A few hours after everyone had been dismissed madam Pomfrey declared Aria fit to return to her dormitory. The journey to the tower was never ending and slightly daunting. She had lied, to their faces at that. How would she face them? The ring wasn't even that big of deal, so why did the little bit of silver in her pocket weigh down like a brick of lead.
Instead of going directly back to her room as per instructed Aria made a little detour. Dragging her feet along the way Aria simply wandered, wondering. She had made it to the seventh floor without even realising. Pacing back fourth she wondered about what to put in her letter to Remus. It was about time she opened up to someone about all the questions she had about herself, and who better than the man who knew her better than she did.
It was past curfew and naturally Aria thought she was hallucinating when she looked to her left and a door had fashioned itself in place of where she was sure there was nothing but plain wall. The last time she had opened a suspicious door she had ended up unconscious, waking up in an infirmary with little relocation of the previous events. But still. How could she resist a magical door that oozed wonder and charm. Lifting the ancient, rusted latch Aria stepped forward, and much to her relief was left in wonder at the room that stood before her. It was beautiful, the candles alloted around the ceiling floated in place, emitting a soft vanilla scent, walking along the walls Aria could feel the room. It was Alive. The stories that had been shared in this room resonated from the walls. You could almost touch the history baked into the stone slabs. In the centre of the room sat a desk. It ringed similar to the desk she had seen in Dumbledore's office. It stood there solid and powerful, emitting authority and strength. It must have been carved from one majestic tree. Taking the only available seat in the room she sat in front of the desk, running her fingers along the ancient wood. As if anticipating her arrival before laid a fresh parchment and quill. Shutting her eyes and letting the scent of the room engulf her senses she let her body run on autopilot. Her fingers moving automatically. Formulating words on the parchment, as if her life's energy was flowing onto the very page.
Dear Remus
I am sorry I haven't written to you sooner. Whilst here I've felt so lonely, but not alone. I've felt fear and happiness. And I suppose I was just adjusting, adjusting to feeling again. I had been numb for so long. I wouldn't know pain even if someone had removed a limb whilst I was still conscious. But that's beside the point. How are you? How does it feel regaining your freedom again? You always talk about Tonks and how the moment you laid eyes on her… the world stopped spinning. I've been thinking about that a lot lately. It sounds magical. I want my world to stop spinning. To slow down, maybe for a day. I feel like I need more time. For what? I'm not sure. I just feel like somethings closing in on me. Like there is an imaginary hour glass and I'm trapped in it. And if I don't break through the glass then the game truly is over. It's a puzzling feeling the plagued me for days. I don't want to sound rude. The first time I write to you and I'm asking for a favour. A vague favour at that. Remus I was wondering if you could tell me. Tell me about myself. My past, my heritage. Anything that makes me feel more connected to where I am.
Love your one and only
Aria
