it was a strange thing, the position remus he was in. he had never wanted to be the minister of magic, it was never something he dreamed of or even once considered. frankly, when he was young, he never dwelled much on what his future would be like. it was too easy to say he’d never amount to anything -- enough people had said it anyways. but here he was, running for minister as if he were the right person for the job. it was funny, for as many people who called to say he wasn’t the right person, he still found a part of him agreeing with them.
still, there was something to be said about what had happened with the money lestrange’s charity ball had earned. whether the loss of it was good for the uprising was still yet to be seen. some were calling for rodolphus’ head on a platter, and there was a grim thought in remus’ head that it was about time. he had long been criticized by the prophet and any other reporter who thought they had something to gain. it was nice to see it fall to the other side for once.
remus had spent his morning visiting the victims of the werewolf attack. it had been some time since it occurred, but he couldn’t stop. sometimes it was just for tea, a matter of pleasantries and greetings, but other times he stayed longer. like few others, he could empathize with what they were going through. he talked to them, listening to their struggles. as much as they could thank him for his time when he left, he never felt better by doing this. it only left him drained.
he had found himself at the leaky cauldron, a matter of having nowhere else to be and his feet taking him somewhere familiar. he sat down at an empty table, his shoulders slouched. few people seemed to take notice of him, something he couldn’t be more thankful for. being alone for even a few moments with his thoughts was something he needed. there was too much --- the election, lily, alecto --- and he couldn’t help but wonder if he was prioritizing things correctly. every action he made was scrutinized. everything he said was pulled apart and critiqued. nothing he did was right.
someone walked by his table and his gaze shot up from the table he’d been staring at. immediately, his demeanour shifted. he straightened up, his shoulders back and chin raised slightly. he had an image to maintain, after all. the one thing he wasn’t able to hide was the tiredness behind his eyes. “ take a seat if you’d like, i won’t bite -- ” a poor joke “ -- i wasn’t planning on being here much longer anyways. ”
