Bad Moon Rising

[Gideon Prewett]

Gideon Prewett arched his aching back and pressed his hands on his hips, and grimaced. Piles of books lay on the desk in front of him, serving as impromptu pillows for his brother Fabian, who was drooling on the front cover of Newt Scamander’s Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and snoring. The little figure of Mr. Scamander was ardently though unsuccessfully trying to get the attention of the slobbering invader, while lifting his robes about his knobbly knees and hopping from foot to foot in a rising pool of saliva. Gideon, not noticing, yawned widely and plopped Hogsmeade’s Harrowing Howlers down on the edge of the desk; there was barely any space what with the flotsam of discarded books and the sprawling mass of Fabian in the middle of it all.
Fabian Prewett was a year ahead of Gideon. He was a Ravenclaw like his younger brother, and was naturally academic, if not as book-wormish as many Ravenclaws tended to be. These days however he felt perennially exhausted, the pressures of the NEWTs taking their toll on his system. It didn’t come as much of a surprise that he’d dropped off after fifteen minutes’ perusal of Fantastic Beasts…
Gideon kicked the uncomfortable library chair backward and stood up. Madam Pince materialized with alarming alacrity at his shoulder, her crooked nose suddenly inches from Gideon’s face. Gid didn’t dare turn and look the vulturous librarian in the eyes, but stayed staring straight ahead, determined to deny her existence in the face of all evidence to the contrary. Madam Pince, whether due to some dim predatory instinct, perplexed by the inattention of a smaller, lesser being on the one hand and sensing elsewhere a weaker prey, or noticing the prone figure of a student unreservedly maltreating a collection of Hogwarts manuscripts, suddenly reared up like an angry Hippogriff and brought her wand down on the back of Fabian’s head.
‘Out – Out – OUT!’ she shrieked, virtually propelling the Ravenclaw Beater from his seat and grabbing Scamander’s tome. Fabian looked aghast and hardly sure if he was awake or in the middle of some horrible nightmare as he was pushed irrevocably across the room and out the library door, caressing his throbbing head.
Gideon meanwhile made a hasty and stealthy retreat behind a tall bookshelf next to the section concerning Dragons, on the other side of the library floor, after snatching up a copy of Haunted Hollows, Houses and Homes from the pile, and leant back against the leather spines, exhaling a slow breath of relief and grinning all at once.
‘I’ll be speaking with your Head of House FORTHWITH,’ croaked Madam Pince after Fabian, as he disappeared rapidly down the hall, and she continued to mutter and grumble hoarsely for several minutes, as she reverently replaced the scattered books to their proper homes, forgetting such unimportant things as students with the current task.
Gideon doubted she could tell the difference between any of the students; she’d simply spot an errant index finger or dirty thumb and swoop in. He looked passively around him. There was another boy standing there, a few feet away along the same row. Light spilled in through the stained glass of the high-arched windows of the east library wall, spattering colourful tans and hues over the mahogany and ash shelves, but here towards the West side, under the narrow lofty columns, the boy’s face was entirely drowned in shadow.

......

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[Remus Lupin]

[Worst Remus post... ever. -hangs head in shame-]

According to Professor Kettleburn, the newly instated professor for Remus’s Care of Magical Creatures class, dragons rank among the most sensitive of all animals – and not in the emotional awareness way. With incredibly keen eyesight, and even sharper hearing, it’s lucky people could get near at a dragon at all, especially since they weren’t exactly most trusting beasts on the planet. Still, they were positively fascinating animals, and had provoked a great deal of enthusiasm in studying absolutely everything about them, from the alchemical uses of their blood down to the good quality of their dung as fertiliser. Hundreds of witches and wizards had devoted their time and energy to understanding the smallest details, and the neatly penned results of their furious labours lay just within reach of Remus’s hand.

As he perused the shelves of dragon-based literature, head tilted slightly to the side to better read the fading titles and peeling letters, he considered the majesty that such dangerous creatures had earned. They were, without a doubt, some of the most incredible magical creatures alive. Remus, being of a similar nature and a magical creature himself, could fully relate to their wonder, if not their austere power, and yet – still found himself completely in awe of their abilities. Unlike most animals, dragons had an additional sensory perception, linked solely through their minds – not any particular physical feature. It was almost as if they could predict danger, particularly between mothers and their young – the mother knew immediately if something threatened her eggs.

He reached out for a book slowly, but hesitated before his fingers had even graced the leather-bound volume. A sudden thought had jumped into the back of his mind. Though he, personally, had never been particularly opinionated when it came to the obscenely strict librarian, Madame Pince, he understood fully people’s fear of her presence. Like a dragon mother protecting its young, she seemed to know when some ill had befallen one of her precious books. Within seconds, she could be on the scene, eyes flashing mercilessly as she howled – her horrifying screeches making students whither as though she had roasted them alive with her fiery breath. It was terrifying, really.

Quite honestly, Remus was surprised he was even allowed to come in the library, in the first place, considering who his friends were. It was common knowledge that he was the good one, Dumbledore having made him a prefect as opposed to his more rambunctious friends, Sirius and James – but that didn’t change the fact that Sirius was not allowed within twenty feet of library in any direction, and James could only come in with an escort. Not like either of them really had any desire to come near the place anyway, but the penalty still remained.

It was entirely possible that dragon senses could have severely improved the quality of Remus’s life – but at the moment, he really didn’t need them. Madame Pince’s howling shrieks could have been heard on the other side of the planet, never mind the other side of the book shelf. Without the slightest hesitation, Remus ducked into an alcove, shielded by a towering column, in his attempt to hide from the screeching monster. In the even that she came rampaging down the aisles – he didn’t want to be found.

Moments later, another person leapt into the safety of his aisle – but he assumed the worst. Either it was the dragon herself, or she would surely follow this hapless sod to the corners of her world in her attempts to get at his flesh. Time drifted by slowly, but still there was no sign of the librarian. His new companion, breathing heavily from his escape, was leaning against the shelves, seemingly unaware of his presence. From the shadows, Remus couldn’t really tell who the boy was, but he wasn’t about to come out until he knew it was safe.

In the distance, the voices started to quiet. Madame Pince’s fury had since died away, careening off in another direction in search of new prey. Whether this fellow had been the cause of her earlier grief or not, she had obviously abandoned him for another source.

Now it was time to find out exactly who his mysterious visitor was. Stepping forward quietly – Remus peered around the edge of the shelf, taking care to remain in the shadow himself – in the event it was someone he really rather’d not talk to. As it were, however, the reality was quite the opposite. Bombarded by the orange glow from the library windows, the image he saw had been distorted. Now, as he approached, it become astoundingly clear that the boy was friend – not foe – and a good one at that.

And thankfully for him, because that was the exact moment that his companion chose to turn around, and judging by the look on his face, Remus had been discovered. Stepping out into the light, he smiled at the one and only Gideon Prewett, a good… if somewhat devious friend of his whose company Remus thoroughly enjoyed. Without a word, he jerked his head back – motioning towards some of the small study rooms located towards the back of the library. It was one of the few places even Madame Pince would have trouble hearing them – and after her earlier episode, he wasn’t going to leave anything like that to chance.

[Gideon Prewett]

The figure stepped forward into the light, revealing himself intentionally to Gideon. Why the shadowy dramatics then? Presumably, he thought, Madam Pince’s presence demanded a prudently guarded caution from all of the library-going students. Look what to happened to Fabian for letting his guard down! But this was Remus Lupin – Gideon supposed he had no real reason to be lurking so in the gloom, probably just browsing the shelves and was surprised by Gideon’s animated entrance.
Remus gesticulated with his head to the study rooms behind him. No doubt he had heard Madam Pince’s outburst and felt no impulsion to warrant another disturbance on his behalf! He was probably right to look for more private grounds, even to exchange hellos, Pince’s regime was so disconcertingly gauche (Gid was pleased to grab the opportunity to use that word).

Remus turned and walked towards the far doors. Gid followed with a reflexive glance over his shoulder, admiring the vibrancy of the stained glass’ designs on the other side of the room. He made a note to himself to have a closer look at the glass design. The shelves beside him housed a voluminous collection of Dragon lore. Perhaps Remus was doing some early homework for Care Of Magical Creatures… perhaps he was just reading up on them for his own pleasure. Remus was like that, Gideon judged. He made the effort to find an answer when a question was posed; he sought to understand all that he could around him. A surprisingly few people actually behaved that way, unfortunately. It was probably the only reason they had gotten on so far, Remus and he, since they hadn’t actually spoken outside of a study environment very often. Remus was always to be found, when not in the library, in the company of James Potter and Sirius Black. They were rather an unapproachable bunch, through no fault of their own, not that Gid had had any inclination to breach the gap thus far. The three friends were a year lower than he, and it was only through staying back after a Transfiguration lesson last year that Gid had been introduced to them.

Professor McGonagall had asked him to take the first ten minutes of the next class for her while she ran an errand. It was not unusual for some of the teachers to trust him with particular tasks.
They were transfiguring inanimate objects, so there wasn’t much danger – although he recalled a Hufflepuff, Greta Catchlove, somehow turning her rock into a Jarvey, which threatened to do something obscene with her wand, dived off the table and ran raving out the door.
He was told to lend advice where needed, as the class knew what they were supposed to do… in theory. Remus, Sirius and James though hadn’t needed any help. They looked quite bored, indeed, idly flicking their wands (deceitfully absent-mindedly, since the actual movements required were quite complex) and flagrantly disobeying the rules of the exercise: Remus had to untransfigurate a limb of what smelled like edam cheese back into Peter Pettigrew’s hand, while James and Sirius writhed contortedly in hysterics. Gid had approached them afterwards to say he was impressed, out of genuine wonder for what they had shown in class. James had nodded in acknowledgement and he and Sirius had wandered off talking, but Remus had happily engaged him in conversation. Since then, they had spoken spasmodically about interesting spells or techniques they had each come across. He found Remus interesting, and respected the mature wisdom he had shown at times to possess.

Gideon stuck Haunted Hollows, Houses and Homes under his arm and followed Remus now, remarking his odd bearing. He walked in a sort of two legged trot.



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[Remus Lupin]

Reaching the small wooden door, Remus pushed it open quietly – praying it wouldn’t squeak as he did so, though he’d never encountered a problem before. According to James and Sirius, doors at Hogwarts only squeaked after hours – it was some special trick of Flitwick’s designed to catch students out of bed. Apparently it only reacted to students though, so if you welled up your confidence and thought very honestly to yourself “I am an old geezer” then you would have no problem, and you could walk through without a sound. Remus had yet to test this theory – and was going avoid it altogether if he could, but with James Potter and Sirius Black as your best mates – things like that weren’t always reasonable.

The door opened soundlessly, and with a smile – Remus stepped inside, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light. The thing about the study rooms was that they were at the back of the library, away from the walls – and therefore the windows – so they were only lit by what candles a library could afford to have. As it was, the room seemed like it was swimming as the light flickered from behind a dozen enclosed glass spheres, to prevent the wind from extinguishing the flame, or the candle from tipping over and causing a disaster. Remus was relatively certain that the books had all been personally protected by the library’s resident dragon – but there was no harm in being cautious.

Stepping out of Gideon’s way, he allowed the older fellow to pass him, before peeking out the door – glancing nervously from side to side. Once he was convinced that there was nothing worthy of his paranoia (dragons included!) hovering just beyond the threshold, he shut the door just as quietly as he had opened it, before turning around and flashed a cheery smile. “Well hallo, Gideon,” he quipped in his good-natured tones. “It’s nice to se you haven’t been eaten… or badly burned.” Now that he was outside of the range of even Madame Pince’s incredible senses, he felt positively comfortable speaking like a normal human being.

“What brings you to the dragon’s den, this day?” His naturally jovial personality was energized by his proximity to instruments of learning, and when in the general vicinity of those who appreciated learning. Naturally – around his usual friends, he tended towards the more cautious and reserved areas of his personality – out of the desire to know at least one sane person was being forced along on their adventures, and to rationalize the likelihood of being able to get help in the event of a disaster – which, with those three, was almost always pending. “You seemed a bit harried – have you been forgetting our motto: draco dormiens nunquam titilladus?”

It was mindless chatter – but near encounters with the librarian often put him in a bit of a tense state – and in moments like that he tended to be very talkative, perhaps more than was necessary. Regardless, he could feel his heart beat starting to slow, and with a gentle sigh perched on the edge of table, as his companion spoke.

[Gideon Prewett]

Gideon strolled quickly past Remus, who was hovering good-naturedly and somewhat fretfully by the door, gesturing Gid to enter ahead of him. Gideon felt himself slightly bemused at how covert an otherwise trivial meeting of two friends became when a third party in the shape of Madame Pince was introduced. She was certainly an evident catalyst for some degree of distress in Remus Lupin! Although, an unwavering air of restraint and caution seemed to be part of Remus’ nature, as far as Gideon had witnessed. He was secretive, not in any avaricious way, but simply reserved. It was often hard to tell what he was thinking under those deep grey eyes. This natural or adopted air – which it was Gideon wasn’t sure – was probably self-preservatory, and no doubt he had his reasons: two came instantly to the mind in the form of Sirius Black and James Potter… they were anything but restrained, and Gideon got the sense that Remus felt the need to have enough restraint for all of them together.

Nevertheless once Remus had noiselessly closed over the door to the study, he turned briskly around and at once became quite animated – excitable even in his speech. His whole demeanor positively changed. Gideon was delighted with the transformation. It meant that Remus obviously felt at home in his presence, and he took it as a privilege to have Remus’ confidence.

He sat back on the edge of a creaky table, placing his book down beside him, and let his fingers hug the varnished seam. Gideon couldn’t help but smile as he watched Remus verbally unfurl before him. He let his eyes take in the Gryffindor's handsome, pale face, and the shaggy hair bouncing off his blushing cheeks as he spoke. Under the room’s ambient splash of candlelight his brown hair was flecked with rivers of vibrant blond.
His musing was interrupted by Remus’ pause in questioning, as he looked for a moment directly at Gideon, an unsure smile playing on his lips, his grey eyes shining in the half-light. Gideon returned his gaze companionably for a moment, his mouth curving sharply into a grin, and then he let his eyes wander as a laugh welled up and out of him.
‘Yes I’m fortunate enough to have escaped without suffering any draconian injustice, though I can’t say the same for my brother, who’s brutal rout I am sure you heard rumour of,’ replied Gideon beaming.
He noticed unconsciously that Remus mirrored his own position thoughtlessly, restfully perching on the edge of the table opposite, nearer the door. It was meant to be a good sign of friendship and trust, when two conversing people mirrored each other’s gestures like that.
‘And that’s good advice which I should know better to adhere to!’ he added, referring to Remus’ Sleeping Dragon. ‘I’m afraid I let poor Fabian slip into a vulnerable doze right in the middle of the Horntail’s nest. I should have sent him off to bed I suppose but my attention’s been a bit limited recently.’ Gideon held up Haunted Hollows, Houses and Homes by way of explanation and frowned genially.
'I’m reading up on something. Something to do with Hogsmeade actually.’

[Remus Lupin]

A less well-controlled person would have frozen on the spot. Remus, however, was a master of handling potentially problematic situations like he was reading the morning paper, and could dance around anything if he fought hard enough. Part of it had to do with his errantly cheerful nature. His friends had made him something of a deserving cynic, but try as they may he could never quite shake that vainly hopeful optimism that came with having your life ripped out from under your feet. For him, there would always be another option – there simply had to be.

“Really?” he asked casually, tone giving off only the barest hint of intrigue. “Following ghost stories, are you?” The soft chuckle that escaped his lips wasn’t demeaning, but it showed Remus’s disinterest in the subject rather plainly. One had to be very careful around boys like Gideon. He and his brother Fabian were incredibly talented wizards, very clever, and would very likely find it easy to read through Remus’s defences in search of the truth.

“Bad luck for Fabian, though. Madame Pince has been on the warpath ever since she caught Sirius and James trying to levitate another student onto the chandelier while he was napping.” He carefully avoided giving names, only half-hoping that Gideon would be a bit more polite than he had and show reciprocal interest. “Poor fellow. He woke up to her screeching just as they had him over the edge of a candle.” The things his friends did. Even when he wasn’t involved, it left him feeling guilty.

“Nevertheless,” he added, “they’ve been banned for the rest of eternity.” Even if Gideon didn’t follow his lead and ask curiously concerned questions, Remus had obliterated any chance of going back to the subject. That is, unless of course Gideon was more than just interested the hauntings of Hogsmeade. It did not do to delay an intellectual his pursuit of intelligence, and if Gideon was interested enough, he would bring the topic round again.

Remus could only silently pray for his sake that he wasn’t.

[Gideon Prewett]

Gideon was still for a moment, leaving an unsure, superficial half-grin to take the weight of the sudden pause left after Remus finished talking. He didn’t mean to be rude in any way; it was just that he wasn’t sure what to say all of a sudden. Truth be told, he was initially a bit taken aback by Remus’ scoff at his ‘following ghost stories’. It may not have been a scoff directed at him, of course, but nevertheless it had surprised him enough to set him slightly off kilter, and Gideon had been chasing the rest of the conversation from a few beats behind. As a result he was just now catching up.

There was also the presence of that strangely common and rather confusing period – for both parties – that results from one of the speakers having uttered a vague anecdote that is ambiguous in its motivation and in its point - where there is no communal punch line, no shared emotional or intellectual response. This can be a result simply of tonal implication rather than subject matter, as was indeed the case here, for Remus trailed off slightly as he neared the end of his utterance, appearing to lose the will to see it to its end; that at least is the impression Gideon received. He would at another time have appreciated the comedy of James’ and Sirius’ antics, but it was impossible to do so when Remus himself appeared to have formed the opinion mid-way through his speech that there was no humour present, contrary to his initial hope, and to doubt its value – as it appeared to him - and since Gideon was already a little distanced, the consequence was a lingering embarrassing silence.

This is of course a rather detailed look into what was predominantly a process of unconscious thought, but it is important to understand if one is to appreciate Gideon’s reaction: so soon as he was aware of Remus’ verbal hesitance, he immediately quantified it by attributing its inception to guilt, or shame, at James’ and Sirius’ behaviour. Something in Remus’ face projected the impression; there was an evident moral objection in Remus that either the described events, or the retelling of those events, inspired.

One might regard this judgement of the situation as hyper-sensitive, especially since Remus’ features were ever well controlled, but Gideon had been alert and reflective since noting Remus’ seeming disdain at the way he was occupying his time with ‘ghost stories’. Such a thing might go unmarked when issuing from another source, but from Remus it was unnatural. As much as Gideon knew of him, it was hard to imagine him to possess a distaste for anyone seeking knowledge of any form, and much more unlikely for him to express his own distaste with such a gesture, especially in company, even it was only a simple chortle to himself. Gideon didn’t have time to decide whether he found it trivial or significant, but the fact remained that it was odd. And to change the subject like that: it did not seem to ring true of his character – insofar as he knew. But the fact was that Gideon didn’t know Remus all too well, and it was entirely possible that he had thought he knew him better than he did.

As these thoughts occurred to him, Gideon sat, a little more rigidly, attempting to catch up with the subsequent dialogue, and thus it was that he read more than he might otherwise have done from the tone of Remus’ conversation. Indeed the combination of these peculiar, consecutive behaviourisms led Gideon to the supposition that something was weighing on Remus Lupin. This assumption gave plausibility to Remus’ initial, dismissive response to Gideon’s point of interest, and lent cause for his singular speech. If Remus was upset about something, Gideon hoped it was not something for which he was to blame. And it suddenly occurred to him that he had yet to inquire as to his friend’s health, as one should, and that he may have somehow been rude himself; he wasn’t sure, but he felt uncomfortable from the change in atmosphere, for all its ambiguity.

This is why, following Remus’ anecdote and the subsequent short but pregnant pause, Gideon smiled, as genially as he could in an attempt to appear natural, wanting not to offend Remus – it was the best response he could think of, not knowing what to say – and scratched his head unwittingly, repositioning himself on the makeshift seat.
‘So how are you Remus?’ he asked. ‘Are you studying something in particular yourself?’ It was an open-ended question, and Gideon hoped Remus would be happy to chat away. He knew he was over-analysing as usual, but he wanted to know whether his friend was either perhaps down about something, or whether Remus was capable of behaviour he had not previously thought a boy of his countenance would be. It was only just as Gideon uttered his last question that he realised he might have unintentionally been berating Remus for his chuckling riposte.

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[Remus Lupin]

[I lied. THIS is the worst Remsy post ever. -needs to get in the swiiiing-]

The awkwardly tense silence told him his attempt to change the subject had gone a bit further awry than he had originally intended. It wasn’t disdainful, but he had forgotten the addition of Gideon’s enormous mental capacity in his calculations. Unlike most of the slightly hare-brained students he spoke to on a regular basis, his Ravenclaw friend never missed a beat in conversation, or his own thought processes. It make speaking to him almost intimidating, bit for Remus that more of a bonus than a dissatisfaction.

Still – he had to be more careful about what he was saying. A man like Gideon Prewett wouldn’t miss any slip, though he might have the grace to ignore it, Remus had no intentions of risking anything on that. His current position, in school with friends who actually seemed to honestly care about him, meant far too much to him to let anything ruin it. He supposed he could have qualified his earlier disinterest, but that would only have sparked another round of mental additions in his companions head, and as one of the cleverest and most quick-witted guys in the school – Gideon Prewett was the last man Remus needed looking into his actions and trying to unravel the mystery that surrounded him. Perhaps it was best to clear away a bit of the haze and show him that there was no mystery to unlock in the first place.

“I’m doing well,” he answered with a softly cheerful smile. Nothing too flashy, just his usual passive temper. Anything more hyper or out of the ordinary would stick out, and he had already given Gideon cause for concern once today. “I’m working on a Care of Magical Creatures assignment – dragons. Hence my being here,” he added with a small smirk. “To experience them in their natural habitat.” Maybe Sirius, James and Peter were starting to have more of an effect on him than he thought.

“Also, I’ve heard there are several good reference works on these delightful creatures being guarded amidst the shelves. I believe that’s where I was when we stumbled into each other at first.” That was good, more humour and a touch of sarcasm. Yes, his friends had definitely sunk into his conscious thought patterns. Silently he wondered if that was a good or bad thing. Not that it mattered, he was nervous as hell already, even though he wouldn’t show it, hiding behind that cheery smile of his. He was being a bit shaky though, not following through on his earlier point and what not. Maybe he could blame it on his friends – say they dosed him with caffeine or something.

[Gideon Prewett]

[don't worry! I still love your posts anyway, and now I've taken so long in replying that I've forgotten the intricacies I had planned in order to shape the plot! Aaargh]

“Hah, yes, from dragons to dragons!” chuckled Gideon, pleased that Remus was obviously still willing to converse about something - if not Gideon’s own ghostly predilections.

“I thought you might be studying up on them; I find dragons fascinating myself… I’ve often considered becoming a dragon keeper after school…” Here he paused slightly and his eyes rested on a candle flame flickering happily in its glass, close by to their seats, not really taking in what he was looking at. “Well, I might, in an ideal world…” he said, frowning.
Gideon lacked a great amount of knowledge about the sinister events occurring outside Hogwarts for many a past year, as seemed the case with all the students - the frustration of being purposely kept ignorant weighed often heavily on him - but he knew enough to feel quietly certain that it was either naïve, or more probably cowardly, to think of the future and a self-involved existence in some remote part of the world; it was a nice thought, appealing for its adventurousness, but Merlin knows what might be in store for the wizarding world; the whole world, perhaps.
It was amazing the things muggles didn’t know about, or failed to see. Take dragons for example…

“You know, I often wonder whether the Statute of Secrecy has more cons than pros, on a philosophical level anyway,” said Gideon, folding his arms and stretching his legs unconsciously... “It also baffles me sometimes how we get away with it!” he added, and seeing that Remus showed no intention of interrupting him, went on:
“I mean, ten known breeds of dragon, some with a wing span of over thirty feet, flying about, breathing fire: and the creature is confined in the muggle world to the pages of fancy; same with us even!”

Gideon, much like Remus, had a habit of speaking extensively about something once it seemed that there were no objections, and here Gideon took Remus’ attentive silence to be inviting further exposition.

“Did you know that muggles have a mythological legend about dragons and King Arthur? – the same pertaining to the time of Merlin – that two dragons fought underneath the earth, and observing this, Merlin knew who would win between the Saxons and the Britons: its just remarkable how much of the magical world imbues every muggle culture, and yet they remain ignorant to the existence of another, vaster reality all around them… Its not as if we’re that stringent at keeping to our own rules half the time.” Gideon sat forward and let his head hang naturally a little to the side, looking past the flickering candle flame. “I think muggles have an inbuilt blind spot to the abnormal, relegating any odd occurrences immediately to the ‘supernatural’ and therefore fantastical. Only from fear I think though, if it is the case. We try to protect them from vampires and gho- um, werewolves and so on”, – Gideon barely missed a beat – “but now their myths, their imaginations, their dreams, are full of such creatures, indeed their nightmares are these creatures… and yet in reality such creatures are not always so nightmarish as they imagine them… Anyway, sorry, I’m going on,” said Gideon, lifting up his hand, palm towards Remus, and leaning back.

He wanted to ask Remus what in particular he was studying. He wanted suddenly to chat about all sorts of things, discuss the latest Quidditch results or the nature of magic – he often got these rushes of a desire to simply speak, or converse at length, and would suddenly feel very companionable to whoever he was with at the time, regardless of the nature of their friendship; it was probably a very immature and emotional response to intimate contact, but he relished the abrupt moods, forgiving the inevitable fact that they were always followed swiftly by a similarly sudden quietude that would see him sullen and introverted for a good while after: by nature Gideon was up and down, sometimes within minutes, and at others it would be days or weeks of a particular lingering sensation followed by an equally enduring and equally affecting, conflicting state. At any rate, he had spoken for more than was polite without reply, and again he was reminded – he had quite forgotten until he stumbled in the midst of his talk – of the previous minutes’ strange turn, and the reason for his having enquired as to Remus’ doings in the first place.

He shrugged his shoulders amiably and his cupid-bowed lips bent into a smile as he looked at Remus.

[Remus Lupin]

“A dragon keeper, really?” Remus asked, fascinated by the thought. He had always associated dragon keepers with brawny, weather beaten men and women who looked to be about nine-tenths muscle and one-tenth dragon, themselves. It was by far one of the most difficult occupations in the wizarding world – and not because of the amount of study required, but rather the force of mind necessary to work with such temperamental and intelligent creatures. Gideon definitely had the intellect required – between him and his brother Fabian, there wasn’t a smarter person on the planet, of that Remus was certain. Not even Lucius Malfoy could best Fabian in a temper, and he doubted that a number of the upper class Slytherins would find it easy to push Gideon around. “Ambitious position,” he added, face pensive. “Not that I doubt you’ll handle it splendidly, those dragons will be aptly responsive once you’ve taught them a thing or two.” His smile widened, but he didn’t miss Gideon’s comment.

There was no denying that their world was in for a rough storm, metaphorically speaking. Remus was certain that even the students wouldn’t be able to avoid it, sheltered as they were, once it broke out, but until that time he felt no need to worry about the possibilities. The future would come when it did, and he would willingly submit to whatever had to be done then. Without any foreknowledge of what he would be getting into, he was fully aware the trying to meddle would only cause problems.

“It is remarkable how much muggles are aware of, and yet – how little they accept,” Remus replied, listening intently. “Do they really?” he added, as Gideon kept talking. They were like the shore and tide when they got into these moments, words fitting together in perfect synchronization as they offered facts and appropriate comments throughout the discussion. It was fascinating how much ground they could cover in a few short moments, but no subject went untouched.

“You can’t deny that it’s partially the fault of wizardkind that they feel such things,” he stated, quite calmly. “We’ve never exactly made a point of open friendship with muggles at any point in history, and it’s a bit faulty to blame them for fearing something we make a point to keep them away from. The unknown breeds fear, and there’s never been any attempt to educate our counterparts on our own history. They may have all the information under their noses – but what good is it when they transcribe fear and tragedy to all things related?” He paused, collecting his thoughts briefly while Gideon filled in the gap.

“I completely agree with you,” he began again, picking up where the older boy had left off. “But it seems to me that it’s an effect of human nature, not just muggles that they behave so. Ever since the separation of magic and non-magic, wizards have developed their own myths and legends about muggles, haven’t we?” Though Remus had had the pleasure of growing up in a muggle-friendly household, his parents were still a witch and a wizard. He had been exposed to both sides of the divide, and knew better than most the rumours and falsities tied to both sides. “I wonder if the separation did us any good, but all the same – I can imagine it would only be worse if we hadn’t. Then again… who’s to say if recent events would have been postponed or forwarded through time if history had occurred differently? Another one of the great ‘what if’s that we academics are forced to ponder over.”

“Not at all,” he added, when Gideon began to apologise for chattering. If anyone had spologies to make, it was Remus – he felt like he hadn’t taken a breath since Gideon had paused, and had filled in every gap without considering how much he was talking. “You know I prefer our conversation to the polite – or not so – conversation you usually find around the common rooms and dormitories. Outside of class this is about as much stimulation as I get, and I’m grateful for that. It’s quite refreshing.”

He was intrigued by Gideon’s idea that not all fantastical creatures were the hideous creatures that even some wizards painted them to be. For his part, it was nice to hear that he added werewolves to the selection, and despite all the internal warnings, he was a bit curious to know what Gideon thought of them. As he considered broaching the topic, he knew it was impossible – and a very bad idea. Gideon was incredibly clever, and even a hint of interest on his part could have been enough to tip the straining scale in the Ravenclaw’s mind, exposing him for the monster he felt he was. And if Gideon wasn’t so open-minded as Remus had judged, though he doubted the likelihood that his friend could be so hypocritical, he wasn’t brave enough – for all his house’s qualities – to test those waters.

“It’s a wonder that you say they’re not the nightmares muggles think they are, but all the same – most of our own kind would disagree with you. Their myths are as much a dream as ours, but that doesn’t stops wizards from rejecting vampires and such as monstrous creatures.” His face was carefully expressionless, carrying only hints of the interest in the grey glitter of his eyes.

[Gideon Prewett]

“Well that just means wizards are more than partially to blame for not only muggles’ ignorance, but their own as well! We know that though,” added Gideon with a smile.
It was so typical of wizardry to categorize and limit entire species to a one-line description on a page, or to squeeze the vastest plains of possibility into a dubious, dismissive quip, and Gideon felt no hesitation in saying so in spite of the likelihood that it was nothing of which the two orators were not already aware.
He was just explicating his thoughts as they occurred to him, happy in the knowledge that Remus was participating in a similar vein and that sooner or later either one of them would stumble on a point that had not occurred previously to one or another of them, and create a point of further interest. Anyway, it was good to rant once in a while.

The fact was that the conversation was touching on subjects that hit a raw nerve for Gideon, and although that by no means meant he would not enjoy talking about it as much (quite the opposite in fact) it did make him immediately more somber and naturally articulate. He wanted to see what Remus personally thought of the state of wizardy in its relationship with every other species on the planet, if he would be willing to entertain him with an opinion.

It was like this: The pervading sense of self-importance and status that imbued almost every class of wizard-kind – prevailing through an unchallenged laissez-faire attitude – was a state that Gideon found nauseating; even the half-bloods and muggle-born wizards and witches of the world, no matter how humble and gracious or proud and resentful they might be, with every appeasing bow and every envious glance they made, only packed the foundation of the grievously inherent hierarchical system, within which wizardry is imprisoned, with more concrete. He observed as much to Remus.

The fact was that self-importance and condescension (a necessary feature of maintaining a level of self-composed superiority) were not just ripe within the pureblood aristocracy – pompously bragged within Slytherin House for example – but permeated every corner of society. No matter how low down the scale one was, one always found someone else to look down on; it was necessary in order to stay afloat, such was the damage of the system.
Openly fearing or off-handedly dismissing other species (which amounted internally to the same thing) be they werewolf, banshee, goblin or pixie, was simply a trait of the self-sustaining autocratical social pyramid of Wizardkind…
On saying this Gideon burst out laughing, having stretched his neck and pitched his voice deliberately, eyes sparkling as he grinned at Remus, while he raced to the end of the sentence with barely enough air or composure left to finish.

‘Self-sustaining autocratical social pyramid of Wizardkind’: it didn’t exactly roll of the tongue. Ah, all this was fundamental, the knowledge of it failed to change its nature or its impossible immutability, or so it felt. It was depressing frankly. And it made him wonder why he’d been wasting so much of his time during the past few weeks trying to discover the source of a howling haunt within the Shrieking Shack. While he and Remus conversed he pondered… What difference did it make? Trivial distractions to escape the harsher realities around them? Quite possibly. But wasn’t it rather a break-down of everything they’d just spoken about; wasn’t the whole idea of the Shrieking Shack in some way representative of the greater whole – the unknown being feared and that fact breeding more ignorance and fear: wouldn’t it do to figure out what was making the haunting and seek to understand it, perhaps lead others to think a bit more about their preconceptions? That’s a bit overly idealist, he thought to himself, but still, its possible. Of course, the shack could be currently employed as residence by a rogue, vicious banshee, but just as easily it could be explained a number of less exotic and far more significant things. Anyway for one thing if it was a banshee or another such dangerous creature, no doubt it would not be allowed to inhabit any part of a town such as Hogsmeade. No, it really was worth looking in to, if the chance arose.

Having convinced himself again of the value of this latest of his diversions, and enjoying the free-flowing speech between him and his friend (he had no doubt again of Remus’ good nature at least), given a free space in the conversation, Gideon without reasoning or thinking much about what he said before he said it, asked:
“You know I think you’re as interested as I am in the nature and nurture of our world, and everything in it – you can tell I adore myth and legend, and obviously I want to know everything there is to know about magical creatures and our relationships with them, and I think you do too, correct me if I’m wrong… do you really have no time for ‘ghost-stories’ as I gathered?”

Gideon asked the question good-naturedly [he was quite unaware that he had actually quite missed the aim of Remus’ worries], and for fear of offending his friend with what might seem a reproach, which it was not meant to be – rather a point of interest – he lowered his brow ever so slightly in puzzlement and bit the corner of his inner lip, smiling subtly. It was he hoped a natural gesture, as he wasn’t sure what to do at all whenever he was mystified by someone’s behaviour or some foreign opinion and he challenged it; it has to be said that Gideon never wanted to appear critical, and indeed he tried not to be judgemental as a rule, but because of his natural trend to always have a response or opinion ready, and to happily voice it to those who would listen, he often found himself being thought of as egotistical, when in fact he was far from it. Actually he himself feared constantly being in any way narcissistic, and he was well aware that by fearing that, he was in a way being slightly egotistical… it was a constant worry for him not to appear as though he felt superior in his opinions.
In this case however he wasn’t too concerned with being misread, as he had faith in Remus’ knowledge of him and his personality, or so he hoped at least.
It interested him that Remus might have a dislike for such a subject. And if he didn’t, perhaps, if it was as Gideon had thought at the time an inparticular gesture of annoyance, he’d take the chance to confide in Gideon if he felt like it. This only occurred to Gideon after he had asked the question, but he didn’t see any harm in it.

[Remus Lupin]

“The ghost stories, themselves, have no interest for me,” Remus explained, face cheerfully unconcerned and tone light. He had been hanging on Gideon’s every word earlier, but only out of personal interest. As one of the creatures of discussion, he did find the “self-sustaining autocratical social pyramid of Wizardkind” to be of immense importance, particularly in the growing darkness that surrounded them. There was no denying his desire to speak liberally on the subject, unguarded, but Gideon’s views for all he knew, despite his doubts, were not enough to contradict a decade of bad experiences. His secret was one he would die with, unless a severe but unlikely change came about in the world.

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t continue to be the intellectually curious student that everyone knew him as. Any change in that particular behaviour would have been more disastrous to the revelation of his character than even the slightest admittance to a natural distrust of wizards themselves. It was a law of the universe, people did not like change however liberally minded they were, and Remus was not of any mood to try and rectify that.

“It’s not that I’m dissatisfied with them, as horror stories I’m sure they’re quite satisfactory as far as amusement goes, but it’s the material that I fail to appreciate. So there are vicious spirits in a house on a hill. I’m sure you can find that particular occurrence in a bout a hundred places across all of England, and the world for that matter. Not to mention – they’re supposedly ghosts, correct? Nearly Headless Nick is also a ghost, and from my recollection a fair sight more friendly. If I have a question, I’ll ask him.”

Without stopping, as they were accustomed to, he launched back into the subject of idealism and opinions and the autocratical tendencies of wizardry. That was something he actually enjoyed talking about, though he found discussing it with anyone outside of Ravenclaw to be painfully difficult.

“I consider it a common flaw in the study of autocracy to be so specific as condemning only wizards. It’s a basic concept of humanity in general to arrange themselves according to positions of power, acquired on what terms is irrelevant so long as the power itself is measured. It’s interesting that there’s a lack of focus to hierarchy in other species – though we, as humans are not he only ones, by far. Still throughout history there’s reference after reference to the demand for singular, or in the least a select number of people commanding the masses. Without it, there is generally chaos and calamity, and though I’m not condoning the treatment of those who end in the lower ranks, it seems more of a necessity for some sort of governmental body than to be lacking in one.”

“It’s a pity that this pyramid of control has any semblance of social distinction rather than a basis on deserved ability, but that’s the fault I’m afraid. History has brought us here, and historically, wealthy families were the important ones.”

[Gideon Prewett]

Gideon absent-mindedly tapped the cover of ‘Haunted Hollows, Houses and Homes’ with his slender forefinger, his head bent to stare at the floor while he took in what Remus was saying. A strange furry thing with too many eyes was listening suspiciously to the wizards’ conversation as it peered out from a weathered copse decorating the book’s facade, occasionally making a face (it wasn’t a stretch) as it was prodded in its fat stomach.

As the two three-dimensional figures in the room bounced their ideas off one another, the sun above Hogwarts drifted through the heavens and began to turn the sky smudges of pinks and oranges brushed softly over the horizon.

Sitting in the glow of the library’s candlelight, Gideon found the Gryffindor’s recognition of wizardry’s flaws – and humanity’s – appealing and invigorating. It was comforting to find someone of like mind. But he did not share Remus’ feelings about the unworthiness of ‘ghost stories’ for his attention. Just because something was a common occurrence, he felt, it did not make the individual case any less interesting. He had spoken with Nearly Headless Nick on quite a few occasions (it was easier to approach him than the fleeting visions of the Grey Lady); he had spoken with a number of ghosts, and on one rather tense occasion a ghoul in the mires of Bromley-By-The-Water. He knew much – compared to most students – about the creatures that creep on the fringe of existence. Any chance however that he had to find out about the familial grudge of an unusually livid garden gnome* or to listen to the disturbed ramblings of a jarvey, were taken without hesitance. And he was damn well going to find out what had taken up its residence in the Shrieking Shack too. He wouldn’t press the matter on Remus, who’s disinterest would only mean that Gideon would be rude to do so, though he could not understand it.

All individual tales held curiosity for Gideon, and he had presumed anyone who recognised the importance of the cult of the individual – as Remus evidently did from his speech – would feel the same. He obviously did not understand people as well as he thought.

“I recognise that human society follows the same trends as us, as does the animal kingdom in a primitive form,” said Gideon, “and I agree that a necessary part of society’s process is hierarchical: responsibility, obligation, role; but the governmental hierarchy is supposed - in our ideal of democracy anyway - to be a reverse of that detestable aristocratic pyramid that we suffer under – turn it upside down, if you like… For the good of the people,” he said, thinking of a phrase he had once heard referred to as being coined by Albus Dumbledore: ‘for the greater good’. Dumbledore must have been referring to self-sacrifice for the sake of the people. There were of course other connotations to the phrase, but Gideon could not imagine Dumbledore to be in any way… Draconian.

“Furthermore,” he added, feeling the desire to be understood hot within him, and enjoying it, “I differentiate the systems of muggle and wizard society, and get so worked up about wizardry, because we as wizards have a further obligation to muggles that goes beyond that of humanity to the world. We have a greater responsibility for them, which comes with our… well, our power, and our understanding of a world beyond their knowledge. We are the ones who decided that the muggles should be misinformed for their own good. That in itself might have been a mistake. I don’t know,” he sighed, pausing to look Remus in the face.

He wondered if Remus got to chat about such abstract or philosophical points with his friends, and if that was why he and Gideon always ended up talking intensively like this when they had the time. It was fulfilling, but often fruitless, such conversation. Certainly they gleaned new perspectives or information from each other. But did anything outside of their conversation or thoughts change? It didn’t. It wouldn’t, by the looks of things. He had hoped that he might find that Remus was willing to apply himself practically to Gideon’s problem, that they might find some adventure together. But it looked as though their encounters would remain cerebral for the moment at least. He had a sneaking suspicion that Remus got up to all sorts of mischief with those two Gryffindor associates of his, and that their own sneaking filled Remus’ quota for adventure. Gideon, on the other hand, was finding his usual partner in crime wrapped up in OWLS, and so was spending much more time alone, suffering, For the Greater Owl.

Some remarkably bookish shuffling outside the door interrupted their chat. The unmistakable mutterings of Madam Pince as she swept the shelves free of student were floating through from the other room. Gideon took it as a sign that the library was clear of robe-wearing parasites, and realised suddenly that his stomach was groaning. The wizards and witches of Hogwarts would be assembling expectedly in the Great Hall right about now.


*This is only unusual because gnomes tend to operate at a constant level of Irate