Hard to Breathe
.................................................
Remus jolted awake to a slamming door crashing into his consciousness, leaving him disoriented, unsure whether the sound came from an unnamed nightmare or reality's harshness. The following sound—a heart-wrenching sob—snapped him into clarity. He attempted to leap into action, but the moment turned into a clumsy stumble as he pushed aside the blanket someone had draped over him. His heavy body, weighed down by exhaustion, and his thundering head begged him to stay still. But his concern battled his pain, and Pandora's fractured voice tipped the scales.
"W-where's Robyn?" his friend's voice trembled, laced with anxiety which skyrocketed his own.
As if summoned by a name that had become more his by the day, he found himself staggering toward the stairs, the world tilting dangerously around him. Wouldn't it be funny if he tumbled down them? He was pretty sure Aberforth would kill him should that happen. There would be so much blood on his precious floors then.
"It's almost two in the morning," Aberforth's voice cut through the haze in a pacifying tone, holding a concerned edge that went resolutely ignored. "So he better be sleeping. The kid needs it. He's out like the dead. I doubt he'd—"
"Pandora," Robyn called, his words slurred and thick, barely recognisable even to his own ears. A warm trickle slid down his face, and he instinctively brushed at it with his hand, feeling the sticky, rubbery substance that made his stomach turn. Tears? No way was he going to shed them amidst his friend's distress. He didn't quite register his sleeve coming away red rather than wet, too distracted by his body begging him to collapse, exhaustion and worry clawing at his insides. Aberforth's muttering—"Fucking, of course, he's awake"—served as a dull backdrop to his racing thoughts.
"Robyn!" Pandora wailed, her voice breaking, and her newly released tears sent waves of despair crashing against him. He felt an involuntary grimace threatening to form, but his face remained unresponsive, not working right and feeling oddly numb.
He blinked as Aberforth seemed to materialise beside him, curses spilling from the man's lips about reckless youths, their foolishness, and 'damn death wishes'. With a firm grip, he slung one of Robyn's arms across his shoulders, hoisting him up from the ground with a strength that contrasted sharply with the boy's feebleness.
"Don't think my dragging your sorry ass downstairs means I'm in support of your sacrificial stupidity," he barked, though concern laced his tone, again going ignored.
Something scratchy brushed against Robyn's cheek, returning some life to his dulled senses. Fleabag? No, that couldn't be right. Maybe he should be alarmed, but all his energy remained devoted to staying awake. He had to prioritise.
"You need to sleep, kid. You look like a ghost, pale as shit, and your attempt to cover up that bloody nose is just damn pitiful," Abrforth kept grumbling the whole way down the moving staircase. No, wait, they weren't in Hogwarts. Were they? Panic flitted across his mind before he wrested it back.
"Be gentle with the moron. He thought it'd be clever to cast a spell that even grown-ass adults struggle with," Aberforth continued, his gruffness masking genuine concern.
"What? Robyn, are you okay?" Pandora's voice hovered around him, anxious and insistent.
Nod.He could nod, right? How did he nod? "Mm," he managed, pleased with his success, even as his surroundings blurred and spun. He felt something hard under his butt, vaguely comprehending the stool Aberforth lowered him onto, his awareness flickering like a candle in a storm. His vision spun with grey spots, much like the disorienting haze that had clung to him after his encounter with the Inferi. Had he somehow stumbled into more of them? Would this joke about always being in the middle of trouble never cease? Did the universe not get that he wanted a peaceful life? He'd settle for momentary serenity, perhaps just a moment without upheaval?
"That's not Robyn," a young girl's voice sliced through his thoughts, matter-of-fact and piercing, starkly different from Pandora's. Lily? No, wrong name. Patricia? No, the voice belonged to someone more an acquaintance than a friend. Marlene? Dear Godric, please, not her—
"What do you mean it's not Robyn?" Dumbledore's voice interjected sharply. No, Sirius? No… Aberforth! Yes, Aberforth. Robyn could focus; he just needed a moment. Recovering from… a full moon was exhausting. Oh no! Was he injured around Aberforth again? How was he going to explain? Exhaustion surged through him, convincing him that caring about that wasn't worth the effort. Heh, Aberforth might be rubbing off on him already.
"Ignore the little liar," Pandora snapped, her voice tinged with an unfamiliar intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. Had she known he was a lying liar who lied this whole time? Perhaps he wasn't as skilled at the facade as he liked to believe. Or maybe it was that he was doing too much of it? "She's a habitual liar. I hoped she'd stop for two minutes, but she can't seem to help herself."
"But I—" the younger girl began, her tone heated.
"Emma, enough! Now is not the time!" Mrs. Vance cried, her voice splintered with grief, a piercing sound that resonated through the air like an open wound. The metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the room, sharp and overwhelming. Who'd gotten hurt?
"Is…he okay?" His friend Panera asked hesitantly. No, Pandora. Get it together, Remus. No, Robyn?
"No, pretty sure that idiot has never been okay a day in his life," Aberforth huffed, coating his concern in familiar dismissiveness.
Hey! He wanted to protest, but if he opened his mouth, he'd surely taste blood, the scent overpowering. But he only managed to keep silent, feeling the sting of unfairness wash over him. After all, four-year-old Remus certainly didn't deserve such disparagement. Thank you very much.
"Uh, he's bleeding…."
"Fucking….Help me, Helga! Yeah, it happens when you try to force more magic out of yourself than you're prepared for. The kid's gonna be the death of me, I swear. I should've forced him back to bed, but the prat was worried and typically doesn't take 'no' for an answer."
"I'm sorry, we'll leave for my cousin's in the morning. I didn't know where to go, and the Aurors said to seek safety, not immediate family. I know this isn't an official safe house exactly, and we shouldn't have—"
"No. Don't start, Elise," Aberforth interrupted, annoyance cutting through his tone. "A friend of Albus is a friend of mine. Thanks to a certain someone, I've already put up with enough useless apologies for a lifetime. I don't want to hear more of it."
"He's d-dying," a small voice piped up unsurely. "He helped my friend, and now he's dying. I don't want more dying!" The child's anguished wail shattered the fragile tension, setting off a cascade of tears running down innocent cheeks as despair surrounded them.
"I'll uh…get everyone some tea. I'm so sorry about all of this," the bashful pub owner sighed, sounding as lost as Robyn felt.
"I thought you said no unnecessary apologies."
"Heh, fair enough," Aberforth laughed weakly.
The blur that was Pandora's mother shifted, the outline coming into sharper focus amid the chaos. "We appreciate being able to hide here," she murmured, her voice trembling with an undercurrent of tension. "The… well, the organisation— you know the one— is deeply concerned about its safety. We might be targeted again as a result. No, don't apologise again; you're as bad as your nephew. We understood the risks from the very start."
"Pandora didn't," a small voice piped up, asserting itself with the fragile strength of a plummeting feather. "Daddy only told me about his work because he loves…l-loved me the best." The statement oozed with unspoken hurt. If it was a lie this time, no one remarked on it.
Remus finally caught sight of Mrs. Vance, Pandora, and Emma huddled near the door, their postures conveying they could not accept they would have to stay. A wave of longing surged within him, a wish to retreat into the protective grey haze, to dissolve into the confusion that clung to his mind like a dense fog as the surviving Vances came into view. Tear streaks covered their faces, their eyes red and bloodshot, each expression adding to the atmosphere of mourning. An invisible funeral shroud seemed to drape over them, its oppressive presence forcing their shoulders to slump and their gazes to anchor themselves to the floor as if they could glimpse the loved ones they had lost, buried deep beneath them.
"Pandora," he whispered gently, trying to gain her attention amidst the heavy silence. The two girls remained glued to their mother, their last pillar of strength. Remus remembered the comfort he had needed after losing his mum, not that he had been able to hide in his father's embrace. He wondered if he hadn't been a monster if he would have been allowed such solace. Thankfully, the sobbing girls could receive some; he imagined it helped. His heart ached, though he couldn't place why. When Pandora met his gaze, the absence of a sweet treat in her hand or a whimsical smile on her face struck him like a cold draft in an empty room.
"Robyn," she managed to choke out, her voice thick with emotion, seeming as awkwardly caught up on names as he found himself. What could possibly be said to pierce the shadows of such horror? He wrestled with the memories of everything he had been told, only to quickly discard them, knowing that wasn't the well he needed to tap into. What he needed to say felt like grasping at straws, his wanting to help her surely far too lofty a goal. They had only been friends for less than two weeks, yet she occupied a vital space within him. Perhaps it came from her being a beacon of light in his shadow-infested summer, or maybe it was because the lost look dipped in despair reflecting in those pale blue eyes cast a mirror on a younger him.
Did the length of their friendship even matter when she faced such crushing grief? He had been unable to console Ryan during the dawn of the boy's deep loss, and he couldn't save Sirius, whose haunting grey eyes spoke of an entirely different torment. But now, he could be there for Pandora. And perhaps, just perhaps, that would be enough.
In a silent plea, he extended his hands toward her, a wordless invitation to seek the little comfort he could offer. A fleeting shadow of a smile flickered across her lips, and she took a tentative step toward him before pausing, uncertainty etched on her youthful face. For the first time, attributing the hesitancy in someone touching him to him being a werewolf didn't cross his mind.
"I might look like death warmed over, but you won't break me," he assured her quietly, unsure how true that was. He now possessed a lurking fear he hadn't considered before: during the next full moon, successfully casting such a necessary spell to save his life might be the very thing that ended it. A troubling revelation illuminated the edges of his mind. Still, it danced beyond his reach, his slippery panic unable to wrangle the thought that surpassed devastating, one that taunted him with its ungrasped implications.
"Maybe I'm worried I'll break," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
I won't break you, he instinctively wanted to promise. The werewolf wanted to inscribe his vow in blood, sealing himself into an unbreakable oath never to hurt anyone and avoid becoming the monster society deemed him doomed to be. Yet somewhere deep down, he understood the deeper meaning behind Pandora's self-consciousness.
"You won't be the first girl to cry on my shoulder," he offered, attempting to infuse levity with gentle care, though a flicker of doubt washed over him—perhaps his attempt at humour had missed the mark. Remus might feel like he knew Pandora and might glimpse bits of his friends in her, but he knew so little about her. He knew with intimate clarity that the persona one presented to strangers over the summer was, at best, an echo and, at worst, a mask disguising a distressing truth.
As the silence stretched between them, he could feel unease creeping into his chest. His discomfort must have shown on his face, the itching sensation made worse by an audience who witnessed his embarrassing and probably insensitive attempt at distraction. For better or worse, his friends had rubbed off on him.
Fortunately, the guarded expression on Pandora's face began to soften, swayed by his vulnerable awkwardness. "I didn't know you were such a casanova," she quipped, parrying his admittedly juvenile attempt to find footing in this impossible situation with her clumsy statement.
For a moment, the term she crowned him with evaded him. But as she succumbed to the need for comfort, connection, and help, his brain caught up to him. It took every ounce of his willpower to suppress a snort at the absurdity of the ill-suited label. Remus Lupin would never have a lover, let alone multiple! No, the foreign term better suited the characters starring in the fictional books he adored escaping into.
Yet, any remnants of amusement brought about by the offputting comment, combined with the blood loss and his overall stupidity, evaporated at how tightly she squeezed him. Her face pressed into his shoulder as if she never wished to resurface, and the radiant warmth chased away his lingering doubt, creating a cocoon of solace amid the torrent of grief encircling them.
As he scanned the dimly lit room, his gaze fell upon Pandora's little sister, and an overwhelming sense of foolishness washed over him. Emma Vance! The very same Emma who was friends with Regulus Black. The second-year Ravenclaw undoubtedly recognised him as Remus Lupin, the awkward third-year Gryffindor. Their eyes met, his wide with unease, while hers appeared hollow and lost. With a slight shake of her head, she seemed to silently vow to keep his secret safe, a flicker of understanding passing between them.
"Do you want to talk?" he whispered hoarsely to Pandora, forcing down the metallic clinging to his tongue. "About… about…" he clumsily clarified. It didn't make sense. He was usually a little more tactful than this.
"They killed them! They… they came in the middle of the night… fire… a green skull… and blood…" Her voice quivered and broke, choking on grief far too heavy for her fragile frame. A chill settled in Remus' bones, but he shoved his weakness and pain aside, tightening his hold on her protectively.
"I'm sorry," he breathed, the clipped words feeling utterly inadequate against the devastating reality. The sincerity behind them rang hollow when it contrasted with the enormity of her loss.
Pandora shuddered, her breath shaky as she seemed to brace herself for the onslaught of sorrowful tidings her future held. He knew those well, and he hated them. He knew better than to give useless condolences now. The werewolf was painfully aware of his shortcomings; he needed to improve. Being a good friend was one of the precious few things he could hold onto. And Remus understood the deadly combination the twin blades of grief and guilt brought with them. He understood what she was experiencing….to some degree. What had he desperately wanted to hear in a time like this?
"I'm glad you escaped," he whispered, hoping that perhaps she would find solace in his words one day. Yet, should grief envelop her soul as all-consuming as his own had, he doubted the flame of relief at agreeing with his sentiment would ignite for a long time.
“My older brother… and dad… they were in the lab… working… I don't know on what."
Remus let her ramble, knowing there was little else he could do. He wasn't sure how it happened, but they were both kneeling on the floor now, the crusty feeling of bloody clothes between them.
"I told you what," Emma pouted, unmoored and desperate to find footing. Remus had the strange impulse to bring her into the hug; the sight of the little girl with her arms wrapped tightly around herself stirred something inside him. But Mrs Vance came at the call of her youngest, no doubt sensing the brewing breakdown with a motherly instinct despite how stubborn and angry the warning cry had rung.
Pandora didn't bother answering, and whether the youngest girl's declaration rang true or not seemed as insignificant at the moment as what the Vance men had been working on, which seemingly got them killed.
With gentle authority, Mrs Vance swept Emma into her arms, enveloping her in love and safety. Remus' eyes burned, and he looked away quickly, feeling the woman's gaze zero in on him for a moment before she whispered to Emma, "let's give your sister privacy. I bet we can help Aberforth make the best hot chocolates ever." The sad attempt at normalcy roused a humourless giggle from Emma, more aching sob than mirth, and the two disappeared.
A silence stretched between him and Pandora as he fought to rein in his emotions, which pressed against his heart with such force that he feared it would break.
"She doesn't know what she's talking about, she never knows," Pandora defended, an undercurrent of resentment shining through.
Having never experienced the sibling rivalry that Sirius and Peter often complained about, Remus could only imagine that the tug of war between siblings for their parent's love and affection could be as brutal as it appeared complicated. "You did mention something about compulsive lying," he murmured, hoping that hadn't been a bizarre hallucination. But the storm in his mind had finally started to quiet, permitting him to think more clearly, a necessity as he navigated these choppy waters.
"The worst kind," Pandora responded, her voice steeped in a blend of hysteria and sorrow that tightened around his heart. She began to tremble in his embrace, and he instinctively wished he was old enough and strong enough to shield all those he cared about to keep them safe in an increasingly dangerous world. The irony of a werewolf keeping others safe wasn't lost on him...
"I should have tried to save them… but... Emma… she's so young, Robyn. I couldn't… I chose to go after her and not them… I reasoned Mum would… I don't know…" Her voice trailed into a pained whimper, bitter regret burning his nostrils.
"You did what you could in an impossible situation and acted bravely, going after your sister," he reassured her, begging the truth and motivation behind her actions would stick, despite knowing they wouldn't. His desperate words came too soon, while her guilt was too fresh; he was practically choking on it.
"Heh… I'm not a Gryffindor or anything." Her self-deprecating, weak laugh re-centred him. He was too accustomed to comforting fellow Gryffindors. Oops.
"Well, it was the wisest choice then," he quickly amended, inwardly kicking himself.
Her dismissive noise felt like a knife in his heart. He knew the tune echoing madly in her head far too well. He couldn't bear to let her suffer with it; he wouldn't. But forcing the truth upon her wouldn't work. What then? What could he do?
"If…" He paused, inhaling deeply, knowing he treaded on thin ice. But treating her like fragile glass felt wrong—he couldn't bear to see her as anything less than strong. "If you had been with your dad and it was your older brother upstairs, wouldn't you have wanted him to protect Emma?"
She made a more considering noise, and he held his breath. The relief that she hadn't dismissed his words outright or slapped him for his daring helped to soothe the tension in his chest.
"Are you sure you're a Hufflepuff?" she asked, a yawn escaping her lips. He tensed before forcing himself to relax.
Why yes, Robyn is indeed a Hufflepuff; there is nothing strange about that at all. It's not like Robyn is a monster who shouldn't even be attending Hogwarts in the first place...
"Last I checked," he replied evenly, forcing a tinge of humour into his words.
"Well, you could have held your own in Ravenclaw, and then we…" Her voice faded away, leaving an unsaid connection in the air: "Then we could have been friends sooner." This unspoken sentiment spoke volumes about the abrupt yet precious place he had found in her heart, much like she had in his.
What a strange time we live in, Remus thought to himself. He wasn't sure how he would navigate the waters of friendship moving forward with her, but a precious connection had solidified through their shared deeply etched pain. She deserved better than him disappearing without a trace. And, of course, Emma probably wouldn't let him…
Oh, he'd really done it this time, hadn't he?
"I know. I have to admit, Ravenclaw sounds like a wonderful house," he admitted, fantasising for a moment if he had been placed there, only to nearly hyperventilate; he would never have become a Marauder or likely never befriended Lily. No, he wouldn't trade being in Gryffindor for the world.
"The best," she insisted proudly.
"Hey, Hufflepuff is the best," Robyn retorted playfully, clinging to normalcy as tightly as he did her. But she couldn't maintain her facade for long. The moment broke, and she lost her battle, dissolving into gut-wrenching tears.
"I never got to say goodbye," she moaned, her voice muffled as she pressed herself tighter against him. Remus recognised he'd been holding her for far longer than he intended, yet he refused to be the first to let go. "We… we reconciled a bit over… oh, it all seems so silly now… I should have told him I loved him. I miss my d-dad." Years of holding back grimaces and complaints kept the werewolf from whimpering, barely, though he couldn't suppress the flinch. Pandora didn't seem to notice, consumed by her despair. "And D-Danny… he was going to find a cure for Dragonspock. It should have been—"
"Stop that!" he interrupted, voice strained with urgency. "I'm sorry, but you can't think that way. You have just as much capacity for greatness, Pandora. But even more importantly, if it had been you…" Despite his best efforts, his voice broke, and he struggled to suppress the tide of emotion threatening to overflow. The chilling thought of Mrs Vance returning with Emma and Danny, minus Pandora, sent ice coursing through his veins. "There would be so many people who'd miss you. Believe me, there's no good to be found in playing the what-if game." He bit his tongue, doubting Pandora had noticed he'd said more than he meant to. He had revisited the 'what if' game after his mum's death too many times to count, each time knowing it only served to inflict self-torture, a cruel cycle he was often drawn into. But Pandora was better—she genuinely had not been at fault in the tragic loss of her father and brother.
"I do believe you," she hiccuped through her tears, gripping his wet shirt as if her life depended on it. "But that doesn't make this pain go away…"
"It won't, not for a while… but… that just shows how much you love them. They… they were important; they mattered. If they didn't, it wouldn't hurt so much."
"Are you saying it's a good thing?" she snapped, frustration mingling with anguish. Not for the first or tenth time, Remus wished she would let go of him and seek comfort with her mum, who wouldn't muck it up so badly.
"No! Go—Helga, Pandora, of course not! I just—"
"I know... I'm sorry. None of this is your fault… and now I've ruined your shirt."
"Small price to pay for helping a friend," he replied earnestly, hoping to lighten the mood. To his surprise, her next breathy, watery laugh made him reconsider the 'mucking it up' notion. "Besides, it was already covered in blood, so don't feel too bad."
"What on earth were you doing?" she asked, bewildered; her grief momentarily replaced by shock and concern.
Oops. Nope, scratch that. He was definitely mishandling the situation. "I… was bored and decided to challenge myself," he said defensively, a nervous edge creeping into his voice. She started sobbing so hard he thought she might come apart. "P-Pandora?" he squeaked pleadingly, officially way over his head.
"S-sorry… you… sounded… so much like him."
He couldn't tell if she referred to her father or brother, and he dared not ask, feeling too shaken to navigate the minefield of grief and deep emotion that loomed around them. Drawing strength and inspiration from his memories of his mum, he began to hum softly, hoping the melody would bring some comfort as she wept, pouring her entire soul onto his shoulder. Time blurred as she gradually calmed, her painful wails fading into soft whimpers and gentle sniffles, each one piercing his heart anew.
His helplessness ignited into a fierce desire to do something—anything—to end the relentless war that had taken so much from them. He wasn't arrogant like James or Sirius, nor was he naïve enough to believe he could make a meaningful difference, but Helga help him; the longing burned deeply within him.
He didn't know how long he sat there or when Pandora had practically curled up in his lap in her frantic bid to escape her loss. It was undeniably a compromising and intimate positive, unhelpfully highlighted by how high Emma's eyebrows shot up in surprise as she returned with steaming mugs. The rich chocolate smell alone kept him from losing his mind! Mrs. Vance, drained by the tragedy shrouding her life, managed little more than a heavy sigh, which somehow sounded rather condemning. But it was blasted Aberforth's smirk—that misplaced, infuriating smirk—that ultimately made heat rush to his cheeks. He fought the overwhelming urge to jump to his feet and unceremoniously dump Pandora on the ground.
"I… I think she fell asleep," he whispered rather pathetically. Just then, a soft snore escaped Pandora, perfectly timed; it could not have been more well-timed had she been awake and choosing the moment herself. After concentrating on her steady breathing, anything to avoid the gazes of the jury gathered around him, he confirmed she had indeed cried herself to sleep, a phenomenon he was regrettably familiar with.
"Thank you for being such a good friend," Mrs Vance said, her voice sincere, but the emphasis on 'friend' hit Remus like a bombarda maxima. Remus wrestled with the frantic desire to start proclaiming he wasn't even fourteen yet. And the werewolf knew his place well enough to never imagine anything more than friendship with anyone! Still, he suppressed the impulse, not entirely out of his mind yet, though Aberforth's narrowed gaze burning into him brought him to the edge.
"I… It's nothing, really," Robyn gulped, feeling as if he was doing the opposite of appearing unsuspicious. "I'm sure… she would have… preferred having a better friend she… knew longer around…" A real friend, he added silently, cringing at the increasingly high-pitch to his voice.
Fortunately, Mrs Vance appeared to take pity on him. With an innate grace, she swept Pandora into her arms as if she'd been doing so all her life. Oh wait... she had. Okay, maybe he was still somewhat dazed from his plunge into direly too advanced magic. He'd rather blame this night on that than his ineptitude.
"Do you find yourself in positions like this a lot?" Emma asked, her voice dripping with a faux innocence that clashed violently with the horrifying truth that anything out of her mouth could worsen his tentatively stable situation. Remus struggled to swallow; he didn't want to have to leave.
Aberforth's response was immediate and sharp. "What is that supposed to mean?" he barked, his irritation unmistakable. Remus winced at the harshness, declaring Mrs Vance his favourite person as she stepped in. She successfully silenced the brewing storm between them with a stern reminder not to wake Pandora.
Either Emma hadn't fully accepted her role as Remus' secret keeper, she remained too grief-stricken to censure herself completely, or she just liked showing adults couldn't be in charge of her because she belligerently continued as if her mother hadn't interrupted. "He rescued us! Well, mostly Davey, but he and another boy didn't shy away from the gruesome injury or us crying first years." Wonder sparkled in her eyes, and she sounded in awe. Not that Remus cared. Instead, he fumed inwardly.
The way she referred to him—without his real name, meant he would forgive her...mostly. He did not like the way Aberforth was inspecting him at all! It became painfully clear that the pretence of not caring about Robyn's identity had been ripped away, exposed thanks to the war abandoning its victims at their doorstep.
"You said Robyn wasn't his name. What is it? Because your family says you're a liar, but what you just said sounds an awful lot like this troublemaker. You know him from Hogwarts, right?" Aberforth didn't stop staring at him as he spoke, every word laced with suspicion.
Remus didn't dare shoot Emma a pleading look, aware Aberforth was inspecting his every movement, analysing every flicker of his expression instead of suspecting the second year. The werewolf held his breath, anxiety coiling tightly in his chest as he feared being outed—something he could scarcely handle after enduring his friend's suffering over the past hour, perhaps even longer.
Mrs Vance shushed her youngest, shaking her head in disappointment as she proceeded to usher Pandora upstairs. Remus felt a tug of sympathy for Emma, whose family seemed to discount anything she said. Though this complication benefited him, he couldn't shake the feeling that it must hurt Emma deeply. The second-year stood still, arms crossed defiantly around her chest. Remus consciously avoided her gaze as his chest tightened with an uncomfortable ache for air free from mistrust. However, even a twitch would likely give away his guilt, allowing Aberforth to read the deception as intently as the old man scoured the Daily Prophet.
"Did I?" Emma eventually asked, her tone heavy with exhaustion. At that moment, any lingering resentment within Remus toward her fled entirely, replaced by a desire to console her as she took shuddering breaths. However, he remained rigid, unwilling to draw attention to himself. He couldn't fathom how he would explain himself to the Ravenclaw later, but for now, he had managed to avoid digging his grave deeper—a small victory, at least.
"Right," Aberforth groaned, scepticism lacing his voice. "I want the lot of you upstairs to rest. Emma, your mother and sister vanished to the third floor, room 302. And… 'Robyn,' I better not see you surface until noon at the absolute earliest; otherwise, I'll haul your ass to St. Mungo's myself."
Remus nodded, aware further interaction would only deepen his predicament. Despite nearing collapse, he fled to his room, each hurried step fueled by a desperate desire to evade getting ensnared in a conversation with Aberforth or Emma. Only when he finally collapsed onto his bed, pulling the blanket tightly around his weary body, did he dare entertain packing things and leaving. Yet, guilt crushed him at the mere idea of abandoning Pandora. He couldn't bring himself to do that to her, which, as always...left him trapped. And before he could fully grasp how tied to the Hog's Head he had become—the bonds he could no longer ignore—he succumbed to sleep's merciless embrace. He would find himself oblivious come morning to the haunting cries of a little child echoing in the corners of his mind, a ghost from a past he could not escape.