A/N: BUHH SORRY. I'm finally settled into my new place in my new city, preparing for my new job! I'm very sorry for making you all wait, but thank you so much for the reviews while I was away! Here are TWO chapters to make up for it! Also, I can finally thank you all properly again!
There's the slightest bit of German in this chapter, but I know nothing about German. Google translate is my only resource. If the translation seems weird, please let me know. Thank you!
nessafly: Thank you! I'm glad you appreciated the Remus-focused chapter and SUPER GLAD you're in love with Remus again haha. I always look forward to your reviews. You were one of my first loyal readers, so I take your criticisms and praises very highly into account.
Kitty Monroe: You said you were only on Chapter 3 at the time of your review, so maybe you'll get this a little later on, but THANK YOU. I feel bad when I say that I don't practice beyond this, but it's true. I have been brooding over this story internally for a very long time though, and I read a ton, so it's probably just replication of some other author's style. But thank you so much for reading! I hope you still feel the same way by the time you read this haha.
Guest...? I don't have a name to go with your kind words, but thank you so much! I'm really happy you like my OC and the relationships between the characters. It's funny that you should request a Sirius chapter because I've actually just written one up! It's not super cheerful, but it'll come up within the next few chapters or so. It's going to get dark again soon, but I'm trying to sprinkle some lighter ones here and there to keep it from collapsing in weight. Thanks so much again!
MissAinsley: Thank you so much for reading and all the following! I'm really glad Remus and Rowan are back together too :]
misslak: Ahahahaha what IS about to happen? I'm afraid you won't find out in this chapter. Sorry!
missalex3030: Thank you! I'm glad you still liked it, even though it was transitional. There are quite a few to get through because I'm trying to set everything up for the ending of this story and the beginning of the next, but once things get rolling, it'll be like a freaking avalanche.
sarahmichellegellarfan1: Thank you! And you'll find out... soon...
Lady Syndra: Hello! And thank you so much for reading and following along! Hope to hear from you again ^^
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Chapter 49: Of Silent, Still Light
Two weeks had passed - two very long weeks.
The high spirits that Rowan had from passing her exam didn't remain for long. Despite his promise to keep her informed of his progress, Rowan didn't hear from Remus the next day or the day after that. For the first few days, she reasoned that he was most likely busy with negotiations. On the fourth day, the fear that whispered at the back of her mind began to scream, and by the sixth, she could hear nothing else. January 31st came and went and, still, no word from him. She stared at the blank pages of their shared journal for hours, night after night, waiting for even the slightest speck of ink to appear. But none came.
At the Order meeting a few days after her exam, she begged Dumbledore to give her any information about where Remus had gone, but he remained reticent, sadly shaking his head and offering quiet words of consolation; however, his stance remained hard – all information regarding Remus' mission was strictly classified "for her own protection." She stormed out of Headquarters on the verge of tears and, for the very first time, furious and bitter towards the great wizard.
Rowan was beside herself. She'd known that his mission had no definite itinerary, but the silence was suffocating. It was like slowly drowning in lukewarm water. This was a special brand of hell – no, purgatory. Hadn't he promised to write back? She read over their single conversation countless times until she could recite it by heart – until it felt like a distant narrative from a book and not like a true exchange with him.
Work was impossible. Despite the fire that had burned through her after her conversation with Isaac D'Este, there was no focus to be found now. Research grants seemed almost frivolous in comparison to her boyfriend's sudden disappearance. She tried desperately to direct her borderline hysteria towards something productive, but she couldn't seem to think about anything for long before her thoughts trailed back to Remus.
She wanted to go look for him, desperately. She, James, and Sirius had discussed it quietly after her infuriating conversation with Dumbledore. But where had he gone? He was up north - she knew that much - but it wasn't like she could just pack up and keep heading north until she found something that looked like a werewolf tribe. And even in the nearly non-existent chance that she found him, there was no way that she could defend herself against an entire tribe of werewolves, who were most likely either afraid or hostile to outsiders. If Remus hadn't been able to win their trust, how could she hope to even step foot there?
She shouldn't have let him go – it echoed from her gut up her throat. He'd asked her – there was no way he would have turned the mission down on his own, but if she'd protested… Her entire body burned with regret. Every terrible possibility flashed behind her eyes until she was dizzy and sick. Grief eventually turned to exhaustion, and sleep came quickly. As her eyes drifted shut – heavy and numb – she thought vaguely that perhaps it was best to sleep – better to sleep than to fear.
February 5th arrived, and the silence deepened, echoing painfully in her chest. The scribbled red star on the date on her calendar seemed to shoot through her heart – one year since Belby's passing. The thought was surprisingly numbing in the wake of recent events. She wanted to feel more – she ought to feel more. But still, she'd expected Remus to be back by now. She'd expected to him to be with her to help her through this day. And yet she was alone.
She mused that there wasn't really anything to "get through," per se. There was no grave to go visit – not that Belby would have wanted one anyway. As Rowan laid in bed in her empty apartment, she looked at the window, her head poking out from beneath the covers. The sun seemed almost gray, and yet, it was blinding. She mused dully that she ought to go outside – Belby would have torn her apart if he'd seen her in this state. She wondered how he'd managed through Marie's death. She shuddered painfully and pushed back the panic from her throat – Remus wasn't dead. He was coming back. He'd promised her.
Instead, she settled for a slow shrug of her blankets, setting her feet on her cold wooden floor hesitantly. She relished the sharp chill that shot up her legs as she stretched her toes out on the smooth polished wood. She braced herself and pushed upward, steadying her dizzied head. She breathed the cold air in deeply.
She would make an effort today.
It had been so long since she'd gone back to Diagon Alley, back to the apothecary. The burnt remains weren't so black anymore, but what had once been her master's shop was now a strange skeleton of its previous state. Each broken wooden plank and pipe appeared to be a shattered bone, a broken rib. What had remained of the glass was now shattered, gaping holes. She was almost scared to touch the structure – would it scream in pain?
Yellow tape still surrounded the broken remains of her master's apothecary. She grimaced – of her apothecary. Craning her head around, she saw that the street remained strangely empty. When she was sure that no one would notice, she ducked beneath the yellow tape and stepped into the shop, holding her breath slightly as if waiting for the entire storefront to collapse upon her.
The floorboards creaked beneath her feet. Glass and wood littered the floor. The stairs leading to the basement were completely gone – she couldn't go down there. Strange holes gaped beneath some of the shelves – their contents had obviously eaten away at the wood. She almost wanted to follow those holes downward. She wondered what she'd find down there.
As she gazed around the shop, she could imagine it as it had always been. She could remember each shelf's contents and all of their labels. She remembered the shape of each bottle, the color of each potion, the way each shelf glittered and shone as the morning light from the windows crawled over them. She remembered the clear clink and chime as the glass bottles collided and the way poor old Alexander would coo in greeting as she walked in every morning. She remembered Belby's deep affirming grunts and small words of praise.
Her throat tightened.
She needed to leave.
Finally, she found herself outside of her master's old apartment – her last payment of respect. She had wanted to rent it out the year before but hadn't found the courage, instead leaving it to its little sliver of frozen time. She didn't want to touch her master's things. No matter how irrational, she almost felt as if he might show up again if she were to leave his belongings in their original state. She wanted to imagine that he might return for them; for her.
As she opened the door with a creak, the silence of the room echoed the eerie sound back. For a moment, she simply stood in the doorway and looked around the room. Her eyes trailed over his simple bed, his simple table. Her chest tightened with disappointment and then bitterness – how stupid was she to expect any different?
Everything was the same as she'd left it. The sparseness of his space remained constant, but a thin layer of dust had covered everything. She was even more afraid to touch anything now.
As she turned around the room slowly, her eye was eventually caught by the large bookshelf. Really, it was more like a wall of books. There was a wide array in size and color, from tiny hand-sized booklets to gargantuan texts the weight of a small child. Her hand hovered over the bindings, close enough to feel the spirit of her old master but far enough to avoid the large tufts of gray dust.
Suddenly, her hand hit something. She stopped. Every book had been pushed back into the shelf so that every binding lined up perfectly, creating a smooth even surface of spines; however, one black book stuck out amongst the rest. Her fingers had run up against it, thudding softly against its cover. Rowan's eyes trailed over the dull gold lettering on its spine: Seltene magische Pflanzen Mitteleuropas.
Something inside of Rowan crawled out from the depths of her mind and wrapped its fingers around this book. It was unusual for it to be sticking out so irregularly. Belby was a neat man – meticulous, even. He'd yelled at her on more than one occasion for her messy habits. This book wasn't too big to be pushed back like the rest – why was it out?
Covering her mouth and nose with one hand, she wiped the spine of its layer of dust, squinting as a small cloud of gray billowed around her. She then pulled the book from its spot and shook it gently, allowing the rest to fall away. Her eyes watered slightly as it settled around her. When she was sure that the book was free from its coating, she stepped away from the shelf and sat on the floor, setting the book down carefully in front of her.
It was clearly an old book. What had once been a dark black cover was now graying. The gold lettering along the spine and on the cover had dulled and lost some of its sheen. No photo graced the cover. It was simple, stark. She wondered in what ancient library Belby could have found it.
Running her fingers over the book's mouth, her fingernail caught on a page. Was there a piece of paper stuck inside? Hooking a finger, she opened the book slowly to the blockage, eyes widening as they scanned over the pages' contents.
Bakony Lunar Flowers.
Images of the field of glowing white flowers from that dark memory a year before filled her as if the light had traveled to her from that distant land through the pages of the book. Rowan hadn't thought of those slowly blossoming flowers in months. It seemed ludicrous – how had she forgotten?
Unfortunately, the text itself was in a language she didn't know. German perhaps? She thought of the mountainous forests from her late master's memories. Even they spoke in a language she didn't understand. She would have to find someone to translate for her. However, a few pieces of yellowing parchment laid in the pages, sticking up at attention from the binding. She plucked them from the book – she thought of a flower with a wry smile – and opened them, careful not to fold or wrinkle the pages. These words were in English.
Belby's neat, staccato handwriting ran across the parchment. Rowan's eyes burned as she let them wander over the ink, simply admiring his words without reading them. Her chest ached sharply with a sudden pang.
But then her eyes seemed to adjust and focus. The words began to embed themselves slowly into her mind, as if they were sinking into the soft tissue of her brain, allowing it to absorb their meaning, their inherent desires. Her breath came shallowly.
The notes were scattered and in broken shorthand, but she felt as if she could understand their general meanings. Temporal development. Conditional harvesting. Time delicate additives. The sharp pang in her chest spread warmly and melted until it seemed to re-solidify and clench, sinking its fingers into her heart. She wanted to squeeze that hand back.
Most of the notes were old. She could see that the majority of the ink was fading. But on the last page, there was relatively fresh black ink – dark and seductive. Had her master written these close to his passing? Is that why the book had been pulled out?
Extract oils at peak of full moon. Test with aconite and moonstone mixture? Show Delacroix.
Rowan's heart nearly exploded. This was new! He had clearly written this right before his death! Perhaps he had abandoned this research early on and then renewed it in light of their recent findings! She wanted more than anything to squeeze dear old Belby. His guiding hand was still at work. The lethargy and despair that had seized Rowan for the past week still remained, but it was somewhat lighter. She closed the book and held it to her chest tightly.
Master Belby. She could almost pretend for a moment that she heard her old master's voice rumble through the book's pages.
As she left the old building, Rowan gazed back up at its brick walls. The stillness of her master's space seemed to spill out of the windows and seep through the mortar. The building seemed frozen in time. The sky was a cloudy gray. Perhaps it would rain soon. She clutched the book tightly once more. She wondered achingly if Remus was somewhere out there looking up at the same sky.