You are viewing a story from

Teddy by dumbledorefluertwins

Format: Short story
Chapters: 7
Word Count: 15,853
Status: WIP

Rating: 12+
Warnings: Mild Language, Contains Spoilers

Genres: General, Young Adult
Characters: Harry, Andromeda, Teddy, OC

First Published: 09/30/2007
Last Chapter: 12/09/2008
Last Updated: 12/09/2008

It's Teddy Lupins first year at Hogwarts, follow him on a journey where he discovers the values of friendship, family and love, along with fighting the prejudices against his father, and getting through Defense Against the Dark Arts, with a teacher who just seems to hate him for no reason...

*DH spoilers, obviously*

Chapter 1: Prologue
  [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]

There was silence in the cramped kitchen of the Burrow, but for the maddening ticking of the clock and Kingsly awkwardly shuffling the pieces of parchment in front of him.

“Now we move onto the Last Will and Testaments of Nymphadora and Remus Lupin,” he said, placing the details of Fred’s funeral arrangements to the side, with a look of deepest sadness. The list was very long, and almost everyone in the room got something from either Tonks or Remus, until, finally…

“Lastly, it is our wish for our son, Ted Remus Lupin, to be placed in the care of his grandmother, Andromeda Tonks, but to have as much access as possible to his Godfather, Harry James Potter.” Harry nodded, and did not say anything for a few moments. He had known this was coming, but all the same…

“Harry,” said Andromeda softly, her dark eyes filled with tears, her voice more high-pitched than normal, “I fully intend for you to be around as much as possible. While growing up, I suggest that Teddy stay with you every other weekend, and other days according to you schedules. When he gets older — perhaps when he is fourteen or so, he can decide whose house he would like to stay in when it suits him. But, for now, I think there should be a definite… timetable of sorts for him. I hope that I can become his surrogate mother, and that you become a father figure to him.” Harry could tell that she had put a lot of thought into this, and had practised how to say it.

“Where is Teddy?” Harry asked quietly, after a long pause.

“He’s upstairs asleep, dear. In Ginny’s room,” said Mrs Weasley, smiling kindly, although tear streaks marked her face. Harry nodded, and rose from his chair. Knowing full well that every eye in the room was watching him, Harry walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs, almost as if he were in a daze.

He opened the door as slowly as possible, trying to minimise the noise of the creak for fear of waking the sleeping child. In the centre of the room, was the cot that Tonks had brought in preparation for the birth of her son. Harry quietly approached and looked at the tiny baby sleeping inside. Even though he was just a few weeks old, Ted must have sensed that something was wrong, for his vivid mop of blue hair that Harry had seen in the photograph just a week ago, was now a mousy brown. Harry bitterly remembered Tonks doing the same thing last year.

Harry gently stroked the baby’s hair with his knuckles, watching Ted’s chest rise and fall in his deep slumber.

“Harry?” whispered a voice. Harry whipped around — he was still a little paranoid and jumpy from the war. He saw Ginny standing in the doorway, a concerned and consoling look on her face.

“Is he still asleep?” she whispered again, moving forward as Harry turned back to Teddy.

“Yeah.” There was a short pause. “I don’t feel ready for this. I mean… I’m partly responsible for a baby and I’m only seventeen.”

“I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful surrogate father to him,” said Ginny, taking his hand in hers.

“But… I don’t know how… to do it.”

“To do what?” Harry was glad the light was low in the room as he went red.

“To be a father. I… I don’t remember my dad… and the Dursley’s were never much of an example… and on top of that, I don’t know a thing about babies.”

“I’ll help you. We all will.”

“But… I need to complete my seventh year, and after that, I’ll have to get a place of my own. Move out of the Burrow.” Ginny gently cupped her hand underneath his chin and pulled his face round, looking him in the eye.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t help. Besides, you only have to worry about it every other weekend… you’ll pick it up anyway… and… when I leave Hogwarts… I’ll be around to help you all the time.”

“You will?” Harry asked, his eyes lighting up in excitement.

“Course I will — I’m you girlfriend, aren’t I?” He smiled and kissed her. They hugged for a few minutes, Harry’s head resting on hers, Ginny’s head on Harry’s chest.

“He’s an orphan now, just like me,” Harry said, closing his eyes, “but I’ll make sure he has a better life than I did.”

“I’m sure you will. Remus knew that too.”

Chapter 2: Chapter 1, With Love, Hugs and Warnings.
  [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]

“Hey, Teddy-bear, wake-up…” I hear Ginny’s voice say as she shakes my shoulder.

“Go away…” I mumble into my pillow, “and don’t call me Teddy-bear…” She ignores me. The dawn is creeping in through the gap in my curtains.

“C’mon, get up, or you’ll miss the train. First year at Hogwarts, remember!”

“No, I’d forgotten…” I mutter under my breath sarcastically as she leaves the room – no doubt to get breakfast ready. I know I have to get out of bed, but my eyelids are still heavy with sleep… maybe if I close them… just for a few seconds…

More time must have passed then I thought because the next moment:

“Ted Remus Lupin, get out of bed now!” I groan and stumble out of bed as I hear Ginny yell up the stairs. I lazily swing my dressing gown on and plod sleepily down the stairs, yawning widely and scratching my head. I go into the kitchen to see Harry trying to feed baby Lily, who is screaming.

“Morning, Teddy. Sleep well?” he asks cheerfully. I have no idea how that little baby can wake him up so early in the mornings and yet still be so cheerful.

“Hmm…” I shrug.

“Most informative, Teddy-bear.” He nods with a slight smile on his face.

I scowl.

“Don’t call me that, I hate being called that.” I’m lying, actually. I don’t mind being called that at all, in fact, I really like it. Harry and Ginny have been such great surrogate parents to me that I take comfort from them calling me that. However, I am eleven-years-old now, and how many eleven-year-olds do you know called Teddy-bear? Exactly.

“Oh, okay then. We’ll call you Teddy-weddy-woo-woo instead, shall we?” chips in Ginny from the stove, putting on a mock baby voice, a smirk sliding its way across her face.

“Oh, shut-up, Gin-Gin,” I tease back. Harry and Ginny just laugh.


“Now, honey, have you got all your things?” Ginny asks, fussing over me. She keeps smoothing my hair down and insisting I turn it a “normal” colour (I have it electric blue – what’s so unusual about that?), while trying to wipe imaginary dirt off my cheeks.

“Watch it, Ginny, you’ll have his head off!” says Harry between chuckles as Ginny begins to rub so hard against my cheek with a wet handkerchief, that my head is lolling from side to side. With a final hug and kiss, she waves goodbye to Harry and me as we walk outside and get into the gleaming car parked in the drive. It’s Arthur Weasley’s car, technically, but it is passed around the family a lot. It looks just the same as a Muggle one from the outside, but Arthur added some… extra features to it on the inside.

Technically, I should be staying with my Grandma now, but she decided to give Harry the “honour” of seeing me off to Hogwarts. Plus she can’t drive.

It’s a long drive to London. I keep asking Harry why he doesn’t just make the car fly, and he laughs and says, “The last time I did that, I nearly got expelled from Hogwarts.” That story lasts a long way, and then I ask him a question that I’ve never quite had the guts to ask…



“Why did my mum and dad make you Godfather? Why didn’t he just make Grandma Godmother? I mean, he wanted me to grow up with her anyways, why did he make you Godfather and make you and Grandma… well, share me?” There is no other way of putting it. Harry looks sideways at me, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Getting bored of me?”

“No, it’s just… I just wondered because you’re… well… you’re very young, for one thing. You must have been about eighteen when they died.” Harry gives me what I think is meant to be a smile but comes out more as a grimace.

“I was seventeen. You know I told you how they were killed fighting Death Eaters?”

“Yeah, d’you mean the rogue ones that were around for a few months after you killed Voldemort?”

“No… it was actually during the Battle of Hogwarts that they were killed…”

“Really?” I ask, impressed. I knew that Death Eaters had murdered my mum and dad, and that they were both quite high up in the Order of the Phoenix, but I never knew that they had been in the Battle of Hogwarts.

It’s not that Harry and Ginny refused to tell me, it is just that I never really ask more than I need to know. Grandma says it’s because I’m shy, like my Dad.

Plus, while Harry and Ron and Hermione are all quite keen to tell me stories from when they were at Hogwarts, they don’t seem comfortable sharing many stories from their fourth year up. They’ll tell them, but not in the adventurous, excited and reminiscent voices they do for the others. Probably because they’re what Grandma refers to as “The Dark Years”.

Don’t get me wrong, I know a lot about the Horcruxes and the Prophecy and the Deathly Hallows, but these subjects have some kind of taboo about them – the adults just don’t like talking about it, so I don’t ask them about it, unless they bring it up first.

“That still doesn’t answer my question, though,” I say slowly, “why are you my Godfather, when you’re so young? I mean, your oldest child is four for Merlin’s sake!” Harry smiles, and adopts a very mysterious aura.

“Hmm, why indeed? Get my rucksack and I’ll show you,” he adds, dropping his spooky voice. I reach over into the back seat and get Harry’s bag. I like Harry’s rucksack. He’s had it all the way through Hogwarts, and the war, and it’s covered in graffiti and doodles from him and Ron. It’s really scruffy and dirty; Hermione says he should get a new one. I’m glad he doesn’t though. He’s attached to it, and so am I.

“There should be a blank piece of parchment – really old looking,” says Harry, coming into a roundabout. I see the parchment lying on top of Harry’s invisibility cloak (he carries it everywhere… ) and I take it out, turning it over in my hands. It is old; all dog-eared and faded.

“Put your wand against it, and say ‘I solemnly swear that I am up to no good’.”

“What?” I say between laughs.

“Just do it.” I cock an eyebrow at him, but he’s focused on the road as a massive silver four-by-four pulls out suddenly in front of us, and he swerves to avoid it. Harry’s driving is mental sometimes.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” I say dubiously. Almost at once, words form on the parchment in black ink.

“Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs are proud to present… oh… holy… Merlin,” I whisper in an awed voice, and I hear Harry chuckle next to me. Harry has told me about the map, but I never knew that he still had it.

“Your dad helped make that map,” Harry says, a little quietly, I notice. “He was Moony – that was his nickname. Wormtail was a traitorous bastard, I won’t talk about him; Padfoot was my godfather, he was a brilliant man, and Prongs… was my dad.” I look up at him, and he’s smiling proudly, his eyes bright.

“Watch that truck!” I yell suddenly, and Harry yanks on the steering wheel to dodge it. I am thrown against my window (Harry had drifted onto the wrong side of the road – I told you he was mental) and Harry regains control of the car, muttering a red-faced apology over the noise of dozens of car-horns. I un-stick myself from the window.

“So…” I begin, pretending nothing had happened, “my dad and your dad were friends at Hogwarts? That was the reason?” Harry nods, but he looks a little uneasy, and I decide not to push it any further.

“You can have that map, if you want,” Harry says casually, but I can tell he’s really nervous about giving it to me.

“Can I?” I ask excitedly. “Really?”

“Yeah, course. On one condition; when my kids go to Hogwarts, you let them use the map as well, because my father was a Marauder, too.” I nod.

“Of course,”

“Oh, and Hermione would probably tell me to tell you not to use it for mischief-making purposes,” he says in a bored voice, rolling his eyes, “but then there’s really no point in it. So only use it for mischief-making purposes against people who deserve it.”

I grin.


“And only people who are either smaller, stupider or can’t run as fast as you.”

“Got it.” We have arrived at the station. We get out of the car and Harry gazes around sheepishly. Then he transfigures a leaf from a nearby bush into a parking ticket and sticks on the inside of the windscreen.

“That’s cheating!” I say, but I’m laughing. Harry winks.

“What Hermione doesn’t know won’t hurt her, so mind you keep your mouth shut.” He leads me into the station. It’s very crowded, and my trunk and new barn owl, Echo, don’t help the curious stares and mutterings. Harry gazes up at the sparkling glass ceiling, reminiscently, and I wonder what he’s thinking. I’ve never heard any stories about Kings Cross apart from his first year, and he never mentioned the ceiling. I shuffle close behind him, holding onto the side of his jacket for comfort, suddenly feeling quite nervous and scared in this huge, bustling crowd.

A man walks past in a suit, with about six pagers clipped to his belt and an earpiece for a phone. He’s carrying a briefcase that looks so full of papers that I’m surprised it hasn’t split and a heavy looking laptop under his arm.

“Yeah, tell my wife and kids that I’m sorry, but I’ve got an urgent meeting… yes, I know it’s her eighth birthday, but I’ll just have to miss it again this year… look, you’re meant to be my PA, you sort her out…”

Harry sighs. “If I ever become that obsessed with my work, will you please do the decent thing and kill me?”

I laugh.

“Will do.”

Harry glances at his watch. “We’ve still got ages – d’you want some chips?” I nod eagerly and Harry takes me into a nearby McDonalds. Grandma never lets me in McDonalds, Ginny doesn’t understand what it is and Harry only takes me very rarely (he says he doesn’t want me turning out like his cousin), so it’s a big deal when I am allowed, and I make the most of it by ordering as much as they’ll let me get. When we finally have our food (the spotty teenager at the counter kept forgetting what we were ordering), we sit down at a table away from most of the crowd. Harry hadn’t got any food for himself, so he just picks at mine. He plucks a chicken nugget from the box and squeezes it, wrinkling his nose in disgust at all the grease that dribbles down from it.

“How can you eat this crap?” He’d get a short, sharp slap round the back of his head for saying that if Grandma or Molly Weasley were here.

“You brought it for me,” I point out, munching on a burger. He wipes his fingers on an equally greasy napkin and leans back in his plastic chair, looking up at the great, glittering ceiling again. He looks quite sad. I chew more slowly before swallowing, a frown on my face.

“What’s wrong?” He jumps and looks back at me.

“Nothing,” he says bracingly. “Just me being an old fart.” I laugh.

“You’re twenty-eight! Hardly old!”

“Young in the body, old in the head,” he sighs theatrically. “Now, are you going to stop scoffing all that fried grease and get a good seat on the train, or are you going to eat some more and sit next to some Slytherins?”

“I think I’ll head down to the train now,” I saw hastily, and I jump up. We head towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten. I gulp. Harry glances around – because we’re early, there aren’t any witches or wizards, and the Muggles don’t tend to see magic things, even if it’s under their nose.

“Go on then – you know what to do,” he says, smiling. I look up at him, turn slightly green with nerves, nod, clamp my eyes shut and run at the barrier.

I’m through. Ahead of me is a magnificent, majestic, amazing scarlet train, with great black wheels the size of dustbins, and thick grey smoke coming from the front, where the Hogwarts crest is just above the golden letters, which read:

The Hogwarts Express

I feel a hand on my shoulder and I look up to see Harry, grinning broadly.

“Wonderful, isn’t it?” I nod, lost for words. My dark brown (for today) eyes survey platform Nine and Three-quarters. There are a few wizarding families already here, but they all seem to be older than me.

“You look worried,” Harry states, a knowing smile on his face. Harry’s always smiling, but he always looks sad at the same time. It confuses me a lot.

“What if… what if they don’t like me?”


“You know…” I gesture around at the thin air, as if hordes of students were surrounding us. “Everyone. What if they think I’m weird?”

“Why would they think you’re weird?”

“Because I always have my hair in weird colours,” I mutter, blushing.

“Have it in normal colours then.”

“No! I like my hair,” I say stubbornly.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I… what if… you see…” I splutter, waving my arms. I must look really stupid, because Harry’s obviously struggling to hold in a laugh.

“I’ll miss you, kid,” he says, pulling me into a hug. “You’ll be fine – everyone will like you.” He’s not talking in his usual joking way anymore. He’s being quite serious. The clock has ticked closer to eleven o’clock, and loads of people are coming in and boarding the train. Harry helps me to load my trunk onto the train, and then we go back out onto the platform. I put Echo, who is in her cage, obviously, down by my feet and I hug Harry again. This is the first time I’ll be away from home.

“Don’t let other kid’s pick on you,” Harry says, ruffling my hair.

“They won’t – I’ll tell them that I’ve got you as a godfather, and that you’ll come and get them if they so much as look at me funny.” Harry laughs.

“You’ve got your mothers spunk, you know that? But you look a lot like your Dad, apart from when you’re changing the colour of your hair and such.” I grin, but Harry suddenly looks uneasy. “Hey… Ted…” I immediately tense up. He must be saying something serious; else he’d call me Teddy. “If anyone… says anything bad about your Dad, just know that he was a wonderful man.”

“What would they say that was bad about him?” I ask, frowning.

“Just… kid’s say stuff sometimes… stuff that they hear from their parents… prejudice stuff…”

“What would they be prejudice about?”

“There are a lot of things, but…” he sighs. “Don’t worry about it, Teddy-bear.” He ruffles my hair again. “Go find a compartment.” I give him one last hug.

“Bye!” I say, excitement bubbling up inside me. Then I pick up Echo, and run onto the train.

A/N You see that little box below? That's called a review box - feed it reviews to make it happy and to tell me whether I'm any good at writing! :) Neglect it and it will die... :(


Chapter 3: The Hogwarts Express
  [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]

I make my way down the train, until I find an empty compartment. I’m not quite brave enough to go into a compartment that already has someone in it. Nevertheless, I don’t want to spend the train journey alone, so I leave the blinds up, in the hope that it might encourage someone to come and talk to me. Harry, Ron and Hermione all met on the train, and they’re really good friends. I hope I get friends like that.


I can see Harry waving at me from the platform and I wave back. There are a lot of people watching him – whispering and muttering, as if they’re not quite sure who he is. I see a woman go up to him and say something. Then he nods and in a flash, he’s surrounded by people. He rolls his eyes at me, gives one last wave, mouths “don’t forget to write!” and Disapparates, leaving a crowd of disappointed, yet excited and star-struck people.


I feel quite alone all of a sudden. The faint noises of other students and their families, muffled through the walls of my compartment, only seem to increase that. I see a kid, maybe a little older than me, give his Dad a brief hug, and get annoyed when a kiss is planted on his head. He mutters something and goes red. He doesn’t know what he’s got.


I love Harry, but he is young. Even for twenty-eight, he’s young. He’s always laughing and joking, and while I like that, sometimes… he’s more like a brother, or an Uncle to me… I never see him as a father.


Grandma says that Harry is always immature because he never had a childhood, and he had to grow up too fast. I wouldn’t say he was immature, just… I don’t know, but he’s not immature. You can see it in his eyes – he’s really grown-up, even he says it. He’s old before his time. But he acts young, and that is why I love him. But… I do wish I could see him as a father.


Don’t I?


I don’t think Harry wants to be seen as my father. He is my godfather, and I am his godson. I can remember being really young and calling Harry “Daddy”. He shook his head, and I can still remember how sad and deep and dark his eyes looked.


“No, I’m Harry, Teddy-bear,” he said. That was years ago, but I think that if I done the same thing now, he would just say the same thing back.


When James was first born (he’s four now), I was really scared that Harry wouldn’t want me to come at weekends anymore, now that he had a son. But he’s kept me in his family, even after the births of Albus and Lily. If he was immature, I don’t think he’d do that.


Molly Weasley, who I think knows Harry a bit better than Grandma, no offence to Grandma intended, says that he’s always laughing and joking to stop himself from crying. He went through a lot in the war, and I know that it still affects him. But, like him, Grandma, Molly, Ginny, Hermione, Ron and everyone else I know says, life moves on, and Harry just helps it move on by being cheerful.


Ron does the same – always being cheerful. He helps his brother in his shop, making joke products, even though he already has a job as an Auror.


Hermione, well, she’d very nice and all, but she doesn’t really do a lot of joking. She’s quite a serious person, and it was her that taught me maths and English and stuff.


The rattling sound of the door sliding jerks me out of my muse and I look round to see a girl my age standing there, grinning broadly. She has average-length blond-brown hair in a side parting that falls in a sort of diagonal fringe across her right eye. She is quite small, her head only coming up to, I guess, my chest. She is wearing a lot of make-up.


“You would never believe who I just saw on the platform!” she squeals excitedly, in what I think is a Newcastle accent. I don’t have a chance to say anything before she sits in the seat opposite me. “Harry Potter!” she bursts out, her hazel eyes alight with exhilaration. I smile weakly. She looks at me like up supposed to start worshipping her or something. “Did you just hear what I said? I just met Harry Potter! I mean, I actually saw him with my own two eyes! Not many people can say they’ve done that!”


“He’s my godfather,” I say. She stares at me, her mouth open wide.


“You’re having me on,” she says decidedly, after a long, awkward pause.


“No, I’m not – he is; he’s my godfather.”


“So, are you…” she gasps, her eyes wide. She points at me with both of her hands, fluttering them up and down quickly with enthusiasm and opening and closing her mouth like some bizarre goldfish. “Are you Ted Lupin!?” she spits out, at last.


“Yeah,” I can feel a blush creeping up my neck and onto my face.


“Wow…” she says in an awed voice, staring at me. “So, you’ve actually met him?”


“I actually <i>live</i> with him,” I say, getting irritated. “Well, every other weekend.”


“What’s he like?” she demands.


“Um… nice, I s’pose,” I say awkwardly. Seriously, how am I meant to answer that?


“Wow…” she says again. She continues to stare at me for quite sometime. I look at my shoelaces, my face hot. The door opens with a bang, and I snap my head up to see a boy standing in the door, glaring at the girl.


“Corrine! I told you to find a compartment that was empty!”


“There were none left, Mickey! Anyway – you won’t mind sharing a compartment with this kid – he’s Ted Lupin!” she says impressively, thrusting an arm out at me, as if she’d actually invented me, and I was her work of art.


“Whoa! Really? Have you actually met <i>him</i> then? You know, Harry Potter?”


“I live with him,” I repeat wearily.


“All the time?” he asks, somewhat aggressively, in my opinion.


“No, not all the time; I live with my grandma most of the time, but-”


“How often do you live with him?”


“Every other weekend…” I wish they’d go away… the door slides open again. I almost groan, expecting another Corrine or Mickey. Standing there instead is a dark-skinned boy, with deep, chocolate coloured eyes and a friendly grin. His hair is braided back and he’s wearing a very baggy dark blue hoodie.


“What’re you two doing? This poor kid looks terrified!”


“He’s Teddy Lupin!” Corrine says in a dramatic stage whisper. The boy frowns, a confused smile playing about his lips.


“Okay, I don’t know who that is – no offence,” he says hastily, looking at me.


“None taken,” I say, raising my hands and smiling.


“But I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want you interrogating him.” Corrine and Mickey scowl at him and stomp out. Corrine sticks her head back in as she leaves.


“I’ll see you soon, Ted!” She says in a deep, husky voice, giving me a rather creepy wink. The boy smiles at me.


“Jason Goldsmith,” he says, holding his hand out for me to shake. I shake it.


“Teddy-be…I mean, Ted Lupin. But call me Teddy,” I mumble, blushing. I nearly said Teddy-bear. That would have been so humiliating.


“So… what was that about?” he asks, sitting opposite me.


“Wha- oh! Yeah… well, my Godfather’s really famous, and those two were just asking me whether I live with him and what he’s like and stuff. Well, duh, course I live with him… some of the time.”


“Er… course… um… why? Sorry, but you’ll have to bear with me, I’m muggle-born, see.”


“Oh, sorry – I had guessed, I just forgot. My parents were killed back in the war, when I was a couple of weeks old.”


“God, I’m sorry… er, what war?” I fill him in on the past twenty-eight years, but, of course, our conversation is always going widely off topic. I find out that he’s from Islington, in London, and has a younger sister called Holly. His mum is a teacher, and his Dad works for a phone company.


“I have to ask,” he says, hesitantly, “why is your hair blue?” I grin.


“I can change my appearance just by thinking. My mum was a Metamorphmagus – that means she could change her appearance at will too - and her genes passed onto me, because I’m a Metamorphmagus like her. I get bored with just having normal coloured hair, so I always have it weird colours. I have it blue today.”


“That’s so cool!” I beam at Jason. We spend the entire train journey talking and joking, and eating tons of sweets from the trolley (I’m so glad that Harry spoils me rotten and gives me loads of money) that came round half-way through the journey. I think I’ve made a good friend.




“What’re these?” asks Jason curiously. “Marbles?” I look up from my chocolate frog.


“Gobstones,” I say, surprised that they don’t have them in the wizarding world. “They are a bit like marbles, but they squirt stuff at you when you lose. I usually play with Victoire.”




“My Godfather’s niece – she’s nine. She’s like a cousin, only we’re not actually related.”


“Oh. I-” Jason is cut off as the door slides open, and a cheeky looking, dark-haired boy steps in.


“Is it true?” he asks me, “What Corrine is saying? Are you Ted Lupin?”


“Yes,” I reply dully, ignoring Jason’s smirk. The boy at the door, however, does not seem as star struck as Corrine and Mickey.


“Cool,” he says, grinning. “I’m Alfie – I thought Corrine was just telling another one of her stories.”


“You know her then?” asks Jason.


“Yeah, worst luck. She’s my step-cousin – her mum married my uncle and, sadly, her and her brother were part of the package.”


“Unlucky,” comments Jason with a low whistle. Alfie nods.


“We should be near Hogwarts soon – you’d better get your robes on. I’ll see you at the feast!”




“Firs’ years! Firs’ years this way!” I get of the train with Jason, proudly wearing my Hogwarts robes. I look around and see the distinct outline of Hagrid.


“This way!” I say to Jason, and we hurry over to him, through the thick crowd of students.


“Hi, Hagrid!” I shout up at him. He grins down at me.


“Teddy!” He booms. The other students all look very impressed that I know him. “How are yeh? How’s Harry doin’? Not seen him fer months.”


“He’s fine, Hagrid,” I say, beaming. “But tired – little Lily’s keeping him and Ginny up all night again – teething, see.” Hagrid gives a great rumbling laugh, his thick grey beard quivering.


“She’s a right handful, tha’ Lily! Right, is everyone here?” he counts all the heads of the first year students. “For’y, yep, tha’s ‘bout right. This way.” We follow Hagrid down a steep, narrow path, barely visible in the dark night. We slip and stumble down the path, which has thick tree’s either side. Nobody speaks; I expect that everyone’s too nervous. I’m certainly starting to feel a bit ill. To fit my mood, I turn my hair I bright, pea green.


And then, we see it. The narrow path opens suddenly on to the edge of a massive, dark lake. Perched on top of a tall, looming mountain on the other side is Hogwarts; immense and beautiful, with lots of turrets and spindly towers, the thin sliver of the moon reflected in its sparkling windows.


“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid calls, pointing a thick finger to a small fleet of boats, bobbing at the waters edge. Jason and I clamber into one, followed, unfortunately, by Mickey and Corrine. Alfie did try to come in with us, but the “gruesome twosome” as Jason now calls them, got there first. The boats set of at once, cutting elegantly through the dark, cold water, creating ripples, distorting the reflection of the huge, towering grey clouds, which hide the glittering stars.


Mickey and Corrine pester me all the way across, much to Jason’s amusement. The ask the most bizarre, random questions about Harry, and no matter how bluntly or coldly I answer, they just don’t seem to get the hint. Finally, as Mickey interrogates me about Harry’s preferred brand of toothpaste, we reach the cliff, and duck as the boats carry us through a curtain of ivy, which hides a wide opening in the cliff face. We’re carried through a dark tunnel, until we reach an underground harbour of sorts.


We stumble out of the boats and follow Hagrid up a step flight of stone steps carved out of the rock in the cliff. We come out onto a lawn of wet grass, in the shadow of the high castle, so tall that I can barely see the top. Hagrid counts us all one more time, and then lifts a giant fist, and knocks three times on the huge oak door.

A/N You see that little white box below? It loves to be used - all you have to do is put what you think about my story in it. It only takes a minute, and it makes me so happy! :D


Chapter 4: The Sorting Ceremony
  [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]

The door swings open to reveal a tall, thickset man. He is bald, and his dark grey eyes survey the new students critically. His ears stick out in what would be a comical way, if he had not been so intimidating. His beer belly hangs slightly over his belt, yet he has strong, muscular arms.

“The firs’ years, Professor Dermot,” says Hagrid. Professor Dermot nods, studying each face carefully with a calculating expression.

“Thank you. I’ll take them from here.” Hagrid walks off into the darkness, leaving us, the first years, and Professor Dermot standing in the doorway of the castle. Professor Dermot stands aside, and sweeps a thick hand through the doorway, gesturing for us to walk inside. We did so hesitantly, and congregate a few feet away from the door, gazing around at our new surroundings.

The Entrance Hall is huge — I hear Jason let out a low whistle as we look up at the ceiling, which is almost too high to make out. A grand, sweeping marble staircase is opposite me, probably leading to the upper levels. We follow Professor Dermot across the flagged stone floor to a little chamber. I can hear the buzz of hundreds of voices next door.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” says Professor Dermot in a bored voice. He has a thick Northern Irish accent. “The start-of-term banquet will begin in a few short moments, but you must first be sorted into your houses. This is very important because your house will become like your family whilst you are here at Hogwarts. There are four houses-” I know all this already, and I feel my attention waver. I can tell that Professor Dermot’s done this several times before because of the monotone of his voice. Finally, Dermot finishes his speech, and leaves the room, shouting over his shoulder that we should smarten ourselves up before the Sorting Ceremony. I gulp as we are left alone to wait.

Jason turns to me, a panicked look on his face.

“How do they sort us? D-do they expect us to do magic? I haven’t learnt anything!”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing like that,” I say weakly. I’d tell him about the Sorting Hat, but I feel too ill. Suddenly rather worried about appearing in front of the entire school, I turn my hair a modest dark brown, and try to straighten my robes a little more, even though they are perfectly straight already. After a few of the longest minutes I’ve ever experienced, Professor Dermot returned through the door and ordered us to get into a line. We did so — I went behind Jason, and, unfortunately, Corrine was behind me.

“I’m so excited, aren’t you?” she whispered in my ear enthusiastically.

“Uh-huh,” I whisper meekly back, wanting more than ever to run away and hide.

Professor Dermot leads us into the Great Hall. If I thought the Entrance Hall was big, it’s nothing compared to this. It’s so vast that I have to hold in an awed gasp. All the other students are sitting at four long tables; their faces all seem to blur into one huge pink mass. Above the tables, hundreds and hundreds of candles float magically in the air, lighting up the magnificent room. I remember the stories about Hogwarts that I’ve always been told, and look eagerly up at the enchanted ceiling, where the thick clouds and glittering stars can be seen. I can barely believe that the ceiling is there at all. We reach the end of the hall, where there is another table, higher than the rest, where the staff sits. We move out of the line, and form more of a group, standing on tiptoes to see what’s happening.

Professor Dermot places a four-legged stool in front of the High table, and on it places the very old and battered Sorting Hat. It has lots of patches, and looks rather burnt in places. I vaguely remember Harry saying that Voldemort set it on fire once, but I’m too nervous to care. The hat opened at a rip near the brim like a mouth, and the hat began to sing:

Oh, I’ve been through a lot, poor old me,
But there’s nothing in your head I can’t see,
So pop me on and I will tell you,
Where you ought to be,
Maybe you should be a Gryffindor,
Brave and proud and daring,
Always there, and always caring.
Or possibly in Hufflepuff,
Loyal, trusting and kind,
Those ‘Puffs are sure to have a thoughtful mind;
Or you might belong in Ravenclaw,
With a keen and ready mind,
Your friends in there are sure to be the clever kind;
Perhaps you’re a Slytherin,
Ambitious, cunning and sly,
With ideas like yours, you’re bound to fly high.
So perch me atop your head,
And don’t worry!
You’re going to get sorted now,
If you run off, you’ll be sorry!

The hall erupts in applause as the hat bows to the students, and then closes once again at the brim. Dermot unrolls a piece of mottled yellow parchment, and in a loud, booming voice, begins to read.

“Archer, Kieran.”

A short, stocky boy with a buzz cut saunters over to the stool. When Dermot places the hat upon his head, I see him bite his lip. It takes a long time to decide.


I feel even sicker. What if the hat puts me in Slytherin? I either want to be in Hufflepuff, like my mum, or Gryffindor like my dad… or Ravenclaw, I wouldn’t mind that so much.

Okay then, so any house but Slytherin.

“Oi,” hisses Jason in my ear as “Abhay, Ravinda,” is sorted into Ravenclaw, “d’you think we’ll be in the same house?”

I shrug helplessly.

“Cadfan, Charles,” calls Dermot, and a weedy little boy with long, floppy blonde hair shakily shuffles over to the stool.

“RAVENCLAW!” screams the hat. Ricky Ewan and Ancantha Floyd get sorted into Hufflepuff and Slytherin respectively, and I am feeling sicker by the second.

“Goldsmith, Jason!”

“Good luck,” I whisper hurriedly as he walks off. He seems very confident, but there is seriousness to his face that was not there on the train ride.

The hat has barely touched his head when it yells “Gryffindor”, and Jason’s face breaks into a relieved smile. I see him go down to the Gryffindor table, and my insides seem to clench horribly. I don’t feel brave at all, so it looks like I’m not going to be in the same house as him…

Feeling like throwing up, I close my eyes and listen to the sounds of Edith Gunner and Alfie Hague both get sorted into Gryffindor (Jason seems to have set off a trend) and then I seem to blank out, and hear nothing, but the faint sounds of applause and the distant sound of the hat.

Years seem to pass, and then I hear:

“L…” Dermot’s voice falters slightly, but he soon regains his composure. “Lupin, Ted!” To my surprise, there is a cold edge to Dermot’s voice, and as I walk up (stumbling) I can feel him gazing at me with… hatred?

There are faint whispers from the students as I sit, trembling, on the stool.

The hat is placed upon my head.

Ah, Ted Lupin. Yes, yes, I remember Sorting your parents. Your father was easy — incredibly brave man at heart, though your mother was rather more difficult to place. You look quite difficult too…

Please don’t put me in Slytherin — I’ll go in any house, but Slytherin…I think desperately.

Oh, don’t worry… you’re not sly or cunning enough to be put in Slytherin. I am rather insulted by this, and I immediately tell the hat so (through thought, of course). The hat gives a small chuckle.

Hmm… you are very brave… Gryffindor, perhaps? Maybe, maybe… you’re kind and loyal… that’s surely Hufflepuff, and yet… you have determination, boy…

“GRYFFINDOR!” I grin as the hall erupts into applause. I bounce down to the Gryffindor table and immediately sit next to Jason, who grins as I turn my hair blue again.

“Wicked! We’re in the same house!”

“Yeah, yeah we are!” I say, and I close my eyes, grinning broadly, relieved.

“Shlea, Corrine!” My eyes snap open as I see that irritating girl skip up to the stool. She perches on it daintily, her hands neatly folded in her lap. She sees me watching her and mistakes my look of dislike for… a look of admiration or something, I suppose. She flashes me a smile and a Lady Diana look before the hat is placed on her head.

“HUFFLEPUFF!” shouts the hat after a long wait. I smile. At least she isn’t in my house.

“Shlea, Mickey!” Corrine’s brother heads up to the Sorting Hat and, to my dismay, he is sorted into Gryffindor. He sits next to me and claps me on the back.

“Hey, we’re in the same house! Shame Corrine couldn’t have joined us, but we can see her in class and stuff, can’t we? Harry Potter was in this house too, so it must be the best,” I grunt in fake agreement while “Wigens, Matthew,” is sorted into Ravenclaw. I can see Jason trying not to laugh as Mickey starts nattering about Harry.

I try to focus on the Sorting. Finally, “Ziv, Albert,” is sorted into Ravenclaw, and Dermot takes the stool and hat away. Up at the head table, an old man stands up.

“Who’s that?” asks Jason.

“Osbert Obando,” I whisper quietly, “the Headmaster.”

Professor Obando is a rather eccentric wizard, with a spindly little beard that reaches to about the center of his chest, and a ridiculously tall wizard hat, that’s bent at the very tip.

“Welcome to another year at Hogwarts for the older students,” he says, “and to the new students welcome for the very first time. Lots of new things have been banned by Mr. Filch this year — for a full list of everything that can be sold at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, please see the list of the banned items on the door of his office.” Everyone laughed. “Also, no student is allowed in the Forbidden Forest, named for obvious reasons, even if they are looking for the fabled Resurrection Stone. I assure you, you will not find it.”

Everyone laughs again, and I find myself warming up to the Headmaster. Nevertheless, my stomach is rumbling rather loudly, and I somewhat wish he’d stop with the corny jokes and let us eat.

“Finally, as you may have already noticed, it has been a long day, and you are all probably very hungry. Therefore, I shall stop my ramblings and allow you to eat.”

The most beautiful food suddenly appears before us, and everyone in the hall gratefully tucks in.

A/N Kevin the review box: Thank you all for the lovely reviews you have written on me. I really do like being written on, you know. My friend Evie apologises for not responding to them, but she has been VERY busy lately, and you have written a lot. ;) But don't stop there! She will get round to them all! :D

Chapter 5: Life at Hogwarts
  [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]

Life at Hogwarts is unusual, to say the least. Thankfully, I have the Marauder’s Map with me so Jason, Alfie and I rarely get lost, and when we do, it’s not long before we find ourselves back on track.

Peeves the Poltergeist seems to remember my father from Hogwarts, and delights in following me around, chanting, “Loony loopy Lupin!” in an annoying sing-song voice.

Alfie, who has been brought up in a life of luxury, seems very… not unimpressed, no - that’s not the word… calm. He seems very calm and collected by the whole thing — already used to house elf cooking, (I admit, so am I, but only at Harry’s place, and Kreacher’s getting old. While he’s lovely, bless him, his cooking has nothing on the Hogwarts house elves) old, moving paintings and grand old fireplaces.

Harry has a distinct Muggle tinge to his house, and so do Ron and Hermione. I can’t quite place my finger on what’s Muggle and what isn’t, though. Maybe it’s just because a lot of their furniture is bought out of Muggle shops (Harry hates being noticed, and he’s basically non-existent in the Muggle world, so that’s where a lot of holidays, shopping and days out take place) and they wear muggle clothes. Well, Harry and Hermione at any rate.

Anyways — Alfie seems perfectly knowledgeable and prepared for Hogwarts. Jason, on the other hand, has never experienced something so exciting in his life. Walking down just one corridor with him takes ages, because he wants to talk to every portrait, and check every tapestry or statue for the hidden passages I told him about.

“I told you,” I say impatiently, tugging on his arm, “they were all blocked up during the war. There aren’t any others — they’d be on the Map!”

“How do you know, though? The Marauders and Death what-do-you-m’call-ems might have missed one!” he exclaims excitedly, fighting back to prod the statue a little longer.

“Yes,” says Alfie, seriously, thought there’s a cheeky gleam in his eye, “it’s very possible that they might have missed one that leads to an amazing place, like Lapland or somewhere, and if Jason finds it, he will go down in wizarding history.”

“Really?” gapes Jason, his eyes as wide as saucers at the thought. Alfie stares at him for a moment, then his eyes slide up to the ceiling, and he frown slightly.

“Do you know,” he says slowly, his voice full of puzzled bewilderment, “that there’s something gullible on the ceiling?”

“What? Where?” asks Jason, looking up too, as I snort with laughter.

Alfie rolls his eyes, grinning. “I can’t believe you fell for that.” Jason looks back at Alfie, frowning in a confused way, before replaying the conversation, and giving an embarrassed grin.

“Come on — we’re going to be late for our first lesson,” I say, checking my watch that Grandma got me for my birthday. Jason glances at his, draws in a sharp, hissing breath, and we pelt down the corridor.


“Good morning, class.” Standing at the front of the Transfiguration classroom is a short, stout woman, who looks to be in her thirties, with blonde hair that reaches down to her shoulders (though there are the suspicious hints of dark brown roots) and a somewhat wrinkled face. She introduces herself as Professor Gemmell (McGonagall retired yonks ago — she comes to visit Harry sometimes) and smiles kindly at us, but we soon find that she must have a split personality or something, because the slightest thing wrong, and she will rage and scream for a few moments, then continue on with the lesson as if nothing has happened. I get the feeling that she has a fierce temper, but doesn’t hold grudges, which is a good thing, I suppose.

Half way through the lesson, she remembers that she hasn’t taken the register, and goes through the register, usually with a comment on each name; whether is be remarking on the originality of the name, or the appearance of the person (she is always complimentary, if a little patronizing) or, in my case, something to do with our parents.

“Ahh, I had the pleasure of meeting your mother, once, Ted! She was lovely — helped me out a lot; Death Eaters, see. But her and the rest of her team of Aurors were brilliant. Fantastic spell work. Do you remember anything about her?”

“Err…” I stammer, thrown a little of guard by the question, “No… I was only a couple of weeks old when they died.”

“Oh, yes — silly of me, I should have realised. It was the tenth anniversary of the battle of Hogwarts last May, did anyone go to it?” she asked the class, and at once, off-topic tales of the celebration which took place up in the Scottish Highlands, in sight of the Hogwarts castle filled the classroom.

I do remember it; it was great fun, but I went with my Grandma, because none of the Weasley’s or Potter’s wanted to go.

“I’d rather not, Ted; it would be a bit difficult to go, see,” Harry had said, and I had replied that it wouldn’t be difficult to get there at all, because Grandma and I were taking a Portkey. Harry had just smiled and ruffled my hair.

Still, it was a great night — there were loads of fireworks, and a great big bonfire and music and dancing and I saw lots of famous Quidditch players, like Oliver Wood, Captain of Puddlemere United, who introduced himself and said that he was on a Quidditch team with Harry.

Anyway, I’m getting off topic — like the lesson seemed to go. Her lesson was mainly discussion mixed with writing out some theories (she said that we would do practical work, just not for a few weeks yet), and the discussion, for she seemed quite chatty, often became totally unconnected to the lesson, and she seemed quite content to talk and answer questions about the war — he favourite student to talk to seemed to be me.

“Has your Godfather told you much about the war, Ted?”

“A bit,” I mumble, acutely aware that everyone was hanging onto my every word, including the Gruesome Twosome. “It’s mainly the Weasley’s that tell me stuff about the war though — Ron and George and that lot. I reckon that they make stuff up though. In fact, I know that they make stuff up.”

Professor Gemmell laughs. “Make stuff up? How do you mean?”

“Well, Ron told me that he defeated thirty Death Eaters when he was thirteen-years-old using only a spoon and a scarf, and I know that’s not true, ‘cause Hermione slapped him around the head and said ‘Don’t lie!’ when he told me and Victoire last Christmas.”

The class laughed (apart from Corrine, who gives a shrill shriek rather like a monkey) and Jason winked at me. The class discussion stops when the lesson is over, and we make our way to the Greenhouses.

Neville is overjoyed to see me, and gives me a brief hug before the rest of the class come in (I came early just so I could have a chat with him).

“I’ve already owled Harry and Andromeda about you getting into Gryffindor, Ted. I expect Harry’ll be thrilled.”

I grin at him. “He’d be even more thrilled if I earn Gryffindor lots and lots of points this lesson.” Neville just laughs and turns away as the rest of the class come in. Above his desk (which looks more like a rainforest in a pot, if you ask me. Not enough detail for you? Fine then — it has massive leafy plants all over it, and big thick vines creeping up the legs, and massive pink-red flowers the size of my hand, and a weird looking plant that seems to be making sighing noises. All in all, there is about thirty centimetres square where you can see the desk, and even that is filthy with soil) he has proudly hung the sword of Godric Gryffindor, and I have heard the story of that both from him and also from Bill when he got drunk one family gathering and told all the kids about the last battle. Harry was furious with him, because loads of the little kids started snivelling and getting scared that there were Death Eaters under their beds, and then Hermione took me aside and asked me whether I “was okay” and “wasn’t upset” in the sort of voice that made me wonder if I was terminally ill.

Anyway, it was a good lesson, apart from the fact that I knocked over a massive pile of flower pots (oh, come on, that was an accident waiting to happen!) and they all smashed and everyone laughed at me. But Neville managed to sneak me quite a few points to Gryffindor without making it look like favouritism, even though it was, and Jason, Alfie and I had a right laugh throwing peat at each other, until Neville, obviously trying not to laugh, told us that it had been mixed with Hippogriff droppings.

After Herbology, we went to go and visit Hagrid, who gave us some cake that was quite nice at first, but then I crunched on something hard in mine, and Alfie found a snail shell. So we sneakily hid the cake in our hands and, when Hagrid wasn’t looking, fed it to Fang, who had stiff joints because of his old age and didn’t move about much.

If I had a dog — I’ve been asking both Harry and Grandma for years, but Grandma doesn’t like them, and Harry says not while he has young children about — I’d call it Paddy, because I like that name, and one of my Dad’s best friends could turn into a dog and his nickname was Padfoot. Merlin knows why Hagrid called his dog Fang, because he’s about as different to a Fang as chalk and cheese. All he really does is lounge about and groan a lot, sometimes with a dribble of silvery drool hanging from his slack lips.


Dear Teddy,

Congratulations on making Gryffindor, just like your Dad. I hope you have settled well into Hogwarts, and you have made lots of new friends. By the way, you left your
Hogwarts; A History book behind, I’ve included it for you. Please don’t “forget” it again — Hermione bought you that, and it would be rude not to read it.

I do hope that by becoming a Gryffindor you will not follow the Weasley route and be horrible to all Slytherins just because they’re Slytherins — just remember that I was a Slytherin myself, so it’s in your blood.

I hope your lessons are going well and that you’re behaving yourself. Remember to hand in all homework in time, and study hard, and make sure you leave your dirty laundry at the foot of your bed on Thursday mornings for the House Elves to collect.



I tut-tut several times while reading this — yeah, I know Hermione bought it for me and everything, but it is a ridiculously boring book, and how did my Grandma find it anyway? I deliberately stuffed it down the back of the radiator so that she wouldn’t find it and send it on. The poor owl she sent it with looks like it’s going to collapse.

And yes, Slytherin may well be in my blood, but I don’t think that’s reason to be proud of the fact. To be honest, though, I haven’t seen much of the Slytherins. They keep out of my way, and I keep out of theirs.

That’s so typical of Grandma to go all Hermione on me and encourage me to become a total geek — why doesn’t she give me a frizzy haircut, bow tie and a healthy sprinkling of acne to go with it? I won’t even go into the laundry thing — way too embarrassing.

Casting the heavy, book-shaped parcel a dirty look, I pick up the other letter, and see my name written as Teddy-bear, which must mean Harry wrote it, and addressed it as such just to annoy me.

Hey, Teddy-bear!

Well done on making Gryffindor — that’s the best House there is, you know. I bet you’ve made loads of friends — tell me what they’re like so that I can make sure that they’re good enough to hang around with my godson!

How are your lessons? Have you had a Defence lesson yet? I reckon you should be good at that; your Dad taught it once, you know.

Don’t duel with the Slytherins — you haven’t learnt how yet, and I have no desire to see you black and blue in the hospital wing.

We all miss you already — James especially; he says he’s got no one to play with now.

Hope you’re having fun!



Poor little James! I bet no one else can endure his dramatic make-believe games now I’m gone!

I already knew that Dad taught Defence Against the Dark Arts — Harry tells me about twice a week. I have one (a lesson) later today, actually.

Jason and Alfie are sitting either side of me, reading letters from their parents. Alfie keeps snorting in annoyance and Jason keeps laughing.

“Look at that — my mother can even manage to have a go at me through a letter! ‘Upsetting Corrine’ indeed… I’ve barely even spoke to her!”

“Maybe that’s what’s upset her,” I say idly, munching on a piece of toast as I put Harry’s letter on the table and shoo the owl away.

“No it’s not,” Alfie says darkly, “She’s just saying it to get me into trouble — she always does stuff like that. It’s dead annoying.”

“Why would she want to get you into trouble?” asks Jason, shocked. “You’re family!”

“Only through marriage — and that’s still too close for my liking. Corrine’s dead attention seeking and Mickey’s dead aggressive.”

“Will you stop saying ‘dead’ all the time, Alfie? It’s dead depressing,” I mutter, crushing the rest of my toast into crumbs.

“What’s got your wand in a knot?” he asks me.

“We’ve got Defence Against the Dark Arts later,” I say, glaring up at the staff table.

“So?” asks Jason.

“Well, that Dermot bloke seems to hate me. Did you hear how he read my name out during the Sorting?”

“Don’t be so judgemental and paranoid. I’m sure he’s fine; he’s just a bit scary is all,” says Alfie waving a hand at me. “C’mon, we’ve got Charms with that Flitwick bloke, what’s he like?”

“I’ve heard that he’s all right,” I reply, and we get up from the breakfast table, and leave.


We’re all waiting in the classroom for Defence Against the Dark Arts, and my stomach seems to be tied in a queasy knot. Jason is to my right, tapping his hands on the desk and bobbing his head to the rhythm. Alfie is on the other side of him, trying to ignore Corrine, who keeps asking him “what kind of stuff” I’m into.

The entire class is producing a low buzz of chatter, and someone has written a rude rhyme on the blackboard.

“QUIET!” The door bursts open, and everyone jumps, and snaps straight to the front in total silence. Dermot is standing there, glaring around at everyone. “You first years obviously haven’t learnt how things are run in this school; when the teacher enters the classroom, there should be no noise!” he yells. “Am I understood?”

There is a mumbling, and he moves to his desk, casually flicking his wand over his shoulder to wipe the rhyme off the board. He takes the register, and stops at my name.

He stares at me, and I stare back.

“Your father wasn’t Remus Lupin, was he?” I can’t tell what emotion there is behind his voice. He seems blank, and empty.

“Yes, sir, he was.”

“And your mother… I suppose she was Nymphadora Tonks?”

“Nymphadora Lupin, sir,” I correct, and he gives me a long, cold stare.

“Mr Lupin, who is the teacher in this classroom?” I don’t know what to say, so I don’t respond, and instead glance around the room, but everyone seems as confused as me. “I asked you a question, Mr Lupin,” he says again, and his voice sounds much scarier, more threatening. “Who is the teacher in the classroom?”

“You are, sir,” I reply quietly, and I don’t feel at all like a Gryffindor now.

“Then why were you correcting me? I assure you, Mr Lupin, that I know a lot more than you, and therefore you will take my statements, and my statements only, to be correct, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Speak up boy!”

“Yes, sir,” I say louder, though I am still pretty quiet.

Dermot turns back to the class, as if nothing has happened. “Those of you with older siblings in the school may already know that my teaching post here at Hogwarts is rather irregular. I also have a job at the Ministry as a trained Hit-Wizard, so there maybe periods of time, very often days, when I am not here.” I very almost sigh in relief at this. “When I am not here, the class will be taken by Professor Allen, who you will meet when I am next given an assignment by the Ministry. I am actually going to have one tomorrow, but I do not know how long it will take — you may be unaffected.”

He turns and flicks his wand at the board. The date and title ‘Starting to learn Defensive Magic — when should it be used and how can we avoid confrontations?’ appeared on the board.

“Sir-” begins a girl behind me, but Dermot waves her down.

“Questions at the end of the class — and in future you will raise your hand!”

A/N I'm so sorry for the long update, guys. This fic is proving very difficult to write - not because of lack of idea's, but because everything that can go wrong has gone wrong.

Which means that me and Kevin-the-review-box would like lots of nice long, deatialed reviews to make us feel better! ;) :p

~Evie (and Kevin)

Chapter 6: Injustice
  [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]

“Lupin!” Dermot spits, and I look up from my textbook.

“Yes, Sir?”

“I need you to go to Slughorn’s office, and bring back some of the potion he set aside for me. Mind you don't spill any of it! It's highly dangerous, and difficult to get hold of.”

“Yes, Sir,” I mutter. I stand up and leave the classroom, grateful that I get a few minutes away from him.

I vaguely amuse myself with the possibility that the potion Slughorn set aside might be for Dermot’s own drinking, but in reality I know that it is simply so he can give a long, boring talk on it.

It is nearly three weeks into the school year now, and I have slipped comfortably into the routine and lifestyle of Hogwarts, noting that Dermot treats me with such blatant hatred, that not even Grandma’s letters telling me “not to be silly” or Harry’s words of “don’t worry about it – you’re probably just blowing it out of proportion”, can possibly change my mind about him.

Yeah, whatever. Any excuse to take points from me, he’ll use it without a second thought. No one can deny that he doesn’t like me, and it has become a popular joke around my classmates:

“Oi, Lupin – Dermot’s got a voodoo doll of you in his office. I saw him sticking pins in it.”

“Are you still alive? After a double Defence lesson?”

“Are you going to get your godfather to sort him out?”

The subject of the famous Harry Potter seems to come up a lot. Groups of students will notice that I’m standing nearby, and talk very loudly about the latest rumour in the newspapers.

This rumour, which has reared its ugly head like an unwanted pimple, seems to consist mainly of how Harry is having a steamy affair with his secretary. Apart from the fact that Harry doesn’t even have a secretary, the whole thing is made even more ridiculous by the fact that she is claiming that Harry has bought her a villa in Spain, and is promising to divorce Ginny and marry her.

I tend to just laugh it off if anyone asks me directly, and ignore them if try to drop hints about it. Needless to say, Alfie and Jason find it absolutely hilarious, and keep asking whether I am actually a secret love child.

From his letters, I can see that Harry seems completely unbothered by the whole thing:

“It’ll all blow over soon enough – these silly things always do. Still, the sooner the better, because George's jokes really are steadily becoming more and more  annoying.”
On top of all that, just the fact that I am Harry Potter’s godson brings unwanted attention. The Gruesome Twosome lead most of the school in constantly pestering me with stupid questions, and begging me to tell exciting accounts of my life with him.

“Really, it’s not that big a deal,” I always say. “Honestly – he’s just like any other guy. He’s like a big brother, or an uncle.”

My grandmother too, generates a bit of interest, as I let slip at breakfast one morning that she was in Slytherin. This caused a lot of juicy gossip – Harry Potter’s godson was related to Slytherins! The scandal!

I find it all rather funny actually – Alfie and Jason both know I’m decent, and that’s all I really need to know.

After managing to slip away from Slughorn (who has been badgering me to join the Slug Club since my first potions lesson), I make my way back up to Defence Against the Dark Arts. As I approach the classroom, however, I see Dermot, casually leaning against the doorway, a stern, serious expression on his face.

“Where did you go?” he asks coldly.

“Potions – I got that poison-”

“I did not tell you to leave the classroom, Lupin.”

“You did, Sir-”

“Do not interrupt me. Ten points form Gryffindor. I told you to go to potions, but I did not tell you that you could go then. I did not give you permission to leave the classroom at that moment.”

“Then why didn’t you say something as I left, Sir?” I snap, the injustice and anger of it all flaring up inside me. Dermot glares at me, and I’m convinced for a moment that he is going to hit me.

“Detention, boy. My office, tomorrow night. Eight o’clock sharp. Now get back in the classroom before I take more points!”


I gloomily trek up to Dermot’s office, Jason’s sympathetic face and Alfie’s furious verbal abuse of Dermot going through my head. I knock anxiously on the door, feeling more low than I’ve ever felt in my life – not even half term and I’ve already got a detention…

“Come in,” says a voice, but it is not Dermot’s. It is much higher, and softer. Quite clearly a woman’s.

I enter. Sitting at a desk in the centre of the room is a woman, maybe in her forties, with woody brown hair that has a few silvery greys in. Her eyes are pale green and her face has warm crinkles, but not too many.

“Ah, you’re Mr Lupin?” She is not smiling, rather, she seems to be trying her best to look stern, but I can tell that she is kind, and that her heart is in the right place. Unlike stupid old Dermot.

“Yes…” I say slowly, unsure of whom she is.

“I am Professor Allen. Professor Dermot was called to do an urgent raid just two hours ago, so I am covering for him for this detention and his lessons tomorrow. He has told me why you are here – there is no need to explain. He wants you to write some lines.” Professor Allen points to a piece of paper opposite her. She transfigures a cushion into a chair for me, and I sit. At the top of the page, in Dermot’s manically neat handwriting (seriously – every single letter is the perfect size and shape!) are the words:

I will not be cheeky or question the teacher’s authority.

I take a quill and ink bottle from my bag, and begin to write.

“Oh, Professor Dermot wished me to tell you that your family have been informed of your detention and misbehaviour.

“My family?” I ask, puzzled. There was only my Grandmother and Harry – he hadn’t written to them, had he?

“Your grandmother and godfather.”

A large ink blot is steadily gathering on my page, the edges branching out and sinking through the parchment.

“You… you told…”

“I did not tell anyone, Mr Lupin – it was Professor Dermot that wrote to your family.”

“Over something so small?!” I can scarcely believe it – doesn’t a student have to do something pretty big to deserve to have owl’s sent home?

Professor Allen sends me a piercing glare. “You were extremely rude to Professor Dermot-”

“No, I wasn’t!”

She sighs heavily and covers her face with her hands, leaning on her elbows. “He warned me of this…” she mutters to herself. “Just write your lines please, Mr Lupin.”

My jaw is clenched so tightly together that I’ll be very surprised if my teeth haven’t sunk into my gums. My quill trembles slightly as I grip it firmly, my knuckles white, as I slowly write out my lines.


Dear Ted,

Please try and stay out of trouble. I do not want another letter from Hogwarts. I understand that you do not get along with Dermot, but believe me, nobody is nasty with due cause. Look at Snape! I always thought he hated me for no reason, but he was actually an incredibly brave and worthy man. Sometimes you just have to look beyond certain characteristics of a person.

I know Dermot partly through reputation, and partly because he’s had to go into the Auror department a couple of times, and I’ll have you know that he is an amazing Hit-Wizard. One of the best. It will be good to learn from him. Just hold your tongue, Teddy, and try to stay on the right side of him.

Hope you’re well, we all miss our favourite teddy-bear,


I let out a frustrated half-sigh half-growl, and chuck the letter at Jason, who is grimacing and trying to read over my shoulder.

I pick up my grandmother’s.

Dear Ted,

Oh, Ted, what were you thinking? How could you be so cheeky?

I break off my reading to let out a rant to Alfie.

“I don’t know what he’s told them, because I wasn’t that cheeky at all! In fact, I wasn’t! I was merely pointing out the facts. He’s told them a big fat lie!”

I hope you’ve learnt your lesson, young man, and you won’t do it again, because Merlin knows your parents would be furious. Defence Against the Dark Arts should be your best subject-

I can’t read anymore, so I slam the parchment onto the table, fold my arms and begin to sulk.

“Teddy…” begins Alfie cautiously.

“Don’t talk to me. I can’t believe that they believed him over me!”

“You don’t know what he said in the letters, Teddy,” pointed out Jason.

I glare at him. “Well, I’m going to find out! I’ll write to Harry – he’s a soft touch, he’ll give in and do what I say… especially if I mention how hard it is being an orphan . . . ”

I grab a piece of parchment from my bag, and furiously scrawl out a letter to Harry.

Dear Harry,

What did Dermot say in his letter? Because whatever he’s told you, it isn’t true. I was merely pointing out that he had no right to take points from Gryffindor for something that he told me to do, and he said that I was being very rude, which I clearly wasn’t.

He seems to hate my dad, too – and always calls my mum Nymphadora Tonks, instead of Lupin, which really annoys me, obviously. Because being an orphan is really hard and all.

Also, me and Jason have been talking – is it okay if he and his family come to stay for Christmas? Grimmauld Place is plenty big enough, isn’t it? Or am I staying at Grandma’s this year?



Chapter 7: Nothing Like Fairytales
  [Printer Friendly Version of This Chapter]

Dear Teddy,

Yes, you are staying at Grimmauld Place this year, and yes, it’s fine for Jason to stay – does he want to bring his family with him? How many of them are there? It’s just him, his parents and his sister, right? Ron and Hermione might come with their kids too – quite how everyone will fit, I don’t know, but we’ll manage.

Professor Dermot simply said that you were disrupting the class and questioning his authority as a teacher. He may well have over-reacted, Teddy, but you have to be prepared about these sorts of things.

Behave yourself; don’t give Professor Dermot an excuse to have a go at you!



“Was that from your Godfather, Teddy?” demands Mickey, as soon as I finish reading. “Have you told him about me? When can I meet him? What’s he said about me?”

“Nothing,” I reply wearily, folding up the letter and trying to ignore Jason, who has a fist stuffed in his mouth. “I haven’t told him about you.”

“Why not?” Mickey exclaims, outraged. I swear, you can actually see the angry little monster throwing a tantrum behind his eyes.

“I guess I forgot,” I shrug. I turn away before he can say anything more to me, and grab Jason by the upper arm, dragging him away from the breakfast table.

“Why did you even sit next to him?” asks Jason, chortling.

“I didn’t!” I scowl, throwing him a glare. “He came and forced his way between that third year and me. Seriously, I’m going to have a bruise the size of a Quaffle on my arm from where he gripped it.”

“Why’d he grip it?”

“Wanted to know whether that was really Harry’s owl. Anyways, where’s Alfie?”

“Oh, he got a detention at dinner last night for flicking peas at the Slytherin Prefect. You were at detention with Dermot.”

“Oh.” We climb the stairs, heading for the Common Room. I’m glad it’s the weekend. We only had three days of the school week, but I’m shattered already.

“Let’s turn all the portraits around so they face the wall,” says Jason suddenly.

“I- what? Where did that come from?”

Jason shrugs. “Impulse – come on!” With that, he sets off at a sprint down the first floor corridor, turning every portrait around and laughing his head off as he goes. I race after him, laughing my disbelief. Within a few minutes, I lose my head and help him – doing all the portraits on one side of the corridor, while he does the other.

Not only do we turn all the portraits around, but we also roll up the long rugs on the floor and hide them behind the statue of Bertha the Barmy.

Jason is elated by the whole thing, and I feel a deep sense of guilty pleasure and smugness – the sort of feeling you get when you successfully steal from the cookie jar. I have never really been “naughty” before. Maybe that’s why I’m being so rebellious now. Before, I always felt like I was a… guest, of sorts. Because I was not Harry’s or Molly Weasley’s child, I should be on my best behaviour, and Grandma… well, there’s not much in the way of pranks that I could do at Grandma’s house. It’s just me and her. And I never want to upset her by being naughty.

But now, at Hogwarts, I can do whatever I want. The teachers can’t make me feel guilty by giving me a mere detention.

Of course I’m behaving myself, Harry…

Jason and I are just rolling up another carpet when…

“Oh, guys – you started the party without me?” Jason and I turn around to see a grinning Alfie.

“Back from your detention, then?”

“No, I’m still cleaning trophies,” he replies sarcastically. “Are you two doing this with a purpose, or is it just mindless vandalism?”

“I don’t look at it as vandalism,” chirps Jason, “I look at it as creative expression.”

“Look at it how you want, but I passed Filch on my way up here; I reckon he’ll be here in about… two minutes?” Jason looks at me, an expression of terrified exhilaration on his face.

“Run!” he yells, and it’s a gleeful yell of fear. We dart down the corridor, laughing and shouting about how Filch is coming, even though there’s no way Filch could catch us with his bad leg. All I can think about is about how truly wonderful Hogwarts is.

The idea of wanting to leave, the thought of wanting to go home seems bizarre, ridiculous. Not even the stories of Hogwarts I had been told could have prepared me for this. I remember with amusement how I had unwillingly dragged myself out of bed on the first of September, how I had confided in Harry my fear of being teased and disliked.

Sure, Dermot dislikes me. Well, hates me would be a better word. But apart from him, everyone here seems to like me. There is nothing that can ruin this feeling. I am happier than I have ever been in my life.

This is what Harry must have felt after the war. This unbelievable release, this amazing feeling of freedom. No doubt he felt it on a much larger scale than I did, but for once I know where I am going to sleep next week – I don’t have to continuously ask whether I will be staying at Grimmauld Place, the Burrow or Grandma’s house. It is strange how routine can be so much more exciting and new than uncertainty.


A few days later, I head down to the lake. I have not been there yet, and, for once, both Jason and Alfie are in detention when I am not.

Harry doesn’t admit it, but when Ron got a bit tipsy one Christmas, he told me and Victoire about he would spend hours down there, sitting in silence, away from everyone else. Harry always said he didn’t spend hours down there, but he did like to go there because it was peaceful, and there were certain areas where he could sit and think and no one could see him.

I go, and I find a small patch of trees. I sit under them, but then stand up again because the ground is cold, hard, wet and just generally uncomfortable. So, I stand and look out at the massive black lake.

It’s all right, I suppose. Sure, it’s pretty and everything, but I can’t imagine spending hours here, because it’s a bit boring after a few moments. Then I remember that Harry said he came here to sit and think, but I’ve got nothing to think about, whereas he had too much to think about.

All I can think about is my potions essay. Then, because I am bored and I want to do something vaguely dramatic and memorable down at the lake, I open up the letter I received this morning.

Dear Teddy,

How’s Hogwarts? I can’t wait until I get to go! It sounds so exciting! Except for the Defence teacher of yours, he sounds horrible. I hope you’re having a good time. I’m getting really bored. Now that you’re gone, our den in the apple orchard at the Burrow has been taken over by some nasty Muggle boys, and I tried to get Mummy to get rid of them with magic, but she said she wasn’t allowed. Daddy says they’ll go away when they get bored of it, but I still whish you were here so that you could turn into a really big and scary teenager like you did last time!

Miss you lots and lots,


I smile at it, happy that she’s missing me, but annoyed that our precious den, so pain-achingly crafted out of sticks found and then dragged from the forest near the village, has been taken over by the stupid Muggle boys. I can’t wait until the Christmas holidays, when I can introduce Jason and Vicky to one another, and I can show Jason the den. Still, it’s a long way off, and I’m bored of the lake, not to mention freezing.

So, with a wet bum and an acute sense of anti-climax, I begin to plod my way back up to the castle again.


September passes in a haze of mischief making, detentions and several letters from Harry and Grandma, pleading me to become a geek. As the first day of October rolls around, bringing harsh winds from the North and starting to strip the trees of their gold-brown leaves, I find myself in my twenty-sixth detention with Dermot. I’m a bit annoyed that he’s here, really, because he’s been away for the past couple of days, and I didn’t think he was here today.

To be honest, he is rarely at school. When he is, he makes his presence pretty well known, but it is always a relief to see Professor Allen walk in, all fairness and grace. Sure, she can be pretty scary, but only when she has to be – only when we deserve it.

As for my detentions, I keep getting more, because I can never resist snapping at Dermot when he insults my parents. It’s annoying, because he always does it in a subtle way, so I always come across as being really cheeky for no reason. Harry and Grandma have actually stopped sending letters telling me off, because I get detentions so often.

Well, I don’t really mind. Jason and Alfie think it’s hilarious, and place bets on how long I’ll be kept. I always make up stuff about things I’ve found or seen in Dermot’s office, so there are now rumours flying around the school about how he has six bottles of whiskey in his drawer, has ladies shoes next to his slippers and has been snogging Professor Allen in the supply closet.
But that is beside the point. At the moment, I am lying on my back with a special chisel thing, chipping off bits of chewing gum from the underside of a desk. It’s disgusting – bits keep falling onto my face, and I know that Dumb Dermot could have these desks sparkling with one sweep of his wand.

Dumb Dermot himself is sitting at his desk, scratching away at some essays with a black quill. He looks like he just recovered from a bad cold – his eyes are all bloodshot and he looks uglier than usual. Maybe he’s tired from his stupid missions that he always harps on about, or maybe he’s just born ugly.

“Can I stop now?” I ask rudely, letting my arms fall heavily to my sides. I have long since given up on being polite to him.

“No,” he replies smoothly, continuing to write at the old fashioned, parchment-laden desk, his face eerily illuminated by the low light of flickering candles. The dark circles under his eyes are only exaggerated by the bad light.

I let out a huge, exaggerated sigh, raising my now aching arms, and carry on chipping away at a piece of Droobles Best Blowing gum, imagining that it is Dermot’s ugly, sickly face. After ten minutes or so, the door opens, and I look to the side to see a pair of shiny women’s shoes walk through the door.

“Hello, Adrian.” It’s Professor Allen, her voice as kind and friendly as ever.

Adrian? Ha, ha – Jason’ll be able to think up a rhyme for that…

“Ah, Professor Allen – I’m just doing a detention at the moment.” I slide out from under the desk.

“Hi, Professor!” I say cheerfully, waving from the dusty floor. I turn my hair a shocking orange in greeting. Well, why not?

She stares at me with wide, blue eyes. “Another detention, Mr Lupin?” she asks incredulously.

“Afraid so,” I reply, a grin on my face. Well, what can I say? Hanging around Alfie’s made me a bit cocky and cheeky. Plus, her expression seems to be that of a mixture of pity and exasperation, so I guess she doesn’t approve of Dermot giving me loads of detentions.

She turns back to Dumb Dermot. “Have you got any assignments coming up?”

“Yes, I’m working around Halloween, probably. There’s been trouble in Azkaban – old Death Eaters kicking up a fuss again. I’ll need to go at the end of the month to help interview a couple about a planned outbreak – they think that no one knows what they’re up to. But the Aurors are worried they might put up a bit of a fight, so I have to go along too.”

“Halloween? You’ll be missing the feast then?” Her eyes are narrow and cold all of a sudden. Her lips have turned into one thin line.

“I wouldn’t go even if I wasn’t working.” Dermot stares at her with an expression that could kill.

Blimey – the way those two are glaring at each other! I feel really uncomfortable. Professor Allen is sending such a look of hate at Dermot that I’m surprised he hasn’t burst into flames.

“Er…” I mumble, trying to break the deafening silence.

“You can go, Lupin,” snaps Dumb Dermot, still glaring at Professor Allen, who is breathing heavily through her nose all of a sudden. I can hear them begin to yell at each other as I run from the classroom, but I don’t stop to listen.


“Hmmm, I wonder why they don’t like each other…”

“Er… who asked you?” replies Alfie rudely. The girl stares at him. To be fair, she was listening to our conversation, and she did just interrupt, but there was really no need to snap at her like that.

“What Alfie meant to say was, who are you?” I say apologetically to her. We are in the Gryffindor Common Room, lounging about on the worn, but still very comfortable rug infront of the crackling fire. The girl is sitting on one of the scruffy chairs nearby, watching us intently.

“Edith Gunner,” she says, looking rather embarrassed. Edith has dark blonde, curly hair, which she has in two messy pigtails. Her face is rather long and broad, and the first signs of acne are steadily creeping onto her face from her jaw line. Her pale blue eyes are wide, and she has a rather large gap between her two front teeth. Despite all this, she still comes across as quite pleasant looking, if a little grumpy.

“Edith’s a grandma name,” says Alfie. I really have no idea why he’s being so rude.

“Alfie’s a granddad name,” Edith retorts, but she still looks embarrassed at being teased.

“Ignore him,” says Jason with a teasing look at Alfie. “He’s just grumpy because I wouldn’t give him any of my chocolate frog.”

“I am not!” he counters angrily, but everyone ignores him.

“What were you saying?” asks Jason pleasantly, a smirk on his face as he gives a sideways glance at Alfie.

“Well, before I was rudely interrupted,” she says with an angry look at Alfie, who splutters in protest, “I was wondering why they don’t like each other.”

“Well, it’s hard not to hate Dermot, isn’t it?” I reply. Indeed, I do not know any students who do like him. Although he picks on me most, he’s really harsh and strict to everyone else too – not even the Slytherins like him, and he’s the head of their house. I wouldn’t be surprised if they offered him the teaching position because everyone in the Hit-Wizard department was getting fed up with him. Maybe they bribed Obando.

Edith shrugs, her two dark-blonde pigtails bouncing on her shoulders. “Maybe, but why would Dermot hate Professor Allen?”

“He hates everybody,” I shrug back, as if it’s obvious. Which it is.

She considered me for a moment. “You’re probably making it up. Every time you come back from a detention, you make something up.”

“I do not!”

“Just last week you were saying that they were snogging in a broom closet.”

“It was a supply closet, actually, and maybe they’ve broken up.”

“Look, if you’re just here to argue with us, go away,” responds Alfie.

“I’m not here to argue, I’m just-”

“Go away.” Alfie says firmly.

“Leave her alone, Alfie,” reacts Jason, looking slightly alarmed at Alfie’s behaviour. “She isn’t doing anything wrong.” Alfie gapes at Jason for a few minutes, and then storms off out of the portrait hole, muttering angrily under his breath. Well it’s his own fault – he shouldn’t bicker like a silly little kid, should he?

Edith smiles smugly. “At least someone here is nice.”

“I haven’t been horrible to you!” I splutter. She shrugs again. Then she looks at me very hard, with an expression as if she’s only just noticed I’m sitting here. Or, as it turned out, who I am.

“You’re Teddy Lupin, aren’t you?”


“Your father was a werewolf.” She says this as simple statement, as if remarking on the weather.

“I know he was.” She looks slightly disgusted, but also quite excited. Then she nods, gets up, and walks away.

Jason turns to me, dumbfounded. “What was that about?”

“I dunno.” Maybe it was about Harry or something, though I can’t imagine why she’d look disgusted. Maybe I was imagining it.

He seems to relay the conversation in his head. “Your dad was a werewolf? Er… are werewolves the same in the wizarding world as they are in Muggle fairy tales?”

“I dunno – what are Muggle fairy tales like?” I’ve only ever been told Beedle the Bard – Harry loves them and Grandma says that it’s a grandmother’s duty to read to their grandson before bed time, but she’s only got wizard stories.

“Well… in Muggle stories, the werewolves are always horrible monsters, that kill people and hunt down children. They’re always evil.”

I laugh. “Don’t be silly; my grandma and my godfather both say that all being a werewolf means is that you literally turn into a wolf once a month, but if you drink a special potion, you still know what you’re doing. You just go a bit furry and… four-legged. Being a werewolf isn’t bad. Werewolves aren’t evil – it’s just a… condition, I suppose. Like a disability. Everyone knows that.”

“Oh, right. Okay. Hey, will you teach me how to play that game you keep talking about? Gobstones, or whatever it is?” 

A/N   Please feed Kevin-the-review box some reviews. He needs them to fuel his cheering up of Evie, who is in the middle of exams and very sad. :(