Remus John Lupin (

"Dora," he said, trying to steady the waiver in his voice. "I--"

What could he say? That he was sorry? Or wrong? He was probably both, and yet he couldn't bring himself to say it aloud.

His fingers wrapped around his whiskey glass tightly and he sank into the chair across from her. He was a right tosser, he could tell by the set of her jaw, but before he left for the night, and to disappear for the next few nights, he had to know a few things.

"Are you..." he began, and then cleared his throat. "How are you?"

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