Now (C)
"If the machine of government is of such a nature that it requires you to be the agent of injustice to another, then, I say, break the law." Henry David Thoreau
He drifted in and out of awareness, caught between waking and whatever passed for sleep these days. Something sharp flitted through his dreams—a jagged edge of memory, slicing just deep enough to sting. His hand twitched reflexively against the blanket like he was bracing for a blow. But nothing came. Only the soft creak of the floorboards under small, deliberate steps.
A small shadow moved through the room. She climbed onto the edge of the bed without hesitation, her movements sure. A tiny hand reached out, wrapping around his own. Her fingers were warm and soft.
“Papi?” Her voice was small but steady, spoken with the quiet confidence of someone who knew they would always be heard.
He didn’t respond, not fully awake enough for words, but his hand relaxed beneath hers, a faint twitch of acknowledgment.
“I’m going to school now, okay?” she continued, her tone as bright and matter-of-fact. “Be good!”
She squeezed his hand once—firm, reassuring, like she had become his parent instead—and then let go. The faint sound of her footsteps, the pitter-patter of her feet against the floor, faded into the hallway.
Still half-asleep, Remus exhaled softly, his face buried in the pillow. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, small but genuine, lingering even as the pull of sleep reclaimed him.
By the time he woke, the sun was high enough to cast long slants of light through the cracks in the curtains. The quiet hum of the house told him everyone else had already started their day. Remus lingered in bed for a moment longer, blinking away the sleep, before groaning softly and dragging himself upright. His joints protested as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and shuffled to his feet.
He padded over to the bathroom.
He caught his reflection in the mirror—his hair a wild, tangled mess from sleeping on it damp—and grimaced faintly. The faint creases of the pillow still marked his cheek. He turned the faucet, splashing water on his face before reaching for a towel to pat it dry. The hair had dried in wild, chaotic waves, sticking out at angles that defied logic or gravity. He grimaced, running his fingers through it in a half-hearted attempt to tame the mess, but it only seemed to make things worse.
“Brilliant,” he muttered to no one in particular, reaching for the comb on the counter. The tangles, of course, fought back and after the comb nearly got stuck in the thicket, he left it alone. He’d just have to endure the teasing that would follow.
Leaving the guest room, he stepped into the hallway, the faint scent of coffee drifting from the kitchen. The house was quiet in that lived-in sort of way, save for the rhythmic clacking of the loom from Maria’s craft room and Elena’s irritated voice drifting down the hall.
"Absolutely not. That’s the dumbest argument I’ve ever heard," Elena snapped, her voice sharp and rising. "You’re a dumbfuck, un imbécil, a disgrace to all legal proceedings and possibly to basic humanity."
Remus laughed faintly at her righteous fury as he wandered into the kitchen. Breakfast was set out on the countertop, simple but warm, a freshly baked pan de yema with a steaming mug of café de olla, its spiced aroma filling the air. He ate quietly, tearing off pieces of the soft, egg-rich bread and letting the sweetness linger on his tongue as he listened to Elena’s one-sided tirade punctuate the morning peace.
Halfway through his meal, the clacking of the loom stopped, and Maria’s familiar footsteps approached. She slipped out of her craft room, her dark hair tied back, her hands dusted with bits of thread and lint. Without a word, she stepped into the kitchen and came close, her fingers darting to his head.
Before he could react, she ruffled his already chaotic hair, making an even bigger mess of it. “Did a bird decide to nest in your hair when I wasn’t looking?” she teased, her grin playful as she stepped back to assess her work.
He scowled up at her, but it was half-hearted. “I was trying to fix it, you know.”
“Well, you didn’t,” she snickered, looking far too pleased with herself. She lingered by the counter, waiting as he finished his last few bites of bread.
When he was done, she crossed her arms and tilted her head, her expression shifting to something softer but still serious. “You’re fed and watered now, Lupin,” she said, her voice warm but with an edge of steel. “And I’ve gathered all my thoughts. We’re going to chat now.”
Remus groaned under his breath, dragging a hand over his face. “Maria—”
“Nope.” She cut him off with a pointed look. “Finish your chocolate. Then we talk.”
Her tone left no room for argument, but the faint curve of her lips softened the command. He sighed and picked up his mug, resigned to whatever dismantling she had in store for him.
Maria stood with her arms crossed, her expression sharp and unyielding. “You want my blessing? Fine. But you’re not walking into Britain without a plan for every single possibility.”
Remus, lounging in the armchair like it might shield him from her words, sighed heavily. “Okay,” he said, resigned. “Hit me.”
Maria’s response was immediate, her tone razor-sharp. “What if someone figures out that you’re a werewolf?”
Remus winced, his shoulders hunching slightly. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
“Tough luck,” Maria snapped. “You go prepared, or you don’t go at all. What. Happens. If. Someone. Finds. Out?” She leaned forward, each word deliberate and biting, like hammer blows on steel. “The British Ministry won’t just shrug and move on. They’ll dock your pay, blacklist you, maybe even decide to ‘neutralize’ you. And let me make one thing perfectly clear—I am not springing you out of another government’s prison, Remy. We’re far too old for that.”
“We’re in our thirties.”
“Doesn’t feel that way, does it?” she shot back. “Now, focus. Who knows already?”
Remus grimaced, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he could physically push the names out of his brain. “Dumbledore,” he began reluctantly. “My dad. Um… Snape.”
Maria tilted her head, her sharp gaze flickering with curiosity and disdain. “Snape? Who’s Snape?”
He closed his eyes for a moment, debating whether it was too late to write back to Dumbledore and tell him to shove the job offer. But no, this was happening. “This… is not going to paint my friends in a good light.”
Maria arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Somehow, I doubt they deserve good lighting.”
Remus launched into a hesitant explanation of The Snape Incident. The dare. Sirius’s cruelty. James’s intervention. The fallout. His voice was flat, detached, as though recounting someone else’s life. When he finished, silence hung heavy in the room.
“You’re telling me,” Maria said slowly, her gaze focused somewhere over his shoulder, “that your best friend tried to use you as a murder weapon, knowing damn well it would’ve gotten you executed? And your other best friend stopped it by accident?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that—”
“And that same friend,” she cut him off, her voice rising, “is also the one who blew up another best friend?”
Remus’s jaw tightened. “I have suspicions about that, but—”
“But nothing.” Maria’s tone was incredulous, her voice laced with something between anger and pity. “No wonder Snape hates you. I’d try to out you too if I were him.”
Remus blinked, his brow furrowing. “What happened to ‘We’re on the same side, bitch’?”
Maria threw up her hands. “I’m just saying! If someone threw me into a death trap as a teenager, I’d still be pissed twenty years later. Longer, even.”
She exhaled sharply, uncrossing her arms. “Alright. Let’s assume the reveal is inevitable.”
Remus blinked, caught off guard. “You’re not going to yell at me some more?”
“Oh, I want to,” she said, her voice tight with barely restrained frustration. “But what’s the point? Hunting down and killing former werewolf cult members with single-minded intensity does tend to make people talk, you know. It implies a very specific connection. It’s a miracle the Americas haven’t plastered your face on wanted posters already.”
He snorted, despite himself. “They don’t care enough to go that far.” A competent government? Please, they weren’t children anymore.
“They would if you didn’t keep cleaning up their messes,” she shot back. “But that’s not the point. The point is that here, the rules are different. People gossip, but they don’t act unless they think they can profit from it. And even then, you know the game. Avoid the wrong states, keep your head down, and you’re fine. But Britain?”
“It’s like being a leper,” he admitted quietly. “Only worse.”
Maria nodded grimly. “Lepers don’t usually get forced to drink molten silver.” Remy winced harder.
The room fell silent again, the weight of her words hanging heavy between them. After a moment, she straightened, her tone brisk and businesslike. “So. If the reveal is inevitable, what can we do to mitigate the impact?”
Remy rubbed the back of his neck, his mind racing. “That’s the question, isn’t it? I could ask Dumbledore—there definitely need to be protections in place, something binding. But we can’t rely on him for everything.”
“He definitely has his own game,” Maria agreed, her tone grim. “But that’s not enough. We need leverage to ensure you don’t end up in Azkaban. We need—” She stopped mid-thought, her eyes widening before she spun on her heel and marched toward the door with purpose.
“Ella! We need your brain!”
From the other room came the unmistakable sound of Elena groaning theatrically. “Well, well, well,” she called back, her voice dripping with mock surprise. “Look who needs me! Does the cabrón need some help?”
Remus muttered to himself, “She is going to be insufferable.”
Moments later, Elena entered, her pace deliberate and precise, each step accompanied by the quiet, authoritative click of her heels. She swept into the room like she owned it, her expression caught between amusement and exasperation. “Lupin,” she said, her voice smooth but cool, “what mess have you dragged us into this time?”
“Elena,” Maria interjected, her tone measured but with an edge of warning, “be nice.”
Elena turned slightly, giving Maria a pointed look, one brow raised. “I am being nice. If I weren’t, I’d already be listing the ways in which his tendency to attract disaster could ruin all of our lives.” Her gaze swung back to Remy, sharp and assessing. “So? What is it?”
He sighed, his voice already tinged with exhaustion. “Albus Dumbledore wants me to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.”
Elena blinked. For a moment, the room was silent, and then her lips quirked into something between a smirk and a grimace. “This is an odd time to try and grow a sense of humor. Though I have to tell you—that’s not funny.”
“It’s not meant to be,” he said flatly, pulling a folded piece of parchment from his pocket and tossing it onto the table.
Elena’s eyebrows lifted, her sharp gaze flicking to the letter as she snatched it up.
“Hogwarts?” she asked. “That’s… unexpected. And why you?”
Her expression shifted rapidly as she read, moving from bemused to bewildered, then quickly to something sharper, more calculating. She let out a short laugh, almost incredulous, and reread one particularly bold section.
“‘I have every confidence in your ability to guide and inspire the next generation of witches and wizards,’” she quoted, her voice dripping with disbelief. She glanced up at Remus.
“What, does he think your skills as a bounty hunter are going to come in handy? Maybe you’ll show them the best way to track a lost goat.”
“I have skills. Applicable ones,” Remus muttered. He shouldn’t have to argue this so damn hard. They had literally met while on a job, for Merlin’s sake.
“…You’re considering it? You’re serious?” Elena asked, her brow arching. “Did you hit your head recently? Or is this just a midlife crisis come early?”
Remus groaned. “This is why we don’t invite you to things. I’m just thinking. There’s more reasons than just the job in Britain, you know.”
“Like your dead family, dead friends, and lack of prospects?”
“Applicable skills!” he repeated, his voice rising.
Maria, who had never encountered a situation where she couldn’t add fuel to the fire, especially at his expense, chimed in, “Like teaching children how to hotwire cars.”
Elena blinked, her expression shifting to open disbelief as Remus’s ears turned bright red.
“Wait. Wait. What?”
“It was one child. My child, even,” Remus mumbled.
“You taught our five-year-old how to commit grand theft auto???”
Remus blinked, startled by the accusation. “What? No. I taught her how to hotwire a car. The grand theft part was optional.”
Elena sputtered, her expression a mix of incredulity and reluctant admiration. “You taught her—” She cut herself off, shaking her head as if trying to reconcile this information with the man in front of her.
Maria, meanwhile, buried her face in her hands, though the muffled sound she made was suspiciously close to hysterical laughter. Not that she’d admit it.
“You know what?” Elena said finally, throwing her hands in the air. “I take it back. Dumbledore’s a genius. If you can inspire a toddler to commit minor felonies, clearly you’re qualified to guide the next generation of witches and wizards.”
Remus scowled at both of them. “It’s a practical skill.”
“For who?” Elena asked, clearly enjoying herself. “She was four. What emergencies were you expecting her to face?”
“A very specific set of emergencies,” he muttered, crossing his arms. Elena’s eyes gleamed.
Maria waved a hand, cutting off the bickering (despite starting it) and trying to get them back on track. “Elena, focus. What happens if someone outs him as a werewolf?”
“You die.”
“Helpful,” he replied.
“You go to the death jail. Your soul gets stolen.”
“Thank you for your words of wisdom.”
“What do else do you want from me, jackass? Britain is a cesspool of isolationist policies, outdated bloodline nonsense, and general magical bigotry. If they find out you’re a werewolf, they’ll throw you to the wolves—literally and figuratively. And no offense, Lupin, but your charming personality isn’t exactly going to win over the Wizengamot.”
“None taken,” Remus deadpanned.
“So,” Elena continued, ignoring him, “we need leverage. First, Dumbledore. What’s he promised in terms of protections?”
“Room and board, classroom funding, and the Wolfsbane potion.”
Elena stared at him, her dark eyes narrowing with incredulous disdain. “Madre de Dios, Lupin. That man is trying to pin a crime on you.”
Remus blinked. “What?”
She threw up her hands. “Room and board? Classroom funding? That’s not protection; that’s a bribe. A cheap one at that. He’s handing you scraps and acting like it’s a feast. And let’s not even get started on the potion, which is frankly a medical necessity for you to even work there–have the British ever heard of healthcare? Who’s brewing it, anyway?”
It took less than a second for Remus to realize who, exactly, would be brewing his monthly potion.
“I really don’t like the look on your face right now Remy.”
“Man up and share Lupin. The faster we understand whatever fucked up thing you realized, the faster we can try to fix it.”
“I assume…it’s Snape.” Maria stares dead-eyed.
“Snape? Asshole who hates you Snape? Almost your first murder victim Snape?”
Remus cringed into himself. “He’s the in-house potion master.”
Elena’s expression darkened. “Lupin, you will unpack that for me later, preferably when I’m drunk out of my wits. But if you say this man hates you, why is he in charge of your health? Is there a dearth of potioneers across the ocean? We can send some people if they so obviously lack.”
Maria snorted, but her tone was grim. “She’s not wrong, Remy. That sounds... unstable. Is there no one else who can make this potion?”
“No one else who’s capable and willing, probably. Certainly, no one who knows.” Remus said quietly.
Elena let out a sharp exhale, muttering something in Spanish under her breath. “Increíble. Listen, Lupin. We need a contract. Signed, sealed, and legally binding. If this whole thing goes south—and it will, because Britain—you need something in writing that protects you from being tossed into Azkaban when Snape inevitably decides to sabotage you.”
Remus frowned. “Snape wouldn’t—”
“Wouldn’t he?” Maria interrupted, her tone cutting. “If he hates you that much, what’s stopping him?”
Remus opened his mouth, closed it, and then let out a resigned sigh. “Fair point.”
Maria smirked faintly, though her eyes stayed sharp. “Good. Now listen to Elena.”
Elena pressed her hands flat against the table, leaning forward like a predator closing in. “Here’s the deal, Lupin. You’re walking into a political minefield, and the only armor you’ve got is Dumbledore’s word. That’s not good enough. You need guarantees. Actual guarantees. No ‘room and board’ nonsense—something airtight, something they can’t wiggle out of if the winds change.”
“What kind of guarantees?” he asked warily.
Maria shrugged. “For starters, what happens if Snape doesn’t give you your potion? Or if someone finds out about your, y’know…” She gestured vaguely toward him.
“Condition,” Elena said smoothly, her tone sharper. “Or if they decide you’re a liability? You need protection against all of it.”
“And you think Dumbledore would agree to that?” Remus asked skeptically.
Elena’s smirk returned, razor-sharp. “If he needs you badly enough, yes. And if he doesn’t? Walk away. You’ve got other options. We are going to make you other options. The contract is the first step and a good one. But unless we get a binding vow, it doesn’t mean much when you qualify as a Beast rather than a Being.”
“So-”
“So,” Elena continued, ignoring him, “we need leverage. You’re walking into Britain without a safety net. But what if the Ministry weren’t the ones calling the shots over you?”
Remus frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”
Maria glanced at Elena, her brow furrowing. “She’s scheming.”
“I’m planning,” Elena corrected, her tone clipped. She tapped her fingers against the table as she continued. “Think about it. The Ministry doesn’t touch goblin business. Too much history, too much bad blood. If you were under Gringotts’ sponsorship—bound by contract to them—the Ministry would have to go through the goblins to get to you.”
Remus blinked, the idea dawning on him slowly. “The goblins don’t answer to the Ministry. Their laws are separate.”
“Exactly,” Elena said, leaning forward, her voice growing sharper. “They wouldn’t care about you being a werewolf as long as you’re useful. And the Ministry wouldn’t want to risk sparking another goblin rebellion over something as petty as hiring you.”
Maria frowned, arms crossing as she leaned back. “It’s clever, but how do you sell that to the goblins? They’re not exactly known for charity.”
“They don’t need charity,” Elena said, brushing the thought aside. “They need utility. Goblins are pragmatists. If they see value in Lupin, they’ll back him.”
“And what do I offer them?” Remus asked, still wary but intrigued. He always loved to see this side of her- the way her brain worked was so interesting.
“You tell me,” Elena said, gesturing at him. “You’ve been running odd jobs for years. What’s the pitch?”
He considered for a moment, then straightened slightly. “Curse-breaking. Artifact retrieval. Bounty hunting. They value results, and I’ve always delivered.”
Maria’s frown deepened. “But that was freelance work, Remy. From what I've read, Goblins don’t hand out deals lightly. You’d have to prove your worth, and even then, they’d squeeze you dry.”
“I know how they work….in theory,” Remus said, his tone turning firm. “I’ve worked adjacent to them before. They’re not going to care that I’m a werewolf if they think I can deliver. And if they think I can’t…” He shrugged, his expression grim. “I’ll just have to prove them wrong.”
“Not bad,” Elena said thoughtfully, tapping her lips. “But it’s still risky. Goblins don’t tolerate failure, and they’d chew you up the second you slip.”
“By the time that happens,” Remus said quietly, “I’ll have what I need—a foothold, a way to stay out of Azkaban. It’s more of a measure to buy time, right?”
Maria exhaled sharply, breaking the tension. “You’re really going to try this? It seems almost too simple, too clear cut.”
Elena smirked, her sharp edges softening into something like pride. “Of course he is. But not without a plan, Mar. And definitely not without me. Goblins don’t tolerate indecision or incompetence, and while Lupin has his… strengths, diplomacy isn’t one of them.”
“None taken,” Remus muttered dryly.
Elena ignored him, her focus on the logistics. “Here’s how we play this. You can’t just walk in and say, ‘Hire me.’ They need to see you as indispensable, someone they can’t afford to lose to the British Ministry’s incompetence or anyone else.”
Maria leaned forward, her expression skeptical. “And when they don’t need him anymore?”
“That’s what contracts are for,” Elena said sharply. “He’ll negotiate terms that give him enough leverage to walk away if he needs to. Or at least enough time to pivot.”
“And you think they’ll agree to this?” Maria asked, still doubtful.
“They will,” Elena said confidently, her smirk returning. “If we craft the pitch right. Goblins love the game as much as they love the gold. If we play our cards right, they won’t just agree—they’ll see it as a win.”
Remus shook his head with a soft laugh, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’d die,” Elena said bluntly, though there was a faint warmth in her tone. “Probably in some spectacularly stupid way. So you’re welcome.”
Maria snorted, shaking her head. “Alright. I’ll bite. How do we start?”
Elena leaned back, her sharp grin widening. “We make a list. Every skill he has, every advantage we can spin, and every contingency we need in case this goes south.”
“And the backup plan?” Maria added.
“Of course,” Elena said. “Because if the goblins won’t take him, then we’ll just have to get more creative.”