The door to room 223 banged open to the dingy apartment. The curtains hung in front of the windows to block the light. They day passed with hardly a scene changed in the room as twilight came.
From the deserted hallway, Bjorn hauled in several boxes whose bottoms buckled. Behind him, Remus carried the remainder of the boxes. Bjorn carried them into the middle of the room and dropped them with a resounding thunk. Remus came in and cast the other boxes beside the first group. Like clouds, dust rose up from where the boxes had been set.
Bjorn brushed the dust the boxes had deposited on his robes away with a flourish. Remus didn’t even bother with his gray, tattered clothes. Bjorn gazed thoughtfully down at the pathetic cubes. He inspected the decrepit cardboard, trying to discern what was so loathsome about these boxes. “You can take them,” Remus commented as Bjorn continued to stare pensively.
“I don’t even know what’s in them.” Bjorn raised his eyes to meet Remus’s own sable eyes. “Well, it’s been a pleasure, Mr. Lupin, but you leave tomorrow, and I’m going to party tonight.”
Bjorn extended his hand and grasped Remus’s hand firmly. The gleaming smile that the funeral and will reading banished from Bjorn’s face returned. Remus reciprocated the feelings of good will as Bjorn turned towards the door.
“Sure you don’t want to come drinking? I wouldn't mind,” Bjorn asked Remus with a slight grin. Remus shook his head as Bjorn stepped into the hallway.
"It's hypocritical to celebrate spring before it comes," Remus replied wryly as he gestured towardst he window. Indeed, the clouds still hung low and ominous on the horizon.
"It's about the coming of spring. Spring isn't here yet, but it's coming." A good natured smile split apart Bjorn's lips. "It's about ending the winter, and nothing does it like a drink around fire."
"No thanks," Remus said as he shook his head. "It's miserable weather to be out."
"Well, I hope you get your spring, then," Bjorn replied as he turned to leave.
“I’ll recommend you to your grandfather.” Bjorn chuckled as he turned away. ‘It won’t do much good coming from me, though,’ Remus thought bitterly as he watched the youth stride down the hallway. Eventually, Remus shut the door and retreated into the apartment. A light flickered from the bedroom after the other man’s footsteps faded completely. Remus strolled into the bedroom where Sirius hid at the end of the bed.
“I might go drinking,” Sirius commented as he leaned over the piece of paper he had been writing on before Bjorn came. “What’s the party?”
“It’s not a party. If you can believe it, they’re celebrating the coming of spring,” Remus chuckled at that irony again as he walked over to Sirius. “Bjorn has talked St. Walpurgis Night up to me since I came.”
“You never did drink, except at James’s bachelor party,” Sirius snickered as he continued to scratch on the parchment. ‘He’s right,’ Remus thought as he grinned at that memory. ‘Well, there wasn’t much to remember.’
The room quieted as Remus peered down at Sirius’s letter. It spanned over two pages now. Certain sentences got completely scratched away, and Sirius’s handwriting still possessed that uneven, scrolling script Remus remembered from their school days. “You shouldn’t write that.” His voice took a serious tone. “You know it could get intercepted.”
“That’s why it’s getting hand delivered,” Sirius replied as he signed his name and folded the paper before Remus could see what he wrote. Sirius fidgeted with the paper for a couple moments before he asked, “Would you take it?”
“It’s a bad idea, even if I took it.” Sirius frowned and folded the paper in half again. He then unfolded it and looked down at the parchment. ‘He should’ve have even written that,’ Remus scolded his friend silently, knowing he knew the risks already. It was pointless to reprimand him.
“It’s to Andy,” Sirius finally coughed out the recipient’s name. Remus arched and eyebrow as he met Sirius’s pleading gaze. “I can’t take it! Her daughter’s one of those aurors that’s been tracking me, mate. I don’t wan to take that chance, yet. She needs to know.”
After several moments of terse silence, Remus condescended. “Fine. I’ll take it when I go.”
“Perfect,” Sirius exclaimed as he leapt off the bed and stuffed the letter into Remus’s hands. With a bound filled with relief, Sirius exited the bedroom and went to the window.
‘I shouldn’t take this,’ Remus thought as he turned the letter over in his hands. The paper remained unmarked, so it couldn’t be identified as anything unusual. ‘I could get it through when I leave Sweden,’ Remus realized as he glanced back at the boxes, knowing he could just hide this letter among their contents.
Sirius drew back the curtains and examined the streets. “What are those logs for?”
Instead of being desolate, the streets of Or buzzed with activity. People walked and laughed in the chill air as they trudged along the sidewalks. Some people hauled logs to clearings where benches already sat. Activity now sprung up in the apparently lifeless town.
“Bjorn said they light a lot of fires,” Remus replied as he watched the first real activity he’d seen in this village since he came. “In this weather, you’d need a fire.”
“I’m going,” Sirius declared as he bounded towards the door. “Just keep it cracked open.”
Without another word, Sirius disappeared down the hall. Remus watched the door, but couldn’t find the strength to worry about Sirius. ‘He’s gotten in and out without me before,’ Remus thought as he sat down in one of the chairs. The chair offered no particular comfort because of its over-used cushions.
In his mind, an urge began to develop. The quite room filled with a silent whispering. ‘Open me,’ the boxes seemed to tease, urging him to look at their contents. ‘You want to see us again,’ they seemed to taunt as they remained still by Remus’s feet. He gazed at them, realizing that, sooner or later, he would need to open them to put the letter into them.
They couldn’t be ignored forever.
He’d fallen asleep behind the couch, where he’d sat to read that afternoon.
Seasons changed, spinning in dizzying circles through four more years. Months came, and they went, and the summer sun and heat washed back over the little log cabin again. This year, no child played in the branches or skipped stones by the lake. No cheery woman took walks through the forest and recited poetry during a languid, summer day. Occasionally at night, howls pierced the otherwise peaceful woods.
“You can’t write that.”
His father’s sharp words brought Remus to consciousness. He stirred, and the book he had been reading that now rested on his chest threatened to fall and give away his hiding place. He stopped the book from sliding to the floor. He froze, about to move again, when he heard his mother’s weak voice.
“I will write whatever I choose. If you don’t, I will.”
Every time he heard her speak, her voice always sounded about to break like fine China. It scared him, these past years, to hear her sometimes. He remembered how she cried the first time she couldn’t perform a simple cleaning spell when she got back from the hospital. Remus remained hidden, and for all his troubles, he’d become wise. He learned how to eavesdrop because no one told him anything outright any more.
“You know it won’t work,” Edouard pleaded in frustration. “You can’t subject him to that!”
In the silence, Remus heard the scratching of a quill. “Edouard, what is worse than this? I will not have my son stuck in this house for the rest of his life.” He heard a thud on the table.
“He’s safe here!”
“He’s not happy,” Evey spat. That silenced his father, and once again, Remus heard the scratching of a quill.
“Think about the other children.” His father’s voice took on a new tone of desperation. “You can’t even deal with him, but exposing him to other people’s children?”
“Edouard, it’s you who can’t deal with this,” Evelyn hissed as the scratching of the quill continued underneath the argument. “He’s my son. There’s a new head master.”
“Dumbledore? He’s a smart man. He’ll never go for it. Don’t trouble him.”
“I Am Going To Try,” Evelyn said as she accented every word she spoke. Then, his father gave a great shout of rage.
“You’re foolish!”
“Am I? At least I love my son. You . . . you’ve resigned him to this!” Remus clutched his book as his mother shouted. “Leave me alone. I’m sending this.”
With slow footsteps, Evey climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Remus remained hunkered behind the couch, keenly aware of his parent’s feelings. He’d hear this particular argument before, but never as tense as tonight. His mother actually wrote the letter that they both quarreled about for at least a month.
He could hear his father writing now. He peered up over the edge of the couch to watch him scribble away at the little desk. He had his head propped up on one of his hands as he wrote with the other. Remus slipped from his hiding space and darted up the stairs to be with his mother. Avoiding the creaking step, he made it to the hallway and entered the room where light poured from under the doorway.
“Mum.”
She sat on her bed, but a warm breeze blew through the open window. She attached her piece of parchment to the leg of the owl. She steadied herself and then rose gradually from the bed and set the bird on the windowsill. The owl gave one prolonged look at Remus before it flew away into the vast night.
She gingerly sat herself down on the bed and stared for a couple moments at her hands. Then, her tear filled eyes met his. “Remmy, my beautiful son.”
“What did you write?” Remus gently asked his mother as he went over and sat beside her. He looked at her withered frame and sunken cheeks that retained a sallow color. Her tresses of sun touched hair never grew back. Now, streaks of mud seemed to stain the frizzy mop that encased her narrow face.
“I’m going to get you into school this fall.” With these words, Evey’s weary eyes lit with excitement and tears. “You will go.”
Remus gazed down at his hands silently. His mother said this, but something inside Remus still doubted. His father told him his type weren’t allowed in schools. He’d heard the arguments. He knew why now, but when he looked into his mother’s worn face, he wanted to believe her.
“You should rest,” Remus told her. He remembered how she often lay in bed for days, but she’d been doing better lately. ‘She gathered all her strength to write that letter,’ Remus realized as he got off her bed. She crawled under the hand made quilt, which she’d embroidered lilacs on when she felt well enough. They only dotted the other edges because she hardly ever had the strength to get up some days.
“Read to me.” Evey’s voice held a desperate note, and the tradition had been reversed. Now, Remus would sit and read to his mother. Whenever she came back from the hospital with him the first time, she asked him. Since then, he would wait until she asked, and then, he would read whatever she wished.
“What?” Remus asked as he walked over to the stack of books in the corner of the room. He knelt down beside the stack, waiting for Evey to answer.
“Something I like,” Evey replied meekly. Remus bit his lip as he pulled out the old volume of Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes, And Other Poems that he hadn’t read for years. He flipped the book over in his hands before he opened it. He skimmed through the pages as he sat at the end of his mother’s bed.
“No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolfs-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’d
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,”
“You read so well,” Evey interrupted as Remus finished the first several lines. “You’ll do so well at school.”
“How?”
The question plagued his mind. “Will I be a burden there like here?”
Evey leaned forward and reached for her son. Remus put the book down and came close to her. “You aren’t my burden.”
“Dad thinks I am,” Remus spoke nothing but the truth. A deep sorrow welled up in Evey’s eyes at these words. They both knew it as the truth.
“I will always love you,” she whispered. Her clammy, bony hand clutched his with a desperation a renewed desperation. She leaned forward and gently kissed her son on the forehead with her thin, chapped lips. “You will have a normal life, Remmy. I will try my hardest to get that for you.”
Remus turned away. He couldn’t bear to see the tears well up in his mother’s eyes. He stilled his own tears as he gazed down at the tome in his hands. He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat as he stared out her mother’s bedroom window into the starry sky. There was no moon out tonight.