Mischief Managed Y2 Part 2: The Truth of the Tournament

Chapter Four: Galleons in the Snow

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Remus was used to being poor, he always had been. Back when both his father and mum worked, they had lived poorly and simply, as they had to move around so much to keep Remus from being found out and because the muggles kept thinking his self-inflicted injuries were caused by others. Then Hope Lupin had died and the conditions of living for Remus went down in all areas of life for him and his father. Still, even then there had been a semblance of comfort, of making enough to get by.

After living in the little cabin in the woods for over a year its presence was just beginning to become consistent and constant enough to be considered a hesitant 'home' of sorts. They had spent one last night in that familiar place, the night where Remus had witnessed the full extent of fear his father had about his son being found out. But now there was no longer anything resembling decent living let alone a sort of home. Remus had once more been taken to a shack, this time smaller and more dilapidated. That was when the werewolf finally realized that getting by for himself and his father was no longer an option.

Mildew-covered walls with a total of four pieces of furniture and canned food were all his father could provide nowadays. Somehow his father succeeded in having both flushed cheeks with embarrassment and hard eyes that dared Remus to complain. Not that he ever would! He knew his father was doing his best. Strangely the man wouldn't let Remus cook or do the dishes anymore as if feeling his meagre form of providing for his son warranted him doing all the housework instead. Or perhaps his dad was simply too worried Remus would break their now one set of dishes. A set which had been reparo-ed so many times they gave off the slightly bitter odour of overmagicked items and wobbled precariously as if wanting to launch themselves to their doom again when no one was watching.

The smaller shack, which the older Lupin tried to pass up as simply less conspicuous, didn't even have a bedroom. Instead, there were two beds shoved into the living room that soon gave way to the small kitchen unit whose lack of working utilities made it impossible to eat much more than canned food. Not that his father could produce much more sustenance than the unperishable variety. It was no wonder the man spent all of his time away from the small twelve-by-ten enclosure whose ceiling dripped liquid into a tiny bucket despite a lack of rain, and whose floorboards sagged when both Lupins were standing too close to one another.

Remus, quite predictably, blamed himself, though oddly enough when he had attempted to apologize his father had cut him off harshly and said through clenched teeth, "dammit, Remus, I've told you I only have myself to blame." The confused child wasn't entirely sure what that meant. He had only ever caught glimpses of what his father's inconsistent work history had been since Remus had become a werewolf. Through putting pieces of conversations together Remus could decipher that the copious amounts of alcohol his father had been consuming since his wife passed away had more to do with the mound of positions the wizard had been fired from than because his son was a werewolf. What Remus couldn't wrap his head around was how his dad still couldn't seem to work for more than a few weeks at a job, even though he had sworn to the pre-teen he hadn't drunk anything in a long time. Perhaps it was because his father seemed more skeletal and drained of life every time Remus saw him... Whatever the reason it made it impossibly hard not to blame himself.

Worse still, Remus wasn't able to help his father in the ways he had grown accustomed to. No matter what his father said about the matter it still felt like a punishment. For example, when Remus had watched his father stagger through the door after one particularly long day of looking for jobs the stubborn man had still refused to let his son heat a can of beans and some potatoes. Only his father didn't make anything for himself and instead had collapsed onto their one lounge chair with such a loud groan that it was a wonder the whole shack didn't shake from it. Remus wasn't sure if he was supposed to be fighting his father more to take care of him or not. Was he failing some test or just failing as a son? It was hard to know and it caused Remus to feel jittery whenever his father was around, like the feeling he got before an exam at Hogwarts even after he had studied for hours and knew he knew the answers.