The Marauders: Year Seven Part Two

Doug Melachton

"Remus is alright, sir," he replied.

The old man smiled, "Well then, if we are to be on a first name basis, you may call me Doug. Doug Melacton."

"Okay," Remus replied uncertainly. He stood there for several long moments, this Doug Melachton fellow staring at him, smiling calmly. Finally, Remus asked, "....Who are you exactly? Like... why are you here, asking elves to come fetch me?"

"A valid question," Doug Melachton replied. "C'mon over and let's talk about it?"

Remus shifted his weight from one foot to the other, staring at the spare cushion the old man had indicated on the couch. Finally, he walked over and sat down, though on the edge as though ready to spring back up at any moment. The fire burned merrily before him, putting off a lovely warmth that Remus had to admit felt quite good compared to the drafty, ice-cold of the castle at this time of year. The smell of the fireplace reminded him of friendship and nights camping in the woods with the lads, of him and Sirius roasting meat on spits for nearly an entire summer, laughter and good times that seemed so long ago...

Doug's voice broke through Remus's reverie. "I work with Dorcas Meadows at St. Mungo's," he said. "She tell me that you've been going through some pretty rough days lately, since losing Ned Veigler."

Remus looked at his palms on his knees. "You're a psychologist then."

"Yes," Doug Melachton replied.

Remus closed his eyes at the mention of the name, as though the sound of it rolling from the tongue was physically painful to him. When he reopened his eyes, things were just a teeniest bit blurry about the edges. "Everyone's going through pretty rough days lately, sir -- Doug," Remus murmured. "Dunno if you noticed, but there's sort of a war going on around us, isn't there?"

"Yes, I noticed," Doug nodded. "There's a good deal of pain and suffering in this world."

"You think I'm going crazy."

"No, Remus, I think that you've been through a great deal and that's bound to make anybody sad."

Remus stared into the fire, "Yeah."

Doug Melachton drew a deep breath. "Dorcas was simply worried that perhaps you might need someone to talk to about what happened."

"I beg your pardon, sir, but I don't see how talking about it would help," Remus shrugged, "It's not as though talking can bring him back, can it?"

"If only it could," Doug replied.

"No words, not even magic ones, can bring the dead back to life," Remus said.

Doug said, "No, but it can bring the living back to life." Remus looked up at him in confusion, and Doug added, "Sometimes, the survivors lose their lives just as much as those who they've lost, if they forget to go on living and choose instead to dwell on the past and allow the pain of it to consume them. This, Remus, is when talking is capable of returning life. To the survivors. So they can do more than just survive."

Remus considered this a moment. While the words were very powerful and wise, he couldn't quite figure out if they really connected to him, to his own situation. They were the sort of wisdom that applied to other people, but never to Remus himself. "What if that's all I'm meant to do?" he asked, "Be a survivor, I mean."

Doug Melachton shook his head, "We're all meant to be more than survivors."

Something about this hopefulness made Remus angry, and he didn't quite know what it was - the way Mr. Melachton said it wasn't rude or pushy or diminishing at all, it was actually a comforting tone that he was using and Remus ought to have been bolstered by it. He knew that, even as he felt a flash of irritation burn through him. He stared at the doctor, his eyes involuntarily filling with tears and he snapped, "Maybe normal people, sure, but not people like me."