Seventeen: We Should Care a Little Less

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"Once again."

I groaned gruffly, closing my eyes for a moment of rest. I could almost feel the migraine coming on.

"It's not working, Remus," My voice was light, tired from all the incantations. "Maybe you all were just wrong about me."

Remus sighed. His footsteps on the floor indicated that he had been pacing the room, probably thinking of a solution.

Maybe he was just as worn out as I was. Maybe he believed I wasn't putting in enough effort, that I wasn't giving it my all, that I wasn't trying as hard as he had. Maybe that's exactly what he was thinking but chose to remain silent to avoid upsetting me enough to never show up for another lesson.

"Perhaps you are too hard on yourself. You tend to do that," he pointed out without a hint of malice. Just a friendly note.

I groaned again. Thinking about what might work for me was as exhausting as the actual training. "I don't know."

A moment of silence.

"We're done for today."

I opened my eyes to look at him. He wasn't joking.

"It will do us no good to push you to the limits," he stated, rubbing his neck. "Get some rest. Stop thinking about it, stop worrying."

"What makes you think I'm worried?"

He chuckled shortly, as if it was silly I even asked that question. "Because you've been given a task that you feel you fail at."

Was he so attentive to others? To Sirius, to... Tonks? I'd like to think not.

I didn't say anything to him. I didn't want to admit it, and if I tried to lie, he would sense it perfectly. I thanked him for the afternoon and headed for the door, wondering whether to take a long soak in a tub filled to the brim with scented hot water first, or retrieve some sweet rolls from the bakery two streets away first, since I already had my own wand.

"Hold on!" Remus called and got to me just as I reached to push the door open. In his hand he held a thin book, covered with worn burgundy material. "I finally found it."

I took the book from him and ran my hand over the tired cover. Lyrical Ballads.

"It should be quite pleasant for a first-time encounter with Muggle poetry," he said and his eyes were smiling, their bronze has never seemed so warm.

"Thank you," I said, struggling to give those two words some unbelievably strong meaning. "I thought you had forgotten."

His lips twitched but resisted smiling. "No, of course not. I couldn't decide what to give you."

"Oh," I breathed out mindlessly.

"Enjoy reading," he said before walking past me and leaving me alone with the book in hand.

I was intrigued enough to walk straight to the bedroom and settle down on the numerous pillows I had gathered from other rooms to dive into the reading right away. I opened the book at random for a quick skim, but stopped short when I saw the margins filled in, words underlined, and comments written in red. I flipped through a few pages. The margins were full of notes everywhere.

There was no doubt in my mind that Remus had given me this book specifically so that his own thinking might lead me through it.

A few days later it was time for another lesson, and this time Remus came prepared. In keeping with his previous ideas, he came up with a new approach, although it wasn't as pleasant as soap bubbles or balled-up socks.

"Although I won't endanger you, I do hope that this will be unsettling enough to cause you to react," he added, "Nothing that might actually harm you."

I nodded, though I had a shadow of doubt.

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