#angstyangst

Remus closes the door to the office, his office, he thinks, which is absurd in itself, and drops his head against the door with a low thud. He feels dead on his feet, the long train ride from London, the Dementors, finding himself eye to eye with Harry so unexpectedly and then the sorting and the welcoming feast on top of everything else was definitely a bit much on the evening before a full moon. He had excused himself straight after dinner, declining drinks in the teacher’s lounge to seek refuge in his private rooms.

He had felt the other professors watching him as he left. McGonagall’s mild, almost pitying expression, Dumbledore’s piercing gaze, Sprout’s reserved frown, Snape’s hatred. He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Get a grip, Lupin, he tells himself firmly. He didn’t blame the other teachers for their reservations about him. No-one in their right mind would let a werewolf in to a castle full of children. Remus doubted that Dumbledore was in his right mind, and he himself definitely wasn’t because he had agreed.

He stumbles away from the door, turning to look at the room that would be his office for the coming school year. His trunk had been sent ahead and unpacked, the shelves along the walls already filled with the books he had ordered and he’s itching to get his hands on them, but he knows he’s in no state now. He glances at the clock, only an hour to go and he still hasn’t drunk today’s goblet of Wolfbane potion. He had expected it to sit on his desk but it’s not there, the surface empty, and he tries not to panic. His whole body is aching now, the pain that had been a dull throb when he woke up has now progressed into something else, a twisting and piercing kind of pain, and for the millionth time since Dumbledore had asked him of this favour, he wonders what on earth had possessed him to say yes.

He's disturbed from his thoughts by a knock at the door. He groans to himself, he’s in no state to see anyone right now, the pain in his joints starting to reach a point where he finds it difficult to think. He takes a deep breath, forcing his expression into something that resembles indifference as he opens the door but as soon as he sees who is standing on the other side he has to resist the urge not to slam it shut again.

“Lupin,” Snape greets, a disdainful sneer on his face and he can feel those cold eyes crawl over his skin.