everyone please play the song above later on in the chapter. it adds so much to the little scene and had me feeling all kinds of emotions while i was writing it. i have it noted on when to play the song later on — trust me it's so worth it!! (:
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Hand-washing the bedpans the morning after a brutal Quidditch game was perhaps Snape's cruelest punishment to date. Not only was (Y/N) exhausted and sore, but there was a great influx of patients the day before, meaning plenty of bedpans to clean. It was made worse by the fact that Madam Pomfrey hadn't kept Harry overnight, so (Y/N) had no one to complain to while she worked.

She finished up halfway through breakfast, but had to take a shower before she could go down. When she finally made it to the Great Hall, she found that Harry, Ron, and Hermione were nowhere in sight, so she grabbed a bit of
toast and headed back to Gryffindor Tower.

She was halfway there when she ran into Professor Lupin just outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. He looked similar to how he had when (Y/N) first saw him on the train. He was paler than usual, had dark circles under his eyes, and looked a bit thin, as though he'd gone through a bad bout of the flu. She figured it was why he missed class on Friday.

"Good morning, (Y/N)," he greeted kindly. He didn't sound too tired, despite how he looked. She was glad for it; perhaps it meant he'd be back in class by tomorrow.

"'Morning, Professor," she said.

"What are you up to?"

"Nothing," she answered honestly. But she had gotten used to people expecting the worst of her, and had come off a bit defensive.

Professor Lupin only smiled. "Then it wouldn't be too much trouble asking you to come inside?"

(Y/N) blinked in surprise. "Oh, um..."

"It's nothing bad," he assured her, stepping back to hold open the door. "Just wanted a chat,"

She liked Lupin a great deal, and while he certainly wasn't Lockhart or Quirrell, (Y/N) couldn't help but feel a bit wary about spending time alone with him. But Harry had done it, she reminded herself, and got out unscathed. He even got the chance to talk about his parents. And (Y/N) figured that if Professor Lupin was friends with Lily and James Potter, he had to be an alright bloke.

"Sure," she followed him into the classroom.

It felt strange without the others around. She had heard Lavender and Parvati talking about their time with Trelawney, and ever since the year began, Hermione often disappeared to talk to McGonagall. But no professor had ever shown a particular interest in (Y/N).

"Can I get you anything?" Lupin asked. "Tea, chocolate?"

"Chocolate?" (Y/N) questioned.

He smiled, almost as though he were expecting her surprise. "I always kept a good stash of chocolate for my friends at school. Have you ever had a Mars Bar?"

She shook her head. (Y/N) hadn't ever had any sort of Muggle candy, but she wouldn't admit that then.

Professor Lupin only opened up a drawer and passed one along to her. "It's got caramel and nougat filling," he said. "Maybe one of my favorites. I'll pour some tea,"

(Y/N) took the chocolate, muttering a "Thanks," as Lupin rose from his chair. She was afraid to eat it without having tea to wash it down, especially if it was a chocolate bar he was rather fond of. She didn't want to hurt his feelings in case she didn't like it.

"I heard you were giving Professor Snape a hard time on Friday."

He gave us a hard time, she wanted to say. But she couldn't tell if he was was going to congratulate or scold her, so instead she said nothing.

"Was it..." He plucked two teacups from a shelf, reaching for a steaming pot. "Two rolls of parchment by tomorrow?"

"Three for me,"

"Right," he sounded almost amused. "Well, either way, I think you'll be glad to know you don't need to turn it in." He turned around, holding two steaming cups of tea. "You didn't get very far along, did you?"

"I did research, but I never started writing," (Y/N) admitted. It was much more interesting reading about werewolves than it was writing about them. "Why don't I have to turn it in?"

"What was it you said to Professor Snape?" He pretended to think as he placed the cup in front of her. "Well, I can't quite remember but I think it had something to do with that," he smiled.

(Y/N) grinned. She had no reason to be wary.

"You'll be back in class tomorrow?" she questioned.

He nodded, taking a sip from his cup.

"Good,"

"And if you could pass along the message about the essay to your friends – I don't want anyone doing work they don't need to."

"Sure," said (Y/N), though she knew neither Harry nor Ron had bothered to start it, and Hermione finished up with her's the night before.

Finally, (Y/N) found the courage to unwrap her Mars Bar. "About werewolves, though," she began. "I read that there wasn't a cure for Lycanthropy, but there's got to be something, hasn't there?"

Professor Lupin sat down his teacup and leaned back in his chair. "If there is, no one's found it, yet."

"Well, aren't there people looking?"

He took a moment to consider it. Then finally, he said, "It's doubtful. Most witches and wizards don't want anything to do with them, so I can't imagine anyone spending their time researching a cure – unless they're a lycanthrope themself."

"Oh,"

"Why do you ask?"

She met his light blue eyes – curious and assessing. "No reason," she shrugged. "I just thought... rather I hoped there would be someone willing to look. It sounds scary to have to face something like that alone every month."

Professor Lupin looked the slightest bit surprised, but still he smiled softly at her. "Well, I'm sure there are others who think the same way as you and I – maybe they're looking," he said. "Besides, Harry tells me you're very gifted at potions. Who's to say it won't be you who cures it?"

(Y/N) felt an odd sensation in her stomach. No one had ever said something like that to her; suggested that she may be capable of great things – it all felt very strange. She looked the other way and bit off a piece of the chocolate bar so she wouldn't have to speak.

She found that Professor Lupin had very good taste when it came to chocolate. The caramel and nougat added a rich texture that was much better than the chocolate wands she'd purchased at Honeydukes.

"How do you like it?" asked Lupin.

"'S really good," she said through a mouthful. Her face flushed; she'd forgotten herself.

But Lupin didn't seem to care. He only smiled brightly. "I knew you'd like it. Your mum would always steal them off me after holiday—"

(Y/N) nearly choked on her Mars Bar.

"You knew my mum?"

He suddenly looked very startled. "We were..." He couldn't seem to find the right words. "She and I were good friends."

"What's her name?"

Lupin looked utterly surprised, his eyes wide; brows furrowed. "You don't know?"

(Y/N) face burned. She could've cried right then. What kind of thirteen year old didn't know her mother's name?

She couldn't meet Lupin's eyes as she said, "No one's ever told me."

There was a long silence before he answered. "Catherine,"

(Y/N) tensed.

"Catherine," she tasted the syllables on her tongue. Her name hung in the air. Then, (Y/N) said, "Black killed her."

Lupin seemed to know she wasn't looking for confirmation. "I'm sorry," he said. "She was a good woman. Quite possibly the best I've ever known." She saw him reach out, but just as quickly he tucked his hand under his desk, unsure. "You remind me a lot of her."

(Y/N)'s eyes stung. "Thank you,"

Professor Lupin stood. "If you'll excuse me a moment,"

By the time she found the courage to look up, he was gone. She wiped at her eyes, hoping that by the time he came back he wouldn't be able to tell she'd been crying.

It felt silly to cry over a woman she'd never known. But until then, her mother's death had seemed like something that couldn't be helped – some sort of cosmic accident. She knew then that it was nothing like that.

She was supposed to have her mother. Someone just took her away.

Professor Lupin emerged from his office holding a thin, square parcel. He tried his best to smile at her, but even still he looked quite sad. Not even Narcissa looked so sad when (Y/N) mentioned her parents.

"This," he said, passing it along to (Y/N). "Was her favorite album. Whenever she'd suggest something to listen to, it was always this. She and James would bicker about it all the time."

(Y/N) accepted it — an old record by someone called David Bowie. She had never heard of him, and by the art on the cover she devised he had to be a muggle. It brought (Y/N) a relief she wasn't looking for; her mother hadn't thought like the Malfoys.

"James listened to this, too?" she asked.

"More than he would have liked to, I'm afraid," he chuckled, but (Y/N) found it hard to imagine her mother sitting around with Harry's dad and listening to a record. Lupin continued on. "We all did. Why don't you give it a listen? You've got a turntable?"

"Dean's got one,"

"Excellent," he smiled. "It's the perfect album to listen to with friends. Instead of your essay, why don't you focus on that today, and tell me what you think tomorrow."

(Y/N) couldn't help but smile. Then she was certain: Professor Lupin was quite alright indeed.

***

When she arrived back at the Gryffindor Common room, she found it unusually empty for the early Sunday morning. She checked her own dormitory first, but found none of the girls were there. Next, she went across the hall to the boys' dormitory. She knocked twice on Harry and Ron's door, and just when she thought no one was there, the door swung open.

Harry stood before her in a hoodie and a pair of jeans. At first he looked very delighted to see her, but then he frowned.

"I thought you were at Hogsmeade," he said, stepping aside so she could come in.

"That's why it's so quiet." She had been so preoccupied with quidditch, Snape's essay, and detention that she'd forgotten all about the weekend trip. "I wondered where everyone was."

She crossed the room to Dean's dusty record player just as Harry asked, "Are you gonna go?"

She shook her head. "Everything'll be the same as the last time we went. Do you know how to work this?"

"Have you got an album?" Harry asked, halfway amused.

She showed it to him. "Professor Lupin just gave it to me. He said to listen to this instead of doing Snape's essay – which we don't have to do by the way."

"Why?"

"Because Snape can't set essays in Lupin's class."

"No, why did Lupin want you to listen to it?"

(Y/N) had hoped to keep that part private. Though, she wasn't quite sure if it was fair – James had listened to it, too.

She couldn't look at him as she said, "Our parents were friends, too. At least, my mom was friends with your dad."

Harry didn't say anything, but she felt the way he grew tense beside her.

"They used to listen to it together," she said. "And I think it'd be good if we listened to it together, too." Her face felt warm. She couldn't even venture a glance in his direction. "So if you know how to work this turntable—"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Here,"

She moved out of his way, taking a seat on Dean's unmade bed. She watched him carefully set the record in place and move the needle to its edge. As he sat beside her, it was silent, save for a gentle crackling sound.

(play the song here!)

Then, the steady beat of drums began and (Y/N)'s breath caught.

She and Harry looked at one another, eyes wide with hesitance and thrill. Neither one of them spoke as the music played.

(Y/N) tried to imagine it: her mom, Harry's dad, and Professor Lupin sat around an old record player and just talking. Sitting in someone's dormitory just like she and Harry were and letting the time pass. Maybe they were revising. Maybe they were celebrating. Maybe they were just enjoying each other's company.

It felt surreal and strange to think about; her mother had felt like a myth until just then. She was graceful, noble, and severe. She was something (Y/N) could never understand, and by the way Lucius told it, something she could never be.

But Professor Lupin had made her real.

It was more than the Malfoys had ever given her.

(Y/N) didn't try to hold back when her eyes began to sting. She only laid back on Dean's bed, legs dangling over the edge, and listened. She was glad she had Harry with her. She was glad that if she had to share the moment with anyone else, it was him and him alone. He was the only one who could begin to understand what it meant.

A second later, she felt him lay back beside her. He didn't ask why she was crying. He didn't ask her if she was okay. Harry just laid down, his arm against hers, and brushed his fingers against her own. They stared up at the crimson canopy above, not saying a word as Bowie sang on.

She wondered what their parents would make of them.

And, for the first time, the thought made her smile.

"(Y/N)?" said Harry.

"Hm?"

"You're my best friend."

She was glad he couldn't see her face; she knew she'd gone bright red. Her hand found his beside her, and she found the nerve to hold on.

"I know," she said, feeling Harry tighten his grip on her hand. "You're mine, too."