Certain Dark Things || Book Three

lvi. a family's heir

Remus sat at his desk as he did most mornings, sipping a cup of tea, waiting for his first class of the day to begin.

However, unlike most mornings, today Remus had a sheet of parchment laid before himself, his own tidy copperplate lining the page, and he held his best quill in hand, ready to sign the bottom. He didn't, though. His hand hovered for long enough that the ink dried on the quill's tip, and he had to dip it again, only to then Vanish the resulting splotch of ink that appeared when he held the dipped quill above the parchment and didn't move.

How was one meant to properly resign from the best job they'd ever had? The best job they ever would have?

He had to quit, of course. Dumbledore hadn't yet come knocking with a dismissal for him, but Remus hoped to preserve some semblance of goodwill with the Headmaster by tendering his resignation without fuss. He'd lied to Albus; he hadn't told him about Sirius—and Peter—being Animagi, hadn't told him about Black planning murder, going gallivanting about the school, and he could have inadvertently helped kill everyone in that clearing if Snape hadn't brought the Wolfsbane.

He'd meant to help. He'd meant to—to do something right, to help Sirius catch Wormtail and avenge poor Lily and James and Marlene. Marlene, whose only mistake in life had been smiling at a pudgy, nervous Peter and sharing the genuine kindness that made her well-liked in the House of Lions and Hogwarts in general. Even the Slytherins of their time had nothing bad to say about her. She'd been an earnest, unfaltering woman and an invaluable friend.

Then, she died in a fire set by a jealous, despicable boy who'd wanted her affection all to himself.

He had to quit. He didn't deserve to be here.

Remus sighed and set the quill aside on the desk, rubbing at his jaw. His nails worried at the stubble there as he considered his options. A few weeks of the term remained, and he needed to give his final notice to the Headmaster soon, as courtesy would dictate.

I might as well get it over with.

He heaved a sigh—and someone knocked on the office door, three precise, polite raps too soft to be an adult but not soft enough to be a mistake. A student, then. Remus eased an open text over his letter and cleared his throat. "Come in!"

A familiar face crossed the threshold, and Remus smiled in greeting.

"Good morning, El—Miss Black."

"Good morning, Professor Lupin." Elara Black approached his desk and smoothed a gloved hand over the front of her blouse, a nervous gesture she repeated once more before seeming to catch it and lower her arm.

A minute of silence passed. "...Can I do something for you?"

"Oh." Elara stirred, then reached into the inner pocket of her robes, retrieving three bound and folded bits of parchment. "As part of the detainment agreement arranged by Mr. Piers, my father is allowed to send his proxy letters." She held out the missives to Remus, and he accepted them, his eyes catching on the familiar scrawl wending over the fold. "These are for you. If if you wish to reply, you may do so directly to him. The Ministry prohibits him from using the post but not from accepting it."

Remus' thumb brushed the wax seal, a rush of forgotten affection spilling through his veins—affection from another life, he reminded himself, though still unable to banish that lingering fondness. It confused him to no end. Clearing his throat, Remus said, "Thank you," and tucked the letters away in the top of his desk to be perused later.

Elara didn't leave. She kept her eyes lowered, staring at the open textbook with an odd intensity Remus couldn't place. He glanced at the clock on the wall and saw he had a fair bit of time before his first class of the day, but he wondered where Elara was meant to be. He didn't see her school satchel with her. "You're not missing class, are you?"