𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 | 𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

chapter thirteen: boggarts.
date: september 9th 1993.

STELLA, HERMIONE, JADE, HARRY, AND RON walked side by side down the corridor, their footsteps echoing lightly off the stone walls. The open archways let in gusts of damp, chilly air, and the dreadful weather outside made the atmosphere inside feel even more gloomy. Rain pelted the grounds of Hogwarts, and the students walking past them huddled into their robes, looking miserable. But the group's spirits were high, and they chatted excitedly about the upcoming Defence Against the Dark Arts class.

"I've heard Professor Lupin's class is going to be different from anything we've had before," Hermione says, grinning. "Finally, a defence teacher who actually knows what they're doing."

"Can't be worse than Lockhart," Jade muttered, rolling her eyes. She tugged her yellow tie, loosening it as it was now getting on her nerves. "I still can't believe he tried to use Cornish pixies in a lesson."

Ron shuddered, his face screwing up at the mere thought of that man. "Please don't remind me. That was a disaster."

"Oh, trust me, Remus's going to be great," Stella proudly proclaimed with a skip in her step. She couldn't wait to see him shine; she knew he would do amazingly. "I helped him plan some of the lessons over the summer. We went through a tonne of stuff—everything from Boggarts to Grindylows."

Harry raised an eyebrow at her, clearly impressed. "You helped him plan the lessons?"

"Yeah, he's basically family, you know," Stella told him, smiling. She had yet to tell Harry that her mother was also friends with James and Lily; suppose she didn't know how to bring his parents up as it was a rough subject for him. "He said he wanted to make the lessons practical—things we could actually use if we ever had to defend ourselves. You'll love it, Harry."

"That's brilliant, Stella. I'm excited now," Hermione uttered, her eyes flashing with excitement. "Practical lessons are exactly what we need."

The group continued down the corridor, the cold wind swirling around them as they passed the open archways. The rain looked relentless, pouring in sheets across the courtyard. They were deep in conversation when, out of nowhere, they heard frantic footsteps approaching from behind.

Fred and George Weasley came racing toward them, laughing wildly as they skidded around the corner. Both of them were soaked from the rain but didn't seem to care one bit.

"Out of the way!" Fred says, gasping between laughs. "Coming through!"

The group barely had time to react as Fred dashed past them, closely followed by George, who stopped just long enough to grin at the group—specifically at Stella.

"Fancy seeing you here, Stella," George quipped with a mischievous smile. "Looking lovely as ever, even with the storm raging outside."

Stella rolled her eyes but couldn't stop a smile from tugging at her lips. She had grown used to George's constant teasing and flirtation, but it always managed to catch her off guard a little.

"Trying to charm your way out of trouble again, George?" Stella asked, crossing her arms over her chest as she smirked at him.

"I wouldn't dream of it. I just think it's a shame I don't see you more often," George admitted, turning his mischievous smile into a fake pout. "Maybe I'll have to pull more pranks just for an excuse to bump into you."

Before Stella could reply, Fred yelled from farther down the corridor.

"Oi, George!" Fred shouted, and he rolled his eyes at his brother's behaviour. "Stop flirting and get a move on, or we'll all be swimming!"

"Swimming?" Jade laughed; she peered around his tall form but couldn't see what kind of damage they had caused.

George raised an eyebrow. "That's right. We may have accidentally on purpose charmed the suits of armour down the corridor to spew water everywhere. It'll flood the entire hall in less than a minute."

"What?!" Ron asked, his eyes widening in surprise.

Fred stomped toward his twin, waving his arms urgently. "Run! Trust me, you do not want to be here when it hits!"

Without thinking twice, the group scrambled on their feet, pure panic setting in. Jade and Ron tried to make it a mission to push the other out of the way, which resulted in Jade practically stumbling over her feet; luckily Harry had grabbed hold of her arm, steadying her. They could already hear a faint, ominous sound—like rushing water—from the corridor ahead. George, who had been standing closest to Stella, grabbed her hand in the chaos, pulling her along as they all started to run.

"Hold on tight, love!" George laughed, his hand gripping Stella's. "I wouldn't want to lose you in the flood."

Stella barely had time to process what was happening, her heart pounding as she ran beside George, their hands still clasped.

"You and Fred are insane, you know that?!" Stella gasped.

"Comes with the territory," George chuckled, squeezing her hand.

Behind them, the sound of the rushing water grew louder, and the group bolted down the corridor, laughing and shouting. Rain might have been pouring outside, but inside, Fred and George had created their own chaotic storm. As they rounded a corner, narrowly escaping the impending flood, Hermione panted, glancing back in disbelief.

Hermione gasped, glaring at the twins as they ran. "You two are going to be the death of us one day!"

"Maybe," Fred says, chuckling. "But at least you'll go out in style!"

They finally stopped running when they reached the main hall, breathless and exhilarated. George let go of Stella's hand, but not without giving her one last teasing look.

"Good fun, wasn't it?" George asked, winking.

Stella shook her head, catching her breath, but there was no denying the excitement in her eyes.

"I'll admit, that was something," Stella says breathlessly, her lips tugging into a smile.

As the twins prepared to dart off to avoid any consequences, Fred gave the group a quick wave.

"You lot enjoy your defence class!" Fred called them out. "We'll be elsewhere."

With that, Fred and George bolted down another corridor, leaving the group laughing in their wake. The adrenaline from the chase still coursed through them as they settled down, preparing for their next class—one that promised to be less chaotic but perhaps just as thrilling.

Professor Lupin wasn't there when they arrived at his first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. Stella walked down the rows of desks, opting for the one at the very front, as she told Jade she wanted front row seats to witness Remus's first class. Jade didn't complain like she would've if it were any other class, as she too was beyond excited to see Remus teach. They all sat down, took out their books, quills, and parchment, and Stella and Jade turned in their seats, looking back at Hermione, who was sitting alongside Susan Bones, one of their roommates.

"Anyone else praying this professor isn't a lost cause?" Susan Bones wondered, her eyes glancing between Hermione, Jade, and Stella.

Stella shared a look of excitement with Jade before glancing back at Susan. "Oh, Susan, you are in for one hell of a lesson."

Susan stared confusedly at Stella, who was grinning at her, and she opened her mouth to say more when Remus finally entered the room. He smiled vaguely at the students, his smile widening a little as his eyes landed on Stella and Jade, who equally turned around in their seats. He placed his tatty old briefcase on the teacher's desk. He was as shabby as ever but looked healthier than he had on the train, granted Stella and even Jade knew how much his werewolf condition took on him, so it was nice to see him healthier and full of energy.

"Good afternoon," Remus greeted them. "Would you please put all your books back in your bags. Today's will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands."

A few curious looks were exchanged as the class put away their books. However, Hermione, Stella, Jade, Harry, and Ron shared a look of joy on their faces. They had never had a practical defence against the dark arts before, unless you counted the memorable class last year when their old teacher had brought a cageful of pixies to class and set them loose.

"Right then," said Professor Lupin, when everyone was ready. "If you'd follow me."

The class got to its feet; Hermione linked her arms to Jade's, while Stella offered her arm to Susan, who was happy to accept, and they followed Professor Lupin out of the classroom. He led them along the deserted corridor—luckily not the flooded one—and around a corner, where the first thing they saw was Peeves the Poltergeist, who was floating upside down in midair and stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing gum. Peeves didn't look up until Professor Lupin was two feet away; then he wiggled his curly-toed feet and broke into song.

"Loony, loopy Lupin," Peeves sang. "Loony, loopy Lupin, loony, loopy Lupin—"

Rude and unmanageable as he almost always was, Peeves usually showed some respect toward the teachers. Everyone looked quickly at Professor Lupin to see how he would take this; to their surprise, he was still smiling.

"I'd take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves," Remus said pleasantly. "Mr. Filch won't be able to get in to his brooms."

A small, quiet gag came from Jade, who like everyone else despised Filch the Hogwarts caretaker, a bad-tempered, failed wizard who waged a constant war against the students and, indeed, Peeves. However, Peeves paid no attention to Professor Lupin's words, except to blow a loud wet raspberry. Professor Lupin gave a small sigh and took out his wand.

"This is a useful little spell," he told the class over his shoulder. "Please watch closely."

He raised the wand to shoulder height, said, "Waddiwasi!" and pointed it at Peeves.

With the force of a bullet, the wad of chewing gum shot out of the keyhole and straight down Peeves's left nostril; he whirled upright and zoomed away, cursing.

"Cool, sir!" Dean Thomas said in amazement.

"Thank you, Dean," Professor Lupin says, putting his wand away again. "Shall we proceed?"

They set off again, the class looking at shabby Professor Lupin with increased respect. He led them down a second corridor and stopped, right outside the staffroom door.

"Inside, please," Professor Lupin told them, opening it and standing back.

The staffroom, a long, panelled room full of old, mismatched chairs, was empty except for one teacher. Professor Snape was sitting in a low armchair, and he looked around as the class filed in. His eyes were glittering, and there was a nasty sneer playing around his mouth. As Professor Lupin came in and made to close the door behind him, Snape stopped him.

"Leave it open, Lupin," Professor Snape sneered. "I'd rather not witness this."

He got to his feet and strode past the class, his black robes billowing behind him. At the doorway, he turned on his heel and said, "Possibly no one's warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear."

Neville went red with embarrassment. Stella noticed that Harry glared at Snape; it was bad enough that he bullied Neville in his own classes, let alone doing it in front of other teachers. Professor Lupin had raised his eyebrows.

"I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation," Remus says, glancing back at Neville with a look of encouragement in his eyes. "And I am sure he will perform it admirably."

Neville's face went, if possible, even redder. Snape's lip curled, but he left, shutting the door with a snap.

"Now, then," Professor Lupin began, beckoning the class toward the end of the room, where there was nothing but an old wardrobe where the teachers kept their spare robes. As Professor Lupin went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall. "Nothing to worry about. There's a boggart in there."

Most people seemed to feel that this was something to worry about; Stella and Susan had jumped backwards when the wardrobe rattled. Neville gave Professor Lupin a look of pure terror, and Seamus Finnigan eyed the now rattling doorknob apprehensively.

"Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces," Remus began to explain to them. "Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks—I've even met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. This one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third year some practice. So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, What is a boggart?"

Hermione put up her hand.

"It's a shapeshifter," Hermione answered. "It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most."

"I couldn't have put it better myself," Remus said, and Hermione glowed. "So the boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears."

"This means," said Professor Lupin, choosing to ignore Neville's small sputter of terror, "that we have a huge advantage over the boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, Harry?"

Trying to answer a question with Hermione next to him, bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet with her hand in the air, was very off-putting, but Harry had a go.

"Er—because there are so many of us, it won't know what shape it should be?"

"Precisely," Professor Lupin agreed, and Hermione put her hand down, looking a little disappointed. "It's always best to have company when you're dealing with a boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a boggart make that very mistake—tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening."

The students laughed, but there was still a hint of nervousness in their eyes.

"The charm that repels a boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing. We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please riddikulus!"

"Riddikulus!" said the class together.

"Good," Professor Lupin uttered, smiling at them. "Very good. But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Neville."

The wardrobe shook again, though not as much as Neville, who walked forward as though he were heading for the gallows.

"Right, Neville," said Professor Lupin. "First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?"

Neville's lips moved, but no noise came out.

"Didn't catch that, Neville, sorry," Professor Lupin says cheerfully.

Neville looked around rather wildly, as though begging someone to help him, then said, in barely more than a whisper, "Professor Snape."

Nearly everyone laughed. Even Neville grinned apologetically. Professor Lupin, however, looked thoughtful.

"Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother." Professor Lupin asked him.

"Er—yes," Neville stuttered nervously. "But—I don't want the boggart to turn into her either."

"No, no, you misunderstand me," Professor Lupin told him, now smiling. "I wonder, could you tell us what sort of clothes your grandmother usually wears?"

Neville looked startled but said, "Well, always the same hat. A tall one with a stuffed vulture on top. And a long dress green, normally and sometimes a fox-fur scarf."

"And a handbag?" prompted Professor Lupin.

"A big red one," Neville said.

"Right then," Professor Lupin grinned. "Can you picture those clothes very clearly, Neville? Can you see them in your mind's eye?"

"Yes," Neville said, uncertainly, plainly wondering what was coming next.

"When the boggart bursts out of this wardrobe, Neville, and sees you, it will assume the form of Professor Snape," Professor Lupin explains. "And you will raise your wand—thus—and cry 'Riddikulus'—and concentrate hard on your grandmother's clothes. If all goes well, Professor Boggart Snape will be forced into that vulture-topped hat and that green dress, with that big red handbag."

There was a great shout of laughter. The wardrobe wobbled more violently.

"If Neville is successful, the boggart is likely to shift his attention to each of us in turn," Professor Lupin addressed the rest of the class. "I would like all of you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most and imagine how you might force it to look comical."

Stella furrowed her brows, asking herself the same question; she was afraid of clowns and dementors, but she couldn't pinpoint anything specific, at least not within a space of a minute.

"Everyone ready?" Professor Lupin asked. "Neville, we're going to back away. Let you have a clear field, all right? I'll call the next person forward. Everyone back now, so Neville can get a clear shot—"

They all retreated, backed against the walls, leaving Neville alone beside the wardrobe. He looked pale and frightened, but he had pushed up the sleeves of his robes and was holding his wand ready.

"On the count of three, Neville," Professor Lupin told him, who was pointing his own wand at the handle of the wardrobe. "One—two—three—now!"

A jet of sparks shot from the end of Professor Lupin's wand and hit the doorknob. The wardrobe burst open. Hook-nosed and menacing, Professor Snape stepped out, his eyes flashing at Neville. Neville backed away, his wand up, mouthing wordlessly. Snape was bearing down upon him, reaching inside his robes.

"R—r— riddikulus!" squeaked Neville.

There was a noise like a whip crack. Snape stumbled; he was wearing a long, lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture, and he was swinging a huge crimson handbag. There was a roar of laughter; the boggart paused, confused.

Professor Lupin shouted, "Parvati! Forward!"

Parvati walked forward, her face set. Snape rounded on her. There was another crack, and where he had stood was a bloodstained, bandaged mummy; its sightless face was turned to Parvati, and it began to walk toward her very slowly, dragging its feet, its stiff arms rising.

"Riddikulus!" cried Parvati.

A bandage unravelled at the mummy's feet; it became entangled, fell face forward, and its head rolled off.

"Seamus!" roared Professor Lupin.

Seamus darted past Parvati. Where the mummy had been was a woman with floor-length black hair and a skeletal, green-tinged face—a banshee. She opened her mouth wide, and an unearthly sound filled the room—a long, wailing shriek that made the hair on Stella's neck stand on end.

"Riddikulus!" shouted Seamus.

The banshee made a rasping noise and clutched her throat; her voice was gone. The banshee turned into a rat, which chased its tail in a circle, then—crack!—became a rattlesnake, which slithered and writhed before—crack!—becoming a single, bloody eyeball.

"It's confused!" Professor Lupin shouted to them. "We're getting there! Dean!"

Dean hurried forward. The eyeball became a severed hand, which flipped over and began to creep along the floor like a crab.

"Riddikulus!" yelled Dean.

There was a snap, and the hand was trapped in a mousetrap.

"Excellent! Ron, you next!"

Ron leapt forward. Quite a few people shouted. A giant spider, six feet tall and covered in hair, was advancing on Ron, clicking its pincers menacingly.

"Riddikulus!" bellowed Ron, and the spider's legs vanished; it rolled over and over.

"Wonderful! Stella, you next!" Professor Lupin roared.

Stella's stomach churns as she approaches Boggart, her wand trembling slightly in her hand. She glances at Remus, who was smiling in encouragement, but something in her gut feels wrong.

"Alright, Stella. You can do this."

His voice is gentle and reassuring, but Stella's heart pounds in her chest. She takes a deep breath, trying to steel herself. As the boggart begins to change, the room feels colder and quieter, as if the world is holding its breath.

A tall, gaunt figure takes shape—Sirius Black. His eyes are hollow, his face pale and unkempt—the same haunting image from the posters that have been scattered around Hogwarts. But for Stella, it's more than just the infamous murderer. There's a weight behind the sight of him that she can't explain—a feeling of something deeply personal. Her chest tightens painfully, her breath catching in her throat.

She can't move.

The world around her fades, and all she can see is Sirius Black, standing there, his face filled with something she can't name—anger? Sadness? Betrayal?

He's just an old friend of my mom, she thinks, panic bubbling in her chest.

She hears her classmates murmuring in the background. Jade stands frozen beside Hermione, her eyes wide with concern. She's seen Stella anxious before, but this is something different.

Stella's breathing quickens as her mind races. Her thoughts are a blur of confusion and dread. She doesn't even know Sirius Black, not really. But there's something in the way he looks at her—a sense of knowing, of something far more terrifying than she can process. She can't stay here.

Without a word, she bolts.

She doesn't wait for anyone to call after her and doesn't stop to explain. She sprints past the row of students and out the door, her legs carrying her as fast as they can. Her vision blurs, the walls of the castle twisting as she runs through the corridors. Her mind is racing, tangled with confusion and fear.

Her breath comes in ragged gasps, her heart pounding wildly in her chest as she tears down the corridor. The world outside is cold and grey as the rain lashes against the stone windows, but inside, she feels like she's burning from the inside out.

She doesn't stop until she's reached an empty passage, where she collapses against the wall, her knees shaking beneath her. She's gasping for air, her hands trembling as she tries to collect her thoughts, but nothing makes sense.

Stella's feet pound against the cold stone floors as she races through the castle corridors, her breath ragged and uneven. The walls seem to blur around her as she stumbles down one deserted hallway after another. Her mind is in chaos, the image of the boggart—Sirius Black, standing there like a twisted nightmare—flashing before her eyes over and over again. He was just an old friend.

She doesn't stop running until her legs give out. Her back slams against a damp stone wall, and she slides down it, collapsing in a hidden alcove. She curls up into herself, knees pulled tightly to her chest, arms wrapped around them as if trying to shield herself from the overwhelming weight of her thoughts. Her chest heaves as she fights to catch her breath, but the panic inside her only grows.

The castle is eerily silent, the distant sound of students moving in and out of classes far away. In this secluded part of the corridor, she's completely alone. Her throat tightens, and a sob forces its way out, though she tries to muffle it with her sleeves. The confusion, fear, and anger churn inside her like a storm she can't control.

She doesn't understand. She doesn't know him. She's never even met him. So why, of all the things her subconscious could dredge up, would Sirius Black, a man she only knows from wanted posters and stories from her mother, be her greatest fear?

Tears sting her eyes as her fingers dig into the fabric of her robes, clutching her knees tighter. She's trembling, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. Her mind is spinning, and she can't catch hold of anything to stop it. Nothing makes sense anymore.

And then, just faintly, she hears footsteps. At first, she stiffens, afraid someone's found her—Jade, Hermione, or worse, Snape, coming to chastise her for fleeing the lesson. But as the sound draws nearer, a part of her recognises the quiet, measured pace. She lifts her head, just barely, as the figure rounds the corner.

It's Remus Lupin.

He's walking slowly, his eyes scanning the corridor, clearly searching for her. When his gaze finally lands on her crumpled form, he doesn't speak immediately. Instead, he approaches with that same calm, steady presence he always carries, as if nothing can disturb him. He kneels down beside her, sitting on the cold stone floor, just a few feet away, giving her space.

For a long time, neither of them said a word. The silence stretches on, punctuated only by the distant drip of water from somewhere in the castle's ancient walls. Lupin doesn't push her; he doesn't ask what's wrong or why she ran. He simply sits there, his quiet presence somehow comforting without being intrusive.

Eventually, after what feels like hours, he speaks. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to."

His voice is gentle, free of judgement or expectation. He's giving her an out, letting her know that it's okay to take her time. The offer, the simplicity of it, somehow makes the weight on Stella's chest a little lighter. She doesn't look at him, but she feels the tightness in her throat loosen, just a little.

They sit there in silence for a few more minutes. Stella's breath starts to even out, the panic slowly subsiding, though the knot in her stomach remains. She knows he's waiting for her to speak, but he isn't rushing her. He's letting her come to him in her own time.

Finally, she exhales shakily, her voice barely above a whisper. "He was just a friend; why him? Is it because my mother drummed it into me over the summer that he's dangerous?"

Remus doesn't say anything at first. His face remains calm, but there's a flicker of something in his eyes—something deep, something painful. He shifts slightly, leaning back against the stone wall beside her.

"Sometimes, our fears aren't as simple as we think," Remus whispers. "They can be tied to things we don't fully understand yet."

Stella bites her lip, her mind swirling with questions she doesn't have answers to. The image of Sirius Black as the boggart looms large in her mind. She shakes her head, frustrated with herself and with everything.

"But I don't even know him. Not really. He's just... he's just some old friend you and mum told me about when I was younger; he's probably forgotten you both by now. So why am I so afraid?" Stella says, her voice cracking at the end, the uncertainty and fear spilling out.

She hates how vulnerable she sounds, but she can't help it. None of this makes sense to her, and she feels like she's drowning in her own confusion. Remus sighs softly, his expression thoughtful. He looks out toward the corridor ahead, his brow furrowed in quiet reflection.

"Fear, it's a strange thing," Remus mumbled quietly. "It doesn't always make sense on the surface. Sometimes, it's more about what someone represents rather than the person themselves."

Stella frowns, her head still buried in her arms. "But he's dangerous. He's after Harry, and mum convinced he's after us."

There was a feeling—a gnawing sense that there's something more going on, something that ties her to this man she's never met. She shakes her head, her fingers gripping her robes tighter.

"I don't know," Stella whispered, shrugging her shoulders. "I just... I feel like there's more to the story."

Remus watches her for a moment, a deep sadness flickering in his eyes. He sighs softly, running a hand through his greying hair.

"Sirius, as you know, wasn't always like this."

Stella looks up; she turns her head to face him. Remus leans back against the wall, his eyes distant, as if recalling something from a lifetime ago.

"A long time ago. Before everything happened. We were like brothers, the four of us—James, Sirius, Peter, and me—and we can't forget your mother; she was like a sister." Remus spoke softly, his eyes glazing over as he remembered the shell of what was once his friend. "He wasn't always the man you see on those wanted posters. There was a time when he was just a boy, like the rest of us. Full of life. Full of good intentions."

Stella listens in silence, her mind racing. She remembered the stories Remus and her mother would tell her; it was hard to believe those two people were the same person.

"He made mistakes," Remus sighs. "Terrible mistakes. But he wasn't a monster back then."

Stella feels a tear slip down her cheek, unbidden. She wipes it away hastily, but another follows, and then another, until she can't stop them. Her shoulders shake as she starts to sob, the weight of everything crashing down on her all at once. Remus moves closer, still cautious, still giving her space. But his presence is steady, like an anchor in the storm of her emotions.

"It's okay, Stella," Remus reassures her; he places a hand on the back of her head, stroking her hair softly.

Stella leans into him, resting her head on his chest. Her tears wet the fabric of his robes, but he doesn't seem to mind. They sit like that for a long time, the quiet of the corridor wrapping around them.

"Why do I get the sense that I'm not getting the full picture?" Stella muffled, her voice raw.

Her question hangs in the air, fragile yet loaded with weight. She lifts her head from his shoulder, searching his face for answers, for something that might help her make sense of the unease gnawing at her. Remus stiffens, just barely, but enough that Stella notices. His gaze shifts, not meeting hers directly at first. His jaw tightens for a fraction of a second before he takes a slow, deep breath.

"Sometimes," Remus says, softly but carefully, "there are things we don't understand fully until we're ready."

"What does that mean?" Stella asked, frowning, her confusion deepening.

There's a flash of something in her eyes—hurt, betrayal. And it cuts at him deeply. Remus shifts his position, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. He takes a long, contemplative pause before speaking again.

"It's not about whether you're ready, Stella," Remus tells her firmly. "It's about timing. And trust me when I say, there are some things—some truths—that take time to unfold. Rushing them won't make it any easier."

"But it's about me, isn't it?" Stella questions him; she shakes her head, frustration boiling over. "You can't keep protecting me from it forever!"

Remus sighs, his face softening with regret. He finally turns his eyes to meet hers, and for a moment, his usual calm demeanour falters. There's a sadness in his gaze, a deep, weary weight that seems older than his years.

"You're right. It is about you. But it's also about more than you. There are people who love you—who've kept certain things from you because they thought it was best. To keep you safe."

Stella's chest tightens, her heart racing in her confusion. "Safe from Sirius Black?"

Remus hesitates. He looks as though he's struggling with himself, as though he's standing at the edge of something he isn't sure he should leap from. When he speaks again, his voice is tinged with guilt.

"Safe from a past that's complicated. One that you're a part of but that you don't fully know yet."

Stella's pulse quickens as she pieces together his cryptic words. Her mind races. The sight of Sirius Black as her boggart, and now this—Remus's guarded answers—something about it all feels wrong.

"He's more than just some old friend, some nutjob, isn't he?" Stella pressed him for answers.

Remus's face tightens at the mention of Sirius. His eyes darken, and for a long moment, he doesn't speak. Then, slowly, he nods.

"Sirius plays a role in your life. A role you don't fully understand yet. But..." Remus hesitates, clearly weighing his words as it wasn't his place to say anything. "It's not my place to tell you everything. Not yet. I promise you, you'll get the full picture when the time is right. And when that time comes, you won't be alone."

Stella clenches her fists, her emotions swirling between frustration, anger, and a deep, aching confusion. She doesn't want to be patient. She doesn't want half-truths or cryptic reassurances. But there's something in Remus's tone—a tenderness, a protective edge—that keeps her from pushing further. It's clear that, despite his secrecy, he's doing it for her. At least, that's what she hopes.

"I just don't want to feel like I'm in the dark anymore, Uncle Remus," Stella mutters, her voice quiet but pleading.

Remus shifts closer, gently wrapping his arm back around her shoulder and pulling her back into his chest. His touch is warm, steadying.

"I understand. And I wish I could give you all the answers right now. But for now, just trust that you'll know when the time is right. And until then... you have me. You have your friends. You're not alone, Stella."

She doesn't respond, but she leans into his touch, her head spinning with too many questions and not enough answers. For now, she has to accept what he's told her. But the uncertainty gnaws at her, and she knows deep down that this is only the beginning.

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look at me updating again!

whoop whoop!

anyways enjoy.