She held the parchment in front of her. She couldn't read the words. Green. His ink was green.
Sincerest apologies. Deepest regrets.
But what the parchment actually read was – "I have done all I can, Mrs. Lupin."
What the parchment actually read was – Your son is going to die.
A hearing. Her little boy behind silver bars. Whimpering. Her own whimpering.
She shrieked through her damp and trembling hand; the parchment burst into flame and singed her fingers, her whole body quivering with rage.
Her husband ran in from his study to see what was the matter.
Dumbledore, I trusted you!
She had no words, no speech within her to answer his gentle concern. She faced him with gravestones in her eyes.
Romulus T. Lupin, 1960 – 1967.
Remus J. Lupin, 1960 – 1976.
An executioner's blade, a wolfkiller's grin in her eyes.
xXxXx