Flying Like a Rock

The next day had come and was now finally close to passing. My health was better, and I was feeling much stronger. But with this improvement, frustration had set in. Even my usual pastime of reading seemed tired and truly boring. I was yearning for a spry conversation with Filius or another Quidditch quarrel with Severus. Even speaking with students would suffice. It was funny how common things often held the most charm in one's life.

Sighing, I opened the book that had been lying upon my bedside: Simple Teaching Exercises for the Transfiguration Teacher. It had been brought by the kindly nurse after I expressed my utter boredom and aggravation at my current situation. Though I missed Poppy, she was, of course, very thoughtful to try and help me, and I appreciated this greatly. However, the tricks and suggestions in the book were the sort that I had naturally learned after many years of teaching. The book was nothing compared to my resources at Hogwarts. There I would find challenging and innovative texts, designed to broaden a person's horizons.

The Transfiguration exercises that you present to your students must be foundational in the beginning of students' learning tracks. They must begin with inanimate objects and work up to more complex transfigurations, else complications will arise. Beginning at too high of a level will create the problem of students being absolutely imbalanced. They will be perfectly competent in one specific transfiguration, but not in any other.

I scoffed slightly as I reached the end of the paragraph, and flipped through the rest of the chapter. Nothing caught my eye. Though all ideas were true, and quite practical, they were not complex enough. It was certainly 'simple'. I turned the book over to check the author's name. As I did so, I shook my head and clicked my tongue in exasperation over the poor quality of the work. I was still irritated over this, and I never could help but be disdainful when the art of Transfiguration was compromised in any way.

"Not suitable enough for you, Minerva?" a voice questioned. It sounded amused, but also disheartened. I looked up, bemused. My "plans"- sitting in bed- did not include visitors.

"Remus? What on earth are you doing here?" I asked, finally recognizing the figure in my door. I began to rise up slightly so that I could see his face properly. It was still slightly hidden in the shadows.

"Minerva McGonagall, get down. You're still not well." He said this striding into the room. His voice appeared to be the same as before, except there now a hollow tone. One note was missing. It was the same note that had materialized when Sirius' innocence had finally been recognized by Harry.

I rolled my eyes. "Who are you to tell me such things? And you still haven't answered my question!"

"Tonks is here too, so I figured-"

"Nymphadora is here?" I asked, worried.

"She'll be fine, she really will. I simply came by to drop off a few things and sit with her for a bit. She's getting restless; apparently in the same way you are. But don't worry; you were in much worse condition. Now, Severus told me about you and your request- the memory, I mean-, so I thought I would visit you too."

I was first surprised by the strength in his voice; it did not quiver or shake at all. The fire in his eyes was still burning, and as I watched it, I was sure it had grown. I couldn't help but smile slightly at who Remus Lupin had become. All his old, good qualities had stayed with him, while embraced all improvements he could make.

I sighed, thinking of Sirius and his luster for life. The two had been different and such good friends. But the fact remained that Remus and his good reminded me of Sirius.

"I'm glad," I told him, "that you came. Ever since Severus visited I've been dying for another conversationalist. It was refreshing to speak to someone."

"Even though he brought terrible news," Remus said gravely. I saw, then, the fires die slowly. An icy wind of sadness hit. It tackled the flames, whipping through them, finally forcing them to back down against its immense power. He was fighting grief, obviously.

"Yes, terrible news."

Remus looked down, his face somber. His hardships were suddenly visible in his expression and I could hardly bear to see them. I knew, however, that this was a privilege, seeing this weakness, this pain. So I studied him, hoping to unveil his emotions as much as I could.

He looked tired and old. In fact, he seemed almost as old as me. Remus had always looked slightly shabby, mostly because of his employment difficulties, but he usually wore it well, and his personality overthrew such trivial things.

Now his personality failed to eclipse his appearance, and it was now made a vital part of his overall impression. The hope which straightened him and cultivated his soft side had disappeared. Cracks in his voice were barely noticeable, but now as he spoke more I heard them. They, along with the hollowness that I had detected previously, betrayed him.

"Why do you need such a memory, Minerva? Why do you want to experience that pain?" he questioned.

I knew then what the answer was: understanding. The constant thirst for knowledge that had served me well in my school years, was haunting me now, scratching at me and asking how my former student had died. I needed the answers so it could piece together the incident, comprehend it, and perhaps believe it.

I gazed at him for a moment and the uttered the word: "Unexplainable."

Remus stared at me. It was either in utter shock or confusion, but I didn't attempt to decide which. My chosen word had been the oddest thing to say at that particular moment. Lying would've been better but there was no like that would have sufficed. And so my answer was the perfect response. Answering is this way was simply pulling him in circles like a stupid horse, and never really answering.

"Yes, perhaps it is," he murmured. I wondered whether he himself was pondering about unexplainable things, perhaps like fate. After all, it seemed that Remus' entire life had been completely shaped by the concept of fate. It was fate that had brought him a werewolf's bite.

"I've brought your memory. I came to ask you not to take it. But maybe it's best that you do. I just wanted to spare you from seeing a man who flew like a rock," he said in a soft, yet firm, voice.

"Flew...like a rock?"

"Yes," Now he smiled ruefully. "It's the only way I can describe this, this death. This murder. Sirius was...graceful and smooth as he fell. Like flying. He dipped slightly, poetically, but then at the very end the only thing that mattered was that he fell. In that case, like a stone."

"Remus..."

"It was almost like when you skip stones and see beautiful ripples, but the stone sinks anyway."

The words held a great amount of sentiment, and I waited for him to continue, rather than interrupting.

"As I said, impossible to describe, but I do have the memory." This was said in such a brusque manner that I was reminded of myself.

Remus pulled a small vial from his robes. He uncorked, but then looked back at me uncertainly once more, as if for confirmation that this was my choice. I inclined my head slightly. He sent me a half-smile, and brought his wand to his temple. After a moment, he drew it away. Attached and still following was a silvery strand. It was a sight that I had watched before, usually with Albus, and I felt no feeling except for a certain excitement as the container was held out to me.

As I was reaching out, the vial turned slightly, catching the clear light from the window. Oddly, I was entranced by the light's game, but quickly the game turned too poignant. A mournful melody was soundlessly erupting from the tiny object of glass, pounding through my body, especially towards my chest. This, I knew, was because of the feeling behind it; the loss that was haunting Remus.

I reached further, now also attempting to stop the painful notes that twisted my own moods. Our skin touched as the vial passed hands. Then all was gone. The terrible song completed its last measures and I was left amazed by the fact that I could hold something so weighted in the palm of my hand.

"Remus, this was thoughtful. Thank you." I did not feel that informing him of my inability to watch the memory was necessary. After all, bothering him with woes about Pensieves was a worthless notion.

"But," Remus interjected kindly.

"But I'll have to wait to view the memory," I said, as briefly as I could. Still, I would not elaborate on my troubles.

"And why would that be?"

"I haven't got a Pensieve," I grudgingly told him.

"You do," he said, smiling. Remus stood and began to walk towards the door, as if he was leaving. I was quite confused by the actions, but I ignored all of this, and attempted to act normally. It was a habit from my years of teaching, another technique that Simple Teaching Exercises for the Transfiguration Teacher could not teach me. The best way to deal with not knowing or understanding knowledge was pretending to at least know the gist of it. After many uses of the method you could graduate to feigning that you actually knew about every move that was about to be made. I forced myself, though, to drop the façade. Remus was not a child, and today he had done a lot for me. Being haughty or condescending to him was more disrespectful than usual.

Remus returned with a large carpetbag. He set it down upon the bed, and then gestured invitingly at it. I heaved myself upwards and then grasped the bag, finally pulling out the rather small object from it. It was heavy as it sat in my hand, and it seemed made of stone. Puzzled, I turned to him.

"Is this a Pensieve, Remus?" It certainly seemed to be so, though a miniature version. It was made of the same stone and the same runes and markings covered the rim of it.

He nodded and pointed his wand towards my hands.

"Engorgio."

I was forced to let my hands be pushed apart, as the stone bowl grew much larger. I gawked at it. It was ridiculous of me to do so, but there had been such an onslaught of emotions during this visit, that I was weary. I couldn't truly comprehend the fact that Remus had brought me a memory, a pensieve, and a bit of conversation. To find this memory, Remus had searching his mind and watched it again before pulling it out. And this was so good of him, that I felt worse about myself, about asking him to do such a thing.

"So, I suppose you can watch the memories now?" he asked in a tentative manner. I supposed it was because of my odd reaction- actually, I hadn't responded at all.

"Yes, yes...thank you so much. Truly."

"Don't mention it, Minerva." I suppose he saw me fingering the Pensieve, because his next words were: "Shall I leave you to it then?"

"No, no," I protested, "please stay."

"I doubt that you really want me to. I know that you've been waiting to see the memory, and now you have the chance. Don't worry, you're not being rude."

"Well, then, I'll see you soon, Remus."

"Yes, I daresay you will. Get better, won't you, Minerva?"

"I'll do my best," I answered him. He nodded and patted my hand.

"Oh!" There was a sudden exclamation when he was in the doorway.

"Yes?"

"The Pensieve is Dumbledore's. He figured you could use it. However, he has a few things to sort out, and therefore he needs it back tomorrow. He's asked me to tell you that he'll be in tomorrow anyway, just to check in."

I nodded, my hands already busy with spilling the shimmering memory into the rock bowl.