Just as he took a sip of his tea, Wilson heard voices from the staff room. It was professor Lupin and what seemed to be Jack Dyllan. He could not exactly comprehend what they were talking about, but he was certain he would be hearing a knock on his door in no time at all. He walked, slowly, back to his desk and sat down, taking another sip of the tea.
As far as he understood from the glance at her file, Jack Dyllan was a seventh year from Gryffindor. Based on her age and his history, he had to have been her Head of House and teacher, during the whole chaos and just before him departing the school. Those events still haunted him. He was better now, but the horror of another war haunted his usually calm mind even now. He wondered why he had forgotten her, because he was usually good with his pupils' names, but soon deduced that he had forgotten a lot of his former pupils. It was, he was certain, an aftershock of those events. He tried to erase them from his memory, not literally, but he tried no to think about them and it was probably while repressing those memories that he had also repressed some others.
The door jerked him back to reality, as he had to react. He took a moment to compose and when opened and closed the door with his hand. A red-headed girl, quite mischievous in visage, entered his office and a sudden burst of memories came rushing back. He knew her. She was a little girl back then, his pupil, but he bloody remembered her. She was alive and well. That was a comfort for him. ''It's been a while, Miss Dyllan, please, take a seat. I seem to... did you do something to your hair?'', he inquired quite informally, but he had to feed his curiosity. ''Can I offer you something to drink? Tea, perhaps?'', he gestured to his cup.
''As you already know, Headmaster Ogden is not present, so you're, whether you want it or not, stuck with me. I have read your file and it seems that several people, both staff members and students, complained about your recent behaviour. But, what interests me, for starters, is why do you think you have been sent here?'', he asked, leaning back into his chair, and connecting the tips of his long, pale fingers.