"Wizet... he... he..." Lupin lowered his head to look at the letter, his gaze intensely focused—so focused it even seemed somewhat hollow.
"He wants me to gather the M.S.C. staff..." His lips moved, producing a faint, dreamlike murmur.
His voice was unusually dry. His reply to Sirius seemed to be nothing more than instinctive reaction; his consciousness was still immersed in the letter.
"Gather the M.S.C. staff?" Sirius frowned. "All of them? Or only some of them? When are they supposed to be gathered?"
"Only werewolf wizards..." Lupin continued in that faint, sleepwalking voice. "We need to notify them first... It would be best to gather more werewolf wizards too... Christmas holiday..."
"Werewolf wizards? During Christmas holiday?" Sirius's brow knotted tightly. "Gathering werewolf wizards during the holidays? Remus, what is Wizet planning to do?"
Lupin stood there like a dead tree, offering no answer to Sirius. He made no further sound.
His lips merely moved soundlessly, and his eyes grew ever more distant and empty, as though he were still reading the contents of the letter—yet he seemed like a sleepwalker, detached from everything before him.
Sirius could no longer hold back. He grabbed Lupin by the shoulders and shook him.
"Remus, look at me!" His voice was much louder than before, as if he were determined to wake Lupin from a dream. "Tell me, what happened? Why are you like this?"
At last, Lupin raised his head. In his reddened eyes, beyond the shimmering tears, was a light Sirius had never seen before—
It was not the light of sorrow, but a bright light that symbolized hope, so long suppressed it had nearly forgotten how to bloom—like fresh shoots growing from dead wood.
"W-Wizet told... told me..." he said hoarsely, his voice choked with sobs and his words broken,