Work Text:
Today was the day. Now was the time. Terrified was Remus, but ready all the same.
Remus and his parents sat around the dining table, sipping quietly at their tea and taking some time to recover from all the food they had just eaten; they weren’t a very traditional Jewish family, but they did like to indulge in a nice Shabbat meal every once in a while.
It was a time of reflection and connection, a time of delving deep into the soul and holding up a huge handful of it against the candlelight to see it shine.
For Remus, it was time for revelation.
“Mum, Dad, there is something I need to tell you,” he began, his voice already trembling.
His father, concerned, lifted his eyelids away from his food-induced drowsiness and leaned forward to set down his tea. “Yes? What is it?” he asked, absently pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose.
There was no way to dance circles around this one. There was no stalling, no sugar-coating, no going back now.
“I am transgender.”
There. He said it. The floodgates were open now, and he couldn’t stop himself from continuing.
“I’m not sure if you know what that means, but I couldn’t keep hiding it anymore. I am transgender,” he repeated, “and my name is Remus.”
Remus, the ancient Roman demi-god. Remus, the warrior. Remus, the survivor. Remus, raised by wolves. Remus, who could only depend on himself to uphold his vision and dream. The name held so much meaning for him, and it felt powerful on his tongue – of course, though, the part about him choosing an ancient Roman name because it matched his boyfriend’s ancient Greek name he could keep to himself for now. As he waited for his parents to respond to his admission, he fiddled with the rim of his mug and thought of how proud of him Sirius would be when he told him of this night.
His parents were both quiet for a while, his mother blowing the steam gently away from her tea and his father pondering with his head on his chin and his eyes closed. The anticipation for their words was almost more nerve-racking than coming out to them in the first place. At last, they finally spoke, much to Remus’s relief. He was shaking so badly he had to set his tea down to avoid spilling it.
His father’s voice came first, followed by his mother’s:
“Remus, hm? Remus Lupin.” He said it tentatively at first, then again with more confidence. “Have you got a middle name, Remus Lupin?”
Taken by surprise, Remus only responded with a small, stifled utterance of confusion.
“How about John?” suggested Mrs. Lupin, “Remus John Lupin.” She smiled and took her son’s hand in her own, blue eyes flickering with warmth in the dim light. “It was my father’s name.”
Remus John Lupin. He had no idea how much freedom and enlightenment was stored in his name until he heard it uttered aloud by his parents for the first time.
“Remus John Lupin,” he murmured, testing the sound of it. A smile slowly spread across his face so wide his eyes were nearly squinted shut. “Yes, I like that.”
Mr. Lupin leaned over and placed a hand on Remus’s shoulder opposite the hand Mrs. Lupin was holding, and Remus felt so happy he might burst with tears of joy.
“Do you have a name I can share with the Rabbi next time we go to Synagogue?” asked his mother. “I know we only go on holidays, but I want everyone to get your name right when we’re there.”
His father suddenly straightened and exclaimed, “Ah! That reminds me!” He then stood up from the table and hurried off down the corridor out of sight.
“Yes, I do,” Remus replied, his voice quieter than usual. He was utterly taken aback by how well they were receiving the news. “It’s Re’uven.”
After he spoke his name to her, his mother’s eyes shone with a sort of warmth that was different than before – it was not the candlelight dancing in her eyes, but a spark of pride. “I love it,” she breathed, followed by a teary-eyed, “I love you.”
Before Remus could break down into complete sobs of overwhelming emotion at the weight of his anxiety lifting off his shoulders and his parents’ gracious acceptance of him, his father burst back into the room with a very dusty old box in his arms and his spectacles balanced precariously on the very tip of his nose.
“Here!” Mr. Lupin announced, “I have these!” He set the box on the table and turned it around, blowing the dust off of the top of it and promptly having a loud, long coughing fit right after as he accidentally breathed it back into his mouth. Neither Remus nor his mum were surprised or concerned; he was always up to some sort of antics. Remus had gotten his mischievous, fun spirit from him.
When he finally cleared his throat enough to stop hacking, he opened the box, revealing various old kippot from his childhood inside it. “I know they’re a little dusty and not very cool, but you can pick out a few that you like and wear them until we can get you some of your own.”
Remus thought his heart would melt on the spot. They were being so thoughtful, so compassionate. “Thank you,” he replied, those pesky tears welling up now, “I love you so much.”
“We love you too, Remus.”
* * *
The rest of the weekend was contemplative and uncertain, like a fawn taking its first steps. Remus felt safe and comfortable in his home now, but there was still a lot of growing left for the family to do. This was only the beginning.
His parents still slipped up from time to time, but quickly corrected themselves without making too much of a fuss. Over the next week, they went as a family to a few thrift shops to buy Remus some proper men’s clothing, and asked him ways in which they could help the transition go easier. He really and truly appreciated that.
Eventually his mother admitted to him that they had learned he was transgender a few weeks before he told them, because they had come across a piece of paper on which he had written down a list of ideas for new names. Once they found it, they looked into what it could mean and learned the basics of what it meant to be transgender by exploring various resources in multiple libraries. They had even been secretly practicing each of his potential names so that it would be easier to adapt to it when the time came.
It was like it had come straight out of a dream. His parents were not perfect — no parents were — but they were definitely trying their best, and that’s all he could ask for. He had never known that something as simple as being called by his name could make his life go so much easier.
Every day he was thankful for his name. And sometimes, on quiet nights, he would reach down into his soul and pull his name from his core, holding it up to the candlelight to watch it shine.