Chapter 9: Not a Bad Lie

Dinner passed without further mishap. The roast was edible, though that was about all Remus could really say for it—it was dry and stringy, largely tasteless with overcooked carrots and potatoes and served with bread that was scorched and peas that were too salty. The wine he'd chosen did nothing for the meal, and had a vaguely stale flavor to it, which was probably what he should have expected from a cabernet he'd paid less than a Galleon for. Diana was an interesting conversationalist when she was paying him any heed, which wasn't often as most of her time was spent trying to coax bites of mashed peas and carrots down Robbie's throat. Edward tried valiantly to entertain his guest, and Remus found himself simultaneously amused and impressed with his attempts, and it was difficult not to laugh at inappropriate times. The ice cream had melted somewhat, but it was still easily the most palatable part of the meal, and made slightly more so by the gusto with which Edward devoured his bowl.

A little after seven, Robbie began to yawn, his head lolling to one side and his eyes drooping heavily. As Diana lifted him from his high chair, Robbie returned his thumb to his mouth—a gesture that Remus was quickly coming to associate with the boy. A part of him chafed at the way Diana coddled him and he wanted to tell her that she was doing the boy no favors by letting him cling to her so, but another part of his mind reminded him that he knew nothing about children to begin with and these were her children anyway, which made it anything but his business how she chose to raise her kids.

"I think it's someone's bedtime," she said, cradling Robbie against her. "It's been a long day."

"Of course," Remus said, looking around and suddenly torn between wanting to take advantage of such a convenient reason to leave and feeling as though he needed to stay and help with the dishes. To his shame, he was leaning heavily towards using the excuse to leave. "I shouldn't have stayed so late. I'll just—"

"No, no," she interrupted. "Don't give it a second thought. It isn't late at all. I'll only be a minute putting him down." Remus cursed himself inwardly for hedging instead of just excusing himself. As Diana took Robbie from the room, Remus stood and gave the table a rueful look, then began gathering dishes. This was not how he would have chosen to spend a romantic evening.

Of course, if he'd been expecting anything different, he had only himself to blame. He wasn't twenty anymore, and Diana had two children. Which part of that did you fail to consider when you came here expecting to—To what? What had he been expecting anyway?

Not a tumble in bed, really. He'd never been one to expect sex, which meant that any time he'd ever gotten it had been a pleasant surprise. Unlike Sirius, who had never so much as smiled at a woman without half-expecting her to fling herself at him in return. It would have been nice, but he wasn't exactly disappointed that the evening hadn't progressed to that point.

Maybe it was a decent meal that he'd been anticipating, and if tonight's fare was any indication, Diana Murphy wasn't much of a cook. He was sure that the dinner had been nutritional, but it was also quite forgettable. He didn't like the idea that he'd come here specifically anticipating an exotic and delicious meal, though. That sounded far too shallow for him to be comfortable with the idea.

More likely, it had been an escape that he'd been looking for. A few hours of pleasant conversation with someone who didn't know the Order of the Phoenix existed, someone who wasn't a Weasley, and someone who didn't need anything from him. His eyes drifted back to Edward, who was helping to clear the table. Edward was a nice kid, and an interesting one as far as kids went. Remus liked kids well enough. He wasn't sure he liked kids who came attached to a woman he was trying to flirt with.

And by that token, why was he trying to flirt with Diana anyway? She wasn't pretty, she'd given very little indication that she was witty or smart. She looked haggard, worn, beaten and exhausted, and if there was a quiet strength in her eyes and a ferocity with which she seemed to love her children, those were not things that drew a man to a woman. Besides which, her financial situation seemed roughly as optimistic as his own. He could think of a hundred good reasons to stop pretending like he was interested in her in any capacity other than as a distraction. As he scraped mashed peas off Robbie's plate and into the waste bin, he couldn't think of one good reason to carry on with this.

"Thank you for bringing the ice cream," Edward said suddenly, and Remus looked guiltily at him.

"You're welcome, Edward."

"Mum would have tried to bake a cake or something if you hadn't brought it," Edward confided in a low voice. "She isn't a very good cook."

Remus had to fight not to laugh and commiserate, but he couldn't quite bring himself to disagree.

"When my dad was alive, he cooked. He was a chef, you know."

"No, I didn't know," Remus replied, pointing his wand at the sink. As it began filling with hot, sudsy water, he dropped plates gently into the foaming sink.

"He was," Edward replied matter-of-factly as he pulled a chair to the cupboard and climbed on it so he could reach the second shelf. Pulling down three containers, he hopped off the chair again and went back to the table, where he began emptying leftovers into containers. "He owned his own restaurant. Mum tried to run it after he died, but she didn't know what she was doing."

Remus raised an eyebrow as he washed one of the plates. "That's not a very nice thing to say."

"Mum said so," Edward answered. "She said she thought all she'd have to do was balance the books, and she could do that, but she didn't know anything about cooking and the kitchens. She found a new chef, but he wasn't as good, and people quit coming to the restaurant because she's a Mudblood."

"Edward," Remus chastised. "That isn't a very nice word either."

Edward looked vaguely surprised to discover this. "Why not?" he asked. "My mum's one. She said that too."

If Remus' eyes got any wider, he was afraid they'd fall out of his head. What kind of mother said those things to a child?

"I heard her talking to my Aunt Ruth—that's my dad's sister. Mum said that the restaurant would never make it because a Mudblood was running it and the Purebloods wouldn't eat there. So she sold it to Aunt Ruth, because she's a pureblood, and Aunt Ruth makes lots of money off it and gives Mum some of it to support us."

Remus' head was spinning. He rinsed the plates he'd just washed and set them into the drying rack, trying to sort through everything Edward was telling him.

"And Mum's family won't even talk to us, but that's my fault. They wanted Mum to put me in St. Mungo's and come to live with them, but she wouldn't do it."

"Edward!" Diana had obviously returned. "Remus doesn't want to hear all our family gossip."

"Sorry," Edward muttered as he finished dumping peas into a container to store them.

"Go play," she told him. "And if you play quietly, you can stay up until eight-thirty tonight."

The grin that flickered across Edward's face was enough to suddenly remind Remus again that the boy was only seven, even if he did seem quite a bit older most of the time. He darted out of the room, and Diana shook her head, then took the pot Remus was cleaning out of his hand.

"And you go sit over there," she ordered, pointing at the table. "You've done enough cleaning in my house for one evening."

"I don't mind helping," Remus protested, but Diana quelled him with a stern look.

"I care," she informed him. "Now go."

He hesitated, then obeyed, seating himself at the table while she rolled up her sleeves. After a moment, the silence between them became awkward and oppressive, and Remus was once again casting about for an excuse to leave.

"This evening really hasn't turned out the way I was hoping," she said suddenly. "I was looking forward to having you here because—please don't take this the wrong way, Remus—but do you know how long it's been since I've talked to anyone who speaks grown-up?"

Remus chuckled softly. "How old is Edward?" he asked, and she smiled at him, shaking her head.

"He'll be eight this spring," she replied. "I don't know if I can't wait for him to get a little older or if I want him to stay this age forever."

"He takes his duty as man of the house very seriously, doesn't he?" Remus asked. Diana's face darkened.

"His uncle told him that right after my husband's funeral," she said quietly, then lowered her voice in imitation of a man. "'You're the man of the house now, Edward, so you have to take care of your mum.' Idiot. He was only five, but he took that to heart." She shook her head and sighed. "And I hate it that my little boy thinks he has to act like a grown-up," she said. "And I don't know what I'd do if he didn't."

Remus stood again and crossed the kitchen. He came to a halt beside her and picked up a cup towel. "Am I allowed to dry dishes at least?" he asked, his hand hovering over the drain board.

She hesitated, then nodded.

"Don't you have anyone to help you?" he asked as he rubbed a plate dry.

She gained a renewed interest in the pot she was scrubbing. "My family tried to get me to move back with them after Robert died—that was my husband, Robert. That's what Edward was telling you. They wanted me to put him in St. Mungo's, in as much as they knew what St. Mungo's was, and to come back and live with them." She looked at Remus and frowned. "Will you think horribly of me if I tell you that I considered it?" she asked quietly.

His immediate reaction was that yes, knowing that she'd considered it did actually lower his opinion of her somewhat, but after the initial sympathetic indignation on Edward's behalf passed, he reminded himself that he couldn't even fathom what it must have been like for her. His silence seemed to divulge his doubts, though, as Diana looked away from him.

"I was eight months pregnant," she whispered. "I've never really been a part of this world anyway, and I didn't have many friends I'd be leaving behind. I'd lost my husband, and I didn't know how I was going to make it without him. I was every bit as terrified of Edward as my parents were. I didn't know what to expect, I didn't know if I'd be able to manage it. I didn't know if I'd be able to feed my new baby, or take care of Edward properly…" She shook her head. "I thought about it carefully, and I nearly did it. I just didn't think I'd be able to live with myself if I actually went through with it, though."

And doesn't that count for something? Remus asked himself. Even if she'd thought about it, it had to matter that she hadn't actually done it. "I'm sure it wasn't an easy decision to make," he said sincerely.

"It was, actually," she said. "All I had to do was imagine myself telling Edward and I knew I couldn't do it. Then my mother tried to get me to give Robbie to her to take care of, and I thought about that, too. I came closer to that one than I did to giving up Edward, actually, but how could I give up one son and not the other? Besides, I was pretty sure that Robbie would be a wizard too, and I wouldn't wish being dropped into this world on anyone. My mother didn't approve of my decision, though, and she doesn't really talk to me anymore."

She laughed suddenly, and shrugged a bit. "So, no. I don't really have anyone to help me. I don't know if Edward will be able to go to Hogwarts or not, but if he does, then I can probably find someone to help with Robbie while I find a job at least. Right now that's out of the question, because no one will take Edward and I can't leave him alone. But if all goes well, perhaps I'll be able to start building a better life for them in another four years. And if Edward can't go to Hogwarts…"

"If Dumbledore is still Headmaster, I'm sure Edward will get to go," Remus assured her. "After all, he accepted me, and that was before the Wolfsbane."

Diana nodded. "I hope so," she whispered. "I don't know how much longer I can do this." Before he could respond, she shook her head firmly and smiled a forced smile. "Listen to me," she said, rolling her eyes. "I finally get my conversation with someone who isn't one of my kids and all I can talk about are the kids. What about you? I feel like you know practically everything there is to know about me but I don't know anything about you."

That's because there's very little worth telling, he thought ruefully. Aloud, he said, "Hrm, let me think. I'm not very interesting, actually."

"Do you work?" she asked, and he felt a stab of worthlessness. In the last fifteen years, that had been the single biggest obstacle to establishing a relationship with any woman. It was odd, most women weren't really overly concerned that he was a werewolf—at least, the ones he'd told hadn't been—but when they found out that except for his year of teaching he'd never held a job for more than four months, women tended to find a hundred and one reasons not to want anything more to do with him.

"I do some bookkeeping and maintenance on an old house for some friends," he began, attempting to hedge the question a bit. Even as disinterested as he was in Diana—and in the past ten minutes he wasn't sure that his opinion hadn't changed a bit once again—he didn't want her to reject him out of hand. It grated at his pride every time that happened. "See to the repairs and do odd jobs and…" He trailed off, then shook his head. He'd never been much of a liar. He could avoid uncomfortable questions when he had to, but not this.

"No," he said finally, concentrating heavily on the cup he was drying now. "I don't work and I can't really convince myself that I do. I have friends who are very generous, both in allowing me to live with them and allowing me to delude myself into believing that I earn my keep there, but I don't have a job."

She swiped her hand against her robe and put an arm around his back, hugging him more tightly than he would have thought possible for such a frail-looking woman. "If anyone understands that, I do," she said as she drew away again. "I've seen you with another man at the Ministry—he was there after that first full moon. Is he a brother or…?"

"Severus?" Remus asked, chuckling a bit. "He's a friend, though he doesn't seem to like to admit it."

"Is he the one you live with?"

Remus faltered, knowing he was treading on dangerous ground. "Yeah," he lied, as casually as he could. He needed to avoid questions about where he lived.

She was finishing the last pot, and as she balanced it to dry, she plucked the towel from his hand. "The rest of them can dry like they are," she said, draping the towel over the dishes. "Do you want something to drink?" she asked. "I'm sorry I don't have anything better than tea to offer, but…"

"Tea would be fine," Remus replied, smiling. She took down a tea kettle and pointed her wand at it; a heartbeat later it was whistling merrily as she took two cups from the cupboard and dropped a teabag in each.

After another half hour of conversation, Remus was adjusting his opinion of Diana once again. She was a mother, first and foremost, but she was also a witty conversationalist with a dry sense of humor and an extensive knowledge of Quidditch. She'd been a Ravenclaw, and Remus was surprised to find that she was more than a decade younger than him.

"What?" she'd asked teasingly when he expressed his astonishment. "I know I look old but surely not that old."

"No," he'd rushed to assure her. "It's just that Edward is nearly eight and…"

"I was a child bride. Far too young to get married, and too young to be a mother. Never did like to be told I was too young for something."

She was only twenty-seven, and in his mind, that was too young to have such a heavily lined face, but he knew as well as anyone that a hard life could age a person faster than years could account for.

During a lull in their conversation, she tilted her head to one side and frowned a bit.

"What's wrong?" he asked, listening with a frown on his face as well.

"Edward," she replied, standing.

"I don't hear anything."

"Exactly," she replied. "I can usually hear him playing. At the very least I can usually hear him moving around or laughing at whatever book he's reading."

Remus followed her out of the kitchen and into the living room, and stopped right behind her. Edward was laying in the middle of the floor, his head resting on an open book and his eyes closed.

"I guess someone was tired," Remus commented softly.

"I guess so," she replied, watching him for a minute more. "I wonder if he'd sleep there all night if I put a blanket over him."

Remus frowned, a still-too-vivid memory of sleeping on the ground in a Ministry cell rising unbidden in his mind. "Why?" he asked.

"I don't want to wake him," she answered quietly.

"Do you think he'd wake if I carried him to his room?"

Diana looked at him. "You don't mind?"

"Not at all."

She nodded and moved aside, and Remus crouched beside the sleeping boy, gathering him into his arms. Edward stirred slightly, but Remus whispered, "Shh, don't wake up." Edward yawned and mumbled something, then settled against Remus' chest. Remus smiled a bit as he rose carefully, holding him.

"This way," Diana said, leading him up the stairs and along a hallway. Edward lay limply in Remus' arms, a comfortable deadweight against him. It was an oddly touching experience and as he leaned down to place Edward in bed, his arms felt rather empty suddenly.

Diana sat on the edge of the bed, gently pulling his shoes off and dropping them on the floor. She studied him for a minute, then smiled. "I don't think it will hurt for him to sleep in his clothes."

"No," Remus agreed, moving him so that Diana could pull the blanket up to his chin. She leaned down and kissed his forehead, then stood, and for a moment, Remus was oddly tempted to do the same. He resisted the temptation, though, and stood as well.

When they were in the hall again, Diana was considering him thoughtfully. "You've been very good to Edward," she said softly.

Remus shrugged a bit. "I suppose I feel for him," he said, then leaned against the wall. "That first night at the Ministry, I was in the cell next to him. I could hear him crying."

Diana placed a hand over her mouth, and tears suddenly spilled down her face. "I don't know if I can leave him there again," she whispered, shaking her head. "I really don't know if I can do it."

Remus reached for her and pulled her into his arms. "Shh," he whispered. "You don't want to wake them."

She leaned into his arms, and he half expected her to start sobbing, but she did not. After a moment, she straightened, and though her eyes were red, they were dry. He let go of her reluctantly, almost disappointed that she didn't need his comfort anymore. "I'm sorry," she whispered, gesturing towards the stairs. "I need to pull myself together, I know, but…"

"It's hard," Remus supplied, and she nodded.

"Very hard," she answered. She led him back to the living room and settled on the sofa, and after a half-heartbeat hesitation, Remus joined her.

"You don't have to avoid the topic, you know," he said quietly. "I told you once before that I didn't mind listening, and I don't."

She laughed humorlessly. "I don't want to talk about it," she replied. "I don't even want to think about it. I want to pretend it doesn't exist at all."

He smiled and nodded, and ached to reach for her again. For a woman he wasn't particularly interest in, she was certainly twisting his heart like a rag. He glanced out the window at the gibbous moon that hung just above the eastern horizon, and very suddenly wondered what it would be like to take a walk in the full moonlight with a woman beside him. He'd never spent much time worrying over what might have been, simply because there was nothing down that road. He could not change the past, and he could not change what had happened thirty years ago, and there had never seemed to be a point speculating about how things might have been different, but suddenly he was.

If he had not been a victim of that bite, where would he be now? The possibilities were endless, but he was fairly sure of one thing—he would not be broke and living off the kindness of others. He might have brought a real bottle of wine tonight, and he'd be offering to take Diana and her sons out somewhere in a few days. It must be nice to have that sort of money, to be able to not worry about where the next meal was coming from, or to be able to face his friends without the knowledge that they were looking after him since he was incapable of looking after himself. Incapable of looking after himself and certainly of looking after a family.

He looked away from Diana abruptly and stood. "I need to go," he told her, and she opened her mouth then shut it quickly.

"Did I say something?" she asked, standing as well. She reached for his hand, and he quickly took a step away.

"No, of course not," he replied. "I just… I need to do some things and…" It sounded like the lame excuse that it was and he cursed himself for not offering a better one.

"Will you come again?" she asked, following him to the door. He paused, gathering his courage to tell her no, but when he turned around his tongue took leave of his mind's influence.

"Perhaps," he replied evasively, even though he had no intention of further encouraging this until and unless he had the means to do it properly. And, given his situation, he had a feeling that would be a very long time indeed.

"You're angry with me, aren't you? Please, Remus, tell me what I said. I didn't mean to upset you and—"

"You didn't upset me," he assured her. "And I'm not angry. It's just getting late and—"

"It isn't even nine!" she interrupted. "Please, just tell me why and I'll leave you be. Please."

He hesitated for a moment then, cursing himself for a thousand times a fool, he smiled his most friendly and comforting smile—the one he had worked so hard to perfect and that he could call up even when he felt least like smiling—and reached for her hand. He lifted her fingers to his lips and brushed a gentle kiss across the backs of her knuckles. "You did nothing wrong," he replied earnestly. "But I have to go. I'm sure I will see you again, very likely within the week."

She laughed suddenly, then nodded. "Good night then," she said.

He let go of her hand. "Good night. And thank you for a lovely evening and a wonderful meal." As he turned and stepped into the night, he thought perhaps he wasn't so bad a liar after all.

A/N: All right, we're trying this updating thing again. Honestly, I think I have too much on my plate, and I keep letting things slide.

silverthreads: thank you for your comments. I'm glad the chapter was believable to you ;)

Human Tales: Thank you! I don't know why I am so slow to update this one. I enjoy writing it, too, and the issues I exlore in it are more meaningful to me than the ones I explore in Tomorrow. Thanks for the encouragement.

Pickledishkiller: Thank you!

yukka: Thank you! I really struggle to find a voice for Edward sometimes, but when I hit my stride with him, he's so real to me that it's easy to to write him. I see him very clearly, and in my mind, he is certainly a child, not a mini-adult. I know what you mean about the miniature adults in fanfiction, and in fiction in general, though.

cecelle: thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed, and, of course, I'm thrilled to hear that the chapter evoked emotion. I've been stunned at the reaction little Edward has gotten, and I love the fact that you feel for him.

Kim Kotchanski: Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying.

hopgoblen: thanks for your comments!

Redhairedcat: erm... no. Good catch. I need to edit that out.

duj: as always, very perceptive comments. There's certainly a healthy measure of fear involved, and though some of it is justified, not all of it is. It's one reason I like the subject matter-- falls neatly into my beloved grey areas.

unlikely2: Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying.

As always, thanks to everyone for reading, and thanks extra times for leaving comments. They're very meaningful to me. And thanks to LariLee, for hers is the thankless job of betaing this stuff. She's awesome!