Assythment

Romulus' heart was beating harshly against his ribs, cold winding between his spring of goosebumps. His eyes watched warily as the figure in front of him moved forward and he followed after a halted moment.

“Remus,” he whispered low and soft, trying to catch the figure's attention. “I really don't think we should be doing this…”

The moon was high in the sky, a flower in full bloom. It cast stark shadows where Romulus swore he saw something move.

He could hear his brother rolling his eyes.

“Really, Rome,” Remus chided. “Don't be a wuss.”

His missing bottom teeth made his wuss sound more like wuth. Romulus stepped over a twig with haste, trying to keep up with Remus. He'd always been the more adventurous one of them both, but Romulus doesn't have a clue why Remus suddenly decided to bring them on a late night walk into the forest. The latest they'd ever been out before was dinnertime.

“Remus,” Romulus whined, gripping onto his brother's pajama shirt. It was from a set of two they'd gotten as a joint gift from Mama. Romulus' has a cat print, and Remus' has a dog print. “Can you tell me why we're here now? I wanna go home.” Something moved a bush in the distance and Romulus tightened his fingers on Remus's sleeve. He squeaked, “please.”

Remus sighed, shrugging Romulus' grip and then intertwining it with his own hand. He looked into Romulus' eyes with a serious expression.

“I got a letter from Dad,” he said.

“WHAT,” Romulus' next words are muffled by Remus' palm.

“Shhh! Do you want the wolves to come?” Remus looked around, before backing up once he'd determined Romulus wouldn't scream. “He wants to surprise us, but he said we have to meet him outside the wards.”

“Outside…?” Romulus whispered. “But we've never been outside the wards!”

“We've been to Diagon Alley.”

“With Mama!” Romulus kept his voice hushed. “We can't just… Why couldn't Father meet us at home?”

Remus shrugged. Romulus knew his brother always missed their father the most out of the two of them. He rarely ever comes home to stay for long, instead working all day and maybe sleeping at the house once every week or two. Most of the time, he didn't stay to chat with either of them. Romulus sighed, knowing he'd just given into his brother's whims.

“This surprise better make you happy,” Romulus muttered—mostly directed toward his father—but didn't really mean it.

“It will.” Remus beamed, edging through the trees. “There's the ward stone.”

“Wait, Remus!” Romulus nearly tripped as he went after his sprinting brother. He abruptly smacked into his back as Remus stood still, looking around.

“Where is he?” Remus asked.

“Right here, boys.”

They both turned to the right where the voice had come from, but they didn't see their father there. Only shrubs and darkness beyond that.

“Dad?”

“Remus, that didn't sound like Father.” Romulus was shivering now. The moon was glaring down at them in the clearing, harsh white dust on their heads and shoulders. Romulus lost Remus' expression in that deep contrast, despite being able to construct his brother's familiar features with his eyelids closed. “Remus? Remus, don't go.”

“Wait here, Rome. Daddy says it's a gift for me.”

Romulus tried to grasp his brother's pajamas but his shaking hands only came up with air. “What're you talking about? I thought the surprise was for us both. Remus,” he hissed, with a new, terrifying sort of desperation. Something was wrong, he knew that much. He felt a strange coldness seep into his chest. “Don't go? Please?”

For some reason, Romulus didn't expect that to work. Remus halted, tilting his head towards Romulus with a confused frown, an expression of bewilderment that didn't belong. His eyes looked oddly dimmed even as it reflected the full moon.

“What's wrong?”

Romulus swallowed, glancing at the shrubs again. “This… this feels wrong. Can't we just wait for Father inside?”

“He said to come outside the wards, Rome, you know this.” Remus turned on his heel. “Where is Dad anyway? Why isn't he here?”

A twig snapped.

They both stared at the direction of the sound—completely opposite the shrubs where the voice had come from.

Remus backed up.

“Dad?” he whispered once more before his expression suddenly set and he stepped back all the way to Romulus.

A low, gravelly voice came from near the snapped twig. “What a strong will for a child,” it hummed, seemingly talking to itself. The light, airy tone in that nightmarish grind of vowels sent a chill down Romulus' spine.

“Rome,” Remus whispered suddenly, knuckles white as he gripped his brother's wrist. “We run at one. Ok? Scream when you can.”

Romulus nodded fervently. 

“Three.”

They both stepped back once. Romulus thought the leaves must have stopped rustling as deafening silence fell around them. 

“Two.”

Remus looked nervous. Romulus didn't like it—didn't like that something was wrong, after all. He wished he'd been wrong. He wished his brother wasn't nervous, wished he didn't hear harsh breaths that seem loud in the quiet. He knew it was Remus' irregular breathing because he had been holding his breath since the twig had snapped.

He wished Father was here.

“One.”

Just as they're about to make a run for it, a great, gray beast came leaping for them. Its teeth were stained yellow even in the shine of moonlight. Sharp and long as Romulus' forearm. It's on two hind legs, tall and hunched. Glassy blue eyes locked on them with pin-sized pupils. The growl it gave as it hit Remus' body was nothing short of hair raising.

“REMUS!” Romulus screamed, but his voice was lost to Remus' own tortured noise. It was like an animal dying, like something horrifically unnatural occurring. Remus' voice cracked and broke into splinters of pain as he went down.

All Romulus could see was the hunched back of the werewolf, its wiry back muscles taut and spinal cords sticking out as it bent forward to…

to eat his brother.

Romulus' mouth was open in a silent shout as he raced forward, nothing but the thought of his brother on his mind. He put his tiny hands into fists and battered at the beast's back, little, terrified sounds escaping due to his efforts. He wanted to say, “Let go of my brother!” or “Get off him!” or something , but fear took his speech, his lungs and his heart. He couldn't even hear the sound of it beating anymore. Maybe fear took his ears too.

He blinked up at the night sky, watching the moon watch from above. Warmth seeped into his right shoulder, which shouldn't be possible, considering the snow left from a few days ago. He turned his head.

Blue eyes stared back. Yellowed teeth were painted red as they pierced through his skin and muscle. The beast was majestic in a way—white fur giving into darkening and darkening gray. It blended into a black so all consuming that Romulus was taken over by it. 

Romulus blinked again, this time waking to huffed breaths and movement. He could smell chocolate.

“Remus?” he muttered sleepily into his brother's hair. Remus was carrying him on his back. “Remus, what…”

“I don't — know. I,” Remus panted, suddenly halting in his steps. “We're going back home.”

“Are you hurt?”

Remus huffed. “Not as much as you.”

“What does that mean?” Romulus tried to get rid of the haze that'd fallen over his eyes. 

His brother looked over his shoulder at him, before turning around and continuing without a word. It was strange of Remus to be so withdrawn.

“Remus.” Romulus frowned. “Answer me. What happened? I can't…? What happened?”

Sounding choked, Remus replied, “A werewolf — he bit me. And. You…”

Romulus felt discomfort now. Something was odd. Werewolf? How would a werewolf enter their wards? And why did it bite Remus?

“Are you okay?” he pressed. “Are you hurt? Why are you — oh, my god. It's — it's the full moon.” Romulus' voice tapered out in disbelief or maybe in denial. “You —”

“Romulus.” Remus grit his teeth as he climbed the last of a slight hill, straining. “I'm not. The issue here. Did you not see…”

“MAMA!” Romulus screamed, scrambling off of Remus' back as fast as he could. Oddly, it wasn't very quick. He hit the ground with a groan, but got his feet under him soon enough to run towards the burnt house. “MAMA!”

A second later, Remus echoed him. “MAMA!”

Romulus felt unbalanced. He couldn't believe his eyes. Their house, where they slept, ate and played — where their Mama slept — 

He thought he could smell smoke. Something kept tugging at his chest and head painfully. It's like his head was swimming and he's been tipping over sideways slowly. On his knees again, he whispered, “Mama?” at the charred, black remains of wood on the ground. Like singular bits of the werewolf's fur, thicker and larger.

Remus was breathing really fast next to him. “Romulus. Romulus!” His breath was a squeak. “She wouldn't have — she didn't see!”

Tears blurred Romulus' vision, a whirlpool of dark and ash gray, and he doubled over and vomited. 

“Why do I feel so…?” Romulus muttered. He wished he could focus, because their Mama, and then Remus was bitten by a werewolf but he — his head was just so slow.

Remus pulled him back up from his hunch. He held him even as Romulus wobbled to the left.

He was sobbing.

“Rome.” Ash from the wind had risen and struck Remus' face. His lips and forehead were pulled in stress, tears and snot shining as the sun rose in the sky. The new dog print pajamas were dark red, almost black. He shuffled forward, looping arms around Romulus tightly, and Romulus immediately embraced him. Or, tried to. He looked at his disobedient right arm, where

there was

He couldn't find his arm.

“Where is…” He whispered, but Remus just hugged him tighter, sobbed harder. “My —” Stars were firing off in his eyes. The smell of smoke filled his head as things crisscrossed, snapped, wound tight around each other or dimmed altogether in his brain. Hot and unbearable pain began to poison every inch of his conscious thought and sight.

“Rome,” Remus was saying, “Rome don't worry. Don't worry. I'll help you. I’ll take care of you.”

Romulus wavered, head swaying as his tense muscles gave out from exhaustion. He felt empty and light in a bad way.

“Ok,” he uttered, then went to sleep.

“I don't understand.”

Romulus shuffled as he tried to get comfortable in the bed, knocking into Remus' bony knees and elbows. His brother shushed at him. They both leaned closer to the closed curtains, trying to catch the words.

“Your sons have been infected, Mr. Lupin. Their blood tested positive for the lycanthrope curse.”

“I don't…”

A sigh. “I understand your hesitation. However, your sons don't. They're going to need stability moving forward. Will you be able to provide that for them, or shall I alert for a transfer of custody?”

Almost sounding angry, their father spit out, “I can give them stability just fine. Excuse me.” Loud steps of boots on the floor followed Lyall Lupin out the hospital room.

The curtain rings sang as they were pushed to the side. 

“It's alright,” the Healer said, smiling at their embarrassment at getting caught eavesdropping. “You two will be able to go with your father very soon. You'll take two doses of the potion I gave you every day, okay? Once in the morning, once at night, to help with residual pain.”

Romulus and Remus nodded dutifully. 

“And Romulus,” they said, having gained permission from the two to call them by their first names so as to avoid confusion. “It's about time you chose out an arm, isn't it? Are you excited?”

Romulus shifted in the bed. Remus put a hand on his arm and that comfort made Romulus take a breath. Where his right arm once had been was a stump under his shoulder. They might have been able to fix it if they hadn't forgotten the place his cut off arm was, but even the thought of dragging around a loose limb made Romulus sick. On his shoulder was a strange scar, though still pink and green even after all that the healers did to fix it, stretching from his collarbone in uneven lines. He nodded at the Healers question, but admitted, “Nervous. What if, um, what if I don't match with any?”

Healer Meadows gave him an understanding look. “The chances of that are low, but then we can always construct a new prosthetic if the ready-made ones aren't up to scratch. How's that sound?”

Romulus was genuinely curious about how prosthetics are created but mounting despair made it hard to ramble off with questions as he might have otherwise. He nodded again, accepting the Healer's comforting words at face value—or trying to, anyway.

About half an hour later, he was presented with a few selections. There was a gold prosthetic that gleamed in the light, carved in with runes in its many arms that wind around each other from one end to the other—it was quite beautiful and vine-like, but the hand part of the prosthetic had rejected Romulus. He didn't mind all that much, considering the top end of the arm and the hand was wooden. Strapping into an arm that was hard and stiff around his stump sounded highly uncomfortable to Romulus. He dismissed all of the wooden ones, even though those were advertised as much more capable of channeling magic, and therefore increasing the chances of using a wand with said prosthetic arm. Most of the runic magic carved into them were very delicate and woven together, so new enchantments—such as providing the wooden arms with immunity to fire—would shift that specific science and potentially disrupt the arm's mobility. Bonding with metal was much more difficult, according to Healer Meadows and Specialist Hahn, but at Romulus' insistence (and Remus' as well), they decided to allow the child to make up his own mind. 

There were two arms that didn't have any wood. There was a simple looking, bright silver one with a square shaped joint where the elbow would be. The hand was thick, though, like a real hand. It looked almost like a model or a statue for one—but it was an adult hand, and much larger than Romulus' other one. He was aware they could change the sizing for his comfort, but the way the hand looked almost real if one didn't look directly at it wasn't something he liked, for some reason. It just gave Romulus the creeps.

The other was a dark gray, nearly black. It barely reflected any light, instead seeming to eat it up. Its branches twisted and twined to the joint, before arching gracefully to the wrist. The hand was thinner than the silver one, and not nearly as "perfect" looking. It was as if he was looking at the inside of a hand without the disturbing details. The fingers were nearly black and thin, but it looked a lot more like his own did in length and width than the other.

Remus took one look at his expression and sighed. “Of course you'd choose that one,” he muttered.

Romulus ignored him. “That one, please.”

The healers glanced at one another. “How about a fitting?” Hahn said, and got to unpacking the leather without waiting for an answer. Romulus shrugged but he was itching inside to try it out.

“If you don't like it,” Healer Meadows interrupted his thoughts softly, “we can always make one, okay? Or charm it to look natural.”

Romulus grimaced. He didn't like that word. “It's okay. I mean, I like it. I don't want a different one. Or the charm.”

Well-meaning, the healer nodded and backed off after his assurance. They instead asked Remus and Romulus questions that had nothing to do with the attack, or their injuries. They were trying very obviously to distract them, except Remus kept tapering off in silence when a mention of father would remind him of the letter, and Romulus winced every time they had to mention Mama in a story about a book, or their own visit to Diagon, or that time they tried to ride a broom—and Mama had been worried sick, unable to see them, repeatedly reminding them to stay within a few feet of her as they took turns. They had even tried to encourage her to ride it herself, but she'd adamantly refused, saying she likes the ground just fine, thank you very much.

Romulus could remember the expression on her face, her thick, black hair falling down her shoulder in waves. He could hear her laugh. It disturbed him and made something inside his chest burn —so he pushed it away again.

Eventually, after fitting and determining the prosthetic was alright for Romulus “I guess,” (Remus) and perfect in every way (Romulus) and very handsome (Meadows) and quite charming (Hahn), the brothers were left alone on Remus' bed again. Romulus fidgeted with the wrist joint, rubbing his thumb over the carved runes there.

They sat in silence for a bit before Remus said, “You're gonna be like that robot bloke Mama told us stories about.”

Romulus laughed. He hadn't thought of it like that, but knowing that Remus did gave him a sense of relief, for some reason. “You mean Archie?”

“Archie, yeah.” Remus waved his hand. Even as the lights turned off, and Romulus moved to his own bed to sleep after taking his arm off, they kept falling to fits of giggles that eventually drifted off into light snores.

Their father picked them up the next day and brought them to a house they'd never been inside before. He'd closed off his new office door, saying he had funeral services to prepare. Remus only shrugged when Romulus looked at him, and they started to explore the place. Nothing too interesting made their notice. The walls were white and bare, their trunks were left haphazardly on the floor of a bedroom upstairs that had twin beds in it. There were no curtains and almost all the kitchen cabinets were empty. 

It felt a lot like they were leaving their Mama behind for good.

The funeral was small—a friend or two attended. Hope Lupin’s casket was empty. Their father looked forward, never once meeting the eyes of his sons, who gripped each other’s hands tight.

Her absence made itself known the next few months. They didn't live in their house, so her usual spots—like the corner of the living room couch, where she'd cuddle up in blankets in the winter and listen to the telly, or her garden in the back that would flourish with flora in the summer—were gone. Instead, Romulus would be in bed, desperately wishing that he could feel his Mama's hand running through his hair one last time. Or listen to her sing, the way Remus asks her to when he can't sleep because of a fever or nightmares. Remus had it equally as bad—dark bags staining below both of their eyes. They sat, knees touching, every night they couldn't sleep, and whispered about their father's strange behavior, and what the Daily Prophet had to say on the Lupin family. They didn't understand much, which only reminded them they were just kids—no matter how much it may feel otherwise, sometimes.

Romulus spent most of his time getting accustomed to a prosthetic. It gave him trouble, sometimes, when he forgot he didn't have meat and flesh on his right arm. He kept receiving prescribed pain potions by owl even as Remus leaned off his. His brother kept his thoughts on the matter quiet—in a way Remus rarely ever had been, before—instead choosing to distract Romulus or take his mind off his stump with card games or comic books. Sometimes, though, without an adult to remind him to take his medication, he ended up forgetting it.

He'd thought the pain he felt while on potions was bad. But forgetting to take them had drenched him in agony; he quickly learned to not forget them again. Remus had shakily fed him the potion, Romulus in too much pain to even move. Remus kept a keen eye on his prescriptions since. 

Romulus missed his mom. 

As for their transformations, well, their father’s new house had a cellar. Each full moon descended the sky and there was red on their walls and there were new scars to trace.

Eventually, they stopped crying. Stopped apologizing. It was enough to look into his brother’s eyes and see the same regret reflected back at him.

“Does this mean we’re monsters?” Romulus lay on his good side, whispering into the quiet night air.

Remus blinked. He thought too long about it, and Romulus’ heart sank, even as Remus said, “No. We’re people.”

“...Greyback was a person,” Romulus pointed out. Remus glared at him then at the ceiling. 

“Greyback wasn’t a monster,” Remus said, “he was just a bad person.”

Romulus didn’t really agree with that. Or maybe, he didn’t want to. He ignored the sick feeling in his gut and closed his eyes.

“Dad thinks we’re monsters.”

Remus immediately scoffed. “Dad doesn’t know anything.”

They snickered as they went to sleep.

It eventually was announced that Greyback was still at large, with a pack to boot, and that Aurors have had no luck in fighting him. Romulus and Remus combed through the newspapers Father threw into the trash. It was hard to not be scared, knowing that their attacker was still out there. Their reading levels were improving, at least.

One day, when Lyall was at work, Remus turned to him and apologized.

“What for?” said Romulus.

“Everything,” Remus said, “I’m sorry for it.”

It wasn’t his fault, though. Romulus told him.

Remus looked down. “Does it matter?”

And they were both too young to be able to answer that question.