Tranquility
It was a small cottage, but comfortable. Rhea had considered making it larger - only on the inside, of course - but it was enough for her and her husband. It was a reasonable distance from the small school John taught at, and one could access St. Mungo's any number of ways.
For some time their home was a peaceful place, quiet and secluded. They were surrounded by the scent of flowers and the shelter of trees and the songs of birds.
It was their haven from all the bigotry and turmoil and desperation of the world. It seemed a fine place to raise a child in.
They couldn't remove themselves entirely, of course. Not with the lives they lived, the lives they had chosen.
When John returned home one day with a young girl in tow, pale and trembling, Rhea welcomed her. John, the eternal researcher, had recognised the signs of a new werewolf after a full moon, and his wife confirmed it. She was one of the few Healers who would treat them.
Muggle werewolves were talked of even less than wizards; ignored by the magical world, classed as murderers and madmen by their own. It was only natural that John would fight for his lonely student when no one else would. He and his wife stood up to the Ministry who scorned her, the pack who wanted her. Eventually, they won.
Their son paid the price. Their bright-eyed little boy who loved the woods and the stars, who was already learning to read, who would never trust the night again.
Months later, they were ready to move. Remus was growing older, after all, and it was such a small cottage.
They lived even more quietly than before, in an isolated place shrouded in mist and vines. They didn't expect to be bothered again, but some risks needn't be taken.
This house was larger, if darker, and they had plenty of space to fill. This room became theirs, this one their son's; this was a study, that a small library.
She would visit sometimes, the lonely girl who was determined to save as she was saved. She would learn and laugh and teach, and counsel their son as much as she could.
Remus was six. He enjoyed climbing the twisting trees, swinging from magically strengthened vines, playing with the small animals who sniffed them out. He was always so sad when they ran from him.
He went to his father's school, and though he learned quickly enough despite his absences, he never connected much with the other children. He was the strange, sickly boy, who kept too many secrets and listened too much.
He, too, needed a refuge from a world he couldn't quite grasp, couldn't quite comprehend, and unlike so many small boys, he came to relish the silence.
To fear its absence.
This peace had been torn apart before, and he didn't think he had much more to lose, so he cherished what he had and promised to defend it.
Only monsters were loud.
Community: Mind the Muse
Word Count: 508
For some time their home was a peaceful place, quiet and secluded. They were surrounded by the scent of flowers and the shelter of trees and the songs of birds.
It was their haven from all the bigotry and turmoil and desperation of the world. It seemed a fine place to raise a child in.
They couldn't remove themselves entirely, of course. Not with the lives they lived, the lives they had chosen.
When John returned home one day with a young girl in tow, pale and trembling, Rhea welcomed her. John, the eternal researcher, had recognised the signs of a new werewolf after a full moon, and his wife confirmed it. She was one of the few Healers who would treat them.
Muggle werewolves were talked of even less than wizards; ignored by the magical world, classed as murderers and madmen by their own. It was only natural that John would fight for his lonely student when no one else would. He and his wife stood up to the Ministry who scorned her, the pack who wanted her. Eventually, they won.
Their son paid the price. Their bright-eyed little boy who loved the woods and the stars, who was already learning to read, who would never trust the night again.
Months later, they were ready to move. Remus was growing older, after all, and it was such a small cottage.
They lived even more quietly than before, in an isolated place shrouded in mist and vines. They didn't expect to be bothered again, but some risks needn't be taken.
This house was larger, if darker, and they had plenty of space to fill. This room became theirs, this one their son's; this was a study, that a small library.
She would visit sometimes, the lonely girl who was determined to save as she was saved. She would learn and laugh and teach, and counsel their son as much as she could.
Remus was six. He enjoyed climbing the twisting trees, swinging from magically strengthened vines, playing with the small animals who sniffed them out. He was always so sad when they ran from him.
He went to his father's school, and though he learned quickly enough despite his absences, he never connected much with the other children. He was the strange, sickly boy, who kept too many secrets and listened too much.
He, too, needed a refuge from a world he couldn't quite grasp, couldn't quite comprehend, and unlike so many small boys, he came to relish the silence.
To fear its absence.
This peace had been torn apart before, and he didn't think he had much more to lose, so he cherished what he had and promised to defend it.
Only monsters were loud.
Community: Mind the Muse
Word Count: 508