I
Every day when you wake up, the world is a little bit blurred. You close your eyes then, only to savour the escaping blackness from behind closed eyelids. A warmed-up blanket still sprawled on your body makes you feel so comfortable that the prospect of revealing a piece of bare skin to the almost-arctic cold of the room is undeniably daunting. You remain for a minute or two thinking about giving up. But then you can smell the coffee that someone has made up in the kitchen for you and at that very moment another kind of warmth allures you and your drowsy senses.
He wakes up, too, every day, but his mornings aren’t filled with caffeine scent or with a sound of deep inhales made by someone who is sleeping on the very same pillow that he lays on. He doesn’t actually care about goosebumps covering his arms when he throws the covers away. He just rubs his eyes absent-mindedly to unglue eyelashes one from the other and then stares at the ceiling thinking about the actual sense of waking up at all.
II
[ If you think that freedom means disposing of something that bothers you constantly, then you haven’t, in fact, grasped the idea of it. ]
Being thrown from the edge into the abyss of uncertainty must be exactly something like this, Remus thinks when he looks at the closed door of his school. Being naked, exposed in front of the vulture-like opinions and preconceptions of society, must feel unmistakeably overwhelming like this.
He brushes the dirt off of his trousers and follows the crowd entering the London Underground. He clutches the seat back and he wobbles slightly while the train moves faster with every second. He observes how people stare dully into the dirty windows as if they were looking for some excitement lurking in the shadows. But then he notices that they are left without hope, lost in their consuming routine that instilled itself in their fast-beating hearts. He wonders then, and at the same time calls himself inveterate lunatic, if they can see somehow that he is so much different from them all. He ponders whether magic can really do wonders and make him somewhat special, softly dazzling. He wholeheartedly refuses to be considered deprived of the will to live while still breathing.
“It will be okay, mate,” James told him once when they were doing their homework. Actually, James was trying to hide his crumpled parchment under the table and Moony was smiling at his friend’s feeble attempts to write without slouching in curious manner. “And how do you know that, Prongs?” he questioned without taking his eyes off of the opened book in front of him. The other boy sighed heavily. “Maybe because you are the smartest of us all, and besides,” he paused, “nobody said it will be easy, but nobody said that it’ll be impossible, either.”
He keeps his head based on his palm and lets his mind drift to the plans that settled themselves in his head while being this hopeful boy dwelling in Hogwarts’ chambers. But with growing up came the realization that he, alas, sticks up from the crowd of those who can sleep peacefully every night or watch the sky without the trace of hesitation. He hears a couple of steps and swishing of the cloak’s fabric and his attention is directed at the person that disturbed his meditation. He lifts up his head and sees someone searching the bookshelves, probably for the wanted volume. His eyes readjust to the red colour of the garment that is literally radiating in the dimness of the library. Red momentarily reminds him of the auburn locks of Lily Evans and of her smell that always lingered in the air. And he can smell this special, rare scent again and he can easily recall her comforting words. “You have to give every strength you possess to remain who you are, Remus. Don’t you think, just for a moment, that among all those unjust and seemingly cruel things that happen to us, there is some sense and truth hidden? Don’t you think that everything that comes our way is for a reason?” He also remembers the look in her emerald eyes, the distant but hardened look. “Maybe-, maybe we shouldn’t think what’s going to happen to us, but how are we going to make use of the time we are given.” He thought for a minute back then that she was talking about herself. But suddenly, he found her in his arms, embracing him suffocatingly tight. She helped him understand that he is an immanent part of the creature living inside him (or the other way round). She was this sedative which he needed to realize that he was not a dissonance, a misfit, a transparent ghost hiding behind the silver statues. Yet, all that he wanted was unreachable, untouchable, intangible.
The red hue became an illuminating imprint hanging in the air. And though the girl standing between shelves was long gone, he could still see Lily’s hair there like the light of sun absorbed by hungry eyes.
III
Even though you may gather all your fears into a block made of glass and then shatter it to tiny atoms, they will stick to your skin once more and sting like acid.
It was scary enough for Remus to let his friends accompany him once in a month while the uncontrolled expedition with a guide blinded by primal needs lasted. It was exhilarating to feel wanted and tolerated by people whom he trusted and, especially, needed. But nothing was as terrifying as the idea that he might have feelings for somebody that sunk so deeply as his fright of hurting.
The more people that surrounded him, the more dissimilar he felt. And the less he allowed himself to feel towards a person, the less he felt guilty of inflicting his burden on.
So every time when he felt this tingling sensation in his stomach or every time he felt desire to be with someone closely, he run away. He locked this thing called love in a bottomless part of his mind where it could magnify its noisy entreaty without ostensible influence. He wasn’t as strong and impermeable as he thought he was. Once or twice, however, it happened that a few beams glimmered from a girl’s eyes at him and he caught himself being mesmerized by them so intensely that it was too hard to let them go out. And it scared him. Scared to the bone.
IV
He comes back from his temporary job late in the evening. He turns on the radio and the dull voice penetrates the room. “Kierkegaard came to the conclusion once that the majority of people runs without a second breath after the pleasures of life so fast that at the end those pleasures that they were chasing for, flash by in front of their eyes,” he hears the man say. He heaves a deep sigh and shakes his head in bitter comprehension.
The discussion continues. “But what exactly man can do with his life when a purpose is lost somewhere in the haze of expectations? What if a man seek for some kind of private salvation? It is definitely challenging to answer.” Like hell it is, Remus thinks as he covers himself with a woolen blanket. “The problem lies in perceiving the reality. We are a little restless and anxious. Perhaps if we focused on little things that make us feel better, then we should explore other ones which may also affect us in some way. We should try to cross this fearsome line of hesitation. Who knows what’s in there?” Moony gulpes and brushes his sandy-coloured hair with his fingers. He stands up to turn off the appliance when he hears the last bit of the broadcast. “When you take a step after step, be aware of every one of them. That will help you breathe freely.”
V
He wakes up next morning or rather unfinished night and thinks about how the yet-impotent sun is fighting with the starlight. A delicate but vaguely ironic smile creeps on his lips as he endeavours to get his messy life together. And he listens to the almost inaudible sounds of a new day, sounds of his own, not anybody else’s heart beating.
He concentrates on his breathing for a moment. To his astonishment, for the first time in his life he is calm.