26

LYALL swallowed down past a lump in his throat as the breeze wafted his white bangs off his forehead as he, Remus, Dora, and little Teddy stood once more in front of his wife's grave. It had been Dora who had insisted they take a walk to stretch their legs and get some fresh air, and they had found their way back to the same cemetery which his story of his wife had first started when Teddy had asked to hear the story of how his grandfather met his grandmother.

He felt the beginnings of warm water brimming at the edges of his eyes and his chest undiluted with a pressure that vented off a sob he wanted to fight against, not wishing to appear weak in front of his family, but he could not manage it. His Hope had died of cancer at the ripe age of forty-five, entirely too young to have been taken from him, and had passed away and left him and Remus when Remus was only sixteen years old.

The years of Remus's lycanthropy as he'd grown had taken its toll on their health, having to constantly move wizarding villages whenever their neighbors would begin to take notice of Remus's peaky appearance, and odd behaviors as the quiet, mild-mannered wizard's temper would erupt like a solar flare as the full moon would approach. Hope had grown entirely too thin with worry, copious amounts of stress, and fear as the years had passed. It had been at Hope's first Quidditch match when Remus was fourteen, that her husband and son had first noticed just how severe her sickness was, that it was not just fatigue permanently set in that caused the circles under her eyes to become more pronounced, how little she ate at meals, claiming she was too sick to her stomach.

She had passed out in the bleachers following the end of the Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff match, with James Potter catching the Snitch and winning the match. Remus had noticed his mother swaying in the bleachers as she had tried to stand and had caught his mother as she fell.

Lyall, not wanting to take any chances, had insisted they take her immediately to the Hospital Wing, that Madame Pomfrey would know what could be done for her. Hope had remained the first Muggle patient in Hogwarts's Hospital Wing to be examined by the Healer. Madame Pomfrey was professional in her diagnosis, but sympathetic, revealing that Hope was suffering from stomach cancer, too far gone, and spreading fast.

Poppy had given Hope an estimate of around maybe a year or two to live, though there were spells, potions, various treatments that could be done to slow the poison in her system, there was no cure for it.

Lyall grimaced, his face twisting and contorting with grief as he remembered how Hope had refused every single one of the options, and her words to her when he'd protested.

"I don't want you to die, Hope," he and Remus had said to her later that night after a meager dinner of a weak potato soup that Hope could only pick at. He remembered how steadily his wife had lifted her gaze and eyed her husband and distraught son across their table.

"Then let me live," was all that she had said. Lyall furiously blinked back an onset of tears as he remembered her words and thinking that he and Remus had tried to honor her request as best as they were able, making the last two years of her life as comfortable as they could manage, until the day that she had passed away with Remus and Lyall by her bedside at the tender too-young age of forty-five for her to be gone.

His words had reached their end, and Lyall thought he had no more of his story left within him, as the whispered words that he told to Teddy that told him his grandmother had died when his father was only sixteen and too young to be without a mother, left his lips, barely audible over the roaring rushing of the winds.

His gloved hands shook as he could not tear his gaze away from the inscription bearing his wife's name, how beloved a wife and mother to Remus she had been. He thought he would give anything to see her again, even just the once.

Lyall was pulled from his thoughts of missing his Hope at the sound of Remus clearing his throat as his son moved to stand behind him.

"Thank you for letting us stay, Dad. And for taking such good care of Teddy when he comes to stay the night with you. And for telling him the story of how you met Mother…"

Lyall could not help the soft affectionate smile that curved the edges of his lips upwards as he turned to look at his son, his expression tinged with just a hint of melancholia as they stood in front of Hope's gravesite, a single white lily clutched in his hands as he knelt at the waist to place it there.

"There's nothing I would rather enjoy more than spending the hours with my grandson, and I've said before, Remus, a boy should know his grandmother," Lyall heard himself say as he sighed with mirth and turned to address his son and daughter-in-law.

The air was growing colder, and both of them were bundled in their coats, hats, and gloves, as was Teddy. He could tell by the way that Remus awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to the other that they were anxious to make for their own home, and hopefully to avoid little Teddy catching a cold.

He reached out and ruffled Remus's prematurely greying light brown hair in gentle acknowledgment.

"I have waited a long time for him, Remus," Lyall affirmed happily, turning to beam at his daughter-in-law and his grandson, pleased that his son, after years of morose suffering, had found his happiness in a witch who had been more than willing to look past his horrible lycanthropy. "It's my pleasure. Teddy is welcome at my house any time, as are the both of you. My Hope would have doted on you, Teddy Bear and spoiled you rotten," he chuckled warmly, tearing his gaze away from his five-year-old grandson to look back up at Remus and Dora, both of whom exchanged soft smiles and a knowing glance, as though they knew something he didn't'. "What is it?" he questioned, immediately suspicious. "You have news?"

Tonks lowered her eyes and blushed, before gazing up at Lyall, and unspoken question shining in the witch's pale grey eyes.

Remus answered his father's query with a quiet nod of his head.

"Yes, we have wonderful news, Dad," he began, sounding breathless and anxious as he squeezed onto Dora's shoulder, seemingly for support. He hoped his father would find their earlier discovery of last week as joyous as he and Dora had. "We're giving you another grandchild. Dora is two months pregnant. We wanted to wait to tell you until we were a hundred percent sure and the baby was healthy and safe. Hopefully, it's a girl this time," Remus announced, straightening his posture so that he stood a little taller, a little prouder, as his chest puffed out slightly with pride as his hand moved of its own accord to settle over the top of Nymphadora's flat stomach.

Tonks moved closer to Remus's side, taking her husband gently into her soft arms, nestling into him, her pale, heart-shaped face beaming with elation and utmost pride.

"Teddy will have another brother or sister to play with, but Mrs. Weasley is sure it's going to be a girl," Tonks predicted joyfully.

Lyall stepped back away from Hope's grave for a moment, regarding his son and the woman who had given him a grandson, and hopefully here in another seven months, a granddaughter. He inhaled slowly and let his gaze linger over Remus and Dora Lupin, their eager faces hovering somewhere between euphoria and dread.

He sensed there was still a question burning on the tip of Dora's tongue, but she was shooting him a look that suggested that she feared his reaction to whatever she was about to say next might be less than accepting.

However, Lyall's heart wanted to soar at the idea of how swiftly the Lupin family was growing. At last, his own beloved son had found the love he and Hope knew their Remus had always deserved.

Finally, the future of his family was certain. He would live out his remaining years, whatever time that he had left, surrounded by the sound of his grandchildren's laughter.

Lyall could not contain the joy that swelled within his chest, nor could he fight against the loving tears that now filled his kind dark brown eyes as he watched Remus standing proudly in front of him with his own family.

Remus took a hesitant step forward, uncertain if he would find Lyall's approval unconditional.

"We were ah, hoping that if we have a girl, if we could name her after Mother, Dad. We want to honor both of our mothers with our daughter's name. Hope Andromeda Lupin," Remus announced, his voice almost a whisper.

Lyall felt a pang of emotions hit him squarely in the chest and he almost faltered backward, as though hit by Knockback Jinx, but steadied his gait as he moved to stand closer towards Remus. He brought his hand up gently to rest on his son's shoulder and gave the appendage a firm but reassuring squeeze.

"My Hope would be delighted to learn that she would have a grandchild named after her. Yes, of course, you may name her after Hope. I could not be more pleased, Remus, Dora," he answered, staring deep into the light brown eyes of his son that looked hazel in the right light, that was so like his Hope's that it was almost painful to look at him.

Lyall leaned in and hugged Remus gently, holding his son close to him for a long moment, as Tonks stood back, holding Teddy close to her, and quietly watched the touching moment between father and son, praying silently to herself that the babe that now burgeoned in her womb would be a girl, in order to honor Hope.

At last, Lyall relinquished his hold upon his son and returned Remus to the woman who adored him and held his heart and wore his ring. He took Dora by the shoulders and congratulated the pink-haired witch, beaming.

"I expect an invitation by owl to your baby shower, my dear," he declared, a light chuckle escaping his lips. "Posthaste," Lyall teased softly.

Tonks nodded eagerly and replied that he would be the first to receive an invitation, that Molly Weasley was already planning to throw her a shower at their home, the Burrow.

Tonks and Remus did not linger long after that as the temperatures continued to steadily drop and a light mist had begun to snake its way through the cemetery, steadily growing thicker as the seconds turned to minutes and passed them by. Not wanting Teddy to catch a cold or his death out in frigid temperatures like this, his son and daughter-in-law Apparated home to their own home in Yorkshire, though not before promising to visit soon.

Lyall was left alone in the cemetery, standing in front of his wife's chipped gravestone.

The cemetery he now found himself alone in exuded a sort of intimidating aura.

The warm hues from earlier today had faded now to cooler hues as the thick fog swooped in and skirted through the thick dark oak trees of the cemetery. A certain uneasiness filled his chest as his worn hand slipped out from his coat pocket to tug on the collar of his grey woolen turtleneck sweater. He rose a shaking hand to one of his tired eyes and rubbed slowly over the rough surface of his skin. A scattered sigh managed to escape his cracked lips.

His hand moved gingerly to the back of his neck as he rolled his head to crack it. He lazily circled his head to glance down at the delicate flower of another white lily he'd conjured in the palm of his hand.

The small thing lay calmly in Lyall's large, calloused hand. In the harrowing blinding white light of the mist that surrounded him, the plant's colors looked more luscious and brighter. The thought of his beloved wife and the memory of meeting Hope Howell in the dense Welsh forest flashed in Lyall's vivid memory.

The recollection of Hope Lupin's bright white smile danced in the back of his mind. If he focused long enough, he could hear Hope whispering to him, sweet words into the shell of his ear, as though she were right next to him.

The memory of his beloved wife almost resembled that of a painting an image of her sweet face danced in the forefront of his mind. Her smile had laced over her face with such a sweetness, Lyall was sure no other woman in the world held such a smile. A sudden and sharp pain thrashed through his heart as he missed her.

His shallow breaths worsened as time passed. Lyall buried his head in his hands, pieces of white locks sticky almost every which way as they tangled in his fingers. The flower he'd been holding fell to the ground as the cool breeze carried the feeble little plant to the ground. The petals bent, connecting with the frigid ground.

The poor man grieving his wife still after all these years was nearly hysterical at this point.

His lungs burned as the biting cool air thrashed in and out of him at a speed that Lyall could not slow down for the life of him. The thundering of the feeble, quivering muscle within his chest numbed him.

Lyall was sure that slick, fat tears would slip from the edges of his eyes at any given moment. He tried in vain to fight down the salty liquid and swallowed past the lump in his throat.

After a moment of truly deafening silence, his heartbeats slowly but surely calmed down, though his head remained pressed into his hands.

His lungs had calmed slightly, the burning feeling slowly subsiding.

"I-I-I l-love you, Hope," he whispered, his tenor-like voice dropping lower than Lyall was used to, as he fought back his tears. "I've never stopped loving you..." He had thought that the grief would get easier in time, that the pain of missing his beloved wife would numb to dull aching in his chest, but Lyall could not have been more wrong.

Slowly, he turned on his heels to leave, finding the eerie quietness of the cemetery otherwise somewhat uneasy, all the while trying to curb his pained breathing as he shivered through gritted teeth. He wondered if Tandy would make him a sandwich and a cup of hot cocoa when he returned. Though before he could turn on his heels to Disapparate onto his cottage's front porch, a ghostly call left Lyall feeling timorous.

"Lyall…"

It seemed like a series of female voices chorused in whispers and calls that Lyall could at first not discern where this whisper in the mist came from, as the fog was too thick.

An owl hooted somewhere in the distance and Lyall caught his breath with a halt.

"Lyall…Lyall."

Quickly, Lyall turned around on his heels, the familiar aching throbbing betraying his temples. He looked around wildly to the left and right, catching sight of this familiar voice that called his name, but there was none that he could see. He clutched on the hair at either side of his head, and he began to hear his own desperate breaths speed up.

Lyall squinted, the unmistakable outline of a feminine figure's silhouette coming closer and closer to him through this thick mist, and finally, as the figure seemed to glide through the mist and Lyall finally saw her, her very image making his irises deflate in disbelief. Hope.

His beloved Hope, looking straight back at her husband, just as youthful and lovely and healthy as he had met her all those years ago in that boggart-infested Welsh forest.

His wife was young, in her late twenties again, or seemed to be, though her skin was tinged bluish, and she seemed not of this earth, but celestial, and just as beautiful as she had been when he'd first laid eyes upon her in that forest. Her dark hair was loose and flowing in natural waves to her shoulders, his wife a vision of loveliness in a crimson-colored thick cable knit turtleneck sweater and modest black flowing, comfortable-looking skirt, and boots.

The strap of her small brown purse was slung over her shoulder, and Lyall almost let himself smile, wondering if there was a copy of The Hobbit tucked away in her bag, if his wife had time to read still, in the afterlife, wherever his wife was waiting for him.

Hope's hazel eyes settled upon Lyall's. Lyall felt familiar awe creeping under his skin and a fiery heat seeping into his flesh, knowing that somehow, the apparition of his wife was surely just nothing more than a phantasm of his own mind. Surely, his mind was playing a sport of his vision, that he would see the bewitching Muggle woman who'd stolen his heart all those years ago before he'd known it was gone.

Lyall watched Hope's eyes soften and his wife slowly pursed her lips as she took a half step forward, her steps silent, silent, as Hope took in the sight of Lyall Lupin, her eyes making a quick scan of the now much-older man standing in front of her.

Do you remember the forest, Lyall? Hope asked him, without ever once opening in her mouth to speak, seemingly now able to possess the ability to communicate in a telepathic way from beyond this realm and into the next.

Lyall slowly lifted his gaze to the whisperer. He knew and swore by Merlin himself that his mind was playing a sport of his vision. He was trapped in the confines of his own illusion and was living in a moment that only he was able to access. His very world was now looking at him from across the way, standing but a breath away from him.

He was close enough to touch her, but even as he lifted his shaking left hand to caress her cheek, Lyall knew he would graze only the air. His gaze drifted down to her hands, which were resting in front of Hope, and he almost let himself smile at the way that she still lovingly twisted with the plain gold wedding band on her left ring finger, a habit of hers that it seemed not even death could break. Why Lyall had to let lovely Hope Lupin ghost him in this way, the lonesome wizard did not know. But he knew all too well, as he searched his heart for the answer.

He knew that there were things left unsaid, emotions left shackled, words left imprisoned, and all of those reappeared, wanting to be spoken and freed when there were no more chances left. To Lyall in his lonesome days spent at home with only Tandy for company during the day, Hope was everywhere.

Her image burned itself into his retinas, haunting him, and every night as he lay alone in bed and staring at the ceiling, struggling to sleep, he could feel the ice on his cheeks in the form of his wife's slender fingers, whispering to her husband soothingly, eliciting a shiver down his spine as she would press her frigid lips to Lyall's lips.

I've been waiting for you, sweetheart, she told him. And unlike other times when the specter of his wife would visit him, when he was struck dumb at unable to have an answer, this time, for sure, Lyall had the answer ready to give.

"I know, Hope, darling," Lyall murmured, pursing his lips to swallow past the lump that had formed in his throat, as he whispered to the specter of his wife in his assumed madness.

He was suddenly grateful that Remus and Dora had Disapparated with their son and were not present to listen to him talk to his beloved wife like this. He was not even sure that if his son and daughter-in-law were here if they would be able to see Hope as he could. He blew out a deep breath and continued, summoning up enough strength on his throat to answer his wife, who was waiting for Lyall to elaborate.

"I've missed you, my love. And I don't remember that forest or the boggart, honey, I remember you. Just you, Hope…"

His wife's silence reigned heavy on Lyall, and he was still sure the image of her was false in his mind, but somehow, Lyall continued to let his damned mind play with his consciousness, continuing to speak to him in loving whispers. This time, Lyall saw the glittering of tears in Hope's hazel eyes, looking down, her pale, pretty face twisting and contorting with grief, becoming disoriented in Hope Lupin's attempts to stop her crying.

He loved her, even now, and wished that he could take away her pain. Lyall purposefully held himself back and willed his mind to stop this delirium. But still, as he spoke, his words came from the heart, and a part of Lyall hoped these visions never left him, that when his time came to depart this earth, that instead of the shrouded figure of Death that would come for him like an old friend, that it would be Hope who came instead.

"It was right to leave that forest, my love. But what wasn't right when you left me and Remus," Lyall whispered, his voice cracking as he let himself trail off faintly.

Hope lifted her gaze to Lyall's, and he could tell just with a single look that he knew his wife thought that her husband needed shaving, and a nice haircut with a real comb and Tandy's help would lessen his ragged look.

Lyall wanted to say something else to his wife, but suddenly his jaw had locked itself tight. Lyall frantically searched for words and tried hard to open his mouth but instead could only click his tongue in severe disappointment.

He chewed on his tongue before stepping closer to Hope, and even before Lyall could stop himself, his fingers tried to coil in his wife's dark tresses, though he shivered as his shaking fingers grazed only the air, and it felt as though plunging his hand into the icy water. He reluctantly let go and tried to stride his calloused palm slowly across her right cheek.

Hope shyly lowered her lashes at Lyall as her heavily-lidded hazel eyes followed the trail her husband's hand had made, and she imitated his movements, her movements causing a burst of icy air to form around them.

Lyall stepped back, though, as his wife's hand rested above his heart. He wondered if she could feel his thundering pulses and could read the longing to be reunited with the love of his life on his face. Hope looked at Lyall in amazement, and even before Lyall could utter his next words to his deceased wife, she immediately stopped his lips from parting by placing a finger on his lips, the icy sensation sending a chill down his spine.

"Don't, Lyall, sweetheart," Hope whispered in a faint smile and slowly let her husband go. "I don't need to hear it," she admitted, shyly.

"But…Hope, darling, you should still know," he swallowed hard, cringing as Hope looked like she was making to turn away, that she could not stay, that wherever she had come from was calling her back, but in his mind, he wanted more time to linger with her, wanting to know when his time to reunite with her would come.

Though he hoped he would enjoy a few more years with his grandchildren first.

But he wanted her to know how much he still loved her, how much her lack of presence in his life haunted him, how he wanted nothing more than to be reunited with her at long last.

Hope swallowed and tucked her hands across her chest, as though cold, eventually pulling her eyes away from Lyall's. She had passed away in her sleep with a smile on her face, no suffering, the St. Mungo's Healer had told her and Remus by her bedside.

As she remembered her time with Lyall Lupin and the love she still nursed for him and always would, that she was waiting for him to join her in another three years, though she could not reveal the details of the man's death, Dumbledore had seen it, with Albus Dumbledore having passed away a few years ago during a skirmish at Hogwarts on top of the Astronomy Tower. Her husband would die of a complaint of the heart, and Hope would not see him again following this moment until that time for Lyall Lupin came. Lyall Lupin was everything that Hope had wanted to end up with. She turned back around, realizing the mistake of lingering too long, as there came a faint white light through the thick mist, her way home. It was time, though she wanted to make Lyall understand.

She did not need to hear his words in the same husky voice that always secured her, to know how deeply in love Lyall still loved her, how much her husband missed her. She knew what he felt for her, and her emotions mirrored his. She had been waiting for him, but now was not her husband's time to join her. Not yet.

She turned on her heels and began to walk back into the mist from whence she came, towards that light that would take her home, where she would wait for Lyall until her husband's time came to join her. She began to distance herself from Lyall, though she paused and turned to regard Lyall Lupin as she peered lovingly over her shoulder at him.

Her last thought that she voiced was everything that her husband needed to know.

"I already do. I've known, Lyall. Always."