𝐒𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐍; 𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐫.

𝐱: 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬? (𝐟𝐭. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞)

𝐓𝐖: 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 & 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐢 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐭❜𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲, 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐢𝐝𝐤 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭❜𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝...𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘!

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𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐘𝐄𝐒—𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐀 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄. She had immediately set to business, checking her small compact Potions kit that Mary MacDonald had given her last Christmas, and pulling out Potioneering in Plots, a notorious book she'd been known to read. It contained pretty much any devious potion which could be used in the most deceitful of pranks, the most clever of tricks.

But this was no prank. This was no trick.

"How the bloody hell does your thumb just Vanish?" Amara said for what seemed like the millionth time, gazing at the night sky. She looked over at Remus, whose weary face seemed unresponsive and dull. "Rem?"

"No clue," he replied. "It's the weirdest fucking thing I've ever seen. Even Verona and Pomfrey didn't know what to do."

They were engaging in another Midnight Smoke, something they both had desperately needed; for this past week was just too high-stress for either of them.

Well, Amara hadn't gleaned much from her intentionally vague questions, but she could tell there was much Remus wanted to discuss with her. After Sirius's...weirdly intimate conversation with Remus following his surprise transformation, it had been tense between them. But not the 'I hate how you don't love me' tension Remus had previously endorsed.

No, it was deeper than that. And if Amara weren't so focused on the goddamn Quaffle, she might have paid more attention to them.

"Alchemy going all right?" 

He had opted to not take Divination this year, along with Peter, and was pursuing a deeper education in the footsteps of famous alchemist Mark Galloway.

"Fine."

Amara stole a glance at him. 

"Have you said anything to—"

"I don't wanna talk about Sirius."

She paused. "Oh. Okay. That's fine."

But then, as if a switch had been flipped in Remus, he sighed and faced her. "He'll never love me back," he whispered. "Not in the way I love him."

Amara could only reciprocate his saddened gaze. "I know."

"God, Amara, I want him so bad," he said, leaning his head against the wall and gazing out at the dark depths their view offered; the expansive reach of the Forbidden Forest. "Everything he does drives me fucking crazy. And I have to watch him talk about girls all the time."

It was in that moment that Amara recognized, in the most sorrowful of epiphanies, that if Remus Lupin could speak in the language of the heart—if he could cry out in the way souls do—then perhaps he would be just a little more understood. It was a shameful ocurrence that there weren't words enough to describe his agony. 

If he could, Amara imagined that perhaps it would sound like the pained creaking of a magnificent tree seconds before it fell; the rushing of a wave seconds before it broke; or, perhaps, the final tick of a clock before the alarm sounded.