Remus flailed in Lyall's arms, screaming so sharply Hope was certain he would tear his throat. “Noooo! No, I don't want to! I don't like it! Stop, Dadi, STOP!”
Hope's heart ached and dry sobs wracked her chest at her child's screeching pleas, but there was nothing she could do to stop the rising of the moon or the curse it would soon awaken in his veins.
She stood helplessly by as her husband struggled to tame the Hydra-like limbs that seemed to sprout anew each time he pinned one down. Remus’ angelic curls shot out at all angles like raised hackles, his fringe sticky against his dripping brow. Tears and sweat flung from his frantically whipping head.
He frightened her when he was like this, his face purple and contorted so hideously she couldn't recognize her gentle boy. Though she would never admit it, even to herself, she could picture it in moments like these - the morphing skull, the pointed teeth set in a foaming mouth, the animal eyes that ever-so-slightly resembled human ones.
More than anything though, she could picture the pain. The pain that ripped through her son every month, so severe his screams, silenced with magic, still vibrated through the floor beneath her feet. The pain that frightened him so much that his teeth were currently gnashing, his delicate little fingers scratching at Lyall's face, desperate for escape.
She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to watch as Lyall, his face as flushed as their son's, struggled to pull, push, or carry Remus to the cellar door.
Hope's eyes flew open as a whiplike crack cut through Remus’ screams, followed by a deafening silence. All three stood frozen in shock. Lyall's hand trembled, still raised. A white handprint cut through the redness of Remus’ wide-eyed face. Hope stared at her husband, her mouth gaped as if in a noiseless scream. The clock ticked five, ten, fifteen times before Lyall broke the spell by stooping down to hoist Remus, now quiet and still, over his shoulder.
Hope watched helplessly as they walked away, Remus beseeching her with his eyes until he and his father disappeared down the cellar steps.
The obedient silence from down below was somehow more painful than the desperate screams that were still echoing in Hope's head.
Lyall's trudging footsteps on the stairs were nearly drowned out by the rush of blood in her ears. She nearly flew at him as he called down the stairs with a breaking voice, “I love you,” and shut the door.
He did not look at her as he cast the spells that kept them safe from their child, muttering incantations in Latin, waving his arms in graceful arcs, like an interpretive dancer.
When he finally turned away from their son's prison, he looked at Hope with such unapologetic surety she felt a surge of hate that would have frightened her if she weren't so angry.
“I did what I had to do,” he said firmly. “This isn't a game, Hope. I understand that he's afraid, but -” His words were cut off as Hope's tiny hands slammed into his chest, her eyes filled with a fire he had never seen there before.
“Don't you ever touch my baby again! Do you understand me? This is your fault - your bloody fault! I won't let you punish him for -”
“Don't you think I know that?” he roared, spittle flying from his lips. “Fuck, Hope! I don't need you throwing it in my face! But the truth is he's dangerous and -”
Hope's hands clenched into fists, but she stormed past her husband to the door he had just sealed.
“Hope, don't you dare open that door!”
She whipped around to face him, her face filled with fury.
“I may be a ‘muggle’ but I'm not stupid, Lyall,” she snarled as she plopped pointedly on the floor, her back resting against the door.
Lyall raked his hand through his hair and shook his head angrily. “Get up.”
“No.”
“I said, get up!” He started towards her and reached down as if to wrench her to her feet, but she slapped his hand away with a violence neither of them knew she was capable of.
“Don't you fucking touch me.” Her voice was filled with ice. He stepped away, panting heavily, and slid against the wall until he was sitting on the floor across from his wife. Neither looked at the other for several minutes.
Moonlight slipped through the drawn curtains, slicing a thin, blue line between them.
“I'm trying to forgive you,” Hope finally whispered, her voice strangled, “but it's so, so hard.”
Lyall sniffed. “Yeah,” he said heavily with a gravelly voice. “Yeah.”
Hope closed her eyes and rested her temple on the wooden door. She couldn't hear anything through the silencing spells her husband had cast, couldn't tell if her baby was screaming or howling. A single fat tear ran down her cheek and Lyall looked at her like his life depended on the answer to his next question.
“You can't forgive me, I know, but do you still love me?” She did not open her eyes or show any sign of having heard him. “Hope?”
Slowly, she nodded. “Yes.” She opened her eyes and looked at her husband with a fierce intensity. “But I love him more.”
Lyall nodded to his bent knees, tears now spilling from his own eyes. “It won't happen again,” he rasped.
“I know,” she murmured.
“I don't love him any less, you know.”
“I know.” She didn't, actually. More often than not, she suspected that Lyall would never see their son the same way again, that he would never be able to look at him without seeing a monster somewhere beneath the surface.
“We're going to be okay.” It was a question as much as an assurance. Hope nodded in agreement, though she doubted they would ever truly be ‘okay’ again.
She felt a thud through the floor and the vibration rose through her torso into her chest and transformed into a bitter sob. She could feel Lyall shifting closer, could feel his uncertainty. She wanted him to hold her. She wanted him to go away. She wanted to collapse in his arms. She wanted to scratch his eyes out.
“Hope?” He was sitting next to her, a few feet away. Her resolve breaking, she crawled on all fours, bridging the gap between them, and settled between his bent knees, resting her head against his firm chest.
She drew her feet out of the strip of moonlight with a shiver.