/𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒\ [𝒔. 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌]

𝐨𝐧𝐞

"remembering is only a new form of suffering." ~ Charles Baudelaire

The sound of a knife chopping peppers was the only sound that filled the kitchen of the little house in a muggle village in Yorkshire. Artemis Blake, lost in her own thoughts, brought knife down a little harder than was warranted, focusing on the noise to distract herself from her own mind. It had been thirteen years since her entire life had changed in one night, thirteen long years of birthdays for friends who were no longer living, lonely Christmases, and a life Artemis had never thought she'd have to live- one without Sirius Black.

But that wasn't what was bothering Artemis today. A piece she'd anonymously written for the Daily Prophet in the hopes of making some extra cash had been rejected. She wasn't surprised, exactly- she'd never been the best writer- but she'd really been hoping for the money. Finances had been tight recently. Well, recently wasn't the best way to put it. Ever since she'd lost her auror job, thirteen years ago. Ever since she'd been publicly labeled an accomplice to Sirius Black, cold-blooded murderer, by Rita Skeeter. Ever since Alastor Moody had promised to put her back on the force once things quieted down, he and Artemis both knowing things would never quiet down.

Moody hadn't wanted to fire her. All the same, Artemis wanted to hate him for it. But he was also the reason she and Remus weren't on the streets. He'd been the one to buy the Yorkshire house, to make sure they were fed and clothed when Remus couldn't work, to ensure they had what they needed for a life in hiding.

Still, money was tight. The Daily Prophet piece would've helped things had it been accepted.

There was nothing she could do. That was something she'd had to accept over and over again since she was twenty years old. Nothing she could do, so she put her entire willpower into cooking. And she hated it. Every day, she hated it, but again- there was nothing she could do.

She heard the gate creak outside and smiled a little to herself. Remus opened the back door and a gust of warm wind ruffled Artemis's hair before he closed it. "Hey," she said, barely turning to face him.

"Hey," said Remus, setting his bag on the table and joining her at the counter. "What're you making?"

"New stir fry recipe," she said, pointing to her mother's old cookbook open by the stove.

At some point in the last thirteen years- Artemis really couldn't say when, it was all a blur- she'd snuck back into her childhood home to take any remnants of her mother's life. It must've been sometime after Alfie died of natural causes. So to narrow it down, sometime in the last decade. She'd outlived just about everyone she was close to. It didn't feel good.

"I'll help you in a minute," said Remus.

She looked over at him. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, his expression dancing with concealed excitement. "What's up with you?"

"I have news," he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her to one of the kitchen chairs. "Sit down, sit down."

"Jesus, give me a minute."

She wiped her hands on a dish towel, then took a seat. Remus paced back and forth in front of her until she reached out a foot to trip him. He dodged, but took the hint. "Alright, well I was just at Hogwarts."

"No way," said Artemis, already knowing what was coming. "You got the job!"

He grinned. The shadows under his eyes were darker than ever, but when he smiled, he looked a little less aged. "I got the job."

She stood up and threw her arms around his neck. "That's wonderful, Rem, really. You know, I always thought you'd make a good teacher. When d'you start?"