**Due to recent misinterpretations of some one post
from this blog, a disclaimer is now apparently necessary. If this is your first visit to The
Scratched Camera, please read the introductory post and discover, for yourself, that every typed word that
follows is unabashedly my opinion and mine alone. In said introductory post, which,
shockingly, I did not simply type up for my own good health, I state that we
all read events and characters with our own baggage in mind; no one observes
with a perfectly clear lens—hence the
name The Scratched Camera.
Therefore, it is completely your will to disagree with any material that
follows, just as it is my will to agree and advocate for what is mine.** ~End, irritating obligatory disclaimer~
Remus Lupin—He Existed as an Empty Shell (Requested)
Remus
Lupin is frequently dealt tough cards; far more common is his insistence that
he suffer, not only for the travesties fate sends his way, but also for things
that were beyond his own control.
Easily the best and most popular professor in Harry’s long line of
failing Defense Against the Dark Arts instructors—a startling number of
which were deeply invested in the utterly wrong side of the Dark Arts to be
truly qualified for the position—due largely to his own positive perceptions
of others, he unfortunately rarely sought to see so much good in himself.
Unlike
his own self-loathing, his students at Hogwarts couldn’t have been happier to
finally have a professor like Lupin.
He wasn’t evil, like Quirrell was, with his two-faced betrayal, and
he had an actual brain, unlike Lockhart, who considered himself far more
important than any tangible skill that could be used to defeat Voldemort. Remus was steadfast in his faith that
any student could be excellent.
When Snape issues a caution against relying on Neville the first day of
class, Lupin immediately works to shut the disparaging remarks down, insisting
that he has the utmost confidence in the boy.
This
defiance of Snape instantly earns him the approval of all students, excluding the
Slytherins, of course. His actions
continue to speak for him, as he covers for Harry in regards to the Marauders
Map, assuredly protecting him from a vicious session of detention in the
process. However, Remus is no push
over; he’s quick to issue a lashing of his own to Potter, accusing his risky
behavior as taking James and Lily’s sacrifice completely for granted.
The
students aren’t the only ones impressed by Lupin’s adequacy as a Defense
professor. As soon as he spots the
Dementors, he knows what needs to be done, as opposed to Lockhart, who
would’ve undeniably gotten the Golden Trio killed; or, worse yet, Umbridge, who
would’ve delighted in their passing.
In that moment, Lupin won the audience over, with just a few simple
words and a piece of chocolate.
Dumbledore employs him as a
professor, knowing full and well that there is a certain inherent risk in the
move, due to Lupin’s state as a werewolf.
However, to the Headmaster, the benefits Remus brings to instruction
outweigh any chance of potential peril.
After all, Albus, much like Lupin himself, is nothing if not faithful to
his students—either current or past.
There is also a general consensus
amongst the staff that he is very knowledgeable in the subject material. Madam Pomfrey is immediately impressed
with his deployment of chocolate at the first sighting of a Dementor. She even goes so far as to comment on
the lack of reliable mentors in the area, as she is clearly surprised to
finally have a teacher on staff in the department that isn’t employed based
solely on his face—get it?
Quirrell with his multiple faces, and Lockhart with his evidently
attractive one.
While
his inherent knowledge in his subject matter and his ability to see the best in
people regularly recommends him as an excellent teacher and human being, it does
not mean he is above making mistakes.
Often, despite his own good intentions, he fails to make the correct
choices, only prompting a worsening of his own fate. In his time as a student at Hogwarts, he blindly sat by and
allowed his best friends to bully Severus Snape. While Snape does, of course, hold his own guilt for these
interactions, it does not excuse Remus’s lack of intervention.
Harry,
appalled by the behavior of all three of his father figures in the situation,
approaches Sirius and Lupin directly on the matter. In the case of Lupin, Harry can’t help but feel that those
who sit by and allow the bully to carry about his business are just as guilty
as the tormentor. While his behavior
as a teenager may have left much to be desired, his adult self doesn’t let down
either Potter or the reader, as he regretfully admits to his fault in the
situation and his own disgust at his enabling.
At
the end of Prisoner of Azkaban,
instead of demanding his right to employment, Lupin resigns to save himself and
Dumbledore the trouble of dealing with the backlash of having a known werewolf
on staff. Had he fought for his
own desire to teach, the Trio could’ve had another fruitful instructional year
with a werewolf instead of a disjointed curriculum provided by the TenthDoctor a distressed Death Eater in disguise.
The
audience sees his deflection from his own desires once again in Deathly Hallows, as he swears to Harry
that he has ruined Tonks’ life—branding her as an outcast and impregnating her
with a child that is highly likely to be some form of a werewolf. He, therefore, feels he must leave his
wife and unborn child, for the sake of preserving any form of a reputation she
has left.
The
resulting argument has Potter throwing some heavy-handed words in Lupin’s
direction. He dismisses what the
older man interprets as logic for cowardice—a blind fear of the unknown that is
unacceptable in a man he had once thought of as a brave in the face of
damnation.
While
Lupin does, of course, come to see reason, his original thought process
indicates a propensity to believe he deserves the worst fate imaginable. Often, fate will hand this out to him
to begin with. As a child, he was
bitten by Fenrir Greyback and, as a result, has spent every full moon since as
a werewolf. Due to his condition,
for lack of a better word, he was almost prevented from coming to
Hogwarts. However, Dumbledore, in
his infinite compassion, made exceptions and built an entire structure simply
to allow for Lupin’s time of the month to pass discretely.
However,
the change was anything but discrete for Lupin himself, who explains the
transformations as particularly painful.
Dumbledore’s provisions separated him from human contact during the
change—an inevitable choice, as murdered children is always a horrendously
horrible situation, a situation which is perhaps a touch more common at Hogwarts
than any other boarding school—but, as a result, Remus would often, in the
madness brought on by his wolf-side, turn to biting and scratching
himself.
Needless
to say, the situation was never a pleasant one. However, Dumbledore’s paths and designed structures did generally
work well to conceal Remus’s true identity, up until the evening of the climax
of Prisoner of Azkaban. Through a strange twist of fate, he
forgot to take the Wolfsbane Potion—ironically conjured monthly by Snape, of
all people—that allows him to maintain a human mind during his change. As a result, fate hits Lupin once more,
as he shifts just as he was preparing to achieve revenge against Peter
Pettigrew with his dear old friend Sirius Black.
Fate
hits him once more as Snape, feeling dejected as the escape of Pettigrew and
Black allows his promised Order of Merlin award to evade him, releases the
information of Remus’s condition to the public. This announcement, in Remus’ opinion, gives him no other
choice than to resign. As I
alluded to earlier, I do believe Lupin could’ve perhaps put up a bit more of a fight
on the issue. However, I can
understand that he felt staying would be seen as a compromise on the safety of
the students. Regardless, he is punished
once more for something he had no control over.
This
is not to say that Lupin is guilt-free.
While fate does frequently see to his misery, he occasionally lends it a
helping hand. He’s wary of
committing to Tonks from the start, believing himself to be nothing but a
danger to her—old, damaged and unworthy of her love. This is the underlying motivation fueling his confrontation
with Harry in Deathly Hallows, where
he still believes himself to be more of a hazard than a benefit to the younger
Order member. His insecurities,
though understandable, do not excuse leaving Tonks at the time when she needed
him most.
However,
the greatest price he pays returns to his tumultuous relationship with
fate. He bravely leads a group of
defenders into the Battle of Hogwarts, only to receive death as his
compensation. Remus Lupin’s life
was a turbulent one—full of extreme highs and devastating lows. However, he never lost faith in his
cause or in his students, and, eventually, in his family and himself. He fought to his very last breath to
make the world an acceptable place for his son. While he won’t be there to experience the joy himself, he
uses his last few words, gifted to him by the Resurrection Stone, to insure
that Harry will make it so.
From Gary King to Nicholas Angel: Is Remus a good role model? Lupin makes a great professor, finding ways to encourage
almost all of his students, even the occasional undeserving Slytherin. This behavior, while it should be more
common, is seen few and far between.
Lupin’s impressive dedication to the trait, therefore, enables him to
become a stellar example. While
more males would probably prefer to be seen like the far flashier James or
Sirius, Remus, though obviously less ostentatious, holds a steady merit of his
own. This isn’t to say he is
exemplary beyond fault. He
passively sat by and allowed his friends to bully Snape during their time at
school. Under the rule that the
enabler is equal in guilt, this does harm the audience’s perception of his
model behavior. At his core, Lupin
is very docile. He simply carries
on with the status quo—when Sirius and James choose to act out, he simply
allows them to do so. When fate
continues to send the message that he is unworthy of happiness or relief from
rejection, he becomes convinced that that is his destiny and allows this
mentality to infiltrate every facet of his life. While these are a few items on a list of undeniable
shortcomings—typically which are a direct result of his youth or other extenuating
circumstances beyond his control—Lupin does genuinely attempt to be the best
possible person and see the best in all other people, dark and light
alike.
Role Model Rating:
6/10
From Peter Parker to Spider-Man: Is Remus relatable?
Remus is perhaps the most realistic of the Marauders. He isn’t evil—Pettigrew has got that
covered—and he isn’t unimaginably cool and popular—such as James and Sirius
are. He’s just an average kid,
trying to keep his nose down so he won’t draw any unwanted attention from
bullies—such as Black and Potter—or potential Death Eaters—such as Snape or
Pettigrew. He is certainly the
smartest of the Marauders—for proof of this, look no further than the fact
that he managed to outlive all of his school friends—but it is not his
defining characteristic, which implies that his intelligence is not quite as
exceptional as, say, Granger’s is.
Even if he is brilliant, he is careful not to force it upon his students
or his colleagues in a way that forces them to feel inferior, rendering him
comfortably approachable. This
allows him to be a touch more relatable than the upper-tier of brainiacs—i.e.
the previously mentioned Granger or the arrogantly assured Sheldon Cooper. However, Lupin’s most relatable aspect
is actually one beyond his control—the role that fate plays in inspiring nothing
but misery into his life. We all seek
to blame our misfortune on some unknown mystical force as opposed to our own
misled decisions. Lupin, at least
during his childhood, actually could do so. Our proclivity towards the same line of thinking naturally
allows the audience to sympathize with Lupin and the undeserving destruction he
suffers as a result.
Relatability Rating:
8/10
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