"Come back here, you little monster!"
The cry of Anna Stenton, housemaid and Squib in the household, went unheeded. A young boy with dirty brown hair and a devilish grin ran past, slipping through her outstretched arms and out the side door into the yard, small hands clutching a pilfered pair of oven mittens. Laughing to himself, the boyishly chubby child flung them into a nearby bush and raced along to the stream behind their house.
He knelt at the water's edge and looked down into the cool, rippling surface. A dirty, joyous face peered back at him. He brought up a spilling double handful and washed his face off, managing to soak his shirt and the rocks about him in the process. The face came out of it a little cleaner, but his hair remained dishevelled. Try as they might, his parents could never get him to straighten it. "I like it that way," he would say, struggling out of their comb-filled grasps.
The elder Lupins, Gregorio and Stephania owned the great estate that they lived on. Gregorio's booming trade business had prospered, especially since his appointment to the Wizengamot. That recognition was a spectacular one for a foreign-born wizard. No foreign wizard or witch in the past century had been done the honour. Recent increase in magical goods had given fuel to his innovative transportation methods, and here they were, two of the most respected members of the community.
Mrs. Lupin had taken to great works of community development, and without having spent a day in the service of the Ministry, their family seemed ripe for political success. In small town pubs, it was often joked that their next appointment would be a hard-fought competition for the Minister's job between the Mr. and the Mrs. Lupin, if no one else. But none of this mattered to the child, Remus.
He had grown from a tiny, quiet infant into a noisy, troublesome child. Despite all assurances that he was passing through a phase, the parents worried over him and his natural curiosities. He would travel as far as their leash would carry him, and then enough further to cause them grief. Not that he bore them any ill will, no. He was simply a child at heart, free of all the concerns and worries that have built up around the adults of the world. If one cannot be young in youth, then when?
Now, he was staring into a stream of gradually flowing water, observing the tree boughs and leaves in a broken, rippled image. A shadow fell over his view, and he turned, startled. The sun sat directly behind the new person's face, and kneeling as he was, Remus could not tell who it was. A fistful of mud smacked heavily off the side of his face, slowly trickling down to fall in a splatter on his new pants.
"Igor!" he shouted, quasi-angrily. He leaned back, filling his hand with a thin cup-full of the sludge that had formed in that two-inch space at the river's edge while facing his opponent. With a whip, his hand arched forward, covering both of them in the unreasonable mess. The grass between had become dotted with specks of flying debris, like a pair of lines connecting the two persons. The ribbon extended from Remus' throw up the pants, shirt, and left cheek of Igor, his best friend.
The pair laughed at the mess and began a simple floor tumble-wrestling match. Remus was easily pinned by his larger friend, but managed to squirm his way out of it, and leap upon his opponent's back. After a few minutes, during which both had mashed in the mud stains and picked up a few new grass stains to boot, they lay quietly, breathing hard upon the ground. In the sky, a dozen geese flew by in an off-centred V shape. One of the younger, smaller geese had taken to annoying the fellow in front of it by swinging up at its wing tips on both sides alternately.
It was a beautiful afternoon, one of many to grace their neighbourhood in the last few weeks. Igor and Remus had been friends since they both had crawled, and were always including each other in their schemes and plans. An inseparable pair as this had never been seen in and about the country. Igor was three years his senior, but that did not matter to either of them.
Suddenly, Remus was lifted to his feet roughly, crying out in surprise. "Gotcha!" yelled, Anna, triumphantly. Remus was too winded to struggle, just yet. "And look what you've done to your new shirt. The missus is going to be very angry at you!"
"Mum won't care," he managed in a feeble reply.
Igor laughed where he lay. Remus shot him a look of bemused annoyance.
"Ok, maybe a little," he admitted.
"Too right she will," Anna responded, "Now, come along, we need to get you cleaned up. Your father has company tonight and we need you looking your best."
Anna continued to mutter angrily, with phrases such as "looking a disgrace" and "if you were my child, I'd" becoming audible at random intervals. Remus began the process of passive aggressive resistance, dragging behind so that his arm was in pain by the time they arrived. He wished, sometimes, that she would hurt him by accident and then she would be sacked. It never happened, though.
Never had the Lupins found such a successful nanny and housekeeper since Remus was little. He had had ten at last count. They never tended to stay too long, after he had begun to dig into them. Anna had now lasted a full year. It seemed she was here to stay. Remus both respected and disliked her for her resilience. It was still fun to torment her, regardless. Whether she hammed it up or no, it always made his day.
Coming the back way, Anna led Remus up the back stairwell to his mother's dressing room. She would be there, frilling up her dress and prepping her hair for the evening. In what they did, both his parents always had the best of appearances for the public. His father had always stressed it to him.
Often his father would take him out into the remote country regions to teach him a lesson. One time, it had been to a grain farm.
"Son," he had said, "your mind may be sharp and all your circumstances may have come with the perfect help at the perfect times, but without an image, the world will shoot down your very dreams. I have seen it a thousand times, from persons above me to persons below. Dozens of my greatest partners fell under a dishonourable image. If the public doesn't see strength and intelligence in your dress, you can forget it. You'll be dusted off of the floor like so much chaff."
Here he had pointed out to the grain mill down the hill. The chaff, left over on the threshing floor, was being brushed out the door to be carried away by the wistful winds of autumn. As well intentioned as his father was with these talks, it would be years before Remus understood what his father had and had not said back then.
They froze suddenly on the second floor landing. Two loud, angry voices rang through the hallways. His father's door lay open a few inches. Through it, Remus had a glimpse of his father's face, angrier than he had ever seen him, and the back of a hairy-headed man in a trim, fitting suit. The dishevelled head belied the sharpness of dress; this was no ordinary visitor.
A sharp, gruff voice floated over, "Think of what you are doing! No one insults me this way. You will regret it!"
"And you will remember that I am not running a small-time operation," his father's voice spoke, very harshly. "I do not deal under these terms, not with you, not with anyone."
Anna grabbed Remus's arm again and pulled him towards the stairs, but he resisted. She whispered, "Your father will want his privacy."
Remus continued to squirm in her hands. He wanted to see who was making his father so angry. It was unusual. He rarely saw his father show more than a diplomatic smile. What could this man have asked? Their tones were very fierce, but it was about business. It was always business when guests came by.
The sounds of their scuffle caught the attention of the two arguers. Remus saw a flash of cold, hungry eyes peer out from a mess of low bangs as the man turned away from Remus' father. He was frozen in an unconscious fear. Anna took advantage of this, and he felt himself dragged up the stairs. The pair of eyes seemed to follow him in the panelling of the stairwell wall and the banisters, and from outside the window.
He was quickly ushered into his mother's dressing room. She sat, whimsically patting an old dress with a feather boa she may have worn a few years before he was born, at the latest. The colours were of a frightening array and fashion only now beginning to return as a throwback to a not-so-forgotten era. She often took quiet moments to remind herself of old times this way, but only when she thought she was unobserved. Stephania never threw away anything. Her wardrobe filled the walls in two tiers of this dressing room and a couple smaller ones she would have a maid rifle through on a whim.
At the sound of the door opening, Stephania shoved the dress between the others on that rack, rumpling five of them in the process. She pretended to be hurriedly searching for a dress to wear. Her selection hung separate and ironed perfectly on an empty rack she kept by the doorway. Anna cleared her throat in introduction.
"Oh," Stephania started, "Anna, have you dressed little Remy for the -" her voice caught as she turned. "Why, Anna, what has happened to his new shirt?" The voice was not accusing; it retained a hint of amusement shrouded with a forced sternness.
"Well, little Remy?" Anna pressed, turning her embarrassed, accusing stare upon him.
Remus stood awkwardly looking between his mother and Anna. It was a dance they had played before. Each knew their role. Remus was up.
He put on his best puppy-dog face; it was an adorable face, if everyone didn't say so, and they did. "I was just walking outside," he began, "and I tripped in the mud."
"And young Master Igor?" Anna asked with a hint of triumph. "Did he also trip in the same mud?"
"Er, yeah," Remus answered without hesitation. "It was slippery out there."
"Wrestling in the mud again, Remy?" his mother asked, knowingly. "What did we say about that?"
"That I shouldn't wrestle in my finest clothes," Remus responded dryly, defeat prevalent in his voice.
"Yes," his mother continued, rolling through a regular lecture routine, "and what did you do?"
"Wrestled in my finest clothes."
"What are we going to do with you?" she asked the air, looking in the mirror at her powder table. A brush swished joyously through her hair, teasing and fluffing it. As though she had carefully deliberated on the facts, she turned so she was looking at her son's reflection. "You'll just have to help Anna and clean that mud off, without magic, young man!"
"Awww, mom! You know I could," he answered, "I've done it before."
"Yes," she chuckled, "but you're too young; you need schooling to control it." Seeing the look on his face, she continued, "Just one more year. I know hearing about Igor's last two years there has been unbearable, but you'll be there soon enough."
"But mom!"
"That's enough!" she said with finality. "Anna, see that he scrubs out the stains himself and then dry it. We need him looking sharp in an hour for dinner."
"Yes, mistress," Anna answered, "Come along, Master Remus."
The brush set itself down on the table, and the mirror leaned forward at her beckon, so she could see that the top of her hair was as it should be. Another footstep sounded in the small room, and she recognized her husband's breathing.
"Gregor," she began, "Our son has gone and messed up his – my dear!" She turned, having seen his face in the mirror. "You look angry. Is something wrong?"
"Oh, nothing major, sweetums," he answered. "Just some nasty business I'm trying to lose."
"It's that Greyback, isn't it?" she said, quietly. "I told you he was trouble."
"I know, dear."
"I don't understand why you had to let him carry those last two shipments," she continued. "It was just calling for trouble. And you know what his name does to business. People dislike him."
"I know, dear."
"Then why-?"
"He was the only one who would," Gregorio answered gruffly. "Lupus Mercantile will sell and deliver anything – that's our motto. We can't suddenly change our policy because some strange folks are asking for – well, for unusual merchandise."
"Then what did he want, now? You paid him, didn't you? They shipped and delivered for us, case closed."
"Well, it's not that simple," he began. "Mr. Greyback has informed me of a few unfortunate incidents that occurred due to the nature of the contents, and wants recompense for the damages to property and … er … personnel."
"So?" she asked, "That sounds reasonable, if it really was a problem unforeseen."
"So," he added with a little more force, "It was in the original contract that the responsibility for the safety of shippers and shipping materials lay with him. He was not happy to let it go at that. He has a temper, that one."
"And now?"
"I said I would send my lawyers to speak with his lawyers and asked him to leave," Gregorio answered with a sigh of relief. "I'm just glad he's gone. It always unnerves me to be around that man."