Remus bit his cheek, the juvenile words “Detention, Prewett” died on the tip of his tongue.
No, he reminded himself harshly. That’s Fred and George Weasley. Not Fabian and Gideon.
I’m not a Prefect, I’m the bloody Professor, Remus grit his teeth.
Luna Lovegood floated into the room and Remus saw unwelcome visions, the present melting away to accommodate the past. Regulus Black was there, guiding Pandora when she was batting her lashes at Xenophilius Lovegood.
Draco Malfoy was an amusing mixture of Lucius and Narcissa. He stuck his nose up and raised one manicured brow like his mother, but his ugly words and prideful manners were all his father.
Remus laughed guilelessly, what was wrong with him. Fraternising with the enemy, Moony? A very familiar voice chirped in his head.
Every time Hermione Granger raised her hand, to the chagrin of the rest of the class, Remus saw Lily Evans. Her fierce intelligence and determination a weapon to dismantle the prejudice faced by Muggleborns. Lily would’ve loved her.
He wiped his face with tired hands.
Honestly, Remus was never meant to survive this. He was simply unfortunate, unlucky. An anomaly.
There was Neville Longbottom, with ears that stuck out like his father and a shy smile to match his mother’s. I’ll watch over him now, Remus promised the smiling Alice and Frank in his memories, apologising for the years gone by.
Then there were the little things.
Snape always caused a spark of his old Marauder spirit to overtake his senses. It also brought forth very vivid sounds of two devils whispering into his ears. Potter and Black, always at the crime scene.
No, no. He batted that thought away before he could spiral.
Remus found himself shocked by the streaks of white in Minerva McGonagall’s hair, which 15 years ago that would’ve caused an uproar. Not even his own greying roots had caused him so much sadness.
His heart ached when he saw Madam Pomfrey pressing her knuckles into her strained back. How much had he missed while hiding from this wretched world?
But what struck a raw nerve was Harry Potter, of course.
The toad green of his eyes and the bird’s nest of his hair. It had been so long but all he could see in the young Potter boy was his friend. A friend who had betrayed him, but his friend nonetheless.
I know you, he pursed his lips to prevent screaming that when he was addressed as Professor Lupin and not Unc’e Moo’y. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t the one who could get Prongslet to burp or take a nap anymore. He was the weird, mismatched man for a teacher.
You know Harry doesn’t think of you like that. Ah, Lily, wise as always.
The James in Harry Potter stuck out like a sore thumb, much like his hair, when he whizzed across the quidditch pitch with innate talent, when he couldn’t hold back his tongue while talking to Snape, when he faffed about in lessons. But it pained more to see Harry stand up for his friends, like his father had always done, and when he went searching for trouble despite being explicitly warned against it.
Oh, how I miss you Prongs.
He sat back in his chair, creaky and hard as it was. There was only one person he hadn’t found in his students.
Sirius Black grinned at him from behind his eyelids. Miss me, Moony?
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