An hour after Dumbledore left, Remus’s body twitched and convulsed. His hair grew darker and shorter, yet somehow messier than before. His limbs elongated, and his facial features rearranged until James was himself once more. Despite all the changes he slept on, suspended once more in the brink between life and death.
Nearly a week later, Dumbledore was in his office, staring broodingly into the fire, when there was a soft knock on the door.
“Enter.” He called. “Ah, Minerva. Please, come in.”
“No need; I’m on my way to visit a Muggleborn and her parents. Just wanted to check with you before I left. Harry Potter’s letter is addressed to go out. Do you want me to deliver it personally as well? Those awful Muggles…”
“No, no. If it comes to that, I will take care of it.” He replied firmly. “Safe travels, Minerva.”
She looked as if she wanted to protest but didn’t, sweeping out of his office in a swirl of green wool. Dumbledore watched her go, his eyes hooded; he knew exactly where that letter was addressed to.
Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard Under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging, Surrey