After the end of the First Wizarding War, Remus had found himself at an all-time low. Almost everyone he knew and cared about was dead. Lily and James’ kid had vanished without a trace. Sirius was in Azkaban for murd— Merlin, he couldn’t think about it. Not when he had you to worry about.

To the Ministry, it seemed Remus was the only person close enough to him, and trusted enough, to be given guardianship over you. But it was hard. Exhaustingly so.

You had that same black, curly hair. Those grey eyes that bored into Remus’ soul whenever you asked a question. And for a kid, you were sharp. Sharp enough to know his scars weren’t from childhood tumbles. You were curious and determined—brave enough to scrape your knees just to try something new. It was like living with a carbon copy of Sirius, day in and day out.

And it ached. Gods, it ached. The guilt, the grief. That maybe—maybe—if he’d talked to Sirius more, if he’d seen—

A sigh escaped him, pulling him back to the present. His little cottage in Cardiff. Quiet. Safe. Tucked far enough from society to stay off the radar, but close enough for you to see other children now and then. Hidden with ancient runes. Anything to keep you safe from the remnants of the wizarding world.

He stood up from the armchair, a hiss slipping through his teeth as his bad hip protested. With a quiet grunt, he bent down and ran a tired hand through your hair as you played on the carpet—your stuffed animals lined up neatly: a dog, a stag, a wolf, and a rabbit.

“Let’s get you a snack, eh?” Remus coaxed gently, grabbing his cane and extending his free hand toward you. His smile was small, but soft—just for you.