The Ways We Have Altered||Lupin&Snape||
Hogwarts- 17th August 2002 @threadbarelupin
There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered. - Nelson Mandela
Useless. That was how he felt. Wake up, if he’d slept much, slink to the bathroom, bare his teeth at himself in the mirror if he made the mistake of looking at himself, wait for an appropriate breakfast time, pick at his food, sometimes Filch would talk to him, or one of his former colleagues would try to engage him in conversation. And then there was nothing. Nothing to do. He’d already organised the Potions Storecupboard and cleaned out his own old personal stores.
The only thing left to him to take his mind off the writhing roiling mass of feelings, since he couldn’t get into the better parts of the Library without Madam Pince and she had a less than complimentary view of him, having seen how he treated some books, was to scrub cauldrons.
So by the time Lunchtime rolled around, his fingernails were black, his hands sore and lemon scented, and his back and shoulder ached. The knees of his trousers were dusty and creased but at least he could see progress. A row of shiny Number 4 brass cauldrons lined up before him like troops awaiting inspection. As he passed them he adjusted his sleeves, tugged his robes back on and dragged himself through the damp dingy corridors of the dungeons, ignoring a suit of armour when he heard the clanking as it turned to watch him, and made his way up to the staff room. At least the staircases weren’t looking to play games with him, and he appreciated the Castle’s respect for his former position, if not for him personally.
Except that when he pushed the door open and saw a familiar figure and greying hair ahead of him, he wished the stairs would have sent him anywhere else.
Too late to back out now though. “Lupin.” He stayed by the door, back to the wall as he edged towards the coffee jug and sink.
