Chapter Text
The room was not meant for children.
Remus had decided that almost immediately.
There were no toys, for one thing. No little wooden animals, no blocks, no picture books with thick pages that could survive being bent and pulled and accidentally sat upon. There was not even a rug soft enough to kneel on without feeling the hard floor pressing into his knees.
There was only a long table, six straight-backed chairs, a narrow window, and a cabinet with doors that had been locked before Remus and his father arrived.
The walls were the sort of pale colour adults seemed to like because it was quiet and sensible and did not make anyone feel anything at all.
Remus sat beneath the table anyway.
He had brought three books with him.
One was about dragons. One was about magical creatures that lived beneath the sea. The third was a storybook his mother had read to him so many times that he could remember nearly every sentence, though he still liked looking at the pictures and pretending he did not know what happened next.
His father had told him he would not be long.
That had been a very long time ago.
Possibly an hour.
Possibly ten minutes.
Remus was five, and time behaved strangely when there was no clock to look at and no one to ask.
He lay flat on his stomach beneath the table, his ankles swinging slowly behind him as he turned a page in the dragon book. The floor was cold against his elbows. His jumper sleeves had been pulled down over his hands, and every time he tried to hold the page still, the wool slipped over his fingers.
He pushed the sleeves back up.
They fell down again.
Remus sighed.
He had been told not to leave the room.
His father had crouched in front of him before going, one hand resting firmly on Remus’s shoulder as he spoke.
“You stay here.”
“I know.”
“You do not wander into the corridor.”
“I won’t.”
“You do not touch anything in the cabinet.”
“It’s locked.”
“That is not an invitation to investigate the lock.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“And if anyone comes in, you tell them you’re waiting for me.”
Remus had nodded seriously.
His father had looked at him for another second, as if trying to decide whether five years old was old enough to understand the importance of all this.
Then he had straightened, tucked the thick roll of parchment more securely beneath his arm, and gone to the meeting.
Remus knew the parchment was important.
His father had been talking about it for days.
At breakfast.
At dinner.
In the sitting room while Remus played quietly on the carpet.
He had called it a petition.
Remus knew a petition was something with names on it. His father had explained that people signed their names when they agreed with something and wanted the people in charge to listen.
His father wanted the board to listen.
He wanted stricter laws.
He wanted people protected.
He wanted dangerous creatures watched.
He wanted werewolves kept away from ordinary witches and wizards because, as he had said more than once, they could not be trusted.
Remus did not understand all of it.
He understood that werewolves were dangerous.
He understood that his father hated them.
He understood that the people in the meeting were deciding what should happen next, and that one of those people was a very important pure-blood wizard whose name Remus had heard his father say in a hard, careful voice before they came.
That wizard was on the board.
Remus’s father wanted him to agree.
Remus turned another page.
A painted dragon breathed a bright red ribbon of fire across the paper.
Remus traced the edge of one black scale with his finger.
“Welsh Green,” he whispered to himself, though the dragon in the picture was not green at all.
It was blue.
The illustrator had made a mistake.
Remus frowned at it.
“That’s not right.”
The room did not answer.
Remus rolled onto his side and looked out from beneath the table. The door remained shut.
He could hear footsteps passing in the corridor now and then. Sometimes voices. Sometimes the faint click of shoes against the polished floor. Every time the sound came close, Remus lifted his head and waited.
Every time it passed.
He was beginning to think his father might have forgotten him.
He knew that was silly.
His father would not forget him.
Hope would be very cross if he did.
Remus smiled slightly at the thought.
His mother had been busy that morning. Too busy to keep him with her, and there had been no one else to watch him. His father had not looked pleased about bringing him to work, but Hope had folded Remus’s spare jumper into a small bag, packed his books and a little wrapped snack, kissed the top of his head, and told him to be good.
Remus was being very good.
He had not opened the cabinet.
He had not left the room.
He had not even climbed onto the table, though he had thought about it.
He returned his attention to the book.
Then the door clicked.
Remus froze.
The handle moved slowly downward.
The door opened only a crack.
For a moment, no one entered.
Remus stared through the dark space between the table legs.
A small pale hand curled around the edge of the door.
Then a face appeared.
The boy who peered into the room was younger than Remus.
That was the first thing Remus noticed.
The second was that he was dressed far better than any child Remus had ever seen.
His little black shoes shone beneath the hem of perfectly fitted dark trousers. His coat was deep black and fastened with tiny silver buttons. Beneath it, Remus could see a crisp white collar and a grey waistcoat that looked so neat it might never have been wrinkled in its life.
The boy’s hair was black, thick, and curly, arranged carefully around his pale face.
His eyes were enormous.
Grey and bright and searching.
He looked almost like one of the angels in the old pictures Remus’s mother sometimes showed him in books, except Remus thought angels were usually painted with golden hair, and this boy’s curls were black as ink.
The little boy looked around the room.
His gaze moved over the chairs.
The cabinet.
The window.
The empty floor.
Then he spotted Remus beneath the table.
He stopped.
Remus stopped.
They stared at one another.
The boy’s eyes widened.
His entire face changed.
The cautious little crease between his eyebrows vanished, and he perked up so suddenly that Remus nearly laughed.
“You’re a child,” the boy said.
Remus blinked.
“Yes.”
The boy pushed the door open wider and stepped inside.
“I didn’t know there would be a child.”
“I didn’t know there would be one either.”
The boy looked quickly behind himself, then slipped fully into the room and pulled the door almost shut. It did not click closed. It remained open by the width of one finger.
He stood there for a moment, watching Remus.
Remus pushed himself upright beneath the table.
The little boy came closer.
His footsteps made almost no sound.
When he reached the table, he crouched and leaned down, putting both hands on his knees so he could peer underneath.
Remus’s heart gave a strange little jump.
Up close, the boy was even prettier.
His eyelashes were dark. His cheeks were pale and soft. His curls rested against his forehead in careful little loops, though one near his temple had begun to loosen.
The boy tilted his head.
“What are you doing?”
“Reading.”
“Under the table?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Remus considered this.
“Because there’s nothing else in here.”
The boy looked around again.
“There are chairs.”
“I don’t want to sit on a chair.”
“Why not?”
“They’re uncomfortable.”
The boy examined one of the chairs as if this possibility had never occurred to him.
Then he bent farther, lowering himself until his face was nearly level with Remus’s.
“What are you reading?”
“A book about dragons.”
The boy’s eyes lit up.
Remus immediately forgot how to speak.
The little boy lowered himself to his hands and knees, crawled beneath the table without asking, and sat beside Remus.
Very close beside Remus.
So close their knees touched.
Remus stared down at the place where the fine black fabric of the boy’s trousers pressed against his own worn brown ones.
The boy leaned over the open book.
His shoulder pushed into Remus’s arm.
Remus became acutely aware that his hair had not been brushed properly after breakfast and that there was a loose thread hanging from the cuff of his jumper.
The boy smelled clean.
Not like soap exactly.
Something sharper and colder.
Like the smell of the front room after Hope opened the windows in winter.
“That one is blue,” the boy said.
Remus looked at the dragon picture.
“It’s supposed to be green.”
“Why?”
“Because it says Welsh Green.”
The boy bent nearer.
His cheek almost touched Remus’s shoulder.
“Maybe it’s a different one.”
“It isn’t. The words say Welsh Green.”
“Then the picture is wrong.”
“Yes.”
The boy frowned with deep seriousness at the dragon.
“That’s stupid.”
Remus smiled before he could stop himself.
“Yes.”
The boy looked at him.
Remus quickly stopped smiling.
The little boy did not.
He shifted closer still, then reached out and pinched the edge of the page between two careful fingers.
“Can I turn it?”
Remus nodded.
The boy turned the page.
The next picture showed a dragon curled around a clutch of eggs.
The boy made a small pleased sound.
“Oh.”
Remus watched him rather than the book.
The boy’s mouth had fallen open a little in wonder. His grey eyes moved quickly across the painted page, taking in every detail.
“You like dragons?” Remus asked.
The boy nodded.
“Yes.”
“I do too.”
The boy looked at him again.
“Do you have more books?”
Remus pointed.
The other two books lay in a small pile near his elbow.
The boy leaned across him to reach them.
He did not seem to notice that this meant he was almost lying over Remus’s lap.
Remus noticed.
Remus noticed so much that his ears grew hot.
The boy picked up the book about the sea and held it with both hands.
“What’s this one?”
“Creatures under the sea.”
The boy’s eyes widened again.
“Real creatures?”
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
“I think so.”
“Have you read it?”
“Twice.”
The boy stared at him.
“Twice?”
Remus tried not to look too pleased.
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
The boy sat up straighter.
“You can read all of it?”
“Most of it.”
“You’re very clever.”
Remus’s face became hotter.
“I’m five.”
The boy nodded as if this explained everything.
“I’m four.”
Remus had guessed that.
The boy was much smaller.
Not just younger, but delicately built, with narrow shoulders and tiny hands and a face that looked as though it belonged in a frame rather than beneath an ugly meeting-room table.
Remus suddenly felt enormous beside him.
He straightened his back a little.
“What’s your name?” the boy asked.
“Remus.”
The boy waited.
“Remus Lupin,” Remus added.
The boy’s expression shifted.
He nodded slowly, with recognition.
“Lupin.”
Remus looked at him.
“You know it?”
“My father said it.”
Remus’s stomach tightened.
“What did he say?”
The boy seemed to think.
“He said Mr Lupin was bringing a petition.”
Remus looked down at his book.
“My dad is.”
“About werewolves.”
Remus nodded.
The boy’s small fingers tightened around the sea-creature book.
“My father is in the meeting.”
Remus looked up quickly.
“On the board?”
The boy nodded.
Remus sat straighter still.
This was the important wizard’s son.
Remus looked at the perfect coat, the silver buttons, the polished shoes, and the beautifully arranged curls, and it made sudden sense.
The little boy must be a pure-blood.
A proper one.
The kind Remus’s father sometimes spoke about with a mixture of irritation and respect.
Remus was only a half-blood.
His father was a wizard. His mother was not.
That had never bothered Remus before.
Now, sitting beside this little boy, he wished his cuffs were cleaner.
The boy leaned against him.
Not carefully.
Not cautiously.
He simply tipped sideways until his shoulder rested fully against Remus’s upper arm.
Remus went rigid.
“I’m Regulus,” the boy said.
Remus swallowed.
“Regulus.”
“Regulus Black.”
Remus knew that name too.
Not Regulus.
Black.
His father had said it.
The board member.
The pure-blood family.
The man they needed to persuade.
Remus looked at Regulus with renewed alarm.
Regulus seemed entirely unconcerned.
He set the sea book on his lap and leaned even closer to Remus, peering at him with open interest.
“Why are you under the table alone?”
“My dad had to go to the meeting.”
“So did mine.”
“Were you in another room?”
Regulus nodded.
“I left.”
Remus stared at him.
“You left?”
“Yes.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Were you allowed?”
Regulus looked thoughtful.
“No.”
Remus’s eyes widened.
Regulus’s mouth twitched.
“I was bored.”
“You shouldn’t wander around.”
“I know.”
“You could get lost.”
“I did.”
Remus’s alarm deepened.
“You’re lost?”
“I was. Then I found this room.”
“That doesn’t mean you aren’t lost.”
Regulus looked around the room.
“I know where I am.”
“Where?”
“In here.”
Remus frowned.
“That’s not what lost means.”
Regulus smiled at him.
It was a tiny smile, quick and bright.
Remus forgot his argument.
“You’re very small,” Remus said instead.
Regulus’s smile vanished.
“I’m four.”
“I know, but you’re still small.”
“I’m not very small.”
“You are compared to me.”
“You’re only five.”
“I’m older.”
“Not much.”
“A whole year.”
Regulus considered this.
Then he leaned nearer until their faces were only a few inches apart.
“You’re taller.”
Remus tried not to sound proud.
“Yes.”
Regulus looked down at Remus’s hands.
“Your hands are bigger too.”
“Yes.”
Regulus placed one of his hands against Remus’s.
His palm was so much smaller that it barely covered the centre of Remus’s.
Remus stared.
Regulus spread his fingers.
Remus spread his too.
The difference was not enormous.
But it was enough.
Regulus seemed fascinated.
“You could hold my whole hand.”
“I know.”
“Do it.”
Remus blinked.
“What?”
“Hold it.”
Remus slowly curled his fingers around Regulus’s hand.
Regulus watched.
Remus’s fingers closed almost completely over his.
Regulus nodded, satisfied.
“There.”
Remus did not let go.
Regulus did not ask him to.
They sat beneath the table with the book resting across both their knees and their hands clasped between them.
Remus’s ears burned.
He looked quickly at the open page.
“What do you like reading?”
“Stories.”
“What kind?”
“Long ones.”
Remus nodded seriously.
“I like long ones too.”
“And books with stars.”
“Stars?”
Regulus nodded.
“And the moon. And ones about old families. And magic.”
Remus smiled.
“I like magic ones.”
Regulus turned towards him.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“No one my age likes books.”
Remus’s heart jumped again.
“No one I know does either.”
“They get bored.”
“I don’t.”
“Neither do I.”
“They want to play running games.”
“I don’t like running games.”
“I don’t either,” Remus said quickly.
Regulus looked delighted.
Remus decided at once that he did not like running games.
He sometimes did.
That did not matter.
Regulus shifted until he was sitting almost against Remus’s side. He put the sea-creature book down and reached for the storybook.
“This one?”
“My mum reads it to me.”
“Can you read it?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“Nearly.”
“Read it.”
Remus stared at him.
“Now?”
Regulus nodded.
Remus’s throat went dry.
He could read.
He could read very well for five.
His mother said so.
His father did too, though usually after correcting him.
But reading alone was different from reading aloud to someone as neat and pretty and attentive as Regulus Black.
“What if I get a word wrong?”
Regulus shrugged.
“I won’t know.”
Remus thought that was fair.
He took the storybook and opened it to the first page.
Regulus immediately pressed closer.
He tucked himself beneath Remus’s arm as though Remus had lifted it for him, though Remus had not. One small shoulder fitted against Remus’s ribs. Regulus rested his head against him.
Remus looked down at the black curls beneath his chin.
He could not breathe properly.
“Read,” Regulus reminded him.
Remus cleared his throat.
“Once there was a wizard who lived in a tower at the edge of a dark wood.”
Regulus looked at the picture.
“Why did he live there?”
“It tells you.”
“I’m asking you.”
“Because he wanted to be alone.”
“Why?”
Remus frowned at the page.
“Because people bothered him.”
“Did they?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“It doesn’t say yet.”
Regulus waited.
Remus continued.
“The wizard had lived in the tower for many years, and no one from the village had ever seen him come down.”
“Not even for food?”
“He used magic.”
“What magic?”
“I don’t know.”
“Could he make food?”
“Probably.”
“You can’t make food from nothing.”
Remus looked at him.
Regulus looked back.
“You can’t,” Regulus repeated.
Remus lowered his voice.
“It’s only a story.”
“That doesn’t mean it can be wrong.”
Remus considered this.
“No.”
Regulus nodded.
Remus began the sentence again.
“The wizard had lived in the tower for many years, and no one from the village had ever seen him come down. Some said he was a great and powerful sorcerer. Others said he was a coward hiding from the world.”
“What’s a coward?”
“Someone who’s scared.”
“Everyone gets scared.”
Remus looked down at him.
“Yes.”
“Then everyone is a coward.”
“No. It means someone who doesn’t do something because they’re scared.”
“That still sounds like everyone.”
Remus thought about his father.
He thought about himself.
He thought about being left in the empty room and pretending he had not wondered whether his father would return.
“Maybe,” he said.
Regulus seemed pleased with that answer.
Remus read on.
He tried to make his voice sound the way Hope’s did, changing it slightly for the wizard and making it smaller for the talking bird that appeared at the window.
Regulus listened with complete concentration.
He did not interrupt for nearly an entire page.
Then he pointed at the illustration.
“That bird is too large.”
“It’s magical.”
“It would still be too heavy for the branch.”
“The branch is magical too.”
“It doesn’t say that.”
“It might later.”
Regulus narrowed his eyes.
Remus hurried on.
The wizard in the story refused to leave the tower. The bird returned every morning. The village below grew frightened because strange lights had begun to glow in the forest.
Regulus followed every word.
Sometimes his lips moved silently.
Sometimes he asked questions.
Sometimes he corrected Remus when Remus skipped a sentence because he thought Regulus was not looking.
“I saw that.”
“I was going to read it.”
“You passed it.”
“I lost my place.”
“No, you didn’t.”
Remus flushed.
Regulus lifted his head from Remus’s shoulder.
“Why did you skip it?”
“It was boring.”
“I want the boring parts too.”
Remus looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because they’re still in the book.”
Remus went back and read the missing line.
Regulus settled against him again.
By the time Remus reached the end of the chapter, his voice had steadied. He had stopped worrying about getting words wrong. Regulus had stopped correcting every little thing and begun tracing the pictures with one fingertip instead.
At the last sentence, Remus closed the book carefully.
Regulus frowned.
“That’s not the end.”
“It’s the end of the chapter.”
“Read the next one.”
Remus looked towards the door.
“My dad might come back.”
“He hasn’t.”
“He will.”
“Then read until he does.”
Remus tried to look reluctant.
“All right.”
Regulus smiled again.
Remus opened the book.
Before he could begin, footsteps passed in the corridor.
Regulus stiffened.
His whole body went still against Remus.
Remus felt it at once.
He lowered the book.
The footsteps slowed.
Regulus grabbed Remus’s sleeve.
Remus looked down at him.
Regulus’s wide grey eyes were fixed on the door.
The footsteps stopped outside.
Remus held his breath.
The handle did not move.
After a moment, the footsteps continued.
Regulus relaxed.
Remus looked at the small hand clutching his jumper.
“Are you hiding?”
Regulus hesitated.
“Yes.”
“From who?”
“My father.”
“Why?”
“Because I left.”
“You should go back.”
Regulus looked up sharply.
“No.”
“He might be worried.”
“He’ll be angry.”
Remus did not know what to say to that.
His own father would be angry too.
Very angry.
But Regulus looked so small all at once that Remus did not want to tell him he had done something wrong.
“You can stay here until the meeting is over,” Remus said.
Regulus studied his face.
“You won’t tell?”
“No.”
“Even if he asks?”
Remus hesitated.
Regulus’s grip tightened.
Remus straightened.
“I won’t let anyone take you until you want to go.”
The words came out before he thought about them.
Regulus blinked.
Remus felt suddenly very brave.
He was older.
He was taller.
His hands were bigger.
If anyone came into the room, Remus could stand in front of Regulus.
He did not know what he would do after that, but standing in front of him seemed like a good beginning.
Regulus’s expression softened.
“You’ll protect me?”
Remus nodded.
“Yes.”
“From my father?”
Remus’s courage wobbled.
He had never met Regulus’s father.
He had only heard Lyall speak about him.
A powerful pure-blood wizard on the board did not sound like someone a five-year-old half-blood boy ought to challenge.
But Regulus was watching him.
Remus lifted his chin.
“Yes.”
Regulus leaned forward and wrapped both arms around Remus’s middle.
Remus made a startled sound.
Regulus pressed his face into Remus’s jumper and clung.
Not lightly.
He held on as though he had known Remus much longer than half an hour.
Remus stared over the top of his head.
His arms hovered uncertainly.
Then he placed one hand against Regulus’s back.
Regulus’s coat was smooth beneath his palm.
Remus patted him once.
Regulus did not move.
Remus patted him again.
“I’ll protect you,” he repeated quietly.
Regulus nodded against him.
Remus’s heart felt too large for his chest.
He put both arms around the smaller boy.
Regulus fitted there very easily.
He was warm beneath the fine coat. His curls brushed Remus’s chin. One tiny hand bunched in the back of Remus’s jumper.
Remus had never held another child like this.
He thought Regulus might be the nicest thing he had ever held.
After a while, Regulus drew back.
Not far.
He remained between Remus’s arms, looking up at him.
“Do you know any spells?”
Remus blinked.
“No.”
“None?”
“I’m five.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Then why did you ask?”
Regulus shrugged.
“You said you would protect me.”
“I can protect you without spells.”
“How?”
Remus had not decided that part.
“I’m bigger.”
Regulus considered him.
“You’re not bigger than my father.”
“No.”
“You’re not bigger than your father either.”
“No.”
“Or anyone outside.”
Remus frowned.
“I could still do it.”
“How?”
“I could tell them to stop.”
“What if they don’t?”
“I’d tell them again.”
Regulus’s mouth twitched.
Remus narrowed his eyes.
“That’s what protecting is.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is.”
“It isn’t if they don’t listen.”
“Then I’d stand in the way.”
“What if they moved you?”
Remus’s face heated.
“They wouldn’t.”
“They could.”
“I’d hold on to something.”
“What?”
“The table.”
Regulus looked at the table leg beside them.
Then he looked back at Remus.
“What if they moved the table?”
“They can’t move the whole table with me holding it.”
“A grown-up could.”
“Not if I held very tightly.”
Regulus stared at him for a long moment.
Then he giggled.
It was not a loud laugh.
It was a soft, breathy little sound, surprised out of him.
Remus’s indignation vanished.
Regulus’s nose wrinkled when he laughed.
His grey eyes turned bright.
Remus smiled helplessly.
“You’re laughing at me.”
“Yes.”
“That’s rude.”
“You’d hold the table.”
“I would.”
Regulus giggled again.
Remus decided he did not mind being laughed at.
“Show me your other book,” Regulus said.
“The sea one?”
“Yes.”
Remus released him.
Regulus remained close, his thigh pressed against Remus’s.
Remus opened the book.
“This is a grindylow.”
“It’s ugly.”
“It lives in ponds.”
“Does it bite?”
“Yes.”
Regulus leaned closer.
“Would it bite me?”
“Probably.”
“Would you stop it?”
Remus nodded at once.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I’d pull you away.”
“What if it grabbed me?”
“I’d grab you harder.”
“What if it was stronger?”
“It wouldn’t be.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m five.”
Regulus laughed again.
Remus grinned at the page.
He turned it.
“This is a merperson.”
Regulus frowned.
“It looks angry.”
“They don’t look the same underwater.”
“Why not?”
“The water changes things.”
Regulus reached out and traced one of the merperson’s long green strands of hair.
“Have you seen one?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
“The book says.”
“The other book was wrong.”
Remus paused.
“That was the picture.”
“The words could be wrong too.”
Remus looked at him with growing admiration.
“I suppose.”
Regulus settled more comfortably against him.
“What’s next?”
Remus turned the page.
They examined every creature.
Regulus liked the ones with sharp teeth.
Remus liked the ones with long names.
They argued about which would win in a fight between a kelpie and a sea serpent.
Regulus said the sea serpent because it was larger.
Remus said the kelpie because it was clever.
Regulus said being clever did not matter if something could swallow you whole.
Remus said the kelpie would not let itself be swallowed.
Regulus said that was not an answer.
Remus said it was.
They were still arguing when the door opened.
Remus’s body moved before his thoughts did.
He slammed the book shut, scrambled out from beneath the table, and stood.
Regulus stayed where he was.
Remus planted himself between the table and the door.
His heart hammered.
His father stepped into the room.
Lyall Lupin stopped.
He looked first at Remus.
Then at the open books scattered across the floor.
Then at the small black shoe visible beneath the table.
His eyes narrowed.
“Remus.”
Remus swallowed.
“Hello.”
“I told you to remain here.”
“I did.”
Lyall looked at the shoe again.
“I did not tell you to invite anyone else inside.”
“I didn’t.”
Regulus crawled out from beneath the table.
He rose carefully, smoothing both hands over the front of his coat. Even after sitting on the floor, he looked neater than Remus had at breakfast.
Lyall’s expression changed.
Not much.
But enough.
His shoulders straightened.
His mouth tightened.
He knew who Regulus was.
Remus could see it.
Regulus moved close to Remus and caught hold of his sleeve.
Lyall’s gaze dropped to the small hand.
“Regulus Black,” he said.
Regulus looked up at him.
“Yes.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Reading.”
“Does your father know where you are?”
Regulus did not answer.
Lyall looked at Remus.
Remus moved half a step in front of Regulus.
It was not a very large step.
It was enough.
His father noticed.
“Remus.”
“He got lost.”
“I did not,” Regulus said from behind him.
Remus glanced back.
“You said you did.”
“I said I was lost before.”
“That means you got lost.”
“I found the room.”
Lyall interrupted.
“Where were you meant to be?”
Regulus’s fingers tightened around Remus’s sleeve.
“In another room.”
“Which room?”
Regulus was silent.
Lyall exhaled through his nose.
“Your father has people looking for you.”
Regulus’s face went still.
Remus looked up at his father.
“Is he angry?”
“That is not our concern.”
“It is if Regulus is scared.”
Lyall stared at him.
Remus’s courage shrank.
He held his ground anyway.
“Remus, move.”
“No.”
The word came out very quietly.
Lyall’s eyebrows rose.
Remus had never said no to his father in that tone before.
Not when Lyall sounded serious.
Not when they were somewhere important.
Regulus pressed closer against Remus’s back.
Remus could feel the small warmth of him there.
“I said move.”
“He doesn’t want to go yet.”
“That is not his decision.”
Regulus leaned around Remus’s side.
“I can decide.”
Lyall looked down at him.
“You are four.”
“I know.”
“Your father is searching for you.”
“He can stop.”
Lyall’s mouth became a thin line.
Remus looked from one to the other.
“My dad’s meeting is finished,” he whispered to Regulus.
Regulus looked at him.
Lyall answered.
“The board has paused.”
“Why?”
“Because you are missing.”
Regulus frowned as if this were unreasonable.
“I’m here.”
“Yes,” Lyall said. “You are.”
Remus glanced towards the corridor.
He imagined a group of stern adults searching through rooms.
He imagined Regulus’s father finding them.
He imagined being ordered aside.
He reached back and took Regulus’s hand.
Regulus held on at once.
Lyall watched them.
“You need to come with me,” he said to Regulus.
Regulus shook his head.
Remus squeezed his hand.
“I’ll go too.”
Lyall’s gaze snapped to him.
“You will stay here.”
“You said the meeting stopped.”
“It has.”
“Then why do I have to stay?”
“Because I said so.”
Remus looked at Regulus.
Regulus looked back.
The room seemed suddenly smaller.
Lyall lowered his voice.
“Remus, I am not going to argue with you.”
Remus’s throat tightened.
He did not want to argue.
He wanted to be good.
He had been good all day.
But Regulus had asked if he would protect him.
Remus had promised.
He lifted his chin.
“I’m going with him.”
Lyall stared.
Regulus stepped fully beside Remus now, still holding his hand.
“He can come.”
“That is not for you to decide.”
“It is.”
Lyall looked at the little boy for a long moment.
Then at Remus.
Then at their joined hands.
Something unreadable passed over his face.
“Very well,” he said at last. “Both of you.”
Remus let out a breath.
Regulus leaned closer to him.
“See?” Remus whispered.
“You didn’t protect me.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“That’s not the same.”
“It is a little.”
Regulus considered this.
“A little.”
Lyall turned towards the door.
“Now.”
Remus bent quickly and gathered the books.
Regulus crouched to help.
He picked up the dragon book and held it against his chest.
“You can carry that one,” Remus said.
“I know.”
“It’s mine.”
“I know.”
“You have to give it back.”
“I know.”
Regulus looked offended.
Remus smiled slightly.
Together, they followed Lyall into the corridor.
The building felt much larger outside the empty room.
The corridor stretched in both directions, lined with dark doors and framed notices. Tall windows let in pale light. The floor gleamed beneath their feet.
Regulus immediately moved closer to Remus.
Their shoulders touched.
Remus shifted the books into one arm so he could keep holding Regulus’s hand with the other.
Lyall walked several steps ahead.
Remus looked down at Regulus.
“Do you know where we are now?”
Regulus nodded.
“Yes.”
“Then why did you get lost?”
“I went the wrong way.”
“That’s getting lost.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I knew I was going the wrong way.”
“That’s worse.”
Regulus frowned up at him.
“It isn’t.”
“You did it on purpose?”
“I wanted to see what was there.”
“What was there?”
“Nothing.”
Remus tried not to laugh.
Regulus narrowed his eyes.
“You’re doing it now.”
“Doing what?”
“Laughing at me.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m smiling.”
“That’s nearly laughing.”
“It isn’t.”
“It is a little.”
Remus repeated his own words back at him.
“A little.”
Regulus’s frown softened.
They turned a corner.
Voices came from ahead.
Regulus slowed.
Remus felt the tug on his hand and slowed too.
Lyall continued for two steps before noticing.
He turned.
“Come along.”
Regulus did not move.
Remus looked at him.
His face had changed.
The curiosity was gone. The bright excitement was gone. He looked smaller than he had beneath the table, though he was standing straight and trying not to show it.
Remus stepped closer.
“I’m here.”
Regulus looked at him.
“You have to go with your father.”
“Not yet.”
“You will.”
“Later.”
Regulus glanced towards the voices.
Remus squeezed his hand again.
“I said I’d protect you.”
Regulus’s grey eyes searched his face.
“You can stand in front.”
Remus nodded seriously.
“I will.”
Lyall watched them in silence.
Then he turned and continued walking, more slowly this time.
They reached a pair of wide doors.
One stood open.
Beyond it was a large meeting room with a long polished table and high-backed chairs. Papers covered the surface. Several adults stood in small groups, speaking in low, urgent voices.
Remus could not see all of them clearly.
He did not try.
He saw only the tall man near the far end of the table who turned sharply as soon as Regulus entered.
The room quieted.
Regulus stopped.
Remus stepped in front of him.
His father caught his shoulder.
Not roughly.
Firmly.
“Remus.”
Remus looked up.
Lyall’s expression warned him not to make a scene.
Remus looked back at Regulus.
Regulus was half-hidden behind him, one hand still clasped in Remus’s and the dragon book pressed to his chest with the other.
The tall man crossed the room.
He was dressed as carefully as Regulus, though in darker, sharper lines. His expression was cold with anger and relief held tightly together.
“Regulus.”
Regulus lowered his eyes.
“Father.”
“Where have you been?”
“In a room.”
“Which room?”
“The empty one.”
The man’s jaw tightened.
“You were told to stay where you were put.”
“I was bored and Sirius said-”
“That is not an excuse.”
Regulus shifted closer to Remus.
The man’s gaze moved down.
To their hands.
Then to Remus’s face.
“Who is this?”
Remus opened his mouth.
Regulus answered first.
“Remus Lupin.”
Recognition flashed in the man’s expression.
His eyes moved to Lyall.
Lyall straightened.
“My son.”
The man looked Remus over.
Remus knew exactly what he must see.
A too-large jumper.
Brown trousers with one knee beginning to fade.
Scuffed shoes.
Untidy hair.
A half-blood child holding his pure-blood son’s hand.
Remus’s face grew hot.
He tightened his grip on Regulus anyway.
“What were you doing with him?” Regulus’s father asked.
“Reading.”
“You left your assigned room to read?”
“I didn’t know Remus was there.”
“That was not the question.”
Regulus looked down at the dragon book.
Remus shifted farther in front of him.
“He was by himself.”
Regulus’s father looked at Remus.
“I did not ask you.”
Remus’s heart thudded.
He could feel his father’s hand still on his shoulder.
He could feel Regulus’s fingers inside his own.
“He was lost,” Remus said.
“I wasn’t,” Regulus muttered.
Remus looked back at him.
“Stop saying that.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You went the wrong way.”
“I knew it was wrong.”
“That still counts.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Regulus,” his father said.
Regulus went silent.
Remus faced forward again.
The man’s eyes were hard.
“You will release my son’s hand.”
Remus did not.
Lyall’s fingers tightened on his shoulder.
“Remus.”
Regulus’s hand tightened too.
Remus swallowed.
“I said I’d protect him.”
The silence in the room deepened.
Lyall closed his eyes briefly.
Regulus’s father stared at Remus.
“Protect him from what?”
Remus did not know how to answer.
From being frightened.
From being ordered away.
From stern voices and angry faces.
From having nowhere to go when he was bored and alone.
He looked up at the man.
“Anything.”
Regulus moved beside him.
“He’s taller than me.”
Remus glanced at him.
Regulus nodded as if this proved Remus’s qualifications.
“And his hands are bigger.”
His father’s expression did not change.
“That is irrelevant.”
“He can hold my whole hand.”
Regulus lifted their joined hands slightly.
Remus felt himself flush all the way to his hair.
Lyall looked away.
Regulus’s father looked at the book pressed to Regulus’s coat.
“That is not yours.”
“It’s Remus’s.”
“Give it back.”
Regulus’s grip tightened around the book.
“No.”
Remus stared at him.
“You said you knew you had to give it back.”
“I do.”
“Then give it back.”
“I’m not finished.”
“You didn’t start it.”
“I looked at the pictures.”
“You can borrow it.”
Regulus turned to him.
“Borrow?”
Remus nodded.
“Yes.”
Regulus’s eyes brightened.
“I can take it?”
“If your father says.”
Both boys looked up at him.
The man’s face remained stern.
“No.”
Regulus’s expression fell.
Remus felt an immediate, unreasonable dislike of that answer.
“He’ll give it back.”
“That is not the point.”
“What is the point?” Regulus asked.
“You have books at home.”
“Not this one.”
“You do not need this one.”
“I want it.”
“No.”
Regulus looked down at the dragon on the cover.
His curls hid part of his face.
Remus could not bear it.
“You can have it.”
Regulus looked up.
Lyall spoke sharply.
“Remus.”
“It’s mine.”
“I bought it.”
“You bought it for me.”
“That does not mean you give it away to a child you met less than an hour ago.”
Regulus’s father looked at Lyall.
“A sensible position.”
Remus frowned.
Regulus held the book out reluctantly.
Remus did not take it.
“You keep it.”
“Remus,” Lyall warned.
“I have the sea one.”
“That is not relevant.”
“I’ve read this twice.”
“You read it every week.”
“I can read it when Regulus gives it back.”
Regulus looked between Remus and the book.
“You really mean it?”
Remus nodded.
“Yes.”
Regulus hugged the dragon book to his chest.
His face softened into that tiny bright smile.
“Thank you.”
Remus smiled back.
“You have to read it.”
“I will.”
“All of it.”
“I will.”
“Even the words.”
Regulus looked offended.
“I know.”
“And the picture of the Welsh Green is wrong.”
“I know.”
“It’s blue.”
“I saw.”
“So don’t think Welsh Greens are blue.”
“I won’t.”
“They’re green.”
“I know, Remus.”
Remus nodded.
“Good.”
Regulus’s father reached down.
“Come.”
Regulus stepped back.
Remus moved with him automatically.
The adults both noticed.
Lyall sighed.
“This has gone on long enough.”
Regulus looked at Remus.
“Will you be here tomorrow?”
Remus looked at his father.
Lyall’s mouth tightened.
“No.”
Remus’s chest sank.
Regulus’s face fell too.
“Why not?”
“Because my father doesn’t work here every day,” Remus said.
“Mine does.”
“I know.”
“Can you come anyway?”
“I don’t think so.”
Regulus frowned.
“Why?”
“It’s far.”
“You can use the Floo.”
Remus looked at Lyall again.
Lyall shook his head.
Remus turned back.
“I can’t.”
Regulus’s small hand remained wrapped around his.
“Then when?”
Remus did not know.
He did not know where Regulus lived.
He did not know whether pure-blood board members allowed their sons to visit half-blood boys with worn shoes.
He did not know whether this was the only time they would ever sit beneath a table and read about dragons together.
The thought made his throat ache.
“I don’t know.”
Regulus’s expression grew stubborn.
“Ask your father.”
Remus looked up.
“Can I see him again?”
Lyall was silent.
Regulus’s father answered.
“That will not be necessary.”
Regulus turned.
“I want to.”
“You have friends.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You know other children.”
“They don’t like books and they don’t like me, they only play with Sirius and they all ignore me.”
“That does not matter.”
“It does.”
Regulus looked back at Remus, visibly distressed now.
“He likes long stories.”
Remus’s heart squeezed.
“And stars,” Remus said quickly.
Regulus nodded.
“And magic.”
“And sea creatures.”
“And dragons.”
“We both hate running games.”
Regulus looked at him.
“You said you didn’t like them.”
“I don’t.”
“You said hate now.”
“I hate them.”
Regulus seemed satisfied.
His father did not.
“You have disrupted an official meeting, left without permission, and caused half the floor to search for you. This is not the time to discuss future visits.”
Regulus’s lower lip trembled once.
Only once.
Remus saw it.
He stepped closer.
“I’ll see you again.”
Lyall frowned.
Regulus looked up.
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“That isn’t a promise.”
“It is.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Remus squeezed his hand.
“I promise I’ll see you again.”
“How?”
“I’ll find you.”
“You said wandering is dangerous.”
Remus hesitated.
Regulus stared at him.
Remus lowered his voice.
“Then you find me.”
Regulus blinked.
Remus smiled.
“You’re good at it.”
“I got lost.”
Remus’s smile widened.
“You said you didn’t.”
Regulus’s mouth twitched.
“I didn’t.”
“Then you can find me.”
Regulus looked down at their joined hands.
Slowly, he nodded.
“I will.”
His father reached for him again.
This time Regulus did not move away.
He did not let go of Remus either.
For a strange moment, he stood stretched between them, one small shoulder in his father’s grip and the one small hand in Remus’s.
Then his father pulled gently but firmly.
Their fingers slipped apart.
Regulus looked back immediately.
Remus stood very still.
The empty space in his hand felt cold.
Regulus hugged the dragon book close.
“You have to wait for me.”
“I will.”
“Don’t give the sea book away.”
“I won’t.”
“I want to read it.”
“You can.”
“And the story.”
“Yes.”
“The long one.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t finish it.”
Remus blinked.
“I know what happens.”
“Don’t read it without me.”
Remus nodded solemnly.
“I won’t.”
Regulus allowed his father to guide him towards the far side of the room.
He kept looking back.
Remus watched until one of the tall chairs blocked him from view.
Lyall’s hand settled on Remus’s shoulder again.
“We are leaving.”
Remus nodded.
His father gathered the papers from the table nearby, including the thick petition covered in signatures.
Remus looked at it.
“Did they say yes?”
Lyall glanced down.
“The discussion is not finished.”
“Because Regulus went missing?”
“In part.”
“Will his father say yes?”
Lyall’s face hardened.
“I do not know.”
“Regulus knows about it.”
“He is four.”
“He knew your name.”
Lyall rolled the petition tightly.
“Children hear things.”
“He knew it was about werewolves.”
Lyall looked towards the other end of the meeting room.
“He should not have been told.”
“He said his father said it.”
“Remus.”
“What?”
“This is not a conversation for you.”
Remus frowned.
He looked past his father.
Regulus had reappeared beside the tall chair.
He was peering around it.
Their eyes met.
Regulus lifted one hand.
Remus lifted his.
Regulus’s father said something too quietly for Remus to hear.
Regulus disappeared again.
Lyall guided Remus towards the doors.
Remus went reluctantly.
At the threshold, he looked back one final time.
Regulus was still hidden.
Remus held the sea-creature book and the storybook tightly to his chest.
The dragon book was gone from the pile.
It belonged with Regulus now.
That made the leaving feel less final.
In the corridor, Lyall walked quickly.
Remus had to hurry to keep up.
After several steps, his father looked down at him.
“You disobeyed me.”
Remus stared at the floor.
“I stayed in the room.”
“You refused to move when I told you.”
“I was protecting him.”
“From his own father?”
“He was scared.”
“That does not give you the right to interfere.”
“I promised.”
“You should not make promises you do not understand.”
Remus looked up.
“I understood it.”
Lyall’s expression was stern.
“No, you did not.”
“I did.”
“Protecting someone is not standing in front of them and refusing to listen.”
“It can be.”
“No.”
Remus tightened his arms around the books.
“He thought it was.”
Lyall stopped walking.
Remus stopped too.
His father crouched before him.
For a moment, he said nothing.
His face looked tired now rather than angry.
“Remus, that family is not like ours.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“He’s pure-blood.”
Lyall’s mouth tightened.
“Yes.”
“I’m half-blood.”
“Yes.”
“His clothes are nicer.”
“That is not what I mean.”
“He likes books.”
Lyall sighed.
“That is not what I mean either.”
Remus looked back down the corridor.
The meeting-room doors were no longer visible.
“He said he’ll find me.”
Lyall stood.
“I would not expect it.”
Remus frowned.
“He promised.”
“He is four.”
“So?”
“So four-year-olds make many promises.”
“I’m five.”
“Yes.”
“I promised too.”
Lyall began walking again.
Remus followed.
“You are not to wander through this building looking for him.”
“I won’t.”
“You are not to leave notes.”
“I can’t write all the words.”
“You are not to ask strangers where the Black family lives.”
“I know.”
“And you are not to interfere with this meeting again.”
Remus looked at the rolled petition beneath his father’s arm.
“Will the meeting make the laws?”
“It may.”
“And the board decides?”
“Yes.”
“And Regulus’s father decides?”
“He is one vote among several.”
“Does he hate werewolves too?”
Lyall glanced down.
“I do not know.”
“You do.”
“I know they are dangerous.”
Remus nodded.
His father’s voice sharpened.
“They are not like the creatures in your books. They are not misunderstood animals to be admired from a distance. They are people who become uncontrollable, violent things. Laws exist to protect everyone else.”
Remus listened.
He knew this speech.
He had heard pieces of it before.
“What does the petition say?”
“That there should be stronger restrictions.”
“What kind?”
“You are too young.”
“I can read.”
“That is not the same as understanding.”
Remus frowned.
“Regulus would understand.”
“Regulus is younger than you.”
“He asks good questions.”
Lyall’s mouth twitched despite himself.
“He asks many questions.”
“So do I.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think he’s clever?”
Lyall looked ahead.
“I think he is a child who escaped a guarded room and caused a government board to suspend its session.”
Remus smiled.
“That means yes.”
“That is not what I said.”
“It nearly is.”
Lyall glanced down at him.
Remus’s smile widened.
His father shook his head.
They reached the room where Remus had waited.
Lyall opened the door and looked inside.
The chairs were where they had been.
The cabinet remained locked.
The floor beneath the table showed only the faint disturbances where two children had sat with their books and argued about dragons.
Lyall stepped in to collect Remus’s small bag.
Remus crouched beneath the table one last time.
He touched the place where Regulus had sat.
His hand looked big against the floor.
Not grown-up big.
Not strong enough to stop anyone.
But bigger than Regulus’s.
Big enough to hold Regulus’s whole hand.
“Remus,” Lyall called.
“I’m coming.”
He crawled out.
Lyall handed him the bag.
Remus tucked the two remaining books inside.
There was too much space now.
He imagined the dragon book in another room, held by small pale hands.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Do pure-blood children read different books?”
“Some.”
“Better ones?”
“More expensive ones, perhaps.”
“Regulus liked mine.”
“So it appeared.”
“Do you think he’ll really read it?”
Lyall looked at him.
“Yes.”
Remus smiled.
“How do you know?”
“He refused to return it in front of an entire board.”
Remus considered that.
Then he nodded.
“That means he likes it.”
“Yes.”
They left the empty room.
Lyall closed the door behind them.
Remus walked beside him through the corridor, hugging the little bag to his chest.
He could still feel Regulus leaning against him.
He could still hear the soft surprise in his voice when he had discovered another child beneath the table.
You’re a child.
As though Remus had been something rare.
Something wonderful.
Remus wondered whether Regulus was opening the dragon book now.
Whether he was finding the first picture.
Whether he remembered that the blue dragon was meant to be green.
Whether he would read the words or only look at the illustrations.
Whether he would think about Remus when he reached the page with the eggs.
Remus would not finish the storybook.
He had promised.
He would leave it exactly where they had stopped, at the end of the chapter with the wizard still inside the tower and the strange lights glowing beneath the trees.
He would wait.
Regulus had said he would find him.
Remus believed him.
After all, Regulus Black had already found him once.
In a building full of closed doors, long corridors, important meetings, petitions, pure-blood names, half-blood names, stern fathers, and laws too complicated for either of them to understand, he had opened the one empty room where Remus Lupin sat alone beneath a table with three books.
And he had looked at Remus as though finding him was the most exciting thing that had happened all day.