Disclaimer: Thea and her family are mine. But she will keep running into Remus Lupin and denying me the profit
III.
July 1988
It had been a very cold and damp summer. But it hadn't rained a few days ago, when the pallbearers had lowered the casket carrying Michael Ramora's body into the muddy ground. Nor had the sun shone. Instead, the clouds had hung stubbornly over the churchyard in Surrey. They had put Thea in mind of a frowning coffin lid themselves, burying her, and the whole world alive.
But Rhys had been there then. Like he'd been there when they had lowered Cassidy's tiny casket into the ground last month. They'd both grieved over their little daughter, born far too soon, who'd never even drawn her first breath in the world. But Rhys had had to leave for a meeting back in London before Thea had quite finished helping her sisters clean up after the funeral. He'd taken Riley with him. He wanted to help, wanted to make things easier for her. He thought she needed time to grieve with her sisters, time to think. He was so good. He'd been trying so hard, and he was mourning too, she knew it. But he didn't understand that the last thing Thea needed right now was to be alone.
But she was alone now, getting off the bus in London, and now the sullen skies had at last decided to open. Rain pelted Thea's uncovered head and face, soaked her jacket and loose blue jeans. Thea couldn't bring herself to care. All the world seemed dark, and cold, though it was midsummer. The people passing by were faceless strangers. And oh, she hurt. She hurt for her father, the kind and wise old teacher, that guiding presence in her life, that had gone and left her at last to be grown up all alone. And she hurt for her baby. And they didn't know! They didn't care! Oh, it wasn't fair, it wasn't right. And though rain ran down her face, dripped off her nose and chin, her eyes were dry. Cruelly, mercilessly dry. They had been dry for weeks, and she felt as if she might explode.
Thea swallowed, shaking her head. The water flew off of the ends of her hair and dripped off her sodden jacket. And suddenly, she noticed that beside her was walking a man. He'd been there for a while. She looked at him.
He was thin, almost skeletal, and his face was prematurely lined. His jacket was old and much-patched, and his wet hair had a few strands of grey in it. But if he had been five or six years younger, she might have known him well.
Thea gasped, and stopped. He was looking at her, had been for a while. And now he wordlessly stepped closer, sheltering her beneath his umbrella. "How did you…?" Thea began, and then she was sobbing. Because at last, here was someone who did know. And it didn't matter that the two of them had only exchanged Christmas and birthday cards for six months, and been out of touch for years before that, because he was here now, when it mattered.
He wrapped an arm around her, and she sobbed into his dirty, patched-up jacket. Even now, he didn't speak. He just held her with one arm, and the umbrella with the other, and let her cry, and beat his chest with angry hands. And he heard her cry that it wasn't fair, it wasn't right, and how could the minister have said that God is good when her baby hadn't lived to be loved like her brother, and she still needed her father? And then he did speak. "I know. I know. Come on. Let's get you out of the rain."
He hesitated, on the corner by Mel's- almost turned in towards the old café. "It was raining, too, that first night," he told her. "That's why I came in. Do you want to go?" But Thea shook her head. "I'll walk you home, then," he said.
And Thea shook her head again. "No. Later I'll- but Remus…" she trailed off, and looked up at him with helpless, tear-dimmed eyes. But he seemed to understand. And he waited with her at another bus stop, and the bus took the two of them to a neighborhood still poorer, still more temporary-looking than that in which he had lived when Thea had known him. He took her to a tiny, dirty little complex, with doors discoloured by smoke, and windows that not infrequently had been shattered by burglars. But Remus' door was clean, and his windows were dirty, but intact. And Thea recognised the old brown welcome mat in front. Inside, she thought she heard Archimedes hooting.
She didn't have the energy to look around, to ask why Remus was living here, where he was working. So she let him lead her inside without commenting and place her on the worn-out old brown couch. And she didn't even ask why the wall-space above it no longer had a hanging talking portrait of Churchill on it, or why the books were stacked against the wall, instead of on bookcases. He was gone now- somewhere in the kitchen, moving with that annoyingly silent tread of his. Maybe that was how he'd known, that's how he'd been keeping up with her. She'd forgotten- how he made next to no noise when he walked, how his grace had irritated her when they were friends next to her persistant klutziness. Rhys dropped and lost things, sometimes. It made her feel better about herself when he did.
Thea hugged herself, hard. She shouldn't be here. Why was she here, with this man she hadn't seen for years on the wrong side of town? Rhys would be expecting her home, with Riley. Had she called to say she'd be coming home? She couldn't remember. She should go. But then Remus came back in, bearing steaming peppermint tea in one of the chipped brown mugs she remembered. He draped the throw he had at the bottom of the sofa around her. And she shivered, and looked up at him, and decided to stay, just for a while.
"I'd forgotten," she said, later, when she'd dried off and had a cup and a half of tea. She stared down at her hands. It was easier not to look at him. "It's been so long- I'd forgotten just how much it hurts."
"All those people who say it gets better with time," he said quietly, "It's a lie, because it never stops hurting, not really. But it's true, too, because time does dull the pain."
Now she looked at him. "And you- you've been through this over and over again! With your mother, and then the war, and your father…?" her voice rose up on a question, and he inclined his head.
"A couple of years ago," he said. "But never a child. Never that."
Thea hesitated. "There's never been…?"
He shook his head. "I'm still a werewolf. And they keep passing laws. There won't be anyone for me, Thea." He was quiet a moment. "It's better that way," he said at last, in a low voice.
Thea's heart turned over in her chest and she whirled to face him, spilling her tea. "That's not true!" she cried. "Remus, even if Rhys died tomorrow, or we got divorced, or one of us came down with some horrible illness so being together was just a burden, it's better to be in it with someone than to stand out on the sidelines for fear of what might happen. It's better to hurt, and love, and hurt again, and fight, and hurt some more, and still choose to love than to wait, and to be alone. You taught me that."
Remus started to pull out his wand to address the tea soaking into Thea's jeans, but then he put it back up. Instead, he got up, went to the kitchen, and came back with a towel. He started to mop up the liquid. His face was sad. "I taught you that, did I?" he murmured.
Thea took the towel from him and resumed soaking up spilled tea. She couldn't smile. But she nodded. "When you left, you did," she answered.
"Thea—"
She held up a hand to stop him. "I don't regret it. I love my husband. I love the life we've built together. I love our child." Her face creased in pain and she took a breath. "And that's why I can tell you now that it's worth it. To love. And that you really shouldn't be stupid and keep yourself from doing it."
But that was as much as she could manage. Her face crumpled again, and she covered her face with the tea-soaked dishcloth. She had to take several more deep breaths before she could look up again. "How did you know?" she asked then. "You always know. About Rhys and me, then when Riley was born, and now…"
Remus shrugged. "I don't have so many friends that I can afford to lose track of the ones that I've got," he said off-handedly. Then, more seriously, "I check up on you, and Rhys, every few months. It's what we wizards do when we don't have access to a telephone. It's sporadic, so they don't notice a pattern and start following me again. But if something terrible happened and I wasn't there for you, when you needed me…" he shrugged again and allowed Thea to draw her own conclusions. "I owe you that much," he said. "And you're still one of the most incredible people it's been my privilege to know."
Thea frowned. "You ought to say hello during these 'check-ups' so I can return the favour," she said weakly. "You're not well, are you?" She looked back up at him.
Remus didn't look at her. "I've been worse."
Thea sighed. "Come here," she said. She grabbed hold of his hand simply and put her head on his shoulder. He obligingly wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her there.
"Thanks," she said. "For the tea, and for being here."
"Whenever,"said Remus.
"Just write, okay? Do that much," Thea said. "I've missed you. And it can't hurt me, not now."
Remus was silent, but he nodded, and Thea felt his head move against hers.
They sat there for a while more. Then Thea shifted. "Take me home?" she asked.
He stood. "Yeah. Will you be alright?"
Thea stood, too. "I'll be alright," she said. "The sun goes on rising, doesn't it? You count your successes and you're grateful for your blessings, and you let the darkness take care of itself. And eventually, you find you've moved on." The words were a little forced, a little hollow. But Remus smiled at her.
"So I've heard, Thea Davison," he said quietly. "There now. Stand tall. You ready?"
"Mmmhmm."
He opened the umbrella, and together, they walked back into the rain.
He took the bus with her all the way back to her side of town, and walked her as far as the street corner. Then, with one last hand clasp, he left. But the rain had stopped. The sun was starting to shine weakly through the clouds. And when Thea opened her front door and called out, Rhys was waiting for her, with supper ready and a warm hug. And Riley was waiting, with a sticky kiss.
