Where to now?
Even before he turned five, it had already been decided that Remus Lupin would, for the rest of his life, turn into a murderous, man-killing beast once a month. Consequently, at eleven years old, he had earned himself the intimidating nickname ‘Sprinkle.’
And at that stage, that was possibly the most important thing to know about him.
Because the nickname had nothing to do with splashed blood on bedsheets, specks of crimson glistening on floorboards, or - later - concrete. Instead, it had everything to do with a cold December night, hands coated in flour (deliberate) and hair coated in icing (not so much), with biscuits littering every surface in the kitchen. And perhaps a tiny bit with his refusal to eat anything that didn’t contain a hefty dose of sprinkles for three weeks straight. That had earned him no fewer than three scurvy jokes from his mother, but Remus thought she shouldn’t have baked so many biscuits if she truly cared for credibility.
He hadn’t gotten scurvy, and eventually, the jokes had faded. The nickname had stuck.
So, Remus, the man-killing monster with a bit of a sweet tooth, was ‘Sprinkle’ - at least to his mother.
Of course, there hadn’t been any man-killing yet, strictly speaking. Or any killing, for that matter. It was about the potential, nothing else. So far, his victims had all been carved out of wood - or had at least tried to pass as such - and all had belonged to the species of furniture. Luckily. The image of his once-intact bed smashed to smithereens had been unsettling enough, the pieces of it wedged under his fingernails when he woke up real enough to haunt him for moons and moons to come. That had been the last time he spent the full moon in his bedroom. Not a coincidence.
Remus had no memory of tearing apart his bed. All he knew he had pieced together afterwards - very much unlike the shredded mattress - through his father’s reactions. He couldn’t fathom how he had achieved such a feat when his condition usually only left him feeling weak, sickly, sore, and tired. Somehow, that made it all the more frightening.
Even now, with the full moon still four days away, the truth of that simmered through him in an unpleasant prickle that pooled in the pit of his stomach. He was feeling nauseous. And giddy. And queasy. Actually, all adjectives that could be attributed to a weak stomach and oversensitivity to - well, let’s be honest - just about anything.
Because Remus John Lupin was nothing if not a boy of extremes.
This was funny because - well, you’ll get that later.
The nausea, for one, wasn’t half as unfamiliar as he would have liked it to be. In fact, quite the opposite. You could say he was used to it.
Remus got nauseous whenever he traveled with Floo powder (which, luckily, wasn’t too often), he got carsick within minutes, and he had thrown up that one time his father had forced him onto a broom. Granted, that had been one day before the full moon. And that was the point - whatever else was happening: he would get sick once a month, reliably, like clockwork.
But this time, it was different.
It wasn’t motion sickness, and if he was being honest, he knew four days was impossibly early - too early to blame the l-thing. Probably.
No, this time, it was something else. The feeling had struck him this morning and wouldn’t leave, no matter what he did. He had woken at an unspeakable hour, long before daybreak. The sky had still been pitch-black, but he had known at once that there was no point in trying to get back to sleep. In fact, he had barely slept at all, and the short time he had dozed off had been haunted by nightmares. Or maybe not nightmares - maybe that was too big a word compared to what he was used to. But his sleep had been less restful than that one time they visited his mother’s sister and he had been forced to share a room with her thirteen cats.
So, this was it.
This was the first day of what was supposed to be his ‘new life’ - as his mother had put it, around that big smile of hers (‘Excited, Sprinkle?!’). She had been trying to sound encouraging and jovial every time the topic came up in the last few weeks, as if this was some great treat. She had failed.
Remus wasn’t fooled by their determined cheerfulness on his account. He had noticed the looks they exchanged, more and more frequently as the day drew closer.
His father’s hand on his shoulder tore him out of his thoughts, and at once, the noise around him filtered through the haze in his head.
The station was crowded. More people than Remus had ever seen in one place bustled about. It was just so loud .
‘… reminder to keep a close eye on your bags. Pickpockets have been reported in this station today. Ensure your personal belongings and valuables are secure. Thank you, and safe travels.’
A creaking sound, not unlike the way his mother’s old radio would crackle when searching for another station, followed.
‘The train to Birmingham, leaving at 10:35, will…’
A huge clock loomed overhead, telling Remus there were only thirty minutes left before his ‘new life’ would roll out of the station. He blinked.
He could swear the clock hand had just jumped forward.
Time seemed to break off in great chunks, slipping past without him realizing.
‘Watch where you’re going!’ A tall man in a dark grey suit rounded on his father, even though it had been the man who stumbled into him. The suit glared over his shoulder before disappearing into the sea of people. His father’s hand on his shoulder tightened a bit, and Remus could feel his mother move closer to him on his left side.
Beware of pickpockets, he thought. Keep a close eye on your valuables.
As if anyone would try to steal him.
His mum glanced up at the big plastic numbers overhead - a large nine over one platform, a large ten over the other. She turned to his father. ‘Where to now?’
They had arrived early - an hour before departure - but somehow, it had taken them half an hour to navigate to platforms nine and ten, moving slowly as they had.
‘Through the barrier,’ said his father, nodding towards the barrier dividing platforms nine and ten. His voice was so low it barely pierced through the racket around them. ‘Just follow my lead. And… hold onto Remus.’
Any protest welling up inside Remus at being manhandled like a five-year-old was washed away in a fresh wave of nerves as his father started moving.
He let himself be guided by the hand on his shoulder, but he looked up at his mother as the three of them wove through the endless streams of faceless people. She didn’t look any happier than he felt about walking straight into the barrier. It looked very solid.
But his father’s grip was unwavering and steady, and now he was quickening his steps and - and they had stepped through the barrier as if it was nothing.
A brisk gust of wind ruffled his hair, and Remus - who hadn’t even realized he’d been holding his breath - exhaled sharply.
He found himself facing a scarlet steam engine, billowing steam into the sky above them. A sign overhead read Hogwarts Express, eleven o’clock. This platform was just as busy as the other side of the barrier. Hundreds of people bustled about, but many - especially the adults - were wearing long robes. Some even had pointed hats sitting atop their heads. Remus had never seen his father in a hat like that.
He didn’t know where to look.
Cages holding hooting owls. Cats sprawled lazily atop trunks or mewling in their owners' arms. Luggage trolleys overflowing with bags, trunks, and brooms.
And if anything, it was even louder here.
Kids of all ages were loading their trunks onto the steam engine, greeting their friends, or saying goodbye to their families.
Nearby, a family of four was arguing - two girls, one very small and auburn-haired, the other blonde and incredibly slight. Now the redhead was yelling at the blonde, who turned away.
‘Come on, lad,’ said his father, and only then did Remus realize he had stopped moving. He glanced behind him. His eyes landed on an iron-wrought archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it. His heart jumped in his chest.
Remus' dad led them a few yards to the right and set his trunk down. They hadn’t needed a luggage trolley. His mother’s face was slightly green, like her stomach didn’t agree with the sensation of running through a supposedly solid barrier. He could sympathize.
There were just so many children. Remus had never seen so many at once, not even when he passed the town’s school while grocery shopping with his mum.
His eyes fell on a woman kissing her mousy-haired son goodbye. He quickly blinked and dropped his gaze, feeling like he was intruding on a private moment. His left shoelace had loosened. He bent down to fix it.
‘There we are, then,’ his mum’s voice caused his head to snap up again. She wasn’t looking at him - her brown eyes darted over the crowd, shoulders hunched - but when she turned to him, a smile split her features. ‘Excited, Sprinkle?’
‘Hope,’ his dad scolded through a laugh, but Remus didn’t mind the nickname. It felt like a warm blanket shielding him from the unfamiliarity surrounding him, the one known spot on a blank map.
‘A bit,’ said Remus, because he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say when 'excitement' was clawing up his throat, making it hard to get a single word out.
There was still time. He could still ask his parents to take him back. His father could teach him, like he had started to the past few months, and he could spend time with his mother, help her in the garden, maybe even earn himself yet another ridiculous nickname.
Except…
Hadn’t he wanted this? Hadn’t he been excited after Professor Dumbledore’s visit? Only, he wasn’t sure what he wanted anymore. The prospect of being normal had seemed wonderful, like a gift the old man was offering him, but now he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to unwrap it or bury it under his father’s stack of magazines, the Christmas decorations, and the creepy dolls that had once belonged to his grandmother in the cupboard under the stairs.
He took a deep breath. It had all been arranged. Solely for him. He couldn’t back out now.
‘I remember my father dropping me off,’ said his dad. ‘Pushed me through the barrier, and off he was…’ His mouth curled downward, then he cleared his throat. ‘Hogwarts is a great place, Remus. And Dumbledore is a great man… good man.’
He let the sentence hang in the open, the following but ringing loudly between them, even though the syllable had never left his mouth. Remus had a dozen ideas of how to complete the sentence. But this won’t be easy. But you have to be careful. But you’re not like the others.
‘Remus,’ said his father. His brows were furrowed, and Remus looked up, expecting the mandatory reminder to lie low, to keep his head down, to not accidentally introduce himself with ‘I'm Remus and I don't like full moons,’ but his father surprised him. He broke off, swallowed, and pulled Remus into a tight embrace. ‘You’re a good lad,’ he mumbled, releasing him again. ‘I hope you’ll find Hogwarts to be everything you hope for. Everything it was for me.’ He smiled before his expression turned sincere again. ‘I suppose I don’t have to put you on your guard?’ he added in a low voice.
Ah, there it was. Lie low, Remus! Don’t tell anyone you’re a werewolf! Don't show off your bite scar! As though he needed the reminder.
‘No, dad,’ said Remus. His neck was starting to ache from craning it.
His dad nodded. ‘If you need anything… anything, just send us a letter. You can use the school owls. Actually, write to us no matter what. Or your mother will go mad with worry.’ He smiled at Remus’ mother, whose eyes were firmly set on him. She looked like she was about to cry, and Remus quickly looked away. He wasn’t sure he could board the train if he saw his mum cry.
A few yards away, a family had come to a halt. They were bidding a blonde girl goodbye - presumably Remus’ age. He spotted unshed tears glistening in her big eyes and quickly averted his gaze again.
He wasn’t supposed to cry, was he? Or… was he? Should he?
‘Will do,’ said Remus. ‘Mum…’ He attempted a little smile, though he felt like he might be sick any moment. There were only a few minutes left before the train would leave the station.
‘Remus.’ His mum’s hug was even tighter than his dad’s - tighter than it should have been, given her tiny frame - but Remus knew better. At home, it was his mum, not his dad, who would defeat the marmalade jars - as long as there was no wand involved, of course, but that was ‘cheating,’ according to her.
‘He’s right, I’ll come up there if you don’t write,’ she whispered in his ear. He nodded. Now, with his mother clinging to him like that and the uncertainty lying ahead, with her strained voice in his ear and the knowledge that this would be the last time in months he’d breathe her in, he could feel tears welling up in his eyes. He quickly blinked them away.
She pulled back. ‘Don’t be scared, Sprinkle,’ she said, smiling. ‘I know you’ll do great. I know they’ll love you. How could they not?’ Her palm lingered on his cheek for a second before she brushed a loose strand of hair behind his ear. He nodded again, though he failed to recognize any truth in her words. He wasn't stupid. There was a reason they had moved multiple times. It wasn't because people loved werewolves.
She pulled her coat tighter around her chest and turned to his father.
‘Lyall, doesn’t he need some—for the train ride?’
‘Right!’ Before Remus could piece together what was happening, his father had dug out a few silver coins and was pushing them into Remus’ palm, curling his fingers around them. ‘It’s not much, but it should buy you a bit of pumpkin juice and maybe a pastry… Hope, you packed the sandwiches?’
‘Of course. They’re right on top.’
Remus blinked again. The silver was cold and heavy in his palm. ‘I didn’t realise it was a three-day ride?’
The comment raised a loud laugh from his father and a soft smile from his mother.
‘There he is. Already thought I’d lost you, Sprinkle.’
Remus didn’t bother to set them straight, to clarify that he had been serious - at least partly - and compromised by pushing the money into his pocket.
‘Don’t cheek your teachers,’ said his father. ‘Trust me, you don’t want to cross them… and don’t get into fights.’
‘Lyall .’
‘Alright, then.’ He ruffled Remus’ hair for good measure. ‘Have a good time.’
His dad bent down to take his trunk, but Remus quickly brushed him off. ‘I think I’ll manage.’
He didn’t know much, but none of the other children seemed to be babied by their parents like this. Surely he could manage a single trunk.
His father looked a little taken aback but straightened up and nodded.
‘Take care, Sprinkle.’ A last peck to his temple.
He didn’t bother wiping it off as they smiled at each other one last time. Remus suspected his smile was more of a grimace. The shrill sound of the train whistle cut through the noise. Along with the other students who had lingered on the platform, Remus hurried to board the train.
Since he was on his own, lacking friends to find and say hello to, he lined up in the queue that had formed in front of the train. He felt more out of place than at his aunt’s home, smothered by a dozen felines. Everybody else seemed to know what they were doing, except for him. Yes, his father was a wizard, but what did he even know about Hogwarts and everything else? Next to nothing.
There was a bit of a commotion as the boy in front of him wrestled with his cat, which didn't seem too keen on boarding the train or being cradled in his arms. From the acceptance letter, Remus knew they were allowed to bring pets—but he hadn't expected so many! Having a pet had never been an option for him, and right now, he was glad it wasn’t. He had enough to deal with just managing his trunk without an owl hooting at him or a cat trying to scratch his face. Maybe he had been a bit over-eager, claiming he could manage it on his own.
As he kept struggling with it, his eyes fell on a woman to his left. She didn’t seem at all bothered by the warning train whistle. She had sleek black hair, was dressed in midnight-blue robes, and—by the look of it—was giving her equally raven-haired child a talking down. The boy’s back tensed, followed by a curt nod. The tiniest smile broke free on the woman’s face. She, too, nodded, and, without a hug, turned and walked away.
Her son was scowling when he turned around. Unlike Remus, he was already wearing robes - like his mother, like many students. It only added to the rising feeling that Remus was stepping into a world where he didn’t quite belong. The boy made to stride past the growing chaos—by now, it involved two cats and three screeching owls—just as the boy in front of Remus stumbled against him, almost knocking him over.
The black-haired boy stopped, his gaze flicking from the cat-boy to Remus’ trunk, then over his clothes. It lingered on Remus' jacket. His brows drew together, as if calculating something. Then, arching an eyebrow, he said,
‘Need a hand?’
His tone wasn’t exactly unkind, but there was an edge to it, as if he wasn’t sure he even meant it.
Remus shook his head. The boy was taller than him—significantly so—but he couldn’t be more than a year or two older. And Remus refused to be pitied by a thirteen-year-old. His trunk wasn’t that heavy. The full moon was still four days away.
The boy shrugged. ‘Thought you'd rather not strain yourself,’ he said in a haughty tone. Then, without another word, he strolled past the line, as if queuing up hadn’t even crossed his mind.
When it was finally Remus’ turn to enter the train, he turned around to get one last glimpse of his parents. His father had thrown his arm around his mother’s shoulders. Both were smiling at him. He did his best to mirror it and - with a deep breath and veritable effort - heaved his trunk up the stairs.
A moment later, a jolt went through the train and it rolled out of the station.
Unsurprisingly, most of the compartments turned out to be already occupied, filled with happy chatter and people.
Colourful strings of light were flying around in the first one he passed. Amazed, he paused, and a boy walked straight into him. Remus would have toppled over had it not been for his trunk offering him some support.
‘Stupid first years,’ the boy muttered under his breath and pushed past Remus, who scrunched up his shoulders and ducked his head.
A jet of light hit the compartment window, and what looked like blue and purple ice flowers blossomed across the glass, blocking Remus’ view of its insides. He smiled to himself. That was why he was here.
Magic.
The next compartment seemed to be inhabited by more pets than people - Remus counted at least four owls, three cats, and… a toad? - in the few seconds it took him to walk past it.
The next compartment was crowded with girls who were definitely not first years. The next mirrored this, only now it was boys who looked at least five years his senior. He sighed to himself and wondered whether there was a vacant compartment left on the whole train when a cold voice traveled out of the next one.
‘No. If you’d rather be brawny than brainy-’
‘Where’re you hoping to go, seeing as you’re neither?’ a second voice cut off the first person. A roar of laughter followed at once.
Remus stilled again - the door of the next compartment stood ajar by an inch, enabling him to hear the conversation inside.
A girl’s voice followed. ‘Come on, Severus, let’s find another compartment.’
‘Oooooo.’
‘Come on, Severus, let’s find another compartment,’ someone parroted.
A second later, the tiny girl with the dark red hair Remus had spotted on the platform dashed out of the compartment so forcefully that she almost stumbled into him. Dried stains of tears covered her cheeks, but the expression on her face was fierce. She was quickly followed by a boy, who stumbled so inelegantly out of the compartment that Remus was almost sure he had tripped.
Remus’ eyes lingered on the boy. His heart clenched with sympathy.
Aside from the sickly appearance that clung to him, Remus was incredibly unassuming. And in this moment, he was incredibly glad for it.
His hair couldn’t decide on a color, stuck somewhere between blonde and light brown, and it was just as indecisive when it came to texture - neither curly nor straight. He was a bit too short and too skinny, and his eyes…
His mother said they looked like honey.
His father said she read too many women's novels.
Remus was inclined to agree. He hadn't decided on any specific colour himself, but honey was sentimental nonsense. Honey had a hundred shades, like the ocean ranged from grey to a deep green - something he knew from pictures he had found in a shoebox. His eyes, however, had the exact shade of the puddle that formed at the edge of the forest bordering their backyard when it had rained for days, and the ground had become so soft you would sink ankle-deep into it. Or the olives his father had once forgotten about in the fridge. They had turned mouldy.
Rotten olives. Yes, that felt right. That was his shade.
He felt a bit squashy.
Still, eyes set on the boy before him, he supposed it could be worse.
This boy stood stiffly in robes at least two sizes too large for him, making it seem as though someone had dressed him in a tent. His hair looked like it had neither been washed nor brushed in weeks, reaching down to his shoulders and sticking to his face in greasy strands. There was no way Remus' mum would let him leave the house like that - neither would his dad. To top it off, the boy's nose was sharp, and together with his beady black eyes, it gave him the look of a hawk.
At least Remus didn’t resemble a wolf that starkly. Or so he hoped.
‘See ya, Snivellus,’ a voice called as the compartment door slammed shut.
The black-haired boy sneered at him as though Remus had been the one mocking him, then turned to the girl. ‘Come on, Lily.’
The girl - Lily - gave Remus a distracted smile before turning around.
This compartment wasn’t an option - for obvious reasons. He didn’t fancy being picked on during the ride to school already. Remus hung back for a few seconds before following Lily and her friend. He didn’t want them to think he was trying to eavesdrop or something like that. Wondering whether every single one of the other first years already knew someone, he slowly made his way along the aisle.
Eventually, after what felt like an eternity - judging by the sting in his muscles from dragging his trunk - he found a compartment inhabited only by three boys, all of whom looked a little uncertain.
He rapped his knuckles against the window of the door and slid it open. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Erm… would you mind if I sat here? The whole train is packed.’
‘No, of course not, come in,’ said the tallest of them, a boy with strawy blonde hair, blue eyes, and a face covered in freckles. He seemed grateful for the interruption, and Remus was just as grateful to have finally found a place to sit.
‘Thank you,’ said Remus as he took a seat beside the shortest boy. He pushed a strand of hair out of his eyes and exhaled in relief. Now that he at least wouldn’t have to stand in the aisle for the whole journey, everything seemed a little brighter.
He couldn’t help but study his new companions with interest. There wasn’t much Remus deemed himself good at, but he was pretty good at assessing people. There wasn’t much else to do and knowing that he himself was trying to keep an enormous secret from literally everyone he met, he always wondered what the deal with other people might be. And, of course, it was a means of precaution.
However, Remus had to admit that the inhabitants of the town in Northern Wales his family currently lived in weren’t too interesting. But the boys before him were wizards. Everyone at Hogwarts would be magical. They ought to be interesting.
He noticed that the boy beside him was the mousy-haired one he had spotted on the platform. He had pale, watery eyes, a pointed nose, and was not as skinny as Remus. His cheeks were flushed slightly pink. Like the blonde boy, he was already dressed in his Hogwarts robes.
The third boy, sitting directly across from Remus, had dark skin and evenly dark eyes. He held Remus’ gaze with curiosity. Unlike the other two, he wore Muggle clothes.
‘I’m Oliver,’ he said with more confidence than Remus had felt all day. ‘Oliver Strout. And this is Peter Pettigrew-’- he nodded at the mousy-haired boy ‘-and Jonathan Wimple.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ said Remus. His heart was hammering in his chest. Observing people was one thing, but engaging with them another. He usually didn’t get so close to people his age. He couldn’t remember the last time he had. ‘I’m Remus Lupin.’
‘Curious name,’ said Oliver, not unkindly. ‘Never met anyone with that name.’
‘So, Remus,’ said Jonathan conversationally, ‘do you know where you’ll be heading?’
‘Um… I thought we were heading to Hogwarts?’
This elicited a laugh from Jonathan, but Oliver just shook his head. ‘I think he meant which house you’ll be in.’
Remus needed a moment to mull this over - was he supposed to know that?
‘No,’ he admitted. ‘I thought no one does?’
‘Not for certain, of course,’ said Oliver, ‘but that sort of thing usually runs in the family, doesn’t it? My mum and her parents were all in Ravenclaw…’
Remus hoped the nod he gave suggested he understood what to make of that information. Yes, he knew there were different Hogwarts houses—and that his father had been in… Hufflepuff? But he didn’t know what exactly the point of the different houses was. It had never occurred to him to ask. The boy could have just as well been telling him about his favourite football team.
‘Ravenclaw’s good, mate,’ said Jonathan with the air of someone who had just declared himself the authority on the matter. ‘Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. I hope it’ll be one of those for me.’
Peter nodded eagerly.
‘Where’s your family been, then?’ Oliver asked.
‘Nowhere,’ said Jonathan. ‘They’re normal. Not magical, I mean. How do you call it? Muggle?’
‘It’ll be a surprise, then,’ said Oliver, grinning. ‘Except for Slytherin, of course. Well, I hear there have been cases of Muggle-borns being sorted into Slytherin, but…’ He grimaced, and Jonathan mirrored his expression.
‘No, thank you,’ said Jonathan, running a finger over his neck. Remus felt like he was missing something crucial, but he didn’t dare ask. If even Jonathan, who had no magical ancestors, knew what they were talking about, then surely he was expected to as well.
‘What about you, Remus? Peter?’
‘My father was in Hufflepuff,’ said Remus, feeling the slightest bit of relief that he was asked something he actually knew. ‘My mum’s a Muggle, so…’
Oliver nodded. ‘Of course you’re not a pure-blood, they usually don’t walk about in jeans,’ he said wisely.
Remus didn’t know what to say to this, so he compromised by shrugging.
‘But Hufflepuff’s alright,’ said Jonathan, in a tone implying his seal of approval made all the difference.
‘My father was in Ravenclaw, like my brother, but my mother was in Slytherin,’ said Peter hurriedly. ‘And one of my grandfathers was in Gryffindor.’ He blushed and quickly looked down at his hands, as though this small contribution had taken all his courage.
‘It’s all up in the air for you, then,’ Oliver smiled.
Just then, Peter’s pocket croaked. At once, his cheeks tinged a deeper pink, and he scrambled to free an incredibly fat toad.
‘You brought a toad?’ said Jonathan.
‘We’re allowed to, aren’t we?’ said Peter, while the toad looked up at him. ‘The letter said we could bring an owl, a cat, or a toad.’
‘We are,’ said Jonathan with an unreadable expression. ‘Did any of you bring a pet?’
Sort of, Remus thought, but he only shook his head.
All in all, the train ride was alright. Most of the conversation was led by Jonathan and Oliver, both of whom seemed eager to discuss anything, which was more than fine by Remus. Leaning back, he watched and listened.
As the hours passed, however, he felt more and more anxious. From the boys’ conversation, he gathered that different traits were attributed to the four Hogwarts houses. Slytherin, for example, seemed to be regarded as the house of dark wizards and witches. Remus had an inkling that he would end up there - being what he was and all. Why had his father not warned him about this? An unpleasant weight settled in his stomach, and it stayed there for the whole train ride.
Eventually, Peter had contributed more to the conversation than Remus had. Not that it mattered much. It was probably premature to call it after only a few hours, but he had the distinct impression he wouldn’t get along too well with these boys. Peter seemed alright - more than that, actually - but both Oliver and Jonathan appeared a bit loud, a bit... much. He struggled to keep up. Not that he would have ever told them. In fact, he would rather eat his own hand - or the mouldy olives.
When an elderly witch turned up and offered them sweets from the trolley, Remus bought a pastry and some pumpkin juice just to have an excuse not to join the conversation. He was still nursing it when a voice echoed through the train:
‘We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to the school separately.’
Peter unearthed a small iron cage from his trunk and, whispering to his toad, ushered it inside.
Night had long fallen when the train pulled into Hogsmeade station.
The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way towards the door and out onto a tiny, dark platform.
Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students. A huge man with wild black hair and an equally wild beard stood across the platform and bellowed over the bustling crowd, ‘Firs’-years! Firs’-years over here!’ He towered over the students, even the tallest of them - almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide.
'C’mon, follow me - any more firs’-years? Mind your step, now! Firs’-years, follow me!’
Slipping and stumbling, they followed the giant man down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. The darkness on either side of them was absolute, thick trees swallowing all the light. Nobody spoke much - well, nobody except for two black-haired boys a few steps ahead of Remus, who were whispering and laughing to each other.
‘Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec,’ the giant man called over his shoulder, ‘jus’ around this bend here.’
There was a loud ‘Oooooh!’
The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.
‘No more’n four to a boat!’ the giant man called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore.
In his excitement - and with the mayhem going on around him - Remus tripped over the hem of his robes and missed getting into a boat with the other three. In the end, he found himself cramped up in a boat with a blonde girl and the two black-haired boys.
‘Everyone in?’ shouted the giant man, who had a boat to himself. ‘Right then—FORWARD!’
And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass.
The two black-haired boys, however, were engaging in some ridiculous challenge, causing the boat to almost tip over. And back was the nausea. Remus heavily regretted ‘choosing’ this boat or having had a pumpkin pastry on the train. Taking a deep breath, he tried to focus on the castle overhead instead of the rocking.
Marveling at the sight, Remus leaned forward. There had to be hundreds of windows alone - how many rooms did that make? How many people did this castle hold? How many students had arrived by train? He didn't know; they had melted into a giant black mass, not unlike the water beneath him.
Suddenly, the boat rocked again, pushing Remus over the edge.
It was only thanks to a firm grip on the back of his robes that he didn’t fall out of the boat. He was pulled back a few inches before the hand released him. Feeling his cheeks heat up, Remus turned around to find one of the black-haired boys staring at him out of light brown eyes.
‘Thank you.’
‘No problem, mate,’ said the boy before turning back to his friend who casually remarked something about a giant squid.
A giant squid living in this lake? Remus’ eyes darted to the perfectly black water surface. Thanks to his dad Remus was well informed about Boggarts, Poltergeists, Dementors, but this was the first time he heard of giant squids inhabiting lakes in the Scottish highlands.
But the water remained inconspicuous and the castle loomed over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.
‘Heads down!’ yelled the giant as the first boats reached the cliff. They all bent their heads, and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy, which hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to take them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbour, where they clambered out onto the rocks and pebbles.
The giant man was checking the boats as people climbed out of them. Then, they scrambled up a passageway in the rock after the giant’s lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass, right in the shadow of the castle. They walked up a flight of steps and crowded around the huge oak front door.
‘Everyone here?’
The man raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times against the castle door.
The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald green robes stood there. She had a very stern face that was framed by a pair of square spectacles.
‘The firs’-years, Professor McGonagall,’ said the giant man.
‘Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here.’
She pulled the door wide.
The Entrance Hall was so big Remus was sure not only their house but the whole garden up to the forest edge would easily fit inside.
The stone walls were lit with flaming torches, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.
They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Remus could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right - the rest of the school must already be there - but Professor McGonagall led the first-years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing close together.
‘Welcome to Hogwarts,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.
‘The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.
‘The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting.’
Her eyes drifted over the black-haired boy’s messy hair to a brown-haired girl whose robes were crumpled, the collar tucked into what seemed to be a tee-shirt underneath.
‘I shall return when we are ready for you,’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘Please wait quietly.’
No sooner had Professor McGonagall closed the door behind her, than nervous whispers arose. ‘How exactly do they sort us into houses?’ asked a boy behind Remus. With every word that spilled from his lips, his breathing quickened, pushing the syllables together until, in the end, they were nearly indistinguishable.‘They don’t expect us to know any spells yet, do they? I don’t know any spells yet, I—’
‘Perhaps they have portraits of the four founders to—’
‘—a contest?’
‘Maybe they’ll do some sort of personality test,’ said a dark-haired girl to Remus’ left. Her voice was the complete opposite of the boy’s - she sounded almost dreamlike.
‘Maybe we will have to answer questions,’ another girl suggested.
‘Now that would be entertaining,’ said the second black-haired boy Remus had shared the boat with. It was only then that Remus recognised him as the one who had spoken to him back at the station. ‘Maybe we'll have to write an essay. Or McGonagall will just count through. Or, who knows, if we’re really lucky, maybe they’ll let a kneazle sniff our wrists.’
The first black-haired boy burst into laughter, easily drowning out the reverent whispers of the other students.
‘Eeny, meeny, miny, moe…’
It raised a brief quirk of the second black-haired boy’s lips.
Remus had no idea what a kneazle was, but the way the boy had said it - his face incredibly straight, save for the gleam in his eyes - made him snort quietly. The black-haired boy raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.
‘They don’t actually bring in magical creatures, do they?’ asked a gangly, freckled blonde.
‘Nah,’ said the first black-haired boy - the one who had stopped Remus from falling into the lake, the one with the messy hair, ‘there’s just Gryffindor’s old hat that—’
But before he could finish his sentence, a sharp voice cut through the air.
‘Move along now. The Sorting Ceremony is about to start.’
Professor McGonagall had returned.
‘Now, form a line,’ she told the first-years, ‘and follow me.’
Remus got in line behind the gangly freckled blonde, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.
Remus had known about Hogwarts, but his imagination paled compared to reality. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles which were floating in mid-air over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets.
Above the flickering candles, the Great Hall opened up to the heavens; a velvety black sky that was sprinkled with stars.
The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students were ghosts, shining misty silver.
Remus had never seen a ghost before.
A small wave of nausea rolled over him - probably nerves, or maybe the lingering effects of his boat-induced sickness. It didn't help that the eyes of hundreds of people were locked on them. His skin prickled. He could feel the weight of their gazes like a physical presence and couldn't help but wonder whether zoo animals felt like that. Good thing, his father had put him on his guard. He would only have to look out for a whole school!
Remus pulled up his shoulders. If he threw up in front of this many people, he would turn around and head back home. But no, he couldn't do that - not after they had made this exception for him. As if he were special.
For once in his life, he would not be a disappointment.
You wanted this, he reminded himself. You wanted this. This is nothing compared to the full moon. Pull yourself together.
He was snatched out of his thoughts when he stumbled into something solid - Oliver, who had stopped dead in his tracks. Oliver’s head jerked around, flashing Remus a slightly strained smile, the tension mirrored in his shoulders, before turning back to face Professor McGonagall. They had reached the end of the aisle.
At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were seated. Professor McGonagall led the first-years up there, so they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them.Remus recognized Professor Dumbledore, unmistakable with his long white hair and beard. He sat in the middle of the table, smiling kindly down at the crowd of new students. The first familiar face. He recalled his father's words. Dumbledore is a great man. Good man. Professor Dumbledore was the reason Remus was here.
Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first-years. On top of the stool, she put a pointed wizard’s hat. The hat was patched, frayed, and extremely dirty. What was that about?
‘The magic,’ said the first black-haired boy in front of Remus. ‘To last a thousand years.’
The second black-haired boy, however, didn’t answer except with a curt nod. He stared ahead, his jaw a tight line.
Everyone in the Hall was now looking at the hat. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth - and the hat began to sing:
Four founders once decided that
united in their goal,
to share their wisdom, teach and act
they’d need successors to enrol.
In this school they placed their trust,
and on this they all agreed
even once their bodies turned to dust,
Hogwarts must succeed!
But whom to entrust with such a task,
to sort with care each chap?
‘We’ll have them don my hat and ask,’
so offered Gryffindor this cap.
Four houses there to take you in,
all four noble, pride in each
but different paths you will begin,
so listen what they preach:
Seeking challenge, being bold,
defying each and every fear,
are acts that shine in red and gold,
traits Gryffindor held dear.
Are you sage and are you wise,
with unmatched creativity and wit?
You will strive where knowledge lies,
in Ravenclaw, where bright ideas sit.
Patience, kindness, serenity-
Hufflepuff would treasure,
in deeds of quiet dignity,
not wit, but goodness beyond measure.
Slytherin has always prized
those with cunning and ambition.
Thus, I say, you’re well-advised
to join - as an embraced addition.
No matter if you’re clever, daring,
or if you’re wise or kind,
trust me, I will find your pairing,
for I know what's in your mind.
The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.
Ten hours ago, Remus would have been glad for this extra information. Now, he couldn’t have recited a single line after the hat’s brim had closed.
Professor McGonagall now stepped forward, holding a long roll of parchment. ‘When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted,’ she said.
‘Ackerley, Christopher.’