Hope had learned that Lyall Lupin, her boyfriend, was a wizard just one week prior... and already she felt as if they didn't speak the same language.

"Where were you?" she asked, watching Lyall stumble into the restaurant for their date, clearly exhausted and twenty minutes late.

"Sorry, Hope. Got held up at Gringotts—the man in front of me was trying to pass off fake Galleons as real money, and the goblins got their wands all in a twist. Figured out later that he was just trying to get up enough Galleons to buy that new broom in Diagon Alley—as it turns out, he's the Beater for the Chudley Cannons. Quidditch, you know," Lyall added helpfully, even though he wasn't being much help whatsoever. "Anyway, some Prophet reporters happened to be hanging around—they always are, and it's more annoying than gnomes in a garden—and now there's a huge scandal. Huge. Merlin's beard, it's been such a day, Hope."

Lyall took a sip of his drink, smiling, and Hope wondered how on earth this man had managed to keep the entire wizarding world a secret from her for so long.

Before Hope had known of wizards, she'd thought that Lyall was a bit of an idiot.

He'd seemed to be a genius at first glance—of the eccentric sort, perhaps, but a genius nonetheless. His wiry glasses, tousled brown hair, and rumpled clothes that were always quite unfashionable (he wore a lot of mismatched knitted waistcoats) seemed to complete the look.

But then Hope had learned that Lyall

a) could not drive
b) could not count British pounds properly
c) had no fashion sense whatsoever
d) didn't know the meaning of a couple really simple idioms
e) was prone to spouting nonsense
f) thought that unicorns existed (he'd just talked of them like it was common sense!)
g) could not wash dishes
h) carried in his pocket what he claimed to be a "lucky stick"
i) had a really weird sense of humor
j) went to a school called Hogwarts (?)
k) had never attended university
l) didn't know how to work a telephone
m) asked Hope why she had a broomstick in her house if she couldn't ride it (?)
n) wouldn't shut up about Merlin and his beard
o) had no idea about the existence of films,
and
p) could not sing whatsoever.

Everything started to come together, of course, after she'd found out what Lyall could do. Except for the last one; that had nothing to do with being a wizard whatsoever. Lyall just didn't have an ear for music, and that was that.

It had been a bit relieving, to be honest, to find out that Lyall wasn't a complete idiot. Hope had thought that he was a little bit stupid for a very long time. It hadn't been noticeable at first glance, but the little culture differences had slowly come out after spending so much time with him.

It had also been a little disappointing, because it meant that Lyall actually was the eccentric genius that Hope had believed him to be at first. He was incredibly clever, and he was even world-renowned for his work in Dark creatures. That was wonderful, of course, but it also meant that Hope was no longer the clever one in the relationship.

She decided that she was okay with that. At least she could still teach Lyall how to work a toaster oven.

Hope had taken Lyall to see a movie, and now Lyall took Hope to see a Quidditch game.

He'd explained all the rules to her, but none of them made any sense. "So the Seeker's the only one that matters?" she asked. "And catching the Snitch-whatsit is the whole point of the game?"

"It's a little stupid," Lyall agreed. "I don't follow it much, myself. But it's the only sport there is for wizards."

"It's the only sport there is? There's no... I don't know. Quadditch or whatever? Broom-ball? What if there are wizarding athletes who don't like Quidditch?"

"Quidditch is most every Muggle sport combined into one game. I suppose you could look at it as multiple separate games going on at the same time. The Beaters are playing a game, the Keepers and Chasers are playing a different game, and the Seekers are playing yet another game—they're all wildly different skill sets, but they all come together and earn points towards a common goal."

"But not enough points to matter, in the case of everyone but the Seeker," grumbled Hope.

"True. But it's still entertaining."

As Hope watched the players zipping around on regular household items, she found that she agreed. Quidditch was fun, if not a bit bizarre.

And what was even more bizarre was the fact that Hope was surrounded by wizards. They were everywhere, and they were all wearing robes instead of jeans, carrying wands instead of purses, and carrying money pouches instead of wallets. Some even had pointy hats.

"How many of there are you?" she asked Lyall. "Wizards, I mean."

"Don't know, exactly. Enough to make up a fairly substantial percentage of the world. Enough to have schools and a government."

"Hm," she said. She'd missed out on so much—a whole population; a whole culture; a whole world. She turned back to watch the game, slipping her hand inside Lyall's. As her hand brushed against his robes, she realized that the material really was nice. Perhaps it would even be comfortable.

Far better, at least, than Lyall's stupid knitted waistcoats. The poor man didn't understand Muggle style one bit.

When it came to marriage traditions, Hope and Lyall very quickly discovered that they'd have to start from scratch. Everything they knew, after all, seemed to be completely wrong.

"What do you mean, wizarding weddings don't have cake?" Hope asked incredulously. "They've got to have cake!"

"They do have cake! Trust me, wizarding cakes are the best kinds of cakes," said Lyall, and Hope relaxed a bit. "But, of course, the main attraction is often the giant marshmallow."

"Excuse me?" Hope shrieked. "Giant marshmallow?!"

"Only at very traditional weddings! They treat it just like a cake—decorations and all. It's quite good, if not extremely fattening. Often, the giant marshmallow totally replaces the cake."

"I'm sorry, Lyall," said Hope, shaking her head, "but we are not having a giant marshmallow at my wedding. My family would never forgive me."

Lyall chuckled. "Well, they'll think it's me doing all the planning, anyway, so it doesn't really matter."

"No, they won't...?"

"Oh, is that not a Muggle thing, either? In some circles of wizarding culture, they assume that the man did all the planning. Even though everyone knows, logically, that the woman helped... they just sort of ignore it. It's the polite thing to do."

"That is most certainly not a Muggle thing," said Hope, her mind spinning. "That's so stupid."

"I don't disagree."

"That's bizarre," said Hope. "Speaking of planning: any ideas for the whole old-new-borrowed-blue thing? I can't find anything blue that goes with my dress."

"What? No, Blue goes terribly with pink, and we still need to get you a pink bracelet with a purple charm."

"A pink bracelet with a...?"

It seemed that the both of them had a lot of explaining to do.

Hope was pregnant now. She was about to have a child—a magical child, Lyall said.

"What if it's not magical?" she asked. "It could be a Muggle, like me."

"Well, that's possible. But I think we're having a baby wizard. I can feel it."

Hope placed her hands on her belly, but she didn't feel any traces of magic therein. "It'll go to Hogwarts?" she asked. "If it's a wizard, I mean."

"Oh, yes. And Hogwarts is the best. Our child will love it."

"How will we know if it's a wizard?"

"They tend to exhibit signs of magic at an early age."

Hope sighed. "Lyall... I don't know if I'm cut out for raising a wizard. I wouldn't know how. I hardly know anything about wizards."

"And I hardly know anything about Muggles," said Lyall. "It's okay, Hope. There's one of each of us, so we'll figure it out no matter what. I may only know about wizards, and you may only know about raising Muggles, but that means that our combined knowledge covers every possibility. Magic or no, we'll do just fine."

Hope smiled.

They would, wouldn't they? What could possibly go wrong?

"Lyall," shouted Hope. "I don't know what to do. He won't stop making the blocks fly around."

Lyall rushed into the room, hair unkempt and robes askew. "Finite incantatem," he said wearily, and the blocks stopped flying around. Remus yanked a strand of Hope's hair playfully, and Hope swatted his hand away.

"I'm so tired," she complained. "I can't do anything about the magic. He turned my blouse green, Lyall. Green! I look terrible in green."

"You look lovely in everything."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Lyall Lupin. You're going to sit down with Remus and play with him while I take a long bath, got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Lyall. He took Remus in his arms, and Remus gurgled. Lyall leaned closer to Remus and ticked his nose. "You and me are going to have some fun, aren't we, Remus?"

Hope rolled her eyes and stood up. There were pins and needles in her feet from sitting for too long. "Just make sure he doesn't burn the house down," she called.

Then she went upstairs, filled the tub, and sank under the water. She listened to Lyall and Remus playing downstairs—Lyall seemed to be reading Remus a story, and Remus seemed to be completely uninterested.

Then there was a shout, a crash, and frantic footsteps.

Hope sighed. Her husband had it under control. After all, he was the one with magic—he could solve anything.

He couldn't solve anything.

The worst thing ever had happened—the worst thing—the Worst Possible Thing—and Lyall could not solve it. "Incurable," he said. "Tragic," he said. "Probably won't survive the month," he said. He was sullen and quiet. He was always quiet when he was devastated.

What was the use of being a wizard if Lyall couldn't even solve the Worst Possible Thing?

It was T-minus sixteen minutes until the Worst Possible Thing happened, but Hope didn't know that yet.

Remus was in bed, and Lyall had a story to tell Hope. He'd been hyping it up all day.

"Tea's ready, Lyall," she said, bringing two steaming mugs into the kitchen. "Now you can tell me your story."

He smiled. "Oh, it was just an odd day at work. Interesting story, really, though it's very sad." He flexed his fingers around the mug and scowled. "And unfair. You know, not one person respects me in that department. World-renowned expert on spirits and no one respects me."

"Start at the beginning," said Hope. It felt a bit like that date in the restaurant: Hope didn't know what was going on, she felt out-of-the-loop, and she didn't like it.

"Right, okay. Well, yesterday, there was this man who came in for questioning. Two Muggle children had died... a girl, nine, and a boy, six."

"Oh no," Hope breathed. She'd been so much more sensitive lately on the subject of child deaths. Ever since Remus was born... oh, Hope would die if anything happened to Remus. He was nearly five now, and he was growing into quite the boy. Determined, energetic, and decisive... he was Hope's favorite person ever, and that included Lyall (as Hope loved to remind him. It was okay, though, because Lyall felt the same way).

"The man who came in for questioning," continued Lyall, breaking Hope out of her thoughts, "said he was a Muggle, but it was pretty obvious that he wasn't. He was a werewolf."

"A werewolf? A real werewolf?"

"Mm-hm."

"Are they... goodness! Really? Are they common? Have you seen one before?"

"Not very common, but there are a good number in Wales, I'm sure. He was definitely a werewolf. Trust me, I know. But no one would believe me—they were all making fun of me, in fact. Told me to stick to Boggarts."

"That's awful." Hope seemed to be learning new things about wizards every day. Sometimes, she liked learning new tidbits. But today she did not. Werewolves were probably terrifying and tall and furry... with long teeth... they were terrifying, Hope was certain. "Was the werewolf... what did it look like?" she asked, hoping that Lyall would tell her that it wasn't dangerous, not really.

"Like a grubby old man, Hope. That's all there is to it. Anyway, I tried to convince them to keep him over the full moon—which is tonight—but they refused. I'm afraid I lost my temper. We got into a bit of a spat, the couple of us that were there." He took a sip of tea. "And I was right. Werewolf and his associates knocked out some Ministry workers and ran away. But the Ministry got a photo, and it matched descriptions of Fenrir Greyback. All witnesses confirmed it to be him."

"Hmm?" That was yet another word that Hope did not recognize. She'd been married to Lyall for about six years, and she was still so unsure about so much.

"Fenrir Greyback. His name is extremely famous. The terrorists use him as a threat for families that won't comply, but he's never been identified before. Now, if the Ministry would have listened to me, we'd've got a hold of him... but I can settle for this, too. Everyone knows what Greyback looks like now. His face will be all over the papers come tomorrow. We'll catch him for good quite soon; I'm certain of it."

"But... the protective charms...?" Hope asked, remembering the charms that Lyall had placed upon on the house earlier that day. "What were they for?"

"Just in case. But Greyback doesn't know where I live, so we should be perfectly safe. The only reason that I put them up today was because it's the full moon tonight, so we might as well be cautious."

"If you're sure." Hope trusted Lyall. She had to. It wasn't as if she knew anything about werewolves—she'd only learned that they existed a couple of minutes ago.

"I'm sure."

Hope smiled into her mug. "What a brave husband I have."

"Your husband," corrected Lyall, rolling his eyes, "just spend thirty minutes shouting at Ministry workers. But, if you insist, I'll take the compliment."

"Oh. In that case, I take it back."

"Rude."

They talked about mundane things for a few more minutes... and then there was a sound.

Crashing.

From upstairs.

The image of the giant wolf pouncing back into the night, leaving behind Remus, covered in blood, would never leave Hope's mind.

It was Hope's very first date with Lyall. They were going on a walk—just a walk—in a garden near Hope's home. They'd been asking each other questions. So far, Hope had learned Lyall's favorite color (blue), favorite musical instrument (slide whistle), worst memory (that time he fell down a giant staircase and broke both ankles), and favorite animal (eagle). "Your turn to ask a question," said Hope.

"What are you afraid of?" Lyall asked, eyes glinting.

Hope hesitated.

"Nope. No hesitating. If you hesitate, you're thinking about it. I don't want the filtered responses, Hope, I want the real ones."

Hope grinned. She'd been telling him the same thing for hours. It had been her idea to answer the questions as quickly as possible in the first place. Hope knew, now, that Lyall had been hesitating because he hadn't wanted to give away wizarding secrets. But she hadn't known that at the time.

"Worst fears?" Lyall prompted, nudging her shoulder.

Hope laughed. "Being alone, snakes, and... er, platypuses."

"Platypuses?" Lyall was laughing now.

"Yeah. They creep me out. I'm not sure why. It's just... you know, it's too many animals in one. Nothing should be a duck and a mammal. They're terrifying. Just pick a species, please."

Lyall laughed, and then the scene shifted.

They were on another date, this time at Florean Fortescue's in Diagon Alley. Hope knew a little about wizards now, and the sight of flying books and pointed hats still fascinated her.

They were sitting at a table right next to another couple—an elderly man and an equally elderly lady, both licking chocolate cones. "Which Hogwarts House were you in?" the lady asked Hope and Lyall, trying to make conversation. Hope wondered why this random woman was intruding on their date, but she didn't question it.

"I was in Ravenclaw," boasted Lyall (Hope would have to ask him what Ravenclaw was later).

"And you, dear?" asked the lady.

Hope shrugged. "Errr..."

"She's a Muggle," said Lyall helpfully.

The lady's face went slack. "Oh," she said. "You know, I don't much approve of wizard-Muggle relationships. Something's bound to go wrong. The two cultures are so different that they can't possibly coincide."

"You think so?" said Lyall coldly. He reached under the table and grabbed Hope's hand. She didn't really know what was going on.

"Yes, I do. My first husband was a Muggle, and it ended quite badly. He just didn't understand. We didn't live on the same planes, he and I. My marriage with Kornelius here is much happier. More balanced. Connected."

Lyall scowled. "If you think that everything needs to be balanced," he said, "why don't you go marry a mountain troll? It would probably be even closer to your own species than Kornelius is."

"Lyall!" said Hope. She didn't know what a mountain troll looked like, but she could tell that the words were offensive. "Deep breaths."

The lady made a little hmph-ing noise and turned away. Just as she and Kornelius left, Hope heard Kornelius say, "He had a point, you know."

"So much for a happy marriage," said Lyall.

The scene shifted, and now Hope was a Muggle mother... with a wizard husband... with a werewolf child.

Her home was not balanced, and her family felt like a platypus.

Not a single one of them fully understood another. Remus went through things that his parents could scarce begin to imagine, Lyall and Hope were human (something that Remus would never fully understand), and Hope still didn't know everything about wizarding culture. Would she ever? It was so complex, and she was only one woman.

They were all different species, and Hope felt a disconnect between the members of her family.

She wasn't sure if it would ever be repaired. How could it?

Remus was six, and he was wriggling in Hope's lap as she tried to cut his hair.

"Hold still, dear," she said.

Remus went still.

"Thank you very much," she said, and she finished cutting his hair as quickly as possible. Then she put away the scissors and carried Remus to the kitchen. "Want to play a game?"

"Want to go to bed," murmured Remus.

"Oh, come on. It's only seven o'clock, and you've already napped for a couple of hours today. Let's color a picture, all right?"

"Don't want to color a picture."

"Yes, you do. You can draw Daddy's pet Boggart. Wouldn't you love to draw Garrison?"

"No."

Hope sighed. "Come on, Remus, you've got to do something. How about we bake cookies?"

Remus hesitated, and Hope knew that she'd snagged his interest. "Okay," he finally said.

So Hope let him stir the dough and put the ingredients in (after she'd measured them out), and ten minutes later, Lyall came downstairs and offered to help.

"No," said Remus. "You can't help. Mum says you're no good at cooking."

Lyall gasped and placed a hand over his heart. "You wound me, Remus," he said. "Truly. I am wounded. I'll have you know I'm the best cook in the world."

"In the wizarding world, maybe," Hope teased. "I don't know, Lyall, maybe being a bad cook is just a wizard thing."

"Not true. Remus is stirring that dough like a champ."

"Well, let me tell you, that particular gene did not come from you."

"Hope! Did you cheat on me?!"

Hope hit him with a towel, laughing. "Not in front of Remus!"

"I finish stirring, Mum," said Remus, pointing to the batter.

Hope tousled his hair, still laughing. There was batter on the floor. "I can see that, honey," she said.

A little while later, they were munching cookies, telling jokes, and trading stories. Suddenly, their dynamic felt a little less like a platypus. They were a pretty good family, in fact. Confusing, yes. Painful, yes. But they were okay, and they were happy, and those were the only things that mattered.

"I'm giving up," announced Lyall.

Hope looked up from her book. It was early morning, and Remus was still sleeping. "Whatever do you mean, dear?" she asked.

"I'm giving up," Lyall repeated. "I've been looking for cures for Remus for years, and I didn't even realize that I was hurting him instead of helping him. I... I'm sorry. I promised you I'd find a cure, and I've been trying my best, but... but I can't find anything. Perhaps it's best if we... wait. Maybe something will come up. Something has to."

"Oh," said Hope.

She'd been waiting for this to happen—ever since Remus had asked them to stop searching, she'd seen Lyall breaking. She knew that he wouldn't be able to keep it up, not when Remus didn't want him to. And Remus wasn't far off from ten years old now—he was old enough to decide for himself, and both of them knew it.

And Remus had decided to stop looking for a cure only about a month prior. "I just don't think we'll find anything," he'd said. "If there was something, then it would be pretty widely advertised, wouldn't it? Besides, I'd rather just settle down and get used to it. Some of these prospective cures are downright awful."

It made sense, and Hope was glad that Lyall was giving up: for both their own sakes and for their son's. They were running out of money, to be frank. "I think that's the right decision," Hope said. "I know it's hard, but I think he'll be better off."

"Better off?" Lyall groaned and collapsed onto the couch next to Hope. "You don't understand."

Hope hated it when Lyall used that phrase. Of course she didn't understand, but she was trying. Being a part of the wizarding world for this long had to earn her some credit, didn't it? "What don't I understand?" she asked.

"This isn't just something that he can heal and move on from. His life is ruined. We're not moving onto a new chapter of our lives by deciding to stop looking for cures, and we're not moving towards acceptance. This isn't a good thing. We're giving up, and if we give up, then Remus is going to suffer for the rest of his life, which probably won't even be a very long time..."

"Lyall!" said Hope, horrified. "Don't talk like that."

"What am I supposed to say, then? Am I supposed to tell you that everything will be okay? That we'll find a cure soon? That there's a magic spell that can just whisk all of this away?" Lyall grabbed Hope's mug of tea from the table and took a sip. He didn't even seem to realize that it wasn't his tea. Then he put it down with a broken half-sob and said, "That was your tea, wasn't it?"

"Yes. It's fine, I can just make more. Drink it all if you'd like."

"Yeah, I would like that," mumbled Lyall, and he finished the tea in two swigs. "We're failing him by giving up."

"We're failing him by continuing to make him try all these suspicious cures," said Hope. "We're failing either way, so we pick the one that minimizes casualties. We're making the right decision, Lyall."

"Sure," he said. He seemed to calm down a bit, but Hope wasn't sure whether it was because of her words or because he was simply out of emotions for the day. "Sure. Thanks, Hope. You always know what to say."

"I may not know a lot about magic, but I'm very wise."

Lyall grinned. "Isn't that the truth," he said.

"Are you writing to Dumbledore again, Lyall?"

"I just want to make sure that he knows exactly what he's getting into. He doesn't seem to understand how dangerous Remus can be..."

"Relax."

Lyall took a deep breath. "Okay. Right. I'm relaxing."

"Remus is going to be okay, honey."

"Okay."

"He'll be safe."

"It's not his safety I'm worried about; it's the safety of the other students," murmured Lyall, but he quailed under Hope's look. "Sorry."

"Everything will be okay. This is a great opportunity; you said so yourself."

"That it is." Lyall took another deep breath. "Thanks, Hope."

Hope may not have understood wizards, but she definitely understood Lyall.

"And then," said Remus, "James and Sirius and Peter and I found a giant spider in the dormitory. It was huge, Mum. Oh! I already wrote to you about this, but we decorated Dumbledore's office for Halloween. Put fake pumpkins up and everything. He thought it was funny, and he kept it up. And Professor Questus thinks I'm funny, too, I think, even though he won't admit it. He's the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Sirius and James and Peter and I call it 'DAD' though, instead of 'DADA' or "Defense Against the Dark Arts'. James thinks it's terribly funny."

Hope took her eyes off the road for a moment to look at Lyall, and Lyall smiled. "I don't know what he's talking about, either," Lyall said. "It's not a wizard thing. Remus, son, you need to slow down."

"Right," said Remus. "I'll start from the beginning. James and Sirius and Peter and I found a giant spider in the dormitory..."

Hope was six years old, and she was clambering over her brothers and sisters so that she could see the pages of the storybook more clearly.

"And then," read her mother, "the Beauty married the Beast, and everyone lived happily ever after. The end."

Hope made a face. "Mummy, why did she love the Beast? He was all hairy."

"She loved him because of who he was on the inside."

"But he looked all weird."

"It's not about our differences, Hope, it's about our similarities. As long as someone is a person, they're mostly the same on the inside."

"Yeah, blood and guts and things," said Liam, Hope's older brother. She shrieked and ran away.

But, now that she was older, Hope realized that it was true.

Her mother's lesson, that is, not Liam's interjection. Well, Liam had been right, too, but that wasn't the point.

Hope had a weird family, to be certain. There were two humans, two wizards, one Muggle, and one werewolf. They were all basically different species. They all lived different lives. Lyall had wizarding culture, Hope had Muggle culture, and Remus had a strange combination of the two. They had virtually nothing in common.

But there was even more balance in Hope's life than there had been in the life of Kornelius and his wife, because there was one thing about balance that the Kornelius' wife just hadn't understood. Balance required equal weights on opposite sides of the scale, and Hope's family certainly had that.

They weren't always happy, but they were loving. They weren't always perfect, but they were functional. And Hope still wanted a cure with all her heart, but she trusted Remus to bear his burden for as long as he had to. He was growing into quite the young man, after all.

The world was vast and diverse, the future was cloudy yet bright, and Hope Lupin decided that she rather liked platypuses after all.

AN: New chapter of my longer Remus fic still comes out today, but I've been having so much fun writing the Lupin family that I had to expand on Hope a little. I've always thought of the culture differences between Muggles and wizards as vast (I am a staunch believer that there's even a "Wizard Sense of Humor", just as there's a "British sense of humor" and an "American sense of humor"). Writing a mixed marriage from Hope's point of view was an absolute blast. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!