Remus Lupin groaned from the nearby sofa, and his father looked up. It had been a month since he had been bitten, but he was still as weak as ever; perhaps even more so after his first transformation. Jonathan looked back at his untouched tea, having less desire than ever to actually drink it. His wife, Lucinda, was lying beside her five year old son, stroking his sandy hair. She had been doing so all day, just sitting there, watching Remusâ“it was all she had done since he had been attacked. All she had done while heâd been lying in St. Mungoâs, all sheâd been doing since heâd been brought home.
And this is what Jonathan had been doing: sitting as far away from his son as possible. Remus had tried to catch his eye, but Jonathan couldnât bring himself to even look at his son, lying covered in scars that were, ultimately, his fault. If only he hadnât angered Greyback. If only he had been moments sooner and realized that Remus was not in his bed... that he was outside... if only...
Jonathan gulped his now-cold tea in an effort to stop the flow of thoughts that always seemed to cascade whenever he looked at his son. The attempt was in vain. If things would have been different, if he would have been smarter, then Remus would not be lying, scarred and weak on the couch. Remus wouldnât have spent two weeks of his young life confined to a hospital bed; he wouldnât be a...a...
Jonathan drank his tea again, only vaguely aware that he had reached the sodden tea leaves.
If it wasnât for him and his idiotic mistakes, Remus would be up and about, as normal and healthy as any other young wizard. He would more than likely be outside, eagerly expecting his father to play hide-and-seek with him, or perhaps his mother would be reading him a story from the thick volume of fairytales they had bought when Remus had been born, rather than tending to the large gash, still red and fresh, that ran from his right side up to his neck.
Lucinda had refused to talk to Jonathan since the attack, she had every right to. It was he, after all, who had ruined their only sonâs life. It was he who had convicted his son to the life of an outcast, a life filled with pain and heartache. Jonathan, put his cup to his lips again, gagging on the tea leaves. Lucinda glanced at him for the briefest of moments, before looking again at her son.
Jonathan rose, rinsed his cup and crossed the hall to the living room, making to sit beside his wife; she tensed instantly. He didnât try to talk to her; the last time he had attempted a conversation it had ended with the two of them yelling, her responsible for most of it. âHow could you! You know what that monsterâs like!â He knew to say anything would develop into the same fight, and he didnât want to wake Remus. He merely sat beside his wife, looking down at his boy. He had always been small and thin for his age, but more so now than ever. Now, he looked sickly: his features were pale, almost blending into the pillow he lay upon; his light brown hair was matted to his thin face; dark circles hid beneath his eyes; and there was a slash, still bleeding, from the wolf that had disappeared back into the boyâs body mere minutes ago.
âHowâs he doing, then?â Jonathan asked, reaching to pat his sonâs hand. Lucinda reached forward protectively, stopping her husband from coming any nearer to their son. He paused immediately; Lucinda and his eyes meeting briefly. Her eyes were the sharpest blue, penetrating; Remus, however, had inherited his fatherâs own brown eyes. Yet, there wasnât any love or understanding in Lucindaâs eyes this morning; there hadnât been for a month. The only emotions he ever saw reflecting in those clear orbs were anger if she was looking at him, or sorrow if she was with Remus.
âIâll leave you with him, then?â he asked tentatively.
âGo off then, leave him when heâs like this!â
âYou wonât let me anywhere near him!â he spat in a harsh whisper.
âWell of course not! If you would have just--you know what that... that maniacâs like!â
âYou talk as though I wanted this to happen to Remus! Cindi, you know that I would neverâ“that if I could take it for him I wouldâ“donât say this is my fault!â he finished in a defeated breath, knowing that to not blame himself was a lie, but he couldnât stand to hear the accusation coming from Lucinda or, even worse, from Remus.
âNot your fault!âShe was whispering too, though it didnât appear that any amount of noise would wake Remus; he was sleeping soundly, his features expressionless. âIf you would have justâ“if you could haveâ“you should have...â
âDonât you dare say what I should have done, Cindi!â Jonathan said gravely, rising from his seat. âYou have no idea...what would you have done? Cindi, I--â
âLook at him!â Cindi yelled suddenly, standing, pointing at their son, who still hadnât stirred.
Jonathan stared for a moment, before quickly looking away, as though suddenly finding the beige carpet immensely interesting. âI canât.â
He turned toward the door, repeating weakly, âIâll leave you to him, then.â The door shut quietly behind him, and he set off down the path that led to the nearby Muggle village. The morning air was stiff around him, and stung his eyes, which had become suddenly moist. He couldnât stand to be in that house any longer--couldnât stand to see Remus lying there, completely helpless, completely unknowing...
He turned the corner more sharply than he had intended, wondering again whether it was wise to not have told Remus the truth about the attack. The Healers at St. Mungoâs had said he was too young to understand--let him go on believing it was a wild dog heâd run into, continue to come up with excuses to explain what happened to him once a month until he was old enough to understand.
But when exactly is âold enoughâ?
Lucinda had agreed, eager to shelter her baby boy from the horrible truth of what he was and how the rest of the world would see him for as long as she possibly could. Jonathan had wondered, had felt that if, perhaps, Remus was capable of being a werewolf, wasnât he capable of understanding what was happening to him?
But the Healers had said....Yes, yes, the Healers had said and he would do whatever the Healers thought was best; after all, they knew more about this kind of thing than he did.
He arrived in the Muggle village and set off toward the nearest pub. It didnât occur to him until he was standing outside of its darkened windows that there wasnât any way the pub would be open; it wasnât even seven oâ clock yet.
But he needed something... something more than tea to calm his nerves. He set off toward the nearest store, and bought the hardest liquor he could find. Then, sitting outside on the sidewalkâs curb, he began to drink.
Jonathan had never been a drinker...the last time heâd had a drink was his and Lucindaâs honeymoon, nearly eight years ago. He grunted, taking another sip from the bottle. This was much more effective than tea, he could already begin to feel his troubles disappearing with the amber liquid.
Once again his memories seemed to return to Remus. Lucinda and himself had tried for three years to have child...three long years with absolutely nothing more than sadness and disappointment.
After five miscarriages, they had resigned to giving up, admitting that they just werenât meant to have children...
And then Remus had come. Quite out of nowhere, Remus had come...and he had been fairly healthy. Premature, though he was, after a few extra weeks in the hospital he was able to return home, and happy and fit as any other baby.
He smiled into his alcohol, the effects already beginning to make life seem much less serious. Remus had been a bright baby, and had grown into an equally intelligent little boy, always asking questions about the world around him.
Jonathan sighed; the liquor beginning to take a new effect; suddenly the reality of the situation seemed much sadder, and the inhibitions that had quelled his sadness, stopped him from breaking down completely, were now gone. He heaved a dry sob, thinking dully that none of it mattered--
Remus could be one of the brightest boys of his age, and it wouldnât matter. All that anyone would ever see was the wolf, that beast he became once a month. The thing he hadnât asked for, nor wanted--the mere fate he had been dealt. No one would ever see the kind, caring person that was beneath the scars or the shy boy beneath the howls of the werewolfâ“a dangerous half-breed, thatâs all he would ever be viewed as.
Jonathan took another gulp of his drink, grimacing slightly at the bitter taste. In the back of his mind he knew it was best to stop thinking about his son and the problems they would, inevitably, have to face. The right thing to do now was sit and drink. Just drink, drink, drink...
âBit early to be hitting that stuff already, donât you think?â
Jonathan turned around, an elderly man with frazzled grey hair had approached him, his hands shoved deeply within his pockets. It took a moment for Jonathan to realize who he was; he had been so keen to get the liquor and begin drinking that he hadnât noticed much else. At last, he recognized the man as the clerk he had bought the alcohol from, and now the man was sitting beside him, taking out a cigarette.
âYou strike me as someone who isnât normally a heavy drinker,â the man began thoughtfully.
âYou strike me as someone who should mind their own business,â Jonathan spat, surprised at the hold the alcohol had already begun to take upon him, or perhaps he was just using that as an excuse. That may well be it. Heâd been angry for a while: angry at Greyback for having bitten his son, angry at Remus for having been out of bed, angry at the Healers who had told him with so little empathy that there wasnât a cure, angry at Lucinda and her bitterness, angry at himself and what he had done. And now, he was angry at this old fool. This old fool who was sticking that large, bulbous nose into his business.
âI suppose I am being a bit nosey--â
âGood, now if you donât mind, â Jonathan took another gulp of the liquor, eager to do the one thing he could do to calm himself and the rage that had been churning within him for a month. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldnât release any of this anger, he could only drown it in this blessed liquid. Jonathan couldnât go after at Greyback without losing his own life, and for no reason would he punish Remus, the rest of his life would be consequence enough; he couldnât bring himself to hurt that poor boy any more. And the Healers? It wasnât their fault there wasnât a cure, nor could he blame Lucinda, and if he beat himself any longer there wouldnât be much of Jonathan Lupin left. But he could yell at this old man.
âWhat you still doing here?â He drained the last of his first bottle, and eagerly opened another.
âTaking a break,â the man said, lifting his cigarette to his lips to explain. âGood time of the day to think.â
âThatâs just about what I want to stop doing,â Jonathan muttered, swallowing half of the bottle at once. âAnd the quicker, the better.â
The old man looked at him for a moment. âFamily problems?â
âWhatâs it to you?â Jonathan snapped, taking another sip.
âYouâre too old to be worrying about some quick girlfriend, looks like youâve settled down, or at least tried to. Whatâs it, a divorce?â
âNo, not yet, at least...â Jonathan didnât know what else to say. Lucinda couldnât divorce him; she cared too much for Remus and there was no way she could be able handle his monthly transformations alone. But then again, she hated him so much these days.
âWhoâs fault is it?â
âSorry?â
âWhatever you and the missus is on about, itâs her fault, right?â
âNo, I--â he stopped. Why was he blaming himself? It was Lucinda who had put Remus to bed? She should have made sure he was asleep! This wasnât his fault, not at all. âItâs herâs, all herâsâ he reasoned, reaching for his third bottle.
âNot yourâs at all?â
âNah,â he said, raising the rim of the bottle to his lips. Remusâ lycanthropy wasnât his fault. Not at allâ“Greyback was a monster; Lucinda should have watched Remus more carefully; Healers werenât smart enough to find a cure; Remus... Remus misbehaved... should have been in bed...
Funny how alcohol puts everything in perspective.
The old man was silent for a long time, long enough for Jonathan to reach his fourth drink.
âWhoa, go easy there--â
âDonât tell me what to do!â Jonathan spat. âIâm tired of people telling me what to do! Telling me how to raise my son! Well, heâs my son, you hear! My son, and I donât need any bloody Healers to tell me how to raise him! Heâs not changed any, not really...â He fell into himself, slumping over his stomach.
âShouldnât you start backing off?â the man reached for the final bottles, still in the bag beside Jonathan, who harshly batted the manâs hand away.
âAnd I donât need some old fool telling me what to do either!â
âOf course,â the man held his hands up in surrender. âJust thought you might want to talk; âmight be able to help--â
âYou canât, you old fool! No one can help him! Itâs useless! Iâm useless!â he finished dejectedly, âIâm useless. Canât help anyone. Canât do anything.â
âIâm sure thereâs something--â
âThereâs nothing!â Jonathan spat.
âI have trouble believing that,â the man said, thumbing his cigarette into the gutter. âThere has to be something that can be done.â
âTHERE ISNâT!â Jonathan stood, smashing his bottle into the street, the amber liquid dripping off the sidewalk onto the pavement. âYou brainless git, itâs pointless. It would have been better if...if...â he collapsed on the sidewalk again.
The man looked into him, clear blue eyes piercing into Jonathanâs now watery-brown.
âMy son is...â Jonathan stopped. He wasnât intoxicated enough to forget that he was talking to a Muggle. âSick,â he finished lamely, his blurred vision staring unseeingly ahead of him, determined to look anywhere except at the old man.
âIs it fatal?â the man asked, and Jonathan was surprised to find that his voice was filled with real concern.
Jonathan shook his head. âNot in so many words...â It could be, though. Remusâ transformations will only get worse the older he becomes. If the wolf attacks itself this much when the boyâs only five... Jonathan shuddered to imagine Remusâ injuries while he was a teenager or an adult.
âMust be hard for your son.â the man replied thoughtfully.
âHe doesnât know--too young--wouldnât understand...â Jonathan slurred, still refusing to meet the old manâs eyes.
âChildren understand more than we give them credit for,â the man replied. âEspecially if itâs happening to them.â He pulled out another cigarette, âThey have questions, they want answers, plain and simpleâ“just like adults do. How would you like to be kept in the dark about something like...er...what is it you said your son had?â
Jonathan looked ahead. To be honest, he had no idea what sort of pain Remus had gone through last night, but if he could imagine, just have the faintest idea what his boy could have sufferedâ“if it was him who was being forced to become a monster once a month...
Heâd want answers. Heâd want to know what was happening to himâ“within him. Heâd want to understand.
And before Remus had been bitten...before everything had gone so horribly wrong, Lucinda had always cooed to Remus how much like his father he was. How similar the two of them were...
Remus would want to understand.
And...Jonathan realized, standing up and turning in the direction of his home, Remus is capable of understanding.
âThank you,â he said to the man, and began to go home, where everything was falling apart and where he was going to repair what he had begun over a month ago... Lucinda and Remus were exactly as Jonathan had left them: Remus, still asleep, Lucinda still watching over him. Lucinda jumped immediately toward him, looking Jonathan up and down. âYouâve been drinking,â
she said after a few moments.
âI needed to...â What was he going to say exactlyâ“get his mind off of things? âIâm going to bed.â he mumbled. Nothing good could come from a drunken conversation...he could literally feel his reason slipping away as he looked over at his son. It would be best to wait.
âSo you go off and get yourself drunk!âLucinda was saying. âAfter everything that Remus has been through, everything you did--â
âDONâT BLAME THIS ON ME, LUCINDA! YOU HAVE NO IDEA...DONâT KNOW...
IâM NOT AT FAULT HERE!â
âDad?â
Jonathan wilted. He had been ready to fight, ready to set Lucinda straight and make her see how much this was hurting him, to force her to understand that she wasnât the only parent that loved Remus, that his heart was breaking too. He had been ready to scream and yell at her, at long last, but he was also ready to set things straight with Remus. And now seemed like a good time to do so.
Remus had lifted his head, the scar on his neck more prominent then ever. Jonathan approached, taking a seat beside his son on the couch. Lucinda had followed, lips pursed, and stood behind Jonathan, her eyes relaying a message that Jonathan had seen all too often lately: Donât talk to Remus.
Jonathan reached forward and patted the top of his sonâs head. âHowâre you feeling, Remus?â
âAwful,â was his sonâs response, barely more than a whisper. Jonathan smiled sympathetically; Remus had always been so quiet, but now more than ever.
âDaddy?â Remus asked, his bright brown eyes seemed to almost protrude from his weak face.
âYes, Remus?â
âAre you mad at me?â
âMad at you?â Jonathan looked at his son. This was the last thing he had expected; why would Remus think that he was angry?
âI said I was sorry for being out of bed, but you havenât talked to me at all. Iâm sorry, Dad, please, Iâm sorry!â
Jonathan stared at his son, hurt to see the tears that had welled in his eyes so suddenly. He glanced at his wife, and she too seemed to understand. Now was the time to stop feeling guilty, to stop pointing fingers. Now was the time to act, and to accept the cards they had been dealt. Now was the time to live with what they had been givenâ“it was time for Lucinda to let Jonathan back into their sonâs life, and it had been foolish of her to have denied the two of them, and equally as foolish of Jonathan to have separated himself. It was time for him to be a father, because now Remus needed himâ“he needed him more than he ever had before.
âDaddy?â
Jonathan looked again at his son, and smiled weakly, âIâm not mad, Remus and I forgive you.â He looked again at the marks that spread across his sonâs frail frame, and sighed. This was more than a skinned knee that he could fix with a kiss; Remusâ entire young life had fallen apart and now lay broken around him. This was something that Remus needed to fix himself.And it could take years...it could take a lifetime... Remus would need guidance and help to put those pieces back together--a father and mother both to be beside him with all the kisses and bandages needed.
âRemus,âJonathan began, with a glance at his wife; the trust was restored in her eyes as she looked from father to son. She knew that she had pampered Remus as much as she could, and now he needed the firm, sturdy hand of a father. âRemus,â he said, looking into his sonâs large, brown eyes, âDo you remember what happened to you last night?â
Remus shook his head.
âJonathan, the Healers said--â
âLucinda, itâs my turn to be with Remus. Itâs my turn to help him.â He looked at his son again, and said seriously, âDo you want to know?â
Remus nodded.
Jonathan sighed and with a sideways look at his wife, motioned for her to sit down. It would take the both of them to raise Remus, to help him over the obstacles life had given him. Now, at the young age of five, it was time for Remus to do quite a bit of growing up and he and Lucinda would do it with him.
Unexpected Advice by allura mystique
Chapter Notes: Let me see here... I don't own the books; and I especially don't own Remus Lupin. However, Jonathan and Lucinda came from my own mind. Besides that, this story came out of nowhere and I just thought it would be fun to write. So... pretty, pretty, pretty please with Chocolate Frogs and Cauldron Cakes on top--R&R!