Before going to the beach, Wilma decided to stop by a sleepy Muggle town to find a present for her aunt's birthday. Her aunt had turned fifty yesterday, and Wilma was certain that the woman would be furious with Wilma for missing it due to work. As much as Wilma wanted to go to the beach as soon as possible, she knew she'd have to make up for missing Auntie Fran's birthday with a good-old fashioned gift.
She entered the bookshop, and the bell jingled merrily above her head. Her aunt always did like books, so this was the ideal place to look.
As she was combing the shelves for some trite self-help book or an old-fashioned cookbook, she heard a familiar voice. It was Lyall, speaking to someone—Wilma resisted the urge to run over and shout "hello!" in a very bombastic sort of way. George had implied that such things made Lyall uncomfortable. Instead, Wilma made her way over slowly, as of a hunter approaching a bunny. Except... not, because that was entirely too morbid and creepy an analogy.
"—no, Remus, I guarantee there won't be trolls," said Lyall.
Wilma paused.
Thought about that.
Remembered.
Remus? She knew that name.
"But what if there are?" said a smaller voice. "I'd need to learn to fight them. I don't know how to fight a troll, Dad."
"You won't need to fight a troll," responded Lyall, evidently amused. "Not ever."
"But what if Uncle Bryson comes back to visit? I might need to fight him, mightn't I?"
Lyall laughed, more explosively and happily than Wilma had ever heard him. "Your Uncle Bryson is not a troll, and I'll have to punish you severely if you ever say that again," he said. "I am not letting you read that troll book. It might be rather gruesome. Nasty creatures, trolls."
"Let's look for another book, dear," came a female voice. Lyall's wife, probably.
The voices faded, and Wilma stared in shock. She hadn't been seen, she didn't think, but that was the last thing on her mind right now.
The pieces clicked together, slowly but surely. Lyall had looked terrified of the werewolf talk, but he'd also defended them in the pub. Dumbledore had looked amused whenever Wilma spoke of Lyall. I am doing all I can, he'd said. He was doing all he could for Lyall. For Lyall.
And Lyall had an eleven-year-old son... named REMUS.
Wilma closed her mouth, backed into a corner, and resolved to find out as much as she could.
She buried her nose in a book and waited on a bench from which she had a clear view of the door, glancing up whenever she heard the door jingle. Time passed, and then she saw a small family leave the bookshop—one of them was Lyall. Wilma didn't get a close look at the other two, but she did see that the boy—Remus—was chattering with his parents—his parents—excitedly.
After about ten minutes, she exited the bookshop after paying for the trite self-help book ("Empathy in Six Simple Steps!"; how ironic). Then she walked around the town until she found what she was looking for: Lyall Lupin, visible through the window of a small ice-cream shop.
She entered the shop after doing a quick Color-Changing Charm on her hair and slipping on her reading glasses, and then she found a small table near Lyall's. She covered her face with the book once again. She'd only be recognizable if Lyall got a close look at her, and she was determined not to let that happen.
Remus was visible just over Wilma's book, and she stared at him curiously. The first thing that struck her was how incredibly thin he was.
He was wearing Muggle clothes—a green jumper, a white collared shirt, and trousers—and all of them were probably a size too large. He had brown hair that flopped over his forehead, and he had hazel eyes that almost matched the jumper (if she squinted), but also seemed to match his hair (if she squinted in a different way). They were confusing eyes—eyes that one simply couldn't describe as any one color except "greenish mud"—and they were just like Lyall's.
Remus was talking animatedly to Lyall, moving his hands around as he did so. "No, Dad, you don't understand. The point isn't that people were stoned to death. That doesn't matter."
Woah. Stoned to death? Doesn't matter? How on earth could Dumbledore have thought this kid was normal? Yikes.
Wilma was just standing up to Apparate away and report her findings to the Ministry when Remus said, "That's not the point of the story at all."
Oh, a story. Dumbledore had labeled him a bookworm, hadn't he? Wilma sat down slowly, trying desperately not to catch Lyall's attention.
"The point of the story is fear of breaking tradition," continued Remus. "Correlation isn't causation and all that."
"Explain the plot again," said Lyall's wife, apparently befuddled.
"Okay, sure. 'The Lottery', by Shirley Jackson, opens up with a pleasant description of a town—you know, it's summer, and kids are running around, and there's a town meeting, and it's all lighthearted and happy. But then the town slowly descends into terror as they start drawing these slips of paper. Eventually, a woman called Tessie ends up with the unlucky piece of paper, and everyone in the town—including her son—stones her to death. The end."
Lyall looked at his wife. "Perhaps we should have gotten him that book about trolls," he muttered. "American literature is so odd."
She giggled. "Let him have his fun."
"But it's not about the stoning," Remus babbled. "It's about the stupidity of blind tradition. See, the town had done this every year. They'd stoned one person to death, year after year, and they were afraid to stop. They thought that, since there'd been no huge disaster in years past, the tradition must be causing their good fortune. They were too afraid to stop, because what if the stoning was a magical ritual that gave them good luck?"
"Were they practicing Dark magic?" questioned Lyall.
"No, the story's Muggle. Anyway, the ironic part is that they'd prob'ly killed so many people over the years that a few years of bad fortune might have been less destructive anyway."
"Hm," said Remus' mother. "So the point of the story is that..."
"Stoning people is bad," supplied Lyall.
Remus laughed. "No! Well, yes! But the point of the story is that people shouldn't be afraid to try new things just because they might be bad, especially if it's completely illogical and immoral to continue doing the same old thing. Think of how many people must have died. It's terrible. So many people could have lived if they'd just scrapped that stupid tradition. People are so stupid sometimes, and that's the point of the story."
"But people wouldn't really do that, Remus," said Lyall's wife with a smile. "It's only a story."
As Remus leaned in to respond, Lyall interrupted. "I wish it were," he said. "Seems to me that there are quite a few people who do the same thing. The Ministry, for instance."
There was a brief pause, and then Remus said, "What do you mean?"
"Nothing, Remus. Don't worry about it. But I understand entirely—blind tradition and speculation do tend to rule in some cases, along with an utter lack of empathy and logic. We've always isolated marginalized individuals, they say. It's always been done. Perhaps something bad will happen if we start treating them like actual people. And then they continue to harm people, year after year, even though doing the opposite could help hundreds..."
"Like werewolves," Remus interrupted, and then he shrunk back in his seat slightly. "Like werewolves," he repeated in a whisper.
"I was actually thinking of trolls," said Lyall lightly, but Wilma could tell he was lying. "Finish your ice-cream, Remus. We'll go home as soon as you're finished, and then I can read this 'Lottery' story of yours for myself."
"Okay." Remus still looked shaken, but he smiled widely at his father and then started licking at his ice-cream.
Wilma sighed quietly. Somehow, Remus own unintentional argument for his own Hogwarts attendance had convinced Wilma of his humanity better than Albus Dumbledore could have. And it wasn't just because of the whole Lottery thing—no, the bulk of it was mere observation of Remus' manner and habits.
He was eleven.
Anyone could see that. He was eleven years old (he looked nine, sort of, just because of his slender frame). He was well-read, but he was a child nonetheless. He spoke like one (though he was admittedly very articulate), he walked like one, and he even ate ice-cream like one. He was a person: Wilma was certain of the fact. She almost wished Dumbledore had hauled the kid up before the Ministry—look, this is him! Doesn't he look young and innocent?—because nobody could possibly think that Remus was a monster after seeing how tiny and excited he was. No one. He was too spindly, weak, and bright-eyed.
Wilma sat there for ages, contemplating the disadvantages of blind tradition and contemplating what on earth she'd been thinking when she had advocated so harshly against this kid without even seeing him first. He was eleven. Wilma remembered being eleven: she'd played outside with her cousins just about every day, she'd hung upside-down off the couch cushions, and she'd dreamed of being a pilot. The weight of centuries' worth of prejudice hadn't been on her shoulders, and she wouldn't have been able to bear it if it had been, because she'd been eleven. That was hardly more than a toddler, wasn't it?
She sucked in an agonized breath and bit the inside of her cheeks so hard that she tasted blood. Then someone tapped her on the shoulder.
She whirled around. It was Lyall, but his family was nowhere in sight. "How long have you been here?" said Lyall, and he sounded furious.
"A... a while."
"Were you spying on my family?" Lyall's voice was low and dangerous. "Do you...?" His voice trailed off, and he swallowed miserably. "I mean, did you...?"
Wilma nodded. "I heard. And I know. Your kid's name is Remus, huh? Hm, let's think, where have I heard that name before?"
Lyall froze. Then, without warning, he collapsed into the seat opposite Wilma. "Please," he begged. "Please don't tell anyone. I'll give you money, I'll... buy you a drink... I don't know. I'll do anything. I'll even..." He swallowed again. "I'll pull Remus out of Hogwarts if I have to. That's better than... I mean, if you tell someone, his life will be ruined... you have to... please, Wilma!"
"Calm down!" said Wilma. "I can't tell anyone. I'm magically sworn to secrecy, remember?"
"Oh, right." Lyall breathed a sigh of relief. "You understand why I didn't tell you, I assume."
"Yeah, I do."
"And... how do you feel about it all?"
Wilma chose her words carefully before responding. "I do believe I am warming up to the idea," she said. "Had a nice talk with Dumbledore today, and overhearing your son's speech on blind tradition did help matters."
"Blind tradition." Lyall shook his head and chuckled a bit. "He's a bit of a weird child, but we love him anyway. He's been cooped in for too long, you know."
"He does seem loveable. I can't say I'm fully on board, but..."
"Oh, I'm not either, sometimes. I worry about him, no matter how much Dumbledore says it's safe. Let's... do you mind if we go somewhere more private?"
"Sure," said Wilma, and she let Lyall pull her into the one-room lavatory and lock the door. "You and Dumbles talked it out before the discussion at the Ministry, then?" she asked, jumping onto the porcelain sink and letting her feet dangle.
"Of course. He came to our house and invited Remus to Hogwarts personally. He had to convince me a bit, of course—I was so afraid that Remus would hurt someone."
"Is he really all that dangerous, then? On the full moon, I mean."
"On the full moon, yes. But I trust Dumbledore's spells."
"As do I." There was a moment of silence, and then Wilma said, "It must be weird working at the D.R.C.M.C. when you have a werewolf kid, huh?"
Lyall laughed. "Absolutely. I usually work with Boggarts and such, but they wanted everybody in the Department participating in this 'discussion'. I didn't have much to say. Tried to jump in and defend Remus, but I lost my nerve. Only the Registry workers know I'm related to him—that's why Dumbledore was trying so hard to keep his surname a secret—and I didn't want the rest of the Ministry to find out."
"Yeah, it was a good thing you didn't defend him publicly. That would have been horribly suspicious if you didn't pull it off just right."
"Ugh, I know. I'm terrible at lying."
"I could tell." Wilma's grin faltered slightly, and then it was no more. "Ugh, I'm so stupid!" she cried. "I can't believe I told you I'd do everything in my power to... to help get rid of the werewolf at Hogwarts... gosh." And then, to Wilma's own surprise, she collapsed into a fit of giggles. "It's kinda funny, isn't it?"
After a while, Lyall began to laugh, too, and then the two of them were practically falling over themselves in rapturous guffaws. "You were a bit clueless," he said.
"A bit? I had the wrong idea entirely! Dumbledore must have thought I was stupider than a sunbathing Yeti."
"Compared to his own intellectual genius-level mind, everyone is!"
The laugher died down as suddenly as it had started (brisk and professional, just like the two Ministry workers that they were), and then Wilma said, "Tell me about him."
"Remus?"
"Of course."
Lyall smiled. "He's... immensely kind. It's ironic, but true. He won't even kill spiders, because he says it's not their fault that they're ugly and scary."
Wilma snorted a bit. "Fair enough."
"He's a vegetarian, too. His favorite meal is soup and sandwiches—you know, Hope makes soup on full moon nights so that it's ready when he wakes up. It's tradition at this point—though not as morbid as that 'Lottery' tradition."
"Indeed!"
"He reads more than you can imagine—not much else to do when he's stuck at home. He's... so understanding. Doesn't have tantrums when we won't let him play outdoors. Won't ever complain when we don't have enough money to buy him something. Doesn't even ask for favors. You know, this was the first time we'd left the house with him in a long time, and Remus was ever so mature about the whole thing. Didn't even ask to stay longer when I Apparated him and Hope back home. I came back here to question you, of course, when I glimpsed your reflection in the window just as we were about to leave."
Wilma cringed. "Sorry."
"Only natural curiosity, I suppose. And, talking of curiosity, Remus has so much of it. He'll adore Hogwarts. Honestly, he's the best candidate for such a school—he'll love it more than you can even begin to fathom. And... he really never will dream of hurting anyone else. Like I said, he won't even kill spiders."
"I believe you," said Wilma.
"He's so injured after full moons." Lyall's voice was breaking a bit, but he continued speaking as if his life depended on it. Wilma supposed he hadn't had many people to talk to about the whole thing. "Blood everywhere, broken bones, missing fingernails... and you should see how ill he is the day of the full. And... and he still never complains. Lets me bring him down to... to the cellar... and lock him up, every month, and he doesn't complain."
"He never has?"
"Well, he did when he was younger. But now he's just so... resigned to it." Lyall shuddered. "I'm hoping Hogwarts will knock some sense back into him. His routine is clockwork, and he's becoming a bit too robotic. Lifeless. Sheltered. Lonely. The three of us hadn't had hope for a long time."
"But now you do."
"Well, a little," said Lyall with a smile half-smile. "Hogwarts won't cure him, but he needs a bit of time at boarding school to force the life back into him."
"He looked all right just now."
"Full moon was about two weeks ago, and he got out of the house for the first time in ages—goodness, I think it's been four years since we last went to get ice-cream like that. He's not always this chipper, believe me. Sometimes I go upstairs and see him in his room, staring at the wall with a horribly mature expression on his face... and he cries, sometimes, but the tears are always silent, and silent tears are my least favorite kind..." Lyall choked back a sob. "I'm a failure as a father," he said. "You can't possibly understand how painful this is for him."
"For you, too," was all Wilma could say.
"My pain doesn't even compare. Believe me."
They sat in silence for a bit, and then Wilma stood up: brisk and professional, just like the Ministry worker she was. "I just want you to know," she said grandly, "that I fully support Albus Dumbledore on this particular subject. And I'll do everything in my power to keep the werewolf at Hogwarts."
"Thank you," said Lyall, brisk and professional once again.
"See you sometime, best friend," said Wilma with a cheeky grin, and then they both Apparated away in nearly perfect unison—Lyall to his broken and confusing family, and Wilma to the beach.
Her family had already left, though. She'd missed them. On top of that, the beach was officially closed due to violent thunderstorms.
Wilma Apparated home with a scowl. That was just her luck.
The D.R.C.M.C. had cooled down a bit, and September and October came and went without a hitch. Dumbledore's master plan seemed to be working.
Only a couple of weeks into December, Wilma saw Lyall in the corridors as they were heading to their respective offices. "Best friend!" she called.
Lyall turned around. "Wilma. It's you."
"Well, don't sound so excited to see me," she chortled. "Hey, how's the kid? It's like I said before: we're all rooting for him."
"Trust me, precious few are rooting for him," Lyall said wryly. "I keep hearing people talking here at the D.R.C.M.C., you know. The werewolf at Hogwarts. They really think he's going to end up killing someone."
"Well, I don't think he is."
"Thank you. For the record, I don't either."
"How is he, then?"
Lyall glanced around him furtively and then lowered his voice. "Oh, he's doing great," he said in an eager whisper. "He loves his classes, he loves his teachers, he's not being treated too badly, even though they all know what he is... he's making friends, Wilma. He has friends. That's huge."
"I'm sure!"
"And Poppy says that the transformations are going well. He's back on his feet so much sooner afterwards than he was at home. Professional care good for him. And he's sending us all these photographs that his friends are taking—he looks so much happier than he ever did with us. It's brilliant. And we're much more optimistic about werewolf sentiments—you won't believe how many staff members heard about him and still treat him well—it's amazing."
"Truly," said Wilma. "Glad to hear he's doing well."
"I'm hearing talk of a new werewolf legislation, though," said Lyall with a frown. "Heard anything about that?"
"Yeah, it's on the grapevine. But trust me—" and, as Wilma said this, she was taken aback by the utter truthfulness of her words— "I'll do everything in my power to keep your kid at Hogwarts. And you know how much I like to argue."
She winked, and then they went their separate ways.
Remus' first year at Hogwarts went without a hitch.
Life was good, and Wilma was packing up to visit the beach—hopefully uninterrupted this time. As she threw a couple of apples into the cooler (because bananas were probably bad luck or something), she heard a knock at her door.
"No!" she shouted, but she answered the door anyway.
It was George. "Ministry needs you, Harr—" he started, but Wilma slammed the door in his face before he could even finish the sentence.
Then she opened the door again cautiously. "It's not about that werewolf at Hogwarts, is it?" she asked.
"No, it's about the mountain of paperwork that you forgot to fill out—"
Wilma slammed the door again, and the resounding noise was satisfying. Then she grabbed her suitcase and Apparated to the beach.
Working at the Ministry was thankless, tireless work, and Wilma was ready for a holiday at long last.
AN: Aaaand that's it! Hope you enjoyed it; I certainly enjoyed writing it :) And yeah, "The Lottery" by Shirley Jackson is a real short story if you want to check it out. It's a pretty easy read, and I thought it fit the theme well enough!