Chapter Text
The platform is packed, streams of students and parents all coming to congregate and say their goodbyes as the train prepares to leave. Some of the kids greet him enthusiastically on the platform as he weaves past, some stop him to introduce him to their parents, some avoid him entirely. Same old, same old.
Here we go again, Remus thinks as he forces a smile at them and boards the Hogwarts Express.
He's glad for the separate teacher compartments, dropping into his seat and almost instantly falling asleep, body still exhausted from the full moon. That is a small mercy, he can curl up and try to doze most of the day away undisturbed. Not worry about lessons he should be preparing for or homework he needs to mark, or the endless stream of students to be disciplined.
In the few years since Minerva became Headmistress and Remus was promoted to Head of Gryffindor, his admiration for her and the amount of bullshit she must have put up with throughout her career has only grown tenfold. It must come with the territory—the House characterised by courage, daring, and determination that so easily manifests into teenage mischief. That might be the hardest part of his job, the fact that none of his kids are bad kids, they don’t act out of malice, they’re just too smart and cocky for their own good. Sometimes it’s hard not to applaud them when the skill and creativity they demonstrate is so advanced, just not within the realms of school rules.
There’s the familiar shrill whistle signalling eleven o’clock, and a few moments later the jolt as the engine kicks in and they slowly start pulling out of King’s Cross.
Remus rests his head against the window, eyes drooping as the scenery slips by.
A sharp kick to the shin awakens him with a jolt as Marlene drops into the seat opposite him.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," she says with a shit-eating grin. Next to her, Dorcas rolls her eyes.
“Wasn’t sleeping,” Remus mutters as he rolls his shoulder and neck, getting rid of the cricks in his joints from the uncomfortable slouched position.
Dorcas raises an unbelieving eyebrow and Marlene snorts. “Maybe you should be, you look like shit.”
"Charming," Remus grumbles. "What do you want?"
"Entertainment," Marlene replies, as if it's obvious. And knowing her, it actually is.
“It’s been three hours, wanted to make sure you hadn’t missed the train,” Dorcas adds. She fishes out a bar of chocolate from her robes, presumably from the trolley lady that Remus must have slept through, and hands it across to him, which Remus graciously accepts.
The train ride is uneventful. The landscape slips by as they speed through the countryside and the scenery slips by in a blur of colours. Remus listens idly to the conversations between Marlene and Dorcas, not having the energy to fully engage as an active participant but enjoying the chatter nonetheless.
At some point an older student comes to inform them that one of the new first years has gotten travel sick and thrown up, which Dorcas reluctantly goes to deal with. The trolley lady comes by again, and this time Remus is awake enough to order himself some more chocolate as well as a chicken sandwich. Marlene orders them all a coffee and once the three of them are alone, adds a shot of firewhiskey to each drink. It's a tradition of sorts they have, as evening falls and they steam further into the highlands, they cheer their spiked coffees to a good school year and to getting through the first day.
The Great Hall is abuzz with excitement when Remus takes his seat. The stream of returning students excited to catch up with all their friends. The gaggle of nervous first years filing in after being greeted by Flitwick outside and who are now all staring around in awe and wonder at the grandeur of Hogwarts.
McGonagall runs through her usual speech–welcoming their new students and reminding everyone of the school rules. There is a snicker from the Gryffindor table directly in front of Remus at the mention of monitoring the potion ingredients storage and that only authorised potions should be brewed outside of the classroom. Remus doesn’t need to glance in their direction to know it’s the Weasley twins, both the bane of Remus’s life as their Head of house, and also one of his greatest sources of entertainment. He cannot count the number of times he’s had to deduct house points while secretly admiring their ingenuity, or had Dorcas rant at him about their behaviour in class while Marlene has simultaneously been gushing about them on the Quidditch pitch.
There are the obligatory teacher introductions, firstly Flitwick as Deputy Head and Head of Ravenclaw, then Dorcas and Remus as Heads of Slytherin and Gryffindor respectively. Remus stands, joints creaking when McGonagall calls out, “Professor Lupin, Head of Gryffindor and Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.” There’s the new divination teacher and Head of Hufflepuff, Professor Lovegood, whom Remus vaguely remembers from his school years but who he recognises more recently through the daughter that Remus has been teaching for the past two years and who is the absolute spiting image of her mother. There is a small round of applause as with all the introductions, though it is mostly politeness, as students are eager to get on with it and get to the food, which Remus can’t fault. Marlene gets the biggest applause, she always does—as the Flying Instructor she is the favourite of everyone who cares about Quidditch, both players and fans alike. And finally Filch, Hagrid and of course, Poppy Pomfrey.
The first few days of the school year are always a little chaotic. There is of course all the new Gryffindor students coming to him for help with their schedule or finding their classrooms or any number of complexities those from muggle homes face trying to adapt to the Wizarding world. (Although it is something he could very easily palm off to one the Prefects but when there’s an eleven-year old who looks like they’re about to burst into tears at your office door, you don’t tell them to go find someone else to ask for help.)
Friday morning is the first time Remus has any actual time to himself. All of his first years have successfully made it to their Herbology class (Remus knows this for certain because he had to deliver a lost student there himself and did a quick headcount to make sure there was no one else he might have to track down) and no one from the upper years has come looking for him with questions about needing to retake their DADA O.W.L exam or not getting the grades to take their elective N.E.W.T.S.
The Hospital Wing is empty when Remus arrives, always a good sign for so early on in the year. Poppy welcomes him with her unwavering warm smile, ushering him into her office and into one of the armchairs.
“How was the last Full Moon?” She asks as she pours them both a cup of tea, straight to the point as always.
Remus gives a small shrug. “Same as always,” he says, taking a sip from the mug before setting it down and reaching for a chocolate digestive. “Knee was a bit dodgy but I think that’s just the new normal.”
“Have you tried Salamander Blood?” She offers, “The ointment might help with strengthening the joint.”
“You know potion brewing has never been my forte.”
“I can get a hold of it in time for next month,” Poppy offers, “Although I’m sure Professor Meadowes would have no trouble acquiring it if you asked.”
Remus pulls a face. Dorcas would have no trouble getting it for him if he asked, would probably offer if she knew he wanted it without needing to be asked, but it’s the same principle as him refusing to ask her to brew Wolfsbane. At the end of the day, her job and priority should be her own lessons and research. Remus is already a burden enough with her picking up some of his DADA classes around the full moon, he could never hamper her even more with a complex potion to brew every four weeks without fail. He had a hard enough time accepting Poppy’s help brewing it when he joined the Hogwarts faculty.
“You know I’m not going to be here forever, one day you’re going to need to ask someone else for help.”
“That’s a vaguely ominous thing to suggest,” Remus mutters before glancing over to Poppy. There’s something set in her face, an underlying seriousness that Remus wasn’t expecting. It takes him a moment to realise the meaning of it. “You’re not thinking about leaving?”
Poppy gives him a small encouraging smile. “We all need to retire some time or another, dear.”
Remus nods dumbly, letting the words sink in. There is a small pool of dread forming in the pit of his stomach. Ever since he was eleven, he has managed through the transformations thanks to her help. It’s a routine they developed together over the past twenty seven years, a routine they have down as close to perfection as Remus thinks possible.
“Does McGonagall know?” he manages.
“Not yet, I wanted you to be the first one to know.”
Remus gives a small nod. “When?”
“Not until I have a suitable replacement.”
Remus gives another small nod, stares down into the mug of tea.
“You know you are going to be my priority in finding a replacement,” Poppy offers and Remus looks up to meet her gaze. Even at almost forty years old, the maternal energy she seems to emit makes him feel like a little kid again.
“I am?”
“Of course. I need someone who can take over the logistics of the transformations. I can hardly recommend a bigot as a successor.”
“No,” Remus manages, voice still small. “No, I suppose not.”