Chapter Text
“There’s no reason to fuss,” his mother had said one night, her voice a whisper against the raging storm. She had held Remus to her chest as she spoke, combing her fingers through his hair. “I have you, cariad, nothing can hurt you.”
When the storm had first started she had tried to bring him back to bed. “I’ll lay with you,” she had offered in Welsh, “please baby,” but Remus had cried. He'd clung to her night dress and shrieked louder than the wind could howl until she gave in. She had then lit a fire in their living room, brewed a cup of hot chocolate, and held Remus in her arms as the storm went on.
“You’re growing so big,” she whispered, in the fondness that could only come from a mother. “What will we do when you no longer fit in my lap?”
The fire crackled gently and Remus watched, with his head rested against her chest, as the smoke curled away from the burning logs and into their chimney. “Nac ydw,” he had replied in the willfulness that could only come from a child too afraid to leave their mothers arms.
I’m not.
His mother laughed and he knew a gentle smile would be resting across her lips; as one often was. “'I'll hold you either way,” she whispered. She then, gently cupped his face, ran a thumb along his cheeks, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
She had barely begun to whisper ‘I love you,’ when a crash of thunder came.
It tore through the ground and sky and shook through the walls of their home. As if the earth herself was shrieking. As though she had dug her nails into her ribcage and tore until the bones had snapped and her rivers had gone red.
It lasted a lifetime.
It lasted little more than a few seconds.
“Mami?” Remus whispered, looking up to his mother. ‘fix it.’ he had wanted to beg, ‘make it stop,’ but his throat was tight and the words wouldn’t come. “Mami,” he repeated desperately as a sob broke past his lips and tears rolled down his cheeks.
He had only been a child at the time- still the center of life itself. He wasn’t aware of his mother and the way her own breath had hitched or hands had shook as she finally pulled him closer. She’d whispered a string of reassurances, that the storm would end soon, that Remus would be okay, as her own fears leaked into her voice.
The thunder didn’t return. Though they continued to sit that way long after, his mother hand against the scruff of his neck and his face buried in her chest, listening to the fading rain. It wasn’t until their phone rang that his mother let him go. “I’ll be back,” she had whispered in Welsh, as she moved Remus off her lap. She had pressed a kiss to his forehead, then the tip of his nose, before disappearing into their kitchen.
He pulled his legs to his chest and the fireplace crackled softly. He had watched it with his chin resting atop of his knees, ignorant to the way his mother’s hand shook around their phone as she held it to her ear. He never saw the tears that had begun to roll down her cheeks as the call ended. In the safety of the kitchen she was no longer a mother. She was merely a woman -consumed by her fear- crumbling to the floor as silent sobs raked her body.
When she returned Remus had lifted his head, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “Mami?”
“Hi baby,” she whispered as she knelt in front of him, with gentle eyes and a thin smile across her lips. She was no longer a woman. She was a mother, who -like thousands before her and thousands after- had become far too good at hiding herself. “Dadi’s coming home early, would you like to stay up and wait for him?”
He had nodded. “Byddwn i.”
I would.
The corners of her eyes creased.
“He’ll be glad to see you,” she whispered before she stood and offered Remus her hand. “Come wait outside with me. Dadi won’t be long.”
They had sat together on the front step, Remus in his mother’s lap as she rested her chin on his shoulder. She’d quietly sung a lullaby, in a language that Remus hadn’t understood, and held him close, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. A chill had clung to the air, the kind that could only come after a rain storm, though in his mother’s arms it hadn’t mattered: She was warm. Her voice sweet against the bitter night.
His eyes had barely begun to flutter shut when the hum of an engine broke through and headlights illuminated the street.
“Dadi,” Remus had shouted as the car pulled up to the curb and his father stepped out of the passenger seat.
He’d run from his mother, puddles splashing below his feet and the air biting at his cheeks. He met the man half way across their lawn, as his father fell to his knees and Remus threw himself into his arms. He smelt the way he always did after work: of earth, of metal, of something burnt and rotten, though Remus had never cared. The scent was his father coming home.
He wrapped his arms around his father’s neck and buried his face into his shoulder. “I missed you,” Remus had whispered in Welsh.
‘There was a storm,’ he’d wanted to continue, excited to tell his father about everything he’d missed, but then his father’s grip around him tightened and his body began to shake.
“Dadi?” Remus whispered.
“Rem,” his father choked out as he clung onto his son, a hand running desperately through his hair. “fy mach i, fy mach i.” My little one, he repeated as the words broke into sobs.
It was as if the first crash of thunder had once again tore through the night, jolting Remus awake.
His heart beat against his chest, clawing its way up his throat and into the tips of fingers.
A tear rolled down his cheek as a sob broke past his lips.
‘Stop,’ he wanted to beg, ‘stop crying,’ but the words wouldn’t come.
“Dadi,” he wailed as his mother pulled him away.
She’d crouched in front of him, tears across her cheeks and fear in her voice. “I need you to go inside,” she’d begged in Welsh, as sobs raked his body. “Please baby, can you do that for me? Please.”
He continued to cry as she ran a thumb across his cheek. “Go inside, I’ll be there soon.” And with that she turned away, pulling his father into her arms and whispering words that Remus couldn’t hear over the ringing in his ears.
The grass had soaked through his socks as stood in place, unable to do anything but watch as his parents fell apart.
Silence had filled the next morning as Remus sat at the kitchen table, a stuffed rabbit held close to his chest. He’d watched as his mother moved through the kitchen, pulling out pots and pans and humming quietly to herself. She’d greeted him with a gentle good morning, though beyond that she hadn’t spoken, letting the ticking of the clock fill the space.
The night before had lingered in the shadows, and though his mother had seemed to all but move on Remus, could still feel it, cold against his skin.
“Is dadi okay?” He had finally whispered in Welsh.
His mother had stopped. Her gaze rested on the pan she hovered over, as the bacon crackled softly. “Yes,” she had finally replied in Welsh, “He- Dadi had a difficult night at work, but he’ll be okay.”
When Remus hadn’t replied, his bottom lip between his teeth, his mother had moved to crouch in front of him, a soft smile across her lips. “There's no reason for you to fuss, cariad,” she whispered, “Your father is only tired, I promise.”
It had only been a splinter of the truth, though at the time it had been enough.
Remus had let it go. He’d spent the rest of his morning running through the street, jumping into puddles and chasing his neighbour's dog. He’d spent the afternoon practicing his English and baking with his mother, and as the sunlight had faded so had his worries.
By the end of the week that night had become nothing but a distant memory, remembered only by the few scars that marked his father’s body.
He had never seeked out the truth; as he grew older the fragments had simply fallen together. Small comments from his mother or grandparents, conversations with his father’s friends, history lessons in school, all came together and suddenly Remus was five years old again, seeing his father cry for the first and last time.
The final roar he and his mother had felt that night was not thunder but crumbling rock, as the local mine collapsed in on itself.
There had been a miscalculation, an insufficient amount of ventilation, or an error in where the miners struck. Either way there had been too much coal dust and when a spark flew there could be little done to stop what followed. His father had survived by a few feet. Though the man he had been working with hadn’t been so fortunate.
At the time reports and news articles had declared that the community had been lucky. Only a few dozen men had died, it could have easily been more. And while Remus understood the sentiment, he often wondered how lucky those families felt.