BORN TO DIE | R. Arcturus Black

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Chapter Twenty-One: Good 'Ol Silver Linings

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The laughter and chatter of the Potters' kitchen slowly faded into the background as Janet made her way down the winding hallways, searching for solitude. Her mind buzzed with the weight of everything unsaid, her breath tight in her chest. She had to steady herself; she couldn't afford to slip, not now. The spring holidays had brought her closer to these people than she ever intended, and the closer she got, the more dangerous it became.

As she rounded a corner, she felt it—that unmistakable prickle of being watched. She didn't have to turn to know it was Remus. He had been keeping his distance all evening, his eyes always lingering on her, shadowed with something unspoken. She didn't blame him; she'd been acting differently, more cautious. But she couldn't help it. She had seen the signs.

He knew

"Janet," his voice came, soft but insistent, cutting through the quiet.

Her heart skipped a beat. She slowed, her mind racing through a hundred possible responses, excuses, diversions—anything to avoid this conversation. But there was a tightness in his voice that told her he wouldn't be easily brushed off.

She stopped and turned to face him, her expression carefully neutral. "Remus. What is it?"

He stepped closer, his face illuminated by a sliver of moonlight seeping through a narrow window. He looked tense, his usually soft features drawn tight with concern. "Can we talk? In private?"

Janet hesitated, every instinct screaming at her to turn back, to avoid this. But she knew better. If she refused, it would only make him more suspicious. "Alright," she said, voice steady, though inside, a storm was brewing.

Remus led her to a small, empty classroom, closing the door behind them with a quiet click. The room was dim, shadows pooling in the corners, the air heavy with dust and the scent of old books. Janet's pulse quickened. She could feel his gaze on her, sharp and searching.

"Remus, what's going on?" she asked, trying to keep her tone light, casual. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Don't play dumb," he said quietly, his voice trembling but firm. "I know you know."

Janet's stomach dropped. The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. She opened her mouth to deny it, to feign ignorance, but her voice caught in her throat. She felt trapped, the walls of the room seeming to close in on her. She could lie. She was good at lying. But there was something in his eyes—fear, vulnerability, something raw and desperate—that made her pause.

"I'm not sure what you mean," she said finally, forcing herself to meet his gaze. She needed to be careful. She couldn't afford to let anything slip.

"You know exactly what I mean," Remus pressed, stepping closer, his voice low but intense. "You know about me. About what I am."

The room seemed to tilt slightly, and Janet felt a surge of panic rising in her chest. She had been so careful, so calculated in her actions, in her words. She had to keep this secret buried. She couldn't risk exposing more than she already had.

"Remus, I don't—"

"Please, Janet," he interrupted, his voice breaking slightly. "I've seen the way you look at me, the way you... distance yourself from me. You know, don't you?"

She was trapped and saddened.

Distance yourself from me.

She could feel it. If she denied it too vehemently, he would see through her. But if she admitted too much, it could unravel everything. Her hands trembled slightly, and she clasped them together to hide the movement.