Interviewer (I): So, Remus, tell me how it feels to be a famous Marauder.
Remus (R): Um ... I wouldn’t call us famous, exactly ... I guess a couple of people know who we are, but ... um ... what was your question? How it feels? Uh ... same as it feels to be in any group of friends, I guess. Only better.
I: A couple of people ... so modest. Only the whole school!
R: Um, are you okay, Marty? You’re acting a little odd.
I: All right, I confess. This is an interview for The Book.
R: Why do you need to interview me for The Book?
I: Well ... it is sort of about you, after all. And your friends. I’ve done loads of interviews before. Even McGonagall. That was a fun one, I’ll have to show you it some time. What’s your most treasured memory of you and your friends?
R: I “ it’s “ McGonagall “ interview “ treasured memory?
I: That’s right. There must have been many, which one has stuck with you?
R: Marty, are you sure you’re okay? Has the grief gone to your head or something?
I: Of course not. Of all of your memories, which one stands out as the most cherished?
R: Well ... um ... I guess the fact that they accepted me for who I am. Is that right? Am I doing it right? Or would you like something else?
I: No, that’s wonderful. One final thing. If the naming off this book was up to you, what would it be?
R: Um ... This Book Contains An Interview With Remus Lupin by Marty Price? I don’t know, I don’t even know what it’s supposed to be about! You’ve been nothing but vague about the whole thing.
I: Don’t worry about it. That’s perfect. I’ll definitely consider that one.
R: No, Marty “ Marty, I was kidding. Don’t call it that. Really.
I: Thank you for your time, this has been most enlightening!
Chapter Nine: The King of Diamonds
[Remus]
It has been an hour or two since my parents agreed to let Marty say and so far, I have to say ... I’ve never been so uncomfortable in my entire life. All right, maybe that’s not true. One time I had to attend a Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson on werewolves and there were some rather ... uh ... opinionated people in the class. But this evening so far comes pretty close to that.
It wasn’t Mum and Dad’s reactions that worried me. Mum was a bit apprehensive about Marty being a girl and me being a boy and all sorts of inappropriate things that might happen if we were ever likely to realise that. But she went to Taffy’s for years and was soon persuaded, after Dad had laid down some “ground rules”. And dinner wasn’t too bad, I guess. Marty just talked to Mum for a lot of the time about the usual things parents talk to their kid’s friends about. School, career plans, me (okay, that part was uncomfortable too) and, of course, how sorry Mum is about what happened. They seemed to hit it off and Dad and I just spoke a little about his work.
It was after dinner that things started to get uncomfortable again. “We’ll leave you two to it,” Dad had said, dragging Mum away into the next room. “You guys chat.”
Only what does one “chat” about with Marty? Even she seems unsure what to do next. She stands up out of the armchair and walks slowly around the room, brushing her hand over various objects. She reaches one of the many bookshelves and begins reading some of the spines. There are normal household help and medical books, basic spellbooks from my earlier years at Hogwarts and many histories that my Dad has collected. He’s a historian, particularly if it concerns Muggle-Wizard relations; that’s how he met Mum, asking her about her life away from Hogwarts. All the time. In what she found to be a rather adorable manner, apparently, although I don’t really want to think of my parents as anything other than a married couple.
Marty is on her tiptoes, reading the spines of the second-from-top shelf. I realise with a jolt of panic that the top shelf books are all about lycanthropy. Curse my Mother’s meticulous organisation skills!
“There are much more interesting ones in my room, you know,” I say without thinking. She turns round, mercifully not noticing the, ah, theme of the top shelf. “There’s nothing in there that you wouldn’t find in any other modern wizarding family where the head of the household is a particularly well-read historian. The good ones are upstairs.”
“Depends what you consider to be good,” Marty says, smiling at the opening to a conversation. “Got any Baritov?”
Horatio Baritov wrote wizarding adventure stories in the 19th Century. He is quite possibly my favourite historical figure ever to grace the literary world and has been since I was a child. Marty singling him out has just about knocked me for six ... whatever that means. “You read Baritov?” I ask her, she grins wider.
“Do I? Jackro Flavvings was like my childhood friend!” Jackro Flavvings is, of course, the main character in Baritov’s most famous series, The King of Diamonds. I know exactly what she means.
“Which is your favourite book?” I ask.
“Hmm ... it’s a tough question ... but it’s gotta be The Manticore Cave. Classic.”
“Are you kidding? Manticore is so over-emotional, he was going through his dark phase when he wrote that. Clearly, it’s The Charmed Scymitar.”
“Well, sure, if you like men with too much to prove fighting epic battles and dying all the time. How can you call Manticore over-emotional? It’s so deep and beautifully written, with a spectacular plotline all the way through. Scymitar is just ... testosterone in a book.”
“Don’t give me that. Scymitar is amazing, it has all the adventure and action that Manticore is lacking. I mean, Manticore is good, yeah, but it just doesn’t keep you interested.”
“What about The Forest of Silver? That’s sort of like the in-between.”
“Yeah, Forest is good, but I think we’re forgetting The Mountain Quest. That one is just so perfectly balanced ...”
Before too long, we find ourselves in my bedroom, finding our favourite segments from the books and reading them aloud, discussing the theories and meanings that occur to us as we read. Our opinions often differ, but we’re both open to the other’s ideas and it’s a really interesting discussion. I’ve never really had the chance to talk about my books much and soon we’ve moved onto other series, other authors and find we’ve read a lot of the same stuff. It takes quite a while before it occurs to me that this is the first time I’ve had a real girl in my room before. I kept away from the Muggle children when I was a kid and although cousins and the children of my parents friends used to come over in those days, they didn’t really count as girls; just other children. When I grew up and left for Hogwarts, it was only ever me and the Marauders. I’ve had one or two girlfriends, but it was never serious enough to actually want to bring them home and meet my parents.
But Marty seems different. She’s not like normal girls. Every so often, if I say something she finds amusing, or deep, or intriguing, she’ll stop the conversation to record it in her notebook. It’s quite disconcerting, but in a way, it’s also ... it’s almost flattering.
The clock reaches nine, then half past nine and then ten. I am lying back on my bed and she is sitting comfortably on my floor, over half the contents of my bookcase emptied and strewn around the room, open at random pages and stacked in mismatched piles. There is a knock on the door and my Dad sticks his head around.
“Sorry to interrupt the fun, guys, but your Mum was wondering whether Marty had any pyjamas or anything ... that’s if you still want to stay, of course. Also, Remus, it’s kind of late ... you were only ill last night, after all.”
It’s true and I suddenly notice that I am very tired.
“Oh, sorry, Mr Lupin ... I didn’t mean to keep your son awake. And, uh, I’m afraid I haven’t really got any pyjamas or anything ... you wouldn’t have something I could borrow, would you? Not you personally, of course, but, uh ... well ...”
Dad smiles. “I’m sure Joy has something somewhere for you, Marty. Follow me, I’m sure we can find a spare nightshirt ... and you can sleep in the guestroom down the hall.”
“Thank you so much,” Marty gabbles, looking incredibly relieved at the thought of a proper place to stay that isn’t that crumbling old cottage she was telling us about. “You don’t know how much this means to me,” she is saying now. “Thank you Remus, good night. Uh, see you tomorrow I guess. Mr Lupin, have I thanked you for your hospitality yet?”
Dad smiles. “Once or twice. Follow me, then ...”
They leave the room and I am completely baffled. I spent over two hours talking to Marty Price about books we both love. In my bedroom. For over two hours.
What just happened?
[Marty]
The next day, I wake up extremely early. As in, six o’clock in the morning. Cripes.
But I can’t get back to sleep, although I do try, so instead I get dressed in yesterday’s clothes and make a mental note to actually pick up some more today, like I was supposed to. Then I sit in the spare room and write some more notes for The Book. However, by the time it gets to seven, I realise that it is no use and I will have to go downstairs and get something to eat. But ... if I just take food, it will look as if I’ve already made myself at home, like I just presume I can flounce into their kitchen and take whatever I like. I can’t do that. La la la, thanks for putting me up, I’ll just take your food as if I belong here, don’t mind me, I’m such an arrogant brat that I automatically assume I can do what I like. Got any milk?
There’s no way. It’s rude and presumptuous and very bad behaviour for a guest. I’ll just stay here until someone finds me and actually offers me breakfast. For all I know, they could have presumed I’d be leaving. They might hate me. They might not want me to eat their food. After all, I’m not their daughter. I’m barely even their son’s friend. I’m just some random waif they pretty much found on the streets.
At half past nine, there is a tentative knock on the door. “Marty? Are you awake?” comes Mrs Lupin’s timid voice.
“Yes!” I say a little too quickly. She opens the door and seems surprised to find me fully dressed and cleaning the window.
“Oh,” she says. “You don’t have to do that. How long have you been up?”
“Um ... not long. I just thought I’d make myself useful, so I conjured that bucket and this cloth and decided to, uh ... well. Yes. Not that your window wasn’t clean, but ...”
“Well, never mind that. Come on, we’ll fix you up some breakfast. Remus won’t be down for a while, dear, he always sleeps in after he’s been ill. Is there anything you need? Do you need to pick up some clothes from home?”
“Actually, Mrs Lupin ... I kind of do. But the thing is, I really don’t think I can go back home, not on my own. Not after the attack ... I tried yesterday, but I couldn’t do it, that’s when Remus found me ...”
We have made our way to the kitchen and she is frying eggs like nobody’s business.
“Could you get your aunt to pick them up? Or maybe I could come with you? I certainly wouldn’t expect you to go back alone, that would be most upsetting for you ...”
“Well ... I could always ask my aunt to drop some things off, I guess. Uh ... could I use your floo powder?”
“Yes, of course. Breakfast will be about five minutes.”
As I leave the kitchen to find the fireplace, I consider Mrs Lupin. I know she was a Gryffindor, but she seems very timid, considering. Like she’s never quite at ease. I wonder what sort of thing could turn a strong person into a ... well, she’s not weak, but she just doesn’t seem to have the daring quality Gryffindors give off. If I had to place her, I’d say Hufflepuff.
But Mrs Lupin’s personality isn’t the issue right now. I really need some clothes.
There is floo powder in a pot on the mantle piece and I take a pinch and throw it in the fire, then stick my head in. I always feel a bit nervous doing that, but my face hasn’t burnt off just yet, so I should probably trust the years and years of proof that it works, instead of my own irrational misgivings.
When I open my eyes and look out of the fireplace, up into the cold, dusty sitting room of Garfield’s house, I feel really ... short, actually, but mostly a little weirded out. It’s such a lonely house and somehow it just reminds me all over again that my mother was killed. The place really does drench you with sadness.
“Aunt Tabby? Are you there? It’s me, Marty. I’m, uh, in the fire. I really hope you’re in, Aunt Tabby, because I don’t want to waste the Lupin family’s floo supply ...”
A door opens at the far side of the room and Aunt Tabby comes in. She looks rather dishevelled, not herself at all.
“Hello, dear. How are the Rupins?”
“Lupins,” I correct her. I told her I would be staying with them yesterday and she hadn’t really liked it “ something about keeping the family together “ but she hadn’t protested too much. “They’re fine. I was just wondering if, uh, you could maybe ... drop some clothes off? Here? Because I really, really don’t want to go back to the shop.”
She sighs. “You’ll have to go home at some point, Marty. Your mother wouldn’t want you discarding such a large part of your life, she spent so long building it up, after all.”
Darn. I had really hoped she wouldn’t start using sentences beginning with “Your mother wouldn’t want” this soon after it happened.
I sigh. “I know. I will. But I can’t right now, I really can’t ... but I do need something else to wear.”
Aunt Tabby nods. “Of course you do. I’ll drop it round later. Have a nice day, Marty.”
“Yeah, uh ... you too.”
She smiles half heartedly. Before she has a chance to say goodbye, I pull my head out of the fire and stand up. Seeing her brought on a lot of bad feelings that I don’t really want right now. Her, that house, it all reminded me so much of the giant hole in my heart. At least while I’m here there’s nothing to remind me of her. There’s so much distraction that I can forget about it, or at least partially and enjoy myself. I can’t stand being miserable and so over the years, I’ve learnt just to ignore my loneliness and get on with things. But with my mother’s sister standing in front of me, worry and concern in her eyes, surrounded by the backdrop of an ancient, miserable house it makes it so much harder.
“Marty! Would you like some breakfast?”
I smile, coming out of my thoughts and consider once again just how hungry I am.
[Remus]
It has been nearly a month since Marty came to stay for “a few days” but I have to say, I don’t really mind. I had doubts at first, but I’ve come to really enjoy the company of someone else my age; even if she isn’t your typical sixteen-year-old girl. We actually get on really well and now that I’m used to her daily “observations”, I find the whole Book thing rather amusing.
At first, Marty’s aunt dropped her things round in little chunks every two or three days, as and when Marty needed them. Then, after about a week, she just arrived one day with everything; the trunk, the clothes, the books, even her “files” of notes on us from the last three years. It was then that it was unofficially decided that Marty would just stay the whole summer. Like I said, it’s been fun. The Marauders come round a lot, of course, but it really is nice to have a friend around all the while. Not that we spend all our time together (I think I’d end up murdering her), but still, it’s good to know she’s there, even if we’re in different rooms.
My parents probably see her as a daughter by now. I know her and Mum are quite close, which just makes it all the more hard to keep my “wolfy secret” (as Sirius and James occasionally call it, along with “furry little problem”, “that thing that he does” and “his time of the month”, all of which disguise my lycanthropy in every day conversations, but also sound incredibly weird).
“You know we love having Marty around,” Mum said to me one day. “But we’re worried for her, Remus. She’s pushing her aunt away, you must see that and she needs her family. Surely you see that? It’s all very well trying to run from her feelings, but one day they’ll catch her up. I think you should talk to her, Remus, see if you convince her to try.”
And I did try, quoting what my mum had said, but all I could get her to say was, “Why be unhappy there, when I can enjoy myself here?” Which, I must admit, made perfect sense to me, whether Mum agreed or not.
Today, James and his parents are taking us to a Quidditch match; Wasps against the Harpies.
“Remus,” Marty says unsurely, over breakfast. I look up slowly, not really feeling very with it: tonight’s the full moon and I spent all last night worrying about what was to be done about Marty and how we can stop her hearing the sounds that usually come from the annexe outside. There’s a reason Mum and Dad moved somewhere so remote when I was attacked, after all.
“Yeah?” I grunt. Normally I would have better manners, but, well, like I said. It’s full moon.
“Um ... I don’t really know that much about Quidditch.”
Wait; I know I get groggy around now, but this is the first time I’ve started hearing things. “What do you mean you don’t know that much? Don’t you go to the games at school?”
“Well, yes, usually I do. But I don’t know how it works ... I just cheer when everyone else does. Roxie tried to explain it once, in first year, but it didn’t work out.”
“Well ... what is it you don’t understand? The rules?”
“Yes, mainly. And, um, everything else.”
I sigh. “Ask James or Sirius to explain it. I’m kind of tired.”
She smiles, sympathetically. “I noticed you looked ill again. I recorded it, actually, last night. You were a bit worse for wear when I first came a month ago, but you’ve been all right since then. I wonder what made it come on ... I’m not wearing you out am I?”
I gulp. “Of course not.”
See, this is why I had misgivings about those notes in the first place. It’ll be easier for her to see a pattern if she’s around me all the time. Sirius, James and Peter figured it out on their own. Why shouldn’t she?
Half an hour later, we step into the fire and direct ourselves to James’s house, where we stumble into the comfortable, inviting living room, to be greeted by Sirius with his head on fire, swearing loudly.
No. Really.
“Wait, I’ve got some water!” James comes streaking in through the door, holding out a large bowl in front of him, water slopping out of the sides. “Hi Moony, hi Marty,” he says, before tripping on a rug and the bowl flies out of his hands, all over Sirius. For a moment, I consider the scene in front of me. James on the floor. Sirius drenched and dripping, looking bemused, but relieved.
“Smooth,” he says, looking down at James.
“Ow.”
Marty coughs. “Uh ... are you all right, Sirius?”
James giggles from down on the floor. “‘Course he is. Stupid oaf.”
“Coming from the one who tripped over a rug while carrying a large bowl of water, Prongs, that hurts,” Sirius says. He shakes his head in a very dog-like manner and gives us a very refreshing shower, of the not-so-refreshing kind. He flicks his hair and somehow “ impossibly “ he still looks good. Lucky git.
Marty coughs again, clearly a little unsure how to follow up such a scene with mere words. “Um ... is Peter here, yet?”
Just as she says this, the fire roars and she jumps a mile in the air. Peter steps out.
“Hi, guys. You’re a bit wet, Padfoot,” he says, as if it would be something Sirius hadn’t noticed.
James’s parents now enter the room. James finally sits up properly.
“Oh, Sirius,” Mrs Potter sighs, lovingly. “Now what have you done? No, wait, don’t answer.” She takes out her wand and flicks it, drying him in a split second.
“Oooh, tingly,” Sirius says, laughing.
“Is everyone ready?” Mr Potter asks. We all nod. “Good, because I managed to pull a string or two at the Ministry to get us this Portkey, since I knew there would be a big group. But we don’t get to choose when it leaves, so we have roughly a minute.” He waves his wallet in the air.
“You made your wallet the Portkey?” Mrs Potter asks, placing a finger on it, a note of exasperation in her voice.
“Well, it’s one less thing to carry around when we get there, isn’t it?”
We all crowd round and touch the wallet, too. I find myself a little too close to Peter on one side and Marty on the other. She smiles up at me, then looks around at James.
“Oh, yes, I was going to ask you, James. How does Quidditch actually work?”
She grins, as James splutters with disbelief, just as the Portkey glows and we are tugged out of James’s living room and into the in-between-worlds that comes from Portkey travel.
I’ll give her one thing; her comic timing is impeccable.
[Marty]
“So ... the Seeker ... throws the Bludgers ... through the hoops at the end?”
A vein is throbbing at James’s temple. He doesn’t seem capable of speech. I try not to laugh.
“Not quite,” Sirius says, glancing worryingly at his best mate. “Uh, the Seeker is looking for the Snitch.”
“Oh, right, the big red one? Well, that seems rather an easy job. I think I’d make a great Seeker,” I say proudly. I catch Remus’s eye and wink. He looks as if he’s about to wet himself from trying not to laugh.
“The Snitch is the little gold one,” James says through gritted teeth.
“Where’s that?” I ask.
“It’s very, very small,” James replies. If there was more tension in his voice, it would be a tightrope.
I sigh, loudly. Who knew that driving someone insane could be so much fun? “I don’t get it,” I declare. One of the Chasers “ Hammond, his name is, one of the Wasps “ scores and we all cheer. “I mean, what in Merlin’s name just happened?”
Peter turns his laugh quite effectively into a cough.
“Hammond scored. He’s a wonderful player,” James says, a little calmer now.
“And he’s a Beater, right?”
The truth is, I understood the rules as soon as James explained them to me. All right, almost. I only had one question (“But what if someone gets hurt?”) and when I asked it, I noticed how irritated it made James to have to explain the answer. So I asked another question. And another.
Of course, if James wasn’t so distracted by the game, he would have noticed a long time ago that my questions have got more and more obvious as the game has gone on. Fortunately for me, the Wasps are his favourite team, although the way he and the other die-hard fans keep making loud buzzing noises does weird me out a little bit.
“Hammond is definitely not a Beater. He’s a Chaser. He’s like a god in the air, on that broom, no one can beat him.”
“When’s the wedding?” asks Peter, smirking a little. I catch his eye and raise my eyebrows very slightly, before turning back to James.
“So, who would beat him?” I ask, not letting the perfect opportunity pass. “The Beaters? You know, I think I’m starting to understand this whole Quidditch charade a lot better. You’re such a great teacher.”
This time, Peter can’t hold it in, which sets Remus off as well. I’m glad to see this, as he’d looked a little peaky this morning. Sirius notices their amusement.
“What are guys laughing ...” he trails off and looks over at me. I smile, far too innocently. “You vixen,” he says and then howls with laughter.
“What? What’s so funny?” James asks, finally tearing his eyes away from his boyfriend “ sorry, from Hammond “ long enough to notice the commotion.
“Sorry, James,” I giggle. “I couldn’t help myself. It was just so easy ...”
“What?” Bless him. He clearly has no idea what’s going on.
“The thing is ... I’ve understood the game pretty much since the first time you explained.”
“You mean, all this time ... it’s been one big lie?” he looks annoyed, but somehow “ I wonder why this is “ he also looks a little proud.
“Yes,” I say solemnly. “I’ve been lying to you.”
He feigns hurt. “Marty Price, I thought you loved me.” Before I can say anything in response, his hands whip out and begin tickling me mercilessly. I shriek in surprise.
“Aaah! James “ get off! You “ haa “ you bully! Get off me! Gaah!”
He lets go and grins, then bursts into laughter himself. I have one last question.
“So the Harpies are all girls?” I ask. James is much more relaxed now.
“Yes. Always have been.”
“Wow,” I say. “I’m going to support them.“
And two minutes later, I get my chance. One of their Chasers scores and I cheer far too loudly for someone with a bunch of Wasp supporters. The Marauders are all looking a little embarrassed, so Mrs Potter joins in; lovely lady that she is, I’ve got on with her quite well the few times I’ve met her. In fact, Remus had teased me about how well I get on with people’s mothers.
“I’d like to see you make friends with mine,” Sirius had said, laughing darkly.
Anyway, it ends up being me, Mrs Potter, Mr Potter (who Mrs Potter makes join our team in an attempt to make things fairer) against The Marauders. When the Wasps score, they go crazy, when the Harpies score, we do. In fact, the seven of us quickly become some of the most enthusiastic supporters in the stands, as we keep trying to outdo each other. And that’s saying something.
Of course, when it comes down to it ... the girls win. Obviously. And it’s a lot of fun rubbing it in their faces, although I have to take a moment or two to record how Quidditch and competitiveness changes each of The Marauders (James the most, then Sirius, then Peter and Remus seemed generally similar to his usual self).
“Hey, uh, Marty. Do you want to come back to ours?” James asks and a look passes between him and Remus. Is he getting sick of having me around?
“Um ... why? I mean, yeah, if Remus and your parents don’t mind ... I mean ... why?”
“I feel a bit ill, that’s all,” Remus says. I don’t remember him mentioning it to James, but maybe it was while I was writing. After all, he hasn’t been looking himself.
“Oh, of course. Yeah, I’ll come with you guys, as long as that’s all right with you?” I look at James’s parents and they nod.
“Of course it is, you’re welcome anytime. I’m glad these have found themselves some female company to distract them from their very boyish behaviour,” Mrs Potter says, smiling.
“I think you mean manly,” Sirius suggests, while James nods.
“No ...” she says, smiling. “I don’t think I do.”
“All right then,” Mr Potter says, very business-like. “You might as well all stay for dinner. Now, wait while I just make us a Portkey ...”
“Sounds great!” Peter chirps, happily.
“Yeah ... as long as I’m back before it’s dark,” Remus says and another look passes between him and James. How infuriating.
“Obviously,” Sirius says, although I don’t know why it’s so obvious, myself. Remus and I have stayed at James’s past dark before. However, I decide not to say anything, as James’s dad is already holding out his wallet again and we all place a finger on it once more.
The last two weeks of the holiday seem to zoom by. We finally get our OWL results (I do well, better than I thought I would and I even manage an E in Transfiguration, so Professor McGonagall will be happy) and buy our things for school. I notice in Diagon Alley that Taffy’s is still not open, despite Aunt Tabby saying she would carry it on, in Mum’s memory. But thankfully, Remus hurries me past it, in a subtle but firm way and I have no chance to reflect on what happened at the start of the summer. I barely see Aunt Tabby at all, in fact and as awful as it sounds, I’m kind of happy with it that way. However, Mr and Mrs Lupin do force me to accept an evening with her and Garfield at that house, as the holidays draw to a close.
“She’s the closest thing you have, Marty and I’m afraid I can’t just let you push her away ...”
And, although I clear the air a little bit with my Aunt (not that there was much air to clear, unless you count the air of me not being around for the whole summer and avoiding spending time around her and that house as much as I can), I am still overwhelmingly grateful to return to the comfort of the Lupin’s sitting room later on that night.
And, before I know it, I am being shaken awake by Mrs Lupin on September the first.
AN: Whew, long chapter, eh? Didn’t I tell you things would look up? Let me know what you think! Oh and thank you to my brother for the “Charmed Scymitar” thing. I was trying really hard to think of a mysterious sounding object that could be charmed and he came up with that. It’s a curvy sword, apparently ... anyway, I basically think of the series they were talking about as like the Wizarding equivalent to Lord of the Rings or something ... So yeah.