MetaFic

“Lily’s pregnant,” James said.

Remus blinked and turned toward his friend’s voice. Although James wore his invisibility cloak, Remus could still see the silvery mist twirl about James’ head with each breath of the cold December air.

“Pregnant?”

“Yeah. She’s due in July.” The pride in his voice was palpable.

“Pregnant?” Remus asked, flabbergasted. This was the kind of news one got over cigars and firewhiskey in the den, not while guarding a cul-de-sac of safe houses.

James chuckled. “I said the same thing when Lily told me.”

“Aren’t you worried? I mean with the war, and Voldemort’s obsession with you and Lily.”

James didn’t answer, and Remus wondered if he’d even thought of the ramifications. No, James wasn’t a self-centered prat anymore. Still, they were young. Maybe it hadn’t sunk in yet. Remus had dreamed about kids himself, but what hope did a werewolf have at finding a happy home? Even his grandparents had only reluctantly taken him in after his parents’ deaths.

“Lily and I talked about it,” James said. “Even if the worst happens, we know that you and the others will do what’s right.”

Something tightened about Remus’ chest as a wild thrill of happiness and acceptance filled him. James would trust him with his child? No, Remus realized, James expected him to do what was right. Why would he trust his child around a werewolf? Remus wouldn’t trust himself. The stone about his neck slipped lower, and Remus hung his head. “I understand.”

“Don’t sound so down, Moony. I’m sure a former prefect can handle a few nappies.”

“You don’t want me to leave?” Remus cringed at the childish hope in his voice.

“Dammit Moony, how many times do we have to tell you that it doesn’t matter? You’re my brother. You’re family. Lily and I want you there.”

“But -”

“Shut up and accept it, Moony. You’ll be an uncle soon.”

“Uncle Moony?” Remus whispered in a voice thick with emotion. The words lit a fire in his stomach that pushed back the cold chill air. It was similar to the moment his three friends had uncovered his secret and stood by him, but this, this was so much more than the bonding of children. James and Lily had accepted him into their family, despite the dangers of his curse.

“Thank you, Prongs.”

“Shut it. Lily needs another responsible . . . shit! Moony, get down!”

Startled, Remus spun and drew his wand. Two dark cloaked figures stood in the white snow, their skull masks gleaming in the half moon’s glow.

“Reducto!” two voices shouted, and two bright red spells shot towards the house. Remus threw up a hasty shield. The spells deflected into the porch columns that shattered with a crack. Remus only had a brief vision of shimmering fabric as the porch collapsed around them and darkness claimed Remus.

A soul chilling cold that permeated even his charmed robes brought Remus awake. His legs were pinned under the debris from the porch, and his face lay on the cold decking. Down the street, the sickly green Dark Mark hung in the air as the two Death Eaters struggled to break through the wards on a house. The Jamison’s place was already in flames, and he could feel an intense heat behind him. His ears were ringing, and he swore he could hear screaming in the distance. Twisting around, his heart sank.

A tall, dark cloaked shape stood at the other end of the deck. The flickering firelight illuminated James’ disembodied head at the creature’s feet. A scaled hand reached upward toward the cowl of the cloak, and Remus fumbled for his wand as terror filled him.

He’d never cast a corporeal patronus. His own insecurities and the horrors of his childhood hindered him, but even the meager mist he could manage might help his friend. Focusing on the first time his friends had run with him in their animal forms, Remus cast his patronus. A rush of silver mist flowed across the deck and pushed at the Dementor.

The mist saved James, but the Dementor turned and glided toward Remus, its breath rattling. The screams in Remus’ mind grew louder, and he heard the guttural voice of Fenrir as the werewolf stalked through his parent’s home, searching out the child hidden in the closet.

Remus fought against it. He wouldn’t succumb. If he failed, James died. James would never see his child. Remus would never be an uncle. He’d never have a family or a home.

Reaching deep inside, he focused on that all-encompassing desire to be a true part of a family. To be Uncle Remus. Or perhaps – someday – a dad.

“Expecto Patronum!”

A bright silvery form erupted from his wand and flew toward the Dementor sending it fleeing as the Order arrived with a dozen loud cracks. But Remus only saw his corporeal patronus leading him home to his family.

Remus gently cradled the tiny blanket-wrapped bundle. A wisp of brown hair framed the delicate features of the newborn. Remus traced a calloused finger over the soft skin. The tiny face turned towards the touch.

His throat tightened and tears burned in his eyes. How could he have been so stupid to want to walk away from this, to not be here for this little boy? Harry had been right. How could he have wanted to run away from this? He just wished he could tell his best friend.

Maybe . . . pulling out his wand, he smiled as he whispered, “Expecto Patronum.” A silver white glow shot from his wand and coalesced into a luminous dove that flew about Remus. The same dove that had saved them eighteen years ago.

“Tell James . . . tell them all . . . I have a son.”

For a moment his patronus hovered and then flew toward the window before it disappeared