September 15th
This lunchtime, I was, once again, disturbed by Sirius when studying. He came in and asked me why I wasn’t working on the friendship with Evans. I informed him that she had, when talking to me, encountered some female friends who were far too loud, and far too giggly for my liking. Sirius said I should have stayed there, and what I am I doing in the library anyway, it is a lovely day and we have no homework. I told him that I am teaching myself French.
“Erm… what?”
“I am teaching myself French,” I repeated.
“I heard what you said…” said Sirius, as if he was not entirely sure that he had heard what I had said, “But why are you teaching yourself French?”
“It’s interesting. My mum says it’s useful. I mean, what would I do if I go to France? What will you do if you ever go to France?”
“Plenty of things,” he replied, “I am well prepared for visiting foreign lands, Moony. I am quite linguistically talented, you know.”
“Really?” I was surprised, “What can you say?”
“I can say ‘I love you’ in four different languages. Five, if you include English.”
I chortled. But quietly, so as not to suffer the wrath of Madame Pince.
“You what? Go on then, say it in your four different languages.”
Sirius cleared his throat importantly.
“Ich liebe dich. Te quiero. Je t’aime. Dw’in dy garu di.” He looked very proud. I had to admit, I was impressed.
“Well, what else can you say?” I asked, eagerly.
“Erm,” Sirius looked sheepish. “That’s about it actually.”
“Oh. Will you test me on my French?” I was disappointed that Sirius was to be no further help in my enterprises.
“If you insist. Right. How do you say ‘Hello, my name is Remus Lupin, I am 15 years old and I am secretly a werewolf?”
“Bonjour. Je m’appelle Remus Lupin, j’ai quinze ans et je suis secrètement un...” I thumbed through my French dictionary. “un loup-garou.”
“A what?”
I read it again.
“Un loup-garou.”
“Well, Moony, I think that you now know everything you will ever need to know about French, so come outside and enjoy the sun.”
I followed him outside, and grudgingly, I have to admit that sitting outside with the Marauders was quite a bit more fun than finding out that number ninety-nine in French is ‘quatre-vingt-dix neuf’. Which it is.
September 16th
Spent most of today talking to Lily in preparation for James’ conquest of his beloved. Lily really is very interesting to talk to, and she certainly is more intelligent than Flavia. Also, now I’m friends with Lily, Severus Snape has decided to stop attempting to kill me/reveal that I am a werewolf.
Speaking of Severus Snape, James and Sirius are hatching an evil plot. I don’t know exactly what it is, but they told me to be on the third floor at 4 o’clock three days from now. I over heard the words “slime” and “knickers” so it sounds like it’ll be one of their best. I told James that it’s not much fun being bullied, I should know, but he said that I was mad not to be glad of some revenge on Snape. I give up, I really do.
This evening, I dared to go in to the Prefect’s Bathroom for the first time. James and Sirius have been using it since the second year, but even in my new capacity as an actual Prefect I didn’t dare go in. But today I did. It’s really cool in there, there all sorts of bubble baths and stuff, it’s even better than James and Sirius said. But, unfortunately, there is no lock on the door. Or, there was, but someone took it off. If it was anyone I know, (i.e. J or S) I will make sure they are in the Shrieking Shack next full moon. With no escape. So anyway, I bewitched that door till I was certain that absolutely nobody could unlock it. And only then did I run the bath.
When I got out of the bath, I wrapped a towel round my waist and stood in front of the mirror. I think I might have grown a bit taller. I looked at my hair, which was not wet, and so was still in its comfy side parting. I wondered if, with a bit of work, I could make it look like Sirius’. I had a go.
“You’re not as good-looking as your friend are you?” observed a voice from behind me. I was horrified. Despite all of my defensive measures, someone had got in. A female someone, by the sound of things. I turned around. And then I realised that my towel had fallen down. Hurriedly, I re-wrapped it, while, in front me, the short silver ghost giggled.
“You’re not as good-looking as your friend are you? The tall dark one,” she added.
“So I’ve heard,” I muttered, trying to pull on my pyjama bottoms without revealing anything to this bespectacled spectre.
“Have you come in here before?” she queried “The handsome boy comes in all the time.”
“So why don’t you go bother Sirius?” I interjected, not wishing to have my privacy infringed by a ghost. And not a very big one at that.
“Oh, he’s called Sirius? Tell him you met Myrtle.”
“Sirius knows you?!”
“Well… no… I haven’t… I didn’t… I’ve not introduced myself yet,” finished the ghost, or Myrtle, as I suppose I should call her. If it was possible for a ghost to blush I am was sure this one would have been. Having said that, her cheeks were perhaps a slightly darker shade of transparent than the rest of her.
“So basically, Sirius comes in here for a bit of privacy, and you stand about watching him?” I challenged, standing up for Sirius’ rights, ”You bloody peeping tom!”
To my surprise, the phantom began to wail in a manner that would disgrace a banshee, and, crying her eyes out, disappeared through one of the taps. I was relieved to have the opportunity to dress without her company, but as I left, I began to feel a little guilty.
September 17th
I asked Lily about the ghost, not going into too much detail about me trying to get changed etc, and she laughed.
“That’s Moaning Myrtle!”
“Moaning Myrtle?”
Apparently, she haunts a girls’ bathroom which therefore nobody uses. I am glad I am not a girl, and so will never have to use Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. I have not told Sirius about his ‘spy from beyond the grave’ but I have made I mental note to never use the Prefect’s Bathroom again.
September 18th
Today, it was the second day of the first Hogsmeade weekend, and the Marauders went into the village and, in The Three Broomsticks, we began to talk about animagi.
“But where will we practice?” mused James. We spent several minutes in silent thought. Well, silent apart from the fact that Peter nearly choked on a breadstick, but we thumped him hard on the back and he was alright.
“What would you like then?” smiled the proprietor of the The Three Broomsticks, Madame Rosmerta, interrupting our deep thought. Well some of us’ deep thought. As I turned round I could see that, in fact, instead of thinking, Sirius was non-verbally flirting with some Ravenclaw sixth years, James was messing up his hair with a dream-like expression on his face, and Peter was absent- mindedly drawing a smiley face in the condensation on the window. Sometimes I worry about Peter.
“Erm… three Butterbeers and a Firewhisky please,” winked Sirius.
“So that’ll be four Butterbeers,” laughed Madame Rosmerta.
As she walked back to the bar, Sirius and James turned around and watched her. Sirius wolf-whistled, then ducked back behind his seat. Rosmerta turned and shook her head at us.
As we were walking back to the castle, I was hit by a blinding flash of inspiration.
“Moaning Myrtle’s Bathroom!” I exclaimed.
“Erm… what?”
“Did someone put something in your Butterbeer, Moony?” asked James.
“You can practise transforming there,” I explained and, feeling immensely proud, I told them where it was, and why nobody used it. I am clearly a genius.
September 19th
Today was the day of the greatest prank ever. Officially. I decided to go and see what it was, purely so I could try to stop it you understand. I got there just in time to see Severus Snape coated in a glue-like substance, stood in what looked like a large overturned goldfish bowl and fuming with rage and embarrassment. James and Sirius were beside themselves with glee, even more so when Snape’s hexes rebounded off the walls of the bowl and back at him. He had to duck pretty quickly, I can tell you.
“And now,” James announced to the laughing masses, “For the icing on the cake.” And with a flick of his wand, a shower of girl’s underwear fell from the ceiling of Snape’s enclosure, onto him, and… stuck to the slimy glue. There were cries of ‘that’s mine’ and ‘how did they get that?’ from several of the female spectators, and this made James and Sirius laugh harder. They removed the bowl from around Snape, who ran away humiliated.
“What is this chaos?”
We turned round to see Professor McGonagall. Many of them fled. I remained routed to the spot. The Head of Gryffindor House watched the retreating figure of Snape, and the angry frown became larger and larger on her face.
“Mr. Black, Mr. Potter, Mr. Pettigrew and Mr. Lupin, I will see you all in detention for the next week, every night, starting Thursday.”
“But Remus didn’t do anything!”
“I’ve got Remedial Charms!”
“I’ve got Quidditch practice!”
“I need to use the library!”
“I’ve got a date with Wendoline Griffiths!”
“I’ll miss dinner!”
“I have plans for next week!”
“I am teaching myself French!”
“I…”
“I will hear no more excuses,” interrupted McGonagyll angrily. “My office, next week.” And she stormed off down the corridor.
September 20th
Lily is very sympathetic about my detention. She says that it was not my fault that it happened, and she is certain I would never think such an attack on ‘Poor Sev” could be remotely funny. I didn’t tell her that I that I thought, to a point, Severus had it coming.
September 21st
First day of animagi practice. None of them managed it, but then I didn’t expect them to. I have researched it in depth and it is not the sort of thing that three fifteen year old boys can do, to be honest. But I won’t tell my three friends this, because, however selfish it may seem, I need them to come with every full moon. I just hope I don’t kill them when they do.
The Remus Lupin Diaries, aged 15 and a bit... by The Dog Star
Chapter Notes: Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me. However, to restore some pride in my acheivements, I would like to point out that I discovered all of the languagey suff with no help from Babelfish. Which I do not own. Damn, there's so much stuff I don't own!