Parallel lines (1st year)
10 yearsearlier
August3rd, 1971
It was a typical day at Cokeworth. The field seemed like a muted palette of greens and browns, and the sky was overcast, heavy with dark, swollen clouds. In the distance, the hills rolled gently. A river passed through the landscape, reflecting the dull, leaden sky above. Two sisters sat on the dew-covered grass. The girl with the fiery red hair stared intently at a daisy as she gently brushed her fingers over its delicate petals.
“Look, Tuney,” she called to her older sister, sitting with a book in her lap. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Petunia glanced up from her book. “It’s just a flower, Lily,” she said. “Honestly, you’re always making something out of the silliest things.”
Lily’s smile didn’t waver. She carefully plucked the daisy from the ground and held it towards Petunia. “It’s not just any flower. Look!”
Petunia rolled her eyes, closed her book, and reluctantly approached her sister. Lily was holding the daisy with her eyes pressed shut. Once she flicked her fingers, the flower slowly began to grow, its petals opening wide and gleaming in a brilliant display. Petunia’s eyes widened and she glanced around nervously.
“Lily you can’t! What if someone’s around?”
“I can change its colour,” Lily said with a small grin. “Wanna see?”
“No,” said Petunia. “You’re not supposed to do this.”
“But, Tuney, it’s magic,” said Lily. “Isn’t it wonderful?” She gently took her sister’s hand and tried to place the daisy in her palm. Petunia’s face hardened. With a quick, sharp slap she knocked Lily’s hand away, sending the daisy tumbling to the ground.
“No, it’s not. It’s abnormal. You’re a freak, Lily,” she hissed.
Lily’s smile dropped. “It’s something special,” she whispered. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”
“Happy?” Petunia laughed, but it was a dry, bitter sound. “How can I be happy when you’re doing things like that? I don’t want anything to do with your magic,” she spat the word with disgust. “Just leave me alone.”
The words of her sister cut deep. Lily tried to reach for her but Petunia pulled away. She turned around and crossed the field, leaving her younger sister alone. Water started to pour in gentle drizzles, raindrops falling on Lily’s cheeks and blending with her tears as she collapsed beside her fallen flower.
Suddenly, the dark bark of the willow tree on top of the hill creaked eerily, its branches whispering a cry of loneliness. The wind picked up, rustling the leaves, and a young boy appeared, stepping out of the willow’s hollow. Lily turned her face towards him but didn’t move from the ground. He pushed away the branches that dangled as he passed through and approached her. Without speaking, he knelt and sat down right beside her.
After a few moments of silence, Lily wiped away her tears. “I assume you heard everything,” she said, finally turning her head to meet his eyes. They looked like illuminated obsidians.
“I did,” he said.
Lily sighed. “I don’t understand why she’s being so cruel. She’s my sister. I just want her to be proud of me.”
“Lily, she’s jealous of you,” the boy said. “You’re special and Petunia knows she’s nothing but ordinary.”
“Sometimes I find myself wishing I was also ordinary,” she whispered.
“Ordinary is boring. Besides, without magic, you wouldn’t be able to do this.” He reached into his pocket and fished a crumpled leaf. With a wave of his hand, the leaf transformed into a delicate dragonfly, fluttering its wings towards Lily. She caught it inside her palms, and the dragonfly exploded in a small firework. She couldn’t help but chuckle, pressing her eyes shut and letting more teardrops fall. The boy looked at her, his eyes full of affection.
“Severus,” Lily began.
“Yeah?”
“Will you stay by my side on our first semester?”
Severus met her look steadily. He smiled as he gently took her hand in his own. “Always.”
August 23rd, 1971
In the heart of London, hidden right under the nose of clueless Muggles, was Diagon Alley, an absolute bedlam, woven with the mystical elements of the magical world. It wasn’t just any alley but the heartbeat of magic itself; the place where warlocks came to mingle or purchase all kinds of peculiar things. The cobblestone streets were lined up with shops, their windows filled with glittering trinkets and enchanted items, some displaying silver instruments, barrels of bat spleens and eels’ eyes, telescopes, and potion bottles.
Witches and wizards of all ages bustled along the alley, their robes in every shade imaginable—deep purples, bright yellows, emerald greens, fiery reds, and midnight blues; the colours blending, creating a kaleidoscope of movement. Many children wore normal clothes like his own. A group of young first-years passed by, clutching their letters from Hogwarts tightly. Some were already holding their wands, frogs, and owls in large cages and bags full of books and quills.
It was almost overwhelming. From the street performers creating rings of fire in the square to the fortune tellers’ stalls stashed with crystal balls and tarot cards, the place was alive with magic.
“James Fleamont Potter, come here right now!”
For Godric’s sake where does that kid find all this energy? Euphemia Potter pushed through the crowd, trying to reach for her son. Her skin was in a warm olive tone that spoke of generations spent under the radiating sun of West Bengal, and her dark hair tumbled down her back in gentle waves, a jasmine flower tucked behind her ear—a nod to her cultural heritage.
“Mum, I’m almost eleven years old, you don’t have to keep nannying me!” James exclaimed, struggling to break free from her grip.
Euphemia let go of him. “I know my love, but you’re still my little boy. And I don’t want to lose you in the crowd. Again.”
James blinked playfully, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. Euphemia sighed and looked down at the list in her hands. “Let’s see,” she muttered thoughtfully. “We’ve already purchased most of the things you’ll need for the school year but something’s missing.” She tapped her chin. “Oh, right! Your wand, my love. But first, I have to go to Madam Malkin’s to pick up your robes. If we don’t want to waste time you’ll have to go on your own. Will you be all right?”
James nodded.
“Brilliant,” Euphemia said. “‘Ollivanders’ is right across the street, next to Mrs Rosa’s Teashop. Remember when we went there last month?”
“How can I possibly forget?” James said. “It was torture! Everything was pink and full of flowers.” He grimaced with disgust. “I would be much happier if you’d turned me into a slug or something.”
“C’mon now love, no need to be dramatic,” she said. “I'll give you a few galleons. Don’t waste them all, darling. I mean it.”
She gently patted his messy brown hair and headed in the opposite direction. James crossed the street, nervousness bubbling in his chest. All in all, picking a wand was indeed a big deal. It would accompany someone for the rest of their life. Yeah, if I don’t lose it or break it, he thought.
He reached Ollivanders and paused before its weathered storefront, taking in the sight before him. The wand shop nestled in the heart of Diagon Alley, its exterior old-fashioned and unassuming with a worn-out sign hanging above the door that read “Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.” Flanking the doorway were two large, circular windows, each filled with neat stacks of narrow wand boxes.
James took a deep breath and pushed the door open, stepping inside. A bell tinkled softly, as the door closed behind him. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood and dust, and the lighting was dim, provided mainly by flickering candles and a few lamps that cast a warm, golden glow. A spiral staircase led up to a second floor, rumoured to store some of the rarest and most powerful wands in wizarding kind. James took a step forward, almost knocking himself into a small coffee table. The latest edition of the ‘Daily Prophet’ rested on it; its front page read: “Only a week ‘till the beginning of a new school year at Hogwarts!” He felt himself smiling with anticipation.
“Good afternoon.” A greeting rang through the shop in a soft, raspy voice.
James jumped slightly and turned to see a tall, elderly man with silver hair standing behind the counter. His piercing pale eyes bore into James with an intensity both unsettling and comforting.
“Good afternoon,” said James. “I’m here to get my first wand.”
“Of course you are,” the man said. “I am Mr Ollivander. And you are...?”
“James. James Potter.”
“Oi! A Potter you said? So you must be Euphemia’s and Fleamont’s boy!”
“I am, sir.”
“Brilliant! I still remember the first time your father came for his wand. He was as nervous as you seem right now, if not more.” He laughed softly. “And your mother…Oh, your mother was such a kind character.”
James stood awkwardly, staring at the old man who seemed to drift away in his thoughts.
“No wonder she was sorted into Hufflepuff,” Ollivander went on. His eyes fell on James and he cleared his throat as if remembering the young boy was still in the room with him. “But now Ι’s rambling and you asked for a wand. Tell me, which hand do you use?”
“I’m left-handed,” said James,
Ollivander had already begun searching through the many shelves. James looked around the place. Thousands of wand boxes were piled up, right up to the ceiling. In the back of the room, a long, narrow counter ran along, its surface nearly hidden beneath several magical tools: measuring tapes that moved on their own, small scales for weighting wand cores, and various charts and diagrams detailing wand lore. Ollivander bounced past the counter and climbed up a ladder on wheels to reach the highest shelves.
“All right! I should tell you, Mr Potter, do not worry if we don’t find the perfect match on the first try. You must remember every wand has a character of its own. They might seem like a piece of wood, but the magic they contain is very much alive.” He paused for a second and eyed James before continuing his search. “They choose their master, not the other way around.” He grabbed a velvet case and got off the ladder slowly, approaching James, and passing it to him. “Here it is! C’mon, give it a wave.”
James opened the case to reveal a wand of willow. He slowly took it in his hand but there was no reaction. Ollivander glanced around thoughtfully. He reached for another box and placed it in James’ hands. James opened it and took hold of another wand. Still, nothing happened.
“Don’t worry, it has to be somewhere around,” said Ollivander.
Several more wands followed each more beautiful than the last but none seemed to resonate with James.
“Let me ask you something,” said Ollivander, sensing James’ worry. “If you could have an ability, any ability, what would that be?”
“You mean, like a magical ability?”
“Not necessarily. More like a trait you would like to possess.”
“Ehm, I’m not sure,” James said. He scratched the back of his neck. “Maybe I’d want to make people like me effortlessly, given that it’s my first year at Hogwarts and I don’t really know anyone yet.”
“So you’d like to be more… adaptable,” said Ollivander.
James wrinkled his nose, looking uncertain. “If you say so.”
“All right, I think we’ve found your match. Hold on.” Ollivander bent down in front of one of the lowest shelves and pulled a box that seemed older and more worn than the others. Opening it with great care, he revealed a wand made of rowan wood, with a beautiful, intricate pattern running along its length.
“Rowan wood, eleven inches, dragon heartstring,” said Ollivander.
James took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth spread in his fingers as he wrapped his hand around the smooth wood. A tingling sensation shot up his arm and a soft silver light began to glow from the wand’s tip. He could feel a surge of energy, powerful yet composed, flowing through him.
Ollivander’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction. “Ah, yes. There we have it. A perfect match,” he said. He straightened his back theatrically. “Let me bore you with some details concerning your wand, Mr Potter. Rowan wands are described as being well-suited to protective magic and can possess a strong affinity for transformational magic as well. The length is medium size, and wands like yours are often considered versatile and well-balanced. Lastly, its core made of dragon heartstring is noted for its power and adaptability. These wands can produce magic of great intensity and are particularly effective when casting defensive spells that require precision and control.” He paused and his eyes softened as he stared at the young boy. “Adaptable yet unique. Just like you.”
“Thank you,” said James, excitement fluttering through his chest.
“Take good care of it, Mr Potter, and it will serve you well.”
James was interrupted before he could reply as the front door’s bell tinkled, informing him and Ollivander of someone else’s presence in the store.
“Good afternoon, Mr Ollivander. I stopped by to pick up my wand.”
James turned his head. A boy, probably his age, was standing near the door. He had a lean, angular face with sharp features, yet his blue eyes were soft and delicate like a clear sky on a crisp winter day.
“Of course, Mr Black,” said Ollivander. “Just give me a second to finish with Mr Potter here.”
“Please, take your time,” the boy said politely.
Ollivander moved behind the counter to pack James’ wand. The other boy waited near the door. His long, jet-black hair reached the bottom of his neck and was coiffed neatly, perfectly in place, giving him a polished look. His eyes fell on James and he slowly approached him.
“So, you found your match, I assume,” he said, with a confident smile. “You’re a first-year?”
“Yes. I’m James. James Potter.”
“Nice,” the boy said, still smiling. “I’m a first year too. I’m Sirius.” He extended his hand and James took it, going in for a handshake.
“Nice to meet you, Sirius. You’ve already found yours?”
“Yes, actually,” said Sirius. “But I promised my little brother to take him with me and completely forgot about it.” His smile widened. “Now I’m waiting for him to stop by so that I can pretend I haven’t already been here before.” He glanced over at the door. “He’ll be here any time soon, I hope.”
“You’re ready Mr Potter!” Ollivander exclaimed. He walked over to James who thanked the older man again and paid for his wand before putting it carefully inside his messenger bag. He then turned to leave.
“I’ll see you on the train, James,” said Sirius.
James nodded, smiling, as he exited the store.
“James, over here!”
Euphemia waved, holding his school robes in her other hand. James crossed the cobbled street and she greeted him with a light hug, struggling to fit her son and his uniform in her embrace.
“How was it, love? Did you find your wand?”
“I did. Though, it took some time,” James said as she let go of him.
“That’s okay,’ she said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I also struggled at first. But Mr Ollivander was of great help. He’s a very patient man.”
“And a very old one,” said James.
Euphemia laughed. “Well, yes, but you must admit it, he has an excellent memory,” she said and they started walking towards the main square.
“Now that you mention it, he told me about when you and Dad went to buy your first wands,” James said, scratching his chin. “I mean, that must have been ages ago but he still remembers it. Well done, Mr Ollivander.”
“James, what on Merlin’s name are you talking about! I’m not that old!” Euphemia shoved him lightly on his arm, feigning to be insulted. James giggled.
“I also met a boy,” he said. “He’s a first-year.”
“That’s great, love,” said Euphemia. “What’s his name?”
“Sirius Black.”
Euphemia stopped in her tracks. Her smile faded slightly, a subtle shadow passing over her face. James looked at his mother puzzled.
“What’s wrong?”
She hesitated a little as she tried to find the right words. “James, I would prefer if you didn’t associate with any members of the Black family.”
James frowned. “Why?”
“Because they’re…different,” Euphemia said carefully.
“But Mum aren’t you the one who always says that people are different and must only be judged upon who they truly are?”
“Yes, darling, and that’s exactly why I don’t want my family to have any relations with the Blacks.” She started walking again, and James rushed forward to catch up with her.
“I’m not sure I understand,” he said.
Euphemia paused once again, turning around to face him. “Look, James. What do you know about the Hogwarts founders?”
“What you and Dad have told me,” he said. His parents had spent all summer answering every question he had about Hogwarts—its origins, the founders, the many notable graduates who went down in history as the most powerful warlocks to ever exist. “There were four of them, each representing a different House.”
“That’s right,” Euphemia said. “Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin were the founders of Hogwarts.”
“Okay,” James said, still not understanding where she was getting at.
His mother exhaled a deep sigh. “As you know, the founders tried to create a school suitable for magical kids, a safe place for them to grow up and cultivate their abilities,” Euphemia continued. “But soon, they had a falling out. Godric, Rowena, and Helga believed that Hogwarts should house every young wizard and witch regardless of their blood status. They believed that magic was distributed in unknown ways but always for a reason. So it wouldn’t be fair to exclude half-bloods or even Muggle-born students who were born possessing magic despite not having magical parents.”
James stared at his mother, hanging on her every word.
“Salazar on the other hand, tolerated half-bloods since one of their parents was a pure warlock but he truly loathed Muggle-borns. He believed they were an abomination in the magical world.” Her nose wrinkled as if she’d remembered something awful she wished she could forget. “He wanted Hogwarts to be a place only for pure warlocks. At first, his point was all around the fact that during that era, wizards and witches were violently prosecuted by Muggles and they met horrible fates because of their magical abilities.
His hate grew inside him and drove him to paranoia. He developed extreme ideologies about blood purity, gaining followers, and acted in unspeakable and horrendous ways against Muggle-borns. When he finally crossed the line with his behaviour, the other founders decided he should be removed from the school premises. Over the centuries, the wealthiest pureblood families have been supporting him. Our family stopped following the ideals of blood purity only a few decades ago. But Blacks, said to be direct descendants of Slytherin, still hold on to these prejudices and they have come up with extremely insulting terms to describe Muggle-borns.” She sighed. “That’s why I have my concerns about the Black boy.”
James tried to process all the information. His brows crinkled. “I don’t know, Mum. He seemed pretty chill.”
Euphemia sighed again, knowing that her son was too stubborn to argue with him. “All right, just promise me that if he turns out like the rest of them, you’ll stop hanging around him.”
“You don’t have to worry,” said James. “I would never be friends with someone who believes in such nonsense.”
Euphemia beamed with pride. “That’s my boy,” she said softly. “Now,” she said and spun around so she could walk backwards, like a tour guide, “would you like to have a cup of tea at Mrs Rosa’s?”
“Absolutely not,” James said as he followed her.
“I’m just messing with you,” Euphemia said with a broad smile.
James rolled his eyes. “You know, Mum, sometimes I wonder who’s supposed to be the adult here.”
August 31st, 1971
Remus sat at the kitchen table, his dinner untouched and pushed aside.
It was a chilly night at Portballintrae but the windows of his house were wide open, welcoming a refreshing breeze. The occasional cry of a seagull echoed in the distance, disturbing the rhythmic sound of tidal waves lapping against the shore.
The summer had passed in a flurry of preparations, hushed conversations, and quiet moments of trepidation. Tomorrow Remus would board the Hogwarts Express for his first year at Hogwarts. But tonight, he had to face the last full moon at home.
His mother, Hope, was busy cleaning the dishes. The tension on her shoulders betrayed the worry she tried to hide. Her husband, Lyall, was sitting in a deep brown leather armchair in the living room, forcing himself to focus on the newspaper in his hands but his mind was elsewhere.
“Are you ready, sweetheart?” Hope asked.
Remus nodded with resignation in his young eyes. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied, trying to muster a brave smile. The fear of what was coming gnawed at him, as it always did.
Hope set down the dish she was holding and came to sit beside him. “You’re going to be fine, my love,” she said, taking his hands in her own. “We’ve done this many times before.”
But it never gets easier. “I know,” said Remus.
Hope’s eyes darted away, unable to hold her son’s gaze. “I’m so sorry, Remus. I wish there could be another way.”
“It’s not your fault, Mum,” said Remus. “You’re doing everything you can.” He squeezed her hands lightly. “Thank you.”
Her light brown eyes filled with tears, and she quickly blinked them away. “Look at you, all grown up, trying to be the one who consoles me.” She gently traced the battered skin on his arms with her fingers. “You’re so strong, mo mhac tíre. And tomorrow, you’ll be on your way to Hogwarts. Just one more night.”
Remus nodded in half-reluctant agreement. He took a deep breath and stood up, his small frame straightening with determination. “Let’s get this over with.”
He reached the kitchen sink and pulled the rug on the floor, revealing a small wooden trapdoor. He didn’t let himself be consumed with fear, opening the trapdoor hastily and descending the stairs, Hope moving close behind him. Lyall tossed his newspaper and stood from the armchair, following them down the stairs. They made their way to the basement, a place that had been both a sanctuary and a prison for Remus over the past few years. A heavy door reinforced with spells and charms stood before them. Lyall flicked his wand and the door creaked open, revealing the cold, stone-walled room beyond. In the centre of the room was a sturdy chair fitted with strong, enchanted chains. Remus shivered at the sight of it but still stepped forward. His parents followed suit, Lyall’s wand at the ready. Hope helped Remus into the chair.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she murmured over and over like a prayer as she began securing the shackles around his ankles and wrists. “I wish there was another way.”
Her husband stroked her back gently. Once Remus was secured, Hope knelt before him, her eyes level with his.
“Remember, we’ll be right upstairs,” she said. “If you need me, just call out. I’ll be here as soon as it’s safe.”
Remus nodded, closing his eyes. “I know. I’ll be okay.” His gaze drifted between his parents. “I have to be right? Tomorrow is Hogwarts.”
Hope smiled through her tears and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “That’s right, love. Tomorrow is a new beginning.”
As the first rays of the full moon began to filter through the small, barred window high on the wall, Remus felt the familiar dreaded stiffness start in his limbs. He pressed his eyes closed, bracing himself for the pain that would soon consume him.
Hope kissed his forehead, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I love you, Remus. More than anything in this world. And I’m so proud of you.”
Lyall squeezed his shoulder, speaking for the first time. “It will be all right, son. We’ll be right upstairs.”
“You should go,” Remus said, his voice tight with the effort of holding back his pain.
Hope stood up, backing towards the door. “Remember, I’m right here,” she whispered again, her voice breaking. With a final flick of his wand, Lyall secured the last protective spells. They stepped out of the room, the heavy door closing behind them.
Remus was alone now.
As the moonlight grew brighter, he felt it begin in earnest, his body shifting and changing against his will. His spine arched unnaturally and an audible crack sent waves of nausea through him. Every part of him burned with an intense, searing heat that made his skin feel too tight, too thin. Muscles seized up forcefully, his very bones trying to tear themselves apart from within. The pain was excruciating. The sensation blurred his vision and drew guttural screams from his throat.
He started sobbing violently.
Hope could hear every single scream from the kitchen above the basement. She collapsed on the chair and took her head in her hands, trying to mute the horrific sounds.
Remus’ skin tore and mended, fur sprouting from every pore. The growth of claws from his fingertips was a singularly agonising experience, each forcing its way out from beneath his nails with relentless pressure. Hope listened to Remus’ cries and clenched the cross around her neck. Each scream was a dagger to her heart but she knew there was nothing else she could do. She prayed for the screaming to stop, and she resented herself for almost feeling grateful to hear her son’s voice, dreading the moment it would be replaced by the unhuman noises.
Minutes felt like hours. The pain was not just physical, it was primal; a deep, ancient agony consuming the very core of his being. A violent metamorphosis, a brutal rewriting of his human form into that of a feral beast, leaving no part of him untouched or unscathed.
When the transformation was finally complete, the wolf stood where Remus had been, panting heavily, controlled by an overpowering rage and hunger. His human consciousness was buried deep beneath the wolf’s instincts, a distant echo lost to the wild urges that now controlled his every move.
A howl escaped the werewolf’s throat.
The hours stretched endlessly as Remus battled the beast from within. The chains held fast, the enchantments strong enough to contain him. When the first light of dawn began to filter through the window, the transformation reversed, leaving a wounded and exhausted boy behind.
Hope waited until the sun had fully risen, exhaustion evident in her face. Lyall had to leave early in the morning for the Ministry but he had promised to meet them at the platform for Remus’ departure. As she unlocked the door, she found Remus slumped in the chair, his breathing shallow and his eyes closed. Gently, she undid the chains, her heart aching at the sight of the bruises and cuts marring his skin. She lifted his limp body into her arms.
“Remus, it’s over,” she whispered. “You did it. You’re safe.”
Remus stirred, his eyes fluttering open. “Hogwarts?”
“Yes, my darling.” She smiled faintly. “Hogwarts. You’re going to Hogwarts today.”
Remus tried to rise from the chair, limping. Hope carried him upstairs and couldn’t help but feel a flicker of relief. This was the last night Remus would have to face this alone. At Hogwarts, he would be provided with protection and care that they could only dream of here. She held her son close, leading him from the basement to the kitchen. As she tended to his wounds she kept whispering words of comfort and love, preparing him for the new beginning that awaited.
And so, with the dawn of a new day, the last night of chains gave way to the beginning of freedom.