Sample Platter - Journal Entry - Remus Lupin (HP AU)
There was a moment late last night, or possibly very early this morning, when I glanced away from the ceiling (it looks particularly tall when there isn't any light, has anyone else noticed as much? I suppose not...), I looked at my desk and saw a picture I'm keeping there of a large, smiling, black dog. Upon seeing it at whatever unreasonable time I was awake, I thought to myself, "When have I owned a dog?" It only lasted for a moment, but at least it was the one moment I needed to prove that it's all right to continue keeping that picture there. Perhaps, the longer this continues, the longer those moments will last, and ultimately, everything will be just fine. All my other pictures are locked in a drawer that I've hidden from myself. But, of course, I know precisely where it is and can get into it any time I see fit. I won't, though. My desk gets cluttered enough as it is, I don't need to be knocking photographs over and smashing frames while I'm trying to get some work done.

Now, if we want to discuss something infinitely more normal, I can sit here and happily report, perhaps still in great detail without my notes just yet, that every student in whom I had high expectations made very good on the final. I've yet to be disappointed, I do believe. Naturally, in turn, all the students in whom I had slightly less faith (which, admittedly, this year, came to a larger number than usual) managed to not surprise. You know, I've never been a fan of historical stereotypes, but - for not the first time - I've noticed a rather obvious trend in my Slytherin students. Certain spells they get too excited over, things they refuse to learn. That sort of trend. Don't get me wrong, they're not all a terrible lot. But if we're speaking candidly - and since this is yet another one of those babblings not to be seen by eyes other than mine (and not even mine after I'm finished writing, perhaps), I'm perfectly free to do so - then...at least eighty-five and a half percent of them are quite awful. Draco Malfoy has a magnetic field around him, I'm sure of it, that shorts out the brains of any student who befriends him. His little (and by little, I mean rather large) minions are a waste of space. His pet trollop keeps her nose so high in the air that I'm sure she gets a nosebleed when she lies down at night. I've heard enough excuses from their house Quidditch team to fill a book of ridiculous quotes. And that Bullstrode girl does not bathe.

Sirius would laugh, if he heard. He would laugh more, knowing that all he has to do, in order to get me to speak my mind about the children, is send me away for a couple weeks without contact.

Moment of falseness, there has been contact. But I know now that it was a mistake to go home. Home. Of course not home, I meant...his house. Where he lives. Where I used to. Home. Old home. Ex-home, if you will. (It has ceased to be. It's bleeding demised!) Now that I have it, I realize having this sweater with me is no good for anything but the novelty of having it with me, since I made the mistake of forgetting it when I left. It is my favourite one, but I'm not so sure that there was such a pressing need for it right now. Certainly not one that ought to have made me go home and look at him for at least fifteen minutes. An hour. I don't know how long it took, but it was a very bad idea.

...Coincidentally, when I got there, he was lying on the porch, being a dog. I suppose that's fresh enough in my head that I oughtn't be forgetting who he is at four thirty-five in the morning. Should I, perhaps, be taking notes on the effects of insomnia? Should I document my progression into insanity, so at least, when they finally put me away, they'll at least know how it all began? Yes, I think that might be what writing all of this is for.

The castle is quiet. But not entirely. Because it's never really silent. Just more so, by comparison. What I mean to say is that I don't have any more students to teach. I'm to go three months, now, with no classes to teach. Few people to talk to. I've always thought I would make an excellent hermit. I'm very excelled in the art of avoiding people when I feel I need to be, so I imagine not having anyone around to avoid will be even easier on me. It was getting terribly hard to constantly not have time to stop in and see Minerva for a cup of tea. I'm sure she's very cross with me. I'm also sure that she'll be visiting more often than not this summer until I speak to her about what's going on. I'm not sure why she can't just speak with Sirius. Surely, too, Sarah and Maggie will have to go to him. I made, perhaps, a few too many dinner appearances in the given amount of time, to seem inconspicuous about sticking around. No doubt everyone's talking about it. What do you know? It would seem that I'm school gossip. (It's not really the first time...)

I'm tired but I do not think I shall try for a nap. Instead, I will make another cup of tea and make a confession to Sirius, even though he won't be reading: I had plenty of tea here. I just wanted something more from home. I just wanted to stay a little longer.

Maybe I'll take a walk.