Try And Tame The Terrors **Harry Potter/George Weasley Story** (BOOK3)

Chapter 13: A Lack Of Understanding

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters. They all belong to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter Thirteen: A Lack Of Understanding

Remus' Point of View

I couldn't bring my eyebrows down. My chair scraped along the floor as I slowly stood up, staring across at Fred. Still, no one spoke. The tension was high, you could feel it floating in the air. Everything got very out of hand, very quickly. I stared at Fred as I walked around the table and to the door. His hand was still over his mouth. Sirius had leaned back in his chair casually, as if he was expecting it. George had had to sit down. Ginny was chewing lightly on her fist, something I knew Lottie would of being doing if she hadn't of being targeted. Ron had laid flat on the rug in front of the fire, and Harry had propped his head up with his elbow. I reached for the door handle, "R ... R ... Re ... Re-Rem-Remus ... I--"

"Don't. Even. Speak." I held out a hand towards Fred, but couldn't look him in the eye, "You sit down in a chair, and you stay there. If you even begin to think of speaking to her within the next 24 hours and I find out, you've got a hell of a thing coming."

"Do you ... want me to go?" George asked, raising his hand slowly. I shook my head,

"No, George. I'll go, just see she's okay and sort her out a bit." I left the room, slowly closing the door behind me, then apparated straight up to the fourth floor outside Lottie's bedroom. I then stared at the door handle. What do you do in this situation, exactly? I've never done this before ... how do you deal with a emotional teenage girl? Right well ... erm ... okay. Baby steps. I knocked on the door softly then opened it a crack, "Lottie?"

"Dad." She replied quite bluntly. She was sitting on her window sill with her legs up and her chin resting on her knees,

"Are you ... erm ... do you want to talk about ... well ... how ... right ... erm ... do you want a cup of tea?"

"If you want." Lottie rubbed her eyes, "My mug's there. Milk, o--"

"Milk, one sugar. Yes, I know." I informed her. I saw her smile at the window in her reflection. Wandless magic is quite a valuable skill. I acquired Lottie's mug, which had been sitting on her desk, cleaned and refilled it with three hand movements. I walked over to Lottie and handed her the drink. She looked down at it, then up and smiled,

"Thanks Dad." She said as she took the mug from me. Light tears stained her cheeks and her scars shone brightly at me. I hate them. Them three scars define Lottie, they make my daughter who she is. But I hate them. I caused them. No father should scarred their daughter like that. Not even if they're a ... damned werewolf,

"Do you erm ... want to talk?" I asked, sitting down carefully on the window sill beside her feet,

"I ... not really." She sighed and sipped her tea, "I understand but ... I don't."

"Well you just take your time and ... I'm here if you need me."

"You're not going are you?" She asked quickly. I smiled a little,

"Not if you don't want me."

"Please don't." Lottie looked up at me. It felt like looking in a mirror. Everything of mine was printed on Lottie. Apart from the obvious; the femininity, the longer hair, the lack of moustache and the shape, size and amount of scars. And her eyes. She has her mother's eyes,