BAD LUCK BLACK! ─── Harry Potter

xxiv. The Apple Doesn't Fall Far

     Remus Lupin's office is the polar opposite of Lonnie's. No everlasting tick, tick, tick of a ramshackled clock. No insectile scrapings along stonework nor cool toned drafts humming through rivulets. Most of all, the room's not blaring cold. Upon entrance, Lorelei wasn't immobilized by an icy stench so pungent her eyes watered and her flesh pimpled. Just a plume of warmth and the lightest twinge of cedar and nutmeg. Autumnal scents, even fall hues.

There's a huge paneled window behind his desk, and it expresses luminous dusk. In a triangular shape, the light drips down and frames Remus. Limestone is painted pinkish, and every bit of wood turns orange. The only thing missing is fallen leaves, yet bits of dust speckle by the iridescence of the sun. Glittering like golden fairy dust.

And yet, Remus's office isn't homely either.

Instead of an aching clock, there's the worrying ringing of magical creatures. Thankfully, the wardrobe is empty (Merely an educated guess). Unfortunately, on the dais where Remus's desk resides, tucked away in the leftward corner, is a storage room. Inside are a multitude of Defense annihilators. Of the contents, Lorelei's not sure, and she really doesn't wish to know. They're stentorian in the quiescence.

A throaty gurgle sounds far off in the closet. Lorelei fidgets, running a finger along the collar of her jumper. Remus's office is a bit too warm. Honestly, it's fascinating to see the differences between the two. While she admires her godfather's tidier space, it is very dull. On Lonnie's walls, he has various projects from students. No, they're not drawings—they're essays he finds 'enlightening.' At least it's something! Remus's walls are blank, which means boring.

Seriously, not even a single poster! She never really pays attention to the details when she's fighting for her life during class, but it's incredibly noticeable now.

Lorelei expels a whistle breath, leaning back in her chair. The movement causes the legs to squeak against the floor, and it bounces around the empty office. She eyes Remus mindlessly droning over paperwork, nonplussed. There's always something. With a crooked smile, she scoots backwards. The sound is louder this time. No reaction. Again, Lorelei jumps with the chair, and it screeches, possibly leaving scuff marks.

Remus sighs, but he doesn't look up. "Lorelei."

She scooches once more.

"Lorelei," he iterates, tipping his nose down at her.

"I'm bored," she drawls, shrugging. Terribly bored. She's been waiting in this balmy office for an eternity. If Lorelei has to listen to Remus's dragging quill and the creatures' hisses for any longer, she might implode.

"He's coming." And Remus goes back to his work.

Well, he's certainly taking his time, Lorelei thinks bitterly. And it's true. James Potter is late, by a lot. Next time (Knock on wood), she'll acclimate to his tardiness by telling him the time half an hour earlier. Though maybe it isn't his awful time management, it could be his realization. The realization of his faults being exposed. No man enjoys baring himself raw. To be humbled is an admirable feat. Some fear it, others embrace it. Lorelei believes it's the penultimate test, and her grandfather is the standard.

Even Remus admitted his falsehoods, to an extent. Lorelei knows he was restricting himself and his words, holding his secrets close. However, he apologized. Remus forwent his pride, and he bent his knee. This is all she desired, a simple apology. With Remus Lupin, things are never straightforward. He spoke to her plainly, like equals, and it was long and drawn out, but he spoke earnestly. He meant every word, and Lorelei believes it.