treewalking
"It is our choices ... that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."
Albus Dumbledore, The Chamber of Secrets
All thoughts of impending friendship and otherwise had to be put on hold because my third lunar change sent me to the hospital.
The lunar change, as a general note, is extremely draining. There was no real way to build up an immunity to the, well, horrifying transformation, but mental fortitude could be built up. Probably. Basically, I had to get my shit together or I’d kill myself before my seventh birthday.
But I digress.
So, the hospital visit was because I’d passed out after the transformation. Which makes sense, right, super draining magical transformation of pain, etc.
But…I didn’t really wake up again. Not until the doctors forcibly, magically woke me up, via some odd spell.
It turns out that I wasn’t getting enough protein to sustain the monthly transitions.
Also, anaemia.
In my defence, I was very pale-skinned already, and I’d always had cold hands and feet. So I hadn’t really noticed anything abnormal.
In hindsight, maybe that was because I was straddling the line between anaemia and health in my past body as well. But then again, any passing out I’d done in the past was due to low blood pressure, not because my body literally couldn’t absorb iron.
The tests the doctors did, whatever they were, basically proved that I was going to be shrimpy for the rest of my life if things didn’t change.
So a new ritual started- I was to take three separate potions every single day. One before breakfast, one before lunch, and one before dinner. They would basically help my body process more nutrients. On the offside, they made me lethargic, so I was deeply unhappy about them in general.
Still, I didn’t protest. I drank them obediently even though tasted like wet socks roasted over a garbage pit, holding onto hope that one day they’d be reduced in frequency.
My poor health meant no potential friends, no playing outside, no nothing. No cooking, only bedrest as my body began to process the influx of nutrients.
I was bored out of my fucking mind.
Day three of near-bed rest I broke down and begged my father for a notebook. He gave me an leather notebook with a leather strap that closed and an ink bottle. My mother, pinching her nose in annoyance, brought me a ballpoint pen. You can see which writing implement I used.
The thing is, I’d never forgotten my original idea to write down my future plans. Except now I was paranoid that someday my mother (or father, who fucking knew?) would get curious about what their cute son was writing only to see war plans.
A simple accio would literally ruin everything.
But there was nothing I could do, so I just slept with the notebook tucked into the side of my bed. It wasn’t the most solid security but it was the best I could do.
I also made my handwriting super fucking messy, to the point where I could barely decipher it.
So.
Notebook.
What to write?
I started with Hogwarts, the events that were supposed to happen, to my knowledge. I worried that some of it was more fanon than canon, but my memory was a little mush, so there was nothing I could do on that front.
There was Dumbledore’s invitation to Hogwarts, the friendship with James Potter and Sirius Black, as well as Peter Pettigrew. Maybe friendship with Lily, who was parcelled with Snape, who literally hated Remus’s guts after the incident in the fifth year.
(Note to self- don’t let that event happen.)
There was the animagus thing, the Marauders' map, the Potter Cloak, the Whomping Willow, the Shrieking Shack, fucking Hogsmeade, and...
And the War.
It started pretty much after schooling, right? Remus might’ve been a spy for Dumbledore to the werewolves, to fucking Greyback (and didn’t that make me nauseous?) or in general, an order member.
Right! The Order of the Phoenix. Snape wasn’t originally a member, but the Weasleys were, in association to the Prewetts! Gideon and Fabian, right? Right. He would turn after Trelawney made the prophecy and he told old Voldy, and he realised he’d doomed Lily.
Lily died on Halloween after James, trying to protect her beloved, darling son, at about twenty or twenty-one. They’re betrayed by the rat, Sirius goes chasing after him, ends up getting framed for revealing their location. Peter slinks off to the Weasleys, the Death Eaters go to Azkaban or bribe their way out, and Remus Lupin is all alone.
Harry Potter is shuffled off to his muggle relatives, Remus fucking suffers, Sirius suffers, Peter lives the fucking dream, and then Remus makes an entrance in the third year.
I stopped at this point because my small fingers were cramping, unused to the amount of writing I was doing, and besides, my head hurt a little. I leaned back into my bed and thought about my rather morbid future.
I mean, I suppose it wasn’t…terrrible. Destitution and poverty were probably character building, right?
Yeah…no way in hell.
My first concern was obviously my family. What the hell happened to Lyall and Hope? I was pretty sure Hope had died before canon events but was that preventable? Was that set in stone? No clue, but I hoped it wasn't. If Hope and Lyall were alive during the war, I’d probably pull a very Hermione Granger-esque measure and send them to the states or the first African country I could find. Somewhere out of the way, alive even if they never remembered who I was.
My second concern was money, and in relation, the idea that I’d be near destitute because the idiot wizards wouldn’t hire me.
To that I say, fuck you, wizards! The inbreeding has done a real number on you. Remus Lupin was a goddamn gift, and I was offended on both our behalf’s.
The obvious solution to my money issue was to be equally adept in all things muggle. I needed a degree or at least a record of education until my departure for Hogwarts. After I graduated, I could maybe take an exam to see where I was in terms of muggle education, or I could bring my remote muggle homework to the school and such. If I could maybe build up a rapport with a house-elf, they could deliver my homework to the school or college of my choice. And that way, I would belong to both worlds, so when shit hit the fan, I could run off to the muggle world and find employment there.
It seemed like a somewhat viable plan. After all, I was a muggle, having lived twenty-five years without magic.
My parents could pretend I was being tutored at home. Or I could forge a degree, but that seemed like a lot of work, even if forgery was inherently easier in the sixties, especially with magic.
I rubbed my face with my hands. Too much fucking work ahead of me. I had to convince my parents to let me go to school, but I probably had to stop falling asleep mid-conversation for them to even consider it.
Sigh.
My first bout of accidental magic (or the first time I witnessed my magic acting up, I knew I was a wizard already, werewolves are always wizards, the rest just die) was when I accidentally blew up a tree.
I’d snuck out of my room, desperate to do something, only for my parents to run out of the house in alarm at the sound of my massive explosion.
My parents found me covered in ash. And grime, surrounding the dulled pit where a tree used to stand. My father gave me a severe look while my mother fussed over me.
So it wasn’t really intentional, that’s for sure, but the circumstances were certainly dumb enough that I was never ever going to reveal why the tree had blown up.
Any Naruto fan knows what tree-walking is, okay? And I figured if I was so magical, why couldn’t I tree-walk too? Surely, it would help me control my magic.
Spoiled alert: Chakra and magic are not the same.
I had no clue what chakra felt like, to be honest, but all I knew was that magic didn’t work the same way. Chakra settled in the stomach, as far as I could remember, a mixture of mental intent and physical energy (ATP?), and it was blue.
Magic was a bit like blood, as in…it seemed to flow in its own system. Imagine a third system, beyond the circulatory system and the lymphatic system. I certainly couldn’t pull it anywhere. It was just…there.
I don’t exactly know how I blew up the tree, but chakra precision exercises were useless, which meant I was on my own in terms of playing with my magic.
Wandless magic sucked ass.
I wanted to try anyway.
See, I want to pretend this was all some grand plan of mine to become magically powerful, which, sure, sounds fun, but really?
Magic is fun! And that’s all the excuse I had.
“Remus! Addo i beidio â gwneud hynny eto, roedd hynny'n beryglus!” My mom wiped the ash off my face with her handkerchief, basically dragging me to the side of the house for a hosedown.”Lyall! Dywedwch wrtho am beidio â'i wneud eto!” My mother was incredibly uspet, probably because my knees were trembling. I wasn’t exactly scared of the explosion, but it was a big shock for my young body.
“Sweetheart, Remus is magic. He’s not going to stop, he is a child. It’s a part of himself that he is curious to explore.” My mother turned on the hose and I shrieked as the cold water hit me.
"Felly, rydych chi'n dweud wrtho am chwythu ei hun i fyny?” My mother snarled, and my father sighed. He twisted his wand and dried my drenched self.
“Hope, darling, I am not telling him to blow himself up, I’m suggesting we find a different outlet for his magic.”
This made my mother stop ranting for a second.
And then she started screaming obscenities at my father, which was completely unexpected.
I couldn’t even make what she was saying, it was so incoherent.
My father, iceman and probably the most put-together man I’d ever seen, visibly winced at this. My mother seemed to know a lot of Welsh curse words.
He politely dragged my mother out of my earshot as they went to have an adult discussion. I went back inside to the kitchen, a little shakily, managing to shove a cookie up to my mouth and swallowing it down right as my father and mother entered.
My mother was still visibly fuming.
“Your mother,” my father begins, "is concerned that with your current health, magical exhaustion is the last thing we should worry about. But you’re about the age to begin some training, and your magic is probably too volatile to be suppressed.”
I pointedly did not mention that I, for lack of a better word, had made my magic spontaneously combust the tree on purpose. I also didn’t mention that my magic never acted up before, so it was less my magic being volatile and me being an honest to god little shit.
“So?” I asked, head tilted. Was I getting training or not? The idea of actually knowing my way around magic was interesting, and having someone as talented as Lyall would certainly be beneficial.
“So, we’ve decided you will practice for one hour with me every other day.” I bounced up, excited. My father held out his hand, flat, and I stopped.
“The condition is that you, firstly, try your best to not use magic any other time, and secondly, that you go to the local muggle primary school. We figured school would allow you to make friends as well.” I blinked, a little surprised.
I didn’t know what face I was making, but parents let me think in a somewhat charged silence.
Could…could life actually be working in my favour for once? A huge smile spread on my face.
“You mean…I can do magic and go to school?” My father nodded, warily. I jumped up, fist in the air.
“Hell yeah!” My mother choked, face turning a little red.
“Remus, peidiwch â defnyddio iaith fudr!” I paid her no mind, too excited. I was getting out of the house! I was going to interact with other people! My long term plan might actually work!