Work Text:
It was an ordinary night in the north of England. Like the past few weeks, dark clouds covered the sky, the air was damp and cold, with the salty smell of the sea. A plain white cottage stood alone on a cliff, its back to the roaring sea. This place, far from the city, rarely saw any passersby. Even if someone passed by, they would not stop in front of the cottage, nor would they notice the walls lined with shells, or the small gravestone in the backyard, as if they didn’t even see the house.
Nevertheless, when Remus Lupin appeared at the door of Shell Cottage, he instinctively looked around, wary of any sudden scream from a Muggle in fear—or worse, a flash of harsh green light.
He stood quietly for a few seconds, using his werewolf hearing to catch every sound nearby. The waves crashing against the rocks, the wind rustling the weeds, Bill and Harry's quiet conversation inside, and his own breathing. Everything seemed peaceful.
Remus breathed a sigh of relief, temporarily relaxing his tense nerves and allowing a thought more delightful than war to fill his mind.
He quickly walked toward the familiar cottage. A sudden gust of wind knocked him off balance, and with a thud, he collided with the wooden door. The talking inside stopped. He could imagine Harry's startled expression and Bill’s suddenly serious face.
“Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Remus Lupin!” He straightened up, smoothly saying the words he had repeated countless times at this door, his tone higher with the joy in his heart. “I’m a werewolf, my wife’s name is Nymphadora Tonks, you’re the Keeper of Shell Cottage, you gave me this address and told me to come if I needed to!”
Bill Weasley opened the door, and Remus eagerly stepped inside. He grabbed the front of his travel cloak and scanned the room, noticing Fleur, who hadn’t yet hidden her fearful expression, the house-elf crouched under the table, Ron and Hermione standing side by side, and finally, Harry Potter, looking even thinner than when he was at Hogwarts.
“It’s a boy!” Remus announced in the happiest tone he had ever had. “We named him Ted, after Dora’s father!”
---
The arrival of this child had not been planned. That night, Remus and Dora had had the most intense argument they had ever had. Remus had yelled like a mad wolf, taking all the blame onto himself. How could he—how dare he? He scolded himself inwardly. You’re so selfish, Remus Lupin. Think about it—a child! In the middle of a war! A child with werewolf blood! Both parents working for the Order of the Phoenix!
“Remus…” Tonks didn’t want to argue anymore. She sighed, took her husband’s trembling hand, and placed it gently on her abdomen.
Remus opened his mouth, his tone softening. “I’m not blaming you, Dora… I’m angry at myself—this is all my fault, I’m so selfish—”
“If I hadn’t changed my hair color while I was pregnant, do you think our baby could have pink hair?” Dora interrupted. Remus stared at his wife in surprise, noticing only the joy of impending motherhood on her face, unlike his own worried one. “I still have the baby crib from when I was little! My dad made it himself, and now we can use it again…”
The couple sat hand in hand by the bed. They talked excitedly about baby clothes, choosing toys, and planning their first trip with the little one. Remus just watched her, his hand resting on her still-flat belly.
He knew too many children born during wartime—Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, Susan Bones… When he thought of what their parents had gone through and how those children had grown up, his heart ached. Now, his own child was arriving in this darkest of times. This tiny, unborn life was hidden beneath the skin he was gently touching—so fragile, so pure, protected by his (her) mother’s flesh, isolated from all the struggles and misfortunes of the world.
They had to prepare for the worst. If he and Dora were to die… He didn’t want to think about it, but he had to. The child would need a guardian, someone other than their parents. Someone who cared for children like they did, someone willing to watch over him (her) and be there like a parent.
“Would you let Harry be his godfather?” Remus asked cautiously.
“Of course! Who else would be more suitable?” Dora’s hand covered Remus’s hand. “With Harry Potter as the godfather, our child will be the happiest godchild in the world.”
“I’m sorry, Dora—” Remus suddenly pulled his hand away. “This child, he wasn’t—he shouldn’t—now I’m deciding for Harry—”
“Stop talking nonsense.” Dora immediately retorted. “Listen, Remus, don’t apologize for our love. This child is ours. We’ll raise him together.”
Remus looked at her, tears welling up in his eyes.
“Alright, alright—” Dora wiped away the tear from the corner of his eye. “Don’t feel bad. You’ve decided on the godfather, so let me pick the name, okay? If it’s a girl, we’ll call her Andromeda. If it’s a boy, we’ll call him Ted.”
---
The sighs and cheers around the table took a long time to die down. Fleur and Hermione shrieked in exactly the same tone, congratulating Remus over and over. Ron, his face flushed with excitement, laughed joyfully as if he had never heard of a newborn. Bill kept patting Remus on the shoulder, as if unsure what to say.
“He’s born! He’s born! We have a baby!” Remus announced again. He smiled at the people at the table, sinking into a joy so light and carefree, surrounded by the cheers of friends and comrades. Then his gaze passed over Ron, Hermione, Fleur, Bill, and the silent house-elf, landing on Harry.
Remus couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Harry smile like that. The last time they met was at 12 Grimmauld Place, where Harry had called Remus a coward, and their conversation had ended with Remus shooting a curse at him. Now, in the bright living room of Shell Cottage, the fire crackling in the hearth, Remus and Harry grinned at each other, as if the argument at the Black family home had never happened. He walked up and gave Harry a solid hug.
“Will you be the godfather?” Remus asked.
“Me?” the young wizard stammered, his green eyes shining with disbelief.
“Yes, you. Of course—Dora completely agrees, no one is more suitable—”
“Me—okay—oh my goodness—”
Harry glanced at Ron (who patted him on the back, shouting, “Godfather, Harry! Little Ted’s godfather!”), then at Hermione (whose hands covered her lower face, her eyes shimmering with tears), his mouth half open, unable to speak from excitement.
Young wizards always acted this way. Remus smiled as he thought to himself.
---
He could almost see James Potter lying on the grass under the beech tree, his black hair sticking out wildly, foolishly dreaming.
“You think Lily and I should name our child Tom? … No, Tom Potter sounds awful. Robbie? Henry? … What if it’s a girl? If it’s a girl, we’ll call her Lily…”
“Alright, James,” Remus couldn’t help but laugh. “She hasn’t even agreed to go to Hogsmeade with you yet.”
James jumped up and pointed a finger at Remus, expressing his dissatisfaction. “No, no, no, Remus, this is thinking ahead. You don’t know, I’ve even decided on the godfather for the kid.”
“Oh? Who is it?” Padfoot asked.
“Who else but you, my dear big-footed friend?” James turned to face Padfoot, his voice filled with pride.
Remus clearly remembered the surprise on Padfoot’s face: his dark eyes squinting into narrow slits, his mouth almost stretched to his ears. The sunlight fell on his black hair, and the joy on his face made him look even more handsome.
“But Moony’s right,” James suddenly sighed. “Let’s wait until Evans agrees to go to Hogsmeade with me first.”
Young wizards were always like this. Remus thought as he took the drink Bill handed him, smiling. Always hoping, looking forward to the future, believing that one day they would become someone’s groom or godfather.
Later, these two spirited boys would both die, leaving only him and the traitor. But their children lived on—Harry Potter, Padfoot’s godson, the only child left by James, though he had been through many hardships, had just made it to his seventeenth year.
He looks just like James, Remus thought, glancing across the table at the boy’s familiar face. Except for the eyes—everyone could tell those were Lily’s eyes. He took another drink, smiling contentedly in the warmth of the memories.
---
At that time, Harry Potter hadn’t yet turned seventeen, and he hadn’t even started dating Tonks.
“… Tonks’s Patronus changed, Snape said. I didn’t know that could happen. Why would a Patronus change?”
Sixteen-year-old Harry Potter had asked him this at the dining table, sounding as if they were still in their third year of Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Remus slowly tore at a piece of turkey, the meat soft and tender, just as Molly’s cooking always was.
“Sometimes… a great shock… an emotional upheaval…” he said, chewing.
“It looks big, with four legs,” Harry said. “Hey, could it be—?”
With a loud clatter, Remus’s fork fell into his plate.
Large four-legged creatures weren’t that rare. He told himself. No need to get alarmed. Besides, how could it be? She—Nymphadora Tonks—so young, so full of life and talent, would have an easy future at the Ministry of Magic even without working for the Order. And he, Remus Lupin, a werewolf.
You must be crazy. Remus began tearing at the turkey again. The full moon was coming soon. You must be out of your mind. You must be crazy.
---
“Dumbledore said the next meeting place is the Hog’s Head Inn, Aberforth…”
After the Christmas break at Hogwarts, a Patronus Remus had never seen before appeared at the table, delivering Dumbledore’s instructions in Dora’s voice. It was a beautiful stag, its coat gleaming, its limbs strong. Unlike the beast he transformed into each month, it radiated a holy, soft light.
Moody narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Tonks’s Patronus should be a rabbit. Prove your identity!”
The Patronus trembled slightly but quickly regained its composure, speaking in Dora’s voice. “I, Nymphadora Tonks, Metamorphmagus, hate being called Nymphadora. My parents are Ted Tonks and Andromeda Black.”
“Tell me something the Death Eaters wouldn’t know.” Moody’s suspicion hadn’t been quelled, and he drew his wand, pointing it at the Patronus’s throat. “What did Nymphadora Tonks and I talk about the last time we met?”
The whole room stared at the Patronus, which hesitated (Remus could imagine Dora’s expression) before saying, “The last time we met, I told you, my teacher Alastor Moody, that I had realized my feelings for Remus Lupin. I didn’t know…”
“Well done, Tonks.” Moody’s magical eye turned, clearly unfazed by the expressions around the room. “Tell Aberforth, message received.”
The stag looked at Remus. The Patronus and the werewolf locked eyes before turning into blue smoke and disappearing.
“Alastor…” Remus muttered awkwardly.
“This is war, Lupin!” Moody slammed his staff on the floor, his magical eye turning several times. “Always be vigilant!”
---
Remus drank his glass of wine in one go and quickly refilled it. The blood rushed to his face and fingers, and he felt warm all over, filled with the vitality that only youth brings.
“Who does he look like?” Fleur asked, clinking her glass with his, finishing it in one go.
“I think he looks like Dora…” Remus thought of his newborn son, a smile appearing on his face again. “But Dora thinks he looks like me.” Honestly, who could judge whether a baby just hours old looked more like the father or the mother? But one thing was certain—little Ted’s ever-changing hair color wasn’t from the werewolf side. He had never imagined that being a father would feel like this: a pure, new life before him, sleeping peacefully, still curled up as if in the womb. He carried Remus and Dora’s blood.
“This is our child.” Andromeda handed the baby to him while Dora lay nearby, smiling, adding, “Remus, we’ll raise him together.”
Remus trembled as he took little Ted Lupin, wrapped in a blanket, his sparse hair and closed eyes so tiny and fragile. Yet, he felt an overwhelming power. Tears filled his eyes. This was his child.
“Oh… another… another drink…” He downed his glass again, and Bill quickly brought a new bottle, filling Remus’s cup.
On this ordinary night in northern England, a white cottage stood alone on the cliff, backed by the roaring sea, with waves crashing relentlessly against the rocks. A war was raging, students in schools defied their teachers’ orders, the pub owner quietly passed on secret messages, and the Ministry of Magic was embroiled in political games.
The wind swept against the small gravestone in the backyard, crashing against the glass of the casement windows. But Remus was here, in Bill and Fleur’s Shell Cottage, temporarily safe, warmed by the alcohol, raising his glass to celebrate the birth of his son. In this long, ongoing war that had defined his life, he had rarely felt such pure joy.
Because werewolves were not supposed to give or receive love. Because werewolves were not worthy of experiencing all the beautiful emotions.
“Another drink… Cheers, Harry, cheers!” Remus and Harry Potter—Ted’s godfather—clinked their glasses, both drinking deeply.
But he was different from his kind. He understood all of this. He was Remus Lupin, the last marauder, who had shared every thrilling adventure with his friends; a warrior of the Order, who had practiced Gryffindor courage and chivalry for twenty years; Nymphadora Tonks’s husband, Ted Remus Lupin’s father—he would fight for them, willing to pay any price, whether or not he would see the light of victory in his lifetime.
“To Ted Remus Lupin,” Remus raised his glass high, “a great wizard in the making!”
“To Ted Remus Lupin!” The others in the room cheered, also raising their glasses high, their faces filled with identical joy.
Before this, Remus had only celebrated the birth of one other child. That was on a summer night in 1979, at the first Order headquarters, with a huge piece of parchment spread out on the wooden table in front of him. He bit his lip, carefully analyzing the twisting, turning map and the small dots representing wizards. A conversation, as normal as any in times of war, took place around him.
“Any news?” asked Aberforth Dumbledore, frowning. He left the Hog’s Head Inn once a month to meet with the Order members.
“The Head of St. Mungo’s was hit with the Imperius Curse,” replied Eufyás Doge.
“That’s why,” Marlene McKinnon smiled bitterly. She had just narrowly escaped death at St. Mungo’s last week.
“…The Longbottoms have seen the Dark Mark.” Either Gideon or Fabian said it. Remus couldn’t quite remember.
“I told you, we’re fine!” Frank Longbottom’s fist slammed on the table, and his wife Alice grabbed his arm. “No need to make a big deal out of a stupid mark, alright?”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Aberforth waved his hand impatiently.
“It’s a boy!” James Potter suddenly burst in, wearing a Muggle coat and holding a large bottle of Firewhiskey. “Lily’s had the baby! Mother and child are safe! We decided to name him Harry, after his grandfather!”
At first, the room was silent. Until Remus cleared his throat, stepped forward, and patted James on the shoulder. “Oh—congratulations, James.”
Then a rush of joyous hope passed over everyone’s face, as if the long shadow of war in the room had been momentarily lifted. Hagrid laughed merrily, Amelia Bones clapped the table in celebration, and even Aberforth smiled. Moody stood in the corner in the shadows, arms crossed, silently watching the cheering crowd. His furrowed brows miraculously relaxed.
“Hey, Padfoot, you’re Harry’s godfather now!” After the cheers died down a bit, James shouted across the room at Sirius. “You promised me!”
“No problem!” Sirius laughed brightly. He grabbed the Firewhiskey from James’s hands, raised it high, and smiled as the drink bubbled with joy. “I, Sirius Black, Harry’s godfather—here’s to Harry Potter, to new life in the war!”
“To Harry Potter!” The cheers echoed through the room again. Several magically conjured glass cups clinked together, and Remus’s glass was among them.
“To new life in the war!”
---
“No... no... I really must go back.” Remus waved his hand, slightly tipsy, refusing another drink from Bill. He had already drunk enough today. Dora was waiting for him at home, and he didn’t want to get drunk and reek of alcohol while calling Ted’s name by the crib.
He stepped out of Shell Cottage, the evening wind flipping his patched old cloak. Harry Potter, his best friend’s godson, the only child left by another best friend, was still there at Bill and Fleur’s, holding his glass, alive, smiling, celebrating the birth of little Ted Lupin. It had been like this for so many years, Remus thought. People die every day, but every day, new children are born. The few strong drinks he had just consumed warmed his stomach, and a sense of fulfillment and joy filled every pore of his being. He hadn’t cast the Patronus charm, but he was surrounded by the brightest, most radiant hope he had ever known. In the spring of 1998, on this ordinary night in northern England, new bonds were being forged, new love was being passed on, and new strength was rising. Harry will win, Remus thought with confidence. We will win, without a doubt.
He closed his eyes, picturing the bright, warm living room at the Tonks home: Andromeda probably hadn’t gone to sleep yet, and Dora surely hadn’t either. They were probably still sitting as they had been before he left, Dora lying down, Andromeda sitting, both holding hands, laughing at the changes in their newborn’s hair color. Little Ted Lupin might still be asleep, nestled in sweet dreams. Would the Metamorphmagus, with his werewolf blood, change his appearance in his sleep? Remus couldn’t wait to find out.
Remus Lupin turned on his heel, and with a swirl of the chilly west wind, he Disapparated, disappearing into the night.