for the QLFC, Season 6, Round 6:

prompts —

month: March, character: Remus Lupin

(object) Sickle

(word) estranged

(word) barbarian

thanks to my loves audrey and adi for betaing!

a note: all the marauders but peter pettigrew have confirmed birth dates, so i'm going to go with the random af date of january 11, 1960. we also don't know much about the pettigrew family itself, so i've taken liberties with it

wc (barred a/ns and dates): 2281

. . .

this is my one-hundredth published story. thank you all for sticking with me.

— for sienna. you are the strongest person i have ever known. you are one of my best friends. you are inspiring. you are amazing. you are beautiful. you will be okay.

i love you.

. . .

i. November 3, 1959

Walburga and Orion Black don't have their son out of love. They have him out of a desire to further the family name, to establish a legacy.

Walburga doesn't coddle her child when she holds him for the first time. She just looks at the baby with stone-cold gray eyes, regarding him. She doesn't think he's beautiful. He's much too red, and he's now crying, taking his first breaths, and the most Walburga can feel is annoyance and exhaustion.

They end up handing him to a nurse for the next few hours to deal with his basic needs. The Blacks don't have the time to cater to ugly whims like expulsion of waste and crying and feeding.

Walburga and Orion already know what his name will be — they had predetermined names for both a boy and a girl. If their child had been a girl, he would've been named Lyra.

Instead, they name him Sirius. Sirius Orion Black. Their legacy, their glory.

. . .

ii. January 11, 1960

Amelia Pettigrew gives birth to her son alone, with no company but the midwife, no one to tell her it will be okay, no one to cradle the boy in their arms and tell her they are proud of her. No one to tell her that her son is beautiful.

Her husband — can she even call him that? — had left the moment she told him she was pregnant, and she was left with nothing but an empty house and dust.

There's a shortage of everything but dust with her, it seems. A shortage of jobs, a shortage of food, a shortage of supplies, a shortage of love.

She hates the child, to tell the truth. It's all his fault — he destroyed her marriage, he let the dust accumulate and fill her heart and he let the house grow cold and empty and he will make her clean it all up again even though it's his damn mess.

Amelia tells herself she's going to pull through. She's not going to let her child know about his estranged rat of a father. He will never know the pain it took to make him, to raise him, to brush away the dust and keep the house clean for him.

But she will do it. Not because of the boy, but because she owes it to herself, because she does not need his father, because she can do it.

She names him Peter in the end. Peter Pettigrew, the boy she had birthed but would never love.

. . .

iii. March 10, 1960

Lyall and Hope Lupin welcome their child to the world with love. They're already so proud of him, proud of the person he's going to become.

"I just know," Hope tells Lyall, "he's a special one. He's going to be beautiful someday."

"As long as he doesn't grow up to become a filthy lycanthrope," Lyall says, "I'll love him."

Hope rolls her eyes at him. "You make everything about those barbarian werewolves, Lyall. Just for that, I think we'll name him Remus."

"Remus." Lyall tests the name on his tongue. "Remus Lupin. It's stupid, but it has a nice ring to it."

And so goes the birth of Remus Lupin — their boy, their joy, their pain.

. . .

iv. March 27, 1960

Euphemia and Fleamont Potter are delighted to have their son.

"Oh, I can just feel him growing up, feel the magic in him…" Euphemia gushes, and Fleamont rolls his eyes.

"What if he's a Squib?" Fleamont asks.

"I'll still love him," says Euphemia, determined. "Just look at him, Fleamont. He has your eyes."

Fleamont leans over the bed at St. Mungo's, peering at his son. The child looks back at him, and in that moment Fleamont is struck by the fact that he has a son. This child is his son. This child has his eyes.

Fleamont looks into those eyes, bright and beautiful hazel, and knows that someday people will know his son's name; someday they will look back and think about him with love. Someday his son would have a child of his own and feel the things Fleamont feels right now; he would know that his father had felt them.

"He's beautiful," he breathes.

"Isn't he?" Euphemia gazes at the bundle in her arms with barely concealed adoration. "And he doesn't even have a name…"

"Well," says Fleamont, "we're not going to name him something ridiculous like Fleamont. Something simple would be nice, like maybe John, or James…"

"John Potter sounds ugly," Euphemia declares bluntly. "We're not naming him John."

"How about James?"

"James…" muses Euphemia. "James Potter… now that's a name, Fleamont."

Thus, James Potter is born, a beauty and a tragedy at the same time.

. . .

vi. moony

Remus doesn't know why they want to help him. Sirius, James, and Peter would be well within their rights to just ditch him and leave him to his transformations on their own, but to his surprise, they don't.

"We're going to become Animagi," Sirius had told him back in second year, "so you can't harm us."

"But why?" Remus had asked.

"Because we want to," James had said, "and also, it would be kind of fun to be an Animagus."

"You realize that's highly illegal?"

"And when has that stopped us?" Peter had asked.

And so Remus's three ridiculous friends had decided they'd become Animagi. He still thinks they're insane.

But somehow they'd done it. There had been a lot of leaves involved in the transformation and the stupid incantation had prickled at Remus's nerves, but somehow they'd been able to transform.

He's a little worried, though, when Sirius tells him to meet at the Three Broomsticks on the next Hogsmeade weekend.

He goes, though, and Madam Rosmerta sends him a knowing look when Sirius, James, and Peter file in right behind him. They're a bunch of idiots lined up on the barstools like they're going to take shots, but they're pitifully underage and here to plot instead.

James slaps a Sickle onto the counter and asks for a gillywater.

"That for you?" asks Madam Rosmerta, raising a brow — she knows James would rather be drinking Butterbeer.

"No." James smiles charmingly at her. "It's for the girl over there, redhead, in the Hogwarts uniform."

"Will you let Lily go?" Sirius asks, rolling his eyes heavenward.

"No, I will not," James responds. Rosmerta leaves with the gillywater, not before snorting and muttering something suspiciously like, "That boy," under her breath.

"Can we move on?" Remus interrupts. "Or did you call me here in an incredibly suspicious manner for no reason?"

"Well," Peter says, something sly glinting in his eyes, "we're working on a little bit of a project…"

"And you didn't tell me?" asks Remus.

"We wanted it to be a surprise," James says soothingly, "and we saved the best part for you."

"It's a little bit of a map," Sirius explains. "And we want to put our names on it, but…"

"Let me guess: it's highly illegal."

"Well, we thought we'd use our Animagus forms as names," Peter explains.

"Stag, dog, rat, and werewolf?" Remus mutters. "That doesn't have a very nice ring to it."

"Don't be daft." Sirius laughs at him. "We were thinking we might make something clever. For you, maybe something… I dunno, like the moon, moony, I guess."

"Moony…" James's voice has gone low, considering.

A smile spreads its way across Sirius's face. "That's one down, and three to go."

"Moony," Remus says. "I like that, actually."

. . .

vii. October 31, 1980

James thinks his fate might've sealed itself the moment Lily got pregnant. But he can't bring himself to regret a thing.

He loves Harry and Lily too much to have any regrets. Looking at Harry with his hair and his mother's eyes and Lily with her beautiful, bright smile, every day — what is there to regret?

He sees Harry's eyes (Lily's eyes) brighten when James waves his wand and makes little lights, childish gurgles bubbling out of his son's mouth. He sees Lily smile as she watches Harry. He would do anything for this. Anything for his wife, anything for his son.

When the door bursts open, he knows who it is — Voldemort — and he knows who had betrayed them. Peter.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off —"

Lily's face is set, determined to protect her son. James turns away, satisfied, and doesn't look back to see if she's gone or not — he knows she would have. He runs, instead, ready to face him, to the drawing room and toward the door that's now torn off its hinges, the first bout of destruction the figure has brought to James's life.

All James Potter knows is that he would do anything for them.

When he faces the figure, deformed in face, it looks at him, shaking its head, pitying, almost. It looks at James as if he is nothing but a hapless fool, and perhaps he is, rushing over here to duel this figure, rushing over here to protect Harry and Lily.

Dimly, he realizes he forgot his wand with Harry.

The high, clear voice says, "Avada Kedavra," and James Potter falls.

The last thing he thinks is that he would do anything.

. . .

viii. June 18, 1996

Sirius hates Bellatrix and everything she stands for. She stands for the man who killed Lily and James, she stands for Peter who had put him into Azkaban, she stands for pureblood supremacy.

He takes some pride in dueling her, because she, too, is a Black. Today he's going to prove to her who has the better blood, after all. He fires curses at her, fires curses upon her name in his head, and he thinks of James and Peter and Lily and Voldemort and projects them all onto one face. His hands are not his own as he shoots sparks out of his wand; his feet do not belong to him as they nimbly dodge Bellatrix's spells and hexes.

He edges dangerously close to the Veil as their duel continues. He can see Harry out of the corner of his eye, mouthing, Sirius, no — but Harry doesn't understand. He owes this to James and to Lily, to show them that they had not fought for nothing.

He looks at Harry, trying to convey to him with a look that this is something he has to do. It's his mistake.

Sirius Black sees the red jet of light. He feels disconnected as he watches, like his body is not his own, like this is happening to someone else, she cannot have hit him —

The Veil is cool against his skin.

He owes this to Lily and James. Sirius Black watches Harry as he goes, and he hopes he has not disappointed them.

. . .

ix. March 1998

Peter is a traitor to the very end. He supposes he's had it coming for a while.

The Dark Lord does not trust him. He hears what they all say: What a coward, worth nothing but servitude.

And they all know how repulsed he is, how terrible he feels about his betrayal. About what he had caused. They know and they hate him for it.

They have Harry Potter. James's son. The one whose parents are dead because of him. And Peter cannot look at him, cannot look at his treachery, cannot bear the sight of the boy who looks just like James and has Lily's eyes. He cannot see him in this house any longer.

He had felt sympathy for the boy. And now his right hand is choking him for it.

Peter hopes they can forgive him when he faces them. Peter hopes they are watching him now, paying the price, repenting, helping Harry.

Peter Pettigrew is a traitor to the very end.

. . .

x. May 2, 1998

Remus Lupin goes into the Battle of Hogwarts knowing that if he doesn't, he will regret it to the last of his days.

He would rather see his son proud of him than anything else. He would rather see Tonks proud of him than anything else.

He loves them more than anything else.

But the one problem with Tonks is she can never stay away from a fight. She's itching to be here in the thick of things, itching to fight the Death Eaters.

"I had to," she tells him, having raced over to Hogwarts with Teddy safe in Andromeda's arms.

"Fair enough," he replies.

They charge into battle together. Remus is dodging curses and throwing them left and right, not at any particular Death Eater — not at first.

Then Antonin Dolohov pushes him into battle, throwing Stupefy and other hexes, a hungry look on his face, a smirk that says he enjoys this.

He fights Dolohov for his son, because he wouldn't want Teddy to live in a world where people like Dolohov exist. People shouldn't enjoy inflicting pain.

But he can feel himself slowing, the months of hiding and caring for Teddy taking their toll… he isn't fast enough to dodge the green light speeding toward him…

Remus looks around the courtyard, trying to find Tonks, to see her face one last time. She's in the middle of battle with Bellatrix Lestrange, and her aunt is proving better than her.

Remus falls with Tonks. Remus goes out like he always knew he would: fighting.

And he makes his peace with it: he thinks, Tonks, we're leaving here but we're going to them. To James and Lily and Sirius, to all the rest that are gone, to friends and to family…

He knows with his heart that he is going back home. They will greet him with hugs and tears and they will watch over Harry and Teddy and all the others, and they will call him Moony again…