23
HOPE stood rigidly in front of the glass of the small room that was something of a detention cell that housed the man who had kidnapped her and tried not to shiver as she stood waiting with gritted teeth, checking her reflection in the mirror once more and brushing her hands on the skirt of her black plaid pencil dress and toyed with a curl of her loose hair, biting down on her bottom lip.
This was a turning point in her new life with Lyall, perhaps one of the most important moments of her life, and she sought desperately to commit to it. She could not and would not turn away, not now. Not after everything.
Fenrir Greyback, she learned, was Lyall's age, approximately thirty years old, and secured tightly to the arms of his chair, bound by a pair of what appeared to be magical handcuffs that emitted a faint blue glow.
Lyall had reassured her there was no getting out of them without the key. A table was placed directly in front of him, and the tall, towering man was staring at it blankly. She had thought she should feel nothing but revulsion and disgust for the man who harbored ill intentions towards her and seemed to hold a grudge and vendetta against Lyall, though why she did not understand. There was, for reasons unknown to her, a part of her heart that pitied him.
Perhaps Greyback himself had never known what it meant to be loved wholly and unconditionally, as Lyall and her loved one another, and had wasted no time in marrying.
Within three months of Lyall asking Hope to marry him, the two of them were married in a private and intimate ceremony with only their closest family and friends in attendance. Newt Scamander had graciously walked her down the aisle to where her groom waited to receive her to be given away, considering her father was dead and Hope had no other living relatives that she could call upon.
Janey, God bless her, had done her hair and makeup that day, and had helped her pick out a suitable dress, a lovely ivory tea-length dress that was perfect for Hope, though the older woman's memory had to be modified of the fact Hope had married a wizard. Hope had requested a private meeting with Jacob Kowalski when her enthusiastic wedding preparations had come time to address what sort of a cake topper she wanted. Upon seeing samples of the man's masterpieces and ability to create truly magical works of art, she had commissioned Tina and Newt's relative to make for her a cake topper in the shape of a boggart. In her mind, it had seemed only fitting.
Jacob, though thrown a little bit at first by the nature of Hope's request, had eagerly obliged and taken on the challenge, and had delivered to Hope in person with the help of Newt to Apparate to their front door, a beautiful black boggart cake topper that instantly brought a smile of delight to Hope's face, and the look of shock and surprise on Lyall's face when he'd gotten a look at the boggart cake topper for the first time so delicately perched on top of their wedding cake had been worth keeping it a secret to see his amused look.
Their wedding had been a truly happy time as they had stood in the same thick dense Welsh forest where they had met in a large clearing, their hands wrapped around one another, pledging their lives and love to one another while a Warlock of the Peace officiated and presided over the ceremony.
They had exchanged their vows, their rings, and had sealed their new bond as husband and wife with a kiss, and that evening, Hope Elisabeth Howell had ceased to become a Howell and became Hope Elisabeth Lupin from that day forward, and Hope had broken her lease early on her flat that she rented and moved in with Lyall after Lyall had bought a townhouse in Cardiff for the two of them to live in and be comfortable, perhaps one day, raise a family.
While Hope was over the moon and elated to now be married to the man of her dreams, something else soon began to weigh heavily on her mind alongside the fact that Hope was standing here now, looking straight into the listless yellow eyes of Fenrir Greyback following his trial in front of the Wizengamot where the man had been tried in front of a full jury and Hope had very bravely testified against him. She had begun to suffer unexplainable nausea.
The sensations had started out small but quickly became an everyday occurrence. She had barely been able to keep down the piece of buttered toast that their now-shared house-elf Tandy had made for her for breakfast.
Hope told herself that it was simply nerves from being in such a strange place, this Ministry of Magic, surrounded by all sorts of people from all walks of life with magical abilities and being forced to look into the eyes of a man she never wanted to see again. But when the sickness did not subside, Hope began to grow a little alarmed.
She was certain it was just nerves and fear that were causing her stomach to roll at what she was forced to do. Hope was sure that testifying in front of an entire magical jury was the cause of her nauseousness. She did not tell Lyall, not wishing to worry her husband. Hope was confident Lyall had fretted and worried over her enough as it was these past few months as he had helped her adapt to the true wonders of the wizarding world and due to her almost brush with death when Evan Rosier had aided Greyback in kidnapping her, and she would not add to Lyall's stress. She was sure everything would settle down as she continued to ease into married life and being a wife to Lyall.
So, even now, Hope tried her very best to put her health to the back of her mind and steeled herself for what was to come next. Hope furrowed her brows as the sound of footsteps reached her ears, and she turned to find a man clad in black robes coming towards her, a short man, small in stature, with a thick bristling mustache, though he seemed polite enough.
He introduced himself to Hope as Barty Crouch Sr., offering a curt nod of his head before moving to turn away from her, stating that he was to escort their prisoner to a waiting enchanted carriage outside that would take him to the wizarding prison Azkaban, a high-security fortress with no hope of escaping. The prison was guarded by Dementors, Hope had come to understand, remembering Lyall telling her that evening he had asked her to marry them of the foul Dark creatures, how, in his mind, they were one of the worst creatures to walk this earth.
Suddenly, watching Lyall's colleague turn away and make to head inside, Hope felt compelled to do something for the bloke. Anything at all. Hate had to stop with someone, lest it consumes all those it touched.
"Wait a moment, please, sir," Hope called out to him, biting down on her lip, and nervously fidgeting with her plain gold wedding band she wore proudly on her finger, a nervous habit of hers whenever she was thinking about something particularly thought-provoking, or in this case, troublesome. "I—I would like to see him."
Out of the corner of her eye, she felt her husband give a visible start at her words, clearly taken aback by Hope's request to linger. He paused, turning his head abruptly to look at her.
Lyall felt a pang of anger well within his chest, though he was puzzled too. Hope was choosing to focus her gaze away from Lyall as she voiced her request to stay. Her gaze was instead, fixated on the wolf.
"What?" Her husband demanded, incredulity and disbelief heard in his voice.
His voice was rough and coarse this morning, which strangely enough, put Hope at ease. It gave her husband a tangible sense of vulnerability, she noticed, as he was observing his wife precariously with a guarded expression as if she were some wild, unstable creature. Hope hesitated as she chose her words very carefully.
"Lyall, please," she whispered, this time, turning to face her husband directly, her hazel eyes solemn and serious. There was some other emotion brimming behind the depths of their eyes, but what it was, Lyall could not place.
Lyall hesitated, reluctant to allow the love of his life anywhere near this vicious beast who had tried not once, but twice, to steal her from him.
"Hope, darling, I—I don't think that I need to tell you that Greyback is a very dangerous man," he stammered as his voice trailed off, sparing a quick and angered but nevertheless, uneasy, glance at Greyback, who was still staring at the oak table blankly. Lyall's chest puffed out as he bristled at just the sight of him.
The savage werewolf was the last person that Lyall wanted Hope even remotely close to right now. Especially after all he'd done to her. Yet, as he turned back to face his wife, her face was set in a look of soft determination and her hazel eyes held within their depths a pleading. He could already feel his walls beginning to crumble, hardly able to resist giving his wife whatever she desired.
Lyall drew in a sharp breath that pained his lungs as he felt the feeble quivering muscle that resided within his chest tighten, constricting for several moments until he thought he might actually faint. He was unwilling to give in to Hope's request out of a deep-rooted fear that the werewolf would attempt to harm his wife again a third time.
His mind could not help but to flit through all of the rather unlikely possibilities that could happen if he relinquished his arm's hold from around his wife's small waist.
Yet, even now, he had never been able to deny the beautiful young Muggle who was now his wife what was within his ability to give her.
"Very well," he sighed reluctantly, reluctance thick and seeping into his quiet, mild-mannered voice, which was so faint, that only Hope could have heard him at that moment, considering her close proximity.
Offering the tiniest of nods, Hope turned back to face Barty Crouch Sr. and spoke up.
"If you could let me in now, please. I understand that he is restrained," she added, sensing Crouch parting his lips to speak and vehemently protest this idea of Hope Lupin. "But he is secured. You and his guard may watch through this window, and he has no wand, am I right? No weapon that he can use. Please. I know what I am doing, and with my husband by my side, I will be perfectly safe," she said, trying to keep her voice as level-headed as possible, and calm.
Mr. Crouch shot Lyall a questioning look but quickly nodded and made to open the door for her and Lyall, gesturing them to venture inside with a flourish of his arm.
Hope turned towards Mr. Crouch as she allowed Lyall to guide her inside, keeping one hand around the small of her back, and offered him a soft smile of gratitude and silently tried to thank Lyall's colleague with her eyes.
Crouch said nothing, though he shot her a stiff look of disapproval, suggesting that he highly did not approve of Hope's decision to request to speak to Greyback before he was taken to Azkaban, but remained silent on the matter and allowed Hope the time she needed for closure.
Lyall escorted Hope inside the small, padded detention cell, stopping approximately three feet in front of the chained disgusting wolf and after giving the werewolf a rather distrusting and hateful glower, moved to stand protectively behind his wife as she pulled out the chair opposite him to sit.
Lyall watched as Greyback and his wife simply stared at one another, neither making a move towards the other and yet, neither one backed away or were the first to revert their gazes. The wolf lowered his head slightly and looked at Hope Lupin with a rather indifferent and unreadable expression.
As if the wolf did not wish to show what it was that he was truly feeling if anything at all.
Hope too, Lyall noticed, kept her expression neutral and placid, though hers he suspected was less of shoving her emotions completely to the pit of her stomach and more of trying to keep them under control. The werewolf in question said nothing at his unexpected visitors but continued to stare down at the table with a vacant look.
Hope got herself situated and slid the strap of her purse off her shoulder and let her bag rest at her feet. They sat in silence for a moment. The slightest movement of his eyes caught Hope's attention and she bit the inside of her cheek. She was unsure where to start and took a moment to formulate her thoughts.
Finally, she found her voice again.
"I don't think that you asked for this, to be…what you are, sir," Hope began hesitantly, her voice soft and shy and hardly audible. "Is this the sort of man that your parents intended you to be, sir?"
The bound werewolf in front of her and Lyall jerked in his restraints and the entire chair, which had been bolted down onto the floor, shook. Behind her, she felt Lyall grope for his wand inside of his jacket pocket, but Hope raised her hand, both towards her husband and the two-way mirror to the left. She did not want Mr. Crouch or any other of Lyall's coworkers assigned to this man running inside and escorting her out. Not yet.
He jerked for a few more times before he sat still as he looked down at the floor in front of him. Whatever Greyback had been expecting, for Hope to address him so calmly the way that she was doing now was clearly not it.
Even so, the savage beast retained his emotionless expression so far throughout their entire one-sided conversation as Hope took the lead. Lyall furrowed his brows in both anger and confusion, having sworn he thought he saw a flicker of something in the werewolf's yellow eyes. It was fleeting, so very brief, for in the next millisecond it was gone. Greyback did not grace Hope with a response, instead, lifted his gaze to Hope's.
"I don't think this was the path that was intended for you," Hope continued, her voice still so very soft and timid. Her hazel eyes reflected a stricken sort of sadness that Lyall knew came from looking on something that no longer had any hope left within for itself. "Yet it's the path you've chosen for yourself. I cannot help you, though I admit, a part of me does not want to," Hope confessed, a pained look flitting across her face as she bit her lip as she took a curl in between her thumb and forefinger to twirl the lock of hair absently.
Hope inhaled a shaking breath and ducked her head low and turned to the side in her chair to hide whatever emotion was seeping its way to the surface unbidden. Lyall gently rubbed Hope's shoulders, hoping to relay some small modicum of comfort, however small. His wife was not alone in this regard. He wished he could tell his wife to come away, that Hope did not have to put herself through this. She did not have to confront her kidnapper. And yet, it seemed to Lyall that Hope, in her own way, was looking for closure. An end to a truly horrific nightmare.
His wife slowly raised his head after a moment and lifted her gaze to the wolf's to look the brute squarely in the eyes, a newfound kind of resolve and strength brimming in the pools of Hope's hazel eyes.
"Yet I know you do, sir. But whatever help I could give you would not be enough to make up for what you've done, nor do I think, that it could ever be enough." She paused. "I…I don't forgive you. Perhaps, maybe one day, I will. But…for now…" Hope faltered, her breaths hitching in her throat and Lyall could feel her shoulders begin to shake beneath his hands as she fought to maintain control over her emotions. "Now, all I want is for this to end. You deserve this time that's coming to you in this prison for your actions. But what is it that you want?"
Greyback did not give Hope an answer. He continued to stare at her blankly and yet, something flickered in the savage brute's eyes. Lyall was sure of it. Something that had nothing to do with the cold listlessness that was usually displayed in his yellow eyes.
"There's nothing I can do for you." Now, Hope's quiet voice was beginning to shake and Lyall's heartstrings gave a tug as the wizard realized his wife was fighting tears. "If it was in my power to help you, I'm not so sure that I would. I truly don't know, sir."
She lowered her head and stooped in her chair to gather her bag that rested at her feet and slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder. Hope slowly rose up from her chair and was halfway towards the door, Lyall trailing closely behind his wife at her heels when a lowly growl reached their eardrums.
"Your marriage is wasted on Lupin, girly," he barked, the man's voice gruff and coarse. "You could be an asset in the right place but in the wrong hands," Greyback snarled angrily. Hope slowly turned her head and peered in horror at her kidnapper chained to his chair, sick at the thought of thinking that her captor thought of her as a prize to be won. There was a sickening glint in Greyback's cold, almost dead eyes that afflicted Hope, and set her stomach rolling.
She felt a horrible wave of coldness wash over her, unready to hear the man's next words. But Greyback went on, spurred on by the young woman's growing discomfort of him.
"You were meant to have been mine, little dove."
Hope clenched her teeth behind straight lips. Even without her asking him to elaborate, the man seemed in a mood to convince, despite the fact that he was about to be taken to this wizarding prison and would not see the light of day for a long, long time, according to Lyall and the wolf's jury.
"Would you really have thought I would not have bitten you and taken you as my own mate if I had not already been spoken for, girly?" he growled. "But now that my mate is dead, I'm a free agent again, dollface," he hissed.
Fenrir Greyback's harsh words seared Hope hotter than any branding iron or dragon fire could ever flame, making her fingertips go numb and her mouth dry. She felt bile rise in her throat and felt sick. As the air around Hope and Lyall clamped, she forced herself to quicken her steps to the exit, thinking that she was about to be horribly sick.
"E—excuse me, Lyall, I—I need air," she stammered and fled the room in such a hurry, wrapped in fear of the way that Fenrir Greyback's narrowed eyes followed her to the exit, leaving Lyall alone with the wizard.
Lyall had no time to respond as his wife raced from the room and did not bother to look back.
Lyall stood rooted to his spot, dumbfounded, and furious. He stared blankly at the spot where his wife had stood only moments ago and did not even see when Barty Crouch Sr. entered the room, looking more than a little flustered and vexed as the edges of the man's thick mustache bristled.
"Well, Lupin, what are you waiting for, man?" the Ministry employee bellowed, growing irate with his coworker's lack of inaction. "Don't just stand there, Lupin, go after your wife!" he motioned towards the door, as another Auror came in behind him.
Lyall did not need to be told twice, bounding towards the door in search of Hope.
Though before he exited the detention cell completely, he paused, one hand on the doorframe to steady his gait, peering over his shoulder to look towards Barty Crouch Sr. and Auror Rowle, who were in the middle of beginning to escort Greyback out of his chains and likely to where the prisoner's carriage waited at the back of the building to escort the savage brute to Azkaban Prison.
Lyall fully turned to regard Greyback hatefully, taking in a moment to commit the werewolf's features to memory.
The man's long greasy black hair, thin peaky, pale skin, wolf-like features, only a few years older than him, Lyall was sure he'd never felt such a boiling in his bloodstream before in his life up until right now. Lyall let himself have a moment to commit his face to his memory.
His legs began to move as if by rote memory, no longer taking directions from his mind. Lyall's searing anger grew with each step as he turned away from the door's exit and stalked the brief distance towards where Barty Crouch Sr. and his partner were beginning to escort Fenrir Greyback away.
The hateful sneers and little subtle lustful looks that he had hurled at poor Hope just now swirled mockingly in Lyall's brain, permanently implanting themselves into his memory whether he liked it or not.
Without hesitation, Lyall approached, his steps quick and confident. In one quick motion, before Mr. Crouch or Auror Rowle could raise their wands against Lyall to stop him, Lyall's hand shot out and grabbed the werewolf's broad shoulder.
Before Greyback could react and try to bite him, Lyall raised his hand and cracked his palm against the vile mouth that had insulted his wife whom he loved more than anything else in the world.
Shocked and very nearly knocked unconscious by the surprising strength from the force of the shorter wizard's blow, the werewolf staggered backward a few paces, his yellow eyes finally focusing on Lyall, before his gait was straightened with the help of Mr. Crouch. The heavy flow of blood and saliva spilled down the front of Greyback's tattered dark leather jacket as several of the werewolf's teeth skittered along the floor.
"Mr. Lupin!" shouted Crouch, aghast, the edges of his mustache twitching in agitation as his arm curled around Greyback's bicep, still keeping the werewolf standing upright. "Merlin's Beard, my good man, what on earth has gotten into you? What do you think you are doing, attacking this man, sir?" Crouch shouted, his face reddening.
Ignoring Mr. Crouch's protests and shrugging roughly out of Auror Rowle's grasp as the man moved to put a hand on his arm and tried to remove him forcefully from the room, he had eyes only for the bound and chained werewolf standing alongside Barty.
"Insult my wife again, werewolf, and the next time, it will be more than just your teeth rolling on the ground," Lyall passionately swore, vehemently, curling his fingers around the handle of his wand threateningly, as if to emphasize his point. "Stay away from my wife," Lyall whisper-hissed through clenched teeth.
Auror Rowle moved to stand in Lyall's line of sight, eyeing the world-renowned authority on Non-Human Spirituous Apparitions with a guarded expression and furrowed eyebrows. Barty Crouch Sr. approached him, still holding the length of iron-wrought chains that bound Greyback's wrists together in his hands, an angry and troubled expression plastered all over his face. Lyall's chest heaved as he waited impatiently for him to speak.
"You should not speak to him like that," Barty Crouch Sr. spoke up, angered.
"Like what?" Lyall shot back irately, placing his hands in the pockets of his grey trousers.
"Like he's…" Auror Rowle paused a moment and Lyall interjected and finished for him, looking quite livid, rage flashing in the man's normally kind brown eyes.
"A monster? A werewolf, who deserves nothing more and nothing less than to be sentenced to death, Rowle, Crouch," Lyall snarled, the edges of his lips curling upwards into a feral snarl of anger, and his anger grew even more incensed when Barty Crouch Sr. laughed.
Crouch Sr. eyed Lyall ruefully and bristled.
"You should stick to Welsh Boggarts, Mr. Lupin, that is your area of expertise, and let us do our jobs, Mr. Lupin. He is a human being, Mr. Lupin, nothing more, and nothing less than that, my good man," he said, looking down at his notes. "Cynthia and the others under her in Archives have not been able to locate any record of this man being a fully-fledged werewolf in our Werewolf Registry as you have painstakingly claimed to the Wizengamot earlier that he is one, sir. I believe you are mistaken, Mr. Lupin. This man might be a criminal, but he is not a wolf. You will never reach him if you are insistent on treating this wizard as a psychopath, Lupin. Psychopaths don't think of themselves in those terms. If we aim to get anywhere, we need to reach what is inside of him, Lyall," Crouch retorted hotly.
"There's nothing there, Mr. Crouch! Nothing but pure evil, Barty! You're sorely mistaken if you believe otherwise!" Lyall exploded, while Barty Crouch Jr. proceeded to smile coldly at his young Ministry colleague.
"There is something, Mr. Lupin, sir, otherwise, he would not be alive," he replied, his tone curt and dismissive. "As evil as it may be, there is something inside of this man, and I do not believe the curse of the wolf runs through this wizard's veins. You do not need any help finding the exit. You can show yourself out. Go and be with your wife, Lyall, and try to enjoy the rest of your afternoon."
"You're playing with fire, Crouch!" Lyall called out angrily as he was escorted towards the exit by Auror Rowle. He angrily ripped away from the older wizard's grip and rubbed at his arm, shooting Rowle a withering look. "I am perfectly capable of walking on my own, thank you," he retorted to Rowle dismissively.
Crouch stopped making to follow in Lyall and Auror Rowle's footsteps as he had been preparing to escort the prisoner to the carriage. His jaw clenched, and the edges of his mustache twitched as his anger swelled.
"I don't care if you dislike the Ministry's methods, Mr. Lupin, but I do care when you disrespect the Auror Department's own authority so blatantly. We have been tasked with delivering this man to Azkaban, per the sentencing and decision of the Wizengamot. I would kindly suggest that you leave this room and let us deal with Mr. Greyback accordingly. The only matter which you need to concern yourself with now is finding your wife. Mrs. Lupin left in quite a hurry, and if I may be so bold, Lyall, she did not look well at all. Good day to you, sir," Crouch retorted swiftly, and with a wave of his hand, just like that, Lyall was dismissed, his opinion of Fenrir Greyback not welcome or needed.
Lyall angrily walked away from the simmering pair of Aurors and slammed the door to the detention cell on his way out. They were making a grave mistake in not listening and taking in his words about him.
But only time would tell just how wrong they were, and how right Lyall had been…
Lyall stalked down the hallways of the first floor of the Ministry of Magic seething, in search of his wife. He knew he had been only a few seconds behind her at first, but by the time he had left the detention cell, having allowed that savage wolf to distract him, Hope was nowhere to be seen.
His mind raced, trying to understand why his wife had looked so sick. He knew that she was somewhere close, hurting, likely in pain, and shaken from Greyback's taunting threats, but Lyall could find no sight of his beloved wife.
Lyall quickened his frantic pace.
Out of places to search, wondering where she could have gotten off to, he stood craning his neck in growing frenzied agitation, hoping to catch any sign of his wife aimlessly wandering the corridors lost in search of him.
That was when he heard the unmistakable sound of Hope retching somewhere off in one of the side corridors. Frantic with worry, he headed towards the end of the hallway and to the left, near a small alcove. His feet moved quickly in that general direction before his mind had even the time to wonder if it was her. Reaching the edge of the corridor, he slowed his light jog as the alcove off to the side opened up into a small waiting room.
Lyall's worried gaze latched onto the sight of Hope clutching a portable waste bin close to her chest, vomiting into the black plastic bucket. Lyall reached his wife in an instant, cradling her shoulders in a comforting grasp and brushing away the stray tendrils of her hair from around Hope's eyes.
As the last spasm of her stomach finally loosened its grip, she collapsed against Lyall, exhausted, and gasping for breath, shakily wiping at her lips with the back of her hand, until Lyall waved his wand and conjured a handkerchief for her to use. She accepted it, mumbling a weak thank-you under her breath and wiping at her lips.
Lyall held Hope for a long moment as her body slowly calmed down.
"Can you stand?" Lyall asked hopefully, tightening his protective grip around Hope's arm. His wife answered the affirmative with a weak little nod of her head, and Lyall carefully helped Hope to sit up from the chair she had sank into and up onto shaky legs.
She sniffed and turned to look at him, the tears on her cheeks glistening under the almost blinding white fluorescent glow of the light overhead that made Hope look washed out. The worried look on her face devastated him. "I—I'm sorry, Lyall, I—I didn't mean to…run off like that," she whispered shyly. "I—I wasn't feeling very well," Hope said.
Lyall nodded his understanding. "I want a Healer to examine you immediately, Hope."
Hope's face drained of color at the thought.
"Oh, Lyall! Is that really necessary, sweetheart?" She squeaked, clamping a hand over her mouth as her face twisted with pained embarrassment at the idea of an unknown wizard or witch examining her.
Lyall looked at his wife with warm concern.
"Yes, it is," he answered, his tone almost clipped and curt. "To make sure you're alright." He saw his wife's eyes grow wide and tried to correct his unintended call for alarm. "I am sure everything is fine, I just want to be certain." He kept a firm hand on Hope's arm. "Come, Hope. I won't take no for an answer," he said, his tone authoritative and guarded.
Seeing no other choice but to comply, Hope reluctantly allowed her husband to pull her close and Disapparate with her to a place he spoke of often called St. Mungo's, sort of a wizarding hospital from what she understood.
No sooner had they set foot in the middle of the lobby of St. Mungo's Institute for Magical Maladies and Injuries than did Hope's nausea return, and she was forced to swallow all of the bile in her throat.
The waiting room, she could see as she looked around and allowed Lyall to take the lead as he led her up towards a front-desk reception area, where a bored-looking blonde witch with short hair clad in pink robes directed them to the appropriate floor, was full of strange and bizarre accidents that were all caused by magic.
The journey up a winding set of staircases seemed to take forever, though as she walked, Hope tried to crane her neck this way and that to take in the many glimpses of maladies, some rare and familiar, others not, and the talking portraits utterly delighted Hope, and for a moment, made Hope forget how sick and clammy she was feeling now.
Lyall was careful to take his time in walking up the stairs with her, keeping one hand wound around her waist in case Hope felt faint, and their slow pace allowed Hope some time to ruminate on the possible cause of her illness. Her nausea had been steadily consistent over the course of a few weeks. She had thought that it was stress in the days leading up to Fenrir Greyback's trial and the idea of testifying against her captor as a witness that was cause for the queasiness in her stomach, but now, as she thought about it, and how she had developed an intolerance for the smell of cooking meat especially in the mornings, there should have been nothing at all to make her feel so sick.
Nothing except for one thing. As she walked quietly alongside her husband up the stairs, fatigued and trying to catch her breath, memories of her time with Lyall spent over the last few blissful months of their marriage came flooding back to her. Hope focused on the happy memories in an attempt to calm the racing of her heart and ease her upset stomach. It was when she realized that in losing herself with him in the early days of their marriage as newlyweds that she had also lost all concept of time, that she began to grow truly alarmed.
She searched her mind as she drew in a sharp gasp upon realizing that she had not cramped yet this month, that her last cycle had been over a month ago and was now very, very late.
Hope was beginning to notice other changes within herself. Her body felt softer, unfamiliar, and she felt so exhausted all the time as if she could sleep for a hundred years. Her heart began to race at the idea.
She knew that Lyall wanted a child with her. Of course, she wanted that too.
It seemed so far off of a dream. Just when Hope had given up on the idea of ever meeting a man in Cardiff who would grow to love her, Lyall had quite literally stumbled and ran into her life and she had fallen in love with him, but before that, she had given up on her ideas of marrying and being a mother someday.
Hope did not realize that she had grown quiet, and her expression was stoic, fixed on some distant preoccupation as she pretended to look at the moving portraits with interest, some of them calling out friendly greetings to her, others medieval remedies for noticing how peaky and sickly Hope was looking.
They had ascended the top of the stairwell at last and she had not said a single word.
Stricken, Lyall noticed Hope's suddenly solemn demeanor, and it caused a fresh pang of worry to worm its way to the pit of his churning belly. He had also realized that his wife was tiring easily, especially in the mornings, and any meal that Tandy prepared for them she could only pick at with a listless disinterest, always seeming sick.
He was certain Hope was not feeling well, but she was not telling him, hoping to save face, and trying to ease his worry. He searched his mind for explanations and felt like he was at a loss and decided it was best to allow an experienced Healer to examine his wife.
The lead Healer's private office was set off in a quiet and private corridor at the top of the floor. Lyall knocked on the door and held onto Hope's hand firmly, hoping to ease her worries that everything would be just fine.
After a few moments, a thin, elderly man dressed in a set of bright shocking lime green Healer's robes appeared through the small crack in the doorway. Recognizing Lyall as a familiar face, he snapped to attention and opened wider, and he stepped aside to let them in.
"Mr. Lupin, sir, and this must be your wife? A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Lupin," he stammered awkwardly. "How may I be of service to you?" he questioned urgently, worried for the world-renowned expert on Non-Spirituous Apparitions and his wife.
"Good afternoon, Healer Smithwick," Lyall was carefully to address Brian Smithwick respectfully, all the while trying to keep his voice as level-headed and un-panicked as possible, which was easier said than done. "My wife is…taken ill, an ailment of the stomach and I would like your assistance in perhaps giving her something which might settle my wife's stomach?"
"Of course. Please. Do come in," he murmured courteously, stepping back even further a few more paces to allow his newest patient to enter into his private office.
Lyall's hand never left Hope's nervous grasp as Lyall guided her to sit on top of a steel medical examination table in the middle of the room. The Healer turned to face them.
"Well, then. Mrs. Lupin. It's Hope, correct? Might I call you Hope?" he asked, and only when Hope shyly nodded did Healer Smithwick continue, pausing to push his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. "What seems to be troubling you?" he asked.
The older wizard's smile was calming, warm, and somehow put Hope at ease. Hope sat dumbfounded, unsure of what to say to him at first. Swallowing the bile that grew in her throat, Hope exchanged a brief glance with her husband before slowly beginning to recount the sensations she had been experiencing the last few weeks. Constant fatigue, overall body soreness, vomiting.
She felt like a fool but proceeded nonetheless and tried to ignore Lyall's worried stare boring a hole right through her. Once she ended her version of events, she bit down on her lip and gaze down at her lap, unable to look the St. Mungo's Healer directly in the eyes. This was something beyond her, something she had no idea how to process, much less react to, and neither did Lyall.
"What is wrong with me?" she whispered, her voice cracking as the question left her lips.
Slowly, she looked up at the man.
"Mrs. Lupin…" The Healer's voice was soft and kind as he strode forward, the hems of his robes billowing and swishing with his movements as he moved to gently take her hands in his. Startled by the gesture, Hope's eyes widened as a smile formed on his face in a way that probably conveyed all the emotions such situations might begin to induce. His smile was comforting and uplifting and gave Hope the courage to hope.
For a moment, it took her breath away, almost sounding like a confirmation of her suspicions. She felt Lyall's grip on her hand tighten and could see him tense up. She had known it, hadn't she?
"There is every possibility that you could be pregnant, Mrs. Lupin. Judging by the symptoms you just described, it is highly likely and within the realm of possibility, but I will need to perform a physical examination in order to be sure," he replied.
Lyall sat there, staring for a moment, holding onto her hand, and looking up at the St. Mungo's Healer as though he had misheard Brain Smithwick just now. His face registered his shock and surprise, which slowly but surely melted away to pure joy.
"What? A—a baby?" Lyall asked, unsure whether or not he'd heard correctly.
Healer Smithwick simply nodded his affirmative and shrugged out of his set of lime green robes and draped it onto a coat rack. "If you are comfortable with it, Mr., and Mrs. Lupin, I would like to be sure of my diagnosis before I confirm. May I?" he asked, kindly.
Hope bravely nodded her consent and lay back on the surgical table as the Healer waved his wand and procured a soft comfortable-looking pillow out of thin air that Lyall did not hesitate to prop against her head as she lay back and tried her absolute best to remain calm. Though she found such scrutiny awkward and invasive, to say the least, she knew this would be not that much different if she were to go to her regular doctor's office back home in Cardiff.
Though as the Healer's examination commenced and went underway as the Healer waved his wand again and conjured a blanket over which he draped over her lap to protect Hope's modesty and need for privacy, it became clear to Hope that her husband did not share in her understanding, quiet disposition.
Every motion Healer Smithwick made in Hope's direction was met either with vehement opposition or interrogation from Lyall in his nervousness. He peered at the Healer's patient over his shoulder, relinquishing his grip on Hope's hand and moving to stand directly behind Healer Smithwick.
He moved away from the Healer towards Hope's side and grasped for her hand, his heart filling with love and his mind anxious at the thought that his beloved wife might be carrying their child.
It seemed an eternity before the Healer finished his work and stepped away from his wife, conjuring a damp rag out of thin air with which to wipe his hands off.
"Well?" Lyall implored Healer Smithwick, a note of impatience twinged in his voice, his frantic gaze searching for any hint of news. He was almost afraid to try to read the older wizard's expression.
Healer Smithwick chuckled, turning away from Lyall and Hope for a moment to grab his robes off the coat rack and shrug back into them, striding towards the door and opening it, eager to see to the rest of his rounds for the afternoon.
"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Lupin. You're pregnant, Mrs. Lupin. Two months." With a happy smile and a curt nod of his head, Healer Smithwick politely excused himself and stepped away from the door, and nodded, stating that the two of them could see themselves out when they were good and ready to.
Lyall could not draw in a breath as he turned to face Hope. He lightly took her hand and leaned towards his wife, her hazel eyes glistening joyfully as she nestled into her husband's embrace.
Hesitating no longer, Lyall stood and scooped Hope into his arms as she was in the midst of sliding off the Healer's table. He let out a joyful cry of pride as he spun his wife around in a joyful twirl.
Suddenly realizing what he had done, and fearful he had hurt the baby, almost as quickly as he had taken her in his arms, he set her down much gently and pulled away as though just her touch burned him.
"I'm sorry, Hope." Lyall showed his alarm at his actions. "Did I hurt you?" he begged, reaching a hand and gingerly touching her belly, swelling with pride, already filled with a fierce protectiveness for the little life growing inside of his wife.
Hope laughed out loud. "No," she beamed brightly, happy tears glistening in her eyes. "I'm…we're just fine, Lyall," she assured him, her hand softly rubbing her still-flat abdomen. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Hope blurted out, looking stricken.
"Is this what's been troubling you?" Lyall asked lovingly, surely this was it.
"I'm sorry," she repeated, nodding her head, confirming his suspicions. Hope bashfully lowered her eyes and turned to eye him tenderly out of the corner of her gaze. "I did not want to tell you until I was absolutely certain."
Lyall instinctively pulled Hope to him, winding his arms around her middle, regretting that she had faced her uncertainty alone and that she'd not thought to tell him or even Tandy of her worries.
Though the relief was evident on his face that her worries had not been caused by some other event, though Greyback's taunts to her lingered in his mind. He bristled, lowering his face and burying his face into her hair, inhaling the scent of the lavender-scented shampoo his wife liked to use, the scent calming him.
Lyall grazed a soft kiss along the bridge of her nose as he stooped and gathered her bag that she had dropped by her feet when the Healer had bidden her lay on the examination table and handed it to her, leaning forward and kissing his wife again with a passion that threatened to overtake them both.
Suddenly remembering his wife's fragile condition, Lyall pulled reluctantly from her.
"We should get you back home, Hope, so that you can rest," he declared, a note of finality in his voice.
The disappointment in Hope was obvious as he heard her heave a tired sigh of frustration.
"Very well." She nodded with a frown, as Lyall raised an eyebrow in triumph, though Hope continued undeterred. "But just so you are aware, Lyall, I have no intention of remaining celibate during this pregnancy," she warned, a slight teasing lilt to her quiet voice.
Lyall chuckled, finding his wife's discontent so delightfully adorable that he leaned forward and kissed her nose again.
"Nor do I, Hope," he assured her. "However, for now, my love, a small nap," he ordered, winding his arm around her waist, and guiding her out of the Healer's private office and down the hall of St. Mungo's. "Then perhaps…later, if there's time…" he trailed off as Hope rested her head against his chest, erupting into delighted laughter.
As he escorted Hope out of St. Mungo's and towards their home in Cardiff, his heart thrilled at the thought that he was to become a father to a fine witch or wizard in the making in another seven months. However, one thought plagued him as he Disapparated with his arms full of Hope and safely escorted her back inside their small, modest townhouse. He could only hope that Fenrir Greyback would either be safely behind bars by the time their child was born or dead, having suffered the gruesome but in his mind, deserved fate of the Dementor's Kiss.
He thought Azkaban a fitting place for the savage werewolf, with the prison being steeped in the swarm of Dementors and self-punishment. Lyall paused outside the door of their townhouse before he followed his wife inside, closing the door behind him with a soft thud, smart enough not to look back.
Lyall and Hope Lupin were not aware that within five minutes of Lyall Disapparating with Hope to escort the pair of them home, that werewolf Fenrir Greyback had escaped the Ministry of Magic, managing to overthrow Auror's Rowle and Barty Crouch Senior when the pair had been in the midst of escorting him to the carriage that would take him to Azkaban.
WITHIN five minutes of Lyall and Hope Disapparating to their home in Cardiff, an alarm was blaring through the halls of the Ministry of Magic at approximately 5:00 pm in the afternoon. Auror Rowle had been found dead, his throat slit, and Barty Crouch Sr. knocked unconscious, a bleeding gash on his brow.
When the Head of the Auror Department had immediately discovered the prisoner Fenrir Greyback to be missing, a team of Aurors was sent to comb the Ministry, but he was nowhere to be found. His length of iron-wrought chain that had bound his wrists was found on the floor, soaked in blood, implying he had forced his way out, somehow.
GREYBACK made his way towards the Archives Department on the first floor of the Ministry, nearly ripping the handle from the door in order to open it and he flicked the light switch on with a violent flick of his long claw. He looked around the otherwise empty room before approaching the desk.
Everything was in perfect order. He glanced over the desk once more and spotted a small manilla file folder on top of the desk. Someone in the Archives Department had pulled old Lyall Lupin's file for some reason, perhaps to file a complaint against the world-renowned expert on Non-Spirituous Apparitions for physically assaulting a prisoner.
He flicked the folder open and alongside a packet of papers was a small photograph of perfect lovely little Hope.
Hope Howell, though these days he supposed she was Hope Lupin, was in the picture alongside Lyall. Greyback picked up the moving photograph and cocked his head to the side, curious. With one fluid motion, he ripped the picture in half so that only Hope remained. Satisfied, he kept the photo in his hand and headed for the door, having already glimpsed the Lupins' current address on one of the papers. He knew the Ministry would put an alert out and a warrant for his arrest. He would have to lay low and perhaps venture deep underground once he escaped this place and reunited with his werewolf Pack in the Forest of Dean, or as he liked to call it, the Wolves' Woods.
Ever since she had spoken to him earlier, and then Lupin had the audacity and gall to strike him and insult him to his face, his mind had been stuck on one thing and one thing only. Turning his pretty little Muggle wife into a werewolf-like him and taking her.
Let's see how much you love her then, boy, Greyback thought viciously to himself, as the edges of his thin, wormy lips curled upward in a smirk as he strolled casually out the hallway.
The ringing of the siren still rang in his eardrums, but Fenrir Greyback was not concerned. Instead of hurrying, he calmly strolled down the hallway, his hands in the pockets of his black leather trench coat, whistling a soft tune to himself as he smiled at the thought of enacting sweet, swift vengeance against Lyall Lupin for his derogatory comment. He did not care if he had to wait a year, five, or even ten years before finding them, again, if there was one thing Fenrir had learned, it was that patience was a virtue, and he was a patient wolf.
He would allow the search for him to cool down, and then, he would take what was rightfully his, his Hope.
It did not matter that she was a Muggle with no magical abilities, ever since she visited him, her face was everywhere. It was all he could see. The Muggle woman's oval and perfect face was permanently planted into his mind, and he could not get it out. Every time he closed his eyes, her bright smile shone against his tightly closed lids. He wanted to carve it right off of her pretty face because it was not smiling at him.
She was always smiling at Lyall. It made him want to tear out her retinas.
One way or another, no matter how long he had to wait, the woman would be his and his alone. He would take care of Lyall, his nemesis, and then he'd have her all to himself.
Greyback licked his lips as he continued down the hallway, still smiling. If he had to wait a few years, then he would. He'd find her. Satisfied with himself, he made a beeline straight for one of the fireplaces he knew was connected to the Floo Network and fled the building as though he had never been there.
He had his mate to find, his lovely Hope…