Change - James F. Potter

Chapter 18: Frog and Toad

Cassie's POV:

Remus's chest and upper arms were littered with scars and bruises that were all too familiar. My heart broke for him. Was this why he had disappeared yesterday?

The plate of cookies sat heavy in my hands. I knew all too well the pain of scars inflicted by a hard hand and based on the sheer size of Remus's, his had been formed by similar means. I didn't let my gaze linger.

"Hey Remus, care for a burnt cookie?" My burnt palm brushed against the towel I had draped over my plate and I yanked my hand away. Careful to not bother my burnt palm again, I used the tips of my fingers to dramatically unveil my lumpy and burnt cookies. What Remus did next surprised me.

I had expected him to recoil in disgust at the sight of the burnt cookies or ask was I was doing in the part of the hospital wing that had been so clearly blocked off but instead, he laughed. Not a quiet laugh, but a genuine loud laugh.

My puzzled look and previous gaze caused Remus to quickly pulled the blanket more so over his chest before speaking, "My mom used to make me cookies when I was sad as a little boy. Her cookies used to turn out burnt and full of mysterious lumps, but she made them none the less."

He had a far off look on his face that reminded me of someone lost in another world. I set the plate of cookies down on the nightstand beside his bed and pulled over a chair. The look on his face left my own mind to long for a past I never had. For a mother who baked me cookies when I was feeling ill and not the cause of my illness. For the love that so clearly glazed his gaze.

The smile on my face only grew. I knew how important it was to smile, especially when it felt there was no reason to.

"Well then. I am sure that these cookies will hit the spot then. Peeves certainly enjoyed them and I am sure that the food he consumes is nowhere near edible" I said the last bit with a look of disdain and concern. Surely if a ghost had found such delight in my baking I was not fabulous by the standards of the living.

Remus chuckled nonetheless and helped himself to the plate of cookies. There were multiple bruises that only seemed to grow located on his shoulder and collar bone. My view was distorted by the hospital gown he wore, but based on what I could see, whatever had caused them was anything but pleasant. As if any bruises could be formed by something pleasant.

The smile on my face grew sad and I was nothing but thankful that Remus did not notice. I hate pity and it is only fair to assume he does too. Pity makes me feel weak and looked down upon. If he was able to smile even with the bruises that decorated his abdomen and arms then he was anything but weak.

"Do they live up to your mother's cookies?"

I grabbed a cookie from the plate and took a bite. My face twisted in dislike and confusion. How could this be the same recipe Dumbledore's cookies were made of? These were crispy and almost sour where the headmaster's had been soft and savory.

"Between you and me, these might be better." Remus leaned in a bit as if he didn't want anyone else to know the secret. I let out a snort of laughter. He must really love his mother to eat her cookies and she must really love him to bake them for him. Part of me wishes that my mother loved me like that but the truth in the matter was she wasn't capable of it. She was born to love pureblood and power, not flesh and kin. She would always choose power over love and it made me sick.

Had I done something to deserve such a horrible family? Had I done something so irrevocably disgusting in a past life to wager me such a fate? The last thing that I wanted to be was like my family. What if it was in my blood to be like them? What if I didn't have a choice in the matter?