Where The Snowflakes First Fell
A small boy of three stood quietly beside his mother, his tiny hands wrapped around a plate of pumpkin pie, warm and fragrant in the crisp air. They waited on the doorstep, where the soft hush of the new year lingered.
His mother, ever graceful and full of intent, had set her heart on greeting the new neighbours — and what better way than with sweetness in hand?
The door creaked open, revealing a woman draped in a flowing skirt, her long black hair cascading like midnight silk. Her eyes lit up at the sight before her.
“Hello, I’m Hope Lupin,” his mother said, her voice a melody of kindness. “We live next door.” She gently nudged her son forward. “And this is my little one, Remus.”
The woman’s smile bloomed like a quiet sunrise. “I’m Elisabeth. It’s lovely to meet you both.”
Remus looked up, eyes wide with the wonder of new faces. Then, with a brave step forward, he offered the pie, his voice like a bell in the still morning.
“Happy New Year,” he said.
From behind Elisabeth, a little girl — no older than Remus — peeked out shyly, her wide eyes gleaming with curiosity. With a burst of courage and delight, she stepped into view, her small frame glowing with the innocence of childhood.
A bright smile lit up her face as she took in the strangers at her door — not strangers for long, she sensed.
“Hiiiii!” she chirped, her voice a song of welcome as she waved enthusiastically at both Hope and Remus, her joy as warm as the morning sun.
Remus blinked, momentarily taken aback by the brightness of her smile. Then, as if stirred by her cheerful greeting, he gave a small wave back, his lips curling into a shy grin.
Elisabeth chuckled softly and placed a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder. “This is my daughter, Svetlana,” she said with pride. “She’s always excited to make new friends.”
Hope’s smile widened, her eyes flickering fondly between the two children. “Well, it looks like Remus might have just found one.”
For a moment, time felt slower — suspended in the golden stillness of new beginnings. Two mothers, two children, and a shared sweetness of pumpkin pie wrapped in the quiet magic of a New Year’s morning.
It seemed that the turning of the year had brought with it more than snow-kissed mornings and fresh hopes — it had woven together two tiny hearts with invisible thread. From that first meeting, Remus and Svetlana were as close as the sky is to the stars — bound together in a way that felt ancient, inevitable.
Their laughter danced through the winter air like wind chimes in a quiet breeze, echoing across the pale hush of January. Side by side, they chased snowflakes and shared secrets only children could understand — or perhaps only they could.
Too young to name the feeling, they nonetheless knew it well: the certainty of belonging. It was as though each had wandered through the world waiting for the other, and now, hand in hand, the world made perfect sense.
They were each other’s first friend, and in some quiet, wondrous way, they had already become the keepers of one another’s joy — a bond not forged by time, but by something far older, and far more tender.
Unbeknownst to the two innocent souls chasing snowflakes and laughter, the wizarding world stirred with darker winds. That very morning, the Daily Prophet bore bold, damning headlines — a moving photograph of Lyall Lupin, finger pointed with fury at the infamous werewolf Fenrir Greyback, beneath a headline that screamed:
"Werewolves Are Soulless, Evil, and Deserve Nothing But Death,"
declared Lyall Lupin.
The elder Lupin had no way of knowing that, on that very day, he etched the outlines of his own son's fate. With words forged in fear and prejudice, he unknowingly bound Remus's life to the pull of the moon.
The very creatures he had condemned as soulless and savage would, in a cruel twist of destiny, become the shadow that haunted his child’s every breath — and the shape of the life he would be forced to lead.