5Disclaimer: Since I am not currently driving a little MG and going to dinner with Stephen Fry, I think it's safe to say that I do not own Harry Potter.
A/N: This is a little different from the stuff I usually write. If you've read my stuff before, you'll know that I write Mr. and Mrs. Lupin a lot…but never really like this.
"Greyback specialises in children…bite them young, he says, and raise them away from their parents, raise them to hate normal wizards." Remus Lupin - Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, pg 314.
"Lupin, Remus John."
They've been waiting on rickety wooden chairs for the half the night. His wife has been flicking through Witch Weekly - a magazine which has no interest to her and, even if she had taken a fancy to an advertised product, is dated 1956. John knows she feels out of place, that she knows she oughtn't be here, that she is powerless to help her only child, so he holds her hand as he gets to his feet, but she pulls it out of his grasp with a strength he didn't know she possessed.
He knows, he understands, he accepts responsibility, but he's not anticipated her coldness toward him. She stares straight ahead, not avoiding his eye so much as refusing to acknowledge his existence.
They are ushered into a private room at the end of the ward. Their six-year-old son is sleeping peacefully in his blue striped regulation hospital pyjamas between crisp white hospital regulation sheets. There are small scratches on his cheeks, earned running past long branches in the forest outside their garden. Otherwise, there is no sign that he has been attacked.
"The bite has been treated for infection, but that's all I can do," says the Healer. She attempts to meet John Lupin's eyes, but his are focused on his wife. "I'll leave you two in peace. If you have any questions-"
"Thanks." But he doesn't take his eyes off his wife.
She is staring at their child with wide eyes, her lips bitten so tightly together that they are white. She gasps for breath, sniffling, covering her mouth with her nail-bitten hand so as not to wake the boy.
"Emma, I-"
"I want you out of the house. Go home and pack yourself a bag. We can talk about this tomorrow. My-my son needs me."
John lets out a soft breath, somewhere between a gasp and a sigh. "You? He needs you? What can you do for him? This disease is beyond your comprehension, let alone ability. Who's going to let him face the world? Who's going to protect him from himself? Who's going to train him up now that he can't go to school? You can't."
Emma shakes her head softly. "You ruined his life, John."
"I know. Don't think I wouldn't have carried my own burden."
"But nobody asked you to. They asked your little boy to carry it for you." She paces, pulling at her hair until strands fall out into her hands, catching on her bitten nails. "I could have married Maguire. My son could have been an accountant. Instead, I get dragged into this…God, I don't know. This…this world, your world, goes against everything I believe in. I mean, for you, it's a day at the office. For me, it's witchcraft. I married a disciple of the devil, a changeling."
John, affronted, recoils. "So why marry me then?"
"The truth? You got me pregnant."
"I did that…I mean, I didn't do it deliberately, but I thought you loved me. You can preach to me about it's all my fault, but a good Catholic girl shouldn't be doing it, should she? You wanted to marry an accountant - whatever the hell that is - and have a house full of children and a white-picket-fence? Well, I wanted to marry a pureblood and carry on a line. I didn't. I was under no obligation to marry you, even when you were thrown out, but I did, because I love you. If you don't love me, you might as well walk because you're useless to him now."
Emma exhales quickly and they realise the enormity of their dispute. Avoiding one another's eyes, they each cross the room as though an invisible line has been drawn on the linoleum floor.
Remus turns over in his sleep. His skin is so pale that is has taken on an almost ethereal glow in the candlelight. He looks like an out-sized cherub.
"Why is his life ruined?" his mother asks quietly, perching herself on the edge of her son's hospital bed and stroking his hair.
John sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He leans against the door and slumps a little. Emma can't bring herself to pity him when his own arrogance has done this to their little boy, but she's never seen him like this. John Lupin's sarcasm and sense of humour in the face of adversity had attracted her, had comforted her when her world was collapsing. Now that his world is collapsing, he's a broken man.
"Lycanthropy is…it's…people are afraid of werewolves. That's the root of it. Wizards like to feel superior, Emma. Yeah, it's the real die-hards who propose Muggle-hunting and unleashing all hell on Muggle-borns and half-bloods, but when I was growing up, my family had a house-elf. Most pureblood families had house-elves. Some still do. They're enslaved. Their master's will is a house-elf's law. And people think that's normal, Em. In fact, most people claim to be liberals without being liberal at all. They say they want rights for human beings and that's wonderful - that's a start - but centaurs aren't human beings. They want to be classed as Beasts and as such, they give up their human rights - their rights as beings. Werewolves, because they're dangerous, are hated. They find it difficult to find employment and everyday, new laws are being pushed through the Ministry. He'll be dependent on us now for the rest of his life. It's unlikely we'll see grandchildren and if we do, God only knows how they'll turn out."
Emma wipes the stray tears and turns her attention to her son. "He can come and live in my world. He can grow up and be a Maths teacher or something." She sniffs and shakes her head vigorously. When she opens her eyes, they're bloodshot, but there are no more tears. She kisses her son's cheek. "Hear that, Remus? Mummy's fixed everything. You're going to be all right, sweetheart. I promise. We can do long division until it's coming out of your ears and you can-"
"Are you out of your senses?" In three strides, John has crossed the room, and pulls her to her feet. "He's been showing magical ability for three years. He won't be able to go to school. He can't be unleashed, untrained, on the Muggle world."
Emma's lips curl in disgust. "I don't care how you feel about him and everyone like him, I still love him. Nobody is 'unleashing' him."
His grip tightens around her wrist until she winces and he releases her as though he's burned her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…don't try to tell me I love him any less than you do. I'll teach him myself. I'll find him a job. I'll do everything I can for him."
"Can-can you find a cure?"
John sighs. "There's no known cure, but I'll try. We'll both try."
Emma nods, though she's not sure what she can do.
"Em, don't throw me out."
Emma raises her eyebrows. "Last time, from what I understand, we talked about this, it was you throwing me out. Look, John, I just don't know how we can be the same people. How am I supposed to love you? How am I supposed to share your bed? How can I put on a united front for the sake of my son when you've done this to him?"
John takes hold of her hands. "No matter how you feel about me, and I understand, he's my son, Emma. He's my only child. This is what it comes down to. I know Greyback. I know what he does. I know his ideals. If Remus isn't raised by his Mum and Dad, by two parents who still worship the ground he walks on, then that monster wins this. But if he is, Emma, if we raise him the way we always intended to then my son will forever be 'the one that got away' and while that's not enough, it'll do. For now, at least." He smiles grimly and she, for the first time tonight, is willing to meet his eyes. "Em, you're not useless. Not one bit. In fact, you're vital. You're his mum. You've still got to be there to kiss all of his bruises. You've still got to be there to let him into bed with us when there's thunder outside. You've still got to be the woman he goes to about girls."
"Will there be girls?"
John smirks. "Unless he's a homosexual. In which case, he'll still be needing you because I won't know the first damn thing."
Emma rolls her eyes. "I mean, will he be allowed to meet girls?"
John nods. "They can clamp down on marriage, but they can't ban dating. He might have some difficulty if other people find out, but there's no reason they should and, until he's of age, his information is kept absolutely private."
Emma sniffs. "And how do we know that it'll be private?"
John manages a genuine smile, a broad grin. "Who's in charge of releasing werewolf information and statistics?"
Emma emits a small and pathetic laugh. "I do love you, John. I think you're a brilliant man. There's no-one like you - not that I've ever met. I just can't stand the sight of you right now."
John frowns. "And that…that 'disciple of the devil' stuff?"
Emma sighs. "You're not a changeling. You know that. I'm just furious with you. I think I always will be, John." She takes the seat beside her son's bed and watches him in his potion-induced sleep. "Go home. Get some rest. You can come tomorrow morning so I can get some sleep."
"Can't I stay with him?"
"No. I have to work tomorrow night."
John nods. He drops a kiss to his son's forehead and, crossing the room quickly, closes the door silently behind him.
Remus wakes the next morning, groggy, but in very little pain. He is aware that he is not at home, but unsure where he has been taken. His mother's arms are wrapped around him as she sleeps beside him. The bed is strictly too small for this, but he is relieved that this gesture means that she won't be angry with him when she wakes up. It's still dark outside the window. He yawns, wriggles into a slightly more comfortable position, and falls asleep in his mother's arms.
He is woken for the second time by the sounds of whispering voices, the clink of china on china, and birds singing through the open window.
"I couldn't sleep."
"I slept with Remus. I can stay longer if you want to try napping."
"No, it's all right. Thanks."
Remus attempts to sit up and, as his weight comes to rest on his left shoulder, screams in agony, collapsing onto his pillows. His parents rush to his side before he has time to worry about how angry they must be with him.
"Emma, find a Healer. Ask for pain relief."
His mother flounders - torn between her wish to help him and the need to stay beside him.
"Tell me if this hurts," says his father, sliding his arms beneath his son's back and knees and lifting him onto his lap. Remus rests his head in the crook of his father's shoulder and grips him tightly with his right arm.
"Are you angry with me, Dad?" he whispers into his father's jumper.
John kisses the top of his son's head and pulls him closer. "No, of course not. Remus, you've not done anything wrong." He sighs and plasters on a smile for his son's sake. "How long have you been awake? Have you had some breakfast?"
Remus shakes his head.
"Don't tell your mother I spoiled it for you, but I brought some sweets for us." He shifts Remus' weight and pulls out a family-sized bar of Honeydukes milk chocolate. "That's all yours. Go ahead and open it. Chocolate's good for this sort of thing."
Remus takes it tentatively and pulls at the foil wrapping. He breaks off a row of four squares and splits it in half, offering two to his father.
"Thank you," he says quietly, sucking on a square until it melts in his mouth. Already, he feels better.
Once he's taken a painkiller, he's fed a sleeping draught and put to bed. He smiles wearily at his father before his eyelids flutter to a close.
"What'll you tell the werewolf?" Emma asks, taking her husband's hand and entwining their fingers.
John smiles grimly. "That we've reached stalemate. He may yet win the war, but he's lost the battle." He squeezes her hand. "Thank you."
She sighs. "We both still love you, John."
"Don't think he's some sort of changeling, but he's not going to be the same little boy, Emma."
"He's still my little boy. I don't care if he wants his meat raw and swimming in blood, John, all right? I just don't know what'll happen to him."
John smiles. "Oh, he'll be all right. He's stronger than he looks."