Of winter's lifeless world each tree
Now seems a perfect part;
Yet each one holds summer's secret
deep down within its heart.
Charles G. Stater
-.-.-
I worry about her more than I probably should. I know Ginny is a strong woman, but part of me, possibly Moony, feels that I must protect her. Perhaps that is because she is still so young, and the wolf inside me wishes to protect the familial youth. I also find that I must remind myself that she is a woman now, and no longer a child that I teach three days a week.
Molly warned me Ginny might slip back into the darkness if she didn't keep busy enough. I don't disagree with the motherly matron, I simply have my own way to empower the young woman before me. I let her have her bit of darkness. She needs it. We all do, in a way. It's good to remember what you've lost; it keeps you humble. It keeps you human. Without the loss of her brother and countless friends, she may never have found her path. Without witnessing firsthand what the wrong choices can lead you to, I don't think she would have made some of the choices she did.
George spent two years in the bottle when he decided to continue to live on his own; we all watched him spiral out of control, nearly lost the business because of it. He's still climbing his way out, but he's getting there. I think that helped her decision to move into Grimmauld Place with me. Neither of us is alone, but still have enough space to wallow in self pity when we need to. It's the perfect situation for us both.
-.-.-
This house creaks. It's loud for something that feels so dead. It's only Remus and me living here, but former Order members, what's left of them anyway, still pop in every once in a while. Mum brings food, Hermione brings books, and McGonagall, bless her soul, brings news from Hogwarts.
It took a full year to rebuild the castle and I returned for my seventh year that September. I graduated at the top of my class not because I'm smart, but because studying kept my mind off the corridor Colin died in, or the hallway that I last saw Fred.
It used to be the happiest place in Scotland, but now it only reminds me of a shortened childhood.
After graduating in June, I took two months off to heal. Everything I did reminded me of The Battle and I couldn't stand to look at my reflection for fear of seeing my brother. I had the same freckles and expressive face. I did too much thinking and sulking, Mum couldn't deal with my "darkness" as she so eloquently put it. She had her own mourning to do. Harry offered Professor Lupin and me rooms of our own at Grimmauld Place. Mum gave the condition that Harry and I would not date or "be intimate in any way". No problem there; neither of us wanted a relationship anyway. We were still grieving. Then Harry just stopped coming home at night. I think the year the trio was away made it difficult for them to be apart, so Harry stays with Hermione and Ron near Diagon Alley.
I trained for twenty months at the Ministry, completing that just two months ago. It feels like a lifetime though.
-.-.-
Conversation is sparse but not awkwardly so. She can't talk about her job as an Unspeakable and I don't have much to talk about at all. Sometimes she cries at night and I reassure her. Sometimes I have nightmares and she brings me tea and a comforting smile.
We find each other's company comfortable without small talk and niceties. When I'm upset, I vent to her and she listens. When she's upset, she'll cry or yell (then cry) and I console her. Right now is one of those moments where I sit on the couch staring at the fire and watch her. Her eyes are glazed over, most likely playing a scene in her head from The Battle. I remind myself to give her a few minutes, but if I see a tear, I'll be at her side in a flash.
The cocoa in my hand is growing cold and that upsets me more than it should. I'm always moodier when the full moon is near; I do my best not to take it out on her and I know she appreciates my effort. In turn, she brews the Wolfsbane Potion for me. I suppose, in a way, it's for her benefit, too. I don't endure as much pain when I transform and she gets to be safe in her own home. I was always rather rubbish at Potions. I really should get something for her to say thank you.
-.-.-
My mug of cocoa has gone cold in my hands but I don't care. I only make cocoa on nights leading to the full moon; I know it makes him feel better. Remus glances at me every few minutes, I presume to make sure I haven't evaporated. The heat from the fire is making my face hot and I'm worried I may get sun burnt. A ghost of a smile makes its way onto my face at the thought.
"Care to share?" Remus asks, setting his empty mug on the table in front of him. I've somehow come to the floor in front of the wing back chair I was in a few minutes ago, but I show no indication of caring that I sank.
"The fire is hot," I say stupidly.
He nods once, "That's usually how fire works."
I give half a smile, only quirking my lips enough to show that I heard him. Then it's silent again.
-.-.-
I know she means more than she's saying. Of course the fire's hot, we learn that at a young age. There is no reason for her, at age twenty-two, to announce this like it's news. I let it go because I'm sure there is deeper meaning to her words, but I know better than to push her.
A glance at the large clock near the doorway tells me it's nearly eleven: the time we usually depart ways and retire for the evening. I don't move until she does, though. I don't want her to be alone until she decides to do it herself.
We have a system, you see. On days she works late, I reheat leftovers from earlier in the week or something Molly brought over. If she'll be home before seven o'clock, I cook something for the two of us to enjoy together. Then we sit around, either in the living room or in the backyard, and savor the quiet comfort of each other. Some days are better than others.
"When will I stop being sad, Professor?" she asks quietly. My facial expression is grim but I unnecessarily try to hide it from her. She's back to staring at the fire again.
"I'm afraid you'll always be a little sad, Ginevra."
"Ginny."
"Remus."
"Sorry."
"It's quite alright."
The crackle of the fire is quieter now; it echoes around us and fills the void of conversation. The last of the logs have turned to red-hot embers, reminding me of her hair, and coincidentally, Fred's hair as well.
"I don't want to be sad anymore," she whispers.
She turns to look at me, her eyes are empty. "Me neither." I say, offering what little good that does.
"How often do you think of them, Prof- Remus? Your friends, I mean. Like James, and Sirius and-" she pauses, questioning the validity of his title as 'friend', "Peter?"
I watch her as the fire finally dies, the embers have turned to ash and we are engulfed in darkness. She hates darkness, so I flick my wand to light a few candles on the mantle.
"Every day, Ginny. Every day I think of them. A song on the wireless will remind me of our friendship. An overheard conversation will trigger a memory of a prank we played at school. Trinkets in my room that they gave me cue an instant replay of a holiday shared." I can't help the sigh that escapes me. "It gets easier to deal with, the sadness. The pain that comes with losing someone is no easy feat to conquer. But you will move on. You will learn to live without them. Your heart is missing a piece where that person filled it, so in turn, part of you will always be sad," I say, perhaps none-too-kindly.
Ginny tries to inconspicuously wipe a tear away, and I let her think she got away with it. A quiet sniffle is still loud when surrounded by silence.
She stands and gives me a chaste kiss on the cheek; routine with us since finally becoming comfortable with each other nine months ago. "Good night, Remus. And thank you," she adds, turning for the stairs.
"Good night, Ginny."