Aurora stood outside Lupin's office door, her hand hovering just above the wood. The hallway was unusually quiet, the muffled sounds of distant footsteps and faint chatter the only reminder of the life bustling elsewhere in the castle. A faint draft swirled around her, carrying the faint scent of old parchment and polished wood that always seemed to linger in this part of Hogwarts. It had been over a week since her conversation with Harry, yet every time she had resolved to speak with Remus, something had held her back.
Now, faced with the solid oak door, her thoughts tumbled over each other. She could picture Remus inside, perhaps grading essays or lost in one of his old books. The subject she was about to broach felt heavy, deeply personal, a thread that tied him to a past filled with equal parts joy and sorrow. The Potters weren't just an abstract memory to him—they had been his best friends, a cornerstone of his life before the war had shattered everything.
Aurora took a deep breath, her fingers brushing the cold, worn surface of the door. Would her words bring him comfort or reopen wounds he had worked so hard to heal? The hesitation was almost paralyzing, but she knew she couldn't walk away now. Harry deserved to know more about the parents he had lost, and if anyone could honor their memory, it was Remus Lupin.
Remus was keenly aware of Aurora standing just outside his door, her presence unmistakable. As a werewolf, his senses were far more acute than those of a regular person, and with the full moon approaching, they were even sharper. He could smell her, the familiar scent of her perfume and even the soft undertone of her lingering emotions. It was a strange, intimate thing, but it wasn't intrusive. He had grown used to it over time, the way his heightened senses would pick up on things most people would never notice.
Yet, despite this awareness, he didn't make a move to open the door. He wasn't avoiding her; far from it. It was simply that he didn't want to surprise her, didn't want to give her the wrong impression. He knew that his condition, the way his senses were currently heightened, could be unsettling to others, especially if they weren't used to it. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel uncomfortable or vulnerable.
He could tell she was hesitating. From the subtle shifts in her footsteps and the way she lingered there, he sensed that she wasn't entirely sure whether to knock or turn away. It was a quiet sort of uncertainty, the kind of hesitation that most people wouldn't even notice, but to Remus, it was as clear as day. He let her have her moment, giving her the space and time she needed. It wasn't that he minded the silence, or the waiting, it was something he was accustomed to, and there was no rush.
Remus turned back to the room and placed the book he had been reading back on the shelf with deliberate care. The simple action helped ground him, keeping him from overthinking the situation, and allowed his focus to shift away from the door for a moment. But his ears, still finely tuned, were aware of the silence that hung in the air. He could hear the faint shuffle of her shoes on the stone floor, and then, the stillness again, as if she was making up her mind.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the sound of a knock reached him, quiet, tentative. His acute hearing made it sound louder than it truly was, and he couldn't help but wonder if his senses were simply amplified by the proximity to the full moon. He had a strange feeling that if he were to open the door, he would find her standing there, barely visible to the naked eye, yet he knew she was there, just as he knew she was waiting for him to respond. It was a delicate moment, and for a heartbeat, everything seemed to hang in the balance.
"Remus," Aurora said, her voice a little hesitant as the man opened the door for her. "Good evening."
"Good evening," he replied, stepping aside to let her in. "What brings you here?"
Aurora shifted uncomfortably on the threshold, unsure of how to proceed. The words she had rehearsed in her mind felt suddenly distant, her nerves tightening as she faced him. "Merlin, I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she continued, her fingers nervously tugging at the sleeve of her robe. "If I am, I can always come back another time."
She had thought she would have no problem with this, that she could speak plainly. But now, as she stood there, it was much harder than she expected. The weight of her promise to Harry settled heavily on her shoulders. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat. What had seemed like a simple task, a conversation with a colleague, suddenly felt monumental. She wasn't sure where to start, or if she should even bring it up at all. The uncertainty gnawed at her, and she found herself standing still, fidgeting with her fingers as though they were in danger of falling apart.
Remus, observing her unease, took a small step toward her, his tone warm yet gentle. "No, you're not disturbing me at all," he said. "Come in, please."
There was something about the softness in his voice, the kindness in his eyes, that made Aurora's chest tighten. She hesitated for a moment longer, then stepped inside. The door closed behind her with a soft click, and the silence between them stretched out as she searched for the right words. She had crossed the threshold now, and there was no turning back.
"So," Lupin began, his voice tentative, sensing that the conversation ahead would be a difficult one, "is there anything you'd like to talk to me about, Aurora?"
Moonridge hesitated for a moment, her eyes flickering towards the worn wooden desk that sat in the middle of the room. The space around them was filled with the faint smell of parchment, ink, and the faint scent of old wood from the shelves lining the walls. The light from the hearth cast long shadows, making the room feel both intimate and slightly oppressive. Her gaze dropped to the floor for a brief moment before she gathered herself, feeling the weight of the room pressing in on her.
She moved slowly, taking tentative steps towards one of the chairs near Lupin's desk, her boots making a soft tapping sound on the stone floor. When she sat down, her posture was stiff with uncertainty, her hands nervously fidgeting in her lap. Her fingers twisted a loose thread on the hem of her sleeve as she tried to organize her thoughts, but they were scattered, each one more complicated than the last. Her mind raced with all the things she wanted to say, all the questions that seemed impossible to ask.
Hey, I wanted to ask you to sit in on an interview with Harry about his parents' deaths? Or Could you tell me what it was like to attend the funeral of your best friends? She quickly dismissed those thoughts, as if they were out of place, too raw to put into words. No, that sounded wrong. How could she even start this conversation? The silence in the room stretched out, as thick and heavy as the tension in the air.
"Aurora? Is something wrong?" Remus's voice, soft and concerned, broke through her spiraling thoughts, pulling her back into the moment. She realized that he was watching her, waiting patiently for her to respond, his expression a mixture of curiosity and concern.
She closed her eyes for a brief second, taking a deep breath as she tried to steady herself. The air in the room felt cooler now, the fire in the hearth crackling softly in the background as if it, too, were waiting for her to speak. Her fingers loosened their grip on the sleeve of her robe and she exhaled slowly, trying to collect her thoughts before speaking. It felt like the hardest thing she'd done all week.
"I was talking to Harry," she said softly, her voice quieter than she'd intended. The words tumbled out more easily than she'd expected, the weight of them hanging in the air between them. There was something about saying it aloud that made it feel more real, more urgent. The moment stretched for a heartbeat, and she felt the presence of Lupin, his quiet attention on her, like a steady anchor in the midst of her uncertainty.
Remus nodded slowly, settling into the seat beside her, his movements deliberate and unhurried. The worn fabric of the chair creaked softly under his weight, a faint sound in the otherwise still room. His gaze rested on Aurora, gentle but questioning. "What did you talk about? If I may ask, of course."
Aurora hesitated, her fingers brushing absently against the edge of the chair. She looked at him, her expression a quiet storm of conflicting emotions. There was a subtle tightness around her eyes, a hesitancy that betrayed how deeply she was grappling with her words. Silently, she willed him to understand everything she couldn't quite bring herself to say. Her gaze lingered on his, searching for some unspoken connection, a shared understanding, but she knew better. No matter how expressive her eyes, she couldn't expect him to read her thoughts.
Her shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of unspoken memories pressing them down. Her hands, which had been restless moments before, stilled in her lap. Finally, her lips parted of their own accord, and the words tumbled out like a reluctant confession.
"About his parents. I told him what memories I have of them," she admitted, the words soft but heavy, as though each one carried the weight of the past.
Remus's brows knit together in surprise, his expression shifting from gentle curiosity to disbelief. "You knew Lily and James Potter?" he asked, his voice quiet but filled with genuine astonishment. "How?"
Aurora glanced down briefly, her fingers tracing the faint grain of the wood beneath her as she collected herself. When she spoke, her voice was tinged with nostalgia and a hint of hesitation, as if she were stepping cautiously into the past. "We were neighbors," she said quietly, the words drawing a faint smile of memory to her lips before fading again. "I was still a child back then. I sometimes saw you with them, you know? But don't worry," she added quickly, her tone softening, "you have no reason to remember me from that time."
Remus leaned back slightly, his hands resting on his knees as he processed her words. He looked at her with a mixture of regret and quiet sincerity. "I'm sorry, but I don't," he admitted, the apology clear in his voice.
For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of shared loss settling between them like an invisible presence.
"Is that why you came to me today? To talk about your conversation with Harry?" he asked, his tone gentle, though a flicker of concern crossed his features.
Aurora nodded, the movement slow and deliberate, though her expression hinted at something deeper, something unspoken that lingered in the spaces between her words. "In a way, yes, that was the reason. But... there's something else, Remus."
"Yes?" he asked, a hint of apprehension in his voice, as though bracing himself for what might come next.
"I suggested something to Harry. That's why I'm here now."
Aurora paused, her words faltering as she tried to collect her thoughts. The weight of what she wanted to say felt heavier with every passing moment. She needed to find the right way to frame it, the one sentence that could convey everything without overstepping.
"I told him I could ask you if you... could tell him something about them," she finally said, her voice soft but unsteady. "I'm sorry, I just... I mean, I know it might be too much for you, so—"
Remus interrupted her gently, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The warmth of the gesture startled her into silence.
"I understand what you mean. Don't worry, I don't blame you," he said, his voice steady and kind. "I can talk to Harry, of course. I know what he must be going through. I'm sure his aunt and uncle didn't tell him anything good about his parents." He hesitated, his expression clouding slightly. "I'll talk to him, Aurora. Just..."
Here, he faltered, his words trailing off as though he were weighing what to say next.
"I have a condition," he added after a moment.
Aurora tilted her head, her brow furrowing. "A condition?" she echoed, unsure of his meaning.
"I'd like you to be there for the conversation," he clarified, his voice softening. "Harry seems... to trust you. He must, if he asked you about his parents. He's so quiet in my class—I don't think he'd open up to me as easily as he would with you there."
"Okay," Aurora replied instinctively, the word leaving her mouth before she even realized it.