“Who’re you?” the girl asked, scared.
“Call me Chiara,” she said, walking up to her and pulling her out of the foray of rushing customers. She led the girl back towards the table with the umbrella and offered her a seat. “What’s your name?”
“Andromeda.” The girl looked at the bowl of melting ice cream under the ripped umbrella. Chiara passed it to her and handed her a spoon and a napkin. Andromeda took the spoon and dug right in. She pointed with her spoon when she asked her next question, dripping a sticky mess on the tabletop. “Mummy says no dessert till after dinner. I like your necklace; it’s pretty. What’s that in your hand?”
“Thank you. Oh, this,” said Chiara, sitting across from her and showing her the beads linked through her fingers. She brushed her dark hair out of her eyes and touched the gold chain unconsciously, for she’d forgotten she wore it. “It’s called a Rosary. It’s for meditation.”
Andromeda cocked her head to the side, confused, and shrugged her shoulders. She was more interested in the dessert, and it took a moment for Chiara to realise to her quick comparison went right over her head. She picked up her work again and looked up when someone called her name. A tall black man dressed in black robes and scratched boots walked at a fast pace towards her. He wore a chequered Ivy cap and puffed his pipe. A small boy was on his heels. Kingsley had shot up since Chiara had seen him last Easter, and he dragged two colourful bags behind him. He dropped the bags and ran up to hug her.
“You remember me?” Chiara froze for a moment, surprised, and patted his head before she picked him up and kissed him on the cheek. Kingsley made a face and wiped it off. “You’re spending the day with Joaquin?”
“These are for you,” said Kingsley, pointing at the gifts.
“It’s Wade, and you know that,” the man corrected her, tersely, annoyed. He rolled his eyes at Chiara, who laughed softly. “Why did I ever tell you my christened name? I mean, my sister’s called Jessica. You’d think, since we were born together, she’d land me with ‘Jeffrey’ or something normal, too. No, no. We’ve got like a speck of Spaniard blood in the family ...”
“What’s walking?” asked Andromeda, lost.
“Exactly.” Wade nodded. He pecked Chiara on the cheek and made a quick headcount before he turned to walk into the ice cream parlour. “Five sundaes? Who’s the pretty girl?”
“I’ll tell you later,” said Chiara, resting a hand on Kingsley’s shoulder and waving his uncle away. She introduced the little boy to Andromeda. When he asked her age, she held up her left hand; she and Kingsley were the same age. “So, what’s your mother doing today?”
“Working with Dad.” Kingsley smiled when Andromeda offered him the spoon.
“No, that’s rude,” said Wade, carrying out the sundaes on a laden tray. He dished out their orders and passed out napkins. After dipping his cherries onto Chiara’s plate, he handed Kingsley the last set of wrapped silverware. “Use your own, please, and I’ve brought two fresh ones, so let her polish off that one. You just had lunch with Mum and Dad, remember? And who’re you, miss? Are you lost?”
Andromeda nodded. She crossed her legs, which was a funny thing, seeing as her tiny feet swung high above the ground. Chiara and Wade sat back and let her tell her tale, interrupting her only to encourage her to go on. The girl had chubby hands and large eyes. She bit her lip, nervous, for her mother had probably warned her against talking with strangers. Chiara caught random words when the girl’s eyes welled with tears: ‘sisters’, ‘tripped’, ‘Bella’ and ‘lost’. It was hard to piece together, but Chiara didn’t press her to repeat her story. Wade interrogated people for a living, as a Hit Wizard, and he had probably, unintentionally, of course, frightened the girl.
“Sorry.” Wade picked up on that, too, and hurriedly offered her anything to put her in better spirits. He reached over the table and squeezed her hand; he flashed Andromeda his best reassuring smile and spoke in a calm voice. “We’ll find them. We’ll find your mum and dad, and Bella, too.”
“And Cissy,” she added, dropping her hand.
“Yes, yes, her, too,” added Wade, taking a bite of his sundae. “You’ve two sisters? Bella and your other sissy? I’ve a sister. She talks a lot. Never shuts up, talks your ear off, she does.”
Andromeda giggled when Chiara tapped his hand with her spoon and shook her head. “No, silly, that’s her name. Cissy.”
“Oh.” Wade laughed at the thought. “Three little girls. I bet your father’s a busy man.”
“Why?” Andromeda didn’t catch the joke. She looked round and jumped out of the chair, tipping over the soupy sundae. “Daddy!”
“Where’ve you been?” A tall man with a scruffy beard walked up to her and held out his hand. Andromeda didn’t take it. He rounded on Chiara, furious. “Do you always take children, you idiot?”
“No, sir, I ...” Chiara took a deep breath and decided on another approach, as the man’s face turned redder with each passing moment. He started screaming and stringing insults together. “She was lost.”
He said something she didn’t catch and reached inside his robes. A tall girl with rippling dark hair held the man’s hand. Chiara might not have understood the meaning, but she knew by his contorted features and harsh tone that it was an insult. When he raised his hand, Chiara flinched, and Wade jumped to his feet and wrapped his fingers round the man’s wrist.
“Mr. Black,” Wade hissed warningly. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you. The moment you lay your hand this woman, you’re in the wrong. Think.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pherson, but I don’t need a lesson,” said Mr. Black. He dropped his hand and glared at Chiara. “A Mudblood is what you are. A fucking fool who isn’t worth a moment of my time because you don’t belong here. Go back to your poor husband. Good day.”
“Sir.” Chiara brushed off the man’s anger, assuming she got the bad end of his panic after he frantically searched for his little girl. She gave it a third go, deaf to the consequences. “I don’t think your daughter sees colour, or nationality, or anything else, and the fact that you pass on such prejudices ...”
“I tire of you, Madam, you waste my time,” said Mr. Black. He went a distance and walked to the nearest shop, a bookshop, and called for his daughter.
“Wait.” Chiara put a hand on Andromeda’s shoulder, stopping her. Chiara handed her the Rosary, slipped the golden chain off her neck, and gave them to Andromeda. “Take this.”
“Bye, Walking.” Andromeda waved good-bye to Kingsley and Wade and shook her head.
“No, no,” said Chiara, setting a sleepy Kingsley on the floor and kissing the girl’s hands. “It’s my gift to you for spending the afternoon with us. It was nice meeting you. Take it. It’s nothing.”
“Andromeda, come!” Mr. Black called to her, stopping in his tracks.
Andromeda slipped the things in her pocket, a tangled mess, in her pocket and ran off after her father.
He’d met his Healer when he was four. They met every following year until he was sixteen. Since then, the sessions had grown fewer and far in between. It was always at the same time at the same place. The dates changed, though, but she lived by an unpredictable calendar. Since Remus didn’t work that much and couldn’t find employment, he went by her schedule. When he was a little boy, his grandfather had dragged him to the hospital. At first, the old man thought the bite was an unfortunate encounter with a neighbour’s dog. A good Catholic man, he had thought the cut had gotten infected; he had believed in evil, yes, but there was no way he’d admit his grandson had become a werewolf. Not even whilst in confession, which was quite a feat.
Remus hadn’t slept all night. He just lay there next to his wife and thought about things. How was he going to fill this woman in over the last few years? Abbey Sedgewick, for all intents and purposes, had been like a surrogate mother to him. The last time they’d seen each other, she had briefed him over the Wolfsbane Potion. It had been a few weeks before he’d left to teach at Hogwarts. He’d known its properties like the back of his hand; he’d memorised its ingredients by age eight. And, again, at ten, when the potioneer had altered its solution. Of course, at that time, he’d had no idea what the nonsense was, but he’d recited it like a chemist.
Last night, he’d found a dull pocketknife buried at the bottom of his things. He’d moved in, or, rather, moved back into Nymphadora’s parents’ place weeks ago, but he hadn’t settled in because it didn’t feel right. No, it wasn’t just because he was nearing forty and living off his wife’s parents, who weren’t that much older than he. Of course, that had something to do with it, but he told himself over and over that they were in the middle of a war; everyone made sacrifices. He always left the older things he’d carried round alone. They were things he’d picked up in his travels, and had managed to pass a few trinkets off to Hagrid. Nothing dangerous. As much as he unpacked and migrated, unpacked and migrated, he’d learned to pack light and leave things behind.
Remus reached over Nymphadora and took the pocketknife off the bedside cabinet. He flipped it open and turned the blade over. There was a soft knock on the door. He flinched. The stabbing pain pulsed through his hand and he groaned and dropped the knife. Blood spilled onto the sheets. Dora, who had jerked awake, snatched her wand off the table and looked around, disoriented. The door opened and Andromeda poked her head inside.
“You left a note to wake you up by six,” she said. She was still dressed in her nightgown and opened the door when she saw the blood. Remus pulled off his white t-shirt and wrapped the wound, applying pressure. Her brown eyes got big. “What did you do?”
“It’s still sharp,” he said, surprised.
He gingerly picked up the knife with his other hand. His wand lay on top of a large volume on the floor. He excused himself and walked into the small bathroom. After taking a quick shower and running his hand under the tap, he tapped it with his wand and bandages wrapped round it. His clothes, a long sleeved shirt and trousers, were hung on the metal rack, next to the towels. He got dressed, cleaned the knife and opened the door. He knew they’d both be standing right there.
“What happened?” Dora asked.
“Nothing.” He slipped the knife in his pocket and started brushing his teeth. “Being foolish, that’s all. I’m alert now, though, so that works.”
“Who needs wakeup calls?” Andromeda rolled her eyes. “That’s a lot of blood for a cut.”
“Yes.” Remus tossed the stained t-shirt in the wastebasket and rinsed. It was just one of those traits that he’d learned. The first time he’d received a wound that wouldn’t close, he’d flipped over a couch and cut his head on the coffee table. His grandfather had panicked, of course, thinking he’d bleed to death. “It happens. I’ll clean it up.”
“Don’t bother,” said Andromeda, helping him button his other cuff. “Can you shave with one hand?”
It would only have taken a minute. Before he answered, she, too, ran her hands under the tap and got a razor and shaving cream. She put foam in her hand and spread it over his face. She made quick work with the razorblade, tapping it on the porcelain every few strokes. She didn’t nick him once and handed him a small towel after he’d washed warm water over his face.
“Thank you,” he said, putting the shaving cream back in the overhead medicine cabinet.
“No problem,” she said, examining her handiwork. “Ted and my father were both like this. They always rushed in the mornings. I usually used a knife on my father, but you probably prefer it this way. I never understood why Father was late because he had this beautiful pocket watch.”
“Oh.” Remus didn’t know what to say so he stepped out of the bathroom and let Dora get ready for the day. Andromeda followed him.
Since her husband had died, Andromeda acted like a different person towards him. Ted had talked with her before he’d left. About a week after his body had been found, she just struck up a conversation over breakfast and watched Remus repair an ancient wireless that he’d found in the house. Remus accepted this and didn’t ask for forgiveness. He’d had no right, for one thing, and these things just needed to work themselves out.
Last year, he’d had a chat with Ted. They’d shared quite a few of these private talks, actually, because Ted had changed the subject like the weather. Mainly, Remus listened and nodded at the appropriate times because he didn’t have much to say. An apology runs itself dry whenever it’s used too often. It loses all sincerity, all passion, and fades into a recited speech. It was after he’d married the man’s daughter, and Remus couldn’t figure out why he’d gone through with it. Ted, a people person, didn’t have to hear Remus admit anything.
“Do you want anything?” asked Andromeda as they entered the kitchen. Remus started the coffee and made scrambled eggs and grilled cheese sandwiches. “That’s breakfast?”
“You don’t have any bacon,” he said, shrugging. He poured her some coffee and nibbled on one of the sandwiches. When Dora walked in, he dished out the eggs and handed plates to them.
“Are you nervous?” Andromeda sat down next to her daughter and watched him pace the room.
“No,” he lied, folding the second sandwich in half and stopped at the sink to pour himself a glass of water. Abbey would pick up on these things; she always read her patients well. “I’ve done this a hundred times. She’ll talk and I’ll listen, but the potioneer will be there, too, and he’ll fire off endless questions.”
“What does he do?” Andromeda smiled. “I cannot believe you take this so easily.”
“Damocles,” said Remus. When both women gave him looks, he backtracked. “He’s the man who finally succeeded on inventing the Wolfbane’s Potion. He acts like a psychologist, honestly, or, so, they say, anyway. I’ve never met him. That’s a person who studies biology and thought processes. Like a Leglimens, but not quite.”
“He’s a Muggle?” asked Dora.
“No, he’s a wizard, but he’s like you. Abbey talks, and talks, and talks.” Remus smiled warmly, meaning no offense. Andromeda snorted. “You should get along famously. You want to come?”
“Me?” Dora pointed at herself, shocked he’d even made the suggestion. She ran a nervous hand through her curly auburn locks. “Yeah, I mean, if you want me to ...”
“He asked you,” said Andromeda shortly, nodding at Remus. He’d already planned on asking her, anyway, but her mother dropped hints last night. “He wants you there, Nymphadora.”
Dora made a face but said nothing. She knocked over a crystal vase and grabbed an umbrella on her way out. When they got outside, after Andromeda had dropped her name at least three other times, she took her frustration out on a gnome that was scurrying through the garden. It fell over into the pond with a soft splash. They walked a short distance, and he offered her his injured arm.
“I swear. When all this clears up and I’m back in the office,” she said, tripping over her feet. Remus took the umbrella and held it over them. “I am drafting a request with Kingsley and changing my name.”
They stood in the line at the hospital for a while, but Remus had expected no less. It happened the same way all the time. Usually, he arrived a bit earlier, but that was all right because the queue wasn’t too backed up in the early morning. When they reached the Welcome Witch, she’d directed them, none too nicely, towards the first floor. Remus and Dora walked up the flight of stairs and turned into a dark panelled room. It was a small ward with two occupants. Remus dropped his bag on the nearest bed and looked round. There was a thin black man closing a patient’s curtains round his bed.
“Excuse me?” Remus took the hint from the young man’s lime-green robes. “I’m looking for Abigail Sedgwick.”
“No, I won’t take that as an answer. That’s shit, well-worded shit, yes, but it’s nonsense.” The doors flew open and a plump woman with curly locks walked in. She was dictating a report to another nervous trainee, who scratched something out with his quill. She slipped off her travelling cloak and stepped into her office to drop her things before she walked back into the ward. “Abbey’s here. She’s late.”
“Only five minutes,” said Remus, hugging her and shaking the trainee’s hand. He made a quick introduction, passing his hand between his wife and the Healer personnel. “Hello, Augustus, you’re still in the programme, I see. Abbey hasn’t driven you mad?”
“Oh, funny,” said Abbey, glancing at her top clipboard. “There’s a squirrel in my attic and Keith, and a squirrel and a husband, a surgeon, no less. Let’s just hope I have a house when I get home.”
“Sounds like fun,” said Remus, smiling. “And you left him alone? Where’s Mr. Belby?”
“In Endinburgh,” she said, frustrated, so Remus dropped it, seeing it was a sore subject. “We met in Hogsmeade last week to schedule this, and he decided he’d had a better appointment. So, you’re stuck with me.”
“Sorry.” Remus sat on the bed and Dora conjured a chair out of midair.
“No. No, he will be, seeing as it’s been thirty years, but what the hell.” Abbey sat next to him and took an ink bottle out of the bedside cabinet, ready to jot down notes. “How are you?”
“Is that a surface question or a deeper one?” Remus raised his eyebrows and checked himself with her look. He settled for shrugging his shoulders. “What do you want to know? I’m an open book.”
“Liar.” Abbey glared at him and looked to Dora for an ally. “Is he like this with you, too, or is this especially reserved for me? Do you want me to get you alone? I will. You’ll hate me early in the morning, Mr. Lupin, because I don’t stop till I get what I want.”
“I know.” Remus second guessed this appointment already. Abbey sort of reminded him of a previous pompous student, Ernie Macmillan, whenever she got into her stride and struck a chord.
“Do you?” She raised her eyebrows and crossed her legs. “Just checking. What’s new?”
Remus hid a smile. She was already jotting down notes at top speed. “You were granted to continue this trial in wartime? Abbey, don’t look at me like that; it’s a fair question, and, no, I’m not steering you off the subject. I will answer you.”
“Hospitals are sanctuaries,” she said simply, “and Healers and donators are seeing that better this time round. Whilst in this establishment, we’ve taken an oath to forget our personal opinion and take no sides. Mind you, if Greyback walked through these doors and into my ward, I’m bide my sweet time and watch the bastard bleed to death.”
“Wow.” Dora sounded surprised.
“Sorry,” said Abbey in an undertone. She wasn’t. Remus could see it in her eyes. “So, you never told me about your experience with the potion dosage.”
Remus thought for a moment and answered slowly, “It tastes awful. It’s hard to explain. It’s like you know it’ll be bad, and then it hits you ...”
“Like shit?” Abbey prompted him.
“Never tried it,” said Remus, “so I can’t make the comparison.”
Dora snorted.
“Smart arse,” Abbey muttered under her breath. Remus wondered if she took a note of that, too. “Anything else? Does it hurt?”
“No, but I expected it to,” he said, snapping his fingers when he remembered something else, “and it burns when it comes back up. Like rum.”
“No!” Abbey jotted that down with her quill. “See? Nobody else bothers to tell me this. You can’t get ill, though, for its too expensive as a brew.”
“Exactly.” Remus looked at the wall, trying to phrase his thoughts.
“You were sceptical?” Abbey steered away from putting words in this mouth. Remus nodded. “Oh, I understand. Was it worth your pains?”
“Yes, well I “ yes and no. Let’s see.” Remus paused again and marshalled his thoughts as he passed his hand over his face. He glanced at his wife, knowing how awkward this would sound, but he said it nonetheless. “All right. You know how women take birth control pills?”
“Yes.” Abbey shook with silent laughter and kept a straight face. She finally asked, “Where the hell did you get that idea?”
Remus just looked at her.
“Lily.” Abbey figured it out on her first guess. “You and that girl ...”
“Well, there’s James and Sirius who were off doing their things,” said Remus, a little defensive, “and Peter doing God knows what. All right, so we know what, but I’m not going there because I’m not in the mood. If we ever meet again, Peter will not escape me.”
“And Sirius?” She swung the conversation like a pendulum.
“I don’t want to discuss that, either,” he said, holding his hands in his lap. He shook his head when she called his name. “No, I can’t.”
“Remus,” said Dora. She reached out to grab his hand, and he snatched it away.
"You 'ere," called a voice by the solitary window. "My bandages need changing while you're over 'ere chatting."
"Excuse me." Abbey switched clipboards and Remus glimpsed the scribbled name of 'Scabior'. She walked over to the solitary window and there was a loud clang as something metallic hit the floor.
"Clean that, nurse," demanded the patient.
"If you ..." Abbey paused and lowered her voice. "If you throw this thing at me again, you'll be scraping sick and shit out of all these without magic because you have a good hand. It'll be a long night with you and me. Try me."
Scabior said nothing more.
When she returned, Abbey flipped through her papers and tapped her quill on the other clipboard. She did indeed know him like a favourite battered paperback novel. “Chiara.”
“Who’s that?” Dora asked.
“No. We’re done.” Remus got to his feet and held a hand out to his wife.
“No.” Abbey let him get to the door before she locked it with a casual flick of her wand. One of the patients looked over at them. “You think about her all the time, don’t you? Especially now, with your own family, and it scares you to death.”
“Who is Chiara?” asked Dora, curious.
“Nobody.” Remus knew if he believed in the philosophy of the Church, and he abandoned the prayer book ages ago, he’d be marked for hell just for saying that. “Come on.”
“You did nothing wrong.” Abbey crossed her arms and took a deep breath. “These things happen.”
“Shut up.”
“Remus,” Dora scolded him.
Remus waved his hand, telling her she had nothing to do with this.
“You did nothing wrong,” Abbey repeated, dead calm. “It isn’t your fault.”
“Stop saying that,” Remus hissed through his teeth. “You feed me the same lines every time, and what does it all mean? Nothing.”
He closed his eyes and flashes flooded his memory. A man’s raspy voice entered his thoughts, and Remus found it frustrating that he couldn’t place features or a face. Still, after everything, it was a fussy memory. There’d been screaming and crying and a form had fallen down the stairs. There’d been a flash of light, too, but he couldn’t distinguish anything. Remus had cowered against the wall and clutched his bloody arm.
“Wade said it was his child .” Abbey sighed when Remus looked at her. “It wasn’t the accident “ it just sparked things, and she went back to get something. Wade was too late. He loved her.”
“Is that why he’s still alone?” Remus blinked his eyes. He’d heard this before, of course, and it carried a new meaning. His mother had lain at his feet begging him, pleading for him to run for help. He had been paralysed with fear. “She's not coming back.”
“Remus. You didn’t hurt her,” said Abbey, seeing that she wasn’t going to get far with him in this state. “You were a little boy, Remus, nobody blames you.”
“I know.” He stared at the dark panels. He could hear Dora sniffing, and he dared not to look at her, for he may lose his composure. “Wade’s told me that over and over. I know.”
“No, you don’t,” Abbey said sadly, “but maybe one day, you will.”
Abbey slipped her hand in her robes and handed him two crystal phials. There was a soft knock on the door. Augustus went to go get it. Remus and Dora looked up, shocked to see Andromeda standing there. She looked uncomfortable. He had no idea how long she’d been standing by that door or how much she’d heard of their conversation. Before Dora could tell her off for following them, Andromeda reached inside her robes and handed Remus a beaded mess.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were Chiara’s son?” She squeezed Remus’s hand and smiled at the confusion lined on his face. “You don’t have to understand, and you don’t even have to believe. This damn thing has been buried in a jewellery box for ages. Give it time. Even if it’s one step forward, two steps back, you’ll find a way. You need this more than I do.”