A/N: Okay! I am here for my continuation. I am taking it up from a quote from Jaimynfire's chapter. (she's in my fav authors now, it's easy to find her, so FIND HER! *points with wand*))

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Just like Lupin to think that with draping a cape -and a ragged one at that- over my shoulders gives him the right to ask impertinent and highly personal questions.

"Were your parents killed?"

A flash of my mother, the only parent I knew. I do not know how she died or whatever happened to her. I have no clear recollection of her except a soft lullaby that she used to sing to me. I have no idea if she'd been killed or if she died. I hope whatever the truth is, that she did not suffer. I am angry at the werewolf for forcing me to remember her.

"My parents?" I repeat inanely. "What I could call as a father, Lupin." I reply, and glancing once more at the grave, I walk off, then remember something and stop.

"Your cloak." I toss it at him and he catches it, trying to fathom my soul through my eyes. I want to thank him, but can't find it in me. I am too angry or too proud or both. And somewhat embarrassed. I just admitted to Lupin that I consider myself orphaned because Albus is dead. Hah. A late-thirties orphan. What a tragedy. I hate myself when I go on a pity-trip. I seem to do that a lot lately.

I need to cheer up. But I simply do not know how to do that. Entering the castle again, I go towards the astronomy tower.

"You shall find an untimely death, my dear!"

I stop. What the hell? That sounds awfully like...

"Did you not hear me? Heed my warning and set your affairs straight for you shall not last, my dear!"

I see Trelawney's silvery form float towards me, eyes wide and glasses ever so monstrous. It had to be -her- that turned into a ghost. She's not any better in this form, and unfortunatetly she's just as irritating.

"Just shut up already. Go haunt Godric's Hollow. That's a really nice, tragic place that I am positive you will enjoy." I snap at her, and to my horror she starts howling.

"The tragedy! The tragedy! I foresaw it yet nobody heeded me! The tragedy! My dears, be aware!"

I try to walk away from her, lose her in the snaking aisles, but she follows me around howling about all sorts of tragedies she is supposedly predicting, but have already happened. And in chronological order! My skin starts to crawl as she starts going past the events of the year of the Triwizard Cup. I don't want her to recount Albus' death or the fall of Voldemort. I turn and point my wand at her.

"Fantomes Warde!"

There. Now I am somewhat cheered up as I watch Sybil go in a spin, a phantom-like gag around her mouth, and disappearing in her classroom. I always wanted to do that when she was alive. But oh well. It never is too late, at least in Sybil's case.

I realise that has put a smile on my face. I am not certain it is a really cheerful type of smile, but nevertheless I am not exactly frowning anymore. So I return to the main Hall where most of the decorations have been completed.

"We're glad you are back, Professor." Harry tells me. It's odd how he's not just Potter anymore-- or well, he's not just Potter when I am not angry. I nod to him.

"I seem to keep turning up like a bad Sickle." I attempt to joke somewhat. Black seemed so natural when he did it. In my case, it comes out rather unpracticed. But Harry looks pleased.

"How is your arm?"

"Just as it deserves." I want to ask him if he's looking forward to Christmas Eve and even Christmas day when usually presents are opened, but I don't feel like opening up that much. I know it's irrational, but I don't feel safe being entirely loose with other people. It is just something I have been conditioned to avoid. I cannot change overnight. Hell, I think that I have been making due progress.

I do not see Weasley. My eyes narrow.

"Where is Weasley, Potter?"

Harry looks chagrined.

"I am afraid he's in our dorm, Professor."

"Password, Potter."

"But--"

"Now, Potter."

"Dragonheart."

"Thank you, Potter."

The Pink Lady seemed awfully perplexed to see I knew the password. It admittedly had been one of my childhood dreams. I find exactly what I expect to find when I enter through the portrait. He's staring into the fire, his face tear stricken, holding the scroll of homework that Granger last submitted me. Idly I wondered if perhaps I didn't look the same standing in front of Albus' grave.

"That sort of isolation will not help you, Weasley."

"What do you know? You never lost true love!" he lashes out at me, but after Potter and the whole ordeal I went through, I am well prepared and I do not allow the reflexive wave of indignation and rebellion come over me.

"Do not assume what you have no inkling of knowledge about. I know perfectly well how loss feels." I tell him. My voice still is cold and bordering to hateful, but at least it is not crushing.

Weasley looks at me, and he's finally surprised.

"How did you come in here?"

"I bribed the portrait."

"But... why?"

"Because you should be out there with your friend Potter, who still hasn't expressed any of his sorrow about your friend, and you should support him. You'll see that in return, he'll support you unknowingly. It is the way of things." I tell him.

And it just strikes me that perhaps, just as Weasley is the one lurking and openly showing his pain, while Potter is still trying to be amiable and blending in the shadows, especially when I am around, so does this hold for me and Lupin respectively.

Glad to have a question I need answered that is not centered on my person, I go in search of the werewolf, to see if I can catch him offguard and see how -he- fares.

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that's it.