Work Text:
A streak of sunlight streams in through the gap in the curtain, illuminating the dark wooden desk in front of Grant Chapman. Grant sighs gratefully as he picks up his next file. The sun has been hiding behind the clouds since Grant arrived at his office early that morning. He’s grateful for the single streak of light. His work is dark enough as it is.
Grant takes a deep breath and closes his eyes to steady himself before opening the folder. Starting a new case is always difficult. Grant has been a social worker for, gawd, how many decades now? He’s lost count. He must have seen hundreds of cases, but it never gets any bloody easier.
This case is right similar to his own childhood. The lad is 12 and was abused by his parents for being gay. Bloody hell. Grant buries his head in his hands. The world has come quite far in Grant’s lifetime, but it isn’t far enough. Will homosexuality ever be fully accepted, or will generations of children have to keep fighting to love who they love?
A sharp rap on the door makes Grant jump, his elbows jabbing painfully into the desk. He runs through his schedule in his head. Bollocks, he hasn’t forgotten about a meeting, has he? Grant will never admit it out loud, but his bloody age is starting to get to him. On Monday, he mixed up the time of Atif’s football practice. Just this morning, he misplaced his keys and had to spend half an hour searching for them. Getting old is a real bloody pain in the arse.
Grant gets up from his chair, groaning, and opens the door, expecting to see his boss or one of his colleagues. Maybe if he’s lucky Marcus will have ordered him food (Marcus knows that Grant forgets to eat lunch when he gets too wrapped up in a case). Instead, Grant is met with an old woman he’s quite sure he’s never seen before. She’s tall and thin, grey hair twirled back in an elegant clasp. Despite her age, her eyes are bright and her lips are pursed in a serious expression.
Grant immediately straightens up, an urge to be just as proper as she is surging through his body involuntarily. Who is she, some kind of a witch? “Hello,” he says cautiously. Surely he couldn’t have forgotten this woman?
“Good morning. I apologize for showing up unexpectedly. Is this a bad time?” The woman says, and bloody hell, her voice is just as stern as she is.
“No, not at all. Come in.” Grant holds the door open for her, giving her a little bow as she walks in. Gawd, when did he become this posh? This strange old woman is bringing out the swot in him.
She sits in the chair at the front of his desk and Grant sits across from her. She takes a few minutes to rearrange her robes. Are they robes? They look more like a long winter coat, but it’s summer, and no one in their right mind would wear a bloody cloak in summer.
“How, uh, may I help you?” Grant asks, struggling not to slip back into his accent. His speech has improved greatly over the years, but he often slips when he’s nervous.
“My name is Minerva McGonagall. I am here on behalf of…” The woman starts, but Grant doesn’t hear anything past her name because he’s suddenly drowning in memories.
It’s been months since he’s thought of Remus. Actually, the last time was probably around Remus’ birthday. Even when they were together, Remus never let Grant make a fuss for his birthday. In fact, it had taken nearly three years for Remus to even tell Grant when his birthday was (Although looking back, Grant should have known that Remus was a bloody Pisces. He’d thought Capricorn, as a teenager, but that was before he knew Remus well outside of his posh school). Now that Remus is gone, it feels weird to let his birthday go by like it’s just another day. So, Grant usually enjoys a chocolate cupcake during his lunch break or after the boys have gone to sleep. He can’t imagine Remus would put up too much of a fuss over that. Remus never could pass up chocolate and it’s not like Grant sings (oh the horrors).
As the years went on, Remus was able to share more stories of his childhood with Grant. The fun and light-hearted ones were the easiest and nearly all of those involved mischief. Remus would sprawl out on the couch, head in Grant’s lap, and talk about the pranks they pulled: the hours of research, the flawless execution, the harrowing escapes, the careless blunders, and the detentions they received when they were inevitably caught. Grant would listen in wonder, fascinated not by the stories but by the way Remus’ face would light up. His smile would spread across his whole face, color would flood his cheeks, and his eyes would glow brighter than the moon. Grant would watch as Remus got swept away in the memories, usually going off on a side tangent about how Sirius’ hair looked or what brilliant move he had pulled to save the prank. Grant would repress the jealousy that flared deep inside of him and instead focus on how bloody lovely it felt to see Remus this happy. Remus was at his best, unguarded and free when he was talking about his friends, and Grant was never able to deny him any of that joy.
While every prank had a slightly different story, almost all of them had the same ending: being reprimanded by their severe head of house, Minerva McGonagall. Even though Remus always frowned when he talked about how close they were to getting away with it until someone (usually Peter) buggered up, Grant could tell that Remus had a deep respect for the old woman, whom he always referred to as “Minnie”. She was one of the first adults to treat Remus with kindness and respect and always wanted the best for him, no matter how strict she was. In fact, Grant had spent more than one sleepless night wishing he had a Minerva McGonagall growing up that cared about him that much.
Maybe during those nights over two decades ago, Grant had performed some kind of magic himself and manifested this encounter. Maybe his old age has made him hallucinate. Maybe this is all some bloody strange dream.
Grant’s mouth is apparently working much faster than his brain because he’s muttered “Minnie?” before he even knows he has anything to say at all.
Somehow, the woman sits up even straighter. “Excuse me?”
“Oh bugger, I mean, er…” Well done, Grant. He’s really mucking this up. “Sorry I, er, could you repeat that?”
The woman (Minerva? Ms. McGonagall? Professor McGonagall? Grant has no idea what the bloody hell he’s supposed to call her) raises a thin eyebrow but repeats her statement. “I am here to inquire about Mr. Oliver Troat. I understand that you are his social worker?”
“Yes, I am,” Grant says, leaning forward. If he wasn’t intrigued before, he is now. Oliver is a sweet lad. He’s just turned 11, his birthday is today actually, but Grant has been working with him since he was 9. He was taken from his home because of his addict mum and placed with his aunt and uncle until she got out of rehab. Oliver was in rough shape when Grant met him: abused and malnourished and terrified. But he’s made real progress and is now a truly brilliant young lad. The last two years have been filled with his mum relapsing over and over, and Oliver’s aunt and uncle have been inquiring about adoption. Terminating parental rights is a bloody mess, only done when it’s absolutely necessary, but it doesn’t look like Oliver’s mum is going to be in the shape to take care of him anytime soon. What business could Minerva McGonagall possibly have with Oliver?
“I understand that Mr. Troat has had a difficult start, now resides with his aunt and uncle, and you oversee his case?” Her voice rises at the end, suggesting a question even though it’s quite obvious that she has her facts straight. Grant nods, and she continues. “I thought it best to clear everything with you first before I visit him and his aunt and uncle just to be abundantly cautious.” The woman leans forward slightly, knitting her hands together and placing them on the desk in front of her. “I understand that this might come as a bit of a shock, but I am here on behalf of a special sort of school. Has Mr. Troat ever shown any signs of magical ability?”
Oliver has definitely never performed any magic in front of Grant. He lived with Remus for over a decade, so he certainly knows what magic looks like, but he doesn’t know too much about how magic presents itself in young lads. Oliver’s aunt and uncle have never reported anything strange. They’re a very open family, particularly with Grant, so he knows they would have told him if they noticed anything at all that was different about Oliver. Perhaps Oliver just conceals his magic in front of other adults or perhaps he doesn’t know at all.
“Not that I know of,” Grant replies, trying to steady his hands, which are shaking violently under the table.
“Our sources show that he has magical potential. We would like to offer him a place at Hogwarts for this upcoming school year, where he will receive proper training…”
Grant, quite frankly, has no bloody idea what to say. If Oliver truly is magic, then who is he to deny him of his education? Remus had the time of his life at Hogwarts. But look where Hogwarts got Remus, and all of his friends for that matter. What kind of caseworker would Grant be if he let Oliver walk right into the same fate as Remus?
Grant closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to steady himself. There are a lot of things he needs to do right now, but the first one is to gather all of the facts before he makes any kind of decision.
“Does the term still start on September 1st?” Grant asks, doing the math in his head. He’s bloody terrible at maths, but if he hasn’t buggered up, there are roughly three months until the beginning of the school year. That ought to be enough time to tell Oliver’s aunt and uncle about this (because perhaps it’s best to let them make the decision, as long as they’re informed. Grant might be a little biased, and that’s no way to make a proper decision), prepare Oliver, buy his supplies, and arrange transportation. Bloody hell, this is going to be a lot of paperwork.
Grant doesn’t realize his mistake until he sees that Minerva McGonagall hasn’t yet responded. When he meets her eyes, their intensity has dimmed quite a lot, leaving her with confusion written all over her face. “I am sorry, but how exactly do you know that?”
Fuck. Grant hasn’t decided if he’s going to tell the woman that he knows Remus, and in turn, knows her and her entire magical world, but his subconscious made the decision for him. Christ, Grant needs to learn to control his tongue.
Grant cringes and relaxes into his seat. This will be much easier if his back isn’t cramping from the bloody proper posture. Grant bites his lip, trying to decide how he wants to say it, but Minerva McGonagall’s eyebrow is creeping up higher and higher every second, and if Grant stalls any longer, it’s going to fly right off her face. “I had a, er, mate who was a wizard a while back. He went to Hogwarts.”
There. That’s simple enough. The old woman will understand how Grant knows about the wizarding world and he won’t have to mention Remus.
He isn’t technically lying. He’s never known what label to use when referring to Remus. They knew each other long before they were boyfriends, but ‘friend’ was too dismissive of their years spent loving each other. Truly, there is no word in the English language that sums up exactly what Remus was to Grant. Remus had been Grant’s best friend, boyfriend, lover, and adorable boffin. Without Remus, Grant would still be wandering the streets of London, bruised and bladdered out of his mind. He wouldn’t have his dream career helping children that had drawn shitty cards in the game of life. He wouldn’t have his boys. He wouldn’t even have Marcus. Remus was Grant’s moon: lighting up his darkness, leading him to the light.
But he can’t tell this old bat that, now can he?
“You had a ‘mate’ who informed you of our community and school?” She asks, and her eyebrow is still creeping higher, so Grant must have said the wrong thing.
“Er, yes?”
“Our world is kept under the cloak of the utmost secrecy. Non-wizards are only permitted to be informed about magic if their partner or family is magical.” The woman doesn’t say anything else, just stares Grant down with a piercing glare that lets Grant know that he's going to have to tell the full truth.
“My… partner was a wizard.”
“And what was their name?”
She doesn’t believe Grant; that is bloody well obvious. Grant can’t blame her, really, since he’s been caught not telling the full truth. Minerva McGonagall has worked at Hogwarts since before Grant was even born, so she’ll know the names of every student that walked the halls since his birth. It’s a foolproof way to catch Grant in a lie, but he’s not lying, so he’s afraid the old woman is in for a nasty shock.
“Remus Lupin,” Grant mutters, focusing on the edge of his desk where the wood is chipping.
Now, it’s Minerva McGonagall’s turn to look like she’s seen a ghost.
The woman turns deathly pale and her hands twitch where they’re folded together on the desk. Grant looks up, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. He expected her to be a bit shocked when he named an actual student, but he didn’t think she’d act like he just bloody levitated himself.
“Are you, er, okay? Do you need water?” Grant asks. The old woman is still paler than Grant’s walls, and her jaw is slowly lowering.
“No, no, I’m quite alright. I must have misheard you. Did you say Remus Lupin?”
“Yes?” Grant says, but it comes out as more of a question because he’s bloody perplexed. This whole encounter is by far the strangest thing that’s happened to him all year. It’s highly possible that he’s hallucinating.
Something switches behind Minerva McGonagall’s eyes like she’s finally connected the last two pieces in a puzzle. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
“Me?” Grant asks. If he was confused before, he’s utterly flummoxed now. He turns his head, trying to see if there’s a hidden camera somewhere. His boys love watching hidden camera pranks on whatever bloody app they use these days, but Grant never thought that he would be the subject of one.
“I know everything that goes on at Hogwarts, inside the walls, and beyond the gate. Remus Lupin visited the phone booth nearly every Hogsmeade weekend and stayed in there for hours, but I could never discover with whom he was speaking. After the first war, after Lily and James and Sirius and Peter, it was you. It was you that he lived with for all that time.”
Grant’s jaw hangs open like he’s some kind of bloody loon. What the fuck is going on? “Yeah, that was me.”
Minerva McGonagall reaches forward and takes Grant’s hands in hers. “I thought of him after the events of Halloween 1981. I wished to find him and ensure his well-being, but I was unsure that he wanted me there.”
Grant shakes his head, not completely sure why he’s even speaking, but the words spill out from somewhere deep inside of him. “He wouldn’t have. Not at first. Couldn’t even get him off his bloody floor for months.”
The woman shakes her head, her hair beginning to fall from its clasp. “I was afraid that was the case. He lost everyone, and he cared for Mr. Black so deeply.”
She knows about Remus and Sirius? Christ on a bloody bike, even Grant barely knows about Remus and Sirius.
Grant extracts one of his hands from her grasp, opens the top drawer of his desk, and grabs a container of biscuits. They’re going to be here for a while, so they might as well have some bloody snacks. “Have a biscuit, Professor.”
For the next two hours, Grant talks more about Remus than he has in over 20 years. Minerva McGonagall is the first person Grant has ever met that knew Remus. He can talk to Marcus about Remus all he wants, and Marcus will eagerly listen, but he can never explain the gravity of Remus bloody Lupin. Minerva McGonagall knows, maybe better than Grant himself.
“Those boys. I had to be stern with them or they wouldn’t respect me, but I couldn’t stay mad at them. They were all such good young men: so funny, so kind, so clever, but I started going grey the day they stepped foot inside Hogwarts. I had a soft spot for James and they all knew it. After James, it was always Remus. In all my years, I’ve never met such a sweet, sensitive, inquisitive young man.”
“Then you didn’t know the real Remus,” Grant laughs, popping a biscuit into his mouth. The atmosphere has calmed, and both of them are now relaxed in their chairs, no longer bothering with properness. “Sure, he was sweet and all, but he had a real mouth on him. Gawd, he made me seem like a bloody angel. Did you never see him get angry?”
“Oh, I most certainly did. He usually kept that side of him hidden from me, but I knew it was there. He usually reserved his temper for Mr. Black.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Grant muttered, sinking further into his chair. “You knew about them, then? Him and Sirius?”
“Of course I was aware. Mr. Black was making eyes at him across my classroom in the third year, and Mr. Lupin followed shortly after. Stealing glances, passing notes, positively drooling over each other for years. Once they got together, they were a lot more inconspicuous. I could see that they didn’t want anyone to know, so I never brought it up, but I knew they were soulmates before they did.”
“Sounds about right.” Grant would never forget that first phone call with Remus. He had been a right wreck when Remus went back to school, but he’d hidden it so Remus didn’t feel worse than he already did. Grant was hopelessly in love with Remus, and prayed to the God he didn’t even bloody believe in, begging for Remus to stay his (16-year-old Grant was a bit silly. Remus was never really his, even when he was supposed to be). And then that first bloody call came along, and Grant could tell before Remus even opened his mouth that there was someone else. He’d fallen for one of the posh boys at his fancy school. What did Grant have, in comparison to those rich swots? He’d never really stood a chance. It had broken Grant’s heart at the time, and for many years to come, but he and Remus were never meant to last. It was always Remus and Sirius in the end.
“You and he were together?” The woman asks gently.
“We met when we were 16 at the troubled boy’s home. We kept in contact over the years. In fact, he saved my life. I hadn’t heard anything from him for a while, back in 1981. I went over to his flat, banged on the bloody door for an hour until he finally let me in. The state he was in, I couldn’t leave him. I was in and out a few times a week for a year or so until I just moved in. Then one thing led to another and we were together until Sirius came back.” It’s criminal, to condense their story that much. When you took out all the details, it seemed like Remus and Grant had been nothing to each other, when they’d saved each other more times than they could bloody count.
“That must have been very difficult for you.” Minerva McGonagall takes Grant’s hand again and squeezes.
Grant’s eyes fill with tears and he looks away. Bloody hell. He’s tempted to snap at himself, tell himself to stop crying, that it’s been over 20 years and he needs to get over it. But Grant has learned that denying your emotions gets you nowhere. The first few months after Grant left Remus were bloody fucking awful. He spent every second of every day hoping that Sirius wasn’t guilting Remus and that Remus was standing up for himself. He second-guessed his decision once a minute. Moving back in with his aunt felt like he was a bloody teenager all over again. Like the last decade of his life had been nothing but a fantasy.
The odds were against Grant, but he had faced worse odds before. He picked himself up. He worked, saved money, bought his own flat, made new friends. He never touched booze or a cigarette, no matter how much he wanted to. He stayed strong and he got through it, but that didn’t mean it was any less bloody difficult or any less painful to think about.
But he’d do it all again. He’d do anything if it meant getting to know Remus for even a second.
“It was,” Grant nods. “But I have someone else now. Boys of my own. This job.”
“Ah, yes. I must confess to not understanding exactly what it is that you do?”
Grant smiles. Not a lot of people get it, but he’s always happy to share.
After he’s explained, the gears are working behind Minerva McGonagall’s eyes again. “The wizarding world has many things that you don’t, but we have nothing like this. Many of our children encounter these issues. The war is over and we’re at peace, but it could all happen again. Perhaps if we had these supports in place, we could stop the children from getting off on the wrong foot.”
“Give them a fighting chance.” Grant nods. That’s why he spends nearly every hour of every day putting his blood, sweat, and tears into these lads. “Not everyone has a Remus Lupin to save them. All children deserve to have choices.”
“Some of our children were not afforded that luxury in the past. Too many of them were lost to their family’s expectations before they were even born. I won’t let our world be that cruel anymore. There will be no more wars and no more deaths as long as I am still breathing.”
Grant doesn’t trust easily. He’s overcome most of the trauma responses he developed as a boy, but his trust issues are something he’s never quite been able to kick. Yet he finds that he would trust Minerva McGonagall with his life. “I bloody hope so,” Grant says.
“I understand that your experience of our world has not been the most positive. You saw Remus through the first war, its aftermath, and the tragedy of the second war. But I assure you that our community has changed. All the old families have disbanded. The ministry has been reformed. Magical creatures are being integrated into our community, including werewolves.” She pauses there, raising an eyebrow, and Grant smiles. “Hogwarts is safe once more. I won’t pretend that everything is perfect, but I assure you that everyone is taking active precautions to ensure that evil never triumphs again.”
Grant doesn’t understand half of what she said, but he believes the woman. After all that death and destruction, there is peace and equality in the wizarding world. Remus’ dream has finally come true. This new generation of wizarding children has a proper chance at success. Remus and Sirius and their friends didn’t have a shot. If they somehow escaped the first war, they would have gotten caught up in the second one. They couldn’t escape their fate. Now history has a chance to repeat itself, but there will be no tragic endings. Only new beginnings.
“You have my permission and all to go to Oliver’s family. He’s going to have a right blast at Hogwarts. I’m warning you, he might be a bit mischievous,” Grant smirks.
“Oh after the Marauders, I assure you that I’ve seen it all.” Minerva reaches out a hand for Grant to shake, standing up to leave.
“Don’t bloody doubt that for a second,” Grant smiles, returning the handshake.
The old woman makes her way to the door but stops before she turns the knob. She turns back to face Grant, who’s still sitting at his desk. “You may not be a wizard, Mr. Chapman, but what you are doing for these boys is nothing short of magic.”
She crosses the threshold, robes billowing behind her, leaving Grant alone with the tear sliding down his cheek and his next file already in hand.