Searching Light (Remus Lupin)

31: Haunted

Remus' P.O.V.

16 days have past since Amber left. I see her in my dreams... sometimes I dream of our relationship, cuddling with her in front of the fire place, wrapped in blankets. Sometimes I dream of that night, that dreadful night, when I nearly killed her and she was all alone in the Shrieking Shack, and what it must have been like for her. Sometimes I dream of when Holly died, the screaming, the flashes of light, the crashing and breaking of objects. I see Amber's crunched face, red, bellowing Holly's name, huddled over her lifeless body. Sometimes I dream of her coming back, speaking to me, but in the morning I can never remember what she says. But I always remember her face.

I think about her all the time. Whenever we're outside and feel a gust of wind, I think of her, if she's come back. If she ever does, well, she knows how to make an entrance.

There was a memorial service for Holly. The Great Hall was lit up with candles and pictures of her hung in the air. Every night for a week, the Hall was lit up like this, and students could go and pay their respects at the alter, which housed a large, framed picture of Holly. It's a great one: it was a beautiful early spring day and the snow was just beginning to thaw. Holly is smiling, wearing a white dress and sitting on wooden steps. Amber took that picture. I remember that day; we were all sitting outside and soaking up the sun, trying to find baby flowers sprouting out from underneath what was left of the snow. I find myself doing that all time now - trying to find little bits of happiness in such a dark time. I hope that somewhere, Amber is doing the same.

Sirius went every night to the service. We all went with him, but he always tried to get some time alone with what was left of her, which we all tried to let him do. But it's hard to leave him alone. When he is, I know he cries. He misses her so much; we all do. And there is nothing any of us can do. 

Holly haunts us. She is everywhere - in photos, in whispers when we walk by, in announcements made by teachers. She is everywhere, and nowhere. 

And so is Amber. She is all around, too: her clothes are in my room, her toothbrush, her books and some of her records. She accompanies the photos, the whispers, the announcements. Like Holly, she is everywhere, and nowhere. They are ghosts. One minute they walk beside us, laughing, holding our hands - and the next, they are gone. I wonder how long they will haunt us.