Whether it was a torrential downpour or a gentle drizzle, weather like this was perfect for listening to a story or reading a book.
If you could add a cup of rich, fragrant drink, that would be even better.
Now there was heavy rain, and the hot cocoa was giving off a wonderful aroma—but Eda really didn't want to hear a white-bearded old man tell her a story.
It never led to anything good.
This wasn't Eda being a jinx; there was precedent. The last old man who had told her a story was named Glover Cecil.
Say no more—it was all tears. Being fooled silly would have been one thing, but she had even been set up to fight strangers with her life on the line.
Every time she recalled it, Eda felt a pang in her heart.
In the novels, other girls got "I was adopted by the prince/gangster/powerful CEO as his daughter/grand-daughter." Why had the routine changed when it came to Eda?
Dumbledore, with his many titles and powerful magic, would be a perfect OP Grandpa. So why was the gap between people so huge?
He dug a pit and buried you without leaving a trace, and afterward you still had to say thank you. Eda neither had a big head nor a thick neck; she did not want to say "thank you."
But before Eda could cover her ears and say, "Not listening, not listening, you're just chanting nonsense," Dumbledore had already continued from where he left off.
He wasn't leaving her any way out. Snape had been absolutely right—sooner or later she would die from this curiosity of hers.
"Remus was born into a family full of happiness. His father, Lyall, was an upright and kind wizard, an official in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," Dumbledore said. "Remus had a carefree childhood, but that happiness did not last."
Professor Lupin's life had started far more simply than Eda's—practically a perfect opening hand. His father was a Ministry official; maybe not immensely rich or noble, but at least they would never lack food or clothing.
That happy life, however, came to an abrupt end in Lupin's childhood. What followed was filled with bitterness and misfortune. The sweeter the beginning, the harsher the aftertaste.
That year, a werewolf suspected in the deaths of two Muggle children was brought to the Ministry for questioning. Lyall Lupin was in charge of the interrogation, and Eda happened to know the werewolf's name—Fenrir Greyback.
At the time, Fenrir Greyback was not yet infamous, not the monster whose name could frighten children into silence. The Ministry didn't even know he was a werewolf back then, and the muddle-headed investigators were easily fooled by him.
Those people might have been ignorant, but Lyall was not so foolish. Upright and principled, he insisted on continuing the questioning.
What he hadn't expected was that his integrity and sense of duty would enrage Greyback and bring disaster upon his own family.
If Greyback had been imprisoned, perhaps the tragedy would never have happened. But the complacent Ministry released him, believing he was nothing more than an innocent Muggle vagrant.
Having slipped through their fingers, Greyback began his revenge. He attacked the Lupin family and turned five-year-old Remus Lupin into a werewolf.
Thus began the unfortunate life of Remus Lupin.
Even though Mr. Lupin did everything in his power, he still could not cure his son. No spell, no potion could change the fact that little Remus had become a werewolf. Lycanthropy would accompany the child for the rest of his days.
Remus Lupin would live his life amid discrimination and rejection. Even with parents who never abandoned him, his world remained bleak.
The world had never been fair—five-year-old Remus had barely had the chance to see it properly before what should have been beautiful turned hideous and terrifying.
Was it Lyall Lupin's fault?
He should not have been so sharp in the interrogation, noticing the suspicious signs about Greyback. He should not have been so conscientious and responsible, refusing to let an evil werewolf go when others chose to muddle through. Nor should he have angered the werewolf with extreme remarks.
Mr. Lyall Lupin should have been as ignorant as his colleagues, as willing to muddle through. If only he had let Greyback go instead of pressing the matter, would the attack that followed never have happened?
But was it truly Lyall Lupin who was at fault?
Since when did being serious and responsible become a mistake?
And since when were the wicked allowed to walk free?
If that were really the case, then this world would have little hope of ever getting better.
No matter what anyone said, it was too late. Remus had already become a werewolf.
All Lyall Lupin could do was try his utmost to ensure his son would not become like Greyback, would not grow into the next criminal.
As a werewolf, when he was eleven, Remus received the first warmth in his life beyond that of his parents—his acceptance letter from Hogwarts.
The one who approved his enrollment was Albus Dumbledore, and the headmaster made many preparations for the unfortunate child. For example, a safe place where he could endure his transformations—the Shrieking Shack.
While at school, little Remus gained something he had never had before: friendship. Real friends who would not fear him or distance themselves because he was a werewolf.
The arrival of James Potter and Sirius Black brought light into Remus Lupin's grey life. Later, he came to know another kind girl; at the time, she was still called Lily Evans.
After graduation, Remus Lupin did not, like many other werewolves, throw himself into the embrace of darkness. Instead, together with his good friends, he joined the Order of the Phoenix to fight against it, even if it meant giving his life.
"That day, Remus was in the north. He was carrying out a mission for the Order of the Phoenix, and the tragedy happened just like that," said Dumbledore, an endless desolation in his voice.
Albus Dumbledore suddenly became very irritable, like a lion about to flare up. He said emotionally, "I don't know what Remus was feeling at the time. I don't even dare to imagine what he might have felt."
Overnight, Lupin had nothing left. He lost all the friends in his life. The deaths of three close friends, the betrayal of another—how much courage would it take to bear something like that?
Dumbledore didn't know. Eda didn't know either. Only Remus Lupin knew; only he could understand that searing pain.
There was no longer any doubt in Eda's heart. She only felt a stabbing ache in her chest. Even a bystander felt such heartbreak—so what about Professor Lupin?
A world full of cold stares, a life battered by bitter wind and rain. No one would care anymore whether Lupin's life was going well, and no one would accompany him through the unbearable nights of the full moon.
As the years passed, in the blink of an eye Harry was already thirteen. Returning once more to Hogwarts, back to where the dream had begun, seeing the son of an old friend—what would Professor Lupin feel?
Eda did not believe such a person would choose to help Black harm Harry, even if the two of them had once been so close.
"I found Remus in Yorkshire, in a tottering, half-abandoned cottage," Dumbledore said, and this time there was self-reproach in his voice.
After the war, Lupin had not returned home, had not disturbed his parents' lives, because he was an extremely dangerous werewolf.
Although Lupin was an outstanding wizard, he was still destitute, living from meal to meal. And what worried him most was that after transforming, once he lost his reason, he might commit murder.
Before every full moon, Lupin would resign from the job he had finally managed to obtain, stay far away from crowds, and howl at the moon alone.
The story ended there. A life of a little over thirty years was not very long.
Albus Dumbledore fell silent, and Eda was silent as well.
The fire in the hearth was still burning, and the heavy rain outside showed no sign of stopping.
I told myself not to listen to a story, but it's all Dumbledore's fault—what benefit did he get from telling such a lousy one when he had nothing better to do!
After a long while, the flames in the fireplace gradually died down, and the rain outside lightened considerably. Only then did sounds return to the small hut.
"What's wrong with your eyes?" Dumbledore asked. "Are they uncomfortable?"
Eda rubbed her eyes hard and said irritably, "They're too big—they don't keep out wind and sand. Someone like you would never have that kind of trouble! Hmph!"
"If you can, keep this secret for him forever, and don't do anything special," Dumbledore instructed. "Remember, Remus is only your Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, nothing more."
Gentle people hope that everyone will be treated gently by the world, but the world never treats those with gentle hearts tenderly.
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