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remus is just fixing up a sandwich for harry’s lunch when there’s a knock at the door. he barely notices, because the battered kettle is screeching, and by the time he gets it to stop, harry is tugging at the hem of his sweater.
“moony moony moony moony moony there’s someone at the door!” he exclaims, bouncing on his heels, and remus has to pick him up to stop him from making the hot water spill everywhere.
there’s never someone at the door, remus knows that much, and so he carries harry to his bedroom, sets him on the bed, and tells him not to make a sound. harry’s eyebrows draw together, and his lip juts out as he holds tight to remus’ sweater; and so he wraps him in one of his scarves, kisses his forehead and goes to fetch his wand from the kitchen.
the knocks have gone quiet, and remus thinks that whoever was there must’ve left by now. until there’s another one, and shortly thereafter another, and so remus places his other hand on the doorknob, a spell on his lips, and yanks open the door.
he does not expect his father to be looking back at him.
when remus gives lyall a cup of tea, it’s half-cold and not nearly as strong as he would have it in the mornings of the lupin household, (a life that remus hasn’t known since sixth year, a house that only had his father in it from there on out,) but lyall says nothing at all and takes it with a smile.
remus sits down beside him, holding the mug in his shaking hands, but spilling it will only cause questions and oh how he hates the questions and so he places it down on the battered side table.
lyall doesn’t comment on it. instead, he says, “i heard what happened to the potters,” in a quiet voice, and remus wants to scream. he must know, because he places his own mug on the floor near the foot of the couch, and takes remus’ shaking hand in both of his own.
“it was in the papers- i wanted to come as soon as i heard, but i didn’t know where you were- last i heard, you were living with that black boy-”
that black boy , as if remus hasn’t spent hours upon hours telling his parents about sirius, as if the potters aren’t just james and lily, as if the one he isn’t even mentioning isn’t just peter. he doesn’t know if lyall is trying to spare him from the pain, and he doesn’t know if the pain that he is certainly not being spared of is because of his father or because it’s always there, lurking in the caverns of his chest and waiting to crawl up his throat and choke him from the inside out.
lyall goes to say something else, before he stops, mouth half-open, looking past remus. remus turns around, and clinging to the wall of the hallway leading into the living room is a mop of messy black hair peeking around the corner, bright green eyes looking from lyall to remus almost anxiously.
“is it safe to come out now, moony?” he asks quietly, and before remus can answer he’s running across the room on his short legs to climb into remus’ lap, throwing his arms around his neckline and clinging to him.
“yes, harry,” remus murmurs, into the mess of curls being pushed in his face by harry hiding in his neck, and wraps his arms securely around the boy. (he wants to add something, like but you should stay in your room until i tell you it’s safe, or now was okay but what about next time, or i can’t lose you, too, but he figures it made sense for him to come over if remus wasn’t actively in combat and so he keeps his mouth shut and kisses the top of harry’s head.)
he notices that his father is staring at him with wide eyes of something between wonder and shock, and remus feels harry slowly pry away from him to stare right back at lyall, and there’s a moment of terse silence before remus clears his throat.
“this is harry,” he says, albeit a little weakly, and harry shuffles closer in remus’ lap.
lyall manages a small smile and a wave to the boy, before not to subtly glancing to remus’ left hand; then to harry’s mess of black curls that could’ve been one of two people’s, to remus’ eyes that carry heartbreak with him wherever he goes, and his mouth begins to form oh, remus, before remus interrupts him.
“harry potter ,” he says, slowly, and his father sits up straighter.
he murmurs something like right and looks off to the side. remus can’t tell if he’s hurt that remus never told him or if he’s mad at himself that he never found out, but both options make him equally as guilty, and so he doesn’t ask.
(he knows the potters died over a year ago, remus can see it in his eyes. he can see his father look around the room and take in more than he did the first once-over; the half-knit sweaters on the dining room table, the battered children’s toys in a small box in the corner of the room, the second, smaller mug sitting on the counter next to remus’. the full realization sets in and when lyall looks back to them, his expression is softer.)
lyall bends his back a bit to harry’s height- more or less- and gives the delighted boy a lollipop that remus can picture in the convenience store on the corner across the street from their house. “you can call me granddad, harry,” he announces with a beaming smile, and remus’ stomach gives a lurch.
“no- no, harry, this is mr. lupin,” remus scoops harry up as he stands, who was trying to wrestle the packaging off his lollipop, and his eyebrows draw together in warning when lyall goes to protest.
his father, however, had never let remus get away with things without an explanation, (in the best way possible, except perhaps not now,) and he says, “it’s alright, remus. he can call me that if he wants.”
“no, he can’t. it doesn’t make any sense.” remus answers dismissively, setting harry down on the table as he takes the lollipop from him with gentle, shaking hands, and takes the wrapper off.
(it says something on it about being organic and sugar free and remus doesn’t know what any of that has to do with candy, but harry is reaching for it with his small grabbing hands, and so remus gives it to him anyways with a murmured comment about making sure he licks it instead of biting.)
“why not?” lyall reaches out for remus’ arm, and remus yanks it away, going to shuffle random papers on the kitchen counter.
“because i’m not his father.”
he’s not his father, he’s not, he can’t be, he can’t ever have harry thinking of him as his father because what about james, he never meant to replace him, he doesn’t want to replace him, and he never meant to be the sole person harry has and he never meant to be the one harry goes to when he has a nightmare instead of lily and he never meant to be the only one to watch harry grow up.
remus feels like he’s going to be sick.
and lyall can practically see his thoughts swarming around his head like a dark cloud, (because he’s always been like this, even when he was six years old,) and he goes to put his hand on his shoulder before remus is brushing past him and muttering something about harry’s nap.
they have been sitting in silence for nearly five minutes now and the feeling of wanting to scream returns to the back of remus’ throat. he nearly does, too, as he zones out onto a spot on the carpet- and although he is hyper aware of everything his father does while sitting next to him, he’s not ready for what he says next.
“come home , remus,” lyall practically begs him, putting his hand on his knee, and remus doesn’t jerk away, even though he wants to. “i’ll take care of you, i’ll take care of both of you, i- do you even have a job?”
he doesn’t mean it to be crass, he doesn’t mean to be anything but kind and loving and caring but all remus can hear is the fact that none of his education mattered. “i do. i’m working at a muggle grocery store.” he informs his father tersely, and he resists the urge to crumple onto the carpet.
nearly eight years of memorizing spells, taking test after test after test to lock the information into his brain for him to end up behind the cash register of a muggle grocery store . it’s not so much the job as the fact that he spent all those years learning about a world that he isn’t even allowed to work in . but it pays the bills, just barely, and last week remus was able to buy enough yarn to work on knitting harry a sweater, and that has to be enough, doesn’t it? to live for harry? to swallow his pride and work somewhere he never expected, never planned he’d be, because harry needs someone to look after him?
“remus,” lyall says again, and remus stands up then, stepping deeper into the living room and raking his fingers through his curls. his father stays right where he is, and desperation fronts his voice when he continues, “remus, please. come home. there’s room for you, there’s room for both of you. i can bring you back with me tonight, even.”
but remus won’t, he can’t, he hasn’t set foot in that house since he went back to school after hope died, and he had left without a plan of returning. and it isn’t his father’s fault, it isn’t his fault in the slightest, and remus wishes he could just tell him that but he knows how lyall will be looking at him if he turns his head and he isn’t ready.
he isn’t ready , he was never ready, he wasn’t ready for the sight of james and lily on the floor and he wasn’t ready to take in a child and he wasn’t ready to lose everything in one goddamn night. he was never ready. none of them were.
his father’s arms are around him before remus has even realized he’s stood up.
and in one moment, remus goes from being a worn, broken man who’s lost everything except a little boy that he doesn’t feel like he knows how to take care of; to the twenty-two year old that he truly is, who hasn’t hugged his father in six years. lyall is just barely taller than him- somehow that fits and yet it feels so out of place- and remus truly does crumple then, except not onto the carpet.
remus allows his father to hold him, and he allows it to hurt. he allows the pain lurking in the caverns of his chest to crawl up his throat and choke him from the inside out. he allows his hands to shake and he allows his father to ask all the questions in his ear that he knows remus will never answer, and he allows the tears to come because he is twenty-two years old and he is crying in his father’s arms.
and lyall doesn’t shush him, he doesn’t tell him it’s alright and he doesn’t tell him not to cry; he simply rubs remus’ back like he did when remus was six and scared and shaky, and doesn’t mention the tears, not even when he brushes them away.
“i can’t go with you.” remus says quietly, and his father’s eyes are still gentle with age. (except so much more worn, so much more tired, and remus’ stomach twists up in knots.)
lyall sighs as if he knew this the moment he walked in the door; maybe it’s because remus sounds so tired and defeated and worn that he can’t argue with him in good faith, or maybe it’s because there’s a little boy taking a nap in the next room that’s been through so much already, or maybe it’s because he can see it in his son’s eyes that he needs some consistency- even if it’s a small apartment with half-cold tea and a job at a muggle grocery store.
and so instead of diving into the speech that he has prepared for exactly this circumstance, he tugs his sleeve over his hand and pats at remus’ cheek, and he says, matching his tone, “i love you. you know i love you, right?”
lyall must notice how remus is berating himself for nearly crying again, and so he tugs him into a hug once more so that he can hide his face, and remus sniffles against his shoulder. “yeah . . . yeah, dad, i know.” and then, after a beat, “love you, too.”
“and i’m so lucky to be your father- don’t roll your eyes at me, now,”
remus laughs, a quiet laugh that he can’t remember hearing come from his own mouth in months, and pulls back a bit to shake his head. he must still be teary, because lyall is a little blurry in front of him, and for one lingering second, remus wants to go with him.
then he thinks about that house, he thinks about the layers of wallpaper put up over streaks of red lining the walls of remus’ bedroom. he thinks about his mother’s empty side of the bed and he thinks about why he left his father the first time, (for his own good, for his own safety, for his own protection,) and he banishes the thought.
lyall leaves before harry wakes up from his nap, and when he wakes up, he asks remus who mr. lupin was. it takes everything in him to keep his voice from wavering when he tells him, and harry nods and goes to play with one of his toys as if it’s perfectly fair that remus has a father and he doesn’t.
remus wants to scream.