the world will change tomorrow just for me
the time will be two minutes just past three
I’ll be surprised if the knowledge will without
as ignorance lies far as I can see.
The motives and with-actions can within
create a certain well-with-all chagrin
a motion moves a heart that beats in time
the stable fell momentum in the din
The line withdraws, repeating; on a whim
I feel as though a chilled heat boils by;
You say the melancholy is a sin
but rather megalomania, say I.
Cultured words and phrases will be so kind
in that quite special biting sort of way -
mine ought to be withdrawn and put aside,
L’esprit d’escalier in layman’s gaze.
If thoughts had colours, mischievous and thick
I’d say that we should catch them in our eyes,
but as it is that’d make us all quite sick,
A remnant of remembered age gone by.
But for you the words forgotten seem at ease
fading dots and dashes inside seities.
Rex absently chews on the end of the pen in thought, attempting to see some sort of connection he can use to create a series of steps for their client. He had to figure out a way to prove that Jameson hadn’t had anything to do with all this, and then boil that down to some sort of helpful list and instruction for Jameson to use in court. It wasn’t backbreaking, but it was monotonous, and effectively relied on reading reports over and over again until things you already knew suddenly rearranged themselves and came at you differently.
The sort of work his partner, who was just coming in the door, was not that great at without some sort of blue spherical celestial object being nearby. (Eddie could do it, and probably better than Rex could, but he had to be in the right mindset, and right now he clearly wasn’t.)
‘Oh, are you still doing that?’
Rex shot Eddie what he felt was a graciously scathing look, given the obviousness of the statement, and quickly returned to the files.
‘Right. Well, brother Jameson says Jameson wasn’t there when they said he was, which corroborates his initial “wrong guy, wrong time” defense.’ He lingered in the doorway a moment, looking for a reaction. Upon receiving a distinct lack of one, he gave Rex a look for a moment and then asked, ‘You do, know, how to accept when things go right, don’t you?’
‘Did you bring more coffee?’
‘One for me, two for you, and one for that… girl, is she still even here?’
‘No idea.’ Rex stands up, cracking out his back and rubbing the meat of his hand from having done too much writing. As he and Eddie walk down the hallway into the main room - where Rex assumes the coffee is waiting; a sly method to get him to come out of his office - he continues. ‘I absolutely know when to accept that things are going well. I’m just… a bit concerned about it, is all.’
‘Exactly, it’s going well and you’re worried.’
‘And you’re not?’ he ventured, somewhat skeptically.
‘Course. But it’s not our case, Rex. It’s his. We’re consultants.’
‘That doesn’t mean—’
Eddie interrupted him with a gesture, as he happened to be drinking the coffee they’d come in here to retrieve. Swallowing, he started: ‘It doesn’t mean a lot of things, but mostly, it doesn’t mean that we have to get all wrapped up in the specifics. We figure out how best to help the client and we move on, Rex.’ Eddie could tell by the set of Rex’s features that this wasn’t sitting well with him, and he sighed. ‘You are more than welcome to… detective your little heart out, but don’t forget we have three people coming in tomorrow alone that are going to have the exact same situation.’ With that, Eddie went off to work on his own things. Rex’s turn to sigh. He knew Eddie was right.
But just a couple more hours; he could finalise and delineate what he’d already worked out so that Jameson would be able to easily follow it. Then he’d move on.
Generally, people don’t remember back beyond being about six or seven years old once they reach a certain older age. Too much extra data, too many spare memories running into one another – the majority of people are lucky if they can manage snapshots in first person from anything prior to the start of their school career. You can though. Granted, not many, but the memories that do shine through do so with a brilliance that stings the eyes and dulls the other senses out of sheer self-preservation. You’ve figured it to be because the memories don’t run into one another, but rather stand erect and influential as the day they were formed, entirely concrete and distinguishable if only because they are the majority of a few that manage to capture those specific feelings.
His paternal grandparents came over that week, as well as his mother’s father, since his mother’s mother had already passed on, and there was cooing and cuddling over slightly watery tea. (Grandma got a little excited when it was her turn to hold the baby and poured it a bit early.)
When Remus Lupin was one year old, he didn’t babble quite like the one year olds his parents knew, preferring to use fractured sentences with real words instead of filling in gaps with noises. His favourite thing, though, was bouncing up and down in that seat that hung from the doorway in the kitchen.
When Remus Lupin was two years old, he’d already had quite enough of cribs and having to do things on other people’s schedules. He was tolerant of it, but distinctively more pleased when allowed to toddle about the house on his own.
When Remus Lupin was three years old, he decided he wanted to be a dinosaur when he grew up.
When Remus Lupin was four years old, he changed his mind to zookeeper.
When Remus Lupin was five years old, lots of things changed, including him. Several times.
When Remus Lupin was six years old, he was generally on the edgy side and tended to speak less often than he had done before. The neighbour commented on how well-behaved he always was when his mother started working more often and Mrs. Lowell took care of him on occasion. Whichever parent was picking him up always gave a little smile and nodded and said thank you and then they and Remus would have a quiet walk home.
When Remus Lupin was seven years old, he got really tired of drinking potions, but kept doing it anyway because his parents seemed to get quite sad after he’d said he didn’t want to anymore.
When Remus Lupin was eight years old, he broke his arm trying to ride his dad’s old Comet 240. When they arrive, the front desk informs them they must go to the magical creatures division in order to receive treatment. His mother is angry, his father puts both hands on his son’s shoulders and walks on down with him. A couple of days later, his arm is just fine, and they all go back home. When he was eight, he learned that not everyone was the same.
When Remus Lupin was nine, he decided being a zookeeper or a dinosaur or whatever else he’d thought he wanted to be was stupid – particularly the dinosaur idea – and quietly decided that he didn’t really care what he wound up doing anyway, even though he knew he really did.
When Remus Lupin was ten, he met Albus Dumbledore and the entire world turned around for a second time.
When Remus Lupin was eleven, he was surprised to find himself in a house for brave people, and much more surprised to discover that he was apparently going to have friends ‘whether he liked it or not’, as both of them so gracefully put it. He even got another one a few months further on.
When Remus Lupin was twelve, he was horrified to learn what a terrible liar he was, frightened of his friends after they began showing signs of knowing, and then absolved of both and pushed into a state of happiness he hadn’t thought possible when they told him they didn’t think it mattered.
When Remus Lupin was thirteen, he burned his hand on the ladder to the divination classroom and decided to take arithmancy instead, even if it was all maths and somewhat less interesting to him.
When Remus Lupin was fourteen, not a whole lot happened.
When Remus Lupin was fifteen, far too many things did. He took his OWLS and did better than he had expected, not that he was convinced it would result in anything in the end. By this point he had decided that even if the education would mean nothing, he would fully make the use of it for the sheer point of all the work done by other people solely so that he could have it in the first place. He also nearly killed someone else, which weighed quite heavily on him for a while even if it wasn’t his fault.
When Remus Lupin was sixteen, there were suddenly stories about scary people running about in masks. There were also meetings about what to take at NEWT level, and an interesting and confusing relationship with a girl.
When Remus Lupin was seventeen, graduation felt as though it was probably quite a bit more bittersweet to him than it was to most of his classmates. It wasn’t something he minded, and outwardly he looked just as pleased as he ever managed to do, but at the same time he couldn’t help but feel as though it were quite possible that the happiest part of his life had just come to an end. Of course, just after this thought, he told himself he was being over-dramatic, and let Sirius smash a piece of pie on his face with glee, even though he’d seen it coming.
When Remus Lupin was eighteen, he looked up from what he was doing every now and then and took a moment to register how surprised he was that he seemed to be fighting in a war.
When Remus Lupin was nineteen, he didn’t realise how close he was to dying several times throughout the year, and the older adults he was working with made sure this particular realisation never dawned.
When Remus Lupin was twenty, the war ended very abruptly, but at a cost that he thought – somewhat selfishly in his own opinion – was probably too high.
When Remus Lupin was twenty-one, he felt extraordinarily aimless.
When Remus Lupin was twenty-two, not a whole lot happened again. This time he was really quite pleased about it.
When Remus Lupin was twenty-three, he had three jobs at once, then one, then four for a very brief period of time, and then none. Having the four was, he conceded, a little too much even for him, but having none at all was just as exhausting for entirely different reasons altogether.
When Remus Lupin was twenty-four, the muggle world seemed to not be able to decide whether it wanted to make good films, or really really terrible ones, and either way you went with it, he decided that A Nightmare on Elm Street was cheesy and scary both for oddly similar reasons.
When Remus Lupin was twenty-five, he ran into Emmeline Vance purely by chance and spent the afternoon having a light lunch and reminiscing about people and times gone by, and things seemed to perk up a little in general.
When Remus Lupin was twenty-six, he got clipped by a bus in muggle London simply because he was uncharacteristically unobservant that afternoon. It wasn’t much of a serious injury, much to the amazement of the bystanders, and healed relatively quickly, but made him a bit paranoid about walking around for a few months.
When Remus Lupin was twenty-seven, the Wolfsbane potion was still in fledgling research stages, but he managed to write and converse with one of the scientists working on its creation for a few weeks. It wouldn’t be effective to any helpful degree until he was about thirty-one, and he wouldn’t be able to afford it at any point, but that didn’t stop him being very cautiously excited at the time regardless.
When Remus Lupin was twenty-eight, he tried to help do some editing for a book called ‘The Invisible Book of Invisibility’, but after ostensibly receiving several copies and never managing to locate any of them, politely wrote back to the lady and explained that this was a particular job he was not likely to be able to complete. She seemed quite understanding, having been having a difficult time attempting to ship ‘empty crates’ anyway.
When Remus Lupin was twenty-nine, jobs became nearly impossible to get at all, thanks to new legislation passed by the Ministry of Magic. One of his friends ruefully noticed that finding a job at all was now more of an occupation than actually having one. He politely remarked that would mean that not much would change.
When Remus Lupin was thirty, he discovered he was really not a big fan of gazpacho.
When Remus Lupin was thirty-one, he learned that his best friend’s son started his own time at Hogwarts and was sorted into the same house his father had been, and quietly hoped to himself that the boy would find as much of a home in the castle as he himself had done.
When Remus Lupin was thirty-two, Albus Dumbledore started sending him letters asking him to accept a teaching position at Hogwarts. He, in his own stubbornness, politely refused for several reasons he was then obliged to delineate specifically across a series of letters then exchanged at a rate that might have bordered on the harassing had they not come from that specific individual.
When Remus Lupin was thirty-three, he found himself quite startled by the sudden appearance of Minerva McGonagall at his kitchen window during the few minutes he was spending washing his dishes. It was only quick reflexes that saved the third of what had once been a six plate set from shattering on the floor. A few months later, he found himself walking into his very old, new, professorial office.
Technically, it was when Remus Lupin was thirty-four that he ran into a friend he hadn’t set eyes on in over a decade, and amusingly, things felt a little brighter with Black around.
When Remus Lupin was thirty-five, he felt like he was fifteen again fairly often.
When Remus Lupin was thirty-six, he lost a friend for the second time, and then agreed to go undercover to try and convince people ‘like him’ that they should fight for a group of people who had never given them anything. Unsurprisingly, he returned as empty-handed as he’d been when he left.
When Remus Lupin was thirty-seven, he realised he was going to be in a relationship with a very silly girl with very silly hair who had very silly ideas about what sort of men were suitable for her, and shortly afterwards realised he was very, very much in love with her regardless of how very, very silly the idea was.
When Remus Lupin was thirty-eight, he locked eyes with his wife from across the room in the instant before Dolohov’s curse had him fall to the ground, having known precisely where she’d been at the time and looking to her almost as an apology for failing to protect himself adequately. Upon finding himself nearly instantly a kilometre away in the forest and twenty years younger, he decided that the afterlife really wasn’t any less strange than the life had been.
When Remus Lupin died, there was similarly little commotion to things.
He willed himself to slow down his paces, pushing the doors that lead out of the only mildly personally humiliating and morally degrading office open much more casually than he felt before he continued on to the next, and the next, until finally, he was at the last, which he opened quickly, only a little bit, to slide through to the other side and quietly close it behind him. A pause. His nerves were on fire and whether it was because he’d just been sort of an idiot about just leaving a place he had been countless times before, or whether the nerves were just not used to being used on account of his having been dead for a year, or maybe it was the idea itself, that he was dead for a year and now he was alive and filling out paperwork - how mundane, how much more proof could you get to insist you were alive.
I know it’ll never be the same
No, It never can
It never will
It never shall return again
I know that everything is different now
I see a difference in your face
In the carrying
A subtle lacking in your grace
I miss the sparkle in your smile
Where did it go
Oh might I have your map
To find something that I lost
Though I don’t think that it will
Or anywhere that I can see
I read the story in your heart
With every pulse
And every beat
It’s telling me a different part
Even though I don’t think it will finish
I listen to the music in your eyes
They always have me hypnotized
I hope that someday I can play along
To follow the beat
It was a shame the willow had destroyed the boy’s broom; he felt quite guilty about that, it having been planted for him specifically. Watching Harry fly had been a few precious moments of wonderful memories to play out – projected in front of him on a borderless, boundless screen. Today he’d even watched from the Gryffindor box by accident, rather than the general one that most of the school staff tended to use.
That had probably added to the vibrancy of it all. The familiar angle of things.
The boy brings up dementors and he feels as though he should have expected that a little more, relying on textbook definitions to offer comfort. Another familiar angle. This time it doesn’t work. The new subject is less expected than its begetter, and leaves him with much less to rely on. No textbooks for this. Knee-jerk reactions are rethought as jerkily as they were formed, and instead of attempting comfort, he goes back to his briefcase because the last attempt seemed to go quite badly. Accidentally pinches his thumb in the clasp, too.
Harry manages to go three for three and he knocks his briefcase completely off the desk this time. He can’t decide whether he actually enjoys talking to this anthropomorphised version of his past. (He certainly hadn’t been expecting this when he had initiated the thing.) Particularly when he is already feeling the pull which is in turn already reminding him of that same past, while making him tired so all his defenses are so much more feeble than otherwise. All of this causes him to revert to clinical – only two coping mechanisms, this guy – until he’s asked for ‘Dementor lessons’.
“I don’t pretend to be an expert at fighting dementors, Harry … Quite the contrary… .”
“But if the dementors come to another Quidditch match , I need to be able to fight them – ”
He hesitates for a moment. James. It’s so hard to not see James. It’s even harder to not see Lily, and all the things that both of them ever did for him, from the big things he feels eternal gratitude for, all the way down to the friendship they gave him that he feels blessed to have experienced. But he’s not a duelist, or a.-a … some sort of monster tamer. He looks down at Harry’s face and, even knowing all of that, he’s logically aware of the danger Harry faces – of course he will teach him. He must, or he’s doing a disservice to his friends and sullying the brightest memories he holds. And he not only doesn’t have it in him to do so; he’s fairly certain it will destroy a very good part of his soul if he does. But this. Perhaps doing this will cause the memories and his soul to shine all the brighter and more vibrantly.
“Well … alright. I’ll try and help.”