The Stars and Forbidden Cigarettes | Professor Remus Lupin

Spring

Spring blooms slowly in Scotland. The night's frost drips off of the hyacinths at first light, the wind blows lightly over the lake, and the birds chirp curiously, quietly — a question, if anyone is listening yet, if anyone is awake. The sun claws its way out through the trees, its rays sharp swords cutting through the cold dawn.

Spring blooms in the morning, when all is silent, and the water laps quietly against the bank of the lake. An osprey flies low and drags its foot along the water, breaking the surface crisply.

Reverie's knees are tucked under her chin as she watches it all unfold before her from her place on her rock. She watches the osprey pull up from the lake and fly to a nearby treetop. She basks as a ray of sun falls on her gently.

And she resists the urge to turn her head to one of the castle's many towers on her right, where Lupin's window sits overlooking the lake and the rock she is sitting on, where Lupin's window is open to let the morning air in, where Lupin's window has been open since she left the castle at four in the morning. She resists the urge to wonder if he hasn't been sleeping either.

She'd received word from McGonagall the evening before about the letter from her grandmother, traced with poison. McGonagall had told her that Lupin had taken the initiative to intercept it the week before. That he was in the middle of a dispute with the Minister regarding the privacy of muggle-born wizards. That Reverie had the right to know that which directly involved her, despite Lupin's best efforts to keep her away from further trouble.

McGonagall had told her that, when Reverie was busy kissing Oliver (spitefully or not, she did not yet know), Lupin was busy saving her life.

So now, even as the water laps against the bank and the sun pushes forcefully and the frost drips and the bird flies, Reverie is consumed by the thought that Lupin did not want her to know, for he did not go the lengths he did for the recognition. No – he did it for her, for no other reason than to see her safe and alive.

And maybe there was something more that she missed, more than him not caring for her or thinking she wasn't worth the risk. Maybe she was wrong.

Maybe they were fools. One as helplessly foolish as the other.

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The window fills with a shadow Reverie doesn't see. But along the empty expanse of the Scottish highlands blooming slowly under the first crack of dawn as far as the eye can see, Lupin sees the girl, unmoving, a permanent fixture of the permanent land, there as if she'd never left. And when his chest pulls at his soul deeply and painfully, he wonders what he'll do when the Scottish sun no longer has her to illuminate, when the rock no longer has her to bear, when his eyes no longer have her to behold.

He turns away from the window, relishing in the fact that, for now, she may still be there when he looks back.

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At breakfast, Oliver holds Reverie's hand. Lupin can't bring himself to look in their direction. Reverie doesn't want him to.

"It's nice out today," Oliver says. His hand feels heavy in hers.

"I know," she says, picking at her plate with the fork in her free hand.

He squeezes her fingers gently. She turns to look at him.

Her heart is heavy, guilty, ashamed. If he sees it in her eyes, he doesn't show it. He smiles warmly, lightly. Reverie's eyes burn. They finish breakfast in silence.

Light, meaningless conversation pervades their walk to Hogsmeade. The Three Broomsticks is loud enough to warrant comfortable silence, and they watch as others come and go while they drink their butterbeers. Oliver notices Reverie gaze jumping to the door every time it opens with a new customer. Oliver looks down into his glass, his eyebrows furrowing.