Albus. Albus Dumbledore.
Remus was sitting in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, a copy of Moby Dick on his lap. The spine was lined with so many crinkles the pages threatened to fall out. It was one of his favourites—one of the few he owned. Too many belongings made it hard to pack up your life.
His mother hadn’t been able to stop by the public library this week.
The clock on the opposite wall of the living room was ticking, seconds melting away in a steady rhythm. The muffled sounds of his mother’s radio drifted into the sitting room, mixing with her humming and the occasional thud of the oven door.
‘You sure you don’t need any help?’ Remus called, closing his book with his finger slipped between the pages as a makeshift bookmark.
The humming stopped, followed by a loud bang—but when his mother replied, she sounded cheerful.
‘All good, Sprinkle,’ she called. ‘Just you rest and read—you need to tell me all about this Jim Hawkins later.’
‘Honestly, it’s no bother, Mum,’ said Remus. He couldn’t tell how many times he had read Moby Dick, but definitely enough for his mother to know the plot by heart. Ever since he had started reading on his own, she had made it their thing to ask him about the books he was reading. ‘It’s four days before the—’
‘You heard your mother,’ said his father, who had suddenly—and unnoticed by Remus—appeared in the sitting room. He was still in his travelling cloak, looking a little tired. He usually did when he came home from work. With a wink directed at Remus, he called, ‘Are you sure you don’t need any help, Hope?’
Unlike Remus’ words, his father’s managed to pull his mother from the kitchen. ‘Don’t egg him on, Lyall,’ she said, putting her flour-coated hands on her hips. She rolled her eyes, and his dad glanced at Remus, exchanging a smile with him. ‘How many times do I have to tell you I don’t want you waving about your wand in the kitchen? My food’s plenty magical by itself, thank you very much.’
‘No one who’s ever tried your shepherd’s pie would have the nerve to doubt that,’ said his dad, pressing a kiss to her temple before shrugging off his cloak.
The shrill sound of their doorbell cut through the muffled music drifting out of the kitchen. It was so unfamiliar that Remus’ finger almost slipped out of his book. He couldn’t remember ever hearing the doorbell since they’d moved here a few months ago. Their house sat at the outskirts of town, perched on a small hill at the end of a narrow street. There were no neighbours—just the forest stretching behind the house and a little creek parting the meadows in the west. The seclusion was no coincidence. Ever since he was ten years old, Remus had grown strong enough to break doors and windows—at least one night a month—and more precautions had proved necessary.
‘Are you expecting anyone?’ Hope asked.
His dad’s shoulders drew up, the light of the fireplace flickering over his face—together with something else. When he spoke, his voice was low and his eyes firmly set on the door.
‘No.’
The doorbell rang again.
His mother hurried to the window and pulled the curtain back, just a few inches to peek through the glass. Remus wasn’t sure what she expected to see—it was already dark, the only light coming from the nearing full moon.
‘Good evening, Mrs Lupin,’ came a calm voice, albeit muffled by a thick layer of oakwood. ‘I am here to speak with Remus. I would highly appreciate it if you’d be so kind as to let me in. I must admit I rather underestimated the wind. Of course, my brother gave me a fine travel cloak for Christmas, but I fear it’s not of much use up in Scotland, where I left it.’
With every word from the stranger, his mother’s eyebrows pulled closer together, her gaze darting quickly to his father. The lines on his father's face seemed to have deepened, spotlighted by the flickering light.
His mother’s voice was just a whisper, barely reaching over the crackling fire. If Remus hadn’t been sitting at the edge of the armchair, alarmed by his parents’ behaviour, he would have missed it.
‘Who is that, Lyall?’
However softly she spoke, it snapped his father out of his momentary stupor.
‘We need to board up the door,’ he hissed. ‘Quick.’
‘Lyall, what is—’
‘No time for questions, Hope,’ his father said, more urgently even, and pulled out his wand.
That was when Remus knew something was definitely wrong. His father rarely used magic at home—these days he almost exclusively did so when teaching Remus. But the spells he was muttering now were—all lessons aside—unfamiliar to Remus’ ears, and so were the complicated wand movements.
‘It would save us all some time if you just invited me inside,’ said the voice from outside. The man sounded jovial. ‘I remember you to be a proficient student, Lyall, but we should not be so foolish as to think this will stop me.’
‘You’re foolish if you think I’ll let you take my son without putting up a fight, Dumbledore,’ his father called back, between two incantations.
‘I have no intention of taking your son,’ said the voice. ‘Unless he is willing to come.’
The voice was still decidedly cheerful, while his father was grimacing as he boarded up the door with large wooden planks his mother had apparently pulled out from the cupboard under the stairs. Plank after plank floated into the air, lining up against the inside of the door.
‘I’m afraid you’re wasting your energy, Lyall,’ said Dumbledore. ‘This is all just a misunderstanding. I’ve come with an offer, not a threat. I’m not your enemy.’
‘Everyone who tries taking my son is my enemy, Dumbledore.’
The trepidation in his father’s voice was apparent. Remus recognised it from the nights following the full moon, from hushed conversations between his parents they thought he didn’t hear. Whenever they discussed new moving plans.
Like the sparks flying around in the fireplace, it jumped from his father to Remus, igniting him with fear.
‘I appeal to your reason,’ said this Dumbledore person. ‘This doesn’t have to go this way.’
‘Which way?’ his mother asked, face pale. She moved closer to Remus, putting herself between him and the door.
As though only now realising Remus was still in the armchair, Lyall called, ‘Remus, upstairs. I want you to hide in your room—take your drawer and—’
‘I don’t want to force entry.’ It was the first time the voice had lost some of its cheerfulness.
‘Remus, now!’
‘Forgive me my rudeness,’ said the voice. ‘But I’m rather attached to my toes. Or they are to me, I should probably say. My feet are getting cold.’
Remus wasn’t even halfway up the stairs when the door banged open as if his father hadn’t just attached ten wooden planks to it.
The wood clattered to the floor with an ear-splitting noise and the door followed. Neither of his parents nor Remus moved from where they were standing.
In the threshold stood a man, now illuminated by the burning fire and the lamp Remus’ mum insisted needed a new bulb because it flickered almost as much as the flames.
He was very old, judging by the length of his silvery hair and beard, the latter long enough to be tucked into the belt that held together his purple robes. On the bridge of his crooked nose sat a pair of half-moon spectacles.
Remus had never seen a man like that.
His experience with warlocks and sorceresses was limited to the few his father had found to help with the l-thing, but this man...
He didn’t look intimidating?
Remus’ eyes darted to his father, who seemed to have frozen on the spot, wand still in hand.
‘My sincerest apologies for the intrusion,’ said the man, and with a slow motion he pulled out a long, slender wand. ‘Usually, I announce myself, but I thought that might be a bit… detrimental, in this case. I think it's safe to say I wasn’t mistaken.’ He flicked his wand and, without uttering a single syllable, the door rose from the floor, floating back into its hinges; the planks neatly stacking themselves by the wall.
‘Much better,’ said the man, smiling brightly when everything seemed settled to his satisfaction and the door was firmly closed behind him. ‘You wouldn’t think it to be that chilly in March, but here we are… I could use a new pair of earmuffs.’
The man turned to Remus’ mother. ‘You have a very nice home, if I daresay so.’
‘I—’ His mother looked from the man to his father, just like him frozen to the spot, save for her hand, which was trembling slightly. She pressed the flat palm of it to her thigh, where specks of flour had painted white clouds on the dark fabric of her skirt.
The man didn’t seem the least bit deterred by her lack of enthusiasm. Instead, he turned his attention to Remus. ‘And you must be Remus. I heard of your predicament. I am sorry.’
His father stepped in front of him.
‘You are not going near him, Dumbledore. I don’t care whether you defeated Grindelwald or Merlin himself, I—’
The man sighed, long and almost painfully. ‘You see, Lyall, if you reach my age, you learn to pick your fights,’ he said. ‘And this isn’t one I’m looking to pick. Hexing a man in his own home is considered rather rude, and I fear I already met my quota.’
The man took a step closer to his father, and his dad immediately raised his wand. The man—Remus only now realised how very tall he was—levelled his father with a look over his half-moon spectacles, then stored his own wand under his belt.
‘You seem to be labouring under the assumption that I’m here to harm Remus. Nothing could be further from my mind. However, I could do with a cup of tea. If I’m not mistaken, it is polite to offer some when welcoming guests.’
When neither Remus’ mother nor his father moved, the man added,
‘All I’m asking for is five minutes of your time. Then I shall go and forget that I ever stepped foot into this lovely house, if that so remains your wish.’
‘I—five minutes?’
The man nodded. ‘Five minutes.’
Remus could see his father’s shoulders sag, and he lowered his wand. ‘Alright, Dumbledore. Have a—have a seat.’ He waved to the now unoccupied armchairs by the fireplace.‘ Hope—would you mind, a cup of tea,’ his father sounded rather distracted, ‘and maybe something, something…’ He trailed off, but his mother had already set off towards the kitchen.
‘Tea—I mean, dinner, isn’t quite ready yet,’ she said, sounding unsure.
‘There’s no need to worry on my account,’ said the man called Dumbledore. ‘He who forces his way into another man’s kitchen must not expect to be fed.’
With that, Dumbledore winked at Remus.
Hope hesitated, waiting for Lyall’s nod before she slowly turned around, disappearing into the kitchen.
‘What is it you want, then, Dumbledore?’ said Lyall. When moments ago he had been pushing out the words, now he simply sounded exhausted.
‘Ah, straight to the point, then,’ said Dumbledore. ‘May I have a word with Remus?’
‘With Remus?’ For some reason, his father seemed startled by this request.
Remus didn’t quite understand why—he had no idea what this man could possibly want from him—and yet this whole conversation seemed to have been circling around him.
‘You may of course stay,’ said Dumbledore. ‘In fact, I invite you to.’
His father had turned around, the right side of his face illuminated by the burning fire. The lightbulb overhead gave a feeble flicker and died completely. His father didn’t even blink.
‘Remus, would you please come down?’
‘I'm Albus. Albus Dumbledore,’ said Dumbledore. ‘And I'd like to get to know you. There’s no reason to be afraid,' he went on as though he hadn't thrown their door out of its hinges. 'Although, I of course understand that these things don’t always follow reason. There was this one time my father had let in the milkman and I was convinced that he—’ he broke off ‘—well, maybe this is a story for another time.’
Watching the old man, Remus slowly descended the stairs. He didn’t remember grabbing the handrail this tightly, but uncurling his fingers almost hurt—as if they had already adapted to the new shape. Like a rolled-up paper that refused to be smoothed out.
‘It’s alright,’ his father whispered when Remus had reached the bottom of the stairs. He followed Remus to the fireplace, a hand on Remus’ shoulder.
To Remus’ surprise, Dumbledore didn’t take one of the plush, if worn, armchairs but sank to the floor as if he weren’t at least two hundred years old.
‘Sit with me, Remus?’
Remus glanced at his father, who had taken the armchair for himself, his eyes never once leaving the pair.
‘I thought we could play for a bit?’ said Dumbledore, when Remus had slowly lowered himself—though closer to his father than Dumbledore. He pulled out a square box of a size that ought to have shown under his robes, but for some reason had gone unnoticed by Remus. ‘If you don’t mind indulging my clumsiness. My fingers aren’t quite as nimble as they used to be.’
<><>
And then they were playing with little balls not unlike marbles but with the tiny difference that they squirted liquid. Gobstones, as Dumbledore told him. Two minutes into the game, Remus’ mother had come back into the room, placing a plate full of crumpets on the hearthrug before taking the other armchair and shooting his father a look Remus couldn’t place.
‘I am sure you know you are an unusual child,’ said Dumbledore after he had lost the first game of Gobstones to Remus.
Remus didn’t know what to say to this. No one must know was everything he knew—it echoed in his head even after all noise had died down, more persistent than the last lines he would read before bedtime. And yet this man had said he knew about his predicament.
Remus swallowed and looked at his hands, clasped in his lap. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m a bit of a monster.’
A sharp intake of breath to his left. One of his parents. He didn’t know which.
‘Sprinkle, you’re not—’
‘A wolf, I mean,’ said Remus quickly. He could feel his lips quiver, but at least his voice didn’t. The word monster wasn’t used in this house, nor in the many they had lived in before this. It upset his mother, and upsetting his mother was the last thing he wanted.
‘Remus, I told you not to—’ That was his father’s voice, and suddenly, at once, it became all too much.
Those piercingly blue eyes on him, belonging to a man he had never seen before this day, with an agenda Remus still hadn’t figured out. His parents looking at him in shock as if he had said something outrageous and not stated a simple truth. Him sitting on the floor, all of them hovering before and above him, looking at him as if he didn’t know what was going on.
Defiance took over, and he stuck up his chin, jutting his jaw forward. Fear was a big part of his life, but he wasn’t that much of a coward that he couldn’t even deal with the words spelling out reality.
‘It’s okay, Dad,’ he said quickly. ‘I know it.’
He wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t five. Did his parents really think he wouldn’t figure out the real reason behind their constant moving homes, switching places all across the country to this house in the middle of nowhere in Northern Wales, far away from his mother’s parents and where she had lived her whole life? Far from everyone who knew them? Did they think he didn’t know he was the reason his mother was tied to the house—because she had to take care of him? Did they think he didn’t know the real reason he wasn’t supposed to play with other children, had been homeschooled by his mother and now his father?
Because he was a monster. Ruling out the word didn’t change a thing about that.
No one must know.
His father pulled back a few inches. ‘What is it you know, Remus?’
‘That I’m dangerous,’ said Remus. He didn’t miss the fleeting look his mother shot his father. Why were his parents acting as if that was news? Remus pursed his lips and looked down at his right hand, which was fiddling with a loose thread on his too-long sleeve. ‘I mean, I know what I did to my bed... And... and the window.’
He didn’t say that, getting older, he didn’t only remember flashes of the nights, but large chunks of them.
His father swallowed, but it was Dumbledore who spoke, his voice much lighter.
‘I have to agree with your parents,’ he said, picking up another crumpet. ‘But I wasn’t speaking about your condition. Surely you know you’re a wizard?’
Slowly, Remus nodded.
‘There’s a school for people like you,’ Dumbledore went on. ‘Wizards and witches. Technically, there are a few schools, but I am Headmaster to one of them. The best, if you allow me that comment.’
‘Is that – do you teach magic without talking there?’ Remus asked. He knew his father had been to a school for witches and wizards. They didn’t much talk about it.
‘Among other things.’
‘Dumbledore,’ said Remus’ father. ‘Why are you here?’
‘I,’ said Dumbledore slowly, ‘would like to offer Remus a place at Hogwarts.’
And with that he pulled out a big yellow envelope, sporting bright green letters.
Mr R. Lupin
Sitting Room
Lupin Cottage, Gorsebrook Lane
Abercelyn,
Gwynedd
The envelope was thick and heavy in Remus’ hand. There was a big wax seal on the back of it – four animals – a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake surrounding a huge letter ‘H’.
‘What do you mean you would like to offer Remus a spot at Hogwarts,’ the voice of his father vaguely drifted into Remus’ ears as he broke the wax seal. ‘How’s that supposed to work?’
The voices of the adults slipped into the background as Remus pulled out two pages of parchment. The envelope dropped to the floor and Remus read:
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr Lupin,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Remus quickly skimmed the second page.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Uniform
First-year students will require:
1.Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2.One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3.One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4.One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings) Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.
Set Books
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
Dissolving the Shadows: An Introduction by Atticus Scutt
Other Equipment
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK
History of Magic. Remus smiled. He quickly counted through the list of set books.
‘Does that mean there’s seven subjects?’ he said, and only after the words had left his mouth did he realise that he was interrupting an ongoing conversation. ‘I’m sorry.’
Dumbledore smiled at him. ‘At Hogwarts we teach Astronomy, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, History of Magic, Potions and Transfiguration. Advanced students might also choose between five additional subjects. We also have a lot of clubs to choose from. And, of course, there's Quidditch.’
Remus’ father was lowering his voice, but it sounded pressed, as if he struggled to put enough force behind his words. ‘Are you sure you can ensure that no one will – you know I cannot risk the Ministry catching wind of–’
‘Maybe it’d be best if we moved that conversation to the kitchen?’ said Dumbledore, with another smile at Remus. ‘Hope, I wouldn’t say no to another one of those delicious crumpets.’
Remus frowned. When had Dumbledore started calling his mother Hope? And when had he eaten all the crumpets?
‘How about you read a bit, Sprinkle,’ said his mother as she passed him. She bent down to brush a strand of hair out of his face, her eyes dancing over to the door where Remus’ father and Dumbledore had already disappeared into the kitchen. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
But when all three adults had left the room, Remus kept sitting on the hearthrug, having no desire to pick up his book again. He didn’t dare believe this was true. Him, going to a real magical school.
And there would be other children! His heart was beating fast in his chest. He glanced at his letter.
Mr R. Lupin
At last, his father, mother and Dumbledore emerged from the kitchen.
‘Remus,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I would very much like to welcome you to my school. You don’t have to answer now. Talk about it with your parents. I am sure your father will answer all the questions you have. And if not, feel free to send me an owl.’ He smiled at him, then at his parents. ‘Oh, to be young again, waiting for the mysteries of the world to reveal themselves. Some wonders we lose forever, mh?’
‘It’s Remus’s decision,’ said his father.
‘Of course it is Remus’ decision,’ said Dumbledore jovially. ‘I can only hope he considers it an option.’ He spun around, body fully facing Remus, then bent down as if Remus were a toddler and not a ten (nearly eleven!) year old sitting on the floor. He offered his hand for Remus to shake it. He took it, frowning. This man knew about his condition and still wanted to touch him?
‘It was a pleasure meeting you, Remus, but I’m afraid I must hop away. I hope to see you in September. Lyall.’ He nodded at his father. ‘Hope, your crumpets are truly magical.’
And without waiting for a response, he was gone.
Remus scrambled to his feet and skidded to the window, but even with his nose pressed to the glass, even squinting, he couldn’t make out the man. The narrow street leading up to their house was still and peaceful, like a dark grey band sneaking quietly through the black of the night, only visible because of the moonlight pouring down on it.
Remus frowned, letting go of the curtain.
When he turned around, his parents were looking at him.
His mother’s skirt looked grey rather than black – she must have run her flour-coated fingers over the fabric time and time again. She sighed heavily. ‘That’s good, Lyall, isn’t it? Finally we’re getting rid of him.’
Remus’ eyes widened, his thoughts crashing to a halt, leaving his mind completely blank.
‘We mustn’t count our chickens too soon. Dumbledore might change his mind,’ said his father.
The distance seemed to have stretched between them and Remus. But Remus didn’t remember backing away from his parents. A tightness spread from his chest to every part of his body until it reached the tips of his fingers and toes. It was as if a cage had been built around his chest, boarding it in.
‘Why would he want him to come,’ said his mother. ‘The precautions he will have to install—’
‘Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Hope,’ said his father.
With every word of his parents, the cage shrank further. Breathing became hard.
‘Mum... Dad?’ His parents wouldn't, they would never—
‘You were an accident,’ said his dad. ‘Of course we’re glad you’re going. This has been enough of a charade.’
Remus’ back met the wall. The letter kept unfolding over and over, and the parchment slipped through his fingers, landing on the floor. The address had changed, kept changing.
Mistake, it read. Beast. Wolfboy.
‘We never wanted you,’ said his mother. ‘How could we have? With you around we can’t even have another child. A normal one. You would be a danger to them.’
Remus’ gaze was blacking at the edges. His parents’ voices were muffled, then crystal clear again, like a badly tuned radio. The clock on the other side of the room showed it was nearing midnight.
‘He’ll be gone soon, Hope,’ said his father. He pulled out two straps of paper and waved them in front of his mother’s face, grinning. ‘And we can finally go see the Chutney Cannons!’