22
WHEN Hope regained consciousness, she was lying on a hard surface with twigs, and pebbles and scattered, fallen leaves under her back—was she back in the woods, again? Slowly, she blinked open her eyes, sure she was not about to like what she found, and whatever might be waiting for her there.
It took a few moments for the fog of confusion and worry Hope found herself in to dissipate.
There was always fear. It was not even an experience of suddenly remembering her situation being consumed with fear after a sense of comfortable confusion, oh, no. Instead, her fear was simply a realization of the cause of the sense of her impending, obvious doom at the hands of her kidnapper.
Everything came back to her and suddenly. There were no holes missing. None that Hope could remember anyway, and she tried to think about where she might have been whisked away to now, away from Lyall, and what she might be able to do to get out of this situation.
She had heard the stranger's voice sending a message for Lyall, she had thought she'd heard Lyall respond back, or had that been a figment of her imagination?
She tried to move her hands but found her wrists bound together by what felt like a length of old rope that chafed the tender skin of her wrists, causing her to nearly cry out in alarm as the frayed edges rubbed against her skin.
She tugged on her bindings regardless of the pain, desperate to try to free herself before whoever was doing this to her and why came back for her to finish what they started.
Hope liked to believe that she knew enough not to call out for help and so she stayed silent.
As she struggled to work to free herself, Hope tried to remember the sight of her kidnapper and the man's name was Evan Rosier. Slender, tall, and broad-shouldered, cold dead eyes, the result of contacts, no doubt, and a cruel smile that was devoid of any emotion whatsoever.
Just because she was alive now did not mean Hope did not fear that she would eventually be killed, but it suggested to her there were other things this Fenrir Greyback character wished to do to her before he disposed of her. She furrowed her brows and shivered as she swore she thought she had felt the savage brute sniff her hair.
She could only hope if it came to that, she would be strong enough to hold onto what little dignity remained within herself and pray that Lyall came.
As she tried to sit up, she quickly realized there was a horrible constricting on her throat, like a weight that was determined to suck away her breath.
She sighed, and with that, the pressure at her throat tightened. When Hope's lungs heaved painfully to cough, she pried her eyes open wider and stared up at the unspeakable horror that loomed over her.
The sight that she was forced to look upon now made her pupils dilate in the dark.
A hairy, large, calloused hand that was more of a claw hovered against the delicate skin of her neck; his calloused fingers wound around her throat like poison ivy tended to snake its way around pillars. Fenrir Greyback's eyes burned bright, and Hope could clearly draw the loathing and hatred that spiraled within the monster's narrowed, yellow eyes.
But there was something else there too. Something she began to shiver for and that she despised. Something that resembled abhorrence and worse, frustrated…desire.
Her captor's right hand pushed the weight down on her throat and beside her ear, his left remained above her throat.
A chill crept on her pores as she realized that someone, probably Rosier when the man had brought her here, had taken off her jacket and had discarded it, leaving only the material of her dress to serve as a barrier that existed between her and this Greyback.
She shivered as Greyback's thin, wormy lips curled upward as fear once again overwhelmed Hope as the hulking, towering beast loomed over her, even kneeling into a crouch as he was right now. He had that strange little warped smile on his face and there was a menacing look in his eyes now.
Hope parted her lips to try to draw in air.
He—he wouldn't be serious… would he? Hope wondered wildly, biting down on her bottom lip.
The man's fingers around her neck forced even deeper as Hope forced herself to ease her body and close her eyes, as though she welcomed Death itself like an old family friend.
Go ahead… Hope tried to tell her captor in impossible telepathy, which seemed to have penetrated the man's psyche, much to her surprise as the man's eyes grew wide.
The fingers around her throat loosened. A tense and tired release sent just the slightest whiff of air through her burning lungs, which gasped for the taste of the oxygen around her.
Hope turned her head to the side as she coughed, sitting upright against the rough bark of a tree as well as she could, inhaling until her heartbeats resembled a normal pace again.
Suddenly, her words before he had subdued her came to mind and Hope felt bile rise in her throat that she forced herself to swallow back down.
"I…" she hesitantly began, and he cocked his head to the side as he looked at her but said nothing by way of response. Her stomach turned as the man fumbled into the pockets of his dark leather trench coat for a wand of his own and Hope once again felt unexplainable terror seize her heart and squeeze. "No, no, no, please…" she begged as he raised his wand and pointed it squarely at her head, right between her eyes.
She continued to splutter until something hard struck the back of her skull as the man wordlessly had raised his wand and pointed it at her head. Just before Hope lost consciousness for a second time, she felt her kidnapper lean down close enough and felt his lips come to the shell of her ear.
"Behave…and I might let him live," he whispered, hot breath against her ear that made Hope shiver. "If you don't, then I must just have to kill him, pet."
Hope fought to keep her eyes open, a strange sound that sounded like the loud, unmistakable noise of a car engine backfiring filling the space of the forest clearing around her briefly ripping her from her state of semi-unconsciousness for a moment, it was a loud deafening crack! that rang in her ears.
She heard Greyback, if that really was this man's real name, shout something, and the shadow that had been looming over her dissipated as he straightened his gait.
Through the haze in her mind as she forced herself to roll over onto her side and try to see what she could make out, she could see two figures standing in front of Greyback, their wands drawn, looking like they were ready to come to blows.
She could only hope that Lyall had come for her and that the man was here to protect her and apprehend this man who had kidnapped her, both.
Though Hope barely had the strength to lift her head, much less call out for Lyall at all. The last thing Hope felt before losing all grasp on reality was two powerful but gentle arms grasping her and lifting her off the ground. There was a whoosh of frigid cold fall air that blew her plait that was beginning to come undone off her shoulders.
She thought she could just barely make out the strange silhouette of old Newt Scamander's wizened and wrinkled face smiling at her, peering at her as her eyelashes fluttered, before she faded off completely and went limp in his arms.
Hope was unconscious and therefore, she did not see Lyall Lupin, watching Newt watching them go, a look of utter relief plastered on his features at knowing Hope was safe and secure in the company of his old friend and mentor.
LYALL was sure that he had never been more enraged in his entire life. Lyall's heart threatened to explode from his chest as he stared up into the cold, dead, yellow eyes of Fenrir Greyback.
"Greyback!" he roared in shock, more a Gryffindor lion than he had ever been when he had attended Hogwarts as a boy, unable to continue to stand here like a half-wit and let this monster continue to live and torment the woman that he loved.
He would kill him here and now or die trying before allowing Hope to suffer through one more moment of anguish a minute longer. Greyback would have to kill him to stop him. The disgusting werewolf had better hope that he killed him because it was the only way to stop him. Blood flashed in his eyes.
His only purpose was to ensure this wolf was dead. In a flash of reflexive movement that surprised even himself, Lyall drew his wand against the towering, hulking beast that was at least three times his size.
Greyback let out a feral snarl and rushed him, yet Lyall's swelling anger and fervor met each of the werewolf's attempts to subdue him.
Defeat was not an option now, not with Hope's life in danger the longer Greyback continued to threaten her and come after her in this way.
He wielded his wand as if it were a part of his arm, causing a gash to appear at his browbone and a length of iron wrought chains, manacles, to coil and spring forth from the tip of his wand and snake their way around the wolf's torso and arms, binding the wolf and preventing the werewolf from escaping until the Aurors that Tina, per Newt's call, had sent ahead to call for arrived on the scene.
But the Aurors weren't going to be able to take this wolf into custody or to press charges against him for kidnapping with intent to kill, because, by the time they arrived on the scene to apprehend this monster, it would be long dead.
He shook the horrible image from his mind's eye of the savage werewolf digging his fangs into the column of Hope's throat and decided on his course of action.
The enemy would go no part of Hope Howell, Lyall promised himself as he felt something within himself shift and give away as his hand moved of its own accord, no longer taking directions from its own mind, preparing to end this monster's life.
He would not allow Hope Howell one more moment of anguish at the hands of this beast, not while there was breath in his lungs. He was determined to keep her safe.
Definitely, Lyall hovered over Fenrir Greyback as the werewolf's equilibrium failed him, his momentum propelling him forward as the chains prohibited his ability to move, and he toppled to the ground with a resounding howling curse, on the verge of fury.
Hatred flashed in Lyall's eyes as the wizard remained unmoved from his position, and disdain welled in his chest for those who would try to steal away the life of the young Muggle woman that he loved, drove Lyall to take his first steps forward.
"You almost forced yourself on that young Muggle woman, werewolf," Lyall snarled, the edges of his lips curling upward as his entire body shook with hatred, venom in his words as he addressed the wildly thrashing werewolf on the ground in front of him as he hovered over him, keeping his wand aimed at his chest.
He knew men like this animal. They would never change.
Greyback was a plain creature, transparent, an inconceivable monster of a wretch because he could not control himself and his lustful urges for blood and pretty witches.
Studying Greyback a moment longer, Lyall allowed the tiniest of smiles to flit across his pale, drawn face.
"You've committed a crime against a young and defenseless Muggle woman, Greyback, punishable by a sentence to spend a few years of your life in Azkaban Prison for it, though if I had it my way, your kind would be burned at the stake, while the Aurors would see you locked in a cage, it's all that you werewolves are good for," Lyall hissed.
The snarl from Greyback cut Lyall off from whatever he had been about to say next.
"You think of me a monster, Lupin, fine, then so be it. Let me be the monster that you think I am," he snarled angrily. "I haven't asked you to take back those things you said about me, Lupin. I think I'm going to enjoy keeping your little pretty friend around as my pet after I come for you. Might not be now, might not be tomorrow, but one day, I'll come for you, and I'll come for her too, and make you watch. She certainly looks like such a fun little toy for a wolf to play with when we get bored of toying with our food," the vile creature laughed again, though it was more of a harsh bark. "She tries so hard not to cry, but she doesn't succeed. There's only so much a pathetic filthy Muggle like her can take before it breaks her and she's begging me to kill her," Fenrir growled in a low purr.
Lyall angrily gnashed his teeth together so hard that he flinched as he heard his molars give an audible clack. Lyall began to shiver and a ringing on his ears tolled, a tolling of death bells for this whelp.
His chest tightened while his breathing trembled. Horror and rage were the only two emotions left in his normally kind brown eyes as he slowly felt his hand move of its own accord, raising his wand.
His heart tore violently to pieces as visions of Hope's injured and unconscious form flashed through his mind, and a furious blood yell escaped from his lips. As it happened, he did not hear the all-too-familiar crack! of someone Disapparating behind him, yelling.
"LYALL, STOP!"
The sound of Newt Scamander's voice, angry and clipped, cut through the noise and could be heard over Lyall's blood-curdling scream as he prepared to kill Fenrir.
Lyall's wand hand froze, his breaths coming to him in ragged, panting gasps, violent, as he slowly swiveled his head in the direction of his old mentor's voice to make sure the voice he had heard was truly commanded by none other than old Newt Scamander.
Lyall's face hardened as he locked eyes with the older wizard.
Surely, Newt could sense the revolt that Lyall nursed against him for this interruption.
Every inch of Lyall bellowed and silently screamed with begrudging obedience as Newt kept his wand pointed squarely at Lyall's chest and stalked his way forward, looking angrier than Lyall had ever seen him.
He lowered his wand hand reluctantly.
"Newt?" he demanded, his voice a whisper.
He was resolute on killing this werewolf, he wanted to see the light leave those horrible yellow eyes, knowing that he had saved Hope from even more torment at the hands of this monster.
His stomach twisted in feral anger and sickening glee. He wanted to do it himself.
He was made for this, he was built and raised for his, combatting against Dark creatures, including that of disgusting wolves.
But what was happening? Lyall thought, gaping, slack-jawed as Newt came to stand close to him, their noses almost touching, a look of anger in Newt's eyes.
"You're making a mistake, Newt!" Lyall shouted, the whiskers of his rough, closely cropped beard almost standing upright in barely contained anger. "This—this beast attacked Hope, Newt, kidnapped her, he would have killed her had we not come!"
"I know what I said, Mr. Lupin. Let him go. Now. Stand down. His fate is not your responsibility." Newt's teeth chattered from the cold as the older wizard shoved his hands into the pockets of his smart blue coat to fight against the chill that crept down his twisted vertebrae.
Lyall hesitated, chewing on the wall of his mouth. He could feel his heartbeats in his throat, electric spasms filling his fingertips which he tried to hide by stowing his wand in his pocket and shoving his hands in the pockets of his tattered coat.
At any other time, he would have likely flown into a rage at the idea of letting someone else deal with a monster like Fenrir Greyback.
The wolf needed to be detained and then dealt with accordingly, which in his mind, meant to be killed, no trial.
However, now Lyall was entirely too consumed with worry and grief over Hope's ordeal to care what became of Greyback for now.
Heaving a heavy sigh, he reluctantly nodded, recognizing that Scamander was right.
The old man smiled and reached forward to somewhat awkwardly pat Lyall's hand and began to tug him forward by grabbing a fistful of Lyall's sweater.
"Come home, Lyall, this is not your place and Greyback is not your responsibility. Let Crouch and the other Aurors take care of him," Newt ordered and offered his hand outstretched for him to accept. "Miss Howell is growing anxious," Newt added to Lyall, almost as an afterthought.
As if to emphasize his point, Newt motioned towards his still outstretched palm with a jerking motion of his head, impatient.
Lyall stared at it for a fraction of a second, only able to move when the materializing crack! of Aurors Barty Crouch Sr. and his companion Apparated within a few feet of Fenrir Greyback, their wands were already drawn.
Lyall furrowed his brows into a reluctant frown as he peered over his shoulder in time to see Bartemius Crouch Sr. bound forward on the balls of his heels, the much-shorter wizard lurching the werewolf to his feet by grabbing onto the length of iron-wrought chain with a surprising show of force for one wizard that was so relatively small in stature.
Barty Crouch Sr. sensed Lyall watching him as he handed off the chained werewolf towards his partner and furrowed his brows, the edges of his mustached twitching without bidding. As Crouch Sr. lifted his gaze to Lyall's, Lyall felt floored that Crouch did not seem as agitated as a normal wizard should be, given this unique circumstance, but there was admittedly something different in the man's features.
Maybe it was Barty's sort of fury, or maybe rather, of intense disappointment.
"No need to linger, Mr. Lupin. Run along." His tone was clipped and curt, cold, even. The case was even more similar with the Ministry employee's voice—still just as cold and calm as ever, but even more menacing. "My department will handle this."
Lyall mentally swore in his mind when Crouch's icy stare angled at him, ready to fire again in the event he did not comply with his demand. Impatience was a part of his colleague's frame.
"Leave, must I say it again a second time, Lupin? I do hate saying things a second time, just ask my son for the truth, Bartemius will tell you, I don't like repeating myself," repeated Barty Crouch Sr. with gritted teeth, stuffing the chills down Lyall's throat. "Chances come and go, Lyall, and I am giving you yours now to do with as you please, and I am telling you now, to leave. You do not need to be here. I will handle him. Go and be with your partner, Lupin."
And then, without another word, Crouch Sr. lifted his gaze and motioned an affirmative nod to his partner and Disapparated with his arm full of Greyback, as if he had not spoken to a coworker at all and Lyall silently seethed.
He restlessly tapped at the ground with the heel of his shoe, the rims of his eyes darkening with pious anxiety, both eager to return to Hope's home to check on her, and anxious at what he would find.
Seeing no other choice but to comply as Lyall felt Newt give another tug of his sweater sleeve, he reluctantly allowed Newt to take his arm and Disapparate with him side-by-side to Hope Howell's small flat in Cardiff.
NEWT and Lyall stood outside the front steps of Hope Howell's modest but comfortable flat in downtown London, both wizards taking a moment to inhale nervously. Newt could read the hope and fear on Lupin's face.
Lyall was looking as though he wanted nothing more than to break the door down and rush inside and gather Hope Howell in his arms. However, fear kept him rooted to his spot.
Fear and apprehension of his reception and how Hope would receive him.
"Won't you go in?" Newt offered with a warm smile as he gestured with a flourishing wave of his arm as he turned to regard his young protégé proudly. "She needs to see you."
"Thank you, I—I will…" Lyall stammered, fumbling over his words, and overcome with awkwardness as he lowered his head, grateful for Newt Scamander's kindness.
He glanced over his shoulder one more time as if to reassure himself that he and Newt had not been followed, before blowing out a puff of air with his cheeks to steel his nerves, tugging on the brass doorknob of Hope Howell's front door and disappearing into the long entryway.
HOPE breathed a shaking breath through her nose as she sat rigidly on the sofa, toying with the ends of her plait now that she had half of a mind to think straight, and could not very well greet Lyall when he walked through the door with disheveled hair. Her fear and regret in thinking perhaps the worst had happened to the wizard were overwhelming her logic.
Her guilt over not calling for help threatened to consume her. She should have called out to Lyall the moment her intuition had tipped her off to the nature of that fellow Evan Rosier she'd met earlier.
She was so engrossed in her own thoughts and worry over Lupin, that she did not hear the man come in.
As Hope battled furiously against the tears that stung at her eyes, she thought she heard it.
The voice that was nearly a whisper, coming from her immediate right.
It was a man's voice, though it sounded choked and seemed to crack with the onset of tears like the very ones she was currently losing her battle to control.
For an instant, Hope thought it might be Mr. Scamander come to check on her again, or perhaps his relative, Mr. Kowalski yet again with the offer of a meal, but no. The voice was too hoarse, too familiar, and far too dear to her.
She would know it anywhere.
"Lyall?" she whispered reverently, almost too afraid to hope that the wizard she loved had returned to her, at last.
"Hope," Lyall breathed, grateful that he was beholding the young woman that he loved and realizing that aside from being shaken, and another fresh bruise or two that seemed it would take some time to heal, Hope, for the most part, seemed physically unharmed. He could not even move to begin to step forward.
Hope froze, her posture rigid in her seat on the sofa as she wrung her hands together painfully and bit down on her lip. She grew terrified in thinking that even if she moved but the slightest inch, that Lyall would vanish, and the man would just be gone. Hope's eyelids fluttered closed, savoring the sweet echo of Lyall Lupin's reassuring and quiet, mild-mannered tone in her mind.
Surely, this could not be another trick of her mind. Why would her courage pick now to fail her, of all the times? She did not think she could bear it if this moment was just her overactive imagination playing a cruel trick.
Lyall hesitantly took another timid step into the sitting room area of her townhouse, timid, and almost afraid to reach out to touch her. He was afraid that if he were to try to, that she would vanish in a cloud of mist and be removed from his life forever. And that, Lyall, could not allow it to happen.
When Hope made no move to turn her head to look in his general direction, Lyall began to grow self-conscious and worried that she was angry with him for not taking better care of her and keeping a closer watch for any signs of potential danger. But then he caught sight of how Hope drew in a breath and held it.
This gave him pause and gave Lyall reason to hope. Perhaps Hope was just as nervous as he was.
Steeling himself, instinctively, for the tenth or so time since he had woken up this morning, his right hand drifted into his coat's pocket and felt for the small black ring box, his nerves mounting.
"W-Won't you turn around?" Lyall asked Hope softly, hating that he was tripping over his words, surely sounding every bit a bumbling idiot, and wanting nothing more than to gather this precious young Muggle woman in his arms and never let her go.
Going forward, if he had to, he would ensure the 4 mm plain gold wedding band that was currently nestled comfortingly alongside the ring that was to be his, provided Hope said yes to his proposal of marriage, he would put a Tracking Spell on the delicate little piece of jewelry if that's what it was going to take to keep an eye on Hope.
"I—I don't know if I can. I worry if I do, you—you won't really be there, Lyall," Hope admitted shyly, her voice cracking from her nervousness as her chest started to constrict.
"Try it," Lyall pleaded. Hope paused, able to detect the love and affection in his voice for her, and that was more than enough to instill a small ounce of courage.
With a very, very deep breath to bolster her courage, slowly, carefully, Hope turned around to face the wizard, dreading not finding Lyall in her view as she did. The air expelled sharply from her lungs, however, when her eyes landed on Lyall at last, standing only a few feet in front of her, very much alive and seemingly unharmed.
His tear-filled eyes begged Hope to forgive him, not realizing that there was no need. Hope had never been angry with him right from the start.
Unable to stand the distance between them, as if even a few feet were simply unbearable, Hope rushed towards Lyall's outstretched and hopeful arms, crying out in joy and slick tears of relief had started to gather at her eyes' edges.
Without thinking about it, Hope damped her lips against Lyall's, with Lyall being more than eager to welcome her kiss as he ran a hand through her hair. When their lungs burned for air, Hope and Lyall reluctantly parted from the intimate and tender embrace. Lyall continued to hold Hope closely, examining the young Muggle woman at arm's length for any signs of injuries that perhaps old Newt had missed.
"A-are you hurt?" Lyall stammered, instantly fearing the very worst.
"N-no," Hope spoke up shyly in a whisper.
She sounded so exhausted and her voice trembled slightly as she addressed Lyall, as though during her time in captivity, however brief, she had been screaming or crying, pleading with Greyback and whoever else had taken her to let her go free, which of course, Lyall suspected she had been. Her voice sounded hoarse, as though her throat hurt.
"I—I'm sorry, Lyall," she spoke up faintly, hugging Lyall even closer, unwilling to part from the embrace, though Lyall could tell just how tired she was becoming.
Not saying anything at first, Lyall let one of his hands drift to the small of his back as he guided her back towards the sofa, though not before pointing his wand at her darkened fireplace and causing a shower of sparks to burst from the tip of his wand, instantly lighting a fire for warmth and for light so he could see her better.
Lyall shook his head as he hugged her closer. Though the details of how this had happened to her were the least of his concerns at the moment, he still wondered how Hope had managed to get herself into this predicament without Lyall hearing any sort of struggle.
"Why didn't you call out for help? Do you know who took you?" he wondered out loud, almost afraid to hear her answer. He could not understand how it was how Hope continued, even unknowingly, to put herself into dangerous situations like this.
Why hadn't she called for him? Did she fear that asking for his help would mean she would lose his respect?
"I tried to, but he had a hand over my mouth so I couldn't," she hastily explained. "I—I think he said his name was Evan. Evan Rosier," Hope whispered, suddenly bashful as she fidgeted with her hands in her lap, biting on her lip.
The revelation of Hope Howell's kidnapper hit Lyall like a slap in the face. It rang like a cracking palm against his cheek.
"What?" Lyall demanded, his face draining off what little color was left upon his mind processing her words. "Evan, Hope? Are you sure?" he demanded, maintaining a firm grip on either of the young woman's shoulders.
He was certain he had misheard. Crouch Sr. and the other members of the Auror Department in the Ministry weren't going to like hearing one of their own had kidnapped a young Muggle woman with intent to harm.
He tensed and Hope looked up at Lyall with curiosity brimming in her eyes. The wizard's normally kind brown eyes were dark, and he seemed agitated and lost in thought a moment.
Then, Lyall's face contorted into a snarl, and he shook his head violently.
"I never did trust Rosier, and now this just proves my suspicion. Would you be willing to testify in front of the Ministry's Wizengamot? A criminal trial in front of a full jury of peers?" he clarified, sensing Hope's confusion.
There was a tug on Hope's conscience and immediately, another wave of anxiety hit.
"H-he's still alive? Both of them?" Hope squeaked, utterly afraid. "Why?"
Suddenly, Hope could not bring herself to look into Lyall Lupin's face and see the young wizard's stricken expression. Her eyes stared into the distance over the man's shoulder, into the depths of the warm fire now roaring into the hearth, so hurt that her own emotions would not break through the defensive walls she had built up while she had waited alone in her home for word of Lyall to reach her.
She felt dazed, hurt, and confused, as the words left her lips.
"Why—why didn't you kill him, Lyall? Both of them?" Hope asked, the confusion and disappointment echoing in Lyall's ears.
"What?" Lyall whispered.
He had not the time to think over his actions as the Aurors and Newt Scamander had arrived and put a stop to what he wanted the most. His only concern was Hope's safety. In his mind, that meant ending the life of the wretch who seemed to harbor ill intentions towards her. But Newt and the rest would not let him.
He'd had no other choice but to allow Newt to escort him back here, to Hope's home.
Hope sighed, sounding frustrated, and regarded Lyall with trepidation in her eyes. "You did not kill him," she repeated, her statement being more of an accusation than an inquiry of confirmation. "Why, Lyall?"
"I...I couldn't do it, the Aurors," he stammered, realizing she did not know the meaning of the word, but his mind was too distracted by her confession that she knew the identity of her kidnapper, unable to believe it was true.
"What?" he asked again in a flat voice. "Evan, Hope. Are you absolutely positive?" he demanded, almost sounding angry with Hope, not sure why he felt the sudden urge that was more of a need for Hope to be mistaken on this.
Hope stared at him, wide-eyed, fearful, and nodded her affirmation. He froze, his breaths catching in his throat as he ran his fingers through his hair.
Evan Rosier was a well-respected figurehead in the Ministry of Magic and it was rumored the man was next in line to head the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.
The scandal that it would cause the Ministry and the rest of the wizarding world to know that such a well-liked figure had partaken in the kidnapping of an innocent young Muggle woman and had brought her to a savage, disgusting werewolf for the price of a few hundred Galleons, the money of which he could only assume was given to him by a Death Eater until the Dark Lord's command or Greyback had pickpocketed some wealthy witch or wizard at some point.
As he ruminated over this, he remembered he owed Hope an answer.
Of course, Hope was right. Lyall could not deny the truth in the woman's allegations.
The weight of his failure to end Greyback's life settled over the young wizard like a dark storm cloud. He knew he should have killed Fenrir Greyback the moment that Newt had Disapparated and seen Hope back to safety. Lyall knew he had been presented with more than the perfect opportunity.
His wand should have been the weapon responsible for ending that monster's life. His very fingers should have taken pleasure in crushing the breath from his throat. All werewolves were evil, soulless creatures who deserved nothing less than death, to be eradicated from the face of the earth.
He should have never brought Hope along with him so she could see the massive boggart of Strathtully. Of course, Hope would be questioning his actions now. His blunder would shame him undoubtedly for the rest of his life, Lyall was sure of that.
Nevertheless, eager to begin to make amends for his grievous mistake, Lyall slowly slid off his place on the softa and knelt by Hope, ducking his head in shame and despair.
It took Lyall a moment to find his voice.
"You're right, Hope," he conceded, his voice almost trembling with emotion. "Fenrir Greyback's body ought to be rotting on the ground back in the Forest of Dean, and by my wand," he agreed sorrowfully. "Please understand that he still lives because I was not given a choice. Aurors arrived before I could apprehend him. Dark wizard catchers, similar to the way your government has Muggle policemen to protect your populations, we have ours," Lyall hastily explained, seeing the furrow of confusion between Hope's brows deepen as she rose her brows. His pleading eyes bore deeply into Hope as he tried to explain. "My only thoughts were you and protecting you," Lyall swore softly.
Hope bit down on her bottom lip and frowned. "But you could have done nothing greater than to have killed him then and there," Hope protested fearfully, swallowing down past a lump forming in her throat. "If he comes for me, for you, we'll never be safe!" she cried tearfully, furiously blinking back tears, painfully wringing her hands together.
Hearing the pain in her shaking voice was almost too much for Lyall to bear as he looked at Hope Howell with the utmost compassion brimming in his brown eyes.
There had to be something he could do to ease her mind.
Rising slowly to one knee, he carefully drew his wand from his trousers' pocket. Hope instinctively tensed in dread, not sure what Lyall thought he would do, a reaction that instantly pained him and tugged at his heartstrings. He softly laid his wand into Hope's lap and lowered his head.
He blew out a shaking, steadying breath and fumbled for the small black ring box in his coat's pocket.
"Hope Howell," Lyall began, his voice soft, and trembling with trepidation and anticipation, unsure of what her answer would be, but it was too late to take back his words. And more to the point besides, a part of Lyall did not want to do it. "I am yours," he passionately vowed. "I pledge you my wand, my heart, and all of my strength to protect you. With everything that I am, though I may not be much for you at all, I promise that I will shield your life and guard you with my own. If you will testify at the Ministry against Greyback's actions, I will protect you, Hope. I swear it. I…I solemnly swear it, Hope. On my life. You mean more to me than you could ever know," he whispered, his voice breaking. He instinctively reached for her fidgeting hands and gripped onto her left, already envisioning how Hope's ring finger would look wearing the ring he was about to give.
Hope's eyes, for perhaps the first time since knowing the young Muggle woman who had stolen his heart before Lyall had even known it was gone, showed him a measure of caution, but only a careful portion, he realized.
The look was quickly replaced by her usual trademark look of softness in her light hazel eyes that never failed to ensnare Lyall. She breathed a small bit easier at Lyall's apparent and utter devotion towards her, although most of her still remained keenly attentive and anxious at the thought of having to lay eyes on her captor again.
"This trial," she began, speaking slowly as her mind struggled to formulate a coherent thought. "You would stay by my side, Lyall?" she asked, feeling sure she already knew the answer, but she wanted more, needed more.
She wanted to hear it from Lyall's lips.
"Yes." His answer left his lips without Lyall even having to think on his reply. As if to reassure Hope, he gave her hand a squeeze. "The entire time," he promised, sensing the affection that was slowly returning to Hope.
Hope smiled and nodded. "Would…" she stammered, suddenly embarrassed by her boldness and the question she was about to ask. "Would you be willing to stay with me?"
She raised her eyes to Lyall and smiled endearingly, hoping he caught her meaning. She meant, of course, moving in with him, though they were not yet married.
It may be impractical and bold, but Hope knew she would feel safer at night with him nearby.
For a moment, Lyall was so overcome that he could not even speak. Then, his reply came clearly to his mind after he thought for a moment.
"There is only one other thing in this world which would make me even happier, Hope Howell," Lyall said shyly.
Hope had the impudence to raise her eyebrows at Lyall in shock and alarm as she looked at the wizard still kneeling on the ground in front of her, questions in her eyes.
Lyall fumbled in his pocket for the black ring box and procured it, holding the black box out and flicking the box's lid open with a practiced flick of his wrist, showing off their matching plain gold wedding rings.
"If you would do me the great honor of being my wife." A shocked gasp left Hope's throat as she could only blink owlishly at Lyall, who remained on his bended knee in front of her.
Again, keeping a firm hold on Hope's left hand, Lyall looked up earnestly into her eyes. Her hazel eyes were a rich, radiating brown sun-warmed with inner flecks of bright gold.
Just like when he had first encountered Hope in that heavily-boggart-infested Welsh forest, Lyall barely knew what he was saying. So lost in the depths of Hope's eyes, that it was his heart that spoke his words. His heart seemed to know all of the right things to say.
"Hope Howell," Lyall swallowed nervously as he paused for a moment to pluck the plain gold 4mm wedding band from its box and held it out in front of Hope so she could see it, how the gold glinted in the light from the roaring fireplace behind him, even at this distance. "My heart is yours. It will always be yours since we met and even after my dying breath. Would you do me the extraordinary honor of becoming Mrs. Hope Lupin? Please, Hope Howell, will you marry me?" he asked.
Hope swallowed down hard past a lump forming in her throat, fat tears began to spill down her cheeks, the words would not form and go past her lips. She watched Lyall still kneeling on his bended knee in her flat's living room.
The wizard's plea was so honest and hopeful, her heart swelling with love for him.
She did not even know if one second or two had passed before she could summon up enough strength on her throat to manage an answer, or if even an entire hour had passed.
Finally, somehow, she found her voice.
"Oh, yes, Lyall," Hope agreed happily. "I will marry you," she answered through her tears, her voice choking up with emotion.
Lyall's smile was almost enough to outshine the rays of the sun itself as he slipped the ring he held in between his thumb and forefinger onto her left ring finger, rising to his feet and taking Hope into his warm arms. Settling down next to her on the sofa, he brought his lips to hers in the purest and most passionate declarations of love either one of them had ever known.
Hope relaxed into Lyall's embrace, allowing herself to get lost in the love the both of them shared.
When they broke apart for air, she clutched his hand in hers and pressed it to her heart.
"I love you, Lyall Lupin, with all that I am. I can't wait to marry you!" Hope whispered shyly, her hazel eyes growing heavy with longing for the wizard who was now her fiancé.
She relaxed into his embrace as one of his hands ghosted along the skin of her cheek tenderly, thinking she could quite get used to the way Lyall was eyeing her, as though she were the last woman in the world as if the entire rest of the planet was devoid of women.
It took him a moment to speak.
"I love you, Hope Howell, though I hope you'll consider taking my name when we marry, Mrs. Lupin," Lyall affectionately teased as Lyall returned her words of love, shooting her a warm, affectionate smile that made her weak at the knees, causing Hope to feel immensely grateful they were sitting on her sofa. "Merlin, I love you. More than any man has ever loved any woman," he told her, his brown eyes shining with elation that soon he would be married to the young woman of his dreams.
Hope smiled softly, holding out her left hand and studying her left ring finger, admiring the glint of the plain yellow thick 4mm band as it seemed to sparkle in the firelight.
"I wouldn't dream of not taking your last name, Mr. Lupin," Hope affectionately teased.
Lyall responded by leaning forward and planting a featherlight kiss on her forehead.
"Well?" Hope asked, feeling the beginnings of a hopeful smile, for lack of a better word, tugging the edges of her lips upward as she held out her hand as Lyall followed her gaze.
She craned her neck up to look at her betrothed and shot him a pleasant smile.
"How does it look?" she asked, hopefully.
Lyall stared down at the wedding ring on her finger for a moment, feeling a tingling spiraling warmth seeping its way into his chest. It took the wizard a moment or two to realize that this emotion Lyall felt was pride.
If he had known her tastes a little bit better throughout the few months that he had entered into a steady courtship with the young Muggle woman from Cardiff, he would have bought her a diamond, though with the money earned from his job at the Ministry, he could not afford the more lavish sparkling rings that he had seen in jewelry shops, both Muggle and wizarding alike, or on the rings of other witches and even Muggles.
But now that he thought about it, he had never seen Hope wearing much jewelry when he would meet her during her lunch break. Occasionally, a pair of small gold hoop earrings in her ears, but that was more or less it, from what Lyall had seen. She seemed to prefer simpler tastes, and Lyall had thought that a plain wedding ring would suit Hope the best. It took Lyall a moment to gather his thoughts.
Finally, he found his voice again.
"You look good wearing my future. Mrs. Lupin," he murmured to her, only-half teasing as he called her by her future surname, shifting at the waist, and turning to gather Hope in his arms once more, pressing his lips to hers again in a kiss.
When they broke apart, Hope thought that there were many things she could say, but for once, Hope remained silent and basked in the warmth and comfort of Lyall Lupin's arms, settling against him, and taking her comfort.
She was beginning to feel that perhaps for the first time since her harrowing ordeal of being kidnapped off the street in broad daylight, and now knowing she would have to suffer through testifying against her kidnappers, that as long as Lyall kept his word to her and remained by her side, that everything was going to be okay.
Sighing contentedly, she nestled her head against the crook of Lyall's shoulder as they stared happily into the roaring fire of the fireplace.
Then she remembered a promise that Lyall had made to her once a few nights ago when he had come over for dinner to indulge her interest in more of the magical creatures his job had him dealing with on a daily basis, wondering if she would encounter any more of them now that she was about to become the wife of a talented wizard.
"You had promised to tell me earlier this week about Poltergeists and Dementors," Hope spoke up shyly, stroking gentle fingers over the folds of his sweater. "Won't you tell me about them?" she asked.
She flinched as her voice was still somewhat hoarse and hurt, causing her to awkwardly trace the line of her throat. In truth, Hope was beginning to feel more than a little embarrassed at all the trouble she had inadvertently caused Lyall.
There were so many things that Hope wanted to say to her new fiancé, and to her coworkers at the office, Janey especially, who would be delighted to learn that Hope was going to be married soon.
But for now, she could feel the fatigue and exhaustion catching up to her and settling in, and her throat protested at the very thought of talking too terribly much.
So, for now, she was more than content to sit back against the sofa cushions, grateful to be alive, that Lyall and Mr. Scamander had saved her, and in the company of a wonderful man that she was to marry and become his wife, hopefully, sooner rather than later.
Lyall smiled affectionately and indulged her, keeping one hand pressed against the back of her hair, the other around her waist; and Hope rested back against him and listened, wishing that it could always be like this, wishing for a world that seemed so simple and uncomplicated, a world of only Lyall Lupin and his stories of fantastic magical creatures, Dark though they were, and the circle of his arms around her, forever.
Eventually, as Lyall was finishing his explanation on poltergeists, which she came to understand they were talking ghosts—ghosts, of all things!—Hope could feel her eyes becoming rather heavy, and she slipped into a deep sleep, dreaming of the happy fantasy that would soon become her reality of becoming the wizard's wife for the rest of her life.