Diagon Alley.
The long cobbled street was lined with the most enticing wizarding shops in the world.
Right now it was packed, bustling and bright.
"To Gringotts,"
Sean said. It was November; his voice rode the howling wind.
"All right,"
Lupin nodded.
He was wearing an extremely shabby wizard's robe, patched in several places.
In his hand he carried a battered suitcase. One corner bore a peeling label that read "R. J. Lipin," the letters half worn away.
The case itself was bound round with several cords, barely holding it together.
"Professor Lupin, are you carrying your trunk so you can move at a moment's notice?"
Sean asked as they walked through the noisy alley, sounding almost idly curious.
"Has anyone ever told you your powers of observation are a bit too sharp?"
Lupin said with gentle resignation.
He remembered the way this child had described his wand, down to the exact inch.
"Professor Dumbledore and Professor Tayra have,"
Sean replied.
Lupin gave a speechless little laugh—he hadn't really been asking.
Still, even that made his sickly, bone-tired expression ease a little.
"Yes,"
Lupin said, smiling faintly, though the smile was a little forced,
"for a… werewolf, it's quite normal to have no fixed home."
The cold wind gusted through again, and Lupin tightened his robes. His patched coat and broken trunk looked sharply out of place in Diagon Alley.
Even if he didn't realise it himself, the odd looks from passing witches and wizards made it obvious.
"I'll advance you your first month's wages. You should buy a decent set of clothes. And, Professor Lupin, your trunk is about to fall apart."
As they passed a noisy group of goblins, Sean pointed his wand forward; the cracks in Lupin's suitcase sealed themselves.
The cords binding it writhed and sank into the leather, becoming part of the case.
"Remarkable transfiguration…"
Lupin murmured, watching the changes. For a moment his eyes sharpened.
He grew even more curious. Where on earth had this child come from? And a wage advance—
"What if I took the money and ran? That's not in the contract anywhere,"
Lupin said with a wry smile.
"Well… in that case, I hope the next time I see you, you won't be freezing, Professor Lupin. The weather in Scotland is always cold and damp."
Sean's gaze shifted to the grand white hall of Gringotts.
"I'm going in to fetch a few things. If you're not planning to run, you can wait for me out here."
Lupin stared after him for quite a while. He had never seen a boy like this.
Sean filled the weightless extension pouch Dumbledore had given him with gold from his vault.
His vault itself was due to be moved soon—a goblin called Gorrik wanted to transfer it to the dragon-guarded level. Sean refused; he had no time to oversee a transfer. They eventually set the date for Christmas.
"Your advance, Professor Lupin,"
Sean said when he emerged, tossing Lupin a heavy money bag.
The weight of the Galleons gave Lupin the unsettling feeling that he'd just swindled a child.
"This—"
His first instinct was to refuse.
"A shop with a manager who looks that shabby will lose business,"
Sean said, eyeing the patched robe,
"and the bookshop will soon have an attic cleared out for you to live in. You'll be living over the shop, Professor Lupin, working until dark every day."
As he said it, Sean felt a strange pang. Somehow, he'd become a hard-nosed employer.
"I understand,"
Lupin said.
His eyes no longer followed the bustling street. It was as if he'd been lifted out of the crowd; a heavy, confusing feeling thudded around his chest, leaving him a little dazed.
After so long, it seemed he might actually have somewhere to stay.
"For the next little while, you can stay at the Leaky Cauldron,"
Sean added.
"And you'll need an owl, so we can stay in contact."
With that, the two of them crossed the street toward the Magical Menagerie.
The shop was tiny. The walls were packed with cages, shoulder to floor. The air stank, and the noise was awful; the creatures inside squeaked, screeched, hissed, and rattled the bars.
Behind the counter, a witch was explaining to a wizard how to care for a double-ended newt. While Lupin bought an owl, Sean was quietly examining the vial of Veritaserum in his hand.
He'd prepared a recording brooch specifically to ask himself questions.
The Leaky Cauldron.
Second floor.
Sean and Lupin followed Tom up an elegant wooden stair and stopped at a door marked with a brass number: 14.
It was Sean's first time in the Leaky Cauldron's guest rooms.
They weren't bad at all.
Inside was a bed that looked comfortable at a glance, a few gleaming oak pieces of furniture, and a fat little fire crackling merrily in the grate.
"Put your trunk down—we have to get back to Hogsmeade, Professor Lupin,"
Sean said.
Lupin set his case down by the oak wardrobe. The boy seemed to inspire remarkable trust in Tom; the landlord had given them a room key before even taking any money.
The little pouch, behaving very much like a Niffler, reluctantly spat out a few Galleons. Tom left beaming.
"Mr. Green, hope we'll be seeing you again."
Lupin suddenly felt as though he'd fallen out of step with the wider wizarding world; this schoolboy seemed oddly well-known in Diagon Alley.
"I have a few shops here,"
Sean said, as if reading his thoughts.
"A precocious child indeed… Very well then. Take my hand,"
Lupin replied, holding out his hand and watching as Sean downed a strange potion—something that seemed to ease the discomfort of Apparition. He'd never seen its like.
Sean departed Hogsmeade, and Green's Bookshop welcomed its new manager.
Beneath the towering holly tree, strung with blue and teal ribbons, Lupin stood for a long time, staring in the direction the boy had gone.
Snowflakes were drifting down. The chimneys of the Three Broomsticks puffed warm steam like a little train.
The boy's footprints dotted the snow; even walking alone, there was something striking about his presence.
Perhaps it was the understated elegance of his robes.
Perhaps it was the face that had small witches sneaking glances at him.
Whatever the reason, Lupin had to admit: this was a very unusual wizard.
He settled in at the Leaky Cauldron that day, and spent most of the time distracted.
Outside, the sky kept changing, from velvet blue to a harsh, cold grey, then slowly into a soft pink streaked with gold.
Watching from the window, he still felt a lingering sense of unreality—he had a well-paid job, and a place to rest his head.
In front of him lay new days, fresh and inexplicable.
"A strange and special day,"
he murmured with a crooked smile, before collapsing into bed, utterly exhausted.
The sleep that followed was far more comfortable than he had ever expected.
~~~
Patreon(.)com/Bleam
— Currently You can Read 120 Chapters Ahead of Others!