Now (A)
small small weak weak covered in bruises too fragile too young too quiet too shy too everything
The bedroom was warm, bathed in the soft glow of a single enchanted lantern hanging from the ceiling. Shadows danced lazily along the walls, painting over the little trinkets and toys Essie had collected—smooth river stones, a stuffed duck with one button eye missing, and a stack of books much too advanced for a six-year-old. The bed was draped in a patchwork quilt Maria had sewn by hand, its bright blues and greens a vivid contrast to the faded paint on the walls.
Remy pulled the sheets back and lifted Essie, settling her gently into the bed. She giggled as he tucked the covers snugly around her, squirming just enough to make the process a little harder.
“Hold still, you little menace,” he murmured with a mock frown, though his lips twitched in amusement. He sat beside her, his hand instinctively reaching for her dark curls, petting at them softly. They tumbled wildly over her shoulders, catching the lamplight in glossy, unruly waves. Her big brown eyes, framed by long lashes, gazed up at him with rapt attention. Her small nose wrinkled slightly as he leaned down and kissed her forehead, drawing a dramatic whine from her.
“Papi!” she complained, drawing the word out in a theatrical whimper. “You said you’d tell me a story!”
“I did, didn’t I?” he said, his voice warm with affection. “What kind of story, fy mach i?”
“Tell me about a case!” she demanded, her eyes shining with excitement.
“Oh? What kind of case?”
“A mystery one!” she said enthusiastically, pulling the covers up to her chin as if preparing for something truly thrilling or frightening. Remy couldn’t help but grin.
“Alright then. Let me tell you about the Strange Case of the Missing Hiker.”
Essie gasped, her little hands clutching the quilt tightly. “A missing person?”
“A hiker,” Remy specified. “It happened in Appalachia, deep in the mountains. They called me in because the locals couldn’t figure out what had happened. A man—let’s call him Mr. Abernathy—had disappeared on a hiking trail known for strange noises and odd lights at night.”
Essie’s mouth hung open in fascination. “What kind of noises?”
“Like singing,” Remy said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “But not the kind you hear at concerts or in church. This was high-pitched like wind rushing through a hollow bone. And the lights? Bright blue, like a flame that doesn’t burn. The locals were convinced it was ghosts.”
“Was it ghosts?” Essie whispered, her eyes wide.
He smirked. It was so easy to get her invested. “Not exactly. When I got there, I found tracks leading off the main trail—two sets of footprints, one human and one… something else. Something with claws.”
Essie gasped again, her fingers digging into the quilt.
“So,” he continued, “I followed the trail all night, using charms to keep myself hidden. The singing got louder, and the lights got brighter. Eventually, I reached a clearing, and there, in the middle of it, was poor Mr. Abernathy… sitting at a tiny table with what looked like an old woman.”
Essie tilted her head. “Why was he at a table?”
“Because,” Remus said with a grin, “the ‘old woman’ was actually a hag, and she had tricked him into playing a game. If he won, she’d let him go. If he lost…” He trailed off, giving her a meaningful look.
Essie clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide. “What happened? Did he win?”
“He would’ve,” Remus said, leaning closer, “if he hadn’t been absolutely trash at riddles. The hag asked him a riddle about the wind, and poor Mr. Abernathy guessed, ‘A really fast bird.’”
Essie burst into giggles, the sound warm and bright. “That’s silly!”
“Very silly,” Remus agreed, laughing along with her. “Fortunately for Mr. Abernathy, I stepped in before things got too serious. I used a charm to break her concentration, grabbed him, and we both bolted out of there.”
“What about the hag?” Essie asked, her laughter fading as curiosity took over.
Remus shrugged. “She wasn’t too happy about it, but hags aren’t much for chasing when they’ve already been outsmarted. I left her a nice little ward to keep her away from the trail for good measure.”
Essie sighed contentedly, resting her cheek against the pillow. “That was a good one, Papi. Was Mr. Abernathy okay?”
“He was fine,” Remus assured her. “But I don’t think he’ll be hiking in Appalachia anytime soon.”
Essie giggled again, her voice softer now as her eyelids began to droop. “I like the stories about you,” she murmured sleepily. “I tell my friends at school sometimes. They say you’re a hero.”
Remus’s heart twisted at her words, but he kept his tone light. “Ah…a hero, am I? Well, don’t let them know how bad I am at riddles.. Might ruin their impression of me.”
Essie smiled, her eyes fluttering closed. “You’re the best at riddles, Papi…”
Her voice was soft, the words barely a murmur. He sat with her as her breathing slowed, his hand resting gently on her head. The room grew quiet, save for the soft rustle of the quilt and the distant hum of the enchanted lantern. Remus’s eyes dragged down as well, the day’s weariness creeping up on him like a tide.
For a long moment, he stayed there, watching her small chest rise and fall, his thumb tracing the edge of one unruly curl. He should’ve left—there were things to do, letters to write, plans to finalize. But the thought of moving felt impossible. The air felt settled, lulling him to rest.
After a moment’s hesitation, he slipped off his coat and loosened his tie, letting them fall to the floor. He shifted carefully, stretching out beside her on the small bed.
Sensing him, even in her sleep, Essie latched onto him, her small arms wrapping around his middle as she burrowed into his chest. Her curls tickled his chin as she sighed contentedly, settling into him.
Remus exhaled slowly, his arms folding around her almost instinctively. He curled around her tiny frame, his body tense at first, like he was bracing. But slowly, his muscles softened, and he pulled her closer.
He felt like a dying animal curled around its child. His hand rested on her back, fingers splayed as though he could anchor her to him, keep her safe through sheer will alone. He hadn’t given birth to her, but if he could place her somewhere in her ribs, he would. The thought was deranged. He thought it anyway.
I'm sorry, he thinks, nonsensically, that I brought you here. I am sorry that I do not regret it.
Remus, as he is now, is not a trusting person. Being burned his entire life would do that to a man. But something in his nature makes love so addictive, so enticing—he falls in love with strangers and enemies, with the dark gleam in Sirius’s eyes and Maria’s smooth singing, with Elena’s inability to ever let him get away with anything, and...
But these loves are imbalanced. He would never impose on anyone. He loves someone, so what? None of their business. These are his memories, worn and ragged and tired. He will protect them by never breathing a word about it.
But Essie is—
When Essie was born in that damp shack (because apparently all of Remus’s life-changing events must happen in a shack; it’s some kind of fucked up divine law), he remembers kneeling down in front of Maria, wand pointed behind her to hold the wards in place, to ensure no one would get in. He remembers her nails digging into his neck, her mouth tearing into his shoulder to muffle her screams. He kept thinking, Oh Merlin, Oh Morgiana, Oh Divinity, Oh Love—
I wish I could take your pain, your rage, your agony; the babe-I wish it were me-I am sorry-
His baby was born in blood and rain, and Maria held her, looking at her with a great and terrible love. “I’m going to rest now,” she had told him, her voice hoarse and exhausted. He helped her down onto the rough pallet of sheets.
As Maria leaned back, her head lolling against the damp wood, and as the baby nestled into her arms, Remus cast every warming charm he knew over both of them. He remembers whispering a litany under his breath: I would die for you, I would die for you, I would die—
And then, at the child, barely a breath old and already everything in his world:
I would live for you. I would claw onto life and out of graves untold. I would come back and haunt those who hurt you, and I would make them pay. I have never had a protector—you will never be without one.
Elena was the one who came to wake him, her expression carefully blank as she stood over the bed. She reached out, giving his shoulder a firm shake—rougher than it probably needed to be. “Lupin,” she said sharply. “Get up.”
Remus stirred, blinking blearily, his arms still wrapped protectively around Essie. For a moment, he looked at Elena as if she were a distant memory dragging itself into the present, then down at the little figure curled against his chest. Gently, he untangled himself, his hand lingering briefly in her hair before he swung his legs over the side of the bed.
As he bent to get his coat and tie, his gaze flicked back to Essie. Her small body was snug under the quilt, her face peaceful in the soft light. Something tightened in his chest, but before he could sink back into the moment, Elena cleared her throat, loud and deliberate.
“Come on,” she said, already turning for the door.
He trailed after her, dragging his coat over his shoulders and crumpling the tie in his hand. His gaze flicked back to Essie one more time before the door clicked shut behind them.
In the kitchen, the faint glow of a charm kept a plate of food warm on the counter. Maria had left it for him—a gesture of practicality rather than kindness, but one Remus appreciated all the same. The rich, earthy smell of mole negro filled the room, mingling with the scent of warm masa. His stomach growled, and he grabbed the plate without waiting for an invitation.
“How long was I out?” he asked between mouthfuls, his fork scraping against the plate as he devoured the meal without restraint.
Elena leaned against the counter, crossing her arms and watching him with thinly veiled disdain. “Do you have any idea how disgusting you look right now?”
“Not particularly,” he replied, shoving another piece of meat into his mouth. “Haven’t had a proper meal in days.”
“Clearly.” She sniffed, her lip curling slightly. “You were out for hours. Honestly, I’m impressed you didn’t just keel over. When’s the last time you slept, Lupin?”
He paused, chewing slowly as if the answer required deep thought. “Sixty-two—no, seventy hours ago,” he amended with an air of casual detachment. He’d rushed, maybe inadvisably, to get here as fast as possible, and his body was making it known that it did not like that.
Elena stared at him, incredulous. “You’re a fucking moron.”
Remus shrugged, swallowing the bite of food. “Probably.”
They lapsed into silence, though it wasn’t a comfortable one. The room felt too small, the air heavy with unspoken words and unresolved history.
“You can’t keep doing this,” Elena said finally, her voice low and cutting. “Running yourself into the ground like you’re trying to win some kind of martyrdom competition. One day, you’re going to drop dead in the middle of whatever righteous crusade you’ve decided to throw yourself into, and then where does that leave Maria? Essie?”
He kept eating, refusing to meet her gaze. “I’ll manage.”
“Until you don’t,” she snapped. “Do you think you’re invincible? Or just stupid?”
Remus set the fork down, leaning back in the chair and regarding her with an expression that was both tired and pointed. “You’re awfully concerned for someone who clearly can’t stand me.”
Elena’s lips curled into something between a smile and a sneer. “Don’t flatter yourself. This isn’t about you. It’s about the people you’d leave behind when you inevitably get yourself killed.”
Her words hit their mark, but Remus didn’t flinch. Instead, he let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Always so generous with your affection.”
“Always so predictable,” she shot back.
They stared at each other for a long moment, the air between them crackling with tension. It wasn’t the kind that broke into shouting; it was the kind that simmered, sharp and heavy, forcing them to coexist despite their mutual distaste.
Finally, Elena pushed off the counter, her arms still crossed. “Eat. Sleep. Do something useful that doesn’t involve working yourself into an early grave. Whether you like it or not, Lupin, Essie needs you alive. And Maria…” She trailed off, her expression hardening. “Well, she’s already buried enough people.”
He didn’t reply, returning his attention to the plate. Her footsteps echoed as she walked away, disappearing into the hallway. When he glanced up, she was gone, leaving him alone with the food and the quiet, uneasy weight of her words.