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Among the Dead


There was a loud CRACK! and Albus Dumbledore appeared at the gate before the Lupin house. He’d changed into his usual magenta wizarding robes, his long beard tucked into the rope belt, and a black travelling cloak about his shoulders. He looked up at the house, a usually comfortable-looking home that had always seemed quietly inviting the previous times he’d been to call… Of course it had been some time by now, the last time Dumbledore had come was two years prior, when Hope Lupin had been murdered, and since then things had fallen into disrepair. A shutter hung a bit crooked on an upstairs window, loosened by the wind and left unfixed. The grass on the lawn had not been cut in sometime, nor had the brushes ‘round the porch been trimmed so that they had long fresh-green stalks shooting up all about.

This was a home that had been broken by its loss and never quite healed, and he realized suddenly that this call was far too long overdue.

He moved through the gate, and walked up to the front door, and he rapped his knuckles on the wood smartly, waiting for a reply from within. None came and so he knocked again, more insistent this time, louder.

Still no response.

Dumbledore waved his wand at the handle and forced his way in.

The Lupin house was quiet and dark, not a single light anywhere in the house - no lanterns, no glowing wands, no candles. He glanced around the shadows that crept upon the walls, cast long and dark by the moonbeams coming through the windows. The home smelled of chicken and rotting food and filth. Dumbledore walked slowly, not liking the quiet, ominousness of the dark. “Lyall?” he called. “Lyall Lupin?” He stepped and something crunched beneath his feet and he lowered the wand tip to look and found a bottle whose neck had popped beneath his feet. He raised the wand to inspect the floor and found there several empty bottles about, and a good deal of wrappers emblazoned with a logo from a pub in the village lying about the room.

Then he spotted him, Lyall Lupin laying on the couch, in his underclothes, a splotch of barbeque sauce from the latest order of chicken still stuck to the side of his face, the white undershirt bore splotches and stains. In one fist, Lyall clutched another of the bottles like Dumbledore had stepped on - a clear, muggle alcohol that smelled very strong. Lyall had gained a considerable amount of weight - in an unhealthy sort of way - and Dumbledore frowned.

“Mr. Lupin!” Dumbledore called loudly, leaning over the back of the couch. When this got no response, he tried again, “LYALL LUPIN!!!!!”

With a start, Lyall woke up, dropping the bottle, which hit the floor and spilled, though Lyall didn’t notice. He lay there, a panicked look to his eyes until he saw Dumbledore standing over him, and he shook as he struggled to sit up, obviously dizzy. At the present moment, Dumbledore found it very hard to feel any sort of remorse for alarming the man.

“Dumbledore, what...whatever are you… doing… here?” Lyall stammered, voice slurring over the words. He looked about, at the pale moonlight on the floor, then looked up at the headmaster again, “..isn’t...full moon is it?” Lyall didn’t sound certain, as though he’d lost track of the day and night a long, long time ago. “Has… Did he… Is he alright?”

“Who?” Dumbledore asked.

“Remus,” Lyall said. Dumbledore stared at him as though he didn’t recognize the name. “My son, Dumbledore, my son!” Lyall snapped, frustrated, “Is my son alright?”

Dumbledore acted as though he’d just now recalled, “Ohhh yes,” he said, “I thought that we were pretending that Remus did not exist. I apologize for misunderstanding. You see… after the row the two of you had over the summer… I’ve heard that you haven’t spoken to him since, and seeing as that is not at all how a father treats his son, I didn’t think you were laying claims upon him any longer.”

Lyall stared at Dumbledore, unamused, and he turned away, closing his eyes at how much the motion had thrown off his equilibrium. He clutched the sofa cushions for support.

“Your son is quite alright,” Dumbledore said.

“Then why are you here?” Lyall asked roughly.

“To find out exactly why it is that you believe a father’s love has limitations.”

Lyall stiffened at this, but he didn’t speak. He got up, kicking the bottle, which spun across the floor, its contents pouring out onto the carpet. Lyall stumbled over a couple of the pub chicken boxes and shuffled about through some of the wrappers on the table until he’d found his wand in the depths of them. “If you’ve come… to… to accuse me… of… of something then perhaps… you ought to do it then,” Lyall said, standing upright but wobbly.

Dumbledore stared at the ragged man before him, and he felt something like pity well in him. Here was a man who had lost his love, and there was nothing in all of the world that was sadder and more pitiable than a man without love left in his heart... Dumbledore looked Lyall Lupin over and, although this dirty, lost old man before him had done something terrible in hurting Remus, he felt sorry for Lyall, too.

“Your son thinks he’s lost his father,” Dumbledore said quietly.

Lyall’s eyes welled up. “On the contrary, Dumbledore, I have lost a son.”

“He is only a letter away. In fact, if you’d like, Mr. Lupin, I shall apparate us both to Hogsmeade and you can come up to the castle right now and I’ll summon him to my office immediately, if you truly believe that.”

Lyall’s fist tightened ‘round his wand and he shook his head.

“Why have you pushed your son away, Lyall?” Dumbledore asked plainly.

Lyall felt behind himself for a chair and sat heavily down in it, letting his wand drop to the floor. “Made a mistake, Dumbledore,” he murmured, “Made a mistake. I don’t know where I went wrong… what I’ve done to deserve it...”

“To deserve what?”

“A werewolf for a boy… and then he showed up here… with the Black boy… A Black! Under my roof, after what they did to the Bells… to my Hope…” Lyalls shoulders shook, “Bellatrix Black killed my wife, Albus, how could I let a Black stand in my home! And to have my son look at him like that… after what his family’s done… That Black boy… he’s trouble, Dumbledore. He’ll kill my boy. He’s got him enchanted in some sort of trance… it’s got to be… my boy, he’s not gay… but he thinks he is, he thinks he - that he -- loves that boy. It’s disgusting, Albus, it’s shameful, and I can’t bear to watch the Black family murder another of the people that I love.”

Dumbledore stared levelly at Lyall, letting the words he’d just slurred his way through sink in and process for a moment. FInally, he said, “Let me assure you, Mr. Lupin, that Sirius Black is not worthy of the name of Black. He is so unlike his family…”

“He’s enchanted you as well,” Lyall hissed.

“No, Mr. Lupin, he has not,” Dumbledore replied sternly. “Sirius Black has repeatedly proven himself to be every bit as good and noble a person as his family is evil.”

“He’s got it in his veins, Albus,” whispered Lyall, “Eventually, perhaps not now, perhaps not today, but eventually Sirius Black will turn… and when he does, those boys are in trouble. When he has the opportunity, Sirius Black will kill them all.”

Dumbledore didn’t reply.

“I’ve been a good father,” Lyall said hotly, “I’ve provided everything he could possibly want or need. I’ve given him bloody everything! Is it too much that I have dreamed of grandchildren? Dreamed of my son being married one day and having his own family? Of course, how is it that he would ever marry, being a werewolf…” Lyall diverted his eyes. “Isn’t it enough to have to give up on those dreams because of his condition… but to have to give them up entirely because he’s got feelings for the Black boy...” he paused, then looked up at Dumbledore. “He isn’t a homosexual, Dumbledore. He cannot be.”

Dumbledore asked, “Why?”

“He’s too smart for that, Albus! Far too smart. He knows better. This is some form of… ridiculous rebellion or else some horrible plot of Sirius Black….”

Dumbledore asked, “How would one’s sexual orientation in anyway impact whether they are smart or not?”

“Because intelligent people know that’s not how it’s meant to be! A man is not meant for another man, Albus! Simple biology will tell you that. It’s filthy and disgusting, and wholly unacceptable behavior and if he wants to participate in that deplorable sort of lifestyle, then Remus can be counted among the dead that I have lost.” Lyall’s words rang in the air between them.

Dumbledore’s words came out low. “It is a sign of ignorance to believe that love in any form is anything less than the most powerful magic a man can possess.”

“Powerful magic? You can’t possibly believe that -- two men -- is in anyway natural?” Lyall stammered and he stared, aghast at Dumbledore.

There was a long, very heavy silence, during which Lyall waited patiently for a response and Dumbledore seemed to sift and move over a variety of responses that coursed through him. Twice, he opened his mouth to say something, and once he murmured, “I --” only to stop.

Finally, Dumbledore said, “I believe that the soul transcends the body and the soul is where love and magic reside. That magic is spiritual, that love is spiritual, and therefore that love and magic transcends the body, transcends the labelling of genders. I believe that you’ve made a grave mistake in pushing your son out of your life, one that you will regret if you do not already, one that you need to act quickly to resolve. You need your boy, Lyall, and your boy needs you.”

Lyall stared at the floor stubbornly.

Dumbledore turned about, headed for the door.

“Albus,” called Lyall.

Dumbledore stopped in the doorway and looked back over his shoulder, eyes flashing with anger and pain and pity all at once as the emotions fought within him.

“I don’t trust Sirius Black. Please… Watch over my boy.”

Dumbledore replied, “That ought to be your job, Lyall. Not mine. It ought to be you that he turns to for help… it ought to be you he can trust to accept and love him… That’s what fathers ought to do with their boys… they ought never sit in their headmaster’s office and say the words that your son said to me tonight. You count Remus among the dead you’ve lost… well…” Albus shook his head sadly, “I am very sorry for your loss, Mr. Lupin. It is a most unfortunate one. Your boy is an exceptional human being, and I, at least, am quite proud of him… for having the strength to be true to himself. Your son has strength that even I do not possess.” And he pushed open the door of the house and strode out, descending the steps quickly and the door slammed closed.