Note: Thank you very much to my kind reviewers! It was wonderful to hear from you!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I making any profit from this piece of writing. The same goes for chapter one, I think I forgot to mention earlier.
2: The Wrong Kind of Party
As a shout of laughter rang out around the kitchen, she attempted to stifle her own giggling and prepared to make for the door, reaching to set her glass down beside the sink, only to find a bottle being thrust into her path.
"No, no, no!" she cried in feeble protest as she found her glass being refilled yet again. "Seriously, I mean it, I can't..."
"Don't be boring! Come on, stay just a little longer!"
"I really can't, I have to get back...the baby, y'know?"
"You should've brought him with you!"
"Oh yeah, yeah Bill, that would've been a great idea, wouldn't it? He'd have gotten plenty of sleep with the likes of you and the terrible twosome over there..."
"Oi!"
"We resent that!"
Setting the now full glass stubbornly down, she turned to shoot the double act sat at the table a wide grin, before forcing herself to be the sensible one.
"I can't stay. It's not fair to leave Mum with him all evening when she's under the weather, and besides, somebody's got to reset the protective wards before they wear off again. Remus is hardly going to get round to it, is he?" She shot the nearest window a meaningful look, and her companions all glanced outside where the silvery light of a full moon was casting soft shadows upon the garden wall.
"Let 'er go. She eez cutting it fine already."
Glancing up at the clock that was set above the kitchen sink to find this was true, she muttered:
"Bugger!" before reaching to fling a clumsy arm around her nearest friend's neck, leaning on tip-toes to press a kiss to his cheek and mumble: "Look what you've done, you sod! See you later, yeah?" As she made a dash towards the door, narrowly avoiding tripping over the doormat as she hastily waved to the room at large, calling: "Thanks for tea, I'll bring him next time, promise!" And with that she pulled the door open and disappeared out into the dark, their farewell calls drifting out after her.
She appeared down the end of the reassuringly silent street with a soft pop a few minutes later, and set off up the road at a brisk pace, confident that she would arrive just in time for the old wards to wear off. She would replace them before going inside. And if she wasn't there in time, her mother would surely remember and step in.
No problem. Piece of cake.
It was at that very moment that she heard a distinct rustling sound to her right, and she came to an abrupt halt, hand instinctively reached into her pocket, fingers closing tightly around the handle of her magic wand. As she stood stock still, eying the short alleyway that she had stopped beside, she heard a what seemed to be a muffled little wail.
It was then that she caught sight of the bundle of blankets set down beside one of the tall wheely bins, and she hurriedly drew her wand and murmured:
"Lumos!"
The narrow concrete alley was flooded with light, and the wailing grew suddenly louder. It was a strange sound. Part of her was sure it was the cry of an infant, but then she was pretty sure that if she and her husband were to be awoken by their son making such a sound, she would probably turn to fix said husband with wide eyes, and ask him what in Merlin's name was it that she had given birth to. It was a shrill, piercing sound that made her flinch, and as she slowly edged her way towards it she could not help but grit her teeth against the noise. As she drew closer it seemed to get worse than ever, and by the time she came to a halt before it, dropping down into a crouch, her ears were positively ringing.
Wand trained cautiously upon the bundle, she reached down to grasp hold of the soft, fleecy material. And then, taking a deep breath, she pulled the blanket back...
The shrill wail rose a pitch and she would have thrown down her wand and clamped her hands to her ears had the sight before her not made her jump backwards, narrowly avoiding toppling over onto the grimy ground.
She stared down at the mark that appeared to have been seared into the revealed concrete. The Mark.
The Dark Mark.
Heart immediately beginning to race in panic, her gaze came to rest upon the blanket that she held in her hand. Soft, frilly, a pretty baby blue...
Baby blue...
The panic instantly set in.
Oh no...no, no, no...
The blanket dropped to the ground as she turned to run full pelt back up the alley, up the street towards the house...
No...please no...anything but that, anything at all...
She crashed through the front door that had been left ajar and without a single glance into the kitchen or the living room made for the stairs, panting as she took them three at a time...
How could I have been so stupid? How could I have let them distract me...not my boy...not my little boy...
She could hear her mother's sudden frantic calling from downstairs and yet she was so utterly focused that she did not stop to wonder why the older witch was not already up here, not trying to do something, not trying to make it stop...
Make it stop...make it all stop...for the love of Merlin, don't let them do it...don't let them take him, don't let them take my precious little boy...
And at that moment she burst into the nursery, feeling the sudden cold draft from it's wide open window, and she came to a skidding halt beside the cradle, reaching to grip hold of the side of it to steady her sudden stop.
Please, please, please...
No. No, no, no...
No baby.
No little boy.
Just an empty cradle and a discarded little teddy bear that her husband had placed there some hours earlier before he left the house.
And as she heard her mother cluttering up the stairs, she felt her legs buckling underneath her, she squeezed her eyes shut against the nightmarish scene, gasping in a deep breath as she fell to her knees, hands still gripping the edge of the cradle.
She screamed.
At the sound of a high pitched scream, mingled with laughter, Nymphadora Lupin reluctantly opened her eyes, blinking a little against the bright sunshine of the Potters' back garden. A horde of children were midway through charging their way across the patio and down onto the grass in front of her, it was no doubt the beginning of a very enthusiastic game of tag. As she watched, one boy succeeded in catching a second, smaller child around the middle, and with a jerk the pair of them crashed to the ground, eliciting a shriek of horror from the younger of the pair. As he promptly burst into tears, a voice from the back door shouted:
"JAMES SIRIUS POTTER! How many times do I have to tell you to play nicely? Help Al up this instant!"
As James pulled the sobbing Al rather roughly back onto his feet and set about dusting the grass from his back, Dora sighed heavily and leant to rest her head upon her husband's shoulder.
"Take me home." she mumbled pleadingly, and as he too stared with distinctly faraway eyes at the children, Remus Lupin observed:
"We've only been here ten minutes."
Shifting closer so that she could reach to hug his arm with both of her own, she sighed yet again.
"I know that, but...but well...you know..."
As James Potter managed to tag a little girl with silvery blonde hair, causing her to let out a small shriek of protest, Remus took a turn at sighing himself.
"I know." he whispered, gaze suddenly upon his shoes, and after a long pause he finally decided: "I'll make our excuses, shall I?" With that, he gave his wife a rather feeble pat upon the arm before getting to his feet and heading off in search of their host.
Dora rather supposed that she ought feel guilty. After all, there was no doubt in her mind that Harry and Ginny had organised this little gathering, today of all days, specifically to keep both her and Remus occupied, to keep them cheerful.
And yet they had turned up over three hours later than Harry had suggested, and would be leaving before finishing their first drinks. She dreaded to think how much time Molly had spent that morning baking muffins in the kitchen.
But in all honesty she couldn't quite bring herself to care. Because this wasn't supposed to be a simple garden party, nor a simple batch of blueberry muffins.
No, Dora thought dismally as she watched the children in their frantic game. It was supposed to be her son's eleventh birthday party, with a birthday cake. And presents. And big smiles. And look, Mum, look what Harry got me, and watch, Dad, watch me blow out all of my candles...
She was supposed to be watching him run around with the rest of the children, getting up to mischief and covering his clothes in grass stains.
She was quite relieved when Remus returned a moment later and the two of them could make a speedy exit down the side entrance of the house and off down the street.
"Were they okay about it?" she asked once they had put a few houses between themselves and the noisy Potter-Weasly brood.
"They were fine." Remus assured her as she tucked her hand through the crook of his arm as they walked.
"Liar. Molly lectured you about the perils of being alone, Fleur complained you hadn't tried her punch and Hermione hugged you half to death until Harry and Ron had to drag her off of you, then you had to make a run for the door before Arthur asked if you wanted "a little chat". Admit it. That's exactly what happened."
There was a long pause before he mumbled:
"Actually, Ginny made the punch...and I'm not going to be alone, I'm going to be with you."
She gave a strained chuckle, not even sure herself whether it was one of amusement or despair.
"I think that makes it worse. I give it an hour before somebody floos to check up on us."
It was his turn to give an equally grim laugh, before admitting:
"I wish they wouldn't."
They continued on in silence until they reached the small green at the bottom of the road and headed for the shelter of the small cluster of trees in the far corner.
"What're you thinking?" she asked at last as they slowed their pace, waiting for an old woman who was walking her dog to pass them by. It was not until they reached the trees and she had turned to wrap her arms around his neck, peering up at him with scrutinizing dark eyes that Remus finally said:
"Eleven years old...I was thinking...this September..." he trailed off into silence, sucking in a deep breath as she finished:
"He'd be starting Hogwarts."
As Remus' gaze wandered to the treetops above them, he frowned when she mused:
"I wonder what House he'd have been in..."
"Did you talk to your mother this morning?"
At such a blatant effort to change the subject, Dora pursed her lips together against any form of protest, grip around the werewolf's neck tightening.
"No." she mumbled as he reached to loosen her stranglehold and take hold of her hands in his instead. "Why, did you?"
"I think you should." he informed her, as though she had not asked a question at all. "She needs to hear from you today." At this observation, there was deathly silence, broken only by the rustle of leaves in the summer breeze. As Dora fidgeted where she stood, refusing to meet his gaze, Remus dropped her hands in favour of folding his arms across his chest.
This single gesture appeared to tip his wife over the edge, and her mousy brown hair darkened to a deep, furious red as she practically shouted:
"I DO NOT BLAME MY MUM FOR WHAT HAPPENED! Stop bloody thinking otherwise!"
As a boy cycling past the green paused in his pedaling to stare at this little outburst, Remus did not so much as flinch.
"You wouldn't have a problem if we popped round there for coffee later, then?" he inquired calmly, and his wife stood staring up at him for a long moment, opening and closing her mouth several times as she struggled to know what to say.
"I go and visit her all the time!" she pointed out somewhat uncertainly, the fire in her voice audibly smothered.
"I know you do. But never on Ted's birthday, or..."
"Don't."
"You're sensible, Dora. She was feeling ill, she fell asleep in her chair, it wasn't her fault the wards failed, just like it wasn't your fault they distracted you and it wasn't my fault it was full moon. They were probably watching us for days, they knew what time we set the wards each day, when they'd fail..."
"I said don't."
"Voldemort had it all planned. You know all of that, you know we can't blame ourselves or anybody except him."
"Exactly!"
"But just because you know it doesn't mean you can help yourself. You tell me you don't blame yourself, but you still wonder what if I'd run a bit faster. And you tell your mother you don't blame her, but you still wish she'd woken up. And she's not stupid. She knows."
Dora's eyes drifted closed and she flopped forward to bury her face in his shirt.
"Oh Merlin..." she sniffed as he reached to hug her to him. "She does, doesn't she?"
"Talk to her." he insisted, head bowed to press a kiss atop her head, her hair once again a dull mousy brown.
They stood there, stock still under the trees, she sobbing quietly into his shirt as he stared blankly over the top of her head, lips pursed together into a thin, stoic line. And when his composure began to waver and his eyes seemed blurry and damp, Remus Lupin's grip upon his wife tightened more than ever, and the pair disappeared into thin air with a soft pop.