Children's home
Thursday, 3rd September 1970
He was pretty sure he was the only one awake in his room. He let himself enjoy that moment, closing his eyes under the ray of sunlight that was entering through the big window. He could perfectly hear the calm breathings of his room partners, which were like twenty children fitted in a rectangular room that was the size of a shoe box. It was small, but he didn’t care too much. He had no valuables, so…
The only things that belonged to him were the small notebook with a brown cover, a small pencil, a rubber and a wooden box. Inside that box he had important things, though: a green and a blue marble, a small shining button which looked made out of gold, and a picture. The photo showed an enormous building surrounded by a couple of cranes. It had high towers, as if they were trying to reach the sky while constructing that building. He didn’t know the name of it, but he could deduce that it was important, maybe it was even outside of London.
All of this was carefully hidden in a hole behind a loosen brick that was in the wall next to his bed.
Remus glanced at the only clock of the whole room, just above the door frame.
6:28 am.
Just two more minutes of peace before caregiver Smith woke them all up. But not only that room, but all the rooms that were in the child’s home. He had a good hearing, and living with a lot of boys from three to eighteen years old it was hell for him.
Fortunately, thanks to his ability to go unnoticed, he could sneak out in the afternoons, when they left them free time, and just walk through the streets of London, all by himself. It felt so satisfying to hear your own thoughts…
The door slammed open, and a short, overweight woman with his brown hair tied in a low bun yelled:
“Wake up! I’m not telling you twice, and if you don’t hurry, you’ll miss breakfast!” Remus moved his lips at the last part, because caregiver Smith always said the same every morning.
He sighed heavily, as the groans of the other kids started to sound all over the small bedroom.
Remus, in complete silence, started to go down the wooden stair that was on the end of his thin and hard couch, reaching for the big basket that had inside all of the clean robes for the children: oversized white sleeveless t-shirts with brown cotton pants. Sometimes the pants were black, but the t-shirts were always the same.
Remus hated those clothes. All his scars were noticeable. The other kids asked questions, and he would just shrug, hoping they would leave him alone. He was still ten years old; he couldn’t wait to be twelve or thirteen, when all the other children started to show a bit of respect towards you and left you be.
He carefully grabbed a thin t-shirt, a pair of pants which wouldn’t fall off his waist, and went back to his couch, looking at his feet.
Remus didn’t like to chatter in the mornings. Or to chat with those kids, in general. They were all quite conflictive.
Remus had been left there when he was five by his own mother, because she couldn’t handle the fact that he was a werewolf.
The other kids had been left there by their own relatives, because of causing too much trouble to them, for example, having issues with the police.
Remus wasn’t like that. He was quiet, shy, and a bit rude, sometimes. But he didn’t mind too much if others liked him or not. He thought that it was best to be by yourself in a place where the older boys hit each other in the corridors daily.
Breakfast time arrived, and Remus went down stairs with a mass of other hungry and scandalous children. In the dining area, he saw the girls; they were settled in the left wing of the building. The only time when they were able to see them was at mealtime.
As usual, the boys who were older started to whistle to them, and catcalled the girls.
“Nice skirt!” shouted one, winking an eye.
“I would love to see you unbutton that shirt a bit more!”
“Wow, nice racks!” yelled another one.
“Enough!” Smith ordered.
Surprisingly, the eldest boys obeyed, not without smirking at the girls one last time. The girls glanced at them coldly and rolled their eyes, ignoring them.
Remus was eating without enthusiasm his oats cereals, just as every day, keeping his mouth shut. The other boys were so loud, and he started to feel a headache. He sighed.
“Oi, Lupin.” One boy shouted.
He glanced up and saw a tall boy with his head buzzed (like all the boys in the child home, in order to avoid louses) and smiling sarcastically, showing his yellow teeth.
It was Maurice Willams. He was almost thirteen, and for some reason, he enjoyed messing up with everyone. He had had some troubles with the police. Caregiver Smith was fed up with him because of his behaviour. He was starting to be admired among the other kids, even some of the older ones. But Remus didn’t, and that seemed to annoy the other kid.
“Lupin, I’ve called you.” He hissed, bending on the table.
“What do you want, Williams?” Remus finally asked, sharply.
“Why do you have all those scars, eh?”
Remus shuddered at that question. He hated his scars. If he could, he would paint all over his body so nobody could see them any more. But now, they were in sight of everyone.
“They’re nothing.” he muttered, glancing again at his bowl still full of cereal.
“Yes they are. They’re scars.” Maurice insisted, enjoying the moment. Enjoying that now all the kids at the table were looking at him.
Remus didn’t answer. He was eating his breakfast, ignoring the kid who was sitting in front of him.
“Lupin, do you do them yourself? Are you crazy?”
“I don’t do them myself!” Remus shouted now, looking at his dark eyes. He felt anger growing inside his chest, and started to breathe quickly.
“Oh, I bet you do.” Maurice hissed, with a malevolent smile on his lips. “I bet that’s what you do all those nights you spend shut in the shelter.” He huffed. “What are you, a lunatic?”
“I’m not a lunatic.” Remus responded, trembling, clenching his fists.
All the other kids were watching eagerly, waiting for the show to begin. Nobody noticed, but inside Remus’ glass, the water was slightly waggling.
“That’s why your mother left you here? Because she was afraid of you? Because she wasn’t able to handle the fact that you were mad?” Maurice kept going, trying to hurt Remus as much as he could.
“I’m not a mad person.” The little boy replied, tightening his jaw.
Now, inside of everybodies’ glass, the water was wiggering violently. They didn’t notice, though. They were too focused on Remus and Maurice's argument.
“Yes you are. Why would you have all those scars, then?” Maurice asked, lying back with a triumphant smile, as if he was superior. “You are a lunatic.”
That was enough.
Remus hit the hard wooden surface with his fists, angrily. At the very same moment, Maurice’s glass and bowl of cereal blew up. All small pieces of glass, ceramic and cereal spreaded over the table.
Half of the dining area turned their heads, and stared amazed at Maurice.
The older boy had a scratch over his left cheek. It was bright red, but wouldn’t start bleeding. Nothing serious.
Maurice touched his cheek, and shook slightly with the little pain.
“What the fuck have you done, Lupin?!” he yelled, standing on his feet.
“I’ve done nothing!” Remus replied, confused.
He had done nothing, indeed. He had just wished he could do something to Maurice, so he would just leave him alone. And then… that happened.
“What’s going on here?” Smith came over, looking at the disaster. “Jesus! Who has done this?” she asked, angrily.
“It has been Lupin.” Maurice pointed at him, furious. “He’s mental!”
“I’m not mental!” Remus yelled, still sitting on the large bench, where everybody sat down during the meals.
“Lupin, you’ve done this?” Smith asked, her eyes bright of rage.
“No!”
“Yes!” Maurice shouted. “He put his fists on the table, and then… I know you’ve done something, lunatic!”
“You what?” Smith put her hands on her hips, shifting her weight to her right foot.
“I just did this.” Remus explained, repeating the movement. He put his fists on the table. “And then… I don’t know. Everything just…”
“Enough.” The short caregiver cut him. “You’ll receive your punishment, Lupin.” She pointed at the mess. “First of all, clean this.”
Remus had to suffer the humiliation of his partners calling him “lady” while he was cleaning.
But Smith didn’t have enough with that.
While all the other boys were just wandering around the corridors, playing with their friends, he was in a small room with the woman, holding three huge old books for one hour. He did it while he was next to a window, which showed the old street where the children's home was. He tried not to glance. To observe the freedom it was almost as painful as the pain that was starting to appear in his arms.
Remus was still wondering what had happened in the breakfast. He felt anger inside of him, and, in the moment he hit the table, all that rage seemed to release. But that didn’t explain anything. Remus knew he was weird, god, he was a werewolf! However, that was the first time something weird, inexplicable had happened to him.
Smith was behind a small desk in front of him, making sure he didn’t put down the books. Meanwhile, she was checking some documents which seemed to be important, but she occasionally glanced up at the kid.
When she did that, Remus perceived something in her dark eyes. Yes, she was still mad, but there was also a bit of… fear? It was the same look she had when the full moon was coming, but that was still more than a week away.
Did caregiver Smith know something he didn’t?