The Little Countryside Cottage
"Pour la pièce de résistance," Reese hummed absently to herself as she carefully stirred the steaming pot of strawberry sauce and, with a deft hand, she poured the sauce over a slice of creamy, decadent cheesecake, the aroma of the dessert filling the air. Sliding the plate onto the dining table behind her, she pinched her fingers to her lips, "Fantastique!"
"Fantastique en effet!" Her father's countenance was adorned with a genial grin, and his eyes curved with tenderness, signifying his approval.
The familiar sting of the December cold permeated Reese's home, its presence expected yet devoid of the suffocating foreboding that had plagued Hogwarts in recent months. Returning to her childhood sanctuary wrapped her in a comforting embrace, a haven of warmth and security. The room enveloped her senses, still carrying the delicate traces of long-extinguished candles and the cherished scent of well-worn books. Blankets lay casually strewn about, lending an air of cozy disarray, while the walls adorned themselves with an endearing chaos of posters and photographs. A vintage record player nestled on the floor resounded with the haunting melodies of "Space Oddity," its ethereal notes filling the entire house. As each gust of snow danced by, the windows gently diffused the waning light of the dark orange sunset.
Quietly slipping through the hallway in her pajamas, Reese tentatively poked her head into the dark living room. A solitary lamp graced the side table, casting a gentle radiance that enveloped the space, revealing her father's countenance illuminated by its soft glow. He sat engrossed, leafing through a cherished collection of weathered photographs. Silently, Reese approached, sinking into a nearby cushion, nestling her face against the warmth of his shoulder, eager to catch a glimpse of whatever held his undivided attention.
"She's pretty." Reese remarked, her head tilting in contemplation as her gaze lingered upon the photograph capturing a young woman amidst a vast field. The image encapsulated the very essence of her natural allure and elegance, as she stood gracefully among a tapestry of wildflowers. Luxuriant auburn tresses cascaded down her back in gentle waves, accentuating her ethereal charm. Clad in a simple white dress, the hem of which fluttered with each playful gust of wind, she exuded an otherworldly aura. Her face, turned slightly to the side, bore a serene expression, her eyes closed as if luxuriating in the sun's warm embrace and the tender caress of the breeze. Bathed in the golden rays beneath the expanse of a deep blue sky, adorned with fluffy clouds that added to the overall sense of tranquility, she embodied an undeniable allure. "Really pretty."
A warm smile graced her father's face as he uttered the name, "Lily," with a tender fondness, passing the photograph to Reese, inviting her to explore the rest. The stack of memories was divided, and Reese cradled one portion in her lap, ready to embark on this journey of remembrance.
With a nod of acknowledgment, Reese recalled Lily's significance. Her thoughts wandered to Harry, burdened by the weight of the positions thrust upon him, year after year. Despite his history with Voldemort, he remained under suspicion as the alleged antagonist of Hogwarts' Muggle-borns. Reese chewed her cheek in contemplation, the boy captured in the photo bearing a striking resemblance to Harry: the same circular glasses and untamed raven locks, yet lacking the distinctive lightning scar.
“James?” Reese asked, and Dad glanced over with a frown.
”Yes.” After a period of silence, Dad adds, “Is he all right? Harry?”
Reese hesitated. People were being rendered unconscious husks of their former selves and Harry was being blamed for all of it. “As good as he can be, I think. They all…think it’s him.” Dad closed his eyes with a sigh as she continued. “It’s all rubbish, of course, but—most people do suspect it.”
Returning his gaze to the photos of Lily and James, her father stared into their captured images as if longing to transcend the boundaries of reality and metaphysically enter the pictures himself.
“He has her eyes,” Reese muttered.
“And his smile,” Dad whispered.
Nestling herself comfortably at her father's side, Reese observed attentively as he gingerly thumbed through each photograph, weaving a tale of significance and memories associated with every captured moment. With meticulous care, he separated certain photographs into a distinct pile, keeping them out of Reese's sight, while dutifully sharing the stories behind the remaining images.
“This was a very big Quidditch match. It stretched on endlessly, testing the limits of endurance, but in the end, Gryffindor emerged triumphant. James boasted about it for the next month.” He reflected, grinning at the memory. Reese's eyelids weighed heavy with drowsiness, the soft, warm glow of the fire dancing through her closed eyes.
As he began to recount the events of one of their photographed pranks, Reese fluttered her eyes open and began to rifle through pictures herself. Her fingertips traced along the most weathered photograph, feeling the slight resistance of frayed edges against her skin. It was a testament to the countless times her father must have poured over its contents, the memories held within etched deep into his mind.
Beneath the majestic shelter of a towering oak tree, Remus sat in peaceful repose, his countenance bearing the undeniable traces of sixteen summers past. His lean figure reclined against the tree trunk, exuding an air of tranquility, while an open tome lay upon his lap, capturing his unwavering attention. Clad in a pair of relaxed jeans, now lovingly adopted by Reese, and a well-worn jumper, Remus effortlessly emanated an understated charm. As the sun's gentle rays filtered through the leafy canopy above, they painted a mosaic of shadows upon his face, enhancing his features with a touch of soft luminosity. In tandem with Reese's disused Converse, which now lay abandoned by the entryway, the gentle rays of sunlight filtering through the arboreal foliage painted an intricate and shaded tapestry upon his countenance, which bore an expression of genuine delight.
Yet, the focal point of Reese's unwavering gaze rested not on Remus nor his apparel, but rather on the captivating figure resting peacefully upon his shoulder. A strikingly handsome youth, with cascading raven tresses that failed to conceal the unwavering intensity of his piercing azure irises, exuded an aura of eternal adoration that held Reese in thrall. The amalgam of mirthful grins that graces both their faces conveys an effervescence of spirit and a camaraderie that transcends the confines of spoken language. Through their nonverbal cues, one can perceive an intangible, unspoken connection that binds them in a profound bond. The vibrant aura of their youthful dynamism and zest is almost palpable, radiating from the photograph as if offering a tantalizing glimpse into a bygone era. The background is almost blurry as if taken clandestinely. Its seemingly furtive quality suggests an impromptu capture of an intimate moment between the two young men. Despite its seemingly hastened production, the photograph manages to encapsulate a precious instant of genuine connection between them. Reese, enamored with the snapshot, cannot help but smile at the endearing scene it depicts. On the bottom of the photograph, scrawled in messy ink, read “April ‘76, taken by Peter!”
“Who is he?” Reese cast a furtive glance in her father's direction, only to discover him lost in a reverie, his countenance etched with a sense of discomfort and his mandible tightly clamped. The photograph, in all its nostalgia-laden glory, evoked memories of a bygone era - a time of greater simplicity, and the eternal potency of camaraderie that knows no temporal or spatial bounds. A symbol of the power of friendship that transcends time and distance. Yet, it appeared that her father was not quite ready to confront those memories, and the evocative image served as a poignant reminder of that which he would rather have forgotten. “Dad?”
He tore his eyes away from the photo, his eyes transfixed on Reese for an extended moment, his emotions evidently in conflict. The space between them grew laden with unspoken words and unexpressed sentiments. In that poignant silence, Reese mustered the courage to offer an escape.
”You don’t—you don’t have to tell me—“
”No, no.” Dad shook his head, "He was an old friend of mine."
Was. Reese pondered his use of the word. Had he died? Did they have a falling out? Did they hate each other? As she cast her gaze downwards towards the photograph, the glint of unwavering affection in the captured boy's eyes seemed to belie any notion of ill will or animosity between the two of them, rendering such a notion unfathomable to her.
"An old friend of yours." Reese echoed her father's words, her tone dry and devoid of conviction. Her gaze remained steadfast on the two young men in the photograph, their affectionate bond still captivating her attention. Try as she might, she simply could not divert her eyes from the image. "Okay." She finally conceded, her voice carrying a mixture of resignation and intrigue.
"Reese," her father's voice cut through the silence, his tone suddenly serious and somber. She tilted her head upwards to meet his gaze, her expression quizzical and intrigued. He proceeded to speak with grave intensity, his words heavy with meaning. "He and I had...some differences of opinion. And he's made terrible choices. But it's important for you to know that he was once a very good man. Do you understand?"
Reese blinked a few times, her mind reeling from the gravity of her father's words, before nodding slowly in acknowledgment. "Yes,"
But as she confined herself to her room that night as the sun sunk deeper beneath the Earth and the moon rose higher into the sky, she mulled over her father's cryptic words, trying to decipher their meaning and the significance they held for her. Questions swirled through her head like a tempest, each more urgent and pressing than the last. Why was it so crucial for her to know? What had this person done to warrant her father's disillusionment with him? Who was he, and what kind of impact had he had on her father's life? Above all, she couldn't shake off the nagging question that consumed her: Why was he no longer a good person? What had transpired to erode his once noble character? The answers to these enigmas eluded her, and Reese was left alone with her thoughts, grappling with the elusive nature of the truth.
🗡🗡🗡
Amidst the impending doom that awaited Reese upon her return to the bleak halls of Hogwarts, she found herself momentarily lost in a state of blissful contentment.
Nestled at the edge of a sleepy Muggle village, their quaint cottage emerged like a haven, ensconced in the embrace of towering sentinels of nature. The majestic trees, reaching towards the heavens, formed a verdant fortress, guarding against the chaotic world beyond. A delicate ballet of snowflakes, like ethereal performers on a grand stage, wove a tapestry of serenity and beauty, their graceful descent transforming the landscape into a winter wonderland. With every twirl and pirouette, they created a symphony of silence, their delicate melody capable of soothing even the most weary souls. It was a tableau of peace, where time seemed to stand still, granting Reese a respite from the encroaching storm that lay ahead.
But inside, a roaring fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow and filling the room with a welcoming ambiance. The air was perfumed with the scent of fresh pine and the sweet aroma of cinnamon. When the sun reached its zenith, they would venture into the wintry expanse outside, embracing the chill that kissed their cheeks. Clad in their snug coats, scarves, and hats, they embarked on a playful endeavor of crafting amateur snowmen in the front yard. Side by side, they gathered handfuls of snow, shaping and molding it with meticulous care, rolling it into a substantial ball. Their collaborative efforts yielded a frosty masterpiece, soon adorned with jaunty carrots as noses, lending a whimsical touch to their creation. With rosy cheeks and hearts brimming with joy, they would then retreat indoors, carrying with them the tangible evidence of their winter escapade.
By night, they would read together. Dad and Reese would sit on the couch, wrapped in blankets, with a large stack of books and a plate of gingerbread cookies on the coffee table between them. Discussing topics ranging from news at Hogwarts to the unfolding events in both the wizarding and Muggle realms, they savored the rare opportunity to indulge in each other's company. In these treasured moments, the cacophony of the outside world faded into insignificance. The weight of scholarly demands and clandestine secrets relinquished their grip, allowing Reese to revel in the sheer joy of unfettered companionship. No longer burdened by the encroaching darkness, her nights were free from the unexpected encounters with unresponsive bodies, the disquieting whispers of impending danger, and the ceaseless trials posed by vexatious classmates. Instead, an atmosphere of harmony and peace enveloped them, nourishing their souls and fostering a sense of serene continuity that had long eluded them.
As Christmas progressed, however, Reese would notice the melancholic look in her father's eyes. She vaguely knew of the difficulty and resentment that came with the holidays: these times reminded him of the ones he loves just as saliently as the ones he has lost. He is reminded of the loneliness that comes not only with being a werewolf but being a Lupin. Reese yearned to alleviate her father's burden, to dispel the haunting shadows that clouded his spirit during this time of year. Yet, she understood that some wounds run deep and cannot be healed by mere gestures or well-intentioned words.
On the auspicious morning of Christmas, the cottage was festooned with bespoke ornaments and dazzling lights, the aroma of newly baked biscuits and mince pies wafting in the air. This was a festive occasion that Reese eagerly awaited. She had always preferred the devastating weather. The weight of the snow would obscure the windows, muffling the sound of the harsh winds that howled beyond the glass. In these moments, she felt cocooned in a tranquil oasis, shielded from the turbulent nature of the elements. Their tree was homely and scrawny, and any ornaments added weighed down the flimsy branches.
It was a classically Lupin Christmas that Reese never wanted to end.
As Reese untied the twine and carefully unwrapped the brown paper, her eyes alighted on the new set of quills and parchment that her father had given her. The quills were sleek and modern, yet there was a timeless quality to them that spoke to the love and care that had gone into selecting them. Along with the quills, she found a collection of chocolate frogs, each one carefully wrapped and arranged in a neat row, as well as three Muggle books depicting literary fiction.
As she tore open the wrapping paper of the last present remaining, Reese's hands clutched around a pretty, small leather-bound book. Its intricate details glimmered in the light as she turned it over in her hands. It was quite gorgeous, and she flipped through the blankly lined pages wistfully.
"It's a journal." He explained. "I thought it might be nice for you to record your thoughts—it can be a good way to sort through things and make sense of them."
Reese smiled, looking up at him with gratitude. "Thank you."
"Of course. I have one more." Dad added hastily, turning to reach over the arm of the couch to acquire a small box that lay beside a glowing lamp. "I was going to give it to you on your birthday, but I think you're old enough now. And I want to be with you when you receive it."
The small jewelry box is exquisitely crafted, with a delicate design that belies the valuable treasure within. Made of polished rosewood, it has a rich, warm tone that complements the sparkling contents inside. The small container, though minuscule, feels weighty and substantial, a testament to the value of its contents.
The bracelet nestled inside is a sight to behold: it is made of pure silver, which has been polished to a high shine and features a series of intricate links that form a delicate chain. The links are arranged in such a way that they seem to flow and move, creating a sense of fluidity and grace that is simply mesmerizing to behold. As she looked more closely, utterly enchanted, the charms are made of a variety of precious stones, each one carved with intricate designs that speak to the skill and artistry of the craftsman who created them. The effect is one of understated elegance and sophistication, and Reese finds herself nervous simply being in the mere proximity of it.
As her eye catches the crest engraved on the bracelet's clasp, however, a motto in Latin reads:
Toujours Pur
Black