OF WOLF AND MAN (PG) BY IAMSHADOW - Chapter Four: The Clothes Maketh The Man
Title: Of Wolf and Man - Chapter Four: The Clothes Maketh The Man
Chapter: 4/?
Author: iamshadow
Ship: Remus/Sirius
Word Count This Chapter: 2,414
Rating: PG
Warnings: Crossdressing. Angst. WIP.
Summary: The school year begins.
A/N: This chapter contains dialogue and situations originally created by and belonging by copyright to JK Rowling. Some lines of dialogue are taken and used verbatim from Chapter Seven (The Boggart in the Wardrobe) of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (p. 144-152 of the Bloomsbury adult cover pbk edition). However, the arrangement and descriptive passages surrounding any copyrighted dialogue, and any additional dialogue not contained in JK Rowling's work, is my own.
This is a Work in Progress. Please don't let the fact that it's incomplete put you off.
(An apology if I've been spamming everyone's F-Lists today. This is the last story update for now, I promise.)
Chapter List HERE
Poppy tutted disapprovingly at me over breakfast the next morning, as if I were thirteen myself again.
"... should be in bed, not teaching classes all day, so soon after... and then that nasty business on the train," she muttered, scanning me with a firm, professional eye. "I suppose you gave away all your chocolate to Potter and his friends, with no thought of yourself at all... vulnerable, at the moment, in your condition... "
"These crumpets are excellent," I said, instead of answering her accusation. Even if I told her about the tiny shard of Honeydukes I kept for myself, she wouldn't believe me. A healthy dose of scepticism when doctoring teenagers was more than useful; it was vital. As a result, Madam Pomfrey tended to only believe what her eyes and wand told her, no matter what story was coming out of the mouth of the patient, or the patient's friends.
She sniffed. "You should at least take some Pepper Up. You're still looking very peaky." I could see her itching to bundle me up to the Infirmary, but as an adult, she couldn't do it against my will unless there was something seriously wrong with me.
I smiled. "As kind as the offer is, Poppy, I have to decline. I rather think that steaming at the ears throughout my morning classes would distract my new students from their lesson."
She looked very grumpy at being thwarted, and went a little red as through she might start steaming from the ears herself. "... not an ounce of sense, Lupin. I thought you would have grown up, but you're just as foolish as you were twenty years ago, running around with those madcap friends of yo... " She stopped suddenly, raising a pale hand to her lips. Her eyes were wide, and glistened brightly as through they were holding back tears. "Oh, Remus... Remus, I'm so sorry... " she whispered, horror-struck, utterly remorseful.
"Poppy, I'm fine," I said gently, taking her trembling hand and giving it a squeeze. "Here, have some toast. Jam or marmalade?"
She left me alone after that, allowing me to enjoy my tea in peace. And if she did sniff a little, and wipe her eyes discreetly with a corner of her napkin, I pretended not to notice.
***********************************************************
My first few classes were a little nerve-wracking, but uneventful. Dumbledore had warned me ahead of time that the children's teaching had been patchy, to say the least. My sixth year students admitted hesitantly, after some prodding, that they had only passed their DADA OWLs at all last year by teaming up with the senior students for marathon study sessions in the library, and ignoring everything Gilderoy Lockhart said on principle. I began the required syllabus as planned, but made sure to allow time and flexibility for deviations from the topic to fill in the gaping voids that even dozens of hours of collaborative study couldn't fill. It soon became obvious that the same approach would be necessary for all but the First Years. At least my first day's teaching had seemed to go much better than Hagrid's.
I didn't see the Third Year Gryffindors until Thursday, by which time I was feeling more comfortable in my new role. I suspected the timetable had been drawn up this way deliberately, to give me time to settle in before facing Harry across a classroom, and I again felt the odd mixture of annoyance and gratitude at Dumbledore's wise interference.
As it was, the delay was most fortuitous, and enabled me to make the class much more hands on. This was good for two reasons. Firstly, a practical lesson had much more chance of ‘sinking in’. Actually doing was always more memorable for some students than making endless reams of notes. And secondly, I felt myself in need of this particular practical lesson after this morning’s Daily Prophet. A Muggle had spotted Sirius close - too close - to Hogwarts. Though my logical brain tried to dismiss it as another false alarm, I couldn’t help but feel anxious. The problem was that I didn’t seem to know who to feel most anxious for. Harry? Myself? My murderous ex-lover?
I was on the receiving end of some very odd, even suspicious looks when I asked the class to pack up and follow me, though admittedly most of them changed to open admiration when I sent Peeves on his way.
Severus surveyed the assembled group, me included, with open contempt when I led them into the Staff Room. "Leave it open, Lupin," he sneered, moving towards the door. "I'd rather not watch this." He paused for a final shot on the threshold. "Possibly no one's warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to trust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear," he remarked, acidly.
Longbottom. Sure enough, the round faced boy from the train looked mortified. He was red to the tips of his ears, and looking down at his shoes. I recognised the resemblance I had noted on the train for what it was, now. He was the spitting image of his mother, though Alice's cheerful good humour was subdued in this shy, timid boy. I couldn't blame him for that. Though I heard about the attack on the Longbottoms several years after it happened, I had grieved, just the same. They were good people, decent people, and dedicated members of the Order. Given what had happened to them, my estimation of the lad went up a notch. Given his history, he could have easily been as affected as Harry and Ginny Weasley, the red haired girl; but he had kept his head.
The brown haired girl from the train had pinked slightly; ... Miss Granger? The class list swam behind my eyes... Hermione. Harry looked like thunder, undisguised fury and loathing directed unswervingly at Professor Snape. In that, at least, he was like his father. The next generation had stepped forward to carry the grudge.
I raised my brows, meeting Severus's eyes coolly, and replying as mildly as I could, "I was hoping that Neville could assist me with the first stage of the operation, and I am sure he will perform it admirably." This was too much for Severus, and he swept away with a parting glare of disgust.
I led the class to the back of the room to stand in front of a large, rather battered wardrobe. It jerked, rocking on its four legs, and a few of the children took a cautious step backwards. "Nothing to worry about," I stated placidly. "There's a Boggart in there."
The reaction was immediate. Most of the ones who hadn't stepped back before, did so now. The Boggart was, quite literally, the "monster under the bed" Muggle children knew about. Magical children had the added terror of knowing it was real, and what it did - it reflected your own worst fears back at you. Neville had lost his embarrassed flush and bleached white; his fists were clutching the fabric of his robes tightly.
"Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces. Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks - I once met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock." I gestured at the shaking wardrobe. "This one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the Headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third-years some practice." I changed gears, seeing that I had their attention. "So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a Boggart?"
Hermione quickly established herself as the teacher's pet of the bunch. She was intelligent and liked showing off that she knew the answers. I made a silent resolution not to call on her more often than I had to. It would raise the ire of her fellows, and they would be more likely to disregard what she said, even if she was correct. It also helped when more than one student in the class was motivated to think. If Hermione did all the work, none of the others would develop the mental flexibility to achieve good marks in the course, let alone fight successfully against anything they encountered in the outside world.
Harry showed clearly that he could think on his feet, but I had to call him out by name for him to volunteer an answer.
"The charm that repels a Boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind," I continued. "You see, the thing that really finishes a Boggart is laughter. What you need to do is to force it to assume a shape that you will find amusing.
"We will practise the charm without wands first. After me, please... riddikulus!"
"Riddikulus!" the class chanted in response.
"Good. Very good. But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Neville," I said, turning to him with an encouraging smile.
Neville looked positively ill as he made his way to the front of the group, and he was shaking almost as much as Ginny had on the train as he took his place in front of the wobbling cupboard.
"Right, Neville. First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?" Though Neville's mouth formed words, his voice seemed to have deserted him. "Didn't catch that, Neville, sorry," I prompted.
Neville seemed on the verge of bolting in panic, before forcing out a barely audible response. "... Professor Snape."
A laugh rippled through the students, though not an unkind one, and a little, sheepish grin crept onto Neville's own pale countenance. I didn't laugh, but a wicked idea began to bubble in my brain. "Professor Snape... hmmm... Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?"
"Er - yes. But I don't want the Boggart to turn into her, either," Neville confessed. I couldn't suppress a smile. Though I knew Augusta only by reputation, she was by all accounts a formidable woman; ferocious if provoked.
"No, no, you misunderstand me. I wonder if you could tell us what sort of clothes your grandmother usually wears?"
As Neville began to describe, my sense of amusement increased. Mischievously, I couldn't help but make it worse. I hadn't been a Marauder just in name, after all. "And a handbag?"
"A big red one." Better and better.
"Right then," I said briskly. "Can you picture those clothes very clearly, Neville? Can you see them in your mind's eye?"
"Yes... " he conceded, with some trepidation.
"When the Boggart bursts out of this wardrobe, Neville, and sees you, it will assume the form of Professor Snape. And you will raise your wand - thus - and cry 'Riddikulus' - and concentrate hard on your grandmother's clothes. If all goes well," I continued, spinning out the great 'reveal' to come. "Professor Boggart Snape will be forced into that vulture-topped hat, that green dress, that red handbag."
A wave of laughter broke from the class, and the wardrobe again rocked on its feet as the Boggart inside flinched at the sound.
"If Neville is successful, the Boggart is likely to turn his attention to each of us in turn. I would like all of you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you might force it to look comical... " A hush descended as each child became suddenly introspective, staring off into space or shutting their eyes as they tried to find a humorous angle on their worst fears. Ron Weasley, the red headed boy from the train, was muttering to himself under his breath. "Everyone ready?"
The class moved to the perimeter of the room at my instruction, leaving Neville at centre stage. He still looked very frightened, but his jaw was set, and his wand held out firmly before him.
I pointed my own wand at the wardrobe. "On the count of three, Neville. One - two - three - now!" In time with the final word, a non-verbal Alohamora! shot from the tip of my wand, hitting the doorknob. The wardrobe door flew open with a bang, and a very angry Severus Snape emerged; gliding towards the gibbering boy, reaching for his wand...
"R-r-riddikulus!" Neville stammered.
There was a sharp report, like a cracker being pulled, and from one moment to the next I decided that my teaching position was very, very worth it. There stood Severus, in full moth-eaten, mismatched glory, red smudges of rouge on his cheeks, smelling distinctly of rose talcum and camphor. He looked utterly dismayed and confused as the class erupted into hysterical amusement. The tension had dissipated, and my students now looked eager, shuffling closer. "Parvati! Forward!" I cried, and she stepped up to the plate. Neville fell back into the crowd, where he was awarded a few slaps on the back and warm congratulations.
One by one my class faced and beat their fears, until inevitably the shape shifter stopped in front of Harry, and time seemed to freeze, just for an instant. Knowing that what was about to take place must not be allowed to continue, I stepped quickly forward, calling, "Here!" to distract the Boggart. With a crack, the silvery, glowing face of the Full Moon hung in the air before me. "Riddikulus! Forward, Neville, and finish him off!"
Neville strode into the ring determinedly, pointing his wand at Snape, shouting "Riddikulus!" in a firm voice. With the reappearance of his grandmother's attire, Neville's own derisive laugh was all it took for the Boggart to burst into a puff of smoke and disappear.
The class was cheering and clapping. "Excellent! Excellent, Neville. Well done, everyone." I quickly awarded points all round to the participants.
"But I didn't do anything," Harry protested. He sounded a little hurt, resentful.
Another time, I told myself again. "You and Hermione answered my questions correctly at the start of class, Harry," I reminded him, though even to me it sounded flimsy.
I assigned the homework to be completed by the next lesson, and sank, exhausted, into a waiting armchair once the last, excited student had left, shutting the door behind them. I chuckled weakly, but Severus in drag kept being replaced in my mind with Harry's face, and the brief flash of misery that had crossed it when I drew the Boggart's attention away from him.
<- 3. A Taste of Fear )O( 5. Metamorphosis ->
Chapter: 4/?
Author: iamshadow
Ship: Remus/Sirius
Word Count This Chapter: 2,414
Rating: PG
Warnings: Crossdressing. Angst. WIP.
Summary: The school year begins.
A/N: This chapter contains dialogue and situations originally created by and belonging by copyright to JK Rowling. Some lines of dialogue are taken and used verbatim from Chapter Seven (The Boggart in the Wardrobe) of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (p. 144-152 of the Bloomsbury adult cover pbk edition). However, the arrangement and descriptive passages surrounding any copyrighted dialogue, and any additional dialogue not contained in JK Rowling's work, is my own.
This is a Work in Progress. Please don't let the fact that it's incomplete put you off.
(An apology if I've been spamming everyone's F-Lists today. This is the last story update for now, I promise.)
Chapter List HERE
Poppy tutted disapprovingly at me over breakfast the next morning, as if I were thirteen myself again.
"... should be in bed, not teaching classes all day, so soon after... and then that nasty business on the train," she muttered, scanning me with a firm, professional eye. "I suppose you gave away all your chocolate to Potter and his friends, with no thought of yourself at all... vulnerable, at the moment, in your condition... "
"These crumpets are excellent," I said, instead of answering her accusation. Even if I told her about the tiny shard of Honeydukes I kept for myself, she wouldn't believe me. A healthy dose of scepticism when doctoring teenagers was more than useful; it was vital. As a result, Madam Pomfrey tended to only believe what her eyes and wand told her, no matter what story was coming out of the mouth of the patient, or the patient's friends.
She sniffed. "You should at least take some Pepper Up. You're still looking very peaky." I could see her itching to bundle me up to the Infirmary, but as an adult, she couldn't do it against my will unless there was something seriously wrong with me.
I smiled. "As kind as the offer is, Poppy, I have to decline. I rather think that steaming at the ears throughout my morning classes would distract my new students from their lesson."
She looked very grumpy at being thwarted, and went a little red as through she might start steaming from the ears herself. "... not an ounce of sense, Lupin. I thought you would have grown up, but you're just as foolish as you were twenty years ago, running around with those madcap friends of yo... " She stopped suddenly, raising a pale hand to her lips. Her eyes were wide, and glistened brightly as through they were holding back tears. "Oh, Remus... Remus, I'm so sorry... " she whispered, horror-struck, utterly remorseful.
"Poppy, I'm fine," I said gently, taking her trembling hand and giving it a squeeze. "Here, have some toast. Jam or marmalade?"
She left me alone after that, allowing me to enjoy my tea in peace. And if she did sniff a little, and wipe her eyes discreetly with a corner of her napkin, I pretended not to notice.
***********************************************************
My first few classes were a little nerve-wracking, but uneventful. Dumbledore had warned me ahead of time that the children's teaching had been patchy, to say the least. My sixth year students admitted hesitantly, after some prodding, that they had only passed their DADA OWLs at all last year by teaming up with the senior students for marathon study sessions in the library, and ignoring everything Gilderoy Lockhart said on principle. I began the required syllabus as planned, but made sure to allow time and flexibility for deviations from the topic to fill in the gaping voids that even dozens of hours of collaborative study couldn't fill. It soon became obvious that the same approach would be necessary for all but the First Years. At least my first day's teaching had seemed to go much better than Hagrid's.
I didn't see the Third Year Gryffindors until Thursday, by which time I was feeling more comfortable in my new role. I suspected the timetable had been drawn up this way deliberately, to give me time to settle in before facing Harry across a classroom, and I again felt the odd mixture of annoyance and gratitude at Dumbledore's wise interference.
As it was, the delay was most fortuitous, and enabled me to make the class much more hands on. This was good for two reasons. Firstly, a practical lesson had much more chance of ‘sinking in’. Actually doing was always more memorable for some students than making endless reams of notes. And secondly, I felt myself in need of this particular practical lesson after this morning’s Daily Prophet. A Muggle had spotted Sirius close - too close - to Hogwarts. Though my logical brain tried to dismiss it as another false alarm, I couldn’t help but feel anxious. The problem was that I didn’t seem to know who to feel most anxious for. Harry? Myself? My murderous ex-lover?
I was on the receiving end of some very odd, even suspicious looks when I asked the class to pack up and follow me, though admittedly most of them changed to open admiration when I sent Peeves on his way.
Severus surveyed the assembled group, me included, with open contempt when I led them into the Staff Room. "Leave it open, Lupin," he sneered, moving towards the door. "I'd rather not watch this." He paused for a final shot on the threshold. "Possibly no one's warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to trust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear," he remarked, acidly.
Longbottom. Sure enough, the round faced boy from the train looked mortified. He was red to the tips of his ears, and looking down at his shoes. I recognised the resemblance I had noted on the train for what it was, now. He was the spitting image of his mother, though Alice's cheerful good humour was subdued in this shy, timid boy. I couldn't blame him for that. Though I heard about the attack on the Longbottoms several years after it happened, I had grieved, just the same. They were good people, decent people, and dedicated members of the Order. Given what had happened to them, my estimation of the lad went up a notch. Given his history, he could have easily been as affected as Harry and Ginny Weasley, the red haired girl; but he had kept his head.
The brown haired girl from the train had pinked slightly; ... Miss Granger? The class list swam behind my eyes... Hermione. Harry looked like thunder, undisguised fury and loathing directed unswervingly at Professor Snape. In that, at least, he was like his father. The next generation had stepped forward to carry the grudge.
I raised my brows, meeting Severus's eyes coolly, and replying as mildly as I could, "I was hoping that Neville could assist me with the first stage of the operation, and I am sure he will perform it admirably." This was too much for Severus, and he swept away with a parting glare of disgust.
I led the class to the back of the room to stand in front of a large, rather battered wardrobe. It jerked, rocking on its four legs, and a few of the children took a cautious step backwards. "Nothing to worry about," I stated placidly. "There's a Boggart in there."
The reaction was immediate. Most of the ones who hadn't stepped back before, did so now. The Boggart was, quite literally, the "monster under the bed" Muggle children knew about. Magical children had the added terror of knowing it was real, and what it did - it reflected your own worst fears back at you. Neville had lost his embarrassed flush and bleached white; his fists were clutching the fabric of his robes tightly.
"Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces. Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks - I once met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock." I gestured at the shaking wardrobe. "This one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the Headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third-years some practice." I changed gears, seeing that I had their attention. "So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a Boggart?"
Hermione quickly established herself as the teacher's pet of the bunch. She was intelligent and liked showing off that she knew the answers. I made a silent resolution not to call on her more often than I had to. It would raise the ire of her fellows, and they would be more likely to disregard what she said, even if she was correct. It also helped when more than one student in the class was motivated to think. If Hermione did all the work, none of the others would develop the mental flexibility to achieve good marks in the course, let alone fight successfully against anything they encountered in the outside world.
Harry showed clearly that he could think on his feet, but I had to call him out by name for him to volunteer an answer.
"The charm that repels a Boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind," I continued. "You see, the thing that really finishes a Boggart is laughter. What you need to do is to force it to assume a shape that you will find amusing.
"We will practise the charm without wands first. After me, please... riddikulus!"
"Riddikulus!" the class chanted in response.
"Good. Very good. But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Neville," I said, turning to him with an encouraging smile.
Neville looked positively ill as he made his way to the front of the group, and he was shaking almost as much as Ginny had on the train as he took his place in front of the wobbling cupboard.
"Right, Neville. First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?" Though Neville's mouth formed words, his voice seemed to have deserted him. "Didn't catch that, Neville, sorry," I prompted.
Neville seemed on the verge of bolting in panic, before forcing out a barely audible response. "... Professor Snape."
A laugh rippled through the students, though not an unkind one, and a little, sheepish grin crept onto Neville's own pale countenance. I didn't laugh, but a wicked idea began to bubble in my brain. "Professor Snape... hmmm... Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?"
"Er - yes. But I don't want the Boggart to turn into her, either," Neville confessed. I couldn't suppress a smile. Though I knew Augusta only by reputation, she was by all accounts a formidable woman; ferocious if provoked.
"No, no, you misunderstand me. I wonder if you could tell us what sort of clothes your grandmother usually wears?"
As Neville began to describe, my sense of amusement increased. Mischievously, I couldn't help but make it worse. I hadn't been a Marauder just in name, after all. "And a handbag?"
"A big red one." Better and better.
"Right then," I said briskly. "Can you picture those clothes very clearly, Neville? Can you see them in your mind's eye?"
"Yes... " he conceded, with some trepidation.
"When the Boggart bursts out of this wardrobe, Neville, and sees you, it will assume the form of Professor Snape. And you will raise your wand - thus - and cry 'Riddikulus' - and concentrate hard on your grandmother's clothes. If all goes well," I continued, spinning out the great 'reveal' to come. "Professor Boggart Snape will be forced into that vulture-topped hat, that green dress, that red handbag."
A wave of laughter broke from the class, and the wardrobe again rocked on its feet as the Boggart inside flinched at the sound.
"If Neville is successful, the Boggart is likely to turn his attention to each of us in turn. I would like all of you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you might force it to look comical... " A hush descended as each child became suddenly introspective, staring off into space or shutting their eyes as they tried to find a humorous angle on their worst fears. Ron Weasley, the red headed boy from the train, was muttering to himself under his breath. "Everyone ready?"
The class moved to the perimeter of the room at my instruction, leaving Neville at centre stage. He still looked very frightened, but his jaw was set, and his wand held out firmly before him.
I pointed my own wand at the wardrobe. "On the count of three, Neville. One - two - three - now!" In time with the final word, a non-verbal Alohamora! shot from the tip of my wand, hitting the doorknob. The wardrobe door flew open with a bang, and a very angry Severus Snape emerged; gliding towards the gibbering boy, reaching for his wand...
"R-r-riddikulus!" Neville stammered.
There was a sharp report, like a cracker being pulled, and from one moment to the next I decided that my teaching position was very, very worth it. There stood Severus, in full moth-eaten, mismatched glory, red smudges of rouge on his cheeks, smelling distinctly of rose talcum and camphor. He looked utterly dismayed and confused as the class erupted into hysterical amusement. The tension had dissipated, and my students now looked eager, shuffling closer. "Parvati! Forward!" I cried, and she stepped up to the plate. Neville fell back into the crowd, where he was awarded a few slaps on the back and warm congratulations.
One by one my class faced and beat their fears, until inevitably the shape shifter stopped in front of Harry, and time seemed to freeze, just for an instant. Knowing that what was about to take place must not be allowed to continue, I stepped quickly forward, calling, "Here!" to distract the Boggart. With a crack, the silvery, glowing face of the Full Moon hung in the air before me. "Riddikulus! Forward, Neville, and finish him off!"
Neville strode into the ring determinedly, pointing his wand at Snape, shouting "Riddikulus!" in a firm voice. With the reappearance of his grandmother's attire, Neville's own derisive laugh was all it took for the Boggart to burst into a puff of smoke and disappear.
The class was cheering and clapping. "Excellent! Excellent, Neville. Well done, everyone." I quickly awarded points all round to the participants.
"But I didn't do anything," Harry protested. He sounded a little hurt, resentful.
Another time, I told myself again. "You and Hermione answered my questions correctly at the start of class, Harry," I reminded him, though even to me it sounded flimsy.
I assigned the homework to be completed by the next lesson, and sank, exhausted, into a waiting armchair once the last, excited student had left, shutting the door behind them. I chuckled weakly, but Severus in drag kept being replaced in my mind with Harry's face, and the brief flash of misery that had crossed it when I drew the Boggart's attention away from him.
<- 3. A Taste of Fear )O( 5. Metamorphosis ->