I'm alive! I apologize for the long delay between updates. I had a ton of stuff going on (I moved to a new town, grad school started, etc.). But I am still writing to keep myself sane, so that finally developed into something I could post! This prompt was suggested by bpbookworm (yes, I did get your review!). It's a little introspective, a lot of thoughts from Lyall, but there is definitely some dialogue and action as well. Review and tell me what you think!
Also, because I don't have a whole lot of time to edit (again, grad school. And a new novel-length story I'm trying to get off the ground), let me know if there are any spelling/grammar mistakes that I missed. You guys are the best!
-Cat
V - When You are Older
(Lyall and Remus)
March 10, 1960 onwards.
When you are older, I will live to make you smile.
But right now every muscle was paralyzed. In all of his life, Lyall had never experienced this kind of fear. It devoured all other feeling, and yet, he knew he would not be able to bear life without it. Because as he looked at his tiny son for the first time, his life became something incandescently radiant. Who knew that he could love another human being this much?
It was ecstasy.
It was breathtaking.
It was terrifying.
"Here's your da," Hope was gently murmuring to the little bundle in her arms. "He loves you so much, Remus."
She smiled up at him, glowing with sweat and exhaustion and elation. Lyall thought that he had never seen anything so beautiful as his wife and child at that moment.
"Hold out your arms, Lyall," she said.
The fear was back tenfold, but Lyall could not stop his arms from reaching irresistibly forward. The bundle was warm, lighter than he expected, precious. The tiny eyes were open, revealing orbs of the indistinct dark color of infants. Perhaps they would be toffee brown like Hope's. Remus' face was wrinkled and red, but he was utterly perfect.
Ahead were days of quiet routine that would grow into a chaotic whirl of childhood and then Remus would be grown up, doing greater things than Lyall could ever dream.
But for now, the steps would be small. And Lyall could only look forward to every moment, every tear, every smile.
When you are older, I will wave to you from the platform.
Those wide, astonished eyes turned the color of honey. His hair grew out light fawn brown, his face sweet and honest. He grew far too quickly. Every emotion was a full-body experience. Joy filled him with a rush of energy, released in squeals and kicks and waving hands. Sadness wilted him into cries and curled his tiny limbs into a ball.
And Remus took in everything. As a baby, his hands reached out, wrists turning, fingers grabbing, ready to receive something new. As soon as he could walk, he would spend hours and hours following his mother and father. He would listen and learn and ask little questions. His eyebrows would knit together when he was thinking. Perhaps he would be a researcher like Lyall.
The thought always made Lyall smile.
"Da, story!"
"One more minute, Rem. Da has to finish this last paragraph." His quill scratched against parchment, leaving lines of neat, shining ink in the candlelight. It was a draft of a report detailing the latest survey of dark creatures of Britain. The Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures would need it in the morning.
"Story!"
There was a soft tugging on his jumper. Lyall sighed and looked down at the pleading, amber eyes. That was a mistake. His resolve nearly melted completely.
"Okay, how about thirty seconds? I just need to finish this sentence."
Thump!
Lyall jumped in his seat. The inkwell spilled sideways. Remus giggled and clapped his hands at the miniature hurricane of papers and notes that swirled through the air. Lyall simply stared at the source of the disturbance.
A heavy stack of children's books, topped with The Tales of Beedle the Bard, had landed soundly on top of his report. Books that he knew he'd placed on a shelf out of the toddler's reach earlier that day, tired of constantly tripping over them.
His reaction started deep in his belly. Then it gurgled up through his chest and out of his mouth. Before Lyall knew it, he was laughing hysterically along with his son, who was now rolling on the ground with delight. That had to be a record. Remus was barely three, and yet the control of his accidental magic was spectacular.
"Okay, okay," Lyall gasped, struggling to control the aftershocks of chortles. "Okay, storytime. We need to teach you to read, Rem. For both our sakes."
The report stayed where it was, soaked and sodden with ink. But compared to the brilliance of his son's future, a few late hours were of little consequence.
When you are older, I will show you the world.
Remus clutched Lyall's head tightly with both hands. Lyall could not see his face, but he could imagine that his eyes were probably the size of saucers. From his father's tall shoulders, he could see all the way up and down Diagon Alley. The streets were packed with people of all shapes and sizes, wearing a dazzling technicolor combination of robes and hats. The crowd roared with living. There were shouts of old friends greeting each other. Banter, bickering, and bartering. Small children clutched the hands of parents. Hogwarts-aged children dashed between legs and stared into shop windows stocked with broomsticks, magical pranks, and treats.
Every time Remus spun to look at something, his hands pulled on Lyall's head, but he did not mind. He continued easily towards their destination.
"Lyall! Absolutely wonderful to see you, old chap!" exclaimed Florean Fortescue as they approached the ice cream shop. "And who is this unusually tall lad?"
Florean peered up at Remus with inquiring blue eyes.
"I'm Remus," Remus giggled.
"And how old are you?"
"Four." A hand released Lyall to carefully hold out four fingers.
"I don't think I've ever seen a four-year-old quite as tall as you," said Florean with a serious face. He winked at Lyall, who chuckled.
"Da is holding me up, silly," Remus exclaimed cheerfully. He patted Lyall's head enthusiastically.
"Remus, this is Mr. Fortescue," Lyall introduced the ice cream shop owner.
"Mr. Fort-esk-ew," Remus enunciated.
"Close enough," laughed Florean. "What can I get for the two of you?"
"Two double fudge cones, please," Lyall replied. "The one with the caramel swirl."
"Of course, of course," Florean extolled, wiping his hands on his apron. "How could I ever forget?"
Lyall lowered Remus to the ground. In the late August heat, the ice cream was sticky and delicious. By the time they were finished, Remus was covered in melted chocolate and grinning with delight.
"I think we'll have to get you cleaned up before Flourish and Blotts, my friend," Lyall said. Remus held out his little hands and Lyall siphoned the sugary goo off with his wand. By now, Remus was practically vibrating with excitement.
"Will they have books I like?"
"Oh, definitely." He lifted Remus back onto his shoulders.
"Books about magic?"
"Hundreds of them."
"Can we read them all?" Remus asked innocently.
"Er... I don't know..." Lyall replied, navigating around a group of loudly gossiping witches.
"I want to read them all."
"That would take a very long time," Lyall cautioned.
"We can come here every day!"
Lyall chuckled but did not answer, not wanting to ruin Remus' good mood and faulty logic. Besides, reading their way through Flourish and Blotts did not sound like a bad idea. And suddenly he was planning it, excursions to bookstores, exploring the world through the pages. It sounded wonderful.
When you are older, I will have to tell you that the world is not always good.
"Werewolves are soulless, evil, deserving nothing but death."
They had not listened. His own words replayed themselves over and over in that dark hallway of polished stone. The flames in his stomach cooled, hardened into obsidian bitterness. The committee would regret listening to the ragged man's lies, would regret closing their ears to Lyall's advice.
Calming himself with breaths through his nose, he waited. Then the closed door opened.
The werewolf walked out, no shackles on his hands. Lyall's revulsion curdled in his gut. The werewolf was clearly feral, clothed in stinking, ragged clothing. He wrung his hands in false show of gratitude for the committee exiting behind him. He expressed shock once more at the existence of magic. He did everything correctly.
But as he turned to leave, the dark gaze flicked towards Lyall. Their eyes met for a long moment. And Lyall could see it, the monster just under the surface. Then Greyback's chapped lips pulled into a rotting, yellow grin and he disappeared into the crowd.
When you are older-
He was just a child.
Lyall sighed and smoothed the worn quilt made by Hope's mother. The world was getting darker, sickened by the spread of the new Dark Lord's influence. The incident yesterday was just a small thing, still itching under his skin. But it was part of something greater, something that Lyall was beginning to think was too big to control. Lyall could not bring that home to his wife and child. When Hope had asked, he just said, "Rough case, love. But tomorrow is a new day."
It was tomorrow, and Lyall did not feel new. He felt much, much older. The work day was tedious and long, filling out reports and speaking to more committees and doing his duty as an expert witness in hearings.
He stroked Remus' soft, fawn hair. He had already been asleep when Lyall returned home, but woke just enough to mumble, "Night, da."
His breathing evened out again to a soothing rhythm. Lyall leaned over and kissed his forehead, then left the room awash in the light of a rising moon.
When you are-
Screaming.
Time moved like molasses. Time moved like lightening.
And Lyall would never forget.
He would not forget sprinting up the stairs.
He would not forget bursting through the door.
The sight of the monster on top of his son.
The blood.
They lashed with sharp clarity in his mind like a scourge. The rest became a blur of indistinct reality, shouting, curses, and a long, piercing howl.
"Oh god, Lyall, Lyall please!"
Hope was frantic, her pale hands pressing a sheet to Remus shoulder. Remus was the color gray. The moon was bone. And the blood was deep crimson.
He was too light when Lyall scooped him into his arms. His head lolled. Warm wetness soaked Lyall's jumper as he ran to the floo. Too much blood.
In all of his life, Lyall had never experienced this kind of fear.
And time, as he knew it, was disintegrating.
When you-
"-are soulless, evil, deserving nothing but death."
Lyall was walking on a world without gravity. He never knew how much he relied on gravity. But it had vanished, taking with it the atmosphere, the support, the surety. He stepped off the edge of the world and was careening through dark and unknown space.
And he had taken Remus with him. He could barely see him, so small in the hospital bed, milk-white against the sheets. A stain of blood was growing again on the bandages. Hope clutched the tiny hand, but Lyall could not move. His own condemnation was ringing in his ears.
"How would you like to proceed?" the healer asked. His voice was sterile, unfeeling.
"W-what do you mean?" Lyall's throat felt like sand.
"Death would be more merciful in his case"-soulless- "He won't have friends"-evil- "His quality of life will be nothing. He might even kill himself next moon. This way it will be quick and painless, he won't feel anything. "
Deserving nothing but death.
Dissonance. Love and hate. And the power of the first was unmatched. The old Lyall was dead, sacrificed on an altar of his own making. The one bearing the knife was too horrified at his own crime to notice.
"Who the hell do you think you are?!" he hissed when he finally found his ability to speak. His voice rose, uncontrolled. "This is my SON! I want a new healer, now!"
The healer regarded him placidly. "If you are refusing to terminate it, there is nothing more we can do here," he said in a crisp, unaffected tone. He checked something on his clipboard, then turned to leave the room. "Discharge papers will be sent shortly, along with instructions on how to care for the wound."
Hope and Lyall were left in shocked silence.
The silence stretched.
"Lyall?" Hope said softly. "Lyall, it will be alright."
Her eyes were red-rimmed. Her lower lip trembled. But she was holding herself taller than any non-magical person rightly should after this.
"No, it won't," he said in a strangled whisper. "Nothing is going to be the same." He lowered himself on the other side of the bed. Under Remus' transparent skin he could see purple veins, running with blood poisoned by the wolf.
"He c-can live with this, Lyall," she murmured. A tear was slipping down her face. "Can you?"
The question rang in the white room. Resonated against the magnitude of Lyall's mistake. It was as if she knew. She needed to know. He opened his mouth, trying to force words past the excruciating guilt. But before he could, a medi-witch entered, bearing a stained envelope.
"This was delivered for you at the mail room by owl."
She was gone as quickly as she came. Lyall slit the pasted flap with numb fingers. He noticed that his son's blood was still flecked and dried under his fingernails. He felt ill as he read the untidy scrawl.
What does your son deserve now, Lupin?
It was unsigned. Lyall crumbled the letter in his fist. Not this. No one deserved this.
"I did something, Hope. And I-" He swallowed. "I will never forgive myself."
When-
The wolf broke his boy the first time. And it would every time after that, little by little.
"Da, don't leave, please, please stay," Remus begged. His hands were clammy and cold and his face bloodless. He was just a child. He barely understood what would happen next.
"I'm so sorry, Rem," Lyall whispered brokenly. "I have to go."
He had reinforced the window in the new bedroom. There were unbreakable charms on the walls, the door, the glass. The furniture had been removed for the night. It was secure. It was safe. But not for Remus.
He trembled, helpless and alone in the middle of the room.
"Please," he sobbed. "Please."
Every instinct in Lyall screamed at him to stay with him, to hold his child and protect him from the moon. But there was nothing he could do.
"I'm sorry," he croaked. "I love you, Remus, okay? Mum and I love you and we'll be here in the morning."
The door closed, ripping Lyall in two pieces. Hope was in the shadows, watching with a tight expression. The strain between them was an impassable wall tonight. He leaned against the door and slid to the floor, defeated.
There were only seconds before it began.
And every glacial moment after that Lyall could not take the pain for his son was agony.
When you are older… I will make this right. I promise.
Time was measured by moons.
The past was how many he endured.
The future, how many were left.
Remus was irrevocably changed. Lyall could hear it in his solid silence. He learned to read quickly, but it was out of desperation. Books were no longer an adventure. They were an escape. He wrapped himself in the pages as if they were armor to keep the rest of the world out.
They did not go to Diagon Alley again. Remus would never go to Hogwarts. When Lyall gently explained this, Remus just listened in silence. Another loss to grieve.
"I'll teach you magic, Remus. It will be fun, just you and me, like when you and mum do maths." He forced himself to sound enthusiastic. Remus smiled at him graciously, but they both knew that nothing would ever compare to the life lost.
And that was the shattered heart of it all.
Lyall could not give Remus the world, could not send him undaunted in the future. He could not draw a genuine smile.
He could not even tell him the truth.
This was on him.
Hope had forgiven him, but he did not want absolution. He wanted time to be undone, every moon somehow forced back into the box. His ugly, prejudiced words unsaid. He had failed as a father, a protector. Even now, he was helpless, locking his son away in a room to face the demon alone.
So he did the only thing he could do.
He searched for a cure. Endlessly, he read and wrote letters and tore through materials and essays and reports. And the deeper he buried himself in looking and looking, the more he could convince himself it was possible. Perhaps it bordered on obsession, but that did not matter. He could make this right.
This I promise you.
To the parents of children living with illness or disability. For everything they sacrifice.