Chapter Text
We do not believe in ourselves until someone reveals
that deep inside us something is valuable,
worth listening to, worthy of our trust, sacred to our touch.
Once we believe in ourselves, we can risk curiosity, wonder,
spontaneous delight or any experience that reveals the human spirit.
—e.e. cummings
Chapter One
Remus
10 March 1960
"Lyall."
Lyall Lupin stirred in his sleep, frowning slightly.
"Lyall…"
Lyall gave a soft snort, rolling over and cracking his eyes open.
"Lyall."
At last, Lyall jerked awake, tumbling out of the armchair he was wedged into with a strangled cry. Raising his head, Lyall blinked around in bewilderment. It took him a moment to absorb his whereabouts—he was lying in an uncomfortable U-shape on the floor of his bedroom, staring up at the outline of his wife's exasperated face through the darkness.
"Hope?" he croaked, sitting up straight. He peered blearily at his watch; it was eleven o'clock in the evening—just nine hours since Hope had given birth to their son. "Are you—is everything—?"
"I'm fine," Hope interrupted softly. Lyall heard a rustle of blankets, and he squinted across the dimly lit bedroom at his wife. She too had sat up in bed. "I just…I wanted to hold him."
A warm rush filled Lyall's stomach. Despite his exhaustion, the thrilled smile that melted across his face was effortless, immediate. Shivering slightly—the bedroom was quite chilly, as Hope preferred it—Lyall hopped to his feet and strode across the threshold toward the pale blue Moses basket in corner of the room. The baby boy—his son—was sleeping soundly, his soft, little chin twitching slightly as he snored. The corners of Lyall's lips spread wider. Bending down, Lyall cupped one hand around the small, fuzzy head and the other hand around the curve of the tiny back, carefully lifting the little boy into his arms.
The baby wriggled slightly, grizzling in his sleep. Then, with a soft sigh, he snuggled up against his father's chest.
Lyall stared down at the tiny face, enraptured by every twitch and snuffle.
"Lyall…"
In a trance, Lyall turned and walked slowly to the bed. Very gently, he leaned forward and nestled the small bundle of blankets into the cradle of Hope's outstretched arms. At once, her expression grew tender, her eyes shining with tears. Lyall felt a lump rise in his own throat as he stared at his wife, and he bit the inside of his cheek hard.
"I'm sorry we had him at home," he whispered. "I know how badly you wanted to have him at Llandough. I—panicked. I'm sorry, Hope, I—I know it's no excuse—St. Mungo's midwitches are the best we've got, I promise you—"
"Lyall," Hope interrupted in a tired voice, and Lyall went quiet. A few beats passed in silence. "I'm glad we had him here," Hope said finally, her eyes transfixed by the sleeping baby in her arms. "You know how I feel—how I've always felt—about…magic. I'm so proud to be your wife—so proud to be part of your world." She paused. Then, she looked up and caught Lyall's eyes, her expression intense. "And I'm so proud to have a son who's going to be every bit as incredible as his father is."
Lyall gazed at his wife, inexplicably overwhelmed with emotion. He pressed his lips together and nodded, then slowly lowered himself down onto the bed next to her.
For several moments, comfortable silence filled the bedroom. The couple watched the gentle rise and fall of their son's chest.
"Lyall, I was thinking," Hope began slowly. Lyall glanced at her, frowning. Hope seemed to struggle with herself for a moment. Then, drawing a deep breath, she looked up and met his eyes. "I was thinking that…I don't want to call him John anymore."
Lyall's mouth fell open. "You—what?" he said hoarsely. "But—we agreed months ago—for your father…"
Hope bit her lip.
"I know," she said softly. "But now…I just think—he's so much more." She smoothed back a few fuzzy strands of their boy's light hair. "He's far too special for a name like John."
Lyall gazed down at his son. And then, with a clarity unlike any he had experienced before, he realized that his wife was right. How exceptional, how extraordinary…that in the span of twenty-four hours, this little boy had shifted Lyall's entire world so irrevocably.
His throat swelled shut, and it was several minutes before he found himself able to speak again.
"What did you have in mind?" he murmured.
Hope looked up and caught his gaze, blinking in surprise, and Lyall knew she hadn't expected him to give in so readily. Then—
"Remus," she whispered.
Lyall stared. "Remus?"
Hope nodded eagerly. "It's from a story I read, back in secondary school," she explained in a rush. "The founders of Rome—two brothers, Remus and Romulus, were raised by a wolf—"
"I know the legend," Lyall interrupted, unable to contain his fond grin at the sight of the familiar, enthusiastic gleam in his wife's eyes. Immediately, his mind filled with memories of stolen kisses during picnics in the woods, whimsical tales of Boggarts and poltergeists whispered under the stars. "I know you want something special, but—Remus is really bloody special, Hope."
"It's significant," Hope insisted. "Like our son."
Lyall snorted. "All right," he conceded, grinning at his wife. "Remus it is. But if we ever have another son, Hope, I'll feed myself to a hippogriff before I let you call him Romulus."
Hope narrowed her eyes. "Keep that up, Lupin, and I might decide to feed you to a hippogriff myself."
Lyall clutched his chest dramatically, giving his wife a betrayed look. Hope smirked, cradling their son closer, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "Your daddy's a very smart man, Remus," she murmured in his little ear. "But he often forgets that he married a much smarter lady."
Lyall grinned broadly. It was a side of him that no one but Hope had ever managed to eke out, playful and lighthearted, characteristics he'd never have attributed to himself before her. And as he gazed at the blurry outline of his wife and son through the darkness, illuminated only by the shaft of moonlight glowing palely through the bedroom windows, that familiar warm, fierce rush of affection filled his stomach again, a happiness like he could have never imagined. Scooting closer to Hope on the bed, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the side of her head.
"Thank goodness for that," he whispered.
She looked up, smiling warmly. Then, with a gentle sigh, she leaned back against his shoulder and held the little bundle of blue-striped blankets between them. Together, they watched as the baby crinkled his face in his sleep, reaching a wee fist out of his cocoon of warmth.
"Remus John Lupin," Hope said softly. She gave a little sniff. "That's your name, sweet boy," she whispered. "That's your name, my love…"
Lyall swallowed the tightness in his throat. Gently, he reached out and brushed his son's tiny fist with his thumb. And then, at last, Remus's wide, curious eyes fluttered open slowly, and he blinked sleepily up at his parents.
"Remus John Lupin," Lyall repeated hoarsely. "A great wizard in the making."
Five little fingertips closed around Lyall's thumb.