𝐁 𝐎 𝐘 𝐒   &   𝐁 𝐎 𝐆 𝐆 𝐀 𝐑 𝐓 𝐒

        𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐃𝐘 was in a better mood than usual, owing to two joyous reasons:

One, Malfoy didn't reappear in classes until late on Thursday morning. It was much more peaceful without his never-ending drawl echoing in her ears, and she caught herself hoping that perhaps Buckbeak's scratch had shattered a bone, or something much more drastic.

Two, Petar had responded to the letter she sent after the first day of classes. He had started term at Durmstrang, and his friends all wanted to meet her. Not to mention, the Durmstrang students played Quidditch every day— the pair of them had so much in common. Ron still hadn't warmed up to him, but Hermione certainly had: she was the first to read every letter over Melody's shoulder and grin excitedly.

Overall, Melody had the marvelous notion that third year would be her best year yet — after being nine, that is. (Finding the Marauder's Map and becoming an honorary Weasley twin had definitely been her peak.)

But alas, good things come and go: the Slytherins and Gryffindors were halfway through double Potions when Malfoy swaggered into the dungeon, his right arm covered in bandages and bound up in a sling, acting as though he were the heroic survivor of some dreadful battle.

"How is it, Draco?" simpered Pansy Parkinson. "Does it hurt much?"

"Yeah," said Malfoy, putting on a brave sort of grimace.

Melody saw him wink at Crabbe and Goyle when Pansy had looked away.

"Settle down, settle down," said Professor Snape idly.

Melody sent a glare Snape's way, then exchanged scowls with Harry and Ron; Snape wouldn't have said "settle down" if they'd walked in late, he'd have given them detention and/or a verbal assault.

They were making a new potion today, a Shrinking Solution. Melody was dedicated: chopping her daisy roots with a simple spell, skinning her shrivelfig daintily, and stirring through her cauldron with exceptional focus.

When Malfoy set up his cauldron beside her a few minutes later, however, she offered him a terrifying glower that forced him to retreat to the other end of the table.

"Sir," Malfoy called pretentiously, "sir, I'll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm—"

Melody rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh, you wimp, you're fine—"

"Prewett, cut up Malfoy's roots for him," said Snape, giving Melody the look of pitch black loathing he always reserved just for her.

"There's nothing wrong with your arm," Ron hissed at Malfoy.

Malfoy smirked across the table. "Preworm, you heard Professor Snape; cut up these roots."

Cursing under her breath, Melody grabbed her wand, seized her knife, and pulled Malfoy's roots toward her. She muttered an incantation, and the knife began to chop his roots neatly.

"Professor," drawled Malfoy, "Prewett's mutilating my roots, sir."

"They're perfectly fine!" snarled Melody.

Snape approached their table, stared down his hooked nose at the roots, then gave Melody an unpleasant smile from beneath his long, greasy black hair.

"Change roots with Malfoy, Prewett."

"But, sir, I used the same enchantment on both batches, a repeated Severing Charm, they're the exact—"

"Change roots, now," interrupted Snape in his most dangerous voice.

Melody huffed and shoved her roots across the table. Satisfied, Snape turned around and started back towards his desk.

"And, sir, I'll need this shrivelfig skinned," whined Malfoy, his voice full of malicious laughter.

"Potter, you can skin Malfoy's shrivelfig," Snape said, without turning around.

Harry took Malfoy's shrivelfig and skinned it with lightning speed, as though he was racing against a bright white comet. In a sagacious attempt to redirect her focus to her own neglected potion, Melody brushed her daisy roots into her cauldron.

She succeeded in biting her tongue and concocting a successful brew for a few minutes —she even tuned out Ron's death threat to Malfoy— that is, until Seamus Finnigan leaned over to borrow Harry's brass scales and chirped:

"Have you heard? Daily Prophet this morning — they reckon Sirius Black's been sighted."

A basket's worth of dead caterpillars dropped down onto the tile floor: Melody had heard him. She'd clearly missed that piece of news — George had simply handed her the daily crossword puzzle that morning before she got the chance to see the headline.

"Where?" asked Harry immediately.

"Not too far from here," answered Seamus, looking excited. "It was a Muggle who saw him. 'Course, she didn't really understand. The Muggles think he's just an ordinary criminal, don't they? So she phoned the telephone hotline. When the Ministry of Magic got there, he was gone."

By the time Melody had plucked all of the deceased caterpillars off of the ground, Seamus was finished, and Ron was looking significantly at Harry. Malfoy's eyes, however, were shining malevolently, and they were fixed on Harry in a provoking sort of way. He leaned across the table.

"Thinking of trying to catch Black single-handed, Potter?"

"Yeah, that's right," said Harry offhandedly.

Malfoy's thin mouth was curving in a mean smile. "Of course, if it was me," he said quietly, "I'd have done something before now. I wouldn't be staying in school like a good boy, I'd be out there looking for him."

"Malfoy," Melody said intensely, a rough admonition tugging at her tone, "What are you talking about?"

"Doesn't he know, Prewett?" breathed Malfoy, his pale eyes narrowed.

"Know what?"

Malfoy let out a low, sneering laugh, and turned back to Harry. "Maybe you'd rather not risk your neck," he said. "Want to leave it to the dementors, do you? But if it was me, I'd want revenge. I'd hunt him down myself."

"What are you talking about?" exclaimed Harry angrily, whipping to Ron and Melody in a scarlet flash. "What is he talking about?"

"I don't know," Melody muttered back, just as lost. She sighed and plopped a final few caterpillars into her cauldron. "He's being a git, like always—"

"You should have finished adding your ingredients by now," interrupted Snape's voice from the front of the classroom. "This potion needs to stew before it can be drunk, so clear away while it simmers and then we'll test Longbottom's . . ."

Crabbe and Goyle laughed openly, watching Neville sweat as he stirred his potion. Melody, Harry, and Ron packed away their unused ingredients and went to wash their hands and ladles in the stone basin by the corner.

"What did Malfoy mean?" Harry whispered as he stuck his hands under the icy jet of water that poured from the gargoyle's mouth. "Why would I want revenge on Black? He hasn't even done anything to me yet—"

"He's making it up," said Ron savagely. "He's trying to make you do something stupid . . ."

Melody glanced back across the classroom, mind still partially devoted to her potion. "Merlin, he's such a . . ." she paused, racking her brain for the right insult, ". . . wet sock."

"Yeah," Harry murmured. "Soaked."

"You know," started Melody, noting his distance, "I'm sure they'll catch Black soon. Petar said that everyone in Bulgaria is taking him pretty seriously—"

Ron glared at her. "Not Petar again."

"I'm just trying to make Harry feel better," she shot back.

"He doesn't care about your boyfriend, and Black's not in Bulgaria," Ron said, dropping his ladle onto the countertop with a sharp 'clink'.

"So? Everyone's taking precautions," responded Melody heatedly. She started towards Neville's cauldron, but Ron's next remark held her back.

"Petar might not even be real."

And all at once, a familiar lioness of rage was breathing fire; enflaming her organs with every exhale. She could almost cradle it, burning like a red giant in the sky. "Petar is real, you turd."

"I think you mispronounced 'fictional'."

Melody glowered at him, hand darting to her wand. "You're the real wet sock!"

"Really? You're going to hex me while Snape's twenty feet away?" Ron said, glancing over to the Professor's turned back. If she wasn't wrong, Melody could detect a flicker of fear sparking alive beneath his blue eyes.

"Watch me."

She pulled her wand out of her cloak, and pointed it at her now-petrified cousin, but someone gripped her arm and yanked her towards Neville's cauldron, away from her trance— it was Hermione, brown eyes alight with glacial warning.

"We're not going through this again," she said softly.

Melody sighed, as if she hadn't experienced the same argument with Ron about eight times over the past three days. "I wasn't going to do anything bad."

"That's what you said yesterday, before you made his ears twitch for six hours."

"But Petar is real," justified Melody, coming to a stop beside Neville and his cauldron. "He's in horrific denial."

"That boy from Durmstrang?" Malfoy's cold voice drawled from behind her, eyes shining maliciously.

"Oh, you're still here?" said Melody, daring him to go any further. "Need anything skinned?"

Malfoy glared at her and huffed away to the other side of the table, Crabbe and Goyle in tow.

"See, even Malfoy knows Petar's real," Melody whispered to Hermione.

"But how'd he know about him?" Hermione whispered back.

"Probably heard Ron screeching when Melody showed you her latest letter at breakfast yesterday," Harry's disgruntled voice mumbled from beside them.

Melody felt her brows furrow together into a tightly knit line across her head. She hadn't even noticed him following her, and that voice didn't sound like Harry's. Boldly, she ventured a glance over to her left — that boy didn't look like Harry, either.

He sounded collapsed, like an unbalanced equation only two steps away from the solution. Even more worrisome, he looked defeated, as if he had skipped the destruction and simply morphed into ruin.

But it's him, she told herself doubtfully. It couldn't be anyone else.

The conversation seemed to pass on: disappearing like one last amber leaf falling victim to an ice storm, and there was silence, just for a moment.

Silence, so poetically powerful, so rivetingly righteous: it seemed to purr into Melody's ears, tricklings of worry and change threatening everything she held most dear. She had convinced herself long ago that she wouldn't let her heart go up for auction, because nobody ever stays — and perhaps Harry's promises were finally teetering out.

"Until the end."

She still struggled to believe him, after all this time— but he'd always come back to her, even when he had never left, wouldn't he?

Silence does strange things to my mind, Melody resolved, looking back to Neville's potion. And sunshine all the time makes a desert.

She let out a contented sigh, as if it wasn't just another tally on the lengthy list of times she had run from vulnerability. Maybe today, silence was a magnanimous force, not an inconsiderate one.

But in that moment, from Harry's perspective, silence had never been more deafening.

It seemed to echo across canyons and mountains of his skull, a pilfering, pitiful exclamation of worry and change. He still didn't know why Petar's name bothered him — and he wasn't sure he wanted to find out. All he knew was that Melody stood beside him, unbothered and beautiful, and every promise he had ever made seemed to taunt him with uncertainty and evanescence.

Yes, in that moment, the silence wasn't magnanimous.

It was Harry's loudest scream.

The end of the lesson in sight, Snape's footsteps cut into the quiet — he strode over to Neville, who was cowering by his cauldron.

"Everyone gather 'round," said the Potions Master, his black eyes glittering, "and watch what happens to Longbottom's toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don't doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned."

The Gryffindors watched fearfully, whilst the Slytherins looked excited. Snape picked up Trevor the toad in his left hand and dipped a small spoon into Neville's potion. He trickled a few drops down Trevor's throat. There was a moment of hushed silence, in which Trevor gulped; then there was a small pop, and Trevor the tadpole was wriggling in Snape's palm.

The Gryffindors burst into applause, and Harry forced a small smile — at least something could get his mind off of the mysterious entropy that was Petar.

Snape, looking sour, pulled a small bottle from the pocket of his robe, poured a few drops on top of Trevor, and he reappeared suddenly, fully grown.

"Five points from Gryffindor," said Snape, which wiped the smiles from every face, including Harry's. "Miss Granger, you clearly helped him. Class dismissed."

By the time they reached the staircase leading up to the entrance hall, Ron seemed to have forgotten about Petar too: now, he could seethe about the bitter end of class.

"Five points from Gryffindor because the potion was all right! Why didn't you lie, Hermione? You should've said Neville did it all by himself!"

Hermione didn't answer.

Ron looked around. "Where is she?"

Harry and Melody, a couple steps behind him, turned too. They were at the top of the steps now, watching the rest of the class pass them, heading for the Great Hall and lunch.

"She was right behind us," said Melody, befuddled. "She couldn't have gone far—"

Just then, Malfoy passed them, walking between Crabbe and Goyle. He smirked in the direction of Harry and Melody, still acting as though he possessed the darkest of knowledge. Quickly, he disappeared into the entrance hall.

"There she is," Harry realized, squinting beneath his glasses.

Hermione was panting slightly, hurrying towards them; one hand clutched her bag, the other seemed to be tucking something down the front of her robes.

"How did you do that?" said Ron.

"What?" said Hermione, joining them.

"One minute you were right behind us, the next moment, you were back at the bottom of the stairs again."

"What?" Hermione looked slightly confused. "Oh — I had to go back for something. Oh no—"

A seam had split on Hermione's bag. Harry wasn't surprised: it was crammed with at least a dozen large and heavy books.

"Mione, why are you carrying all these around with you?" Melody asked her. Harry's eyes darted between the pair of them: still tranquil with each other, despite being drastically atypical.

"You know how many subjects I'm taking," responded Hermione breathlessly. "Couldn't hold these for me, could you?"

"But Hermione," —now, Melody was turning over the books Hermione had handed her, looking at the covers— "We don't have any of these subjects today. It's only Defense Against the Dark Arts this afternoon."

        𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐔𝐒 was nervous.

Nervous, and late.

It was time for his first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with the third years, which meant Harry and Melody: the two students who had been circling through the distant edges of his memories for far too long.

He certainly wasn't frightened, but it was such a fragile portion of his remembrance. Harry and Melody had been jaunting about the castle harmoniously for the past few days, oblivious to their history and connection. The pair were entwined beyond their comprehension, interlocked beyond reason, almost parallel to—

No, Remus reminded himself sharply, tip-tapping down the corridor to the lesson. They aren't their parents.

But the pair certainly reminded him of his once-peers, as though their eyes proved to be windows to the soul over and over again. It was impossible not to notice similarities, as they had been traced into his mind for many joyful years.

Cocoa's brain, James' intrepidity, Lily's kindness—

"Melody Rose Prewett, if you don't get off of that desk in five seconds, I will go to your grandmother right now!" came a shrill voice from the steadily approaching Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"Professor Lupin's not here yet, and the desk provides a better view of the clouds! I found one shaped like an elephant!" hollered the response, dripping with derisive laughter.

Remus sighed. Perhaps she'd inherited a fondness for mischief, too.

Nonetheless, when he creaked open the classroom door, Melody had somehow transported to her seat beside Harry, taken out her books, quills, and parchment, and left the desk in perfect balance.

Remus walked in, smiled vaguely, placed his briefcase on the desk, and turned back to the students. "Good afternoon," he said. "Would you please put all your books back in your bags? Today's will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands."

There was a shuffle of whispers, parchment, and textbooks as the class heeded him. Harry and Melody exchanged a curious look, but they obeyed willingly.

"Right then," said Remus, when everyone was ready. "If you'd follow me."

Puzzled but interested, the class got to its feet and followed him out of the classroom. Remus had anticipated a brief bout of uncertainty, and several murmurs from the group followed him down the corridor.

They rounded the corner, and the first thing they saw was Peeves the Poltergeist. He was floating upside down in midair, stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing gum, and giggling to himself.

Remus exhaled boredly— Peeves hadn't grown. The troublesome ghost didn't look up until he was two feet away; then wiggled his curly-toed feet and broke into song.

"Loony, loopy Lupin," Peeves sang. "Loony, loopy Lupin, loony, loopy Lupin—"

And all at once, dozens of eyes had darted to Remus, eager to see how he would react. Of course, he was all too accustomed to it: Peeves remembered him, even knew him, and therefore felt no obligation to show him any kind of respect.

"I'd take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves," Remus said pleasantly, containing a smile. "Mr. Filch won't be able to get to his brooms."

Peeves paid no attention to him, and merely blew a loud wet raspberry. Remus gave a small sigh and took out his wand, as if it was seventh year all over again. For a moment, though, it felt the same — the castle walls radiating the a warm sensation of home, a group of concerned students behind him, the mischievous ghost about to meet his downfall—

It's not the same, he reminded himself harshly, disintegrating beneath a calm tone. It never will be.

"This is a useful little spell," he told the class over his shoulder. "Please watch closely." He raised the wand to shoulder height, said, "Waddiwasi!" and pointed it at Peeves.

With the force of a bullet, the wad of chewing gum shot out of the keyhole and straight down Peeves's left nostril; he whirled upright and zoomed away, cursing.

The class laughed in amazement, grateful to see Peeves defeated, but one familiar chuckle rang out amongst the rest—

"Cool, sir!" chortled Melody, silver eyes alight with entertainment. "I'll have to remember that one."

"Thank you, Melody," Remus said, putting his wand away again. "Shall we proceed?"

They set off again down a second corridor, and the conversations within the class seemed to unfurl effortlessly, as if putting gum up Peeves' nose had melted the tension. They walked a bit further, then stopped right outside the staffroom door.

"Inside, please," said Remus, opening it and standing back.

The staffroom, a long, paneled room full of old, mismatched chairs, was empty, save for one teacher. Dressed in his usual all-black, Severus Snape was sitting in a low armchair. He looked around as the class filed in.

Remus started to close the door behind him, but Snape said, "Leave it open, Lupin. I'd rather not witness this."

He got to his feet and strode past the class, robes billowing behind him. At the doorway he turned on his heel and said, "Possibly no one's warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear."

Remus glanced at the students— one boy, presumably Neville, had gone scarlet, and beside him, Melody and Harry were sending identical glares at their Potions teacher.

With the utmost style, he turned back to Snape, every possible schoolyard taunt ricocheting through his mind— but he simply regarded the Slytherin with a look, a stare, exhibiting one single calamitous statement:

You haven't changed.

Remus took a breath, and said, "I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation, and I am sure he will perform it admirably."

Neville's face went, if possible, even redder. Snape's lip curled, but he left, shutting the door with a snap.

"Now, then," said Remus, beckoning the class toward the end of the room, where there was nothing but an old wardrobe where the teachers kept their spare robes. As he went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall.

"Nothing to worry about," said Remus calmly, because a few people had jumped backward in alarm. "There's a boggart in there."

Clearly, the class felt that this was something to worry about. Melody was giving him a look of pure terror, Neville had begun to hyperventilate, and everyone else was eyeing the rattling doorknob apprehensively.

By the time Remus finished explaining what a boggart was, the recommended incantation (Riddikulus), and Neville's grandmother's attire, however, they looked a bit less petrified— still uneasy, but confident enough.

"Neville, we're going to back away," said Remus to the trembling boy beside him. "Let you have a clear field, all right? I'll call the next person forward . . . Everyone back, now, so Neville can get a clear shot—"

The class retreated against the walls, leaving Neville alone beside the wardrobe. He looked pale and frightened, but he had pushed up the sleeves of his robes and was holding his wand ready.

"On the count of three, Neville," Remus said, pointing his own wand at the handle of the wardrobe. "One — two — three — now!"

A jet of sparks shot from the end of his wand and hit the doorknob: the wardrobe burst open. Hook-nosed and menacing, Professor Snape stepped out, his dark eyes flashing at Neville.

The gloom, the angst, the constant need for a shower, a small voice in Remus' head chuckled. He'd be my worst fear too . . .

Across the classroom, Melody was muttering something along the same lines to Harry, giggling like a toddler and glancing up to the approaching boggart. Remus caught them in his line of sight, and his chest lit up with warmth — then fizzled out into reality.

For a second, they had been Cocoa and Lily, gossiping in lessons and speaking in their own secret language. After class, Cocoa would deface a set of Snape's robes, and Lily would tell her to stop, but secretly enjoy it—

No.

Abruptly, Remus once again cut into his own thoughts. There would be no more reckless pranking, not anymore. Not after everything that had happened.

"Think, Neville, think . . ." he murmured gently to Neville, who was now shaking profusely.

Neville backed away, his wand up, mouthing wordlessly. Snape was bearing down upon him, reaching inside his robes, curling his lip—

"R-R-Riddikulus!" Neville finally squeaked, and a loud noise like a whip crack rang across the classroom.

Snape stumbled; he was wearing a long, lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture, and he was swinging a huge crimson handbag.

There was a roar of laughter, and Remus joined in; quietly hoping that Melody had as many connections in the school as her mother once did. If this concept got out, Snape would be taken much less seriously.

The boggart paused, confused, and Remus beamed at a newly-confident Neville. "Excellent, Neville! Parvati, forward!"

Parvati walked forward, her face set, and Snape rounded on her. There was another crack, and where he had stood was a blood-stained, bandaged mummy. Its sightless face was turned to Parvati, and it began to walk toward her very slowly, dragging its feet, its stiff arms rising—

"Riddikulus!" cried Parvati.

A bandage unraveled at the mummy's feet; it became entangled, fell face forward, and its head rolled off.

"Seamus!" said Remus enthusiastically, heartened by the success of the class.

Seamus darted past Parvati. Crack! Where the mummy had been was a woman with floor-length black hair and a skeletal, green-tinged face . . . a banshee. She opened her mouth wide and an unearthly sound filled the room, a long, wailing shriek—

"Riddikulus!" yelled Seamus.

The banshee made a rasping noise and clutched her throat; her voice was gone.

"Dean!"

Dean hurried forward. Crack! The banshee became a severed hand, which flipped over and began to creep along the floor like a crab.

"Riddikulus!" bellowed Dean.

There was a snap, and the hand was trapped in a mousetrap.

Remus turned to the sloppy line of the students against the wall, and called out: "Fantastic! Melody, you next!"

Melody, who had been watching raptly, leapt forward, and looked down at the boggart. A bout of easily-read apprehension trickled across her expression, but she drew her wand from her cloak with undeniable elegance.

Crack! The crawling hand shot into the air, and warped into something much more shadowed . . . after a moment, it had materialized: a cloudy skyscape, shaded by pitch black clouds and a distant rumble of fearsome thunder.

And all of a sudden, Remus could feel it, touch it, as though he had revisited it countless times in the darkest pitfalls of his mind.

He knew that sky.

That boggart was a memory, one that had nearly destroyed him infinite times: it was all returning at once, a fountain of hurt and anger and lies—

It was the same stormy sky of October 31st, 1981.

Did Melody . . . remember it?

She was breathing heavily, threatened by the tempest, and her wand hand was quivering ever-so-slightly. Her pupils had gone wide, giving away that she was familiar with the scene, but still too frightened to defeat it.

Just then, a flash of blinding lightning struck throughout the boggart's sky, and the class covered its eyes in pain—

"Riddikulus!" Melody's voice shrieked, terrified.

Crack! The dark sky brightened, and a colorful rainbow began to fall across the scene. An audible sigh of relief gushed from Melody's lips, and she tucked her wand away.

"How's that?" she asked brightly, turning to Remus with half a grin.

He blinked, stunned. "Er — Perfect, Melody. Ron, your turn!"

Melody's half-grin twinkled at him all-too-recognizably, and she sashayed back towards the rest of the eager class. Ron stepped up in her place, gulping.

Amongst "Brilliant"s and "Nice job, Melody"s, however, Remus could still sense the chill of the storm lingering, a foreboding of truths to come — but something about the story was lost, archaic in the dark secrets of their intertwined past.

Ron had drawn his wand, and the momentary thrill of the students soon fizzled out — Crack! Quite a few people screamed. A giant spider, six feet tall and covered in hair, was advancing on him, clicking its pincers menacingly.

"Riddikulus!" hollered Ron, and the spider's legs vanished. As if in slow motion, it rolled over and over towards the line of students, and came to a halt at Harry's feet.

Finally, Remus broke away from his eerie sort of nostalgia.

He was hurrying forward, drawing his wand, and panicking — if Harry faced that boggart, Lord Voldemort would appear in front of the entire class. They'd be entered into a state of pure terror, without a doubt, and it wouldn't be such a splendid story to relay to the Headmaster. He wasn't taking any chances:

"Here!" he shouted, leaping in front of Harry.

Crack!

The legless spider had vanished. For a second, the students looked wildly around to see where it was, but Remus hadn't thought this far ahead. Now, he was filled with a bitter, seeping regret — he had to face his own worst fear. In a split second, the boggart had rematerialized before his eyes, and it was everything he'd dreaded:

A silvery-white orb, round as a sphere, hung in the air in front of him.

The full moon.

"Riddikulus!" he roared, hoping the class hadn't realized what it was. With another flick of his wand, he threw the boggart back into the wardrobe, and clicked the door shut.

Silence, for just a few moments, but then —

A chorus of disappointment rang throughout the room, "Can I try?"s, "No"s, and "Wait"s all slurring together messily. Remus simply ironed on a sheepish smile, and called out:

"Sorry about that! That's enough for today. Well done, everyone . . . Let me see . . . five points to Gryffindor for every person to tackle the boggart, that should do it. Excellent work today, class dismissed."

The students, still softly groaning, trudged in the direction of the staffroom door, and Remus slowly ventured a glance back to the wardrobe, only to be cut off—

"Thanks, Professor!"

He turned: it was Melody, waving merrily from the door and beaming in his direction.

Her young grin was infectious, he had to admit — and despite himself, he reciprocated a small smile. As if he hadn't met those shimmering eyes hundreds of times, he said, "Good work today!" and watched her beam spread.

Then, she spun around, and like everyone before her, she was gone.

In that one lesson alone, Remus had realized that both she and Harry were the perfect conjunction of their respective parents, from their absentminded fidgeting to their clandestine whispers, to everything in between. It hurt, oh, it hurt — having nothing but the hazy memories of friends he once loved sprinkled so daintily across their kin.

And it was traced into the stings of his scars, the irises of his tired eyes, the duality of his heart:

Harry and Melody couldn't understand the full story, not yet, as much as he would've trusted them with the truth.