January 31, 1982
Marlene's footsteps crunched loudly on the frost-covered ground, each step echoing far too loudly in the late-afternoon quiet. The windows of the homes in Godric's Hollow glowed invitingly in the weak light, promising warmth and a good dinner, but Marlene's destination was not one of those homes. She walked past them to the end of the lane, stopping before a gate that hung crookedly on its hinges, woven through with dry, winter vines. She paused for a moment, unblinking and feeling as if she had been staked to the ground she stood upon. The cottage that took form before her was one she had visited several times before—eating more home-cooked meals within its walls than in her apartment with Sirius—but she did not remember it ever looking like this.
The roof of Lily and James' home caved on one side and had been blown away entirely on the other, centering around a ragged explosion site on the second floor. That was where the second bedroom had been, she fleetingly recalled. Once upon a time, it had held a sagging double mattress with a quilt made by Lily's grandmother. Marlene and Sirius had slept in that room more than once before Lily found out she was pregnant. She had just been starting to turn the room into a nursery the last time Marlene had visited the house, and Marlene remembered fondly watching her friend from doorway as she earnestly debated paint colors with her brilliant hair piled messily on top of her head.
Marlene hoisted Addie higher on her hip and blinked her dry and burning eyes against the cold air. She didn't know why she had come, not really. It was Lily's birthday, and somehow Marlene thought that returning to the cottage would somehow make her feel closer to her friend. But she found herself feeling more distant than ever before. She made the decision to forgo visiting the cemetery in favor of coming to the cottage instead, but this was somehow worse. Looking at Lily and James' ruined home was like returning to her family's manor only to find it reduced to ashes; the longer she looked, the more the image of destruction scrubbed away her happy memories of the place. She forced herself to turn away, instead focusing on the way the slight breeze whipped up the light dusting of snow on the narrow street, making the flakes dance in the lengthening shadows.
One of Addie's mittened hands fisted in her long hair and pulled, the sharp sting grabbing her attention. "Ow! Addie, let go," she pleaded, using her free hand to try and extract the strands from her daughter's grip.
"Kitty!" Addie shrieked, twisting to look over Marlene's shoulder in the direction of the cottage.
"No, no kitties here," Marlene said and reached to adjust the knitted cap on Addie's head.
Addie made a face and batted Marlene's hand away. "Kitty! Kitty!" she called again.
Rolling her eyes, Marlene turned around and followed Addie's excited gaze to the low, stone wall that surrounded the cottage. Perched to the left of the gate was a precariously thin cat, its gray fur striped and patchy. She stared uncomprehendingly, and it stared back with curious green eyes.
"Tantomile?" she asked, eyes widening.
The animal meowed loudly, stretched its emaciated body, and leapt from the wall, coming to wind about her ankles as it purred.
"My kitty?" Addie asked, squirming in Marlene's arms and trying to lean down to reach the cat.
"Lily's kitty," Marlene answered absently, staring down at the tabby in wonder.
And it was Lily's kitty. Lily had bought the cat on a trip to Diagon Alley with Marlene two and a half years prior, just after she and James moved into the cottage. Lily had named her Tantomile, and when Sirius had asked how she'd ever come up with such a ridiculous name, Lily had muttered something about "Eliot" and "ignorant purebloods." But then Tantomile had been healthy with a shining tabby coat. Now her fur was falling out in tufts, and Marlene could count her ribs. It looked like she'd been living in the ruins of the cottage since Voldemort's attack.
"Want! Want kitty!" Addie squealed. "Mummy, my kitty?"
Marlene regarded Tantomile for a moment before coming to a decision.
"Yes. Yes, she's your kitty." Addie clapped her hands delightedly, and Marlene cast one last strained glance at the Potter's crumbling home. "Come on, Tantomile," she called to the cat as she started off down the lane. "You can live with us now."
.
April 13, 1982
Marlene settled herself down in the dirt at the base of the apple tree and admired her handiwork. She had taken it upon herself to turn the back garden into something (anything) other than its original role as weed jungle and possible breeding ground for dangerous things that liked to hide in tall grass. It had taken her the better part of three weekends, but she was pleased to see the four neat vegetable beds waiting to be planted and the small greenhouse that would soon hold plants of the more magical and less strictly edible variety.
She had never been much for herbology, but she was tired of mail-ordering common household potions from Slug & Jiggers. It wasn't that she had a problem with their exorbitant prices – truly it never crossed her mind – but it felt wrong to use potions she hadn't brewed herself. While she was no Severus Snape, she considered her brewing to be her greatest skill, and took quite a bit of pride in it.
Beginning to brew would be the most magical thing that had occurred in the cottage by the sea since she'd moved in with Addie almost six months earlier. Marlene could scarcely believe it herself, but she had truly been living like a muggle. Well, mostly—with the exception of the owl, Midge, who she used to make orders from Diagon Alley. She cooked their food (badly, so it was a good thing that Addie had no frame of reference) the muggle way, cleaned the muggle way, and rarely used her wand.
It had been a jarring and seemingly impossible transition for Marlene, who had been raised in a pureblood home and barely spoken to muggles before graduating Hogwarts. But she enjoyed the simplicity of muggle life and the security (probably false) she felt it granted her. Magic had killed or taken away everyone she'd ever loved, magic had torn apart everything she knew. In the wizarding world, she was poor Marlene McKinnon, only surviving member of her family. Or worse, she was Marlene McKinnon, lover of the notorious Sirius Black and the mother of his child (who was likely dangerous, given her heritage).
Here in the muggle village of Lynmouth, she was just Marlene, the quiet young woman who served tables at Kirby's Pub in the afternoons and lived by the sea with her darling daughter. She wore her false identity like armor, and on the good days, she almost forgot the things she was so desperate to protect herself against. She wanted to cut out the things that hurt the most and leave them behind, but she couldn't bring herself to truly forget or move on, so she simply locked them away. Sometimes quite literally.
She left Sirius' things untouched in the second of the rooms upstairs and locked the door. She slept in the master bedroom downstairs, Addie in the first bedroom upstairs, and the key lived at the bottom of one of her dresser drawers. The way the cottage looked now, it could never be guessed that Sirius had ever lived there at all, but the room upstairs remained, its contents gathering dust. She tried not to let it haunt her.
She didn't lock away her family or her friends, however. She found several framed photos among her things from the old apartment and proceeded to place them all around the cottage. Her parents smiled at her from the mantle. Lily and James waved from her dresser. Her siblings slung their arms around each other on the bookcase, Dorcas, Peter, and Mary on the windowsill… It was a house full of ghosts, smiling at her from their frames.
.
June 5, 1982
Marlene wiped the yellow Formica tabletop with a dirty rag and tossed a glance over her shoulder to the cracked door of the back office where Addie was napping peacefully. Kirby's was a nice place to work. It was always quiet, the only customers usually being a crowd of locals whose families had lived in Lynmouth so long they swore seawater ran in their veins. Marlene didn't need to work; she had more gold than she knew what to do with. But her afternoon shift, four days a week gave her a sense of routine and normalcy. Something in the back of her head that sounded a lot like Lily told her that she was fooling herself, but it was easier to pretend.
Mr. Kirby, the owner of the pub and previous owner of the cottage had offered Marlene the waitressing position back in February, and though it had taken her three weeks to accept his offer, she was glad she had. She brought Addie with her, as most of naptime coincided with her shift, and the afternoon was always quiet.
Marlene finished wiping down the tables and made her way over to the bar where Mr. Kirby stood, methodically polishing glasses. The elderly man didn't talk much, but his kind blue eyes and always-smiling mouth made him seem more grandfatherly than curmudgeonly. His quiet disposition suited Marlene just fine.
"Extra slow today, isn't it?" she said pleasantly as she deposited her rag in a bin behind the bar and perched herself on a stool. A remembered flash of another afternoon where she sat on the same stool with Si—someone beside her slipped into her mind before she could stop herself. Don't think about him, she chastised herself. Not that it was possible to stop.
Mr. Kirby shrugged. "Tuesday—not a lot of people to come in." He finished polishing the last glass and slid it onto its shelf. "I got something for that house of yours."
"Oh you didn't have to." But Marlene smiled. Mr. Kirby had made a habit of giving her things for the cottage—a flower box for the kitchen window, a rack for muddy shoes to put by the door. He said that though he no longer lived there, he couldn't stop taking care of the place.
"This one's more of a favor to me than to you, don't worry." He reached under the bar and pulled up a solid rectangle of wood, about the size of a street sign. "Every cottage should have a name."
Marlene reached for the sign and turned it over, running her fingers over the white painted letters. "Holly's Watch?" she read out loud.
Mr. Kirby ducked his head. "For my wife. Name was Holly. She loved the place."
Marlene hadn't realized that Mr. Kirby was married. She wanted to ask him why he sold it, but she knew that would be rude. It could have been money troubles or… "Your wife—is she—"
"Passed away ten years ago." He smiled a bit sadly. "So would you consider putting this up? I was thinking on that tall tree on the left, a bit before the house."
"The poplar? I think that sounds lovely." Though she meant them, her words felt stiff in her mouth. It was always set her off kilter to be confronted with someone else's grief. She forgot that she wasn't the only one who had ever felt the emotion.
Marlene was saved from any more discussion of lost loved ones by the tinkling of the bell over the door. She heaved herself off the barstool to meet the new customer, a woman with short curly hair and an enormous smile.
"Afternoon, Kirby!" the woman called brightly, shedding her jacket.
"Hello, Delia." Mr. Kirby replied fondly. "What brings you in here today?"
Marlene knew she didn't speak much with any of the locals, but she felt like she must have served most of them at least once, so she was confused to find that 'Delia' was a stranger.
"Just dropping off the book Kent borrowed."
Marlene watched the woman slide a book across the bar, and after determining that her services were not needed, she went to wake Addie from her nap. Though she was loathe to wake the sleeping toddler, it was getting late, so she swept Addie out of the portable crib and gently nudged her into consciousness.
When Marlene returned to the main room, Addie balanced on her hip, she found Delia seated at a stool with a beer in front of her.
"Convinced you to stay, did he?" Marlene asked.
The other woman smiled. "Doesn't take much. I don't often say no to a moment of peace." She continued at Marlene's raised eyebrow and gestured with her chin towards Addie. "My husband's home with ours—we have two."
Marlene felt her eyes widen. "I can barely manage with one, and she's easy." As if to verify her point, Addie buried her face in Marlene's neck, clearly still drowsy from her nap.
"Like I said, never turn down a moment of peace."
Marlene found herself grinning at Delia's easy demeanor. "If I had a drink, I'd toast to that."
"Not on the job you wouldn't," Mr. Kirby chimed in with a wink. "Delia, I'd like you to meet Marlene—and little Addie. They're the ones living out in the cottage."
Delia's dark eyes widened. "Really? But I thought you said that a man purchased—"
"My fiancé," Marlene interrupted, her voice strained. "He's—well, not—"
Delia held up a hand to save her from explaining. "Understood. Well, Marlene, I'm very pleased to finally meet you. I'm Delia Dabney. Well, Cordelia, actually, but only my mother-in-law calls me that."
Mr. Kirby snorted quietly, and Marlene shot him a curious look, but he only shook his head. "Marlene, I'm heading out. Jake will be in soon to take over, and you can head home too."
"Ok. I'll see you on Monday. Get home safe!" she called as the elderly man left.
Weekday afternoons were always slow, so Mr. Kirby left early while Marlene covered alone until Jake, the other bartender showed in the late afternoon.
Addie began to stir in her arms, so Marlene handed her a paper menu and a pen to entertain herself. It wasn't an ideal distraction, because if Marlene wasn't careful enough, Addie was more likely to try to eat the pen than create any works of art.
"So, Marlene, how long have you been living in the cottage now?" Delia asked, taking a sip of her beer.
"It's Holly's Watch now, actually." She gestured to the new sign where it still lay across the bar. "Addie and I have been living there since last November. It's beautiful there."
"And where were you before?"
Marlene bit her lip. She didn't like answering people's questions. She wasn't much of a liar, and there was just too much she couldn't share because Delia was a muggle. And even more she couldn't share because she couldn't bear it.
"Scotland," she answered mildly before shifting the focus away from herself. "What about you? Are you one of the born and bred locals?"
Delia laughed, her broad smile splitting her face in two. "Oh no, I'm from Bristol. My husband's family, on the other hand," she paused, smirking conspiratorially. "Well, if you ask them, they'll tell you they founded the place."
Marlene certainly understood the type.
With a little squawk that took both women by surprise, Addie tossed the pen and napkin on the ground.
"Addie," Marlene warned. "We do not throw things."
"Want Puppy," Addie replied imperiously.
Marlene sighed. "Puppy" was Addie favorite stuffed animal. She'd seen it on the shelf in a toy store and gotten so attached that there was no leaving with the thing. Granted, the dog was gray, not black, but Marlene didn't miss the irony that her daughter's favorite toy was a dog.
"What do you say?" She looked down into the toddler's pouting face. Addie's eyes were wide and gray. And very demanding.
"Pwease," she huffed grumpily.
Delia chuckled. "You're in for it with that one."
Marlene nodded emphatically. She knew. "Will you watch her for a moment?" she asked Delia, placing Addie in her lap.
Delia nodded, and Marlene dashed into the back room to grab Puppy. When Marlene returned, she found Delia making a myriad of silly faces to keep Addie happily entertained. With a jolt, Marlene was reminded of Nymphadora, Sirius' young cousin. They'd only met once, but Marlene had vivid memories of the little girl demonstrating all of the dramatic changes she could make to her appearance.
"Thanks." Marlene took Addie and set her on the floor—clean, as she knew, having mopped it only an hour earlier—with Puppy, knowing that would keep her busy for plenty of time.
"How old is she? Eighteen months?" Delia asked.
"On the eleventh. How old are yours?"
"Tess, my daughter, turned four in April, and Jonathan is eight months. They're a handful. I don't know what Kent and I would do if we didn't have somewhere to send them while we work."
"A daycare center?" Marlene asked eagerly. "I didn't realize there was one here."
"Oh there's not," Delia replied darkly. "We send them to Elspeth—my mother-in-law." She shuddered.
Marlene schooled her features. Surely it would be impolite to ask…oh whatever. "Do you not get along?"
"Well, truthfully, no. Elspeth is a right piece of work." Delia took the last sip of her beer before sliding it away from her on the counter. "She's actually a bit of a racist, bless her old and stubborn soul." She gestured to her own dark brown skin. "I made sure she learned to deal with it, however." She smirked, and Marlene laughed in response.
"And you still let her take care of your children?" Marlene asked curiously, thinking of Walburga, and the request for a visit that she never accepted.
"I was against the idea at first, but it's about family, I guess. I was a foster kid, so I don't have any. She's the only grandparent they have. So I made her promise not to let a single bigoted word pass her lips."
"You decided that letting them know their only family was more important," Marlene summarized thoughtfully. Her situation wasn't precisely the same, not even close really, but she couldn't help but think.
"It's always more important." Delia said simply. "Within reason, of course, but the only diatribe my children will be getting from her is on their table manners."
"I suppose that's a fair trade."
"I suppose. You know, if you want, Elspeth could watch Addie while you work." Marlene opened her mouth to protest, but Delia shook her head. "Really, the old hag loves kids, believe it or not. Kent's sister Beatrice helps out too, and if I talked to them, I know they'd be thrilled to have another one around."
Marlene resisted the urge to throw herself into Delia's arms. She mentally urged caution. "Thank you for the offer. I'll have to meet her, but I suppose that would be very helpful."
Delia nodded with a smile, before retrieving the menu and pen that Addie used earlier. "Here's my number." She scribbled the digits down in a loopy, rushed script "Why don't you think about it and give me a call? Actually," she hopped off the seat and smiled brightly at Marlene. "Give me a call anyway. There are not enough people our age in this town, and I like you, so we should be friends."
Marlene was a little taken aback by her direct manner. It was so…casual. She was struck by the memory of a girl with red hair, bravely befriending her in a train car, and almost had to bite back tears. "I'd like that."
.
June 12, 1982
Marlene nervously smoothed her hands over her dress—a muggle piece, but conservative enough that she wasn't getting any odd looks—and tucked a lock of her sun-bleached hair behind her ear as she nervously eyed the front of the restaurant before her. Le Jardin was a newer installation in Diagon Alley, likely post-war, and it was clear where it had gotten its name. Bright spring flowers spilled out of boxes beneath the front windows and several large pots beside the door, and the front of the building was covered in flowering vines. The overall effect was beautiful and not at all what she would expect from the place where she was to meet Walburga Black for lunch.
After her conversation with Delia Dabney, she began to wonder if she had not been depriving Addie of something important by keeping her from her only remaining grandparent. Marlene had no immediate family remaining, and those more distant relations that still lived had not been on the Light side of the war. Neither had Walburga, strictly speaking, but family had always been important to Marlene. If she could give Addie even a little bit of one, she had to find it within herself to try. So she had written to Walburga, pulling out every pureblood courtesy she had been trained to possess, and requested that they meet for lunch.
Marlene had no idea if she was doing the right thing. By all accounts—those of others and her own—Walburga Black could be an absolute dragon of a woman, and more importantly, she was one of the primary reasons that Sirius had run away from his childhood home. Though Walburga never laid a hand on her son, she'd never made any effort to stop her husband from doing so, as far as Marlene could tell. But the bottom line was that Sirius was in prison for murdering over a dozen muggles and one of his best friends, and Marlene didn't want Addie to grow up without a family. So here she was.
Squaring her shoulders, Marlene pulled open the door to the restaurant. She made sure to appear confident, and maybe even regal. There had been a time when she was good at that sort of thing, and though she considered it long past, now was as good a moment as any to pull upon the last remaining vestiges of her formal upbringing. She tried not to think too much about the fact that what she really wanted was to impress Walburga. Not so that the older woman would like her, but so that she would see that Marlene was no longer the nervous, jumpy girl she had run into in Gringotts a year and a half ago.
The maître d´ showed her to a table towards the back of the restaurant, beside a window that was charmed to show a view of Kensington Gardens. Walburga had already arrived, and she rose when Marlene joined her, although it was obvious that it pained her pride to do so. Walburga's spring robes were cut as fashionably as ever in a flattering shade of purple, and Marlene couldn't help but compare them to her navy striped sundress. She felt a little flicker of prideful defiance when the Black woman eyed her attire with pursed lips. Marlene slid into her chair with a smug smile on her face. It's the little things, she thought to herself.
They didn't broach the real topic for their meeting until they were midway though their meals. Instead, Walburga filled Marlene in on idle gossip concerning people that she hadn't thought about in years and what was happening in the ministry. Walburga asked about Marlene's life, as was proper, and since the older woman was on her best behavior, Marlene found a special glee in watching her attempt not to negatively react to the news that Marlene was living in a muggle town, working in a muggle pub, and had been befriending muggles. She could not help but think that she was laying it on a bit thick, and definitely exaggerating how much she interacted with the townspeople of Lynmouth, but she told herself it was necessary. After all, this lunch was a test. If Walburga could swallow her bigotry and prejudice, Marlene would consider allowing her to see Addie. But eventually, the matter at hand had to be addressed.
"So I'm sure you've guessed why I requested this lunch," Marlene said delicately.
"As refreshing as I'm sure you find my company, I expect you wish to discuss Adara?"
It wasn't hard to see where Sirius got his cutting demeanor. The realization made her uncomfortable, but she buried the feeling.
"Precisely." Marlene paused and licked her lips. Was she really going to do this? "I would like Addie to get to know her grandmother."
.
The rest of the lunch with Walburga went smoothly. Marlene determined that having something the other woman wanted made her much more agreeable. While her previous failings in the department seemed rather contradictory, family was of the utmost importance to Walburga Black. Marlene felt it was likely to be the only thing they had in common.
She left Addie with Edith and Beatrice Dabney, Delia's mother and sister in law, for the day and decided to use the extra time off to run a few errands and do some shopping for herself. Namely, she needed more owl treats and money from Gringotts, and she wanted to look for a new book on brewing.
Marlene was just exiting the Owl Emporium, armed with treats for Midge and calling a goodbye to the cashier over her shoulder when she knocked hard into someone headed into the shop.
"Oh! I'm so—Marlene?"
The voice was familiar. Marlene squinted against the glare of the sun and up into the face of the tall woman whom she collided with.
"Emmeline?" Marlene didn't recognize her former housemate at first. While Emmeline Vance had once been very proud of her long, shiny chestnut hair, now her wavy locks just dusted her shoulders and a fringe covered her forehead. She also had a scar that ran across her cheek from the right corner of her mouth to the edge of her jaw. That was new.
"So it's true? You're really alive?" Emmeline was breathless, her eyes wary as she gazed at Marlene.
"As far as I can tell."
And then Marlene was wrapped into a fierce hug by a woman she had spent most of her school career disliking. It was surreal and more than a little awkward. She draped her free arm around the taller woman's stooped frame, rubbing a hand on her back in what she hoped was a soothing motion.
"I'm sorry," Emmeline sniffed, pulling back and blinking furiously. "It's just…well there's barely anyone left."
It felt as if someone had wrapped their hand around her throat. Oh. Of course. Of all the Gryffindors that had been in their year at Hogwarts, only four survived the war—Sirius, Remus, Emmeline, and Marlene. From what Dumbledore had told her, Marlene knew that Remus left the country almost immediately after Sirius had been put in prison. She felt the sudden emotion struggle furiously behind her eyes, begging to be let out. She took a deep breath.
"Oh, Emmeline." What was there to say? She swept her gaze over the other woman's scarred face; her green eyes, always glittering, were unmistakably haunted. Marlene had never felt so guilty for spending the worst months of the war in perfect ignorance.
"Don't worry about me, Marlene." Emmeline waved her graceful hand in a fluttery gesture. "I'm ok, really. It was just a little overwhelming. I mean, I saw that article in the Prophet last year, but it's different to see you in person."
Marlene smiled weakly. She hadn't even thought to write to Emmeline or reach out to her. Remus, certainly, but she'd avoided that for different reasons. "It's good to see you."
Emmeline chuckled. "Still not a better liar, I see. But that's okay. So where have you been? I heard you were back, but you were still gone."
Marlene shifted her weight from one foot to another. She didn't really want to talk about where she'd been, or about anything to do with her life at all. Yet Emmeline looked so eager in a way that didn't seem to fit the girl she remembered from school. The Emmeline Vance she knew was always eager for gossip, eager for attention, and certainly not eager for Marlene's friendship. But the woman before her looked unimaginably desperate for even the slightest thread of a connection to her life before the war. Marlene didn't have it in her to refuse.
"I've been in Devon, on the seaside, with…" Did she mention Addie?
"Your daughter? I know, Marlene, I saw the article in the prophet. There's also been a lot of speculation—is it true that she's, well, Sirius'?"
Marlene blanched. This was exactly why shy would rather remain hidden away in her little cottage by the sea. Even so much as hearing someone use his name felt like having her lungs ripped from her chest.
"Yes, it's true. Her name is Adara—Addie for short." Her words were tense and clipped, but Emmeline didn't comment.
"That's a lovely name."
The two women fell silent for a moment. At some point, they'd begun walking down the street without really noticing, and Marlene looked up to find herself in front of the bookstore, her last stop before heading home.
"Well, this is my last stop for the day." She gestured somewhat awkwardly to the book displays in the window. "I should be getting back."
"Marlene." Emmeline gripped her hand fiercely, and Marlene noticed that her skin looked too thin for someone so young. "Can I write to you?"
She could have said no. It would have been easier, but something stopped her from refusing. She had disappeared from the war when she was needed most; who was she to deprive Emmeline of any small comfort? And truth be told, she was lonely.
"Yes, you may."
.
July 30, 1982
Marlene relieved Emmeline's owl of the letter tied to its leg and offered it one of Midge's treat before shooing it out the window. There was a summer storm coming in from the west, and she knew the bird had better get away from the coast and back to London before it hit.
Marlene and Emmeline had exchanged a few letters since their meeting in Diagon Alley, and she was surprised to find the other woman much changed from the girl she'd know at school. She learned that Emmeline joined the Order not long after Marlene's disappearance and turned out to be a force to be reckoned with. The revelation had settled something hot and heavy in the pit of Marlene's stomach. That had once been her. She was the force to be reckoned with—dangerous, ruthless, and powerful. But not anymore.
Regardless of her jealousy, Marlene found she enjoyed getting to know Emmeline once more. The qualities that had one repelled her—pride, shallowness, and a mean streak—were absent, and in their place was a woman that had seen too much and grown wise before her time.
Nudging Tantomile out of the way, Marlene settled into the armchair beside the fireplace and undid the seal on the envelope. Several pieces of paper fell out onto her lap. One was a stationary she recognized as Emmeline's usual choice, and the remaining four were unfamiliar, printed with a masculine hand.
She read Emmeline's first. The majority of the note was her response to an invitation to come out to Holly's Watch for lunch on the beach (accepted), but it was the last few sentences at the bottom that explained the presence of the other papers.
I ran into Remus Lupin in the city two days ago. He said he's been in Denmark and has returned to visit his father who has apparently taken ill. He asked if I had seen you and knew where to reach you. I didn't tell him because I didn't think you'd want me to. That afternoon, I received a letter from him that he asked me to pass on to you. I don't care what you do with it, but you should know that he seemed sad. I suppose we're not the only one's with ghosts.
Marlene set Emmeline's note down and fingered her wand, eyeing Remus' letter. It would be so easy to just vanish it, pretend it never existed. She knew, logically, she should have reached out to Remus in the very beginning, when she had first returned. But she just couldn't. Remus Lupin's best friends were dead because of the man she loved. And maybe if she hadn't disappeared she would have seen, she could have warned them—warned everybody. And through all that, she had gone on thinking that Remus was the spy. It seemed ridiculous now, and she couldn't imagine how she had ever thought such a thing, but she'd been so quick to believe that he was the one betraying them all when the real traitor was the man she slept beside each night.
But her curiosity got the best of her, as was often the case. With trembling fingers, she unfolded the pages.
Dear Marlene,
I wish I could express how sorry I am that it's taken me so long to reach out to you. I was overjoyed to hear that you lived, and my lack of communication in no way was because I was indifferent to your survival. I heard that you have a daughter, and I would like to extend my congratulations. If she is anything like her mother, I am sure that she is lovely and full of strength. I'd very much like to meet her someday.
As much as I wish I could say that I'm reaching out because I've finally overcome my cowardice, that would not be entirely true. I come to you with information that you may do with what you will, and you should in no way feel that there are any expectations as to a response.
I've discovered the location of Harry, Lily and James' son. As you may or may not know, the 31st of this month is his birthday, and with that in mind, I took the liberty of looking him up. He is living with his aunt, Lily's sister. I recalled the name of her husband (Vernon Dursley, if you're interested) and was able to track them to a neighborhood in Surrey. I should warn you that from what I recall of Lily's descriptions, the Dursley's are unlikely to be a receptive home to magic. My attempt to send a letter by owl post that was returned torn to bits would seem to support this theory.
Either way, it occurred to me that this is information you might wish to have, as you and Lily were quite close. I've enclosed the address on the final piece of paper. For security's sake, it can be revealed in the same way as a map of little fame and great usefulness that I believe you were shown during our time at Hogwarts. A revelation that was strictly against the rules, I'll have you know.
I hope that you are well, and that you have found a little corner of peace somewhere. Though she will not know me and is unlikely to even understand you, please give my love to your daughter.
Fondly,
Remus Lupin
Even as she read the letter's final words, she knew she would send no reply. As for trying to contact Lily's son, maybe someday when he was older and she was braver.
As Marlene re-folded the letter so that it could be tucked neatly away and out of sight, she wondered when she had become such a coward.
So I'm obviously a terrible human being for leaving you all hanging. I hope you can forgive me. I hope to have the next chapter up by Christmas, so you can have that to look forward to.