The gilded hand ticked across the face of the ancient grandfather clock perched in the corner of the office where dust flitted through sunbeams. The room was underground, but the wall opposite the doorway had three small windows with shafts above ground that allowed jets of light to pass into the office. The faint light managed its way through the layers of dust and splayed across the oak desk cluttered with rolls of parchment and stacks of paper. These rays illuminated the purple bags under the eyes, along with every care-worn line on the face of the man who sat in the lone chair across from the desk.
The faint sunbeams highlighted every graying hair on the head of Remus Lupin as he sat patiently, waiting for the door to reopen behind him. He stared past the wall, quite bored with the room and its empty walls. The only real fixtures were the desk and the grandfather clock that slowly ticked away the seconds as the gilded pendulum swung back and forth in a never-ending rhythm.
Eventually, there was a creaking as the wooden door swung slowly open and a man with a thick silver beard, yet completely bald, walked into the room. He wore a flowing, black robe that touched the ground, sweeping up the layer of dust on the floor and a dapper, black suit, complete with an elegant, silver cane with the engraving of a bear’s head on the top.
‘It’s probably an heirloom,’ Remus mused as he viewed the ornamental cane that he conjectured the man could walk without. The old gentlemen walked silently over to the desk and added the pieces of parchment he held onto the mountainous stack already there.
“The Wizarding government of Sweden would officially like to welcome you to our country, Mr. Lupin.” There was no cheer or sincerity in the greeting as the man shuffled through the papers on his desk and drew his wand out of his deep robe pocket. In his dry, weary voice that fit the dusty room, he ordered, “Take out your wand.”
Remus did what he was told and extended his ten-and-a-half inch, willow wand to the man. The man gave it two taps. Two long, colored stripes appeared tip to tip on the wand, as if they’d been burned there. Instead of being singed black, the stripes had burned gray and green.
“Your luggage is being checked. A personnel assistant will acclimate you to your surroundings and the situation at hand.” Here, the man paused as he gave Remus his wand back. His serious stare locked onto Remus’s eyes. “I will make myself clear; you have a limited time to attend to your business here.”
“I read the papers,” Remus replied casually, yet he felt no warmth from this man. ‘I’m surprised they let me in,’ Remus thought with no joy or mirth. This was a mission: a duty that he needed to perform.
The man gestured Remus towards the door and he obediently stood and walked into the hallway before him as he stowed his wand into the pocket of his tattered, gray robe. The old man closed the door and followed behind him. The hallway outside had the same stuffy feel as the little room, and there were no other doors there except the one Remus had just walked through.
After ages of walking through the hallway, listening to his own footsteps, Remus reached the end, which opened up into a wide, domed lobby. There were two sets of fireplaces, each with a mantel that housed a jar of Floo powder like in the Ministry of Magic that Remus was familiar with seeing. However, the dome above was similar to the artificial ceiling at Hogwarts and reflected the sky of a peaceful summer day, complete with cotton-ball clouds.
On the other side of the room, by a set of oak doors with silver engravings of words Remus couldn’t read, stationed a sturdy, oak desk about twice the length of a man. Various items were piled upon the desk and the people coming through the fireplaces were checking their wands and other belongings there before proceeding through the huge doors that led to the rest of the Ministry.
“Greger!”
Remus viewed the man who shouted the greeting as the two emerged from the hallway. The young man wore a pinstriped, red wine colored suit that had the potential to look absolutely ridiculous. However, on the tall, yet muscularly lean young man, who seemed to be made for the crimson red suit, it looked slightly stylish. Running the entire length of both his jacket and pants, the suit had gray stripes that ended at his immaculately polished, black shoes
‘Personnel,’ Remus thought as he warily eyed the grinning young man who exuded an aura of youthful enthusiasm. His look was completed with an ebony, suede bowling hat that seemed to absorb all light that might reflect off it. Also, from the sides of the man’s head protruded platinum-blond hair.
“Mr. Remus Lupin, this is Bjorn Asketorp, who will be your adjustment guide and will secure your luggage back in your possession,” the older man replied blandly as he gave the youth a withering look.
As he reached them, Bjorn’s already exuberant face split into a genuinely friendly smile, reveling his immaculate teeth. “You introduce me so blandly. Mr. Lupin, pleased to meet you.”
Before he could react, Remus’s hand was wrenched from his side in a vigorous handshake. Remus returned a polite, business-like smile to the friendly youth.
“Mr. Asketorp, you read the papers from London, I assume?” Greger’s tone had gone from bland to a stiff air of annoyance. Remus looked between the two men, noticing that Greger seemed to react as if rotting food had been placed under his nose.
Bjorn gave Greger a careless wave of his hand as he motioned Remus to follow him. “Can’t wait to see you again,” Bjorn called cheerfully over his shoulder as he strode in front of Remus towards the long desk by the oak doors. He reached his hand in the enormous stack of suitcases and picked out Remus’s tattered one.
“This way,” Bjorn called chipperly to Remus as he strode briskly over to one of the fireplaces, suitcase still in his hand. Remus looked to the suitcase as he arrived at the fire. His eyes were level to Bjorn’s cheek and nose. Bjorn tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace as he called out, “Adelsvärd Restaurant and Pub!”
Flames erupted and turned green. Bjorn gestured to Remus to go first. Remus ducked to avoid the low mantel and stepped into the flames. In a whirl of soot and flame, he arrived in another fireplace with huge stones that may have once sat on the bottom of a riverbed. Remus stepped out as Bjorn followed right behind him. Both men dusted themselves off, and then Bjorn walked confidently forward as if he was very familiar with the place.
‘Right into the lounge,’ Remus realized as he looked over at the group of people giving their names to the waitress who had her hair tied up in a bun and was wearing a flowing, plum dress with long sleeves. She ushered them through the stone arch and into the interior, where Bjorn had confidently strode moments before.
‘He still has my suitcase,’ Remus reminded himself as he quickly darted through the arch and caught up to Bjorn. The youthful Swede gestured Remus to take a seat at the three-legged barstool on his right. Remus sat down and stared around at the elegant decor of beautiful, thick, plum drapes the color of the waitresses’ dresses. All the furniture was varnished a rich shade of mahogany and white candles burned at every table, illuminating all the deep colors.
One of the waitresses, with her plum dress and neatly tied up hair, came over and asked, “What will it be?”
“The usual,” Bjorn told her offhandedly. She then turned to Remus.
“Butterbeer?” Remus asked tentatively, thinking of the only sort of semi-alcoholic beverage he drank. The waitress gave a nod and went off to fetch their drinks. Remus stared down and studied the grain of the bar, which had been varnished in the same rich, mahogany color as the rest of the wood.
“Greger didn’t put you off, did he? The old chap does that occasionally.” Remus stared up as Bjorn spoke to him and gave a deft nod as he met the young man’s watery blue eyes that sparkled with a certain light that only belongs to the young.
“Nothing a drink won’t cure,” Remus replied. Bjorn chuckled at his comment. “I couldn’t possibly think the two of you are related, though.”
“Hmm, picked up on that one?” Bjorn asked as he gave Remus a nod. “There are lots of similar names in Sweden, but we’re the only wizard family who has the name Asketorp. It’s interesting how it turns out, though, with personality. My grandfather and I are polar opposites, although he chooses to be crotchety about it.”
‘Crotchety might be an understatement,’ Remus decided as he remembered Greger Asketorp’s aloof and snobby attitude towards him and distinct disdain for his grandson. At that moment, the waitress brought one glass of red wine and a mug of butterbeer over to the two men.
“Let me know if there’s anything I can get for you,” she replied politely as she flashed them a smile and strode off to wait on another customer. Remus took a sip of his drink, looking out of the corner of his eye as Bjorn took a tiny sip of his wine.
Bjorn took a second taste of his wine. “This will never stain my suit,” Bjorn joked as Remus sat down his mug. Both men sat silently and drank for a couple moments before Bjorn set down his wineglass and waited for Remus to swallow his drink.
“Your papers said you taught at Hogwarts for a year,” Bjorn began amiably. Remus felt the slight boast in his mood drop for a second, knowing every little detail that was on those papers that had been sent from London. He’d verified them all in the stifling office of Greger Asketorp, under whose strict gaze Remus had been silent. “The roof inside our Ministry is a copy of the Hogwarts’s ceiling, although I’ve never seen it myself. We don’t mimic the real weather, of course, but always keep it a beautiful, blue sky.”
“It’s the first copy I’ve seen,” Remus replied as he took another sip of his drink. He put down his mug. On cue, Bjorn launched into more conversation.
“I heard they’re hosting the Triwizard this year,” Bjorn said as he locked his bright eyes with Remus’s eyes, which were the color of fresh mud. “It’s something I would’ve liked if I’d been seventeen.”
“It’s dangerous.” Deciding to not make another comment, Remus took another sip of his butterbeer. The subject of Hogwarts’s strange happenings at the Triwizard, with Harry as the fourth champion, didn’t settle well in Remus’s mind.
“Sweden finally got its own school, which is celebrating its twentieth birthday this coming year.” Remus stared over at Bjorn, whose voice swelled with great pride at this point. Remus nodded for Bjorn to continue, glad to have the conversation pass from his personal life and occupation.
“The Lärling School of Wizardry, out side of Stockholm, is relatively new compared to the older schools like Hogwarts, but it has gained enrollment in the past decade. I went there myself, and was planning on returning for the festivities next year,” Bjorn informed Remus, who listened to his host’s enthusiastic explanation of his school with slight nods to urge him to continue. “The school’s not that large, and of course, it’s hidden with magical charms from Muggle eyes and looks like a very large, crumbling farm manor, but it’s large enough to house a Quidditch court. The Swedish ministry has adopted a form of test similar to NEWTS, although we give the test in the fourth year. From fifth year forward, we’re separated into smaller lodgings outside of the main manor depending on how well we did on what area. My expertise was in Charms.”
At this point, Bjorn stopped his speech and took a small sip of his wine. Remus rested both of his arms on the bar top, although he didn’t prop himself up on his elbows.
“As I was saying, our school’s not old. Many people were educated abroad or privately before the Ministry set up our school,” Bjorn continued with unflagging enthusiasm.
“The Ministry has control over your teachers and headmasters, then?” Remus interrupted Bjorn, who paused with his mouth open to speak again. He recovered and then began to answer Remus’s question.
“Yes. They don’t directly elect the Headmaster, per se, but they evaluate all teacher selections.” At this, Remus involuntarily felt a frown come over his face. ‘Not a good policy,’ Remus privately thought of his own special appointment that wouldn’t have happened under government regulations.
“I’ve never had a problem with a teacher. I’ve found most of the faculty quite ready to help me,” Bjorn replied as he took another sip of wine. Remus took another gulp of his butterbeer and both men finished swallowing and set down their mugs roughly about the same time, which had become the general cue for Bjorn to strike up the conversation again.
“Did you get the chance to catch up with the wizarding news here in Sweden?” Bjorn inquired as he looked at Remus, his voice taking on a slightly more serious tone. Remus gave a deft nod, remembering the gruesome headlines.
“It’s a terrible, what happened,” Remus replied sincerely, remembering the pictures that littered the paper. The mangled bodies plastered the pages, and a huge monster was pictured dead on the front with people poking and prodding it with wands.
“Those three nutters managed to unleash two very rabid cave trolls upon a small wizarding hamlet around Are, near the Äresjön River,” Bjorn recounted with more somberness that Remus had yet seen him express. He shook his head and chuckled as he said, “My grandfather gave me the pleasant job of dealing with the grieving relatives when they arrived at the Ministry.”
‘Intense dislike, to say the least, but giving him that assignment is cruel,’ Remus reflected silently on what Bjorn had said. He was sure this wasn’t the first time that his grandfather had given him a difficult situation, hoping to rid him from his sight forever. Remus looked over at Bjorn, respecting the young man more now that he knew what he might tolerate from his grandfather.
“It sounds like the worst disaster since Black Noël,” Remus commented more to himself than Bjorn. Bjorn looked over at Remus with a genuinely keen interest in his eyes.
“I wasn’t alive then, but I’ve heard a couple of our older Aurors muttering something about Black Noël. That was during the Terror Years, wasn’t it?” Remus turned towards Bjorn, almost as reluctant to talk about the years of fear that petrified the wizarding world as his past history. He met Bjorn’s eager eyes, unsure of what to tell the youth. He’d heard of Black Noël, which received the front page in the Prophet when it happened. Remus vividly remembered the picture of the Swedish Minister of Magic’s body swinging limply by the wrists as he hung from a spire atop a church.
“It wasn’t a good time, and yes, it was one of the first and most notable autocracies outside of the English Isles and Ireland.” Remus carefully chose his words, deciding that was all he was going to say on the matter. ‘He’ll have to ask someone else,’ Remus decided as he took a rather long swing of his butterbeer. ‘I’ll relive the past soon enough.’
As Remus set down his nearly empty mug, Bjorn remained silent for several moments as his voice recharged with enthusiasm. “You’ve visited us at a good time of year. It’s going to be Walpurgis Night soon, which is a good time for all.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be here that long,” Remus answered hesitantly and without enthusiasm, sure that Bjorn already knew this.
“You’ll leave the next day, Walpurgis Day, but it’s Walpurgis Night that’s the real draw in Southern Sweden. It’s a great holiday to get a drink, toast to spring, and of course, enjoy a bonfire.” Bjorn raised his wineglass in the air as if giving a toast.
“I’m afraid I am probably not going to celebrate.” Remus finished his butterbeer after his tactful remark which he hoped had gotten the point across to Bjorn that he didn’t come to Sweden to celebrate anything, much less the coming of spring with a drink in his hand, gathered around some blazing fire with drunkards.
“Shame,” Bjorn replied as he finished his wine and pulled a purse from his pocket, “It’s a great time. A personal favorite for me.” Bjorn pulled out the Swedish equivalent of a galleon and several silver coins and placed them on the counter.
“Although that was a pleasant drink, I imagine after my grandfather’s drilling and my blabbering you’d like to get settled into your room.” Bjorn stood up, and Remus snatched up his suitcase before Bjorn could do so. Bjorn strode out towards the lobby, and Remus once again followed his host, who tipped his hat to one of the waitresses as he opened the door.
A gust of cold air met Remus as he stepped from the cozy atmosphere of the restaurant into the blistering wind that blew over the tiny town of Or. Or was a small hamlet that was nestled outside Stockholm. The clouds hung low, infusing their ominous mood into the landscape and sucking the color out of the buildings, leaving only bland hues tinged in shades of gray. The sky brooded with the tempest of an oncoming storm and was a far cry from the serene ceiling inside the Swedish Ministry. Remus pulled his thin robes tighter around him, silently cursing that they couldn’t keep out the bitter chill.
“Spring is coming, huh?” Remus shouted to Bjorn, who held his hat down on his head with one hand.
“The real spring won’t be here for a couple weeks after Walpurgis,” Bjorn hollered back to Remus as he motioned him to follow with his free hand. The pair fought against the thrashing winds that would strike from one side and whip back to hit from the other as they made their way down the street until they reached a three level building. Bjorn pushed open the black door that almost blew shut the moment it opened, and he held it as Remus darted inside out of the gale.
“Lovely weather,” Bjorn muttered as he slammed the door behind Remus. After brushing hair out of his face, Remus took a look at where they were. It was a quaintly decorated lobby with a couple cushioned wooden chairs and a voluptuous couch positioned around a glass topped coffee table. There were some silk flowers in a vase set on the table, and the decorator seemed to have a thing for flowers because there were pastel roses in the wall paper design, too. ‘A very Victorian feeling,’ Remus mused as he studied the wood trimming on the walls.
The place was silent. The thick rose carpet seemed to absorb every sound. Remus noted that Bjorn had already strolled over to the desk with a wooden door behind it that sat in the far corner of the room. He rang a bell, and the gentle chiming echoed throughout the empty lobby. Eventually, the door opened and a portly woman that was probably in her fifties or sixties appeared at the desk. She had obviously chosen the decorations because the color of her dress matched the carpet perfectly.
“My dear! I dozed off.” The woman gave Bjorn a key as Remus made his way over to the desk. “I’m Mrs. Olofssondotter, the manager, and if you need anything at all, dear, just give the old, brass candle stick a tap of your wand, and I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you.” Remus returned the woman’s warm smile as he followed Bjorn to another door on the opposite side of the room. Bjorn used the key to open the door and led Remus up a rickety staircase. The steps were so used that Remus could feel the indent where uncounted people had trod before him. They passed the first floor and proceeded to the second where Bjorn opened the door that read ‘Floor Two’ in Swedish. There was no carpet upstairs. Both of their footsteps echoed on the worn and scuffed wooden floor as Bjorn led Remus down the deserted landing.
“I take it there’s not much tourism,” Remus commented as he stared at the numbered rooms without hearing another sound.
“No. There’s a small group of wizards in town, but not a lot of visitors,” Bjorn commented. “Most guests stay in Stockholm near the Ministry.”
Bjorn reached door 223 at the end of the hallway. He then handed the key back to Remus who stowed it away with his wand. Bjorn gestured Remus into his room which had a bathroom attached to it and a little archway that led to a separate bedroom off the tiny sitting room. The sitting room, with its bare wooden floors, was sparsely furnished with a small wooden coffee table and two plush chairs that sat in front of a window. The chairs were decorated in a faded flower pattern and were most definitely used furniture that had seen considerable wear. Remus walked over and pulled back the mauve curtains of the window, looking through the thick, slightly warped glass onto the small, dreary streets of Or.
“It’ll take an hour at most to clear the Muggles out and away from the house. We’ll go there and sort out a couple details,” Bjorn informed Remus as he gave him a parting wave accompanied with his cheery smile that seemed to be the only thing bright in the room.
Bjorn shut the door and Remus set his suitcase down beside one of the chairs. The next several moments, he only stared around his adobe. He rubbed his head knowing that although he felt drained now, that feeling probably wasn’t going to change in the coming days. Bjorn’s chipper attitude had been a positive boost Remus didn’t realize he’d been getting until the man left.
‘The bedroom,’ Remus thought as he stared at the archway that led into the tiny bedroom. He walked into the little room. It was just long and wide enough to fit a twin bed and a tiny nightstand beside it. Remus kept the drapes pulled over the window. He noted the tiny window was similar to the one in the sitting room. Then, he pulled down the thin green comforter that had lost all its plush because of the wear of time.
‘Lilacs,’ Remus realized as he stared at the nightstand while he pulled down the plain, white sheets. He stopped and picked up the silken flowers from the dusty vase. He fingered them gently, somehow wishing they were real. Remus laid them down on the dresser as he took off his shoes and robe, crawled into bed, and determined to rest for a couple moments before Bjorn came back.
Cars and buses swirled down the busy avenues of downtown London, past apartments made of bricks the color of worn earth. A majority of the buildings had been refurbished, but along the narrow alleyways, the rending scars of the Second World War could be viewed. Music hummed from some open windows in the middle of the sweltering heat and some children stopped to splash around in a public fountain. A group of girls walked down the street as the children scuttled away giggling over a magazine with a cover of The Beatles on it. Across the city, horns honked and people bustled about in the hazy days of summer along the Thames.
However, a young boy no older than seven, with hair the color of warm sand, could have cared less about the world swirling around him. The streets were fascinating with all people clad in suits, brightly colored silks and such, but he liked the clothing his mother picked out for him well enough. Although, because of the heat, he wanted to take off the wool, mahogany jacket because the material made him itchy when he sweated.
The petit woman who walked beside her son resisted in a soft, melodic voice, “Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.” The little boy looked up at his mother whose gray eyes were lost in a dreamy haze of years long forgotten. Indeed, she appeared to have stepped through a door of an English country house from the Victorian age. Her honey hair was pulled back in a tight bun that permitted several ringlets to flow beside her heart shaped face.
She smiled down at her son and her face appeared as a flower bud blossoming into its potential beauty. “Therefore, ye soft pipes play on,” she continued as her son looked up at her with his eyes the color of the soft, brown shade under a willow tree in the summer.
“Not to the sensual ear,” here he paused and bit his lower lip as he scraped his memory for the words, “but more endeared,” the boy finished the line.
“Lovely!” The mother laughed like clear church bells chiming across open fields, calling everyone towards them. Indeed, many of the Muggles along the street shot glances at the peculiar woman dressed in a full-length cotton dress the color of lilacs blooming in the sun.
She turned and grinned amiably at her son, who was dressed in trousers to match his jacket. “You’re such a clever boy, Remmy.”
“You say it all the time,” the boy replied modestly for a seven year old, but grinned in pleasure at his mother’s encouraging words.
“Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone.” With those words which came out as naturally as a stream flows downhill, the pair turned the corner onto a narrow alley surrounded by dilapidated buildings. People rushing by on the streets took a brief second to question why such a finely dressed woman with her young son would be going down such an alleyway.
However, the pair soon came to a phone booth that looked like the phone hadn’t worked since the Second World War. She led her son inside and closed the door once both were jammed into the confined space. She dialed the numbers 6-2-4-4-2 as if only recalling an old friend’s phone number.
“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic Head Quarters. Please state your name and business,” the voice of a witch echoed throughout the booth as if she, too, was smashed into the tiny space.
“Evelyn Lupin and Remus Lupin here to retrieve Edouard Lupin for a picnic lunch,” Evelyn responded sweetly as the elevator descended underground, where the pair soon arrived at the gates to the Atrium: the grand entrance to the Ministry of Magic.
Remus had seen the halls before, but the vaulted ceilings crawling with glittering, golden symbols of long forgotten languages across a canvas of sapphire blue always entranced him. He tilted his head directly back so much so, that it hurt his neck to gaze up at the ornate ceiling. Evelyn reached down and took her daydreaming son’s hand in her left one as they entered the jostling crowd that was comprised of Ministry workers and other visitors.
Evelyn hoisted the over-laden picnic basket in her left hand up on her shoulder as she used her now free hand to draw her wand from her right sleeve. The pair took their time being shuffled around by the crowd until they reached the security desk. Evelyn produced her wand and gave the clerk with a sagging face her brightest smile which had the affect of causing a warm glow to illuminate her features. However, the man didn’t seem phased or in a more pleasant mood as he handed her back her wand. She stashed it back in her sleeve as she readjusted her picnic basket with festive flowery cloth hanging out over the edges.
With the same bright smile that caused her cheeks to glow with more innate beauty than any rouge or powder make-up, she asked her young son who was staring ahead anxiously at the elevators, two words: “Race you?”
Remus’s eyes widened in excitement as he pulled away from his mother’s hand and dashed across the polished cherry floor towards the gilded elevator doors. Evelyn ran easily in her low healed shoes and kept pace several strides behind her son. Remus cut through the crowd, bumping into various witches and wizards wearing long, flowing cloaks of velvet and silk, and Evelyn gave no heed to any of these important persons, either.
The door of the third elevator on the right opened and Remus bolted for the door just as people began to spill out. Evelyn, jostled around by the masses because of her picnic basket, found a path for herself and arrived in the elevator just moments after Remus.
She laughed as she leaned against the back wall of the elevator with her son, who grinned up at her. “I beat you, mum.”
“Indeed,” she panted, but laughed merrily, more like a young schoolgirl than a mother. As the elevator filled with more witches and wizards, some cast looks at the woman whose hair had come loose as she raced her son in a very juvenile fashion across the Ministry Atrium.
The voice in the elevator announced when they reached the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Evelyn bent down and whispered in Remus’s ear with a playful grin, “Race you to dad’s office?”
As soon as the doors opened, Remus bolted out. Evelyn muttered, “Excuse me,” hastily several times as she sliced through the remaining people in the elevator. Barely two strides out of the elevator, she looked up and saw Remus charge head-on into an old wizard with a flowing, white beard.
“Albus,” Evelyn responded with as much dignity as possible considering her hair had come mostly undone. “Remus and I were just having a little race to Edouard’s office.”
Evelyn reached down and helped Remus up, immediately brushing off his clothes straightening out his hair. With a twinkle in his eyes, Dumbledore replied, “I dare say, he should be just about finished.”
Evelyn gave Dumbledore her sunshine smile. “He says not one of you knows how to manage financial matters in this department.”
“And tell him that is why he is an accountant and not I,” Dumbledore replied cordially. “I’m going to be late for a luncheon, but have a nice day.”
“You too,” Evelyn answered in her clear, sweet voice as she waved goodbye. Remus hadn’t met the man many times, but he waved back too; his childish instincts told him that the man was good, especially if he was so nice to his mother. When Remus heard his mother’s skirts start to rustle, he turned to see her several strides ahead of him, and he ran forward to draw beside her again. They passed by three windows, which displayed a serene tropical beach with transparent, sparkling blue water and plants so luscious that one could hardly imagine they existed. Evelyn entered into the door that led to the Auror offices that worked almost unceasingly whether it was storming or there was a heat wave. Evelyn politely waved to several of the people as she passed them, heading towards the very last desk in the corner of the room.
Evelyn walked directly behind her husband who was wearing a gray suit. He had draped the jacket over his chair and wore a midnight blue shirt underneath it. He ran his hand through his tawny hair cut above his ears, yet it hung lank and straight in the style worn by certain gentleman. Evelyn smirked admiringly as she watched her husband rummage through a small bundle of papers. “Edouard Lupin, I was under the impression that you were to picnic with a certain wife and child of yours.”
“Evey!” Edouard exclaimed as he jumped in his chair. He spun around and stared at his wife with her bedraggled hair and full, strawberry lips shaped in an amused smile. “I-I need more time.”
“Dad!” Remus protested after having stood obediently by his mother the entire time. Edouard’s lips turned up in a warm smile as he stared at his son who had the same, soft brown eyes he did. He patted the boy on the head before looking back up at Evelyn.
“These were going to be sent out,” Edouard muttered as he picked up some of the papers and waved them in Evelyn’s face. “I think,” Edouard murmured and then pulled his wife closer to him, pausing as if to say something drastically important.
In a soft voice, the way only a wife speaks to a husband, Evelyn put her mouth to Edouard’s ear and whispered, “I think you could use a break, Eddy.”
“I-,” Edouard muttered, feeling his mouth go dry for a moment. He closed his eyes and let out a long repressed sigh. “I’ll gather these because they’re coming.”
Edouard stood up and pulled open a black leather brief case where he stashed all the papers he'd been examining on his desk. He tapped it shut with his wand before dropping the wand in his pocket and hoisting the briefcase off his desk with his right hand.
Edouard flashed the pair a smile, and the lines and cares of work that lingered on his face fell off in an instant. There was something less stuffy and more youthful about the accountant when he walked side by side with his wife from the Auror offices with their little son plodding along behind them. With a flirty smile, Evelyn snatched her older husband’s hand as they reached the main hallway. Edouard smiled and a slight blush came over his face when she acted like a schoolgirl instead of a mother. Some of the people cast a glance or two at the woman dressed in an out of style Muggle dress and the wise respectable wizard whose judgment must have lapsed to marry such a woman.
However, no one gave the little boy a stare as he reluctantly walked behind his parents. Remus obediently entered the elevator behind the pair and stood in front of them as his mother whispered something in his father’s ear. He looked up as his father’s eyes would sparkle and then he would chuckle after almost everything his wife murmured to him. Remus frowned, shuffling his feet in boredom, hating when his parents ignored him.
As they walked across the polished cherry floor of the grand Atrium, Remus ran into his parent’s locked hands and tried to wrestle them apart. In her soft, untroubled voice, Evelyn asked, “Remmy, what’s the matter?”
“I want you to swing me,” Remus pleaded as he looked up between his parents with his best puppy-dog stare. Evelyn laughed and took one of Remus’s hands while waiting for Edouard to take the other.
“He’s too old,” Edouard murmured, slightly put off that his youthful flirtation with Evelyn was over. He also became more keenly aware of the throng of people than either his wife or innocent son.
“Nonsense!” Evelyn declared as Remus grabbed his father’s left hand. Edouard let a slight smile creep across his face as Remus curled his legs up so he wouldn’t touch the ground as he and Evelyn swung their arms back and forth to mimic the motion of a swing. Across the Atrium and towards the exit fireplaces, the trio went; Remus suspended between both parents.
Edouard let go of his son’s hand to snatch a pinch of sparkling Floo Powder from the jar sitting above one of the polished fireplaces. Edouard threw the powder in as Evelyn gripped Remus’s hand and pushed him in behind his father before she too, stepped into the swirling green flames.
Edouard articulated each syllable of “Madame Grey’s” so that there would be no mistake where the three were going. With a swirl of neon-green light, the family found themselves in a very different fireplace. The stones that made up the fireplace looked as if they’d just been dug from a creek bed, dried, and cemented together into the wall. Evelyn stepped out first, Remus in hand, followed by Edouard, who set down his brief case to dust off his suit. Evelyn fluffed the ash off her dress before patting down Remus.
The three were in a windowless storage room, only illuminated by the faint light of the fire. Boxes labeled with various kinds of teas were piled in the corner, and on the mantle above the fire sat a tiny teacup filled with Floo powder.
Pushing open the lone door into the room, Evelyn looked around the teashop to find it deserted. “Auntie Grey,” Evelyn called cheerfully as she stepped from the closet, unafraid of Muggles wondering how three strangers happened to materialize from the storage room.
Bustling out from another backroom, which was behind the oak counter covered with a lace table runner that served as a place to checkout, came a short, slightly plump woman in her sixties. She was carrying a pot of hot water on a silver tray. She set it on the countertop and brushed several strands of her graying hair out of her rosy face. “Stop by for some tea?”
“No, Auntie, we’re going on a picnic,” Evelyn replied as she held up the basket to show it to her only magical relative.
“Take some tea then,” Grey offered enthusiastically as she went to get several wrapped bags out of their respective places on the shelf behind her, which was stacked with various types of teas in shiny, well-labeled boxes.
“We have lemonade. That’s more proper for picnics,” Evelyn pointed out as Remus tugged at his mother’s hand. He’d already spotted the grass fields beyond the sidewalk, and the aura of a lazy summer day called to him like every curious and playful child.
Edouard gave Evelyn’s aunt a nod of his head. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“You’re always welcome,” Grey responded as she beamed down at Remus, who shot her a small smile, knowing she was important to his mother, but his eyes quickly fixed themselves on the sunlit fields of grass that seemed to sparkle under the azure sky. Evelyn gave a brief wave to her aunt as Edouard opened the door for his wife and his son to exit first. The little bell above the glass door rang as Evelyn and Remus once again stepped out into the humid summer day.
However, it wasn’t the sweltering heat from the city that radiated up from the concrete. The sun beat down, hot but comforting, and the wild flowers in the fields beyond seemed to soak up the sunlight and send off their sweet perfume in return. The incense of the growing flowers in the greened summer grass hung heavy in the humid air as the threesome crossed directly from the door of the tea shop to the fields of flowers that were directly outside its door. Evelyn hiked up her skirt slightly with her free hand as she walked uphill in the grass the came to her knees.
“Remmy, go to that tree and save our spot!” Evelyn shouted as she pointed to an oak tree laden with thick green leaves that sat alone on the top of a little green knoll amidst the sea of wildflowers. Remus sprinted through the grass, dashing towards the distant tree.
Evelyn laughed with glee as she watched her little son race forward. “Run!” She shouted as Edouard put his arm around her shoulders. Sweat trickled down his forehead as the two of them began to leisurely stroll up hill towards the tree that Remus was already trying to climb.
“He’s got all your cheer,” Edouard remarked as he smiled down at his young wife. She flashed him her ever-present smile.
“What was wrong today?” Evelyn asked as she looked up into her husband’s calm eyes, the color of tilled earth. “You seemed so tense.”
“I think there’s some . . . fraud,” Edouard replied in a soft, terse voice. Evelyn waited patiently for him to continue as they kept strolling towards the shade of the oak. “Several of the Aurors complained that they weren’t receiving adequate pay and the notes Gringotts gives me don’t correspond with some of the numbers I’m figuring . . . Oh, Evey. It could be that money is getting pocketed by someone on the inside.”
She laughed and her voice echoed across the serene fields. “Let it go for today! You can find your thief tomorrow.” With that, she practically dragged her husband the remaining distance into the shade of the oak. Edouard went and sat by the tree, leaning up against it and setting the briefcase gently beside him. He closed his eyes with a sigh, letting the smells of the clean air and earth, relax him. Remus scrambled around on the lower branches, scraping off some bark when he moved.
“Remmy!” Evelyn called as she opened the basket and produced the sandwiches and the lemonade she’d charmed not to spill. Remus slid out of the tree. He came down on the side opposite his parents, landing in a patch of lilacs, which gave off a sweet smell when he fell into them. He plucked a couple flowers from the earth and brought them, roots and all, to his mother.
“For me?” Evelyn took the flowers from Remus. “What a sweet boy you are.”
“I’ll take note,” Edouard replied teasingly from where he sat, propped against the tree. “What type of flower?”
“Lilacs: very lovely ones.” Evelyn handed Remus a sandwich and tapped his glass of lemonade with her wand so that he could drink from it. She put the lilacs upon the basket as she went over to sit beside her husband. She poked Edouard, and he opened his eyes once again to eat his sandwich and sip his drink. Evelyn gave his hand a squeeze, which caused him to smile softly at his wife when he met her sparkling eyes the color of a warm, gray dawn in the summer. The day gradually wore, but time seemed not to move. Time passed slowly in that field during that hazy, summer day.