Chapter 4:
A\n: this story is just giving me a new meaning to the term: I broke through writer's block! Jeez, I am just loving it! Are you? Ah, I suppose I shouldn't speak to soon, heehee. Alas, we have some key points, like always, for this chapter. First, italics are Teddy's letter, than Remus's thoughts...and second...oh, I guess there is none. Haha! I am so retarded sometimes! XD God Bless, you guys! And please review! Without further ado: chapter 4!
Dad,
I've arranged to apparate Thursday night. I should be in just before dinner, and I am bringing a load of bookwork. There are a few, core lessons I must complete for my first semester, but not too much that I would be unable to study there. Give Mella-bean my love, and don't feel bad for asking me this: I WANT to be with my sister, and you, of-course. I'll be home soon.
All my love,
Teddy.
Remus felt relief flood over him once he began to read his son's letter, and he found himself calming down immensely once he was finished. He felt as though a weight had been lifted off him that he didn't even know was holding him down. Remus knew he couldn't do this alone; he needed to admit to desperately wanting his son near them...near his daughter.
Mella. His beautiful, second-born, only daughter.
She had her mother's features: especially that smile. The smile of Nymphadora Tonks.
Mella had Remus's intelligence, her mother's looks, Remus's composition, and her mother's clumsiness...and he loved her to death.
He sat alone in front of the fireplace, listening to the embers burn and crackle- pondering over his thoughts. After a few moments of silence, he heard a soft, 'meow', and what felt like a tuft of peach fuzz against his leg.
"Hello, Snowball," he greeted, warranting himself another light meow. He bent over to pick up the animal gently, then held her in one hand, resting her against his chest. "What a small, fearless kitten-not frightened by the 'big-bad-wolf', are we? Why aren't you with Mel?" He sighed, figuring he should check on his daughter. He stood slowly, Snowball still in his hand, and walked to his daughter's room only to discover her sitting in front of her easel- a blank canvas stretched before her; paint-brush in hand. Her window was open, and cold air rushed through as she stared at the image of an almost full moon.
"What are you doing, darling? Why is the window open? You'll catch a cold!" He rushed towards it to shut it, but she politely shook her hand and raised her hand, encouraging him to leave it alone. She smiled gently.
"I've always wanted to paint the moon full, on a windy, star-filled night. Since I can't do it tomorrow, though, I decided to begin now."
Remus silently appraised her posture-back straight, which thankfully meant: she was in no pain- and nodded.
"Snowball wondered into the living room, so I thought I should bring her back."
Mella smiled. "Well, I figured if she left my room, you'd come to check on me." she stood and moved to sit on her bed instead, and Remus followed suit. "I needed to talk to you."
Remus rested a hand on her knee. "What is it, sweetheart?"
Mella was never one for 'beating around the bush'; in fact, like her mother, she was very blunt.
"Dad, do you think I'm going to die?"
Remus's breath hitched in his throat. He had NOT been prepared for that. Couldn't his daughter's questions be more like: 'can we buy a collar for snowball tomorrow?' or, 'can I have a higher allowance'? Guilt flooded his veins when he realized, though...the only word taunting his thoughts, was: yes.
"Darling, I-"
"-Dad, yes or no?"
Remus gulped. "I...do not know, Melanie."
She nodded.
"I feel so different, Dad...I think...yes...and, I just," she rested her hand on top of his. "want you to be prepared." she trailed off.
Remus was at a loss for words, and tears threatened to leak into his eyes.
Prepared? Yes? ….What? NO! NO PREPARING! NO YES! NO DEATH! Not my baby girl!
His head ached; his heart was torn into shreds...hot tears spilled over into his lap and he turned to hide them from his child. His world was falling apart; he couldn't lose something so precious to him...Not his princess.
"Mella," he began quietly, sniffling. Ignoring her comment, he continued on a heart-to-heart instead of this depressing topic. "I remember the night you were born. Animals have strong attachments to their kin. You, though, you are a human...but, you being born a cub...being a werewolf, makes me relate to you, in ways I never thought I'd be able to with a child. I never thought I would have children and you, and Teddy are just, the world to me. Normally, when werewolves are born in wolf form, they screech, but you...I nuzzled your little snout, and you yelped playfully; lovingly. You were a bundle of furry joy, and the day you were a human for the first time, bundled in my arms, as that little girl, pink hat, little pink socks, and opening your eyes to the world for the first time...I fell in love. You are just a beauty, Mel. You are more than any father could ever ask for, and I would rather be dead that not hold you when you cry from the pain of your scars, or this disease. I'd rather die than not go with you to every doctor's appointment, and squeeze your hand...I'd rather die, than not be here for you...no matter what happens. I'd rather hurt for you, and with you, then not be here without my princess. When you were 4, you started getting a little snobby, and instead of an heiress, I called you a 'weiress', since you're a werewolf...But, Mel, how wrong I was. You are the most down to earth, understanding, caring little woman I have ever known. I am so, incredibly, unfathomably proud of you for all you have accomplished, and I will support you no matter what you want in life, what you do, or want to do..No matter what time either of us have left with each other or not. We aren't going to give up; werewolves fight. It's the first time I have ever been proud to vow to you, that I can, and will, fight to the bone for you."
Mella was strong, but in the presence of her father-sad over her, giving her this talk of her birth, and young life, watching tears drip down his cheeks as he struggled to remain composure-she cracked.
Remus held her for hours that night as she cried, re-telling stories to her of her mother, her birth, her childhood...telling her that he always imagined her wedding day, and how he could never see himself giving her away. Mella felt safe there; in those stories, in her father's arms...but she couldn't stop the beating of her heart into her head, the depression that threatened to drown her: the fear that threatened to consume her. What was beyond their small cottage in England? What was beyond going to school, having friends you ALWAYS see, eating every meal, schedules, what she was COMFORTABLE with? Mella was frightened of the unknown. She had always been scared to transform: for she never had any recollection, and was scared to not know what she was about to go through, or do. Mella was so obsessive about this fear of the unknown, in fact, that she even had trouble sleeping at night. Even her father couldn't push away her fears with the warm milk, chocolate, and talking: she was deathly frightened of plunging herself into any place she couldn't control.
Death. Death was the ultimate unknown; the ultimate stop. What would she do there? In death? What was it? Where would she go? Would it hurt? She clutched her father tight; for now, she was safe in his arms. Mella soothed herself with the thought that if everyone told her she was like her mother, than she would be able to handle death too: If her Mom was there and had gotten through it: she could too.
She wouldn't be afraid: if there was such a thing as forever, it was now.
