Disclaimer: Not mine.

His Calling

Chapter 2

The Witch that Loved Him

Rosmerta leaned her elbows on the counter and rested her head in her hands, watching as the last of the parents left for the station. Hogwarts would have their sorting ceremony tonight, and tomorrow it would start over. Autumn would turn to winter, and winter to spring, and not until much too long would summer come back and with it the freedom the absence of students brought.

She sighed, and turned from the window to start cleaning, wondering if she should even bother being open for the night. She heard the bell over the back door ring out and went to the kitchen to find Romulus with his head over the pot on the stove.

"Just stew," she spoke quietly as she ran her hand over his back. "I thought it would be easy to eat and not too hard on your stomach. Not exactly breakfast food, but then it's your dinner time."

Romulus turned and pulled her into his arms, forcing her head to his shoulder and burying his head in her hair. "I'm starving."

"Sit, I have some of that hard crusted bread you like. Do you want to shower first? I put some lotion out, just in case."

"No, just the stew." He pushed her away and flopped at the table, wincing as his back hit the chair.

"Fine, eat in pain," she muttered and dished him a plate of stew, pouring it over two large slices of his favourite bread.

"I saw my brother."

"Romulus, you shouldn't have. You know not to go that far," she gasped and spun to look at him, nearly dropping his diner.

"That's where I went, I couldn't control it. It's getting worse Ro. I started changing back there, I only just managed to apparate back this morning."

"Maybe it's time to use the cellar?" She shrugged in an off hand manner, as if they were talking of snow coming in this weekend.

"What of your guests? No, I don't think so. I'll have to find something else." He leaned over his plate not meeting her eyes.

"I've been thinking about taking some time off. A couple of days a month would be good. I could…"

"I said no," he hissed angrily.

Rosmerta stood and made herself busy at the sink until she heard him lay down his fork and leave the room. She stopped washing the dishes and looked out the window, remembering when he had first arrived. Remembered how she had hesitated to touch him, to heal his wounds, to let him eat at her table.

It had been early, too early to yet be called morning. She had risen before dawn to bake bread for the day. Every room was full, potentially making breakfast a big money maker. She had put the dough out the night before for the final rise, and having kneaded it quickly, and expertly divided the loaves, she'd slid eight pans into the oven before even thinking of tea.

She had yawned and stretched as the water filled the pot and looked out the window to the lightening sky. She hadthought she had seen something, a shadow that did not belong, a broken branch on the lilac bush that hugged the back of the Inn. Cursing that the storm had knocked another bush down, she'd opened the back door and found him.

He had lain on her back steps, bloody and nearly dead, not wearing a stitch of clothes. As she had thrown open the door and rushed to help him, she'd bent down and seen his hands. Fingers still caught in transformation, nails still elongated, sharp and dirty. Nails that still held the smell of the forest and the horrors of what he was.

Jumping up she had fumbled at her back for the door latch, panicking to get it open, afraid to look away.

"Wait," she heard his raspy voice. "Till light, wait."

She had slammed the door shut and leaned against the rough wood, her chest heaving as she'd fought for air. Fuck, she'd thought, remembering she had left her wand upstairs. She'd thrown the steel locks down and bolted the door, hoping he did not have his own wand. Then, she'd stood on her tiptoes and peered out of the window.

Now she sighed, and turned to join him upstairs, knowing that he didn't want her to see him like this, didn't want her to be the one that spread the potion to heal his wounds. He didn't want her to hear him cry as he tried to hide his sobs in the shower.

She waited until she knew he would have had time to pull himself together before dropping her clothes on top of his and stepping under the hot water with him.

"Shut up, Romulus," she chided at his protest. "How do you expect to get your back? It's not too bad this time. I've seen worse. So tell me about him, you know you want to."

"He's got this toy broom, only goes up a little way, but he can ride it," Romulus said into the tiles, not turning his head to her as she poured the healing potion on his back.

"Really? He's what? Six now?"

"Seven, eight on the twentieth."

"Romulus, we have to talk. This time you only saw him, what happens next time? Or if he sees you? If you don't get back in time?"

"Dad looks old, Ro. Really old. " He thought of how Anthony had looked right at the bush had hidden him, the rifle at this side. How a momentary glimmer of recognition had been the only thing to stop him from ripping him apart. A glimmer or recognition of something other than the man, the memory of the bite of a rifle.

"Happens. Worry has a lot to do with a person's looks." She grabbed the shampoo, and pushing him to his knees began to lather his hair. "I could go see her you know. I could at least let her know that her son is alive.

"It is better this way." He dropped his head forward, letting the falling water rinse his hair. "They're all I have, I won't put this on them."

"Sure," Rosmerta muttered and stepped out of the shower. She dried off and was dressed again before he shut off the water and pulled back the curtain.

"What's wrong, Ro?" Romulus wrapped a towel around his waist and watched her brush her hair out, then grab a handful, and twist it up.

"It hurts when you say that." She looked at him evenly.

"Okay, what did I say wrong this time?"

"That they are all that you have. What about me?"

"My gods, Ro, you know I don't mean that," he said softly and closed the distance between them, tipped up her chin and brushed her lips with his own. "I would be dead if not for you."

"If that is all that keeps you here …"

"Ro, stop it!" He let his arms drop and turned away from her. "You know damned well it's not. "

"I don't want to fight."

"Good, I hate when you get in your moods."

"My moods?" she smirked at him. "If all you did was change your moods we wouldn't have this conversation every month."

He tried to glare at her but started to grin. "I think I love you Ro."

"Right, I hear that once a month after I clean you up. What about the rest of the time?"

"I've been thinking about moving north. Far enough that I couldn't make it home. " He pretended not to hear her question and turned toward the mirror, reaching for a brush.

"Bastard!" Rosmerta stormed out of the bathroom and returned to the kitchen to start breakfast for the guests.

She had peered out of the window until he had tried to sit up. She'd seen his hands, seemingly normal, as he'd raked them through is hair, and held on to the banister trying to stand. "Wait," he had said to warn her away. "Wait." Even his half wolf form had tried to protect her.

Hiding one of the kitchen knives in her pocket, she had opened the door and faced him.

She pulled the bread out of the oven, only two loaves now that business was bad. The pans were set on a rack to cool, waiting a few minutes before she tipped them over and thumped the bottom to release the baked dough. She levitated them and a cloth that she had brushed with melted butter, to the sideboard, covering them and sweetening the crust.

Sometimes she could lose herself in the kitchen, not thinking beyond what work had to be done. Today she heard his voice play over and over. I think, she heard repeating, like a stone running down steps, I think I love you.

"Ro? I didn't mean it like that." He slipped his arms around her waist and laid his head on top of hers. "I'm in love with you. I just can't be here for you. I can't love you the way I should, the way you deserve."

She leaned back and closed her eyes. "Have I ever, even once asked anything from you?"

"That's the problem. You are disappearing. You need more than just doing everything for me. You need to be able to have a life of you own. I watched my mother disappear, and I don't want that for you."

She turned and looked at him, then pushed away as the bell over the front door rang out.

"Breakfast time and that's Aberforth if I guess right. Best stay in here or use the back stairs."

She took his hands in hers and looked at his nails, then turned them over, examining the palms. Sliding open a drawer she grabbed a knife and transfigured it into a nail file, handed it to him and went out to take Aberforth's order. She knew what he wanted, same as he always wanted, but she knew if she didn't listen to him order he would send it back, saying he meant to try something different.

"Well, old man," she greeted him. "Good morn to you."

"Smells like dinner time in here stead of breakfast, he out again all night? Whoring around?" he scowled. "You know to hide the smell girl, people will talk. Bad enough the gossips talking about what goes on behind closed doors without adding to it."

"They will think I serve leftovers," she smirked.

"Talks getting worse and you know it. Him out all night and you here alone, waiting his dinner all night. Ain't right."

"Gossip never gets better, no matter what it's about."

"Girl, you listen to me." He shook his finger at her. "Notice business dropping off? Good news for me, good news I got all my rooms rented out for the holidays already. You keeping any reservations? You send him packing. You hear me?"

Rosmerta avoided his eyes as she levitated a pot of tea and a mug from the kitchen. He didn't like Romulus, or rather didn't like the fact that he was unemployed, living off her, sleeping with her. She pulled her pad from her pocket and turned to take his order praying that he never learned the truth.

"The special," he sighed. "Same as always. Rosie, just give it some thought. He moves on and what have you got?"

"Memories," she smiled. "More than I had before."

"Not enough to live on."

He had eaten what she had put out in front of him as if starving, twice putting his hand to his jaw as he winced in pain. She had stood back watching him, her hand in her pocket, holding her wand. He'd looked up from under his brows, nervously shoveling the food between his still bloody lips.

"You need to shower." Had been greeted with a nod, as he'd pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. "There's a box in the cellar, the guests sometimes leave things. Find something to put on."

He had pushed back the plate and looked to the cellar door that was behind her, afraid to walk toward it, knowing that she would think he was coming towards her. He'd picked up his teacup and drunk the last, then stood slowly.

"You'll want to take that wand from your pocket." He had tried to smile at her. "I don't want to scare you any more than you are, but if you don't want to see my bits I need to get to that cellar."

That's when she had seen the fear in his eyes, and heard the softness in his voice, and known he would not hurt her. Wait, he had said, wait for the light, although he was in pain and needed care. Wait, he had warned her away.

She slid the plate in front of Aberforth as the bell rang out again. She was surprised to see a strange witch walk in, hesitate, and sit at a table by the window. Glad for the business she winked at Aberforth and pulled out her pad to take the order.

"Good morn," she smiled.

"Morn," the older witch responded. "I would love a cup of coffee. Do you serve it?"

"I think I can do that," Rosmerta smiled.

"All I ever have at home is tea, every once in a while I would kill for a good cup."

"Anything with it?"

"If that is bread I smell there is. Tastes better when someone else makes it," she laughed. "Toast, with jam, and two eggs."

"Right up," Rosmerta sighed. "Bangers with that?"

"You know what, kippers. It's been ages since I've had kippers."

"Coming up."

Aberforth frowned and stood up suddenly, shooting the strange witch a scowl. He waved Rosmerta over and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"Watch that one, odd she is. Know her from before, used to live up the hill."

"You don't trust anyone do you?"

"Rumour has it she hides more than one son down at that farm. One she takes in public but the other she hides away. Ain't no one seen him for years now."

"Really?" She turned and looked back at the table. "More rumours? Now get along old man, I'm sure the drunks are already waiting for you."

Rosmerta shook her head and finished serving the witch and prepared three takeaways while she ate. It was a slow morning, but at least enough to cover the cost of the food for the day. Walking over to the witch that still sat near the window she picked up the empty plate.

"What time do the shops open? I need school supplies, children's quills and lined parchment, sold out in Diagon, but forgot how slow this place was."

"Not long now. They open a little later since school is starting, but stay open longer."

"I have a hard time getting used to the pace here, not like Diagon at all."

"Thank Merlin," Rosmerta sighed. "Thanks for stopping in. I'm open seven days a week, so anytime…"

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Rosmerta is enough, and you?"

"Rhea," she put out her hand to shake, "Rhea Lupin."