Endless Night

Originally intended for The Saint or Sinner Challenge by Ravenclaw333 and the Christmas Challenge by Wolfgirl17 on HPFF.

Also for:

The Dark Things Competition by mockingjaybird: Night.

For Those with a Darker Mind Competition by berryandlisa: Dark!Sirius.

Disclaimer: Title taken from William Blake's "Auguries of Innocence." Kindly note that this is a canon-divergent alternate universe story.

Prologue

10th March, 1960.

"Those who are wise shall shine like the brightness of the firmament, and those who turn many to righteousness like the stars forever and ever."

- Daniel 12:13

It was the night of the tenth of March, nineteen hundred and sixty. It was the first night of spring, for spring had come early to the Yorkshire moors that year. And what a beautiful spring it was. The night was cloudless, the air sparkled like champagne; a brisk wind blew northeast, rustling the ferns and the night flowers, fleetly winging its way through the low-grown heather, and flinging sweet scents into the lairs and dens of the moor foxes, rabbits and hedgehogs. Thousands of stars were strewn across the skies, minute pinpricks of shimmering, luminous light, harbingers of hope and peace and righteousness, and all that is good and new and refreshing in this world.

And it was on this night that the baby was born.

The little whitewashed cottage stood at the edge of the moor, a stone's throw from the tiny bridge that ran overhead the stream that separated the hamlet village from the wide, open expanse of the moor and dales. It was night, so a reverent hush lay upon the land, broken only by the sporadic hooting of the barn owls in the oaks scattered around. Yellow glimmers of lamplight shone out from the windows, and upstairs, the shadow of human figure fell upon the curtain, obliterating the glow within.

Hope Lupin lay on the bed, ruddy with exhaustion after having pushed a very unwilling baby out. She was now gazing down fondly at said baby, who was fast asleep, swaddled and rosy, beside her. The shadowed figure, who had been pacing up and down the hearth, now rose up next to her, and evolved into the person of Lyall Lupin. He sat beside his wife on the bed, and took her hand.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Hope beamed, and with a finger, gently caressed the sandy curls on her son's head.

"Yes, he is," Lyall agreed, also gazing down at his son with love. "And so are you, my dear," he added to her, and, leaning forward, kissed her softly. It was the truth. Hope had always been a very beautiful woman – beautiful in the best sense of the word; a liveliness of disposition and a sweetness of temperament mixed well with a finely tuned moral compass was borne out well by her face and smile. And tonight, flushed with love and excitement, she was radiant indeed.

"And what would you like to name him?" Lyall continued, taking hold of one small fist and smiling when tiny fingers curled fast around his own.

"John, after St. John, I think. The youngest and the brightest, and it will be fitting to name our little one after Him who was loved best." She smiled down at the sleeping child. "That makes a fine second name, and you shall choose the first. What shall it be?" And Hope looked up enquiringly.

"Well – I was thinking of…Remus, actually." He broached the subject hesitantly, aware that his wife was not fond of that particular tale. As anticipated, a cloud passed across her face, and Lyall could not but regret causing her even an instant of unhappiness.

"Look you, dear, are you being sure that's wise?" Hope asked, her native Welsh cadence seeping into her tones through concern.

"I – I think so, Hope. There's always been someone in my family in every generation named after that myth, and I'd like our son to bear that name."

The lines on his wife's brow did not fade. "I understand, Lyall," said she, "I really do, but why Remus? Surely – Romulus is a better name…the name of the victor?"

"I don't particularly care for Romulus, even though he was the victor. He killed too, remember. It was a hollow victory. His hands were stained with blood; I wish my son to bear the mark of innocence."

Hope's brow cleared. "Well, I do suppose that reasoning is…somewhat credible – though I am doubtful, still." She gently stroked one chubby cheek, and broke into a smile when a tiny dimple appeared on the baby's chin. "However, it is your choice, and I will agree. So is that settled?"

Lyall smiled, and touched his son's head gently. "Remus John Lupin," he murmured. "My blessed little one." As though his words had been heard, the little boy awoke, and warm, curious chocolate brown eyes stared into Lyall's own.

He felt his face breaking into a smile, and looked up to find a matching one gracing his wife's face. "He awakens," Lyall whispered, reverently, almost. The baby's eyes followed him. "What do we want for you, Remus? What do we want for our son?"

"I know what I want for our son," Hope whispered back, loath to break the holy hush that had fallen in that magical instant when their baby opened his eyes. She picked him up, swaddling clothes and all, and padded softly to the window. Lyall followed, and curled an arm around her waist.

"Do you see the stars, Remus?" She asked, low, and the baby cooed, as though in agreement. "Do you see, little one, how brightly they shine, away up there? My wish for you, is that one day, you will become one of them, shine just as brightly."

Her voice dropped still lower, mingling, and almost lost amidst the late spring winds that blew in through the open windows, bespattering their faces with dew and the promise of the first rains of the season. "A star is a leader, a guide, and one day, you shall be such a one, and guide many to goodness and righteousness."

Lyall's embrace tightened, and he too, bent down to touch his lips to the child's head. "We ask not for wealth, nor worldly success," he said softly to his son. "We ask that you will be a beacon for good, for hope, and for happiness." He traced one star in the sky, the brightest and closest of them all. "Be loving in your heart, and forgiving in your ways. Do that, my son, and you will be the true victor."

Hope's fingers closed over his own, reassuring and uplifting in their very warmth. "All we ask of you, Remus John Lupin," she said softly, eyes still fixed on the stars, "is that you will be a good man, please God."

Somewhere far away, an owl hooted. The wind picked up as it swooped in down from the fells around the moors, and the flames in the lamps flickered, but did not extinguish; they continued to glow brightly, framing the still silhouettes of the small family that stood at the window of the little cottage, and looked up in prayer to the mighty heavens.

To be continued…