Thursday, 28 October, 1982

The bell over the pawn shop door rang as half a man walked in, a small parcel in his arms. The rest of him was outside, still begging himself not to do this. The aged, wooden sign above the door read 'Belby's Baubles' in light, curling letters, and for half a while Remus simply watched people come and go from inside. But it was raining and bitterly cold, and his wand could only keep so much of that at bay. October leaves stuck to the bottom of his shoe as he headed inside betrayed not for the first time by his aching limbs.

The inside of the shop was dark and cramped, and it smelled of old paper and something sharper. Not quite mold or mildew, but not quite a welcoming scent, either. It mixed with the stench of ancient leather and dust, and Remus forced out an inaudible cough as he adjusted to the dank air. Not that he needed to be so concerned about the sound: the shelves were stacked dizzyingly high with books, jewelry, cages of whirring and buzzing unidentifiable goods, silver spoons... It was everything, and the kettle it was brewed in. And as the door swung closed on the latch behind him sound was strangled by the sheer mountains of stuff. Remus wiped his feet before stepping onto the grey stone floor, tucking his parcel into the crook of his arm.

"Welcome," said a voice like cracked leather. Remus caught the large ears of a House Elf before they disappeared and there came the slap of bare feet against the floor. The Elf was more bones and ear hair these days, but like the practiced servant he was, he bowed low to his master's latest customer.

"Welcome to Belby's Baubles," he said, and the tip of his nose bent into an L as he pressed still further into his bow. "Where you will find no greater bargain for any and every thing you seek. What are you looking to purchase today?"

Remus pursed his lips, shifting in his shoes. "I'm not here to buy," he said, and when the Elf looked up at him with curiosity Remus felt the words in his stomach like stones. "I-...I'm here to sell."

The Elf looked Remus over, as if deciding whether the skinny fellow before him was not simply joking. But when his large eyes fell onto the wrapped bundle, he nodded stiffly and waved for Remus to follow. Weaving through several rows of shelving and skirting some tables stacked high with cages, the Elf took him to the back of the store to a large counter, climbing up onto a stool beneath an absurdly oversized cash register.

The Elf pointed to a clearly marked region on the countertop, squared off and runed against anything devious. Remus held out his arm, gently unfolding the cloth protecting the item beneath. It was a pocket watch, a golden yellow sun on a bronze chain. The House Elf eyed it carefully, boney fingers reaching for it shakily and Remus fought the urge to clamp his own fingers back over it and hide it away. The chain jingled softly as the Elf lifted it up, examining it in the dim light that filled the place. Remus didn't breathe.

"It isn't worth much," the Elf said suddenly, still staring at the watch. It twirled in his grip, polished enough that it still glinted in this light. "Ten Galleons."

"Ten!" Remus stopped himself immediately. "No," he argued, "it is worth more than ten." The watch had been in his family for over a hundred years. It belonged to his great-grandfather, and then his grandfather, and to Remus' own father. When Remus turned 17 and it was gifted to him, he had been so honoured, so proud, so thankful-and not just for the watch, but for making it to that point at all. He graduated Hogwarts wearing it proudly, so full of hope for the future. And it did not belong in a dark, miserable hole such as this. It was worth more than ten.

Sentimentality would get him nowhere, though. So Remus corrected his posture, bucking up. He knew the language he needed.

"It's solid gold," he said carefully, reaching for the clock itself and popping open the face. "See here," he said, pointing to the inside of the cover. A small hallmark had been pressed into the metal: a crown, over the number 18.

The Elf scowled. "These are Muggle markings," he said, the displeasure practically dripping from his lips. "Eight Galleons."

"Twelve," Remus pushed. "It won't fail nearly as quickly as an enchanted one."

"That may be true," the Elf replied, "but this is hardly a rare item. If I fill my Master's shop with junk, what kind of servant would I be? Pocket watches are common. Nobody will buy this, and I will be stuck it for years, even if it does still tick."

His ears gave the slightest wiggle on either side of his head. He'd checked!

Remus cleared his throat. "You must be aware of the coming of age tradition. It has no markings on it, and it's pure gold. It will sell."

Something must have changed in the tone of his voice or in his face, because the House Elf suddenly clasped his fingers together in front of him and leaned forward ever so slightly. He nodded to himself, and his words came slowly-worse, deliberately: "I can see that this watch means a great deal to you. Perhaps you are better off keeping it."

It was like his insides had been enchanted, and Remus felt nothing but thick blades of ice run through his blood. No, he needed this. He needed the food, and he needed-he needed the potions, he needed poultices, he needed medicine more than food, and all of it was fading away in front of him.

"Eight," he said. "Let's do eight. Smelt it."

The Elf grinned, and Remus felt the blow before it struck: "It is worth five in gold value."

"Six," Remus tried. One more try. He needed this.

The old Elf leaned back, considering Remus one more time. "Five. No more."

Remus' heart sank. He felt the Elf's eyes on him, but Remus stared at his shoes. He couldn't do with anything less than eight. He recalculated what his possessions were worth in the span of a second, stopping only to consider the few boxes labeled with names he had last seen on a headstone. He could maybe…

No, it was wrong. Those things belong to Harry.

Harry, who is a baby, and who does not need the money. It's okay, Moony.

Moony. He shut that voice out before the ghosts came with it. Lily and James were dead. They had been nearly a year. And he could still hear them so clearly...

Remus nodded. He would have to make due. Somehow.

"Yes," he said, "alright. Five."

As the Elf rang him out, Remus held out his palm. "Before you take it, I need to do one thing first." The Elf gave him a wary look, and Remus added hastily: "I have a lunch appointment to keep. Could I just see the time?"

Remus did not actually need to see the time at all. Leaving Belby's chiming door behind, Remus found himself immediately in the shadow of two grand clock faces: one with a swinging pendulum in a store across the way, and another farther off, looming in the distance beside a slurry of smoke stacks. It was a great stone thing, with large black hands pointing to exactly ten fifty seven.

No, the last thing Remus needed to check was the time. He was himself a calendar, and his life was lived in segments: wake now, eat then, work, and work, then sleep...

Some of his days were planned to the minute—hours of job interviews and terribly few actual jobs. Then there were the spells to keep his flat secure, the landlady who took money off the top if he could be a dear and trim the hedges and tidy the lawn. She was elderly and going blind, and she had never asked Remus about his scars or cared if he was a few days behind.

"I wish you'd eat more, dear," she said to him one day, slipping him an extra fiver as he headed off to do her grocery shopping.

Somehow, even without having a proper job yet, Remus' life was busier than ever. And that was how Remus liked it.

Remus charmed himself an umbrella to cover a wide-mouthed yawn, his knuckles unable to do the job on their own. The rain shield was just a secondary benefit when every now and again an icy droplet would still work its way down his collar and across his back. He headed out towards the rest of Diagon Alley proper, to Gringotts where two Galleons were transformed into pounds. Next, he traveled through the smoke and muffled voices of the Leaky Cauldron and out into the gray Muggle world.

The hustle and bustle of London traffic was muted by the pouring rain hammering the pavements and overflowing drains, and Remus was careful not to walk too close to the street lest he be caught in the spray from careless tires. The hum of electric lights buzzing overhead drew Remus' eyes skyward, where buildings of impressive size were slightly dizzying considering the proximity to Diagon Alley, where they could not be seen despite being nestled among them. The duality of it could sometimes come as a shock. Remus inhaled the scent of exhaust and kept going.

On his left, there was a small newspaper stand. The headlines were still as stone and the black and white pictures did not wave, or smile, or move about their frames. But perhaps that was a good thing: they detailed more troubles in Ireland; bombings this time. Some things were best not pictured.

Remus yawned again, blinking away his exhaustion as he rounded the corner into an empty alleyway and tucked himself behind a wall of trash bins. The sounds of the city were still uncomfortably loud, and there was an old Muggle a few floors above with the window open ranting about the weather as the forecaster delivered a dreadful forecast to come. But this was a suitable place as any, and Remus let his cast umbrella fade. He pulled his jacket close to his neck, whisking cold water off of his ears. A cat bolted from one of the bins as he Disapparated with a loud crack.

He appeared many miles away to the distressed surprise of a flock of geese. The wind licked against his cheeks and stung his eyes, and Remus blinked away wetness from his gaze to search the surroundings for anyone that may have seen him. Other than the flapping of his own coat in the wind and the fading profanity of the offended fowl, the only sound came from a herd of sheep. And like the city-folk they detested, they ignored him too.

Remus gave them a quick nod. "Carry on, then," he said, and he unlocked the gate surrounding their field before the sheepdogs caught his scent.

The sound of muted chatter and clinking dishes was oddly comforting as Remus settled into a small, wobbly table by the window, a hot cup of tea steaming up the glass in front of him. It was raining even here, and the heat from inside the pub did not mesh well with the raw weather outside and so Remus could not actually see through the window, but he watched as vague, shapeless masses shopped in the streets beyond. Some of the shops were already beginning to display their wares for Christmas, and Remus watched as a group of mothers hurried by discussing the fast approaching chore of buying and dressing the holiday bird.

Y Bwcle Pres was a small, out of the way tavern in the south of Wales, having opened a few hundred years ago and changed very little since. The interior was bucolic, with whitewashed cottage walls and a stripped wood floor that had footpaths older than every patron worn deep into the boards. The window by which Remus sat was tiny and bordered with stained glass in intricate diamond shapes. One of the pieces was chipped, and along with some of the approaching winter chill it let in the sounds of young children laughing and the general hustle and bustle of the impending Halloween. It was very much like the Leaky Cauldron, this place, save for the presence of magic. Sitting inside a tavern drenched in the warm scent of bread and cider, Remus' stomach offered up a low, longing growl.

"Hungry?"

Remus started, and Lyall laughed. "Shall I put in for some scones?"

"Oh-no," Remus said quickly, standing to embrace his father warmly. "Hullo, Dad."

"It's good to see you," Lyall said, and Remus returned the gesture in kind. He stepped back, taking in the sight of his father fully for the first time. Lyall Lupin looked-wet, which was a foolish thing for Remus to notice, but Lyall's hair, brown like his own, was dripping with rain water like he had been out in the cold for some time. His temples had gone grey with his age, but Lyall still carried himself with a youthful confidence as he took his cloak from his shoulders and hefted it over the back of his chair, smiling with his eyes. Remus offered to move closer to the fire place in the front of the room, but Lyall shook his head. "This is fine," he said, and Remus couldn't help but push the warm pot of tea closer to him.

As the only man in the room with a cloak, Remus was surprised by how few glances were sent Lyall's way as he poured himself a cup. He added a bit of milk and sugar to before wrapping chilled fingers around the ceramic, sighing into the steam with satisfaction.

Perhaps it was something he should have expected, Remus thought to himself. His father had been coming here for more than a few years. The city of Caerphilly had changed much since Lyall and Hope had met all those years ago, but this building still stood. There was love in the foundations, or so Remus had been told as a boy. And it certainly seemed true: the structure was aging; tired even. And yet it had survived both Great Wars without a scratch, allowing a young Hope to one day introduce one Lyall Lupin to the house-made soup. What followed thereafter was an adventure in its own right.

"Bit brisk," Lyall announced shortly, and he shivered as his first sip worked some heat back into his bones. "Should have brought an umbrella."

"Or conjured one," Remus replied, but his father shook his head.

"Too many Muggles," he said, "even if they don't pay attention. But I don't mind the rain."

This he said even as he craned his neck for any onlookers, steam rising from his cloak as he cast a quick drying charm about his clothes.

"Actually, I've been outside all day, anyway," Lyall went on. "Work business. No real use for an umbrella when you need your hands."

"What was it today?"

Lyall shrugged. "Just a boggart, nothing special. Locked itself in the garden shed of an old woman and scared the daylights out of her and all of her dinner guests last night."

"Terrible manners," said Remus, but Lyall rolled his eyes:

"It took the form of a dead body, which her five year old nephew discovered when he went to collect some toys. The police were called. The Obliviators have had their work cut out for them. The worst part was getting invited in for elevenses, and then struggling to leave for the next hour. Sorry I'm late, by the way."

Remus grinned. "Don't be. I had errands to run anyway."

Above his cup, Lyall's eyebrows rose curiously.

Remus hesitated. "Gringotts," he said quickly. "I exchanged a bit of currency for lunch today."

Lyall waved him away. "I'm not going to invite my son for lunch and then have him pay for his meal. Speaking of," he added as a pair of bowls were brought to their table. "I see you already ordered. Good lad." He found his spoon and made short work of his first bite. "I never tire of this. It hasn't changed since you were a boy."

"I remember," Remus said fondly. And he did, too. The night he picked out his wand was the first to rise up from his memory, followed by his birthday earlier that year, the day he fell and scraped both his shins in the garden, and even the time earlier still when they were on their way to see fireworks for Bonfire Night. Dining out was not a common occurrence, especially as Remus grew older. It was simply not something they could afford, quite frankly, and Remus did his best not to blame himself for that. It didn't work, of course. Not always. But Remus couldn't help the warm feeling that rose in his chest when he remembered his mother coming to his bedside one month with a takeaway tin of the same soup cooling in front of him today. It drowned out everything else.

Lyall sighed, his cheeks flush with warmth now instead of winter chill. "So," he said, "what have you been up to?"

Remus sighed now, but it was one of a much different sort. "Oh, this and that," he said, spooning himself a large mouthful of soup to buy some time. "Mostly looking for work. How is work, by the way?"

"Fine," said Lyall, "other than those pesky, uninvited dinner guests. That's been the most interesting thing to happen to me all week, really."

"More so than the chandelier poltergeist?"

"Much more. And the boggart didn't even have to curse. But then," Lyall said suddenly, "that means you didn't have any luck at the bookshop."

"No," said Remus, shaking his head. "They said that they would owl me within a week to let me know. But I saw the clerk watching me. I think she was suspicious."

"There's nothing suspicious about a man applying for a job," Lyall frowned. "You haven't done anything illegal."

Except existing , Remus wanted to say, but he knew his father's thoughts on that and he kept his mouth firmly shut.

"If you like, I could search for something at the Ministry," Lyall went on, but he paused to read Remus' sudden change in expression. "That's a no, I take it."

"I doubt I'd make it past security," said Remus. "They perform checks, don't they? On people's backgrounds?"

"They do, yes, but you've got nothing to hide," Lyall replied. "Right?"

"No, not in the way they're thinking. But, you know as well as I do that they'd look farther than that."

Lyall said nothing, switching from his soup to his tea and indulging in a long, thoughtful drink. "You're worried about the Registry."

"I would like to keep some distance between the Department and myself, yes," said Remus. "Working near the Werewolf Capture Unit has never been an idea I particularly fancied."

His voice had lowered to more a mumble now, and Lyall leaned in over his dishes to hear him over the chatter. He watched as Remus fixated on his own lunch, aware that he was staring and that Remus knew it, but found himself unable to do anything about it. A mix of emotions filled his stomach and jolted the vegetables inside like a stirred cauldron.

What were the chances of Remus ever being taken by the Capture Unit? Lyall found himself torn: on the one hand, the Unit had continuously failed to capture Fenrir Greyback, who nearly two decades ago had been able to evade them entirely by pretending to be a clueless, homeless Muggle and yet had broken into the Lupin home and irreparably changed their lives. With any known threat, the Werewolf Capture Unit suffered from its low funding and relatively low position in the list of Ministry priorities. But on the other hand, how many times had Lyall and family had to uproot when so much as a whisper of "werewolf" came across their path? Remus was on his own now, no longer under Lyall's protection. And it was not that Lyall doubted Remus' ability to keep his own footing, but what would it take, truly, for someone to be cross, or for the wrong thing to be said? It was a fragile thing, this freedom that Remus and Lyall had been allowed to enjoy through the years. He did not wish to test the breaking point.

"That's too bad," he said finally, careful to be mild in his delivery. "I heard there is an opening for a bookkeeper down in the Apparition Test Centre. It isn't much, but the work is steady. And I know how much you love paperwork."

"Like a headache," Remus sighed, but Lyall was ready for him:

"If that's not something you're interested in, perhaps the opening in the Ludicrous Patents Office."

Remus laughed. Well, snorted was more like it, and Lyall grinned.

"Actually," he said suddenly, "have you considered working for an outside agency? For all the security they tote about these days, they don't perform nearly the same number of checks on outside employees. It's a bit ridiculous, actually."

"Really? The Aurors must have a few things to say on that."

"Only Alastor Moody, but it's impossible to get anything past him. What does he say? Continual… something?"

"'Constant vigilance'." Remus echoed the crystal clear voice of Moody in his mind as he said it. "Have you seen Alastor?"

"Not for a few weeks. I expect he's been busy. Now, the work these agencies do is hardly glamorous. The Ministry can't have House Elves cleaning our bins if we're representing them, as it were.

"Work is work," Remus replied, doing his best imitation of casualness. "If I'm honest, I'd considered working for Muggles if I hadn't found anything within a fortnight."

Lyall opened his mouth to reply, but closed it. He stirred the soup, fishing out the last carrot ring thoughtfully. "Where have you thought to go?"

"Well," Remus said quietly, "I thought that Mum's old company might remember me. Might be willing to work with me."

"A real estate agency ?" Lyall leaned back in his chair. The back of it groaned with age. Another few sips of tea gave Lyall the time he needed to contemplate. "Well, I suppose we moved around often enough while you were growing up that you'd have a fair bit of knowledge on homes. But it's been so long. You couldn't have been more than—what, eight? The last time we ever went there?"

"Seven," said Remus. "I'd just turned seven."

"That's not a lot to work with on their part," said Lyall. "If they remember you at all, they'd remember you as that child."

"I know, Dad." Remus never said it was a good idea. But it was an idea, and unfortunately it was just as desperate as it sounded. But Remus was hardly keen on explaining his situation. "I might also try a shop…"

There was a moment of silence between them as they both finished their meals. While they had been talking, the tavern had slowly collected a few more lunch guests and the volume of the room was boisterous as the mood. Someone across the room was talking with his hands to a group of similarly enthused young men: the latest rugby match, won by the Welsh against the English team. The papers they carried in with them were shuffled about their table and their briefcases were tucked under their chairs, something very lucky for the server bending down to serve a tray full of warm beer to the lot. Closer to their table than the men, an elderly couple had stopped in to enjoy a respite from the cold with a hot teapot. The old man spooned some honey into his cup before filling it with boiling water.

"I'd nearly forgotten this, actually," Lyall said suddenly, turning his eyes from the room to split the last of their own tea between both his and Remus' cups. But the last drop from the spout of the teapot saw a shift in the mood at the table.

"It must be nearly time," Lyall said, shifting in his seat. "An hour for lunch hardly seems enough sometimes. We ought to do this again. Soon," he insisted, and Remus nodded.

"Let me check," said Remus, and he pulled from his pocket a golden pocket watch. He flipped open the face to view the hands. "It's nearly half one," he said, but he stopped. "What?"

Lyall's brows scrunched. "The watch," he said. "Have you-done something to it? Had it repaired?"

Remus only wished that was what he had done to it. He forced a laugh he hoped sounded amused. "No, I wish. I think the seconds hand has gone a bit slow." He tried to put it in his pocket before he answered, but Lyall grew more agitated.

"Remus," he said, "let me see it."

"I didn't do anything to it, Dad. What do you think you saw?"

Now Lyall frowned. "Remus, I don't want to ask you again. I had that watch for thirty years before I gave it to you. Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

Now Remus felt his heart start to beat it's way into his throat, and he swallowed. "I don't-"

The watch shot from its place half tucked into his trousers to land firmly in Lyall's grip. Lyall's wand poked just barely out of his sleeve, likely mounted to his wrist for easy—and highly discreet—access. Remus was still as a statue while his father examined the watch.

"Leprechaun gold," Lyall said. "Not even." He waved his wrist over the watch and it dissolved into a wisp. "A charm. Where is the original?"

He didn't look at Remus when he asked, and Remus found that he couldn't answer. He was trying to discern expression from the side of his father's face, searching each line for some kind of meaning that would settle the horrific twisting in his stomach. Lyall presses one palm over his eyes to swipe the fringe from his brow, still staring down at this hands where the watch had been. His jaw was stiff and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed tersely.

"You sold it," Lyall said, "didn't you?"

"Dad, I'm sor-"

"Remus, if you needed money, you could have come to me."

The words were simple, but they stung Remus with shame.

"I had that watch for nearly thirty years before I gave it to you," Lyall went on. He still hadn't looked up, and Remus wished more than anything that he would. "That was my father's watch. My grandfather's watch," he said, and now Remus swore he heard a choke. "It was supposed to go to your own son someday."

Remus said nothing. He couldn't swallow. He couldn't think. There was a part of him begging, pleading with himself to form words but he wasn't sure that there were any words. His eyes fell to the floor, where they fixated on a dried pea from a dish long consumed.

He had been a fool. He had been long before this day and before this terrible plan just to make it through a luncheon. Remus had been applying for jobs, so many jobs. And he had been foolish enough to think that one might hire him long enough that he had expended his leftovers from James, and any meager coin he collected from undignified work had to go to making rent on a flat he had kept so long partly through pity. And still he tried! He never told his father about his skipping meals, or his tattered wardrobe. He only wore his best pair of trousers to meet up with him-him, the only one left who seemed to have any interest in him now that the war was over and his usefulness spent!

But that wasn't true, was it? He felt another wave of guilt at the thought of his last letter from Professor McGonagall, sitting on his dresser at home with no reply even so much as intended. The last year had been a steadily declining hell, begun with a mortal wound that Remus was still waiting to die from. Though the days felt like a constant bleed Remus had kept on, with a small clutch of souls to keep him aware of what the date was and at least make sure he'd eaten. He lied about it more often than not, and it was Lyall who finally drove Remus to meet him out in the real world, with sunlight and the smell of hot food. Their meeting today was not random, but a continuation of some act of generosity that Remus knew now more than ever that he didn't deserve.

"I'm sorry."

There was a pause. Remus actually felt his face contort with confusion before the words truly registered. They weren't his own. He spared a cautious look up at his father.

Lyall was staring at him, his eyes glossy with unshed emotion. "I'm sorry," he said again, and to Remus the world seemed to be ringing because this clearly wasn't right.

" You're …? Dad, I-"

Lyall put a hand up in a gesture that was still quite rigid. "I'm angry," he said slowly. "I'm furious. But that watch? Remus, that watch was a thing. Just a thing. I wanted better for it, but what I want more than that is for you to have what you need and knowing that you've gone to this length-that you felt you had to sell something so important… I failed you, Remus. I'm your father ."

"You didn't," Remus blurted immediately, and his hand went to Lyall's shoulder. "You haven't."

"Come home."

"What?"

Lyall scooped the hand from his shoulder, searching Remus' face. "I want you to come home. Come and stay with me, here in Wales."

"Dad, I have a flat. And I'll get a job. It's only a matter of time. Don't you think it would be a bit of a burden, having me after all these years?"

"My child is not a burden to me," Lyall said sternly, stiffly. "And you never have been, Remus. All the moving around we did, how tight our money was... I noticed you paying attention to those things, Remus, and I never wanted that for you. You were a child. And you need to understand that it is never a burden to have you at home. You are not some unfortunate thing to have around. You're my son , and I love you."

"I love you, too, Dad," Remus said, both because he meant it and for lack of anything else to say. What was he supposed to say, really? Yes, please, that he wanted to return and be the only twenty-two-year-old he knew of living at home? Remus was a fool, but he wasn't stupid: he was aware of the situation he was in and that he was in need of help. But why was it so hard to explain that he didn't want it?

No, that wasn't it. He didn't want to need it. Suddenly Remus was years younger, sitting at McGonagall's desk as she offered him a biscuit and promised to help him find a proper job if it was the last thing she did. More time passed, and Remus was eighteen, staring up at the stars while the grass tickled his arms. Lily was talking to him, but all he could think about was how James had just paid his first months' rent for him. It didn't feel right. But it was James, and he was grateful, because it meant he could have something akin to a normal life in the midst of this war and also have a place to go for his moons when the others were on missions.

Remus hadn't paid his rent this month, he remembered suddenly. Not yet. And James' vault was closed and sealed, waiting for Harry James, as it should be. The weight of the gold in Remus' pocket was that of his entire fortune.

"Remus?"

Lyall's voice roused him back to the present, and Remus found that he still had no answer.

"I'll find a job," he said, partially betrayed at the weakness in his tone. "I've applied to six places just this week."

"And what happens if you don't hear from any of them?"

"Then I'll look elsewhere. I'll try Muggle work, like I said."

"You'll lose your flat before you do," Lyall replied. "Remus, you tried to fool me with a fake watch."

Despite himself, Remus snorted. He knew it was meant to be a mild jab, but he didn't feel like laughing and he ironed his features back into something neutral. "I can take care of myself, Dad," he said. "I've done it for a few years. I don't need to be at home."

Lyall's face softened. "I know this year has been hard for you. Unbelievably. And I know you haven't told me everything about before, and I don't expect you to. Going on what we were dealing at the Ministry, I can't imagine what you were involved in… You think I want you to come home out of some sense of pity, but that couldn't be further from the truth. I know you do your best. I know how hard you work, and this is something that I can offer to take some of that burden off of you. This will give you a few less things to worry about a while. Just for a little while, until you have steady work and you're back on your feet. What do you say?"

Remus was suddenly aware of how tired he was, and not just in body. His head ached. His body ached. The soup had been his breakfast today, and his stomach was already yearning for something more. In the tavern surrounded by souls, Remus had never felt more lonely.

"I, uh… okay." He nodded. He hadn't said the words so much as listened to them come out of his mouth. "Okay."

Relief and happiness flooded Lyall's face, crinkling the crows feet around his eyes as he smiled wider than Remus had ever seen. "Excellent!" he said loudly, and Remus couldn't help but look around for turned heads when, thankfully, there were none. "Wonderful. I can help you pack," he added quickly, suddenly at an apparent loss for words. "When should we begin?"

Remus smiled, but it was only a mimicry. "Uh," he said, "well, I haven't even thought about it. I would need to make arrangements with my landlady, and put things away, of course…"

"Of course," Lyall nodded. And he clapped his hands together as he stood, swinging his cloak over his shoulders excitedly. "I can stop by tomorrow and help if you like."

"Sure," Remus said, even as he knew while he spoke that he wouldn't need the help. Somehow he too felt a small flood of relief, but it felt like a stolen object cradled from view. He didn't want it to disappear while he slept. Better to keep the stone rolling, he supposed. Especially when the relief was dwarfed by a tightness in his chest.

Remus said goodbye to his father after another awkward exchange. It was strange to be leaving the tavern feeling better than he had when he came, considering not all of him wanted to do this. But he was hopeful, for some reason-hopeful that maybe this way he could get the small savings he wanted, without a rent to pay. That perhaps one of the applications would result in something sooner than he thought. The seasons were changing, and dare he thought it: perhaps something good was in store for the holidays.

It was only when Remus got home that he realized how wrong he was.