Chapter Text
Rispah Cooper meets the love of her life in the summer of her thirty-second year. She doesn’t know it yet, doesn’t know just how much this man will come to mean to her over the coming years, but still her eyes catch on him in the crowd.
He’s handsome and familiar, though she won’t know who he is until after Harry duels the werewolf.
Quiet yet he commands attention. After they’ve all been assured Harry is fine, her gaze lingers on him. Not quite a lord, she knows, but he rubs noses with them. Both his closest friends are in the Book of Gold, a fact that is more intimidating than it should be.
And sure Harry’s father is one of those Lords, but she’s Harry, their Harry. Rispah doesn’t dare say as much aloud, but she likes to think the alleys have a stronger claim on the girl than noble society.
So Rispah doesn’t say anything to Harriet’s uncle on that day. It’s not like she’ll see him again anyway. Whatever reason Harry may have had to bring him to the tournament, she’s sure this will have satisfied his curiosity about the less tasteful parts of Wizarding London.
Rispah isn’t often wrong, but in this it turns out she is.
It’s September, after Harry has gone back to school, when she sees him again. He lurks around Kyprioth Court, like he’s not quite sure where to go or whether he should go there.
Despite herself, Rispah takes pity on him.
(Why is that? Why does she feel drawn to this man who could pose such a danger to the alleys if he so wished? He’s just as close to Harry as he is to the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Rispah tells herself it is for that fact and that alone that she approaches him.)
“Mr. Lupin,” she greets him as she approaches him. “What brings you here on this day?”
He looks startled (this is absolutely not endearing to her), and he shakes his head slightly before he speaks. “Harry mentioned lessons?” Though his tone indicates a question, she can tell it is not actually. If they will let him, he will gladly take the opportunity to teach the denizens of the alleys.
Rispah nods. “And what sort of curriculum were you thinking of offering?”
“Well,” he says, and Rispah thinks he looks almost embarrassed, this mousy man in his cardigan. “Last year I taught Defence against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. I could start with that?” He pauses and then continues on quickly, almost as if he thinks she will walk away. “I could teach other things as well. I’m not as masterful at potions as Harry, but I think I’d make a decent substitute while she’s gone… if you wanted.”
He cares deeply, that much is obvious, even though he’s only come into the alleys the one time.
“Walk with me,” Rispah says. It’s not entirely her decision, but as Queen of the Court of the Rogue, her opinion carries more weight than most. “Would you write up a proposal?” She says, leading him in the direction of the Phoenix. “What you’d like to teach in each subject.”
“Yes, of course.” Remus says. “How soon would you need it by?”
Rispah shakes her head. “You can take your time with it.” Her smile turns rueful. “It’s not like anyone else is clamoring to teach in the alleys.”
They’re standing in front of the Phoenix now.
“It means a lot, just that you offered.” She looks up into his eyes, trying to convey just how sincerely she means this. The alleys are used to being forgotten, only getting resources from people with a connection to them, who cannot and will not forget its citizens.
Rispah doesn’t want to act like this man, a stranger to the alleys, is some sort of saviour, but at the same time… It’s so very meaningful.
She’s gotten her hopes up, but if she’s being honest, the alleys could use some hope.
Remus takes awhile to come back, to the point that she almost thinks he’s forgotten about them. When she sees the several proposals he holds, however, all her fears are assuaged. And to her great delight, he’s almost bashful as he hands over the parchment.
“Thank you,” she says, eyes flitting over today’s cardigan appreciatively. “I’ll just look over these and let you know. You can stay if you want, or I could send you an owl?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve come out here, might as well stay. Especially if I’m to teach here.” Rispah feels like his gaze is burning into her. This time it’s her turn to flush.
“Yes, of course. Sit wherever you want then.”
She can’t decide whether she wants to stay downstairs where she can see him or not. Leo had ensured there was a spot upstairs where one could look over the downstairs of the Phoenix without being watched, but Rispah isn’t sure if she wants to go that far.
(Who is she kidding, her feet are already carrying her up that way. It’s just a matter of precaution, she tells herself, even as she’s aware it’s a lie and she just wants the opportunity to ogle him without his noticing.)
In the end, Rispah doesn’t end up ogling him quite as much as she was expecting. He had said he’d taught at Hogwarts, but still (or maybe because of that) she hadn’t expected the proposals to be this good. Didn’t he know he could have written just a few sentences and they likely would have agreed? But instead he’d delivered her the most thoughtful and thorough lesson plans she’d ever seen. She didn’t need to get even half-way through the first one before she knew that of course Remus Lupin would be teaching in the alleys soon enough.
Rispah sets the parchment detailing his plans to teach potions down and watches him.
He’s sitting at the bar now, talking animatedly to Solom. Most strangers to the Court don’t know Solom’s role in all this, don’t know nor would expect that he’s a member of the inner court. To them he’s just the barkeep; Rispah is glad that Remus doesn’t seem to be treating the old man like that, though of course she’ll ask Solom’s opinion before she officially decides.
(She’s already decided. She’d basically decided when she’d first seen him back in the alleys. Everything Rispah had learned when she was a child and teenager was thanks to her seeking it out in books for herself. They hadn’t had a school there in her living memory. The fact that Eleni had made it out, had become a Healer… It was one of their unfortunately rare success stories. Even before Rispah knew just how good a teacher Mr. Lupin was, just how much of a boon he was bestowing upon the alleys, she would have said yes.)
Rispah can’t decide if she should tell him today. She’s not afraid of him changing his mind, but she also doesn’t feel the desire to play games with him. Mayhaps it’s that he’s Harry’s uncle, but (unfortunately) Rispah thinks it’s more than that. She can count the number of times they’ve met on the fingers of just one hand and yet he’s snuck his way into her good graces.
In the end Rispah only makes him wait a few hours before she descends the stairs again to tell him the good news.
“We would be honoured to have you teach here,” she says. “What sort of schedule were you thinking?” They will take as much as he has to offer and gratefully. Anything to give the children of the alleys a childhood more in line with the rest of the Wizarding World.
It rains on Remus Lupin’s first day teaching in the alleys. This isn’t an unusual occurence, but it does mean he’s slightly sodden when Rispah watches him enter the Phoenix. It’s cute, the way he clearly didn’t think or want to cast a charm to keep the rain off himself. Rispah won’t admit it, but it serves to endear him to herself even further.
She herself is perfectly put together, clad in one of her favourite corsets, when she glides down the stairs to greet him. “They’re all waiting for you, Mr. Lupin,” she says and gestures to the room they’ve set aside for his classes. If they continue (and oh how she hopes they do), it might become something more permanent.
(Not to mention her most secret hopes that they might establish a school in the alleys, similarly to how her aunt established the clinic.) Rispah has never dared to whisper that dream into the world, but for the first time, as she watches Mr. Lupin lead his first class, she thinks just maybe. If the alleys burrow their way into his heart, as they’ve laid their roots in his niece, he might care enough to help her launch it. She can’t dare to ask him though. It would have to be his suggestion though. And as much as he already seems to care, she can’t get her hopes up about that happening.
For now, she just watches him demonstrate how to wield a wand for the gathered class of children.
(It doesn’t tug at her heartstrings, not at all. And she definitely doesn’t turn away because she knows she’s just one instance of him interacting with a seven-year-old away from falling head over heels—if she hasn’t already.)
Rispah has to greet him after the class is over. She’s sure he knows that it went fantastically, but how can she not tell him?
If she could have had this experience when she was a child…
Well, it means the world to her that these children get it.
“You like them, right?” She asks, in a moment of weakness. She needs him to like them, to care about them even a fraction as much as she does.
He seems slightly shocked by the question. As if he hadn’t even fathomed that being in question.”Yes,” he says, his voice leaving no room to wonder.
It hits her deeper in her chest than she expects. She has to pause, to gather her wits about her. “Good. That’s good.” Her smile is reserved; she can’t betray all her feelings. “Thank you.”
Mr. Lupin nods, offers a slight bow, which makes her giggle.
“I look forward to seeing you tomorrow,” she dares murmur, looking up at him through her eyelashes.
(What is she doing? It’s all about these kids. As much as he might have wriggled his way into her favour, she cannot dare jeopardise his returning to teach them. Any feelings she has must be quashed.)
Now that Rispah has recognized the problem, she’s able to push back against it. When she considers one of her corsets on the days he’s scheduled to teach, she reminds herself of the children and how important this is for them. When she feels the urge to sit in the back of the class watching him, she reminds herself what a series of lessons on defence would have meant for her.
And this is how she continues. She knows that Leo has noticed the change in her wardrobe, the corsets she hasn’t touched in weeks. She doesn’t give him the opportunity to bring them up. For if someone else dares suggest it, she worries that her resolve won’t last.
In the end, it’s really not her fault that it crumbles; it’s not really anyone else’s either.
It just comes out one day. She’s actually surprised by Mr. Lupin’s presence in the corridor, somehow.
Perhaps she should blame his ratty cardigan (she knows exactly how silly that sounds, but something about the obviously home sewn patches gets her—she may or may not have had multiple dreams about sewing the patches on herself.)
“Apologies, Mr. Lupin,” she says, “I should have paid better attention.”
He shakes his head, and her heart thrums at the width of his smile. “It’s not your fault, Miss Cooper. In fact, I’ve been eager to speak with you. May I intrude upon your time?”
Rispah blinks and then nods. She doesn’t have an office (though perhaps she should amend that if there’s a potential future of private meetings with Mr. Lupin.), but Leo won’t mind her taking over his for this—it’s not like he uses his anyway.
“Of course,” she gestures down the coridoor, “if you’ll follow me.”
She can feel his eyes on her back, and she tries but fails to ignore them. He’s been teaching lessons for almost two months now (28 lessons if anyone has been counting, which Rispah has definitely not been).
When they reach the Rogue’s office, she ushers him into the guest chair and seats herself across from him. “So. What was it you desired to speak of?”
He looks around the room before responding. (Is he avoiding her gaze? It almost feels like that, and she squishes that thought down before it can get any sort of traction. This is not about her.)
“Yes?” She prompts.
Mr. Lupin sighs and moves his right foot to rest over his left knee. “The lessons are going well, right?”
Rispah is astonished by the genuine questioning tone she hears. She nods vigorously. How could he not know their impact?
His mouth twists to the side and he nods, still not looking at her. It unnerves her. She trusts him, but the alleys have been burned too many times for that to be it. She wants to prompt him, but she’s worried, terrified almost. Any words she might say catch in her throat.
Mr. Lupin nods, and slowly turns his eyes her way. “Then I suppose I must now ask, is this all you want from me?”
She doesn’t know how to take it at first. A part of her, the part that she must keep reminding to stay calm jumps, but the other part, the rational part needs to know exactly what he means by that before she dares speak. “With regard to the lessons?” She asks, (for what else could he mean?)
(There’s no flash of disappointment in his eyes. She refuses to fool herself.)
“Yes, that,” he says. “Is there more I could be doing? More I could be offering?”
She’d told herself he needed to offer it up. But here the opportunity is, and if she doesn’t suggest it… she just might regret that for the rest of her life.
“Is there more that you would like to do?” She asks carefully. She searches his eyes, his face. Dare she?
His nod is so adamant. Perhaps she does dare.
“Have you heard of Maywell Clinic?” She asks instead.
His answering nod is welcome, but she still dare not smile. Just because he clearly cares about teaching these kids and is aware of the clinic, does not mean he’s ready to fund a whole school in the alleys.
(But if not him then who?)
“Mr. Lupin,” she says. “How would you feel about a school?”