What Makes Us
Chapter Nine: In Wales
December 1981
There was a silence between them during which Hermione gathered herself, reaching for Remus' shirt and pulling it around her shoulders. Remus still looked angry, though his expression was now tinged with regret. For her part, she tried to comprehend what he must think of himself, that he would think it better for him to stay away rather than spend these last days with his ailing mother.
Eventually, Remus told her, somewhat stiltedly, "I'm sorry. I know you must wish..."
He trailed off, and although his words seemed sincere, she sensed that he still refused to be swayed when it came to his own parents.
"I'm sorry as well." She looked down, avoiding his eyes for now. "Remus, I...I understand that family isn't always...that sometimes family can in fact be awful, and not worth suffering through at all––but I don't think it's like that for you?" Back in her old world, Remus had never mentioned anything of the sort; he had only spoken of regret that he had not spent more time with his mother before her passing.
When he said nothing, she went on. "Your parents love you, and I honestly believe you would bring them––such joy, if you went to see them. Of course they would worry about you as well, your condition, your life, but...they seem to think it's worth it. And so––perhaps you shouldn't make that choice for them."
Remus looked stubborn. He spoke with conviction: "It's not worth it."
"You are," she whispered.
When she did look up, Remus was blinking back tears, the lake blue of his eyes glimmering in the firelight. With an effort, he said,
"It's not worth it. I know that. But now that she's...I just––I just want my mum to be happy when––when she––to be happy."
Hermione said, gently, "She'll be happy with you there."
She gave him back the letter, and Remus took it; he did not read it again, but she had the feeling he already knew it by heart.
Finally he said, so low she almost did not hear it, "You really think so?"
Hermione nodded, kept nodding as she pressed close again and embraced him. He had shut his eyes and she watched as a tear seeped from beneath his lashes.
"Will you come with me?"
Hermione had not been to Wales before. She had almost gone, once, as a child, but in the end her parents had decided to spend the weekend in Bristol instead of driving on.
Now she and Remus Apparated, disappearing from his cottage in the Yorkshire woods, reappearing in the front garden of another cottage, this one surrounded by forest. For a moment she thought they had not moved. Upon closer inspection, however, this cottage was far less shabby; it looked more homey, lived-in but well kept, with friendly patterned curtains visible through clean windowpanes. A Christmas wreath hung on the front door. She looked to Remus and found his face tense, but his eyes sad and soft.
"Hey," she whispered, taking his hand in hers, and he looked at her, nodded and squeezed.
As they approached, the front door rattled and then opened. A tall, grey-haired wizard clad in neat dark robes peered out at them, and though he had a greying moustache and wore spectacles where his son did not, she could see the echoes of Remus in his face.
"Remus." His father stepped out quickly to greet them, the door easing open behind him. A smile brightened his lined face as Remus walked up to meet him, and as father and son embraced, Hermione followed but hung back, smiling as she looked on.
"I'm glad you've come, son," said his father. He released Remus from the embrace, but gripped him for a while by the arm and shoulder, no doubt taking in his son's scarred and tired face. Hermione could tell that it pained him, though he made no remark on it.
"Thanks for having us, Dad," Remus murmured, and Hermione was only briefly surprised to hear the same Welsh lilt now on his tongue. She found she very much liked it. Remus took her hand, and continued, "Dad, this is Hermione. Hermione, my dad, Lyall."
"Pleasure to meet you," said Lyall warmly, and shook her hand vigorously. She could sense the sincerity in his tone. She wondered in passing how many partners Remus had brought to meet them before, if he had brought any at all.
"Thank you for inviting me as well."
"Of course," Lyall said. "Of course. Please, come in, come in..."
It was pleasantly toasty inside the house. They removed their coats, Remus stripping off his worn green jumper as well. It left his sandy hair tousled, and this, as well as the faded t-shirt he wore underneath and the old house around them, made him look for a moment even younger than his years.
"Where's Mum?" Remus asked quietly. "How is she, Dad?"
Lyall looked quietly back at his son for a moment, hazel eyes sober. "She's in the bedroom. She wants to join us outside for the evening meal, but usually these days she's in bed...she...the Healers have said a few weeks. The doctors as well."
Hermione watched Remus' throat work, stuck with emotion, and she felt helpless, able only to look on, hoping that she was not imposing.
"Remus," she said, softly, "do you want me to wait somewhere first?"
He shook his head, paused, then nodded.
"I'll wait for you. I'll just wait for everyone out here––if it's alright––" she added.
"Of course, Hermione." Lyall led her into the living room, a cosy, neatly kept room lined with bookshelves. Despite the plentiful shelving, there were still various books laying out on the end tables, and on the sofa and armchairs arranged around a large fireplace. "Please, make yourself at home...and I must apologise for the circumstances..."
"Please," she interjected, quickly. "There's no need at all. I'll wait here until you've all had a chance to talk."
Remus gave her a nod and a not-quite smile through the doorway before following his father out of her sight. After a moment she heard the soft click of a door opening somewhere down the hall, and then the soft sounds of greeting and conversation. Walking around the low coffee table, Hermione sat down on the fabric-covered sofa, looking around the room and taking in the sight of a mixed muggle-magic household.
There was a small pewter cauldron next to the fireplace, and something that looked like a flobberworm living in a small glass tank by the window. There were also electronics; her heart felt as if it squeezed a little tighter when she saw that the Lupins owned the same videocasette player her parents did, kept on a shelf just below their modest television. On top of the television was a small figurine of a mushroom, and in the bookshelf beside it, muggle tomes sat side by side with magical publications. It made Hermione smile; it looked just like her own bookshelf at home, and like Remus'––the Remus she had known first.
Beside her on the sofa lay an open envelope. She recognised Remus' handwriting inside, the blue ink, and remembered him writing out the reply, answering his parents' letter. He had still been reluctant, she had seen it in his face, but he had done it anyway. She found herself hoping fervently that she had done the right thing in pressing him to come. She was an outsider; it was true that she did not and could not understand the situation as he did, had never seen the effect of his condition on his parents, his family. Far lesser things had torn families apart.
"Hermione?"
She looked up to see Remus back in the doorway, leaning on the doorframe with one hand. He was smiling a little, though she could still see the tension and worry in his forehead. "Will you come say hello to Mum?"
She rose, going to him and letting him lead her down the carpeted hall, past framed, moving photographs hung lovingly along the walls. She caught glimpses of family photographs, of Remus as a teenager, as an infant. Then they reached a door upon which Remus knocked softly, then eased open. She went in and was met by the gentle smile of Remus' mother.
"Hermione, my mum, Hope," she heard Remus say from behind her.
"It's so lovely to meet you," Hermione said, and meant it. Hope lay in bed, under covers the colour of autumn leaves. She looked pale, weak, much as her son did after the moon. Her blonde hair was mostly silver, her blue eyes weary but still attentive. She had a quiet beauty; and, Hermione thought, Remus looked like her, down to the kindness that seemed etched into her features.
"I'm glad you could come, Hermione." Hope's voice was soft, fatigued, barely above a whisper. Her eyes flickered to her son, a gaze tinged with amusement, as she said, "And thank you for bringing Remus along."
"Mum," started Remus. Hermione returned Hope's amused glance.
Remus helped his mother out to the dining room for dinner, Lyall anxiously leading the way, readying her favourite chair at the table. Lyall took a seat beside his wife, leaving Remus and Hermione to settle down across from them.
"You look well, son," Lyall said.
Remus nodded, looking down at the table. "I've been feeling better. A little more..." He trailed off.
"I'm glad." Hope smiled at her son, then at Hermione. Again her eyes reminded Hermione of her son's, not just their colours but the way they seemed to see and say things that remained unspoken. How surreal it felt to be sitting here with Remus and his parents, and how strange, especially, that it felt so natural. The evening passed by very enjoyably; she felt cocooned in the warmth and wit that it was so clear Remus had inherited from his parents. Hope joined in the conversation, and laughed and joked, but sometimes Hermione still caught Remus watching his mother, sorrow and torment in his eyes.
Late at night it was just the two of them again, sitting with mugs of mulled wine on the bed in Remus' old bedroom.
"This house is from after we stopped moving around all the time because of me." Remus was looking around the room, his expression edged with melancholy. "I only stayed here some weeks in the summer, when I wasn't spending it with––them." James and Sirius, she thought he meant, and Peter.
"Your parents are lovely," she told him, honestly. He looked down at his wine and nodded.
"Yes, they are."
She hesitated, but ventured, "And they...they're so glad to see you."
Remus smiled, though it was a little twisted at one corner. But he only said, "They really like you, too."
"Really?"
"Yes."
He took her hands in his, mugs duly banished to the kitchen, and simply sat there looking down for a moment, tracing her knuckles and the tops of her fingers with his thumbs. She felt a lump rise in her throat at the expression on his face, the twitch in the corner of his mouth.
"Thank you for making me come and see her. I was being a fool." He lifted her hand, fusing it with his, so that their fingers interlocked. Hermione drew his hand close and pressed her lips to his fingertips, the side of his wrist, feeling the soft pulse beneath his skin. She watched a tear fall onto his outstretched arm, followed by another that he tried to hide in his sleeve. Her own heart felt sore, thinking as she was of her own parents; how much did they know of what had happened to her? Had they been told anything at all? Would they forgive her for this, for leaving them again?
"You weren't being a fool, Remus." And she thought, but did not say: you were being what you've always been, feeling what you've always felt, that self-loathing taught to you by the world.
He wiped roughly at his eyes, impatient with himself, and tried for a smile. "Thank you for coming with me."
"Of course." She matched his desire for a lighter tone: "Just please don't wake me for that three-in-the-morning Christmas service."
Remus laughed. "My parents were only teasing. We don't go to that." He gave her a kiss, added playfully: "We always go for the four-in-the-morning. Get much more sleep that way."
As they held each other that night, and the nights after that, she thought that her love could not save him from the heartbreak he had faced, and would soon face again; nor could his love save her; but she could not imagine their not having found one another.
A/N: Thank you for your kind comment, ell!
