year and in Gryffindor and everything.”
“Bloody hell,” Ron said at last, finishing his candy. “How did that even come up?”
Harry recalled his conversation with Lupin. He told them about the dementors, and the nightmares, and his theory about his mother. Hermione’s eyes were growing watery, and it made his own emotions begin to bubble back to the surface. He tried to swallow them down again. Hermione and Ron had seem him cry before, but it still made him uncomfortable.
“And when I told him about that, he got really pale, and then finally he just said it. That they were friends.”
“What did you say?!” Ron asked. He leaned forward, his half-eaten sugar quill abandoned in his lap.
Harry felt his face grow hot. “I asked what they were like.”
Ron and Hermione grew very quiet. They were always sympathetic to Harry’s background, but the gravity of Harry’s loss hadn’t seemed to hit them until that moment.
Harry began recounting what he could remember of Lupin’s words. By the time he was finished even Ron was teary.
“They- just- sound- so- lovely,” Hermione spoke between shaky breathes.
“Top tier,” Ron choked out.
They all sat there for a moment, each of them trying not to cry, but finally Hermione said “oh come here,” and they pushed the candy out of the way and Harry scooched far enough to lean over and give Hermione a hug. Ron resisted, but Hermione reached out with one hand and pulled him and in, and the three of them sat there, heads on each other’s shoulders, with their shirt sleeves growing damp.
They pulled apart, a little embarrassed, but still grateful for each other. Ron cleared his throat.
“Well I guess we’ll all be getting sick now.” At Harry and Hermione’s confused expressions, he continued. “Since he was sick last night. Harry’s off taking walks with an invalid and now here we are hugging him.”
“I don’t think it was the contagious kind of sick,” Harry replied. “He just looked tired.”
Hermione’s brow furrowed and she made a little hmph sound, tell-tale signs that she was puzzling through something. Ron and Harry gave her nearly identical expectant looks.
“What?”
“Tell us,” Ron answered.
“You’ll think it’s silly.”
“Probably. But tell us anyways,” Harry said.
“Fine. But don’t make fun of me. Not after I’ve been vulnerable.” She said this so huffily, and they were so desperate for a break in the tension, that Ron and Harry both started giggling, and she had to pelt them with Bertie Bott’s before they settled down.
“This is serious! What date was Lupin sick the first time?”
“Oh sure, Hermione. Let me go get out my detailed log of every insignificant detail of my day and turn back to last month-“ Harry cut Ron off.
“September 30th.” At Ron’s affronted look, he continued. “I had detention with McGonagall the next day and I remember asking her if Lupin was okay.”
“So Lupin was sick on September 30th and October 30th.”
“So, a weird coincidence?” Ron offers.
“Maybe,” started Hermione. “But what else is significant about those days.” At Harry and Ron’s silence, she huffed again, crossing her arms. “We’re all in the same astronomy lessons, honestly.”
“What, a full moon?” Ron offered. Hermione raised her eyebrows pointedly.
“No way,” he argued, instantly. “No way they’d have one teaching? At a school?!”
“Why not? It’s only once a month. I’m sure there’s precautions.”
“But still, every month…”
“Do you know anything at all about Wolfsbane?”
Harry finally cut them off. “Would anyone care to explain to me what on earth you’re talking about?”
“Hermione thinks Lupin is a werewolf.” A beat of silence followed, in which Harry stared at Hermione with an open mouth.
“I just suggested it, it would explain the scars.” Ron looked like he was about to argue again, but Harry jumped in.
“You mean to tell me that my dad was best friends with a werewolf?”
“I just think we should consider it! It’s weird that both times he’s gotten sick- WAIT.” Hermione held up a hand to Harry as if shushing him, even though she was the one talking. “Harry. What was Lupin’s boggart?”
“I, what?”
“His boggart, Harry,” whined Hermione, frustrated that his brain was not taking the same bounds as hers. “You were the only one who saw it, what was it?”
“I don’t know really, it was just this big, round, glowing orb…” Harry trailed off, realizing suddenly what he was describing.
“No…” Ron said, but he no longer sounded so confident. They sat in silence again. Harry’s mind was reeling. He was growing incredibly tired of major, Lupin-related reveals for one day.
“Well, if he is, he’ll be ‘sick’ again on the next full moon,” Hermione answered.
“Can’t wait,” Harry replied, slumping back onto his pillow.
**