A Walk in Andante
Disclaimer: It’s memorized in your head by now…don’t
own anything but the plot!
of the third day.
Lupin sat, back hunched, eyes bloodshot, lids heavy, at a grimy, ramshackle
bar, six small glasses of drained liquid sitting in front on him. They teased
him, taunted him, invited him to challenge their strength and their numbers.
bitterly Remus knew he would win the battle. He wasn’t soused. He’d been trying
to get drunk for the past two days, and, because that’s the way the world
works, he couldn’t. His body wouldn’t let him become intoxicated;
his mind wouldn’t allow him to succumb to acerbic alcohol.
hazel eyes were tired and wet; they held in their irises and pupils the
deepest, most somber sorrow—the kind of grief that won every battle, the kind
of grief that only time can heal.
let out a weak, shaky cough.
round,” he said, his voice raspy and dry.
bartender, a large, soiled man whose eyes were beetle-black and unusually tiny,
snorted. “Yer scarin’ away me customers from th’ bar, mate.”
believe I’m paying for it,” Remus answered icily. “By the looks of this dump,
you could use a bit of extra coin.”
bartender snorted again and smirked; Remus could tell that he was used to
jerks—arrogant jerks, bitter jerks, rich jerks, poor jerks, and miserable
jerks. The soiled man let out a holler—an unintelligible cacophony that called
forth a grubby, yellow-eyed house-elf, who produced Remus’ less-than-useful
nodded. “Thanks,” he rasped, snatching the glass from the elf. Even in his
depression and self-abuse he was polite. The polite one of the group; the
one who second-guessed their motives on occasion. But the one who planned out
their most intricate and strategic pranks.
let out an odd noise—like a cross between a sob and a snort. He downed his
bartender looked over at him, onyx eyes scanning him critically. Surveying him.
He sees a miserable, pitiable existence before him. Remus ignored the
bartender. He doesn’t know a damn thing. He sees a meek, weak man before
him. Cloak, tattered and dirty, holes forming at the ragged edges, hood pulled
over unclean, disheveled hair and woeful eyes. The bartender cocked his
is it?” Remus snapped.
th’ hell down, mate,” the man replied silkily, cleaning a glass with a stained
not your mate,” Remus said.
who comes intuh m’bar’s m’mate,” the bartender answered, grinning. He was
missing some teeth. “It’s th’barkeep’s way o’life!” He let out a hearty laugh
that Remus hated; it clashed with the air of misery and impuissance he was
trying to maintain. I want to be miserable.
barkeep’s way of life, huh? Until even they
get sick of you. Tom the Barkeep had finally (and most regrettably)
kicked Remus out of the Leaky Cauldron.
home, Remus!” Tom had pleaded. “I simply can’t allow you to waste yourself away
in my presence—the guilt I’ll feel!”
me be,” Remus had said, pithily.
Lupin--,” Tom had hesitated, had given a shaky, unwilling sigh, and had said,
“Leave. Right now. Or I’m calling the Ministry.”
Remus had trucked through Diagon Alley to the very edge of the street, right
next to the entrance of Knockturn Alley, where the door to the Grey Street had beckoned to him like the wrought gates of Hell.
Remus said dully; he was trying his hardest to signal to the barkeep. Keep
away. I’m not going to talk to you. I’m not like those embittered prats that
you cater to.
The barkeep stuck out his hand. “Art Friggy.”
Remus’ hand stuck out and shook it. But he had control of his lips, and he said
Friggy raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “Y’got a name?”
Lupin.” Why the hell do you care? You see the same types as me come in here,
waste away, and leave. Bartending’s an impersonal job, no matter what you may
think. You feign compassion and interest, but in the end, you go home to your
family at the end of the night and you sleep well.
a funny one,” Friggy commented, turning his back to Remus and picking up a new
glass to clean. “Polite even in yer ‘opelessness.”
was Remus’ unintelligent answer.
think tha’ I dunno yer type,” Friggy continued. “Yer type don’t come in as
of’en as some others, but I get suma ya ever’once in a while. Th’intelligent
kind—smart, n’ with a big ol’ future full’o light—but they jus’ don’t see it.”
hated that he was listening.
been through six other bars b’fore yeh got here,” Friggy said. “Sumthin’ bad happened
to ya—somethin’ traumatizin’, I’m sure. Yeh, I see yer kind ever’ so of’en.
Young ‘uns like you jus’ don’t know how ter deal—y’might be smart n’ all, but
tha’ don’t mean yeh got life experience.”
you young lot hate us old folks, too,” Friggy continued, smiling, turning back
to Remus. “Yeh hate tha’ we speak th’truth. Tha’ I’m sayin’ this ain’t the
right way to handle things. Tha’ I’m sayin’ that wallowin’ in yer misery ain’t
gonna do nothin’.”
also hated bad grammar. Peter had been particularly miserable in his grammar.
pang shot through Remus’ chest.
been wallowing in his sorrow, all right—but he was concentrating on
wallowing in his sorrow—not why he was wallowing.
make me feel better. Made me feel lonely.
y’think tha’ I don’t care, huh?” Friggy said. “I know what yer kind thinks—that
us bartenders, we see it all, an’ it’s jus’ impersonal. Well, I see yer logic
in tha’, Remus—I hear lots o’ stories, thousands a day, even—most the same,
jus’ with dif’rent people—some even wit’ the same people, now that’s curious,
awright—but see here, now, tha’ makes me wiser. ‘Cause I recognize th’same
sorrow in ever’one, and I figgered out how to solve ‘em all.”
hated what he was going to say. He hesitated, knowing that Art Friggy knew what
he was going to do. He blinked, stared at his glasses, and closed his eyes.
When he opened them, several long moments later, they were tear-stung, though
the shadows the cloak pulled over his head prevented the “all-knowing” Friggy
from seeing them.
he probably knows.
Remus asked finally, his voice completely dry and scratchy.
smiled. “Deal with it.”
let out a quiet snort.
a simple as that—an’ th’answer’s so obvious tha’ no one wants ter try it,”
Friggy answered. “Yeh gotta deal with it, Remus! ‘Cause I care ‘bout
ever’one who’s ever stepped foot in here—but I don’t care about their wallowin,
no sir-ee. An’ I don’t care ‘bout yours. Yer tryin’ to get smashed, an’ it’s
not workin’—shouldn’t tha’ be a sign? Yeh haven’t slept in days—but yeh aren’t
thinkin’ bout anythin’! Tha’s the problem with smart folks—they think
themselves entitled t’unhappiness, ‘cause they go ‘round usually actin’ like
the shoulder others cry on. An’ then they get even sadder ‘cause they realize
tha’ jus’ ‘cause they’re smart ‘n logical don’t mean they’re wise—an’ they
always thought that they were wise, cause they were smart! An’ their friends,
they always went to ‘em for advice, cause they too though’ smartness and wisdom
were one in the same! But it ain’t! It ain’t! And you—yer the type who listens
and learns quick. Yeh want that wisdom. But Remus, it ain’t gonna be in those
drinks yeh keep orderin’.”
oratory—spoken in abrasive and lengthy language, a clash to Remus’ sensitive
ears—sat inside of Remus’ mind.
know it, old man.
chest began to rise and fall rapidly. His breathing increased; his heart
pounded rapidly. He felt blood rushing through his veins—for the first time in
three days, life seemed to be reborn in his body.
Friggy squinted his eyes—what was left of them shone with a sort of alarming
concern. Why would this stranger care so much about him?
have every right to be—to be upset at them—but isn’t that what Friggy just
warned me about? “Tha’s the problem with smart folks—they think themselves
entitled t’unhappiness, ‘cause they go ‘round usually actin’ like the shoulder
others cry on.” But he doesn’t
know my story—no matter what he thinks—it’s sad and selfish like everyone
else’s…but this time—I’m entitled to selfishness…they…
looked as though he might have a heart attack. His face had grown warm, his
cheeks red, and his eyes grew to the size of Quaffles. His breathing was
furious—ragged, harsh, difficult…
said they’d always be there for me!” Remus cried, a dry, raking sob
escaping from his throat. He took an uneven breath, tears spilling from the
side of his eyes. “But they’re not…”
said nothing for a long time; Remus felt Friggy’s gaze settle on him—the quivering,
hapless young man in front of him—and at long last the bartender opened his
not yer fault.”
stared straight ahead, his face abject, his gaze aimless. He closed his eyes.
continued to gaze at Remus. “Jus’ ‘cause yeh know…doesn’t make yeh selfish.”
yeh don’t,” Friggy answered casually. “At least, yeh don’t know fully jus’
quite yet.” He sent a half-smile to Remus. “Which’s why I’m closin’ up shop.”
nodded, and slowly pulled himself up and off of the barstool. He dug into the
thin pockets of his worn pants.
shook his head. “’S on th’house.”
looked over at him, and for the first time stared him straight in the eye. “I
can’t let you do that. I’ve had too many drinks tonight.”
worry ‘bout it!” Friggy grunted. “Th’only way I’ll let yeh get outta here free
now is if yeh leave!”
edge of Remus’ chafed lips ever so slightly twisted upward—the first sign of
hope in days. But the somber expression that had glued itself to his piteous
face continued to pore out from his eyes, his lips, and his brow.
to…?” Remus murmured, more to himself than to Friggy. “Where to find solace…?”
didn’t answer. Or rather, he did answer, in the form of a cocked eyebrow.
don’t yeh go home?”
Remus paused, eyes stinging. “I have no family…left…”
ain’t necessary-ly with people, Remus.”
really? Some more anthroposophy you’ve gained in your shabby bar?”
o’ folks come in ‘ere, an’ they got a wife, or a ‘usband, an’ kids n’ all—but
they ain’t got a home. Tha’s a state o’ mind, mate—home, yeh gotter find
of mind. Place in your heart. I haven’t got a right mind. I haven’t got room in
my haggard heart.
can I go? What can I do? There’s nothing I can do.
can’t change the past!
can’t change wha’s been done an’ gone,” Friggy finished matter-of-factly. “But
it’s not ‘bout that, Remus. It’s about findin’ peace with th’ past. An’ knowin’
that yeh’ll be awright.”
nothing left of the past.
is…why I’m mourning it?
can I do?
to forget the past?
I can’t forget the past.
can I make peace with the past?
leaving!” Remus said suddenly, a knifelike, crisp tone ringing from the voice. He
spun around, cloak billowing in the self-made wind, and escaped into the night.
blinked, a tiny smile gracing his froglike lips.
heart pounded as he dashed out in the bitter streets of Diagon Alley, imaginary
music drumming in the background as the wind blew against his running body. His
mind was racing—swirling blank thoughts through his tattered, weak mind, his
heart pounding nervously and excitedly in his tired chest. Through the narrow
street—past the magical stores—the Leaky Cauldron—the brick wall—
cold, empty streets of London.
liked London, despite his somewhat reclusive nature. The city was an
interesting place—Remus, who so loved the country and the fresh air, did love
the city as well. There was a place for everyone and everything—quiet,
historical attractions that Remus grudgingly loved…the hustle and bustle that
Sirius so loved…
stepped into the building—a small flat complex, magical and hidden from Muggle
eyes—lit with dancing flames placed in ornate candelabras. The flat building
wasn’t large—the flats were—but Remus scaled the stairs in a few deft moments.
stopped in front of a door. He reached behind the silver numbers—
Flat No. 243—waved his wand—a silent spell—a small, silver key…
inserted the key into the keyhole, heard a click, and pushed open the door.
was abandoned. Fully furnished, clean, and homey, but empty…cold, familiar, and
was neat. Not necessarily organized, but neat. He didn’t seem like the
type—always running around, always getting into trouble—but he was a
neat-freak. It was James who lived in a mess.
messes drove Lily insane—typical married love spats.
Sirius’ flat had been like a second home to them all. A real bachelor
pad—bought and furnished when he was seventeen, filled with comfortable,
squashy furniture, and all sorts of magical trinkets that had always
had thrown James and Lily an engagement party—right here, in this living room…
coffee table sat stacks of photos…black-and-white photos, colored photos, all
slowly walked over to the table, the silence stirring him. His brow creased
somberly as his shaky, chilled hand reached over and picked up a photo.
was black-and-white and rather plain; only three people had been captured in
the frame, and the background was simple, though bits of flower danced in the
corners. Three beautiful people captured in the photo—a tall man, dark hair falling
into his eyes; a messy-haired, bespectacled, cheery-faced man laughing, his
arms around a lovely redhead beaming at the camera.
had taken that picture.
of the happiest moments of my life.
lips quivered and his eyes panged with the sharp hint of bitter tears. His
hands tensed and he grasped the picture as though he was about to rip it
straight down the middle…but he then stopped, relaxed, and threw the picture
down onto the ground.
happened…?” Remus whispered, a tear trickling down his weatherworn cheek and
dripping onto the photo. “Why—why didn’t I see it? James…Lily…I’m so sorry…”
was one of his best mates. And Lily—the kind, compassionate Lily…she had been a
bright spot in the middle of a dark and dreary time. He loved them both
fully—he loved them individually, he loved them together…
Harry…what of you, Harry? Sent to a distant relative?” Remus’ voice was
quivering. “But James has no relatives to care for you—sent to Lily’s Muggle
family?” A bitter chuckle escaped from his desiccated throat.
know what you did for me? I never told you what you did for me…I can only hope
that you always knew…what you had done.
had shown him life. In the simplest terms. Remus had lived less than
favorably—mentally, at least—until he had arrived at Hogwarts and made friends
with the intelligent, charismatic Potter. Son of elder Pureblood wizards, a boy
striving for reputation and respect…
left my hometown after the bite—the green fields were just a blistering reminder
of my curse. I left my neighborhood friends…and the alert of a pitiable
werewolf pup to my new neighborhood made life miserable. I—hated life. I found
serenity in books, and—and magic. And Hogwarts—I was horrified at the thought
that I couldn’t go to the place that I’d regarded as Heaven.
I—I came to Hogwarts. And I made friends.
shivered—a biting, sudden shiver that pierced his entire being. His breathing
was ragged and visible in Sirius’ flat—a sign of forsakenness, of loss, death…all
frigid, all lachrymose.
Evans-Potter,” Remus whispered, closing his eyes slowly—mourning, grieving,
Bright, cheery Lily, whose presence eased…me. The sister I never had; the
maternal warmth that glowed from her hands, her face…
he would have—would have welcomed death if it meant saving those he loved. If
it meant dying bravely—a knight’s death, a noble one. James, he was big on
nobility—pure Gryffindor, that’s for certain. Fighting bravely, saving the one
Lily, she’s more like me—she—she wouldn’t have wanted to die.
that make me a coward?
I don’t want to die?
always wanted to die—when—when the seriousness of my condition truly came to
me…when I thought I wouldn’t be received into Hogwarts…I sometimes thought that
I’d have wanted to die.
never tried to die.
was never suicidal…I’m too smart for that.” And Remus laughed—an elegiac, algid
laugh—a perfect match for his grievous soul and his stone cold surroundings. “But
I’m not smart enough to get over it all!”
only been three days.
do you expect?
you don’t want to die.
don’t want to die,” Remus whispered, shaking.
want to live.
not like this,” he breathed.
sandy hair was heavy and clumped. The ends were sharp from uncleanliness—they
fell into his eyes, cutting his pupils, encouraging tears to yet again form and
don’t want to die,” Remus said aloud, talking to the spirits of the past, happy
ones embedded within the memories of the living room, “but I don’t want to live
he strong enough to Apparate?
closed his eyes—scrunched them up, as though concentrating on a brutally hard
puzzle—he concentrated—images dancing in his mind—
whirlwind of translucent colors—a rushing noise, a tugging feeling—and he
in the distance rested a large house—the house of his former neighbors. It was
quiet and unthreatening, a nostalgic memory from seventeen years ago.
meant his former childhood house lay somewhere nearby.
green plains of Scotland.
didn’t consider himself Scottish—his parents had moved themselves and his older
brother from a small village outside of Falmouth to the Scottish highlands
before he was born, and then moved back into England before Remus had even
turned five. But he had fond memories of the place—dense forests, lush grass,
and “his place.”
the McHaydens’ house is there—and then the Campbell’s home lies north of
there—then my house—ah, the Fairbairns’ house—is,” Remus spun to his
right, “—that way.” He closed his eyes. “So…my place…it’s…”
feet began to walk. A slow walk; his steps were light and paced, and his hands
housed themselves in his thin pants pockets. He was in no hurry…he had his
entire life to walk to “his place.”
let the weather calm him. It was gentler, here in Scotland—the wind wasn’t
howling and strong, but gentle, like a dance…the grass crunched lively beneath
his threadbare boots—that even though it was chilly autumn, the grass was
retaining green pigment, and springing with life.
trees, already thick and brittle, became denser as he continued east. In the
summer they were lush and citrine and sparkling green. The grass’s color, just
as virescent as the leaves above them, was an adjective of life; the sky was
blue and the clouds were pure white and tender. And even now in the autumn the
highlands still retained their beauty: green, rolling hills, a cloudless night
sky….Scotland was beautiful…and alive.
the forest now…deep within…the ground was hard and cold, but his
destination—his place, that was soft, and warm.
haven’t been here in ages…and my feet just take me there. I traverse through
in front of his eyes, lay his place. A clearing in the forest—a small pool of
pure, clear cerulean water, formed from a small, strong waterfall that trickled
over jagged rocks. The water hadn’t yet frozen over…and the grass by the
poolside was still alive, still green.
spent the full of his days by this natural wonder, splashing in the waters and
jumping down from the top of the waterfall. It had seemed so much larger when
he was younger—but looking up at it now, the top of the waterfall was only some
five-ish feet from the top of his head.
squatted down and stared at his reflection for what seemed like years until he
finally sat down. His eyes still bore holes into his reflection.
man who stared back up at him—pallid skin, flaccid eyes, mangy hair—embodied
misery. The reflection changed—a curious face, pale, and both thin and
pudgy…small, watery eyes and a round nose…
tinge shot through Remus like he hadn’t felt in days. When he thought of Peter,
everything was different. James and Lily were met with feelings of respect and
sorrow; Sirius…he didn’t think about at all…; but Peter—Remus felt sad. He felt
regret. He felt pity.
snobby lonely, like me.
lonely? I imagine you were sometimes.
weren’t as strong, as smart, as fast, as handsome…as they were. I suppose even
as I was, though I feel like a right bastard saying that. But you know we—we
loved you, right? We trusted you, we enjoyed your company. You were our best
friend…there to offer comfort and friendship and even an occasional bit of wit.
Right, Peter? Remus’ eyes closed. We
teased you and you teased us. But did you…
you know, Peter?
were queer right up to your death, Peter. Twitchy and nervous. Absent, distant.
you went to…to stop…to stop…
hand lashed out at the water, and Peter’s face changed to Remus’.
so—I’m so sorry, Peter!” Remus moaned, clutching his chest. Tears rippled in
the pool water. “I’m so…sorry…”
never knew you were so brave, Peter.
hunched over, his face inches away from the water, clutching his stomach,
seventeenth birthday shindig.
and Lily’s wedding.
concentrated again—his mind was spinning, but he thought strongly of home.
Spinning trees, swirling waters—rocks, trees, grass…
whirlwind, another tug…
there stood Hogwarts.
grounds were silent, though the chirps of bugs and the occasional rustling of
leaves made the silence more comfortable and less foreboding.
stood rooted in front of him, stone masonry shining in the moonlight. The stars
twinkled overheard—the Forbidden Forest, a place that had erstwhile held so
much adventure, danced in the wind—Hagrid’s hut, dark and sleepy, rested
further on down.
it will be here, at home, where...
magic here was intense; being away from Hogwarts made him more sensitive to the
atmosphere. He took a slow step, and this time, he would wander aimlessly.
sky was beautiful—Remus had never been in love with astronomy, but he loved the
outdoors, and the stars fit nicely under “outdoors.” The sky was a deep, dark,
blue-black directly overhead, and the dark color turned into slate, and the
slate into a lighter perse color. His eyes scanned the constellations above
him—he felt, for the first time in days, sleep wash over him in a wave of
telling; his body was finally telling him that he was tired…but he wasn’t
finished tonight, not yet…
stopped short. Hagrid’s hut was closer now, but no life shone from the frosted
windows. His eyes turned from the horizon in front of him to the dome above
Eridanus. Hydra. Leo.
felt his breath, once again, catch itself.
brightest star in the night sky.
something happened, then. Pity left Remus; sorrow, misery, wretchedness,
ruefulness—all escaped from his limbs, his facial features, his blood—
anger, wrath…vehemence, took control of him.
eyes lost the look of helplessness—he felt it; he could feel the fire blazing
in them now—
felt alive again.
I don’t want to live like this.
clenched his teeth; his fists curled themselves into tight balls of iron; and
his knees quaked, but he stood firm, staring furiously up at the sky, the
beautiful reminder of the ugliest sin.
bastard!” Remus shouted, not caring if he stirred the entire castle. “You
lied to us! You pathetic son of a bitch!” He sobbed another
dry, raking sob. “How could you do that to us? To your best friends?”
can’t be true.
just can’t be true.
thoughts swirled like seaweed in a tidal pool. So—so unlike him! There—there
must be more to the story! There must be some reason as to
why—why it happened! He’d never…he’d never…
would have never…” Remus cried softly, tears spilling down his face. “You…don’t
you understand why it’s so hard for me, Sirius? I can’t forgive you for what
you did. I can forget it, perhaps, over time…but I can’t forgive it.”
can’t change the past.
thought I knew you, Sirius,” Remus whispered. “I—though I knew all of you—Peter,
James, Lily…we thought we knew you…”
ultimate betrayal, the alpha and the omega of iniquity. You betrayed us,
I hate you for it.
I…don’t think I hate you.
you hate me for it, Lily? James? Peter?” Remus whispered into the wind, pulling
his cloak around his body. “Do you hate me that I don’t hate him?”
is there more to this story?
you—want me to hate him?
think we could hate him. Even if we wanted to.
I do hate him.
hate him now.
hate him for what he did.
don’t hate what he used to be…one of my best mates.
I hate him now.
hate his…real self?
multiple amicicides stirred within Remus soul. They created feelings he hadn’t
felt often in his twenty-one years—Remus could hardly imagine that he had ever
felt so much pain, suffering, misery, anger, and depression before, ever…
he could hardly imagine that any human being less strong than he would be able
to withstand such emotional suicide.
Lupin? Is tha’ you?”
looked up from the ground, wiped his face with the back of his dirty palm, and
stood up slowly, registering the voice.
Remus said quietly.
an’ on’y,” Hagrid replied, chuckling slightly. The giant man walked towards
Remus, his silhouette monstrous. He didn’t look miserable.
he looked dizzy. Dizzy and something else. Something like exhaustion.
looked like what Remus would look like in a few days’ time.
been, er,” Hagrid mumbled, shaking his head, “—er, alrigh’, sorta kinda.” His
lips smiled lopsidedly. “But yeh—yeh don’t look like yeh been alrigh’.”
haven’t,” Remus replied shortly. He was tired. Finally. Tired physically, tired
mentally, tired of bringing others down with him.
don’ expect yeh ter be healthy an’ fit, not yet,” Hagrid said. “These sorts o’
things take time ter heal.”
do…” Remus said quietly.
flash in front of him—a small man, thin but with pudgy features, hair
colorless, face nervous—
like—yeh, yeh can help yerself get better, though,” Hagrid rambled, not really
talking to Remus.
blindling flash—a handsome, dark-haired, light-eyed young man, grinning, eyes
twinkling, crossing his arms over his chest confidently—
right, Hagrid—time heals all wounds—as—as best as time can, but we—we’ve got to
help ourselves,” Remus said kindly, walking closer to Hagrid. “We can’t wallow
in our misery.”
white light—a beautiful young woman, red hair dancing like the sun, emerald eyes
shining vividly, life radiating from her every limb—
change th’ past,” Hagrid mumbled, and Remus for certain knew now that he was
crying. Softly, gently—caressing his skin, not harsh, but tears of pain and
anguish. “But we—we have ter, ter deal with it, don’ we?”
a massive shift in roles. I’m doing the consoling? A confused, anguished prat
take a look a’ this,” Hagrid mumbled, somewhat embarrassed. “They—all of yeh,
really—great friends, I consider yeh all ter be—great friends o’ mine.” He
pulled something out of his moleskin coat that he’d thrown over his pajamas.
“Look—a baby picture. Fer—fer when he comes ter Hogwarts, see? I’m gonna put an
took the picture from Hagrid’s giant fingers.
final flash—loud, lingering, bright—and his final vision, a man whose eyes were
framed by wireless eyeglasses, whose hair stood on end—
man who was reflected, almost frighteningly, in the baby’s photograph.
little baby Harry Potter.
Memory. Nostalgia. Redemption.
said—they said they’d always be there for me,” Hagrid moaned, his voice
shivering and shaking.
smiled—not a particularly large smile, or even an immensely friendly one, but
it was warm, kind, welcoming, and, most of all, it was real.
they are,” Remus finished quietly, slowly and meaningfully handing the picture
of Harry back to Hagrid. That little picture, that capture of life itself.
silence of startling hope settled between the two spent men.
back to my place,” Remus informed Hagrid warmly. He flashed Hagrid the same
small smile. “You should too.”
nodded and pocketed the picture.
stared up at the sky and said nothing for a moment. He turned back to Hagrid.
“Goodnight, Hagrid.” A gentle breeze rustled Remus’ hair. “Finally…I’m going
Remus turned around and began to walk, a walk in andante, the walk that would
slowly, but surely, bring him home.