The Marauders: Year Four

Among the Dead

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."