Fic: 'Who Is R.L.?' (or 'Poor Bundy')
This is in response to robofrog's request:
Set during POA. I imagine many girls would've had rather big crushes on Professor Lupin. How would McGonagall, who of course had noticed the closeness of Mssrs. Black and Lupin during their time at Hogwarts, react to their giggling and note-passing during her class?
This was meant to be an entirely happy fic, but the angst creeps in at the end. My apologies for that but I simply can't stop it.
I'm actually pretty happy with it and generally glad with the tone of it, so that's hopefully a good sign.
This is the first time that I've written R/S from an outsider's POV (though it is slightly minimal, I admit, but I enjoyed outlining it from a different view and summing it up in so little because McGonagall really doesn't know that much about their relationship).
Anywho, here it is and I hope you enjoy.
Title: Who Is R.L.? (or Poor Bundy)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Summary: McGonagall confiscates a very interesting parchment that makes her remember.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the characters and the HP world and I am just borrowing them to ramble on without any remuneration.
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"Miss Stimpson, I do not believe that I had asked for anyone to do anthing involving their quills."
There was a soft thud as the feather hit the desk and a sharp intake of breath as one hastily blushing face rose into view.
"I am not hopeful enough to assume that it is an essay, nor foolish enough, indeed. I will be taking the piece of parchment though."
Professor McGonagall held her hand expectantly in front of the Gryffindor, her beady eyes framed frighteningly clearly in her square glasses.
With a slight, barely held sigh, Miss Stimpson passed the sheet to her professor before hiding her face behind her bag.
A quick ten points gone and a stern quashing of the rising peals of giggles before the class resumed and rats were finding themselves large, prickly and quite the wrong gender.
By the end of the session, one detention had been doled out in a very satisfactory fashion and Minerva felt she deserved a nice cup of tea, with milk this time.
Having settled herself comfortably in her office and even allowing herself the indulgence of one of those nice biscuits with the sugar on top, she set about marking her stack of essays. Her hand was quick and methodical, her writing perfect and small as it glided across the pages.
She was going strong and she hadn't even thought about having another biscuit, but she felt the annoying possibility that she had been glancing over to the other side of her desk far too often than was natural. It was normal to look around, especially when one was thinking, but it was not so normal to do so every ten seconds and to look at the one place every single time.
After another five minutes and another thirty glances, her long fingers were reaching over the piles of work and crisp new quills over to one rather dilapidated piece of parchment.
'Oh, dear,' she thought, her brow furrowed and her thin mouth set even thinner, 'curiosity really will kill this cat'.
Opening the page up, she found line after line of scrawling words, intermittently punctuated with little hearts and faces and flourishing swirls.
From a quick glance she surmised that there had been four different authors of this particular letter, their styles varying but their intention evidently the same.
'He's so sweet' read garishly in fuchsia with 'Don't you just want to give him a hug' nestling close beneath it and demure in black.
"Who is the poor lad?" Minerva said out loud, a smile flitting over her before being replaced by a raised eyebrow and a now barely existent mouth when her eyes rested on a stream of scarlet suggesting, 'I'd like to do more to him than just hug'.
As she scanned down she learnt of just how kind his smile was, how warm his eyes were, how gentle his voice sounded and just how smitten these students were.
But she was getting increasingly more frustrated by the fact that they weren't naming the object of their desires. Now, Minerva McGonagall was no stickybeak and knew when to keep out of other people's business but, really, this was the height of rudeness. To not state who it was, to taunt her like this, that was absolutely unacceptable when she really, really wanted to know.
After a sip of her tea, which she had taken in an attempt to steady herself, she carried on until she reached the bottom of the page. It had all been hideously gushing and saccharine but the professor was elated, despite her best efforts not to be.
One of the students had drawn a heart and inside placed two sets of initials: 'K.B. & R.L.'.
She punched the air before realising that she had, in fact, punched the air and that was definitely not something she tended to do.
She quickly sat on her hand because it was cold and not, she told herself, to stop it reacting again because that was an utterly ridiculous thing to do and she never did anything that illogical.
Now, which was which? Which was the admirer and which the admired?
As she racked her brain, she could only come up with two names, and they both fitted the place of the former initials. At least she could work out which one of them it was, as Bundy had never paid any attention to anything except Quidditch, despite the fact that he couldn't play it, and his unfortunate tendency to break into boils twice a month had left him with minimal admirers.
No, the K.B. was Miss Bell, but who was this mysterious R.L.? Who would Katie Bell know well enough, or see often enough, to have a crush on? There was no one in Gryffindor with those initials, none in Hufflepuff that she could think of, and there was that lad in Slytherin but he was barely eleven and she couldn't imagine him being the tall and gentle man that had sparked such emotions. There was a Roger or something in Ravenclaw but he was terribly short and she had a sneaking suspicion that he was the one with all those alliterations that Binns had been talking about.
No, she could not think of a single student that fitted the bill.
But, it didn't have to be -
And she couldn't stop the burst of laughter that shot out of her, rich and full and wonderfully amused.
She couldn't believe that she hadn't thought of him. He was tall and kind and humble and all those things they had mentioned. He was still young and handsome, in his own way but she had completely disregarded him because, well, because he was Lupin and she had known him since he was a child.
And she knew that he wouldn't be reciprocating their feelings.
She supposed she first noticed it when they were in Sixth Year, though she'd seen how close they were before then. All the smiles and hair-ruffling, the comforting hugs as Lupin lay in the hospital bed, the moon barely gone but still lingering. There had been soft whispers during class and the occasional view of hand clasping hand, and she couldn't help but notice it.
One afternoon she made her way up to the ward and settled herself next to Lupin, his face still drawn and wan. The poor lad had been confused at first, puzzled as to just what she was talking about when she said 'certain feelings' and 'certain activities'.
When he had finally caught on, a bout of rasping coughs overcame him and Minerva had to ensure Madam Pomfrey that she would look after him and that, yes, his lungs would stay exactly where they were.
His fair and freckled face had blushed a deep crimson before he stumbled out an apology and stated that it would not happen again.
She had clasped his thin, shaking hands and kissed him on the cheek, murmuring into his ear, "Take love where you can find it, my dear".
Minerva sighed to herself as she placed the parchment back on her desk and took up her cup again.
She had cried for him during those days after Halloween. He had lost everyone and she felt for him, but the fact that he had lost everyone because of him had caused the tears to flow and her shoulders to stoop as the sobs racked her body.
In one day, his lover had destroyed his life and he was left to pick up the pieces and try to pretend that it hadn't cut so deep.
She had apparated over to him, knocked on the door and called out his name. He was there, he wouldn't be anywhere else.
Almost dead to the world and preferring it that way.
But he was here now, alive and as healthy as he could be. The time that had passed was marked in his grey hairs and far-too-knowing eyes, but he smiled at her now and even at Severus, despite the memories that he must have dredged up.
He was as he had been but sparser, as if he was missing something that was only tangible when it wasn't there.
She was tempted to tell Lupin that he had quite a number of fans but he would have blushed, and she would have remembered, and she didn't want to feel this, and that again.
Minerva decided that she would let the students have their little crushes because, after all, who better for them to fancy than Remus Lupin and she remembered feeling the same thing herself; long ago but thought of still, the gentle warmth of forgotten schoolgirl love.
She smiled to herself before swiftly destroying the parchment in front of her and reaching over for one last biscuit.
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This is actually the fic which I've put the most research into, believe it or not. There were a lot of trips to the hp-lexicon because I wanted everything right in my mind, pedantic as I am. (I'm actually quite proud of the Bundy thing)
Not sure if it's a little rushed at the end, but I'm not sure what else to put in and I sort of like the vagueness and abruptness when she's talking about R/S because she didn't know and she doesn't want to remember.
Anywho, enough of my rambling on my own fics.
Tell me what you think.
Set during POA. I imagine many girls would've had rather big crushes on Professor Lupin. How would McGonagall, who of course had noticed the closeness of Mssrs. Black and Lupin during their time at Hogwarts, react to their giggling and note-passing during her class?
This was meant to be an entirely happy fic, but the angst creeps in at the end. My apologies for that but I simply can't stop it.
I'm actually pretty happy with it and generally glad with the tone of it, so that's hopefully a good sign.
This is the first time that I've written R/S from an outsider's POV (though it is slightly minimal, I admit, but I enjoyed outlining it from a different view and summing it up in so little because McGonagall really doesn't know that much about their relationship).
Anywho, here it is and I hope you enjoy.
Title: Who Is R.L.? (or Poor Bundy)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Remus/Sirius
Summary: McGonagall confiscates a very interesting parchment that makes her remember.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the characters and the HP world and I am just borrowing them to ramble on without any remuneration.
----------------------
"Miss Stimpson, I do not believe that I had asked for anyone to do anthing involving their quills."
There was a soft thud as the feather hit the desk and a sharp intake of breath as one hastily blushing face rose into view.
"I am not hopeful enough to assume that it is an essay, nor foolish enough, indeed. I will be taking the piece of parchment though."
Professor McGonagall held her hand expectantly in front of the Gryffindor, her beady eyes framed frighteningly clearly in her square glasses.
With a slight, barely held sigh, Miss Stimpson passed the sheet to her professor before hiding her face behind her bag.
A quick ten points gone and a stern quashing of the rising peals of giggles before the class resumed and rats were finding themselves large, prickly and quite the wrong gender.
By the end of the session, one detention had been doled out in a very satisfactory fashion and Minerva felt she deserved a nice cup of tea, with milk this time.
Having settled herself comfortably in her office and even allowing herself the indulgence of one of those nice biscuits with the sugar on top, she set about marking her stack of essays. Her hand was quick and methodical, her writing perfect and small as it glided across the pages.
She was going strong and she hadn't even thought about having another biscuit, but she felt the annoying possibility that she had been glancing over to the other side of her desk far too often than was natural. It was normal to look around, especially when one was thinking, but it was not so normal to do so every ten seconds and to look at the one place every single time.
After another five minutes and another thirty glances, her long fingers were reaching over the piles of work and crisp new quills over to one rather dilapidated piece of parchment.
'Oh, dear,' she thought, her brow furrowed and her thin mouth set even thinner, 'curiosity really will kill this cat'.
Opening the page up, she found line after line of scrawling words, intermittently punctuated with little hearts and faces and flourishing swirls.
From a quick glance she surmised that there had been four different authors of this particular letter, their styles varying but their intention evidently the same.
'He's so sweet' read garishly in fuchsia with 'Don't you just want to give him a hug' nestling close beneath it and demure in black.
"Who is the poor lad?" Minerva said out loud, a smile flitting over her before being replaced by a raised eyebrow and a now barely existent mouth when her eyes rested on a stream of scarlet suggesting, 'I'd like to do more to him than just hug'.
As she scanned down she learnt of just how kind his smile was, how warm his eyes were, how gentle his voice sounded and just how smitten these students were.
But she was getting increasingly more frustrated by the fact that they weren't naming the object of their desires. Now, Minerva McGonagall was no stickybeak and knew when to keep out of other people's business but, really, this was the height of rudeness. To not state who it was, to taunt her like this, that was absolutely unacceptable when she really, really wanted to know.
After a sip of her tea, which she had taken in an attempt to steady herself, she carried on until she reached the bottom of the page. It had all been hideously gushing and saccharine but the professor was elated, despite her best efforts not to be.
One of the students had drawn a heart and inside placed two sets of initials: 'K.B. & R.L.'.
She punched the air before realising that she had, in fact, punched the air and that was definitely not something she tended to do.
She quickly sat on her hand because it was cold and not, she told herself, to stop it reacting again because that was an utterly ridiculous thing to do and she never did anything that illogical.
Now, which was which? Which was the admirer and which the admired?
As she racked her brain, she could only come up with two names, and they both fitted the place of the former initials. At least she could work out which one of them it was, as Bundy had never paid any attention to anything except Quidditch, despite the fact that he couldn't play it, and his unfortunate tendency to break into boils twice a month had left him with minimal admirers.
No, the K.B. was Miss Bell, but who was this mysterious R.L.? Who would Katie Bell know well enough, or see often enough, to have a crush on? There was no one in Gryffindor with those initials, none in Hufflepuff that she could think of, and there was that lad in Slytherin but he was barely eleven and she couldn't imagine him being the tall and gentle man that had sparked such emotions. There was a Roger or something in Ravenclaw but he was terribly short and she had a sneaking suspicion that he was the one with all those alliterations that Binns had been talking about.
No, she could not think of a single student that fitted the bill.
But, it didn't have to be -
And she couldn't stop the burst of laughter that shot out of her, rich and full and wonderfully amused.
She couldn't believe that she hadn't thought of him. He was tall and kind and humble and all those things they had mentioned. He was still young and handsome, in his own way but she had completely disregarded him because, well, because he was Lupin and she had known him since he was a child.
And she knew that he wouldn't be reciprocating their feelings.
She supposed she first noticed it when they were in Sixth Year, though she'd seen how close they were before then. All the smiles and hair-ruffling, the comforting hugs as Lupin lay in the hospital bed, the moon barely gone but still lingering. There had been soft whispers during class and the occasional view of hand clasping hand, and she couldn't help but notice it.
One afternoon she made her way up to the ward and settled herself next to Lupin, his face still drawn and wan. The poor lad had been confused at first, puzzled as to just what she was talking about when she said 'certain feelings' and 'certain activities'.
When he had finally caught on, a bout of rasping coughs overcame him and Minerva had to ensure Madam Pomfrey that she would look after him and that, yes, his lungs would stay exactly where they were.
His fair and freckled face had blushed a deep crimson before he stumbled out an apology and stated that it would not happen again.
She had clasped his thin, shaking hands and kissed him on the cheek, murmuring into his ear, "Take love where you can find it, my dear".
Minerva sighed to herself as she placed the parchment back on her desk and took up her cup again.
She had cried for him during those days after Halloween. He had lost everyone and she felt for him, but the fact that he had lost everyone because of him had caused the tears to flow and her shoulders to stoop as the sobs racked her body.
In one day, his lover had destroyed his life and he was left to pick up the pieces and try to pretend that it hadn't cut so deep.
She had apparated over to him, knocked on the door and called out his name. He was there, he wouldn't be anywhere else.
Almost dead to the world and preferring it that way.
But he was here now, alive and as healthy as he could be. The time that had passed was marked in his grey hairs and far-too-knowing eyes, but he smiled at her now and even at Severus, despite the memories that he must have dredged up.
He was as he had been but sparser, as if he was missing something that was only tangible when it wasn't there.
She was tempted to tell Lupin that he had quite a number of fans but he would have blushed, and she would have remembered, and she didn't want to feel this, and that again.
Minerva decided that she would let the students have their little crushes because, after all, who better for them to fancy than Remus Lupin and she remembered feeling the same thing herself; long ago but thought of still, the gentle warmth of forgotten schoolgirl love.
She smiled to herself before swiftly destroying the parchment in front of her and reaching over for one last biscuit.
-----------------------
This is actually the fic which I've put the most research into, believe it or not. There were a lot of trips to the hp-lexicon because I wanted everything right in my mind, pedantic as I am. (I'm actually quite proud of the Bundy thing)
Not sure if it's a little rushed at the end, but I'm not sure what else to put in and I sort of like the vagueness and abruptness when she's talking about R/S because she didn't know and she doesn't want to remember.
Anywho, enough of my rambling on my own fics.
Tell me what you think.