The Sun, Moon & Stars

28. Dumbledore Returns (again)

Disclaimer: POV change. This chapter is entirely in Remus' point of view.

...

The rest of the summer was gloomy, as one might expect when your murderer ex-husband and the father of your child has broken out of prison.

He didn't know what to say to her, if he should really say anything. What was there to say? He was just as shocked, just as broken and horrified as she surely was. And he knew there was nothing, nothing he could ever say to comfort her. A murderer was on the loose—and it was her father. Though really, in his eyes anyway, he lost the right to be called her father when he betrayed them all.

The idea of Sirius Black at large didn't frighten him as much as it probably should have. And maybe that was because he had known Sirius, once upon a time. Or maybe it was because he knew, or thought anyway, that if he came face to face with Sirius; he wouldn't hurt them.

Would their history get in the way of him murdering them if he had the chance? Remus wasn't sure.

Things were different though. Their cottage, that was always so bright and happy, had darkened since the day they read the headlines. Even Ginger, the light of their lives, was gloomy.

They celebrated Ophelia's thirteenth birthday, though admittedly it wasn't the same. He got her a book she'd love, some CD's she could add to her collection, and of course chocolate. They ate a cake, had a nice dinner and watched a movie afterwards, like they usually did, yet it still wasn't the same.

Even when they were laughing, or smiling or everything seemed fine; they was a feeling in the air Remus couldn't exactly describe. A lingering feeling -- mixed with feelings, and memories, he hadn't thought about in years.

It became harder to get out of bed, harder to eat -- harder to do anything that one would deem normal, or simple. For the first time in years he was beginning to relapse into the depressive episodes that took him so long to get out of. Every thought he had, and every word he uttered, was tinged with the indescribable pain that came from this situation. Sleep was harder to come by, nightmares were frequent in the few times he did manage to get some, and sometimes Ginger had to force him to eat, or to drink, or to just get out of bed. It was different this time though. He had obligations. He had a kid that was old enough to understand depression -- to understand what he was feeling -- and it was no longer okay for him to wallow in his own self-pity when she was surely feeling similarly. He had to be okay, or at the very least, pretend he was.

...

On one humid evening, August 28th to be exact, after Ophelia was sound asleep in bed, and Ginger was upstairs doing some tidying, there was a knock at the door. Remus wasn't asleep, naturally, so he opened the door; slouched at first, but immediately straightening his posture when he was faced with Albus Dumbledore.

He looked the same as he had just a couple months prior. He never changed, not all that much anyway. Half-moon spectacles, periwinkle coloured robes and the knee-length beard of silvery white hair.

'Professor.' Remus said, surprised.

'Albus.'

'Right, erm, Albus.' It still felt weird to call his previous headmaster by his first name, even at the age of thirty-two.

Remus let him inside with a gesture, and Dumbledore smiled as he accepted the offer.

'Erm, tea?'