𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 | 𝐡. 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝟏𝟏𝟎 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐰

𝙉𝙤 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙧 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜; it was like something had hopped into each of their mouths and stolen their words, for absolutely no one could anticipate exactly how they were to speak to Ophelia -- if they were to speak at all.

Remus, however, was affronted by their pensiveness, she was, after all still a human being capable of polite conversation, and as he brought up her breakfast to her room in the early hours of the morning, he realised how right he was. She was sitting on the floor at the foot of her bed, a mammoth-sized book wedged between her hands that she completely missed him entering the room. With a warm smile, he dipped down to her level, sitting beside his daughter's side as she gradually uncocooned herself at the smell of freshly baked carrot cake.

"Didn't think you'd have much of an appetite this morning," he said, propping the plate on his knee as he reached into his pocket to pull out a flask of tea; conjuring a pair of tea cups, he poured her one and then himself as she leaned into his shoulder, "What's the current read?"

"Ministry of Magic Legastrative Law, Volume six." she said, holding up the book in her hand that looked almost toy-like in comparison to the hardbound leather, "Quite boring, but not as boring as cake for breakfast."

"Your mother baked it," he said, pressing a kiss to her temple as she started digging into it, "Without raisins."

She grinned, pushing the cake past her lips; she chewed, she swallowed and she repeated the process until the plate was clean of every crumb -- Remus grinned proudly down at her, his little girl finishing a meal, he thought back to her as an infant in her high chair, how she dreaded the sight of carrots -- he felt the same sense of relief to see the plate void of substance.

After rinsing her throat with a hearty mouthful of tea, she sat and pondered for a moment.

"I am doing the right thing aren't i?" she asked him warily.

"Do you believe that you aren't?" he countered, she turned to look up at him.

"I believe that no matter what I do, Peter is going to end up dead." she said, hugging her knees to her chest. "I'd rather him face his crimes and be condemned than be executed in cold blood."

"And I would be agree that it is the more reasonable path to follow, the fact you have the strength to make such a decision is a credit to who you are -- after everything he did to you, you showed mercy" he said, turning to look away from her for a moment, "Something I was struggling with and I am glad that the option is no longer there for me."

"He hurt you too -- you have just as much of a right to kill him yourself for what he did--"

"But i wouldn't want to." he said in a sound calm voice, yet his words caught the sore spot in his memory that still resented the sight of him for what he did, "A part of me needs him locked away, because if he wasn't -- I dread to think of what I am capable of when I am at my lowest."

She paused, her hand reaching on top of his own to still his tremoring hand -- he clasped his other on top of it, his thumb rubbing her skin as he rested his head on top of her.

"You have no idea how proud I am of you." he whispered into her hair, "You are a perfect amalgamation of every good thing about your mother and I, but I cannot claim that it was all thanks to my parenting -- you have the capability of doing anything you put your mind to and I cannot be more honoured to be your father, but as your father i must say that you have to manage your expectations of your own resonance... do not give more than you have.... I don't want to lose you again, not for anyone--"