Obsidian & Bronze {Fred Weasley}

9. A long time coming

I very rarely instill my faith in hollow statements presented by the painfully optimistic members of mankind, and this time was no different.

"Good things come to those who wait"

And yet, the past three weeks had consisted of nothing but playing a sinfully boring waiting game, one of which I wasn't even sure I knew how to win.

I couldn't decipher which option was worse. Letting a guilty man walk free whilst an innocent one remained incarcerated, and when I say innocent I am only implying he is not guilty of the crimes he supposedly committed, he is still very much at fault for the abandonment of his only child and all the bullshit that followed, or letting the 'innocent' man in question back into my life?

Was it wrong of me to not want to treat this man the way you would a father?

I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure of anything anymore. Apart from one thing. One thing that pained me to think about, one thing I knew, no matter how desperate my attempts may be, I couldn't escape.

Remus would never forgive me for not letting Sirius into my life.

Because truth be told, my life only existed on the basis that Remus's did too, and if Sirius was not in my life, it would most likely prove difficult for him to be a part of Remus's.

Things hadn't been the same since I stormed out of The Leaky Cauldron just weeks prior. I barely saw Remus between classes, and I had started to assume this was no coincidence, and even during my defence against the dark arts lessons the engagement between him and I always appeared to be kept at a painful minimum.

I wasn't sorry for what I said, maybe for the way I reacted, but certainly not for what I said, I had meant every word of it.

"He made reckless decisions that got him thrown in there in the first place, he was so desperate to be a hero he forgot he was supposed to be a dad.... He can rot in there for the rest of my sorry excuse for a life, for all I fucking care"

Holy shit. Looking back, upon further examination perhaps I was slightly harsher than I had intended, I didn't really mean that. Did I?

I was once told, by a man I can never quite place, that the mind speaks clearly in the presence of true anger.

The notion that could be true stuck with me for a long time, so long in fact that not only do I have no recollection of who told me this, but I can't even seem to date it, as though the advice has been rattling around in the back of my mind for as long as I could remember.

Although at times like this, I had to remind myself that "true anger" is what I make it. And this was not true anger, in fact this was not anger at all. This was pain.

Not the type of pain that occurs after a small graze or bump. It was the kind of deep rooted agony that lingered, and it stung slightly whenever you reminded yourself that he didn't care enough to try and stay. He never had and I wasn't sure he ever would.

It was now Saturday, and considering the first week of October had nearly passed, the weather was acting accordingly.

Bright hues of burnt orange and sharp yellows were scattered across the courtyard, and the trees held nothing but the empty promise of winter. The autumnal breeze was mellow and spoke gently of earthy and light aromas, ones you could lose yourself within. As fresh chilled air pulled at the landscape, it broke away the wispy clouds and allowed just enough warmth to melt through as it embodied the newborn light.

I found myself making my way to meet Harry, Hermione and Ron to spend the day in Hogsmeade, in what I can only assume was an attempt to get me to stop obsessing over the whereabouts of a certain Peter Pettigrew.