The Letter

Times have changed. Remus knew this full well. He had known for twelve years, he had experienced it first-hand. Voldemort was evil. The entire wizarding world knew of that but few would have ever thought that he would come back, besides, perhaps, some of his reliable followers.

It had been only a few months since that very thing had happened. Voldemort was back, maybe not with the same strength he had once possessed, but he was back nonetheless. And growing stronger. Remus was part of the Order of the Phoenix, a group of wizards willing and able to fight against Voldemort and his followers. The old alliance had been formed only hours after the return of the Dark Lord. As of now they were a small number, many of the original members had been killed or had yet to join once again.

The candle beside Remus was flickering, wax beginning to drip off the side like rain. It was late, almost early morning now, and he had been writing letters, researching, and doing anything in his power to help the Order. He rubbed his sleepy eyes and put out the candle deciding, finally, to call it a night.

As he slept his mind raced. His dreams were filled with bad memories, ones he wished he could forget. But they were what fueled him now, the memories of his best friend, James Potter and his wife Lily Potter, being killed by Voldemort.

He had lost others along the way as well.

It had taken twelve years for Remus to finally see that Sirius was not the cause of James and Lily's deaths but a once close friend of theirs; Peter Pettigrew's. Pettigrew had dropped his friends like a hat and turned to aid The Dark Lord. Remus had been reunited with Sirius after he escaped from Azkaban Prison the past year at Hogwarts and they had planned to kill Peter. Revenge is sweet. They had him in their hands, but he had once again, slipped away.

Remus awoke late in the morning. He did not eat breakfast but just had a small cup of tea. As he was skimming over the Daily Prophet however, a small tawny owl he did not recognize flew into his kitchen dropped a small bit of parchment into his tea, and rested itself onto the table expectantly. Startled he quickly pulled the letter from his cup and dried it with a napkin. He looked at the strange little bird whose big orb-like amber eyes seemed to burn a hole through him. He looked back to the letter which he hoped hadn't been ruined by the tea. The writing on the outside of the envelope was smudged, the black ink running onto his hands.

As he opened it, however, he found that the letter inside was fine. He immediately recognized the handwriting and it made his stomach drop. There was absolutely no way.

Maybe it was some kind of a sick joke. If it was, it was a damn good one. He had to steady himself with a deep breath before he could even read what was written.