You Make Me Live (Remus Lupin x Reader One-Shots)

The Killing Moon

(I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-)

 Hope awoke to the horrifying screams of her child, screams that expressed a pain beyond the measure of a four-year-old's words. She reached out and struck her husband on the shoulder in a clumsy first attempt at waking him. "Lyall!" she cried, "Wake up!" A final shove roused him from his slumber, and Lyall clambered out of bed and groggily reached for his bathrobe.

"Lyall - !" Hope was lost for words. Grabbing a cricket bat from beside the bed, she marched into the hallway. In the meantime, Remus' screams finally penetrated Lyall's ears and reached his mind.

"Hope, no!" He snatched his wand from the bedside table and ran after her, putting an arm in front of her so he could enter Remus' room first. Barely two minutes had passed since the boy's screams had woken his mother. Lyall emerged into his son's bedroom to find Remus in the clutches of a familiar-looking wolf. His gray, furry face snarled a wordless greeting at Lyall before turning toward the window.

"Greyback," whispered Lyall in amazement, followed closely by a cry of, "Stupefy!" But it was too late. Greyback had escaped, and Lyall turned to find Hope clutching their bloodied, crying child in her arms.

"It's alright, darling. Everything's going to be fine," she comforted Remus as best as she could, but the boy's pain was unimaginable.

"We have to get him to St. Mungo's, Hope. Quickly, get him up. Wrap him in this and we'll go." He handed her one of Remus' baby blankets. She stared at it for a moment, like she didn't want the blanket defiled by the blood of that night. But she took it with a maternal determination and swaddled her small son tenderly so as not to upset his wounds. Lyall tucked them both under his arm and Disapparated.

When they reached St. Mungo's, and approached the front desk, the witch behind it looked their half-conscious son over in mild horror. She had deep brown hair, and her dark, heavily lidded eyes were wide in shock.

"Werewolf attack. Which floor?" Lyall demanded of her.

"First floor. Dai Llewellyn ward. Second door to the right." The witch pointed toward a staircase, but her eyes never left Remus. Her polished, upper-class voice was shaking.

"Take him, Hope. I'll get him checked in."

Hope nodded, adjusted her grip on her son, and began to climb the stairs. She searched the doorways to the wards, trying to read each sign as she walked and stress blurred her peripheral vision. She pushed open the door of the Llewellyn ward and carried Remus to the nearest Healer. Holding him out, she began to ramble to the wizard clad in buttery-yellow robes something that even she didn't understand. She heard, "My son. . . Werewolf. . . Please," and then the Healer whisked him away from her, and a trainee led her to a nearby seat. She waited in a sort of daze for Lyall to join her, and in the meantime the Healers started to perform various charms on Remus, covering his deep scratches in a mixture from a massive mortar and pestle. She asked if she could sit with him, and they let her stay in the chair by his bed. When Lyall came, the Healers had finished, and the head Healer came to speak to them both.

"We were able to close the wounds on the outside, to keep him from losing more blood," he said, "But the majority of the damage will have to heal naturally. The scars he'll have for the rest of his life." Lyall tensed at this news, but Hope nodded patiently.

"He will be alright though, won't he?" she asked earnestly.

"He'll be as well as we expected. You're a Muggle, I presume?"

"Yes." She was a bit terse, she knew this was a touchy subject in Lyall's world.

"I'll let your husband explain," he said. "You two might want to make yourselves comfortable, he's going to be here for a few days."

"Thank you," said Lyall. He stood there for several seconds, his hand resting on the back of Hope's chair.

"What did he mean by 'as well as they expected'?"

He didn't answer her, his hands migrated to his pockets.

"Lyall?" She reached out, rested her hand on his wrist. "What's happened to our son?"

More silence followed before he finally got up the courage to respond. "There is no cure for a werewolf bite, Hope."

"What does that mean?"

"It means he's going to become one of them." He didn't say "them" as disdainfully as he had to the Ministry that fateful day.

"A werewolf?" Hope was unsure, like she was stepping out onto a rotted-looking bridge. "What does that mean?"

"It means what I imagine you think it means. Every month on the full moon he will transform into a creature that is extremely difficult to control due to its. . . exceptional bloodlust for humans."

Hope withdrew her hand, rose shakily from her seat. Lyall put a hand out to stop her, but she lightly swatted it away. She put her own arm between the two of them.

"It's not as if I did this to him, Hope."

"You might as well have," her eyes were frightened as she turned from him and sat on the edge of Remus' bed.

"Hope, please. . ."

"Get us some tea, Lyall." She fussed with Remus' hair, and stroked his little arm, ignoring her husband. Lyall left without another word, casting a long look at his family over his shoulder.

Hope took comfort in her son's orbit, something she'd found herself doing ever since he was born. His presence, though small, had a comforting influence, and she hoped hers did the same for him, especially right then. He stirred in discomfort when she stroked too hard, so she kept her hand on his wrist, perfectly still. He began to wake up, little gurgles and unclear vocalizations emerging from his throat. Hope braced herself for anything, but what came was something she hadn't anticipated.

"Mum?" he murmured, shifting slightly. "Mummy, I had a bad dream." Hope nearly cried. Remus opened his little eyes, and looked around, taking in the ward around him. "Where are we?" he asked, his tiny voice getting lost in the big and silent room.

"You're in hospital, darling."

"Am I ill?"

"I'm afraid so, sweetheart."

"When will I get better?"

Again the tears threatened Hope's eyes. "You'll feel better in a day or two," she assured him. She refused to lie, but she wasn't going to tell him the whole truth yet. Remus smiled at her with eyes full of simple, childish trust before settling back down under his blankets. When the head Healer came back, he checked over Remus' scars and asked him how he was feeling.

"Queasy, and it stings." He clenched a tiny fist and looked down at his arms. "It wasn't a dream at all, was it Mummy?" He turned his gaze up to his mother's face.

"No, sweetie. It wasn't."

"Where is the monster? The one who came in the window?"

"He's gone. You won't have to worry about him anymore."

Remus took a deep breath and let the Healer do more spells on him with a patient face. Lyall returned from the fifth floor with their tea. When he saw his son was awake, he lit up a little, although guilt still veiled his twinkling eyes.

"How are we, son?" he asked Remus, sitting down by his son's feet and handing Hope her tea. The moment his right hand was free he had taken Remus' in it.

"I feel better. I'm still sleepy, though." He looked it, too. He slurred a bit and his bleary eyes began to close in much longer blinks.

"You get your rest, darling. You'll feel all better in a few days. Won't he?" Hope looked to the Healer.

"We'll make sure of it," he replied with a warm smile.

She turned around and put a hand on her husband's knee, smiling into his eyes to let him know that her earlier words were spoken in anger and not meant at all. She planned a full apology for after Remus had fallen asleep.