An unexpected visitor
Lyall and Hope Lupin did not believe in miracles. They had once, a long time ago – when their daughter was small and safe, and the world had not yet shown them otherwise – but years of disappointment had worn their hopes thin. They did not expect kindness from strangers, nor exceptions to be made for people like them.
Lyall Lupin had a job at the Ministry of Magic, where he worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He was a tall man with a wiry moustache and mousy brown hair, prematurely streaked with grey. Hope Lupin was a dainty little woman, but her wide, bright eyes and mass of wildly curly, dark hair always made her appear larger. Their daughter was named Rema Jean and she was happy but quite lonely.
They weren’t particularly well-off people, but this was hardly their worst problem. The Lupins had a secret. It wasn’t a very secret secret, and yet they were very protective of it and very scared of what might happen if people found out. Rema Jean was a werewolf, she had been since she was four-almost-five years old; in fact, she could hardly remember ever being anything different.
Which is why, on a cool summer evening, when a tall man in a pointy hat appeared at their front door, Lyall and Hope Lupin did not dare to believe that his arrival could mean anything good.
When the Lupins were preparing for tea on this particular evening, everything was as it usually was. A steady drizzle had started beading on the window panes and turning the garden into a myopic blur of greens and browns. Lyall sat at the kitchen table, his hands occupied with a newspaper, but his eyes wandered out the window gazing at the fading evening light. Hope was at the stove, stirring a pot of soup, the scent of leeks and potatoes filled the small cottage. In the corner, curled up in the threadbare armchair by the hearth, Rema Jean read with her legs tucked under her, hazel eyes flicking across the pages of a book nearly as battered as the chair.
None of them heard the loud crack at the bottom of the lane.
Lyall glanced at Rema, who was thoroughly engrossed in her book. Then came a knock at the door. Three slow, deliberate taps.
Hope’s stirring hand froze. Lyall frowned, setting down his paper. Even Rema, who had learned to ignore the worried tension that often lingered in her home, glanced up from her book. Few people ever visited them unannounced. With a wary glance at Hope, Lyall rose to answer the door. Hope set the wooden spoon down carefully, wiping her hands on her apron before following him across the room. Lyall reached the door in three long strides, hesitated, only for a moment, then opened it.
A man stood on their doorstep. He wore robes of deep blue, flecked with silver embroidery that shimmered like stars in the dim light. Half-moon spectacles perched on his crooked nose, and his long beard rustled gently in the breeze. But it was his eyes—clear, bright, and terribly knowing—that gave him away before he even spoke. The man clasped his hands together under his enormous sleeves.
“Good evening,” said Albus Dumbledore, smiling and bending his head in greeting as if he didn’t realise that he was causing a great deal of panic. “May I come in?”
“Professor,” Lyall said, his voice dubious. He hesitated before stepping aside, and Dumbledore ducked into the house, bringing with him the scent of parchment and sherbet. Lyall felt his wife step up beside him, her presence solid and bracing. Hope narrowed her eyes at the intruder.
Dumbledore smiled at her, then at Rema Jean, who had sat up straighter in her chair, watching him with cautious eyes.
“Miss Lupin?”
Rema nodded, wary.
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”
He turned back to Lyall and Hope, his expression softening. “I imagine you are wondering why I am here.”
Hope shifted closer to Lyall, expression tense. “We know why you’re here,” she said. “T’ tell us she can’t go.”
Rema stiffened. Lyall’s jaw clenched.
Dumbledore’s gaze swept over them, then he smiled again. “On the contrary,” he said. “I have come to invite Rema Jean to Hogwarts.”
Hope’s fingers curled into Lyall’s sleeve. "That—” She faltered, then shook her head. “That isn’t possible," she said, sharply.
Dumbledore’s serene expression did not waver. “And yet,” he said, with the patience of a man who had spent many years answering impossible questions, “here I am.”
Lyall took a half-step forward, "With respect, headmaster, you know what she is,” he said, lowly “She’s—”
He stopped himself.
“I do,” said Dumbledore. “And I know what she is not. She is not a danger if the right precautions are taken.”
Lyall’s hand curled into a fist. “There are laws—”
"Laws, while often necessary, are not always just. “ Dumbledore said gently. “This is why I have spent the past year ensuring that, for the first time in history, a child like Rema will be able to attend Hogwarts.”
A beat of stunned silence followed.
Lyall shook his head. “Even if that’s true—how? Where would she go during the full moon?”
Dumbledore’s expression was unreadable. “That has been arranged. There will be a safe place for her, away from the other students.”
Lyall was studying Dumbledore carefully now, his mind already piecing together what Dumbledore might have done. Tilda Brandyfoot, from his department, had been gossiping about the eccentricities of the new Hogwarts headmaster after processing a permit for a Whomping Willow. Lyall had no doubt the tree had something to do with Dumbledores plans, but hadn't any idea how.
Rema, who had been silent all this time, finally spoke. “Why?” she asked.
Dumbledore turned his gaze to her. “Because you deserve a chance, Miss Lupin.”
She searched his face, looking for any trace of pity, but found none. Only certainty.
Hope looked at her daughter and saw that Rema’s eyes had taken on a glint of hopefulness. She relaxed minutely.
Lyall swallowed, still skeptical. “And the staff?”
“They are aware of the situation,” Dumbledore confirmed. “And they understand the importance of discretion.”
Hope grasped Lyall’s shoulder and looked at him intensely. “It seems… safe,” she said, a hint of question in her voice. He, after all, knew much more about wizards and such than she did.
“I don’t—” began Lyall. Before a small voice interrupted him.
“I want to go,” said Rema quietly.
All three adults turned.
Rema was standing now, her book forgotten, her small hands curled into the fabric of her jumper. “I want to go,” she repeated resolutely.
Lyall’s expression cracked. “Rema—”
“I don’t—I don’t want to be stuck here forever, hiding. I want to learn magic. I want to be normal.”
She looked very small but very bold, and Lyall was reminded intensely of Hope. Hope, whose hands were trembling, but who looked at Rema with unwavering faith. He grasped her hands gently and Hope let out a slow breath, turning to her husband. Lyall was already looking at her, his face lined with something unreadable. Hope took in her husbands hesitation and squeezed his hand gently. “Alright,” she said, avoiding Lyall’s eyes.
Rema let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.
“Excellent,” declared a forgotten Dumbledore, still standing barely inside the house. He looked perfectly at ease, but hope suddenly felt terribly rude.
“Oh – please, won’t you sit for a bit, Professor? There’s plenty of soup, if you’d like some, I always – there’s always just too many potatoes.” Her hands fluttered and she let out an awkward chuckle.
“That’s very kind, Mrs. Lupin, but I suspect you have much to discuss.” He glanced again at Rema and then Lyall. “We’ll be in touch soon with the details, Lyall is, of course, familiar with our letters,” he said, turning toward the door.
Lyall looked as though he might protest, but Hope, eager for something to do with her hands, hurried to open the door for Dumbledore. “O’ course,” she said, smiling.
“Good day.” And with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.
The door shut with a soft click and immediately Hope turned to Rema with a widening grin. “Impossible! Impossible! Oh I’m thrilled! Aren’t you just bubbling over with— Esgyrn Dafydd! The soup!” The soup certainly was bubbling, frothing over the rim of the pot, so Hope hurried over. Lyall shook himself and went to set the table.
Rema and her mother couldn’t stop speaking on the subject all through dinner. Hope’s bowl of soup went cold, Rema’s didn’t, but that was only because she was ten and ate her food with the appropriate voracity.
While the pair of them spoke, Lyall turned it all over in his head. He was pleased, of course, though he’d do well to remind his face. But he couldn’t help but worry; he’d been prepared for Rema to be safely ensconced in his protection for as long as he was able to provide it. Now, she was off – miles away – he didn’t know quite what to think.
After dinner, Hope sent Rema off to bed, as usual, and the pair of them tidied up in silence and otherwise busied themselves until a while after Rema had turned off her bedroom light. Hope sat at the table, hands curled around a cup of tea gone cold, listening to the light pattering of the rain against the window. Across from her, Lyall was staring at nothing, restlessly turning his wedding ring about his finger.
Lyall let out another long breath through his nose and Hope decided she wasn’t waiting for him to mull it over any longer. “Say what you’re thinkin’ or tell your nose to quit sighin’ about it.”
Lyall looked up at her. “I just – I don’t know how this will go for her.” Lyall was used to being quite sure of things, only once before had his worldview been rocked – the incident – and the results were almost unbearable.
Hope hummed neutrally. “It sounds like this Dumbledore has everythin’ sorted.”
“He— She’ll have to lie, all of the time. She’ll always feel different—”
Hope sighed. “She already feels different, Lyall.”
“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But- What happens if someone finds out? What if she finally gets all this – only to have it snatched out from under her? We made sure she didn’t even hope for it, so it couldn’t break her heart, but now she has it – now she’s going, what if it only breaks her worse?”
Hope was quiet for a moment, watching him. “What if it doesn’t?”
Lyall tried to speak but Hope continued on. “No, love, listen. When has the chance of loss ever been reason enough to shy away from an opportunity? Should we let our fear stop her? What kind of parents would that make us? Not very good ones, I’ll say.” She caught his hand across the table. “It’s the way of the world for us to be scared shitless whenever she does anythin’ and it’s all we can do to be there and let her try. Maybe it’ll go wrong, and we’ll be there for her, but maybe – maybe it’ll go right. She deserves that.”
Lyall looked at their joined hands. “I just don’t want her to get hurt.”
“She’s going to get hurt, love. She’s going t’ struggle, she’s going to be lonely sometimes and she’s goin’ to have bad days. But that’s life and it doesn’t mean she shouldn’t live it.”
A pause. “She looked so- ” he hesitated. “I don’t know. Almost scared to say yes.”
Hope nodded. “Because it’s a risk,” she answered. Hope thought she was familiar with the feeling, she’d felt unbearably giddy and yet horribly terrified when Lyall had told her about magic, asked her to marry him, given her a choice: him and magic, or he’d leave her be. It wasn’t a choice, not really. She never could have chosen anything but him. “She knows it’s a risk, but she has to take it anyway.” That was the feeling, when desire was so potent that giving in to it wasn’t a might but a must.
Lyall let out a long breath. “I hope it’s the right one.”
So do I, thought Hope, but what she said was “It will be,” and Lyall kissed her knuckles.
No more was said on the subject as they went to get ready for bed. Lyall felt lighter, he had his doubts still, but caught Hope’s eyes in the mirror as they brushed their teeth and smiled a bright smile. Hope was glad, but as Lyall read beside her in bed, she couldn’t help but turn over her own doubts.
They turned out the lights and settled in to bed. Lyall fell asleep quickly but Hope lay awake, considering how quickly their lives had been turned upside down - and shaken a bit for good measure. She had almost drifted off when she heard Rema Jean's bedroom door rattle open. If she was feeling dazed, how must Rema be feeling, she wondered. She suddenly felt terrible, how confusing this must be for her baby girl.
Hope slipped out of bed and padded into the kitchen. Rema was sat in her chair by the fireplace. She was glaring out of the kitchen window at the moon.
Hope wrapped her arms around herself against the chill. "Rema, love, you alright?" she asked softly, sitting down on the footstool.
Rema turned to look at her mother, looking contemplative and a little resigned. "Yes Mam,” she murmured.
For a moment, they sat in silence, the only sound the rattle of the curtains framing the draughty window. Then Hope reached out and took her daughter's foot, half tucked beneath her nightdress. "It’d be alright if you weren't, you know, Shukar," she said gently, her thumb rubbing comfortingly over an old scar on Rema's ankle.
Rema’s eyes brimmed with tears, and she suddenly flung herself forward, wrapping her arms tightly around her mother’s neck. "I don't know!" she warbled. "I-I keep thinking he'll come b-b-back and say there's been a m-mistake!"
"Oh, cariad," cooed Hope, holding her daughter close, "There’s no one in the whole world who deserves this more than you. If that Dumbledore tried to take it now, well-” she drew back just enough to meet Rema’s eyes, her expression fierce- “I’d fight him myself, I would!”
Rema let out a wet chuckle. “He’s a wizard mam,” she giggled.
Hope grinned conspiratorially. She tutted. “Wizards, schmizards–ain’t a soul living can stand against an angry mother.” She said it like a fact, something unchallengeable.
Rema Jean believed it was.