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Yesterday’s rain hung in the air as Remus strolled across the grounds. The hem of his robes dragged along the dewy grass, but he couldn’t be bothered to lift it – maybe the dampness would detract attention from the spots worn too thin to be mended by magic. A few rays of weak morning sunshine peeked through a thick cloud cover, the weather mirroring Remus’s conflicted emotions. He drew to a stop beside the lake and sat down on a flat rock, gazing into the dark water in hopes it would dispel the vague, creeping panic constricting his chest.
He heard the swish of her robes before he felt her light touch on his shoulder. When he turned to face her, the reassuring warmth of her smile transported him back to the mornings he had woken up in the hospital wing to see her smiling down at him as she applied salve or bandaged a cut with gentle, precise fingers.
“Madam Pomfrey.”
“Professor Lupin.”
He laughed softly. “That sounds silly. You can just call me Remus.”
She spread a blanket on the grass and sat down. “And you can call me Poppy. I believe I told you that the last time I saw you.”
The teasing glint in her eyes reminded him of the way she had looked years ago in that pub, gazing at him through the dim, smoky haze as he mourned the loss of yet another job. She had brought him back to her flat to tend the cuts left behind after the full moon, but she had tended to other needs, too. He hadn’t expected to see her again after that blissful night, yet here she was, sitting cross-legged beside him in her matron’s robes while he tried to convince himself he deserved the title ‘Professor Lupin.’
“I was thrilled to hear you had accepted the position,” she said, as though she had read his thoughts.
He picked at his cuticle, watching a leaf floating on the lake’s smooth surface. “Dumbledore wouldn’t take no for an answer. He can be quite stubborn when he sets his mind on something.”
Her laughter rang out in the early morning stillness. “That’s a bit rich, considering you’re one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met.”
He smiled, remembering the lessons he had slept through because he had been determined not to miss class, the times he had refused pain potion even when his nerves were screaming at him. “Yes, well, you’re one to talk.” His fingernail dug into his cuticle again as he followed the leaf’s path. “In the end, I couldn’t pass up access to Wolfsbane, even if I’m far from qualified for the job.”
“Rubbish. Albus said you got a near-perfect score on your Defense N.E.W.T. And you’ve been a good teacher since you were a student at Hogwarts. I remember you helping Peter Pettigrew with his homework even when you were in the hospital wing. You’re perfectly qualified.”
The affection in her voice filled him with a warm glow, but he couldn’t shake the nagging doubt lurking at the back of his mind.
“You’re very kind to say so.” A drop of blood oozed from his cuticle and splashed onto his robes. Great, he thought, eying it with distaste. That’ll go with the fucking patches. Maybe I should spill some firewhisky on myself – really lean into the homeless look.
“I’m not being kind — I’m being honest. Filius almost cried when he heard you were taking the position. Everyone who knows you is thrilled to have you here. You’re going to be a wonderful teacher.”
He thought of the Defense classroom — his classroom — and the students who would be filing in after breakfast for his first ever lesson. The thought terrified him, but he also experienced an irresistible current of excitement. He had been dreaming of this day since he had been a student himself, but it had always been just that — an unattainable dream, made impossible by his condition. Now it was actually happening, and it felt surreal.
“Thank you.” He smiled and stopped worrying at his cuticle. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Got your first lessons all planned?”
He chuckled. “They’ve been planned for months.” Every spare minute that summer had been dedicated to lesson planning; he had spent long, balmy evenings and chilly mornings hunched at the rickety table in his drafty cottage, paging through books and taking endless sheets of notes.
“Of course you have.” She touched his ragged cuticles and shook her head. “You’re still doing this?”
He shrugged. “I figure I’ll stop when my life gets less stressful.”
She sighed. “That doesn’t sound promising.” She drew her wand and dragged it over his fingers, knitting the skin back together. “I suppose coming back must bring up some difficult memories.”
He nodded; the vivid fragments of memory that had flooded his mind when he stepped on the train yesterday had taken his breath away. Reminders of his friends were everywhere. Their laughter echoed in the corridors; their faces flashed before his eyes in the Great Hall; even here beside the lake he could sense the rise and fall of their voices in the rustle of leaves. Last night he had fallen asleep in his new room imagining he could hear Peter’s snores mingling with the creak of Sirius’s mattress and a whispered conversation between James and Lily.
Poppy’s fingers still rested on his, and the warmth of her touch gave him strength. “Knowing you were here gave me the courage to come back.” The words surprised him, floating in the humid air, and he longed to reach out and grab them and shove them back into his stupid mouth where they belonged. Then she squeezed his hand, and as her face broke into a bright smile, his doubt evaporated.
“I’m glad. Hogwarts is lucky to have you.” She hesitated, and he took the opportunity to admire the fine lines around her mouth and the delicate threads of silver in her hair. “And I missed you.”
He felt himself returning her smile. It was one of those huge, goofy grins that had spread across James’s face when Lily had smiled at him or accidentally brushed his hand, the sort of grin they had all teased him about. Remus knew he should rein it in – he knew he must look ridiculous – but he couldn’t help it. Her gentle kindness, laced with an undercurrent of steely stubbornness to rival his own, soothed his ragged nerves the way her healing magic had soothed his ragged cuticles.
“I missed you, too.” He gazed at the lake, watching the reeds ripple in the wind.
“I wish you had applied when I first suggested it years ago. You could have saved Albus the trouble of hiring a new teacher every year.” The breeze stirred the strands of hair that had pulled free from her bun.
“It wouldn’t have been safe,” he said, a quiet heaviness in his voice. “Not before Wolfsbane.”
“Rubbish. It was safe enough when you were a student.”
Muddled images filled Remus’s mind: the grounds bathed in moonlight; his friends’ pounding footsteps; a howl piercing the night air. Safety wasn’t our first priority, he thought, a pang of guilt flickering through him.
“Anyway, I suppose it doesn’t matter. You’re here now.” She traced the skin around his thumbnail, now smooth and unblemished again. “I’m happy for you. It’ll be a fresh start.”
A fresh start. Her words hung in the air, too, drifting on the light breeze, hovering on the hint of fog around the lake. He thought about the memories that draped around him with every step he took, thick as cobwebs, a layer of dust coating everything he touched. Was a fresh start possible when he was so weighed down by the past? His thoughts shifted to the enormous secret he was keeping from Dumbledore, the secret only he and Sirius himself were alive to bear witness to. Even if I can make a new start, do I deserve it?
“A fresh start would be nice,” he said finally.
A sharp section of rock jutted against his leg; he adjusted his position to make himself more comfortable. Poppy glanced at him, then smiled and shifted sideways, patting her blanket. Without speaking, Remus moved to sit beside her. He took her hand again, and they sat in companionable silence, watching a turtle slide into the water and make its way lazily across the lake.
“I suppose I won’t need to spend much time in the hospital wing now,” he mused. “I won’t need much aftercare with Wolfsbane, will I?”
“No.” Her eyes darted sideways, and a small smile lifted her lips. “But don’t think that means you can get rid of me, Remus Lupin. I’ll come by to check on you – make sure you’re not trying to do too much.”
He laughed softly. “That doesn’t sound like me.”
“No, it must have been someone else who fell asleep in Charms or collapsed in the corridor because he insisted he had to go to class.”
“I didn’t collapse,” he said, a sheepish note in his voice. “I slipped on a banana peel.”
Her bright laughter echoed across the grounds. “Of course. How could I forget? The elusive, invisible banana peel.”
“It wasn’t invisible. I vanished it.” Now his tone had turned petulant, but she seemed to be enjoying it.
“Mmhmm.” She brushed a lock of hair off his forehead, her fingers grazing his skin. “Most of these are your doing, you know.”
He felt every gray hair prickle under her gaze. “I have more than you now.”
She touched her own hair and shook her head. “I doubt it. Anyway, they suit you.”
He gave a dubious snort, unconvinced that a head of premature grays suited a scarred man in patched robes, but he knew better than to argue with Poppy Pomfrey.
“Yours suit you, too.” He tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, letting his hand linger for a moment longer than necessary.
“I’m glad. A lot of mine are your fault, too, I’m afraid. I can’t help worrying about you.”
He shook his head. “You should cut that out. It’s a terrible habit.”
“Yes, well, everyone has their vices.” She ran her fingertip along his cuticle again. “Would you like to stop by after dinner? We can have a drink to celebrate your first day as a professor.”
Happiness flared in his chest, but a squirm of nervousness twisted his stomach. “What if it’s a disaster and there’s nothing to celebrate?”
“It won’t be. But if you insist on assuming the worst, if it’s a disaster we’ll drink to drown your sorrows and toast to a more successful second day.” A flicker of doubt clouded her face. “Unless you’d rather not.”
“Poppy.” He covered her hand with his and smiled at her, letting the rest of his doubt blow away with the breeze. “I’d love to.”
He stored up her brilliant smile for the next time he needed a bit of encouragement.
“I’ve got to go,” she said. “I alway meet Minerva and Pomona in greenhouse one for coffee on the first day of classes.” She leaned over and planted a light kiss on his lips that left his nerves buzzing. “Good luck, Professor Lupin.”
She rose and strode away, her robes swishing and her feet sinking into the springy, wet earth. He stayed there, watching faint ripples spread across the surface of the lake. The imprint of Poppy’s kiss lingered on his lips as he gathered his courage for the day ahead, glad he had their evening together to look forward to no matter how disastrous his first day of lessons turned out to be.