The Bewlay Brothers

December 21st, 1971

It was colder than ever as his mam stood near a poll outside the train station, waiting. Even from afar he could see her frail figure shivering beneath her thick coat. From the deep worry crease in her brow and the new wrinkles on her young skin, he knew it had been a hard winter.

 A pang of guilt hit his chest as he thought of the blissful mornings he spent eating strips of bacon and bathing in warm water as he thought of all of the hardship and extra shifts the winter brought with its harsh weather and unrelenting snowstorms.

She didn’t speak a word as she led him through the crowds towards a battered train. The old thing smelled of smoke and had harsh, metal seating. The train wheezed as the wheels began turning and a loud voice croaked: “All aboard! It's gonna be a funky ride!”

The silence between them as they sat on the hard metal seating wafted through the room like thick coils of smoke. 

His mam wasn’t a particularly loud woman, in fact, the two didn’t really speak much at home, favouring a comfortable silence; like as they sat down to read after a shift or eat the dinner she brought home from work. But this silence wasn’t comfortable. Instead, the smoke was thick and choking as it sifted between them.

Surprisingly, it was him who broke the silence. “I’ll probably be going back to work once we get home. It’ll be the night shift, but I guess I could bear the double work.”

She nodded but she seemed to be focused on something in the distance. Her shirt was oversized on her skin and Remus could see her veins through her pale arms as they wrapped around her waist. He knew the lack of a seatbelt must be bothering her; she’d always been afraid of those types of things.

She placed a frail-looking hand on his. She often held onto him on the days where she was drifting away; as if he would disappear if she didn’t hold onto him. On those days he squeezed her arm; a reminder that he was still there and that nothing horrible had happened yet. He wondered how many of those days she’d endured alone.

The ride home was silent. But then again, the Lupin’s didn’t talk much either way. His mam spoke through silences and the soft hands placed upon him on the bad days. 

As Remus began to leave for work, his hand on the wooden doorknob, his mam spoke her first words since he came back. “I found some concentrated soup. I’ll make it for dinner. Is that alright, annwyl?”

“Of course,” he said softly. “I missed you, mam.”

“I missed you too, annwyl.” The slightest shadow of a smile passed over her lips. “More than anything.”

The winter was raining on their cottage harder than ever as he walked towards the coffee shop. The weather was harsh and cold and he had only his old coat to bear the December cold. It was dark, and if Remus wasn’t a werewolf, he probably wouldn’t have been able to see the flickering light near the old coffee shop.

The bell was ice-glazed as he rang it. It was strange; walking into the shop with a knock, hearing the wheezing coffee maker after so many days in the candle-lit castle.

But as he entered the shop he wasn’t met with the red-haired girl, he was met with an older boy of dark brown hair. He wore the same worn apron that Remus used to wear with a grin and he held one out for him to take. For some reason, seeing the boy with the worn apron he’d used to wear made jealousy bloom inside him.

“Are you Lupin?” He looked surprised when he nodded. “She told me you were young, but Christ, you look thirteen.”

“Eleven,” he muttered.

Grabbing the apron in his hand, he headed over to the stand. He knew that Kira would need a new employee when he wasn’t around. He knew that someone would have to work in the battered old shop that wasn’t him, but for some reason this felt like more of a replacement.

The brown haired boy looked stricken as he caught up to him. “You’re eleven? Really?”

“No, I’m thirty three,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “Don’t be fooled by my young appearance.”

He cranked up the old and battered coffee maker once again. He found comfort in the movements. In the wheezing of the heater as he attempted to turn it on and the hacking and cracking of the metal maker as he poured the bitter beans inside.

“You’re really good at this for an eleven year old, you know.”

“I’ve been here for a long time.” He handed an old woman her coffee. She drank so much sugar that he didn’t know how her teeth were still intact. Then again, any dose of the strong, bitter coffee that came with living in their part of town needed that much sugar to be tasty.

“How long have you been here?” he asked.

“A long time,” he repeated. He put the paper cup on the counter as the old machine crackled with static.

“Back away!” the boy exclaimed, his eyes wide with alarm. “That could kill you!”

He rolled his eyes. “Didn’t she tell you? I’m immortal.”

His eyes widened. “Really?”

“Sure.”

A few minutes passed and people began flooding into the shop. It was the late hours of the night, when work was finished and the children were already sleeping so the grown ups could come and enjoy the few golden hours they had before returning to their sorry lives.

That was part of the reason he hated the night shift. People were careless when they forgot who they were. They took freedom too far. 

“Jesus, people are crazy,” the dark haired boy mumbled as he gazed into the shop. That was his first mistake. 

“Keep your head down.” It wasn’t safe to be a fifteen year old on the dark nights, let alone an eleven year old. That was another reason he hated the night shift.

At least the boy appeared muscular, and that was an advantage.

The two boys worked in silence. The dark haired boy didn’t say anything as they worked, but Remus didn’t miss how he winced as he cranked up the coffee machine.

“Where’s Kira?” He broke the silence suddenly. He’d been doing that a lot lately. Maybe his chatty posh friends were rubbing off on him. He didn’t like that thought.

He handed a cup to a man at the counter. “She’s with her boyfriend.”

“But- oh.” Maybe she hadn’t replaced him just yet.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” he lied. He poured the liquid into the paper cup. It looked almost black and Remus could see his reflection through the coffee. They continued their work in silence. There was no sound except for the chattering of the people and the metallic clank of the coffee machine as it gasped for breath.

As the night became darker and the moon was visible in the sky, a woman entered the room without trying the bell. Kira walked wordlessly over to the counter, her brown boots making the wooden floor creak.

“Lupin, you look horrible,” she said after looking him up and down. “Ezra, get me an apron.”

It wasn’t a lie. His hair was a mess and he was still wearing his white, second hand blouse from Hogwarts. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was the same second hand blouse he would be wearing to his wedding. But he wasn’t going to admit that.

“Why doesn’t he get an insult?” he complained.

“Because you look worse.”

He could hear the dark haired boy—Ezra, apparently— clamping a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter. Somebody should’ve told him there was no use in trying to hide from a werewolf.

He stirred the machine awake. “Shut up, Ezra.”

After he finally calmed his breathing, he handed the red-haired girl the apron. “Kira, you gotta tell him to back away from those machines,” he complained, earning a glare from the chestnut haired boy. “They’re going to kill him!”

“It doesn’t hurt him,” she told the dark-haired boy. Then she shot Remus with a suspicious look. “If I find out you're lying after all these years I’ll kill you.”

He grinned. This past month, he’d forgotten how much he missed home. “So you do care about me after all.”

Ezra looked at him as if he’d gone mad. “Are you loopy? Did you hear anything she just said?”

But Kira’s lips quirked. “Just get to work, Lupin.”

He turned back to the coffee machine and handed the black coffee to a man before he burst out laughing. His hips ached with the pain of the moon, but he didn’t care much. Ezra, noticing his flinch, turned to him. “Does it hurt you?”

“I told you, I’m immortal.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t feel pain.”

He huffed. “Well in my case it does.”

“That’s bullshit,” he protested. “Tell me the truth.”

Remus almost laughed. “I don’t know you.”

But the boy just grinned at him. “Not yet.”

As the sun rose and the boy left the shop, Kira walked back in with the old apron draped over her shoulder. 

“How’s your boyfriend? Is she pretty?” he asked. “You know, I’ve never seen her before.”

“She’s still off-limits.”

But he could see the light in her eyes. He could hear the way her heart-beat quickened and an expression that rarely befitted a girl like Kira graced her face. But he didn’t push it. Not when his eyes were drooping closed and the ache in his legs throbbed harder than ever. The night became fiercer and fiercer along with the bleak cold that always came with the end of December and there was nothing more than Remus wished for than daybreak; the glorious sun to warm his ice-glazed fingertips and allow him the sweet relief of slumber.

When the sun finally rose, he didn’t even have time to wonder at the array of colours painted in the sky. In fact, he didn’t remember making it back at all. Just the tired eyes of his mam as she too made her way through the thick bushes. He didn’t remember making it back home. Just the warm weight of his mam pressed against him as the world around him blurred.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

December 25th, 1971

The chestnut haired boy woke at the break of dawn to an owl perched on to the wooden windowsill. The wood creaked under the animal's small feet. It was an owl of dark feathers and orange eyes. But despite the menacing look, the owl seemed somewhat cheerful.

“The eagle owl,” his mam’s voice whispered from behind him. Before he became a monster, his mam had been very fascinated by different types of animals and birds. Often, she would take Remus on birdwatching trips in the forests near London.

“What if something happens?” she’d asked with that same concerned expression on her young face. 

“Da will come and save us,” he’d said. He’d said the words with the utmost certainty;  with an assured smile and youthful confidence. Some part of him still longed for that feeling; a small part of his heart carved hollow, itching for that innocent warmth wrapping around him. Even if all he met was cold.

“I don’t know if it’s safe, annwyl.” Back then, he’d brushed her off. He listened to that man’s insistence that she was alright. He didn’t know what the crease in her brow meant at the time. He didn’t notice the worried glances or that his mam’s nails were bitten to shreds.

He’d watched the birds with a laugh, and sometimes his mam would even bring toffee back from the sweet shop. Despite his mam’s worries, they’d always come back to their flat in London safely. The most he would get was a scratch, in which case his mam would carefully patch up with some ointments and a kiss to his scraped knee or hand.

But now they weren’t in London. They were in their old, wooden house in Wales. Now his scratches were burning under his coat and he had nothing but the cold breeze to sooth them.

“What’s an eagle owl?” he asked his mam, who was now looking with admiring eyes at the dark feathered owl. He liked the look on her face. The spark in her eyes reminded him of before. “I’ve never seen one.”

“No, we didn’t,” she murmured. “The eagle-owl is mostly found in India.”

Apparently, the orange-eyed owl had enough of their reminiscing because it came closer to Remus.

He scoffed as it nipped his scratch. The beak was sharp, sending a painful jolt onto his arm. “It’s violent.”

Between its legs was a letter. It was sealed with a red seal and bold, loopy handwriting at the address. He tore open the letter, not bothering to mess with the wax seal. He didn’t like those, anyway. They were too posh.

Inside was a browning parchment roll. Surprisingly, his handwriting was nicer and Remus wondered if he was using a magic quill or something.

Dear Loony,

I hope you’re having an awesome Christmas! I’ve been spending most of the break playing quidditch with Marlene. Mum says that it’s too cold but who cares what she says anyway? I’m never going to make the quidditch team if I just laze around all day. Mum’s Christmas food is brilliant so you should come by. She made all of my favourites. Sirius says he can’t write, so don’t bother. I hope he’s doing alright.

From your bestest friend, 

James

Even with the boy’s cheery tone, he could hear the graveness of the last words. He really did hope his raven-haired friend was alright. He knew he didn’t like his parents much, but he hoped the Murltap essence would help him with his injuries. 

Maybe it was selfish, but the words made him love his mam all the more. In that moment, he felt a great love for her. It filled him with warmth; even if it was just reminiscing and talking about indian owls.

“Mam,” he said, his eyes glued to the last words. “Rwy'n dy garu di.” I love you.

Her eyes widened. As mentioned before, the Lupin’s weren’t ones to talk. “Thank you, annwyl.”

The owl nicked him again. His beak was pointing at the quill and parchment, urging him to write a response. He sighed, ignoring the ache in his wrist as he scribbled down his reply on the back of the parchment.

Dear James,

Happy Christmas! You shouldn’t play quidditch in the winter. It's a waste of time. Winter is the time for stuff like pranks and chocolate and hot chocolate. I probably won’t be able to come this year. I also hope Sirius is having a happy Christmas.

From Remus.

PS: stop calling me Loony.

He rubbed at the small red marks on his wrist before sending the owl off. He hoped James didn’t mind that he used the back of his parchment to write the letter. 

“What is it? Who’s the letter from?” she asked. She was normally afraid of the owls, but ever since his Hogwarts letter the fear seemed to die down.

He found himself smiling when he looked up. “My friend.”

She seemed to light up at the words. She seemed younger when she smiled. “I’m happy for you, annwyl.”

He smiled as the owl flew up into the sunrise. “You should sleep,” he told her as he threw on his coat. He stuffed the small wooden box in his pocket before stepping out the door. He hoped Kira would like it.

“I’ll see you later.”

He jumped over the old, flickering Christmas lights—some sprawled in a tangled mess on the floor and some were looped between the cracks within the old wooden wall— and entered without ringing the bell.

Her face was flushed as he entered. Her heart beat was louder than usual and her blazing red hair was frizzy with the wind. “Morning, Lupin.”

“Morning?” he asked incredulously. “Who are you and what happened to Kira?”

She laughed. She laughed. “I don’t pay you to tease me, Lupin.”

He took the apron from the pantree, grumbling to himself. As he rounded the counter, he noticed that Kira was holding a drink Remus didn’t recognize. It was a carmel-coloured drink, with white cream bubbling at the surface. “I don’t remember having a new Christmas drink.”

“We don’t.”

The drink looked fresh and creamy and delicious; it didn’t look like a product of their bitter coffee beans and poor milk or anything from that sorry town.

“Was it a gift from your girlfriend?”

He grinned as she flushed. He’d never seen Kira flush before. “I thought I told you she was off limits.”

He laughed. “One day I’ll have to meet her, you know.”

“Not if I can help it.”

Since Ezra was travelling with his family for the holidays, Kira was working behind the counter with him. It was just like before. Just him and Kira; working together in easy movements; a harmony meant only for them. The robotic movements comforted him. He liked the way he could move without thinking; without being. Of course, the ache coursing in his bones was real as ever, but it was farther away. And maybe that was enough.

“Does she live around here?” he asked with a grin.

“Around England. Never around,” she grumbled. His eyes widened. He expected a reprimand or maybe a threat to fire him, but the last thing he expected was an answer. “Like you. You should come around more or maybe I’ll rethink hiring you.”

He ignored the jab, his curiosity about her mysterious girlfriend blooming inside her. “Did she come to visit you today?”

“She came for my birthday.”

He grinned like a fool. “She loves you.”

“Shut up.” She shook her head. To his surprise, Kira actually looked disappointed. “She’s always at her stupid school. Exams or something.”

“Did she at least get you something other than a drink?”

That brought a smile to her face. “She bought me a pretty blue dress.”

He grinned at the flush that coloured her pale cheeks. “Kira.”

“What?”

“You’re blushing.”

She chucked a cup at his head, which he dodged, so she settled for a glare. “Damn you and your reflexes.”

Once upon a time, that glare scared him. He would apologise and cower under that stare. But now he just laughed. 

He pulled the lever of the machine. It wheezed in protest, but relented in the end, spilling the dark brown coffee into the cup. They worked in their comfortable silence, occasionally wincing at the bang of his injured arms or hack of the coffee machine. Kira didn’t bother asking about his wounds and for that Remus was grateful. 

And before he knew it, his hands were begging for rest and his legs were ready to collapse but night had fallen and now he was free. He smiled as the blue-eyed girl pulled off her dusty apron. “Happy birthday.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to read me a birthday card.”

He snorted. “Ezra has corrupted you.”

“At least he isn’t eight years old.”

“I’m eleven!” he protested.

She shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. “You look the same to me.”

He crossed his arms. “Ezra told me I look thirteen.”

“What does Ezra know?”

“Whatever.” He rolled his eyes. “Do you want to see your birthday present?”

She looked surprised at the words, but nodded anyway. The big wooden box was extendable; two halves folded over to make it smaller. When he pulled back the slabs the wood showed clear words engraved across it: Kira’s Cafe.

“I didn’t know you had good handwriting,” she just said. It wasn’t his handwriting, really. He’d used the same spells for the message on the bright orange fireworks and red and gold streamers on Halloween. But she couldn’t know that.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

“This is some nice work. Maybe I’ll get Jessie to hang it up for me with her special spellie-tape. Supposed to work like magic.” She looked up at him with a small smile. “If I don’t fire you until then, that is.”

He grinned. “You wouldn’t.”

“I totally would,” she said. “Maybe if Ezra’s looking for a new job..”

He gasped. Even though he knew she was joking, a spike of jealousy simmered inside him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I wouldn’t,” she agreed with a laugh. “You waste too much time making stupid stuff for this place.”

He winked. “Only the best for you.”