BLACK MOON ⍋ Remus Lupin

Chapter 146- The News.

(Happy UK Mother's Day, as your fanfic mother I expect wishes back)

REMUS' POV.

Walking home from work was one of my favourite parts of the day, especially if it was a shift where I'm forced to be cooped up inside repairing boilers in cellars or god knows what I'm dimly lit rooms. In summer and spring the walk home was greatly appreciated. It felt good to get some fresh air again and hear the birds sing before the night silenced them.

I couldn't help but notice how still everything felt today, how peaceful the village seemed in the sun that was ever so slowly beginning to set.

With shopping bag in hand and cake for pudding secured, I fumbled with the key to my front door. My fingers felt sore. Overworked and tired, surely to develop arthritis with age. With multiple failed attempts, I decided to simply knock on the door instead. Stretching out my free hand that felt as if it was locking up and keeping me locked out.

No answer.

Usually I could hear Arty's slippers slap across the wooden floor from the other side of the door, in an enthusiastic run to answer.

I knocked again.

Silence.

I placed down the shopping bag and tried unlocking the door with my other hand, with hope there'd be less pain and struggle in my joints. Not with ease, but more easily, I unlocked it.

"I'm home!" I shouted out, wondering if she had fallen asleep. Knowing she'd struggle to go back to sleep later on if it were the case.

No reply.

"Arty?" I called out, whilst I kicked off my shoes and made my way into the kitchen to put the shopping away.

"Probably at Lily's." I mumbled to myself, flicking on the kettle to make myself a tea.

I stretched out my toes whilst I waited for the water to boil. Sighing in relief at the freedom from steel capped boots and the stability of flat floor beneath my sock padded feet almost resetting my stance.

"Oh for merlin sake." I sighed looking at the butter lid off to one side and knife covered in buttered crumbs in the sink, with a trail of toast crumbs on the kitchen floor near the toaster. The absence of a plate. She never uses a plate for her morning toast, I don't understand it.

I covered the butter and put it back in it's rightful place and flicked my wand to sweep up the crumbs into the corner of the kitchen by the back door. With the intention of brushing them out properly later on.

That's when I also noticed the washing still out on the line in the garden. A row of towels in a variation of colours hung out perfectly and probably bone dry by now after the sunny day we've had.

It was unlike Arty to not have completed the washing. She loved the smell of fresh towels and linen, even loved the act of folding and putting stuff away all organised and satisfactory to her eye. It was one of the household chores she jumped at the chance of doing, especially in the summer and didn't want any help with. It was unusual that they were still out on the line and long dried.

The butter not being covered and the trail of crumbs didn't feel odd. It was actually a frequent thing she forgets to tidy.

Something in how stiff the towels appeared all perfectly hung and abandoned there all day...left me feeling a little unsettled.

"Babe?" I called out.

Perhaps she had fallen ill throughout the day, taken herself to bed and needed catering to. The house felt so silent, though. No light sounding snores from anywhere around. Nonetheless, I decided to head upstairs with the steps creaking one after another behind me.