Harry Potter arrived to the History of Magic classroom before Professor Lupin did on Thursday, 27 January - the date of their 4th weekly anti-dementor lesson. He'd come through the secret passageways, using the Marauder's Map that Fred and George had given him, and now he sat on the carpet outside the classroom. He could see Professor Lupin in the DADA classroom, apparently pacing. He watched the little dot move about, going up and down stairs from the private quarters to the office and back again several times. He wondered what Professor Lupin was doing and why he was running late.
Harry kept a careful eye on Mr. Filch, too, and Mrs. Norris, too.
Harry had had a very frustrating day, and although he was nervous about how he would do at casting a patronus with all the unnecessary frustration trolling through him, he was also looking forward to the anti-dementor lessons none the less. He'd become rather excited about them each week, and at first he thought it was because of the fact that he got to hear his mum and dad - if he didn't cast the patronus too hastily, that is - but that wasn't really it because he'd found after week two that he was getting a lot better at not hearing their deaths reply in his head over and over again anymore and he was able to cast at least a few wisps of patronus-smoke before he had to hear their voices.
No, rather, it was the fact that Harry Potter found Professor Lupin to be a very kind and very smart person, a great teacher. Harry wasn't sure precisely what it was about Lupin that drew him so much, but there was some part of Harry that didn't want to leave Lupin's presence once he'd gotten around him. He wasn't really sure why that was, but he'd never really felt that way about any adult ever before in his life - aside from Hagrid, that is.
Last class, Professor Lupin had surprised Harry at the end of their lesson by drawing two big bottles of butterbeer from his briefcase. "You've heard a drink -" he'd said, pulling the bottles out and putting them on the desk. He'd looked right pleased with himself as he put them before Harry. "Something from the Three Broomsticks. You won't have tried it before --"
"Butterbeer! Yeah, I like that stuff!" Harry had cried out without thinking. Idiot! he had cursed himself the moment the word was out of his mouth - especially when Professor Lupin's eyebrows had raised with suspicion. He wasn't supposed to be able to get to Hogsmeade - he'd forgotten about that in his excitement. He'd quickly backtracked, claiming Ron and Hermione had been the ones to introduce him to the drink.
Honestly, Harry had actually felt a little bad that he had tried butterbeer before. Professor Lupin had actually looked a bit disappointed that he'd had it. Harry had spent a lot of time thinking about how Lupin's eyes had sort of glowed with excitement and then - the light of them sort of going a bit dimmer when he found out Harry had tried the drink before. Why it mattered to Lupin, Harry wasn't sure - but it had, and he'd thought on it, feeling a bit guilty, ever since last Thursday. Harry had pictured Professor Lupin using the last of his sickles to buy the two bottles - Lupin clearly didn't have many of those to spare - only to have idiot Harry already have tried the stuff.
Still, drinking the butterbeer with Professor Lupin had been very good, and, Harry found, strangely enough, a memory that he rather thought might be in the running for one of his very good ones that maybe one day could be one of the memories that he could use for a patronus - if he got to know Professor Lupin really well, that is, perhaps.
Even their topic of conversation while drinking the butterbeers - the dreaded dementor's kiss and what it could do to a man - wasn't enough to darken the memory of the butterbeer.
What had surprised him about the conversation - and he turned his thoughts to this now, even as he watched the little dot labeled "Remus Lupin" continue to pace and pace and pace in the office two floors below - was the disturbed look in Lupin's eyes when Harry had declared rather boldly that Sirius Black, the escaped Azkaban prisoner, deserved the dementor's kiss for having murdered Harry's parents.
"You think so?" Lupin's voice had been light, but his eyes betrayed him. "Do you really think anyone deserves that?"
The question bothered Harry more than he would like to admit. His gut reaction had been that yes, for somethings, people deserved to have the ultimate punishment performed upon them. Some things, he reckoned, indicated that some people didn't have much of a soul left to suck out of them by the time they got to that level of evilness. So what if the dementors took it just one step further along and actually did it? Rid the world of another evil soul, it was just as well, and if anyone was so evil as all of that - anyone besides Voldemort himself, that is - it was Sirius Black.
Just thinking that horrid name made Harry's blood boil with anger.
He'd been waiting what seemed like forever now, for Professor Lupin to stop pacing and come up to the History of Magic classroom for their lesson.
"Mischief managed," he murmured, and watched the Map wipe itself clean, the last thing to disappear being the dot that represented Harry himself. He folded it carefully and tucked it into his pcoket.
He sighed and stood up and peeked through the doorway, sticking his head in to see if he could catch a glimpse of the clock that stood in the far corner of the room - the one which he often watched tick during Binn's lectures. The full moon's light shone bright through one of the high windows and seemed to directly land on the face of the clock.
Nearly half eight, he realized. Lupin was over a half an hour late.
He must've just lost track of time, Harry told himself. He, Harry, would have to go down to Lupin's office and remind him that it was time for their weekly lesson.
Harry headed off down the corridor and was on the stairs, still thinking about the Dementor's Kiss and the question that Professor Lupin had asked him. Do you really think anyone deserves that?
He was so distracted that he walked headlong into Professor McGonagall on the stairs.
"Do watch where you're going, Potter!"
"Sorry, Professor, I was just on my way to find Professor Lupin, he's late for our --"
"Professor Lupin!" McGonagall gave Harry a funny look, her eyes narrowing slightly, then she shook her head, "No, no, Mr. Potter, I'm quite afraid that Mr. Lupin isn't feeling very well this evening. He's retired for the evening... You'll not want to disturb him."
"But Professor Lupin and I --" he paused. Harry wasn't sure if McGonagall knew about the anti-dementor lessons - he reckoned she didn't - and he wasn't sure if it was something that Professor Lupin might get in trouble for teaching Harry or not. Perhaps Lupin was going against some school policy and that was why the anti-dementor lessons were at such a peculiar hour and place? Harry amended, "-- need to talk about an assignment he gave us in class Tuesday."
"Well you can go and talk to him tomorrow, Potter," McGonagall said. Then she cleared her throat, "Besides. I was just looking for you in the Gryffindor common room." She paused, drew a deep breath, and reached into her robe pocket. It seemed rather impossible what happened next - for multiple reasons - and Harry's jaw dropped as she pulled out the Firebolt broomstick he'd gotten for Christmas. It was as magnificent as ever. "Well, here it is. We've done everything we could think of, and there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with it at all."
Harry stared in disbelief.
"You have a very good friend somewhere, Mr. Potter," she said. There was a funny expression in her eyes as she said it - something Harry wasn't entirely positive he knew what he would call it. A sort of... hesitant amusement? Perhaps even as base as relief.
"I - I can have it back?" Harry barely dared to breathe. "Seriously?"
McGonagall paused. Then, shock of all shocking things, the Transfiguration professor actually smiled. Then, she said, with a bit of a chuckle to her tone. "Seriously."
Harry couldn't believe it. But of course she would be - her Gryffindor quidditch team had just gotten the best uppance it could've done - the Seeker on a broomstick as good as a Firebolt! Blimey! Harry could barely believe it and he could feel his hands twitching with excitement at the thought of how bloody brilliantly Saturday's match would be.
Any disappointment he felt about the abruptly cancelled anti-dementor class had floated away.
Harry's heart was lighter than it had been in a month - and he ran back to the tower, the question about the dementor's kiss all but gone from his mind.
The black dog had pressed himself against the wall behind one of the suits of armor on the landing behind McGonagall. He'd early been caught sneaking into the common room when she'd come out, carrying the Firebolt broomstick.
What's she got Harry's broom for? he wondered.
He'd followed after her, worried that Harry might be in some sort of trouble. What had he done? Flown the bloody thing about the castle and caused some sort of ruckus, Sirius was sure. Taking the Firebolt had to be some sort of punishment for something and Sirius reckoned it was probably a rather good story and he hoped against hope that perhaps Peeves would come floating by and ask McGonagall for him... but true to the poltergeist's nature, he was no where to be found when he was needed.
But of course he'd gotten something better than Peeves asking. Instead, he got Harry Potter halfway up the steps, looking deep in thought, running directly into Minnie head first. He was angry at first, hearing that they'd taken the broomstick to do testing on it ("That was my godson's Christmas gift you old bird!" he pictured himself saying - and then, of course, immediately apologizing because McGonagall's stare would be so piercing), but then he'd heard the words that had put a strange fire in his veins.
"I - I can have it back?" Harry had asked. "Seriously?"
McGonagall paused. Smiled. And answered him, "Sirius-ly."
Sirius Black had been all but paralyzed by the shock of it. He heard nothing else McGonagall and Harry said from that word on.
He was still standing there, tingling nerve endings and wild thoughts of going and turning himself in to Minnie rushing through his head.
After all. If Minnie was willing to make the joke then perhaps she would listen to his story. Perhpas she would give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps she could help him to get a fair trial - perhaps Minnie, who had always had the power to do anything... anything at all, he was sure of it... Could she do that?
Would she do that?
He realized too late that she had turned to go back to the transfiguration ring and he started to rush forward after her. But he'd been distracted too long and she was down the stairs by several flights and the cases were moving and they clicked together in a different pattern and she disappeared several floors below.
He sat on the step, his mind and heart both racing nearly as fast as the staircase he was sitting on as it swung about before finally connecting with a completely different staircase.
That was when when he saw the parchment on the floor... a list of random words with scratches and rewrites and circles and underlines all over it.
The passwords.
The passwords to Gryffindor Tower.
The passwords that would unlock the only door that stood between him and killing Peter Pettigrew.