Complex Languages

Disclaimer: I don't own the HP genre. It owns me.

Minerva's Note: There's a chapter for every two years of life: four-years old, six-years old, eight-years old, etcetera. Most, but not all, of them are Remus-centric. They're simply not in first person. When he arrives at sixteen years, however, the chapters cease increasing in age and there's an entire adventure.

1 - The Language of Sacrifice

A door slammed. A jacket was shoved roughly into a coat closet as if it had done something offensive. A swear word echoed throughout the wooden cottage.

"Bad day at work, Dear?" Faith Lupin gaited over and put her arms around her husband to stop his tirade. It might not have seemed like a gargantuan expression of anger, but for the Lupins, who were all prototypes of calm and courtesy, it was a tirade.

"Extremely," John admitted, taking comfort from the scent of her light brown hair.

"What happened?" She ushered him over to the couch and offered him tea.

He accepted the steaming mug with a grateful smile. "At St. Mungo's today some man named Fenrir came in and suggested that we develop a way to inject people with lycanthropy of all things! We got into quite an argument about it."

"Lycanthropy?" This was one of those instances when John was acutely aware of the fact that he and Faith came from separate worlds; she was a Muggle mystery novelist and he was a magical Healer. Their variations did not bother him. He was so comfortable with it that he readily agreed to live in a Muggle village. Truthfully, it surprised him that he failed to notice the opposing traits more frequently. It was simply another piece of evidence that wizards and non-magical people were similar and deserved equal treatment.

"Being a were-creature," he explained. "Werewolves are the most common in this part of Europe."

"And he wanted others to become those things? That's horrible!"

"You have no idea. It's a very tragic condition. You see-"

"U and C? That's the twenty-firsty and third letters of the alphoobet." The four-year old twins came out of their bedrooms. Remus and Romulous were identical with Faith's beechnut hair and John's intelligent sky blue eyes.

John ceased speaking abruptly, for it was not an appropriate topic for children to hear. "Very true, Romulous, though I meant the words, not the letters."

"I didn't say any-ting. Remmy did."

"Ah, of course. Sorry." Certainly, it had been a difficult ordeal at the wizarding hospital today, yet he still ought to have been able to distinguish the difference between his children by the attire; Remus' shirt was tucked into his trousers in a tidier fashion and his shoes were tied.

"S'okay." Romulous and Remus shrugged in unison. Did all twins do things at the same time? "Everybody mixies us up."

"Would you like some tea?" offered Faith.

"No thanks, Mummy." Remus turned to his mirror image. "Hey, Rommy, wanna go play?"

Grinning, Romulous gave the adults pleading eyes. "Can we play outside?"

"I think that's an excellent idea." Mischief flittered across Faith's face. "In fact, Mummy's going to cheer Daddy up after his lousy day, so don't come back in until I tell you."

Eagerly, the duo scurried out the back door. They took turns pushing one another on the tire dangling from a strong rope tied to a thick tree branch until it was too dark to see.

"I'm hungwy. Should we go in now?" Remus suggested.

"Mummy said to wait."

"What she do wif Daddy?"

Romulous threw up his hands, clueless. "Makin' us anotter brother?"

A loud growl interrupted their discussion. It was impossible to be sure, however, an inflection in the snarl sounded gleeful. Something massive and hairy emerged from the bushes. The light of the full moon illuminated its hungry golden eyes and sharp fangs. It took a moment to stare at them motionlessly. Then, it lunged.

Instinctively, Remus shoved Romulous to the ground beneath him, shielding him. The creature only bit through the flesh in Remus' shoulder, but both of the boys screeched in their young, high-pitched voices. The fear engulfing them was too intense for them to form articulate words, yet the sound was enough. The postern into the backyard banged open and the unusual image of a livid John Lupin with his wand at the ready was unfurled. With an almost regretful glance at Romulous, whom it hadn't gotten to touch, the monster bounded away to avoid the curse John aimed at it.

"Merlin be merciful," John prayed to himself as he approached the quivering boys that were clinging to each other. "Please, not my sons."