The Stars and Forbidden Cigarettes | Professor Remus Lupin

Christmas Sorrow

Reverie opens her eyes in the empty dormitory. It's Christmas morning, but the sun has yet to rise. A sleepless night and tremulous thoughts about people she shouldn't be thinking about force her out of the bed and down the stairs to the warm, decorated common room. The tree stands in the corner, taunting her in the quiet, deafening solitude of the Gryffindor tower.

She almost doesn't notice the familiar wrapping paper at the foot of the tree, but she does and, picking it up, she recognizes her name written by her grandmother's familiar hand.

Sitting down on the couch, she tucks her legs underneath her as she reads the small note attached.

My dearest Reverie,

Happy Christmas, love! I miss and love you more than you know. I hope you are well and safe and happy and everything else that matters, and know that I'm always thinking of you. I know Christmas isn't much this year -- Margot didn't let me leave the home at all these past couple of weeks, her and her 'you need to get better' rubbish. But, don't you worry, you know how Margot can be overly cautious -- I've been feeling well.

If you get a chance tonight, look up at the sky -- the men on the radio say that there's supposed to be a meteor shower around Polaris on Christmas. I'm not sure if Margot will let me leave the room so late -- but I'm sure you'll get a much better view in Scotland anyway. Tell me how it is. I know your mother would've loved it.

Happy Christmas again. Don't try to forget everything. It's good to remember. I love you.

~ Your Gran.

She finishes reading, but her insides feel dry, and a wave of sorrow drowns her but she finds it impossible to cry. She carefully pulls away the wrapping paper to reveal a small box, and she already knows what it's going to be as she opens it. Her eyes burn as she pulls out her mother's locket, engraved with a small star in the center. Inside, she finds the two old pictures of her father and herself, at 11, around the time she'd received the Hogwarts letter in the mail. She hardly recognizes herself, but her father looks just as young as she remembers him. There's a knot in her throat as she clasps the locket around her neck, and before the dark room can suffocate her, she takes the note and walks out of the common room.

The Great Hall is empty. She's the only soul in the large room, but the candles shine brightly, as if eager for the sun to commend them for their hard work during its absence. She takes her usual seat near the middle of the Gryffindor table, and as she sits down, a row of food appears before her, and she's filled with gratitude at Hogwarts' magic. She drinks pumpkin juice as she waits for the sun to enter through the stained windows, and she pulls out her current read, North and South, and tries her hardest to immerse herself in it. But, she wishes there was some palpable cure to the exhausting loneliness, the solitude before morning.

She resigns herself to the words on the page, until just minutes later, the doors open. The sun still isn't up. She turns and sees Lupin, head down, hands in his pockets, deep in thought, walking towards the Head table.

As he cuts through the middle, she wonders if he expected an empty the Great Hall,  why he's awake so early on Christmas day, why his hair is so disheveled and why she wishes she could run her hand through it and against the stubble adorning his cheeks, why she isn't able to pull her eyes away, why she always gives herself something to be embarrassed about when he inevitably sees her. She enters his peripheral, and he looks up only for his eyes to connect with her big and scared ones. He stalls slightly, but doesn't look away from Reverie. He walks closer to her slowly, he sees her eyes are red and slightly puffy, he notices the new locket adorning her chest, and he sees the sleeplessness. He sees everything. His eyes scan her fragile body almost worriedly, and under the intensity and judgment of his gaze she tears her eyes away and looks down at her food. She feels him stop for barely a second before he continues walking, and her chest tightens with the silence, and she knows she has no right to be angry, but it's Christmas and it can't possibly be that hard to wish someone a happy one, or to say hello, or to apologize, or to do anything but look at her like she's broken and—