Now
“Helen, Helen, come home; there was a Helen before there was a War, but who remembers her?” Hilda Doolittle (H.D.)
Remus had done the throwing, much to Maria's irritation...and quiet delight. These days, it took quite a bit to get him to that point. When Maria returned from the kitchen and surveyed the frosting-smeared aftermath, she rolled her eyes but went out anyway to buy him maguey cocido as a reward. Remus, predictably, was annoyed by the gesture, but he was adaptable; he could chew through his irritation just fine.
Elena, for her part, tore into everything he was with surgical precision. Her questions were incisive and her critiques relentless. It was both more and less painful than Remus had expected. For all that she'd felt like a permanent fixture in their lives, she hadn’t known him (or Maria for that matter) for very long. She didn’t know him in the way Maria did, and he wasn’t sure he wanted her to. Her disdain for him was clear, but so was her fierce admiration for Maria. That, at least, comforted him; her criticisms were rooted in wanting to make this work.
Elena only knew the outlines of their stories. Elena knew, for instance, that Remus had been involved in Britain's Wizarding War against that dark lord and that he'd left in the aftermath. She knew that he'd become a bounty hunter since it was a job that allowed him to work around his moon-cycle. She knew that Maria had sought him out, and after a point, they realized they were truly formidable together, and they'd taken the Americas by storm. She knew the reputation they had created had given them great facility, but also made them fear daggers in the back. Essie had come along at some point, and they'd accommodated that while moving on the road until Maria decided to settle down to be closer to her elderly grandmother. Remus had continued to travel between North, South, and Central America in pursuit of employment.
But that was it.
And when laid out like that, it seemed rather scant. He thought some of their stories could fill entire books.
Maria had asked him, before, if she could speak about their past. He'd been a bit surprised that she was even asking before he realized. Maria could share her secrets, and she probably did. But so many of her stories were also his, and those, he knew, she couldn’t reveal without his history.
And that, until now, he found was too painful.
He wasn’t afraid, really, of telling Elena his stories, but he didn’t think she’d grasp them the way Maria did. The way Maria was forced to after her own family was slaughtered to one little girl and one decrepit old woman. Tragedy makes strange bedfellows, and they'd both spent years staring into the fire, seeing the dead and dying. He had been half insane with grief and she had been an avenging angel determined to make her enemies pay in liters of blood.
They really should have killed each other at some point, but they didn't. Instead, somehow, they'd worked like a well-oiled machine.
Elena was passionate, whip-smart, and deeply principled, but her path had been different. Favored heir to a wealthy Mexican wizarding family, she had made her stand publicly, breaking with them when their views became too much for her to stomach. It was a brave choice, but not one that had demanded quite the same price Maria had paid.
(It was also a choice that reminded him of Sirius, and that made him, in part, a little dismissive of her. But he knew that particular aspect was on him and not her.)
There was a profound difference between choosing to forsake something and being forced to rebuild yourself because lying down and dying in the dirt was the only alternative.
Despite everything, Remus couldn't help but feel that Elena was really very young. Maria, three years his senior, carried her age with a gravity born of loss, and the curse had stolen what was left of his own youth long before its time. What the curse didn’t claim, the camps had. But he did think it was lovely (and really, entirely foreign to his life experiences) to think of life in such black-and-white terms!
He wasn’t referring to the law or government, Elena had no real faith in its justice, though she relished the strategy it demanded, treating it as a battlefield where intellect triumphed over principle. No, it was her view of people that felt overly simplistic. In her eyes, the world was divided cleanly between the virtuous and the wicked: good people did good things and bad people did bad things, all very simplistic. It was a binary that left no space for the tangled reality of life, no room for the moral contradictions and compromises that he'd become so familiar with.
And yet, there were moments when Maria’s intervention felt less like balance and more like control. Like she was gently (but firmly) yanking back her lover before she crossed a line.
“Ella, amor,” Maria interrupted once again, her voice sweet but firm, “I think Remus is raising a fair point here. Let’s not dismiss it outright.”
Elena flushed, caught halfway through another sharp rebuttal, and immediately softened her tone. “I wasn’t dismissing it,” she said, though her expression said otherwise. “I just think the wording could be stronger. Lupin is being too lenient–”
Maria hummed in agreement, casting a sly glance at Remus. “Stronger, yes. But don’t forget, we’re aiming to get the Goblins on our side, not send them running out the room in offense."
Remus bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking. Maria’s talent for gentle admonishment was genuinely something to behold. He liked to see it turned on others, since it was usually him she was chastising.
Still, he didn’t miss the faint edge of mischief in her tone, the way her gaze lingered on him for just a moment too long. Maria was having fun.
And why wouldn’t she? Maria, who had once been all sharp angles and biting ferocity, who had burned with the kind of righteous rage was now quieter, softer, but no less deadly. To Elena, she was a sweet, gentle mother, someone who had left the darkness behind and embraced the light of their new life together. Redeemed wasn't quite the right word, but it was the closest.
Remus knew better.
Maria preferred it this way, letting Elena think of her as delicate, as someone in need of protection rather than someone who gleefully decimated her enemies. She didn’t want her lover to fear her. Remus understood that.
He, on the other hand, had no such illusions. He could feel Elena’s distrust of him simmering just beneath the surface, her perception of him as the deadbeat ex dragging Maria back into a life of violence. It would have been funny if it weren’t so inconvenient.
He let her think what she wanted. He had other priorities.
The day dragged on, and by the time Maria finally called for a break, his bones ached with the telltale warning of the coming full moon. As he stretched and stood, Maria caught his eye, her gaze soft with concern.
“You’re done for the day,” she said firmly, cutting off his protests with a raised hand. “Go rest. Elena and I can finish this part.”
Elena’s expression tightened, whether out of annoyance or concern, he couldn’t quite tell, but she didn’t argue.
Remus nodded, the ache in his limbs making it easy to accept Maria’s words. But before he left, he couldn’t help but make one final decision.
“I’ll pick up Essie from school tomorrow,” he said quietly.
Maria smiled, her eyes warm with approval. “Good. Now go to sleep, Remy."
The moment Essie spotted him outside the school gates, her delighted squeal rang out like a bell. “Papi!”
Remus braced himself, his heart lifting despite the ache in his body. She barreled toward him, her school bag bouncing against her back, her curls wild and untamed as they always were by the end of the day.
“Careful now, fy mach i,” he said, crouching just enough to catch her in his arms, though the effort made his knees protest. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, breathing in the scent of soap and milk and something faintly sweet he couldn’t place. Baby, the wolf in him hummed. His baby, sweet and soft-cheeked.
Essie pulled back slightly, her bright eyes narrowing. “You’re tired,” she said, her little hand brushing against his cheek.
Remus smiled, but he didn’t deny it. “Just a bit, lovely. The moon’s coming soon, remember?”
Her lips pursed a dramatic pout that would have been comical if it didn’t tug so sharply at his heart. “Then you shouldn’t have come to get me! Mama said you need to rest. Papi, you should be in bed!”
“Well, your mama’s usually correct, but...” He leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “I missed you too much.” And he did.
That won him a giggle, though her brow furrowed again as she eyed him like a particularly challenging puzzle. “No picking me up today, huh?”
“No, not today, my bones ache.” He reached for her hand instead, squeezing it. “But I bet you can keep me company on the way home. What do you say? I might get lost, star, if you don't.”
Essie considered this with all the seriousness of a child weighing the most critical decision of her life. Then, her face brightened, and she tugged on his hand. “Okay! But only if we play!”
“Play?” he asked, feigning bewilderment. “I thought we were walking?”
“We can do both!” she declared, already skipping ahead and pulling him along. "We’re on a mission, Papi! You’re the brave explorer, and I’m... I’m a wizard princess leading you to the treasure.”
What could he say to that? He could lie, could tell her that of course she would, that magic was as much a part of her as her laughter or her smile. It was in her blood, wasn’t it? Surely, it would come in time. What other inheritance could he possibly offer her, beyond magic?
And yet, deep down, he wasn’t sure himself.
His own first act of magic had been the stuff of family legend. His startled mother and delighted father loved to recount the story of three-year-old Remus, standing in their garden with his Mam, planting saplings. He’d been impatient, she always said, smiling fondly at the memory.
“But I want it to grow now!” he’d insisted, his tiny rubber-booted foot stomping on the soft soil. In that instant, his magic surged, unrestrained and wild. The sapling grew and grew, twisting into a small, sturdy tree, its branches reaching skyward.
His Mam had stared, open-mouthed in astonishment, while his Tad had laughed and lifted him high, cheering at the miracle of it.
"My boy," his Tad had said, "my dear boy!"
But Essie, his darling Essie, had never shown even a flicker of the same spark. Her temper didn't lead to her summoning something, or explosions, or changing the color of the nursery walls.
Not that it mattered. Not really. Maria’s enchanted tapestries responded to her, didn't they? Sure, they were bound to Maria's bloodline, not magical. Surely, there was that.
It wasn't the same thing though. Maria, Elena, himself- they all knew that.
It wasn’t disappointment he felt, he had long since abandoned any such expectation. He had a daughter! A brilliant miracle! It seemed so inconsequential to worry about her magic when he was, in truth, he was too grateful to care, relieved beyond words that she had been spared the curse that shaped his life.
Still, a small part of him couldn’t help but ache for the answer to a question he dared not ask aloud: what did the future hold for a child who might never hold a wand? What help could he give her? How would he defend her even after he was gone, if many of the magical means he was relying on would not ever work for his child?
His thoughts turned, unbidden, to his own mother, Hope. She had been a Muggle, without a single drop of magic, and yet he had loved her with a ferocity that defied words. His darling Essie was nine-tenths her mother in looks, but in her face, he saw traces of his dear Mam. He had been six-tenths his mother in appearance, and she had loved him for it. “You’ve got all the features of the people I love most,” she would say, her smile radiant, as if his plain face were a treasure. With that quiet endorsement, Remus had always loved his face too. How could he not, when it had brought her such joy?
When she’d grown ill, when cancer had curled its claws into her body, he’d watched helplessly as she folded in on herself, growing smaller and smaller, as though retreating from the world. Toward the end, he held her face in his hands and thought that all parents become children again, eventually. It had been his misfortune to witness her fading before he was fully grown.
If she were to die now, as he was now, he would know how to comfort her. He would lay her head in his lap and tell her stories—of everything and anything—to distract her from the pull of that dark tide. He would hold her close, cradling her fragile body with the care and strength that comes only with experience. He knew children now. He had learned how to hold them, how to soothe their fears, how to shield them from the worst of the world.
But back then, he’d been a child himself, and children make poor caretakers. They have neither the wisdom nor the tools to shoulder that kind of grief. All he’d been able to do was love her fiercely and desperately, as if that alone could keep her tethered to life.
And perhaps that was enough. It had to be enough because it was all he could give. The same way his love for Essie would always be enough, whether or not she ever showed a spark of magic. Magic was not what made someone extraordinary. It wasn’t what had made his Mam extraordinary, nor was it what made Essie his brilliant girl.
“Papi?” Essie asked again, her small hand tugging at his sleeve.
He shook himself from his reverie, looking down at her earnest face. “You are perfect as you are, sweetling,” he said softly, his voice steady and warm. “And whatever comes, you must know, that we love you dearly. You are the light of my eyes.” He looked at her moon-like face, her dark beetle eyes, and her elfin ears. Love is such a stupid word for how much I adore you, dear heart.
Essie’s smile was small and she tucked herself against his side as they walked on, her hand in his.