From the playlist:

What They'll Say About Us - FINNEAS

Escapism - A. Blomqvist

Light On (recorded at Spotify Studios) - Maggie Rogers

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Ch. 15 - To Resurrect A Bridge

Regrets regarding the cane arrived earlier than expected. He'd put a bit too much faith in the arches of the new shoes, and the slog up just two flights of stairs with a distended stomach had him begging his body to cooperate for just a bit longer. He reached his office door heaving like he'd been made to run around the Quidditch Pitch and lugged himself inside ready to pass out directly on his desk.

His desk. His beautiful, spectacular desk that was just begging to be sat at.

So he did. He sank breathlessly into the chair and sprawled his hands out on the walnut surface sort of romantically, too delighted to mind that the full extension did not agree with the joints in his fingers. He had a desk. It felt completely official now. Professor Lupin. He glanced around at the empty bookshelves, knowing he did not have much to fill them other than his tea supplies and a few books. A tabula rasa, of sorts.

He might've just put his head in his elbow and spent the night there, had it not been for the wooden door that materialized to his right - the one that would only appear to him, just as Dumbledore said it would.

Pleading with his muscles and sinew to bring him to his feet again, he teetered up and pushed the door open, trying to keep his jaw attached to the rest of his head when he saw it.

An expansive, ornate bedchamber awaited him, complete with another elegant writing desk, a tantalizing armchair beside a crackling stone hearth, and all the way across the room, a massive four-poster bed covered in plush, crimson sateen.

If he were not so exhausted, he might've properly cried.

For now, he grinned wearily as he crossed to where his case and the cane were already waiting for him, placed neatly at the foot of the bed by the house elves. Honestly, he couldn't believe he'd made it this far without collapsing. The transformations usually kept him a prisoner to his bedroom for multiple days, and prior to the Welcome Feast, he hadn't been able to manage a crumb for nearly forty eight hours. The only things he could think to attribute his success to were pure adrenaline and unusually good luck.

The mattress offered a sumptuous sort of resistance as he sat next to his belongings, and he earnestly looked forward to sleeping. Not in the way he usually did; normally, the appeal had more to do with escapism than comfort. Now, feeling the luxurious bedding, he thought he might just…actually enjoy it. Especially knowing reality wouldn't swing so hard when he awoke.

The silence in the chamber did not provide as much refuge as he'd previously hoped, however. While the accommodations were more than he could ever wish for, now that the frivolity of the evening had come and gone, the gnawing guilt was quickly catching up with him again. He never seemed to be able to outrun it, and it tended to ruin everything. Even something as wonderful as this.

Those pesky words still sat under his tongue, where they would likely remain - for the time being, at least. If he told the boy now, Harry would know he'd willfully withheld the information, and any future attempts to part with it would seem contrived. He might even feel hurt that it had taken so long. If it were Remus in his shoes, he would've. He'd have to think up an alternative, more complicated strategy for how to tell Harry, now.

Peering at the desk, he pictured James sitting across from him rubbing his eyes behind his round glasses.

"Don't look at me like that," Remus muttered absentmindedly to the chair.

"You're overthinking it," Prongs would say.

"It's a delicate subject."

"He's not fragile."

"I don't know that. I don't know him," Remus argued somberly, looking ashamedly between James and the floor.

"Moony," he beckoned.

Remus glanced back up.

"Then bloody tell him, and fix that-"

Tap tap tap tap tap.

The noise on the beveled window nearly jolted Remus out of his skin.

He rotated back to find his mind's projection of James gone. A miserable combination of loneliness and an overactive imagination had turned this into a recurring incident over the years, but that never made him feel any less barmy when it happened.

He gripped his wand in one hand and the cane in the other, then trudged to the window. Upon opening it, he was greeted by:

"…Orpheus?"

Really, the owl was looking past him, itching to get out of the rain; but he waited for Remus to retrieve the parcel at his feet first.

"...Are you going to go after my fingers again?" he asked warily.

Orpheus blinked.

Unclear.

Reaching slowly towards the bit of wrapping that was furthest from his beak, Remus cautiously took hold of the package. He flinched again when Orpheus darted forward and swooped over his head, landing atop the wardrobe. Making himself at home, the owl ruffled his feathers and shut his eyes.

"Yes, do come in," Remus grumbled as he turned the dry parcel in his hands. The wrapping had been preemptively rain-proofed with an Impervius charm. Flipping it over, he ogled at the envelope tucked into the strings on the bottom.

That's her handwriting. How many times had he seen her write his name?

…Why on earth was she sending him mail? He hadn't just burned that bridge; he'd gone and blown up the remnants.

Taking care not to bend anything, he nudged the envelope out from the strings and set it aside on the nightstand, then sat to open the parcel. Before he could nab them, three more chocolate bars tumbled into his lap, revealing an exquisite, gilded book underneath. The Essential Defense Against the Dark Arts by Arsenius Jigger.

His heart didn't know whether to sink or leap or tear itself in two to accomplish both simultaneously.

But the gift left him with more questions than answers. He turned to the envelope, picked it up, and rubbed it between his fingers for a while as he tried to predict how much of a gut-punch it might be if he opened it. If she'd sent the book and the chocolate, she couldn't've had anything too nasty to say, right? Not unless she'd slicked the wrapping with a poison dart frog and the note simply read: "enjoy your final ten minutes you stupid bastard." He certainly would've earned it.

In the end, optimistic curiosity and fickle hope got the better of him, and he meticulously opened the envelope.

Professor Lupin,

(I cannot deny that it has a nice ring to it.)

I hope your first evening at Hogwarts has been fulfilling. I would welcome a detailed description of everything you ate at the feast so that my nostalgia may live vicariously through you.

I exercised some old Flourish and Blotts connections to track down this special copy of The Essential Defense Against the Dark Arts. It's a first edition, embellished with silver, and signed by Jigger himself on the inside cover. Please accept this gift as unabashed bribery, as I am now the parent of one of your students.

To that end:

I owe you an apology for what happened between us in July. I had no right to intrude into your home in the middle of the night, and I shouldn't have shouted at you. As I am often prone to do, I let my emotions get the better of me, and because I took you by surprise, I think I caused the entire row.

Additionally, while I maintain that my undeniable privilege does not cancel out all other transgressions, I know I came off rather insensitive. My knowledge of your condition has only ever been a view through a window into the things that you live every day. It's never been a pass to assume anything about your experiences. It was certainly no excuse for me to call you that awful word.

Your reaction to the end of our conversation wasn't unwarranted, either. I realize that now. Please do not feel any sort of obligation to treat my daughter differently than your other students. It would be foolish to suggest we could just forget the whole thing, but if you feel that's going to be the best way to carry on from here, perhaps we can pretend.

This may be too little too late, but I hope you can forgive me.

However, I must confess my motivation for reconciliation is not entirely personal. With Black still at large, we will need to be amicable enough to keep each other informed. There's nobody alive who knows him better than the two of us, and if he's going after Harry, you and I will have to set our differences aside to protect him. We owe that to Lily and James.

Speaking of which, have you seen Harry yet? How does he seem? Do we have any idea how much he knows?

If we can do so without a shouting match this time, I think it might be prudent for us to meet and discuss a plan going forward in regards to Black. They've officially assigned me as the lead on the case (long story), so I will have to be discreet. I can work around your schedule. I wouldn't want to pull much of your focus away from teaching.

With appreciation,

-E

Stunned wasn't the right word. It didn't quite encapsulate it. He could not fathom what grace it must've taken for Emmeline to stand in the smoldering embers on the opposite end of the chasm where the bridge used to be and reach out her hand.

Remus set the letter down to unpack his writing materials right then.

Emmeline Vance, Lead Auror

(Congratulations, by the way.)

Firstly, that description you asked for: In my enthusiasm I'm afraid I gorged myself at the feast and they had to roll me back up to my office.

Anyway, the feast: it's just as I remember it, and the only difference at the staff table was the wine and the fact that I had to endure Severus Snape's penetrating glare. As you can imagine, he is less than thrilled to have me as a colleague. Despite his scowling, I ate heaps and heaps of mashed potatoes, far too much lamb, no less than two sausages, yorkshire pudding, peas, and for dessert - though I didn't think I could possibly fit any more in my stomach - a slice of pumpkin tart. I fear I may burst.

I thought you might also like to know that, besides myself, there's been another addition to the Hogwarts staff this year: Hagrid's been appointed to teach Care of Magical Creatures, and I couldn't think of anyone better suited.

Coincidentally, I did see Harry - on the train. We had a rather unpleasant encounter with a dementor (and that chocolate came in handy, so thank you). I get the sense he doesn't know much about the situation, and I sort of hope it stays that way. I'll admit, it's both wonderful and heartbreaking to see him. He's practically James's clone, but he's got Lily's eyes. I hope you have the pleasure someday.

Thank you so much for the gift, you really shouldn't have. The book is beautiful, and so thoughtful. But truthfully, I think the greatest gift tonight has been your correspondence.

I hope you know that I deeply regretted every word I said to you that night as soon as you left. I'm so grateful you wrote, but I'm painfully aware I should have gone to you to make it right before the start of term. You'll despise me for saying it, but I doubted you'd ever want to see me again. Saintly bullshit, I know.

You don't owe me a thing, Emmeline. Bad timing and an understandable misjudgment of a difference in experiences does not justify my behavior. I directed anger towards you that was never meant for you, and you were absolutely right. I was beastly. Monstrous, in fact. For that, I alone should be the one apologizing. I'm glad you suggested a meeting - so that I can look you in the eye when I ask your forgiveness. You deserve to have that.

I do think it would be prudent to work together in regards to Black, for Harry's best interest. Let me get through this first week of classes, and if you can spare it, we can carve out some time to meet this weekend. I presume your fireplace is connected to the Floo network?

Talk soon,

-R

His quill hovered over the bottom of the page.

P.S. You should know Lucy was sorted into Gryffindor and looked quite pleased about it. I'm sure she'll write to you herself, but she is probably getting settled in her dormitory and this letter may make it to you first. I have no doubt she'll do her house and her mother proud.

"...Evanesco."

The postscript disappeared off the parchment.