Chronicles of a Half-Blood - the Nocturne Bloodlines

Two souls entwined, like facets of a coin

their paths diverge yet never apart,

For in the glint of one

the other finds its counterpart.

1971

Eileen Prince

January 

The letter arrived on the brisk winter night of January ninth in the form of a snowy white Hogwarts owl, and Eileen Prince nearly jumped to the heavens. She’d spun her little eleven year old prince around in her arms and tore open the letter, watching him phone his best friend, Lily, and tell her of Hogwarts. She then fondly told him bedtime stories about Slytherin house and the home it would give him until he fell asleep, breathing deeply, her fingers in the curls of his long black hair. 

“More of this bleedin' magic rubbish,” Tobias Snape grumbled, the stench of booze hanging off him as he stumbled through the door long after dark. “Thought I made it clear, didn't I? Said I'd wallop him proper if 'e made another blimmin' teapot explode.”

She spoke hastily and nervously, fingers pulling at her green, threadbare jumper. “This is different, Toby. He’s going to school. He’s going to Hogwarts.”

She thought, later, as she lay in her cold bed, bleeding from her skull, that the snide comment was worth it. Abandoning her Prince heritage to marry a Muggle had all been worth it for her son, white and blushing like the budding leaves of May. Blood trickled down her forehead and onto her red lips as she gazed at a pool of moonlight on the side of her cardboard house. Soon, Severus would be away in a magical world where no cruel Muggles could lay a single hand on him. Tonight, she knew every sacrifice was a stepping stone. Hogwarts beckoned—a haven beyond the reach of malevolence. In that sacred realm, her Half-Blood prince would thrive, untouched by the harsh hands of the world.

<>

Remus Lupin

February

Ch-ch-changes,

Turn and face the strange

Ch-ch-changes,

Don’t wanna be a richer man—,

Remus hummed along with the song, wires running from his ears to the cassette player. Bowie was blaring loudly into his ears, and his father, who was sitting at the kitchen table, groaned.

“Remus, please turn that down, I’m working here.” 

“Sorry, Dad,” he said quietly, and he lowered the volume. Remus looked a lot like his father, and perhaps that was why he hated him. The same sandy-brown hair, small nose, lightly tan skin and soft eyes. His father’s eyes had hardened over the years.  

Remus finished up the dishes quickly and collapsed on the couch. Remus’ childhood should have been utterly normal. They lived in the suburbs, and a white picket fence surrounded their front garden. Light yellow wallpaper. When Remus had been bitten, everything had changed and he had been thrown into an ordeal he wasn’t sure how to deal with. He had his monthly episodes, and eventually, it was too much for his mother who packed her bags and left. And his father was on the verge of topping himself; Remus could see it in his eyes, full of resentment when he saw Remus. The wrench that was thrown in his plans. The boy who had forced his mother to run away. 

Time may change me,

But I can’t trace time—,

He was interrupted again by an owl tapping on the window. Remus looked at it curiously and spared a glance at his father—still engrossed in his ministry work. Sighing, he got up from the couch and opened the window. The owl hopped inside, a yellowing letter clasped in its beak. He shivered at the frosty gust of wind that blew in through the gaping window. Remus unfolded it, and paused Changes. 

Mr Remus Lupin,

The Living Room

3 Maple Street

Kent

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

His eyes widened as he read the letter. He’d never thought he’d get into Hogwarts, not really, not when there were so many better students than him out there. Maybe it was a mistake? He crumpled up the letter and tossed it in the bin.

“What was that?” Lyall finally looked up from the parchment that was scattered on the table. The table was wooden and long, but Remus didn’t know why. They never had any guests.

Remus shook his head. “Nothing.” His voice quivered, but Lyall did not notice and simply returned to his work.

He’d never have been allowed to go anyway, he reasoned as he climbed up the stairs to the attic, which was where he lived. His condition was much too dangerous for that. No, he would have to live with his father forever and he did not know where his burden would go after his father died. Perhaps to a wife, if any woman was daft enough to marry him. None of the girls at his primary school, West Borough, liked him very much.   

The final words of Changes faded away and Remus collapsed onto his scratchy brown covers, eyes screwed tightly shut. Perhaps there was a world out there somewhere where he was normal, where he wasn’t cursed by a terrible affliction and eternal misery. These thoughts morphed into his nightly terrors where he awoke, cold and shivering, drenched in sweat and solitude. He forgot about the letter for a very long time.  

*

July

They ate in silence, like always. Lyall’s eyes were downturned whenever he spooned the tomato soup into his mouth. This was three days after the last full moon, and Remus still had a cut on his forehead that bled a little from the metal bars. Lyall had given up on bandaging every mark on Remus’ body. It was impossible to heal marks from dark creatures, so every inch of him was covered in snaking white scars. The past few months had been a soulless summer. England was full of thick heat and the dry air caused nothing but despair. His father worked late into the night, and Remus, bored out of his mind, spent his afternoons with an MP3 player and a fickle dream.    

Somebody rapped sharply on the door. Lyall’s head jerked upwards.  

“I’ll get it!” Remus said, thrilled to escape the awkward situation he found himself in daily. He swung the door open to reveal a tabby cat sitting on the front porch. Remus looked around at the neighbourhood of identical homes to find who had knocked, but the cat just strolled in.

“You can’t just do that—,” Remus squeaked, and he tried to grab the cat but withdrew in horror when he saw the cat shoot up into a human woman. Her face was tight with thin lines that implied the start of the aging process, hair tied into a bun, and she was wearing black robes lined with fur.  

“How did she—,” 

“Professor McGonogall is an animagus, Remus,” Lyall told him, finally rising from the dinner table. “Minerva. I was getting concerned my son was never going to receive his letter.”

“What’s it feel like?” Remus asked Professor McGonogall curiously. He’d never seen any magic, not properly. Since he was always shut up in his house, and only ever left for school. And even then…

“Like your entire body is being rearranged. You’re Remus Lupin,” she told him sternly.

Remus nodded and eyed her curiously. She seemed too prim for a social worker, but too regal for an auror. “Who are you?” 

“I’m the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, Professor Minerva McGonogall.” 

She turned back to Lyall. “We have not received an owl back since the letter we sent in February. I am here to gather whether your son will be attending Hogwarts come September first.”  

Lyall’s eyebrows furrowed and he finally rose from the table, letting the spoon clatter from his fingers and onto the floor. He did things like this often, his attention slipping as it did with old age. He had been fifty when Remus was born. “Letter? We haven’t received a letter.”

Remus spoke up quietly, head hanging low. “Actually, I got one in February. I thought you’d sent it by accident, or summa. Besides, I can’t go.”

“Well, why not?” asked McGonogall indignantly. “Hogwarts is open to all witches and wizards.”

At Hogwarts, you’re already accepted…

“Remus! Of course you must go,” exclaimed Lyall. “It will simply take some work.” He gave McGonagall a knowing look.

“You’d be glad to be rid of me, wouldn’t you,” Remus muttered under his breath, picking at his fingernails.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” grumbled Remus. He knew that look on his dad’s face—the same one he gave in parent teacher meetings when Remus’ test scores weren’t as good as he would’ve liked. That disappointment. 

Lyall gave Remus a warning glare. “Minerva, why don’t you sit? Would you like some tea?”

“That would be lovely, thank you. Two sugars.”  

McGonagall sat on the red couch in front of the burning fireplace, fingers interlocked and placed on her crossed knee. Remus sat opposite, looking at the ground nervously, feeling very underdressed in football shorts and a t-shirt. Lyall approached them and handed McGonagall a cup of steaming earl grey. She sipped at it tenaciously.

“I’m aware of your son’s… condition , Lyall.”

Remus wondered how she knew. 

Lyall nodded and took a breath. “It hasn’t been the easiest. For either of us. And with Hope gone…I saw nothing to do but send him to muggle school. If Hogwarts could take him in, that would mean the world to me. To us. He should be given a fair chance. None of… this was his choice. It was Greyback’s disease. Please, Minerva.” 

Fenrir Greyback was the werewolf that had bitten him.

“It’s too dangerous, Dad,” Remus argued. “I could hurt someone. Even worse—kill them! It’s too risky.”

McGonagall sighed. “Hogwarts is the finest magical institution in the United Kingdom. There is nowhere else Remus can learn to harness his magical power. You could be excellent, if you tried, you know.” This was said to Remus, and she turned back to Lyall. “We are willing to make the proper arrangements to protect Remus during the full moon. All we require is his acceptance.”

Lyall looked to Remus, pleading with him. “Think about it, Remus. This is your chance to be a normal wizard. Don’t throw it all away.”

If he stayed in Kent, at West Borough, what would happen to him? He would grow up as a muggle, miserable inside his father’s house and then eventually flee to a werewolf province, or wherever they lived. Or, he could go to Hogwarts. Maybe get really good at magic. Become a wizard, a proper wizard with magical friends like him… 

“All right. I’ll go.” 

His father grinned and there was a thin smile on McGonagall's face. “That’s wonderful to hear.”

“But you have to promise…promise that everybody will be safe. The worst thing I could ever do, my worst nightmare, is hurting someone. Or turning them. Promise that won’t happen. It can’t.”

“I will do everything in my power to ensure it won’t. It’s been lovely to meet you, Remus Lupin. And to see you again, Lyall. It will be a spectacular year.” 

And then she vanished on the spot. Remus flinched. 

“That’s apparition, Remus,” said Lyall, and he placed his hand on Remus’s shoulder, and Remus could feel the warmth spreading through him at the unfamiliar touch. “One of the many things you’ll learn at school. Hogwarts is the beginning of the rest of your life.”  

*

Remus guessed he wasn’t surprised his father sent some random Ministry witch to take him to Diagon Alley. But it still was a peculiar sight, when in a rather bureaucratic fashion, Rachel Goldstein arrived with a stack of paperwork as thick as a textbook. 

“I’m Rachel Goldstein. I’ve been sent by your father to assist you with your preparations for Hogwarts.” She shook his hand firmly. 

Remus, who was holding the door open, mouth gaping wide, asked, “Not that I don’t appreciate the help, but isn’t this a bit…excessive?” 

Rachel smiled, a smile that had likely been perfected in the Ministry break room. “Not at all, Mr Lupin. We need to ensure that every detail is properly documented. Now, let’s fill out the Magical Transportation form…”

They waded through a sea of forms, checkboxes and signatures, as if preparing for a bureaucratic war more complex than any magical spell. When they were finally done, Remus felt like he had just gone to hell and back with Rachel.

The trip itself was an adventure. Rachel insisted on stopping at every wizarding shop along the way to ensure Remus had the finest quality parchment, quills, ink, and even an extra-large cauldron suitable for brewing potion catastrophes. At one point, they got lost in the winding alleys, and Rachel insisted that they fill out a Lost Wizard Form (Form 394A).  

Rachel explained everything in painstaking detail, including the art of haggling with a disgruntled goblin, which she swore was on Form 39X. But by the end of the day, Remus had his school supplies, a lot of paperwork to recycle, and a newfound appreciation for the phrase “bureaucracy gone wild.”

“You didn’t have to work this hard, you know,” Remus said, amused, as they arrived back on Maple Street. “My father wouldn’t have noticed nor cared.” 

Rachel smiled again painfully. “The only way to move up in this world as a muggleborn is to work unnecessarily hard, isn’t it? Good afternoon, Remus, and goodbye. I hope Hogwarts finds you well.”    

And then she patted him on the back, and promptly vanished. Remus’s face brightened.

“I love magic.” 

<>

Severus Snape

August

Severus had never been to London before. He’d barely stepped foot outside of Cokeworth—Beaconsfield for a doctor’s appointment once, and even then, his father had a fit over the train fee. Although his mum seemed to know where she was going; she navigated the Piccadilly line like a champ and Severus wondered how wizards got anywhere.

“When I was a witch, getting to places was much faster than this,” his mum had said when the train was slow. “Floo and apparition and whatnot.”

“So why’d you leave?” Severus asked.

His mother sighed, and brushed his dark hair out of his eyes. “Sometimes love makes you do foolish things. Consequently, I was cast out by my family. But I stayed with Toby; that’s a strong woman. Find yourself a woman like that, Severus.”

“I’m never gonna marry,” Severus declared. His mother eyed him like she didn’t quite believe him, but he was content to stare out at the Cokeworth that was slipping away from him.

They passed book shops and music stores with loud songs on repeat, hamburger bars and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. This was just an ordinary street full of ordinary people. Could there really be piles of wizard gold buried miles beneath them? Were there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks? If Severus didn’t know better, he’d have thought that his mum was having him on, because he’d never seen her cast any spells before. He’d considered it at first, because she never even used much to defend herself from her husband. But this was too elaborate for her, and she was much too uncaring. 

His mother was nearly a mystery to him. When his father raised his hand, she cowered on the floor fearfully. But she could be cruel too; jumping on him and dragging her claws down his arms when he got spiteful. There were moments like this, when she was kind. She was only ever kind when Severus promised her magic.

Eileen was very beautiful when she was young, but as she grew older she was haggard, tired and downtrodden. Her eyes were sunken into her sickly pale skin, a certain hunch to her shoulders built by years of degradation.

“This is it,” said Eileen, coming to a halt, “the Leaky Cauldron. It’s a famous place. I used to come here all the time when I was a teenager, with my school friends.”

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Eileen hadn't pointed it out, Severus wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Severus had the most peculiar feeling that only he and his mum could see it. Before he could mention this, his mother had steered him inside. 

For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little bloke in a top hat was talking to the old barman, who was quite bald and looked like a gummy walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. And Severus realised they were not staring at him, but were instead staring at Eileen like she was a ghost.  

A barman reached for a glass and mechanically made a drink while gazing at her full of awe. “Eileen Prince. It’s been a while hasn’t it?”  

“It’s Snape now,” Eileen corrected, her grip tightening on Severus’ shoulder. “And I’m on Hogwarts business. You see, my little one…he’s a wizard.”  

Severus bristled at being called her little one, but a smile erupted on the barman’s face. “Spectacular! Severely so, considering his father…”

Severus furrowed his brow in confusion, but Eileen simply swivelled him by the shoulder and let him through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a dustbin and a few weeds.  

“People will spit on you for your blood, Severus,” Eileen told him, crouching in front of him so she was his height. “Your clothes, too, and wealth. Especially in Slytherin. But you will find there is nothing like Slytherin loyalty. You are a thousand times the wizard that they will ever be, and you surely aren’t a mudblood . Don’t forget it.”  

Slytherin loyalty? His blood? Severus’ head was swimming. Eileen, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the dustbin. 

“Three up…two across…” she muttered. “Right, stand back, Severus.” She tapped the wall three times with the point of her wand. Severus’ eyes widened—he’d never seen a magic wand before, much less his mother using it!

The brick she had touched quivered—it wriggled—in the middle, a small hole appeared—it grew wider and wider—a second later they were facing an archway that led on to a cobbled street which twisted and turned out of sight. 

“Welcome,” said Eileen, “to Diagon Alley.”

She grinned at Severus’ amazement. They stepped through the archway. Severus looked quickly over his shoulder and saw the archway shrink instantly back into a solid wall.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons—All Sizes—Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver—Self-Stirring—Collapsible said a sign hanging over them. 

“Yes, you’ll be needing one of those,” said Eileen. “But not from here. And we have to go to Gringotts first.” 

Severus wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every direction as they walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. A plump woman outside an apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, “Dragon liver, eight Sickles an ounce, they're mad…”

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Wisewings Owlery—Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown and Snowy. Several boys of about Severus’ age had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. 

“Look,” Severus heard one of them say, “the new Broomblitz ‘76—fastest ever—,”

There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Severus had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon…

Gringotts, the grand, goblin-run bank, loomed before them, a fortress of marble pillars and bronze doors. Standing beside the doors, dressed in scarlet and gold, was—,

“A goblin,” Eileen explained. The goblin bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

Enter stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn,

So if you seek beneath our floors,

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

“You’d be mad to try and rob it,” said Eileen quietly. A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins on brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. Eileen and Severus made for the counter. 

“Good morning,” Eileen said fastidiously to a free goblin. “I’m here to take some money out of the Prince family vault.”

“Do you have a key, M’am?” 

“I’ve misplaced mine, but I’m a Prince. Eileen Prince.”

The goblin ruffled through pages of parchment carefully, holding a pen between his teeth. “I’m sorry, Miss Prince, you’re forbidden access to the Prince vault by the order of Augustus Prince.” 

He did not look very sorry. Eileen’s lips thinned, and she gave Severus a conscious look. 

“In that case, I’d like to open a vault for my son, Severus. Severus Snape.”

The goblin began explaining things to Eileen and she signed several bits of parchment. She then pointed Severus to a dotted line on one document, and he signed his name, cramped and loopy: Severus Snape.

“Very well,” the goblin said, taking the document from Severus now. “I will have someone take you down to your new vault. Grizzlewort!”

Grizzlewort was yet another goblin. Once Eileen had gathered all of the parchment and carefully folded it into her bag, she and Severus followed Grizzlewort towards one of the doors leading off the hall.  

“Read your contracts,” Eileen hissed at him when Grizzlewort was safely out of earshot. He bristled.

“Do we have the quid to open a vault?” Severus asked his mother, grasping her hand tightly.

Eileen made a shh sound, brushing off his comment. “Of course we do. Things may have been tight for us recently, but we’ll always have enough. Come on.”

Grizzlewort held the door open for them. Severus, who had expected more marble, was surprised. They were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downwards and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Grizzlewort whistled and a small cast came hurtling up the tracks towards them. They climbed in, and were off. 

At first they just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages. Severus tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle form, right, left, but it was impossible. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Grizzlewort wasn’t steering. Severus immediately began to ponder how such a cart even functioned, and the magic behind it. It sure wasn’t the electricity he was used to.

Severus’ eyes stung as the cold air rushed past them, but he kept them wide open. Once, he thought he saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late—they plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

The cart stopped at last beside a small door in the passage wall, and they got out and Severus leaned against the wall to stop his knees trembling. He grit his teeth, and he was sure his face had gone green.

Grizzlewort unlocked the door. A lot of emerald smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Severus was met with the view of a quaint empty room. Grizzlewort looked at Eileen expectedly, and she bent down, pulled out a gold coin and placed it in the middle of the room. Severus couldn’t help but notice how sparse his vault looked. 

Eileen then turned to Severus as Grizzlewort closed the vault door with a series of complicated enchantments.

“The gold ones are Galleons,” she explained. “Seventeen silver Sickles to a galleon and twenty nine Knuts to a Sickle, easy enough.”

It didn’t sound easy to Severus, and they looked nothing like pounds. “How’m I supposed to tell ‘em apart if I've never seen ‘em before?” He asked honestly.  

His mother looked at him, and he could’ve sworn there was a flicker of pity on her face. “You’ll figure it out in due time. Let’s go back in this accursed cart, and don’t talk to me on the way back, it’ll be better if I keep my mouth shut.” 

*

One wild cart-ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Severus didn’t know where to go next. He wished he’d brought his Hogwarts letter—his mum had insisted they burned it, so his father wouldn’t see. But Eileen was already speeding towards a shop; Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions. 

Severus followed her, and she immediately made her way to the till where a worker with dull blonde hair tied back tightly and a badge reading Henrietta greeted them cheerfully.

“Welcome to Madam Malkin’s, where every stitch tells a tale. What can I get for you?”

“Have you got a second hand section?” Eileen asked, lowering her voice, and Severus’ cheeks flushed as he stared at the ground, embarrassed. Henrietta gave them a pitying look and hurried off to the back, returning with a long robe. She pushed Severus down onto a stool and slipped it over his head, beginning to pin it to the right length. 

“You can have my old jumpers,” Eileen promised him, brushing her fingers through his hair as Henrietta adjusted the robes. “And some Slytherin ties, I’ve got those. All you need now are trousers.”

Severus’ face burned as he tried on different pairs of shabby trousers in front of the watchful eyes of his mother and Henrietta. Finally, they exited Madam Malkin’s with a much lighter purse and a robe and pair of trousers carefully folded into a bag.

They then bought Severus’ school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather’ books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. Severus lingered for a long while in the Dark Arts section where some books screamed; some books emitted fiery shadows; some simply had pictures in them and others looked like recipe books, but his mum told him they were Potions instructions. Eileen had to drag Severus away from Curses and Counter-Curses (Bewitch your Friends and Befuddle your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and much, much more) by Professor Vindictus Viridian. In the Dark Arts section, Severus brushed a woman in purple robes with gold stars sewn on it. 

“Sorry, miss,” Severus stuttered, and she turned to look at him, a twinkle in her brown eyes.

“Don’t fret,” she smiled, holding a stack of books in her arm. “Say, are you a new student at Hogwarts?”

Severus nodded, clutching Curses and Counter-Curses to his chest tightly. “I am. I’ll be a first-year.”

“How convenient! I’m Professor Kohli. I’ll be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

“I’m Severus. Severus Snape.”  

“Excellent. I’m just picking up some books for my seventh-years. Are you a Dark Arts fanatic, much like myself? I see that Curses book you have—it’s been a great help to me over the years.”

“I reckon, yeah,” mumbled Severus. “I ain’t got much experience with the Wizarding world, but I think so.”

“Wonderful. Well, I look forward to seeing you in the school year of 1971, Severus Snape.” And she shook his hand firmly, and left.

Severus bought all of his books second hand too, but Eileen bought one of the books in the Dark Arts section for him as a treat, despite the clerk warning them that they were only to be read by students over seventeen years of age.

Next, Eileen bought Severus a pewter cauldron and they got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope. Then, they visited the apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor, jars of herbs, dried roots and bright powers lined the wall, bundles of feathers, strings of fangs and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. Outside the apothecary, Eileen said;  

“There’s just your wand left. We must spend a lot of money on a wand, Severus, at Ollivanders. It’s a very important tool for a young wizard, a wand is. One day you might learn wandless magic. But a wand will allow you to channel your magic.”

His mother led him to a narrow and shabby shop. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. 

“Do wizards believe in Jesus?” Severus asked, noting the BC.

Eileen gave him a thin smile. “Some do. Others suspect he was a wizard, like us. You needn't forget you’re Jewish, Severus. Hogwarts celebrates Christmas but you aren’t made to do the same.” 

Severus nodded. He hadn’t begun to think of religion in the wizarding world—of course wizards didn’t believe in a god! They were magic! He didn’t know whether to continue following Judaism. He was Jewish from both his parents’ sides, but the faith was carried down by his father, and they went to synagogue most Sundays. When his father wasn’t drinking.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single spindly chair which Eileen sat on to wait. Severus felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

“Good afternoon,” said a soft voice. Severus jumped.  

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

“Hullo,” said Severus awkwardly.

“Ah yes,” said the man. Severus then realised he wasn’t talking to him, but in fact, to his mother. “Eileen Prince. It seems only yesterday you were in here yourself, buying your first wand. Eleven and a half inches long, ebony wood, dragon heartstring, flexible. Excellent for potions incantations, wasn’t it?” 

“It was, yes,” said Eileen.

”Well, now—mister—?”

“Snape,” Severus said sullenly.   

“Mister Snape.” He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. “Which is your wand arm?”

“Er—well, I’m right-handed,” said Severus.

“Hold out your arm. That’s it.” He measured Severus from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, “Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Snape. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers and heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand.”

Severus suddenly realised that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

“This will do,” he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. “Right then, Mr Snape. Try this one. Mahogany and unicorn hair. Eight inches. Give it a wave.” 

Severus took a wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once. 

“Willow and dragon heartstring. Eleven inches. Quite whippy. Try—,”

Severus tried—but he had hardly raised the wand  when it, too, was snatched back by Mr Ollivander.

“No, no—here, oak and phoenix feather, nine and a quarter inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out.”

Severus tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

“Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere—I wonder, now—yes, why not—a solid combination—twelve inches, allowing for a wide range of motion, blackthorn wood, snake carvings and a unicorn hair core. Go on, try it.” 

Severus took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised his wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of green and silver sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots light onto the walls. Eileen whooped and clapped and Mr Ollivander cried, “Oh bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well…how curious…how very curious…”

He put Severus’ wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, “Curious, curious…”

“Sorry,” said Severus, “but what’s curious?” 

“Well, you see, I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr Snape. Every single wand. And it just so happens that this wand is specially suited to the dark arts, but I sold one just a few weeks ago to a boy your age going to Hogwarts this year with a core from the very same unicorn. But his, oh yes it was, it was made from cypress…a strong and light wood, so his wand was better suited to the defensive aspect of the dark arts.”

Severus swallowed.

Eileen shook her head at him tirelessly, and paid seven gold Galleons for his wand then Mr Ollivander bowed them from his shop.

*

The late-afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Severus and Eileen made their way back to Spinner’s End. Severus was sure they looked utterly funny; laden in weirdly shaped packages all over. They reached their front door and Severus asked;

“Could I meet Lily please?” 

Eileen groaned, but there was softness in her eyes. “All right. Be home by eight.” And she took his packages and he sped through the streets of Spinner’s End to the much nicer part of Cokeworth. He came to stop in front of a fairly large white house.

Severus knocked carefully on the front door. To his dismay, it was a pointy-faced girl who opened it, with brown hair reaching down her back.

Petunia, Lily’s awful sister, glared at him. “What are you doing here, Snape?”

“I wanna have a word with Lily.” 

“She doesn’t want to talk to you,” and she began to close the mahogany door.

Severus opened his mouth with a retort prepared to fire, but Lily had already begun to make her way down the stairs.

“Tuney, what are you—Oh!” Her green eyes widened and she grinned at him. “Sev!” She plonked down the steps, her flowery dress fluttering.

“Tuney! Did you try to make Sev go away?” Lily accused. Petunia’s face screwed up sourly.

“ Mum! She’s got that awful boy over again! ”  

Lily giggled, and shut the door behind her, grabbing Severus’ hand and leading him to the river. They sat down in the grassy bit beside it, legs crossed, the creek bubbling. 

 She leaned towards him and whispered, “Go on. Tell me what it was like. The wizarding world.” 

Severus brightened. “It’s magical. I’ve got a wand—look!” He withdrew it from his pocket and Lily stared at it wondrously. 

“Can I hold it?”

“‘Course, Lily.” She reached out and held it in her hands.

Severus blushed. “I’ve also got a bunch of books, and potions ingredients. Plus new robes…Diagon Alley was really cool.”

She returned the wand to him. “Professor Dumbledore is supposed to take my family and I to Diagon Alley next weekend. I’m going to be so behind when I first arrive. I wish I’d been born a witch.”

“We’re in the same boat,” Severus told her. “I didn’t know about magic ‘till I was nine either, and as long as we work hard, we’ll keep up.”

“So it really won’t make a difference if I’m a muggleborn?”

Severus groaned despondently, and looked out at the grimy river that separated the two banks. “Lily , you’ve asked me this before and I’ll say it again. Everybody’s going to see how bright of a witch you are and fall over their feet for you. Don’t worry.” 

She grinned and leaned back on her elbows. “That’s all I needed to hear, really. The comforts of my best friend Sev for the school year. Year seven! What a number!”

“They call it first-year,” Severus said importantly. “Because it’s in Scotland.”

Truthfully, Severus did not know why wizards called it that, but Lily was squeaking with laughter beside him, and the sun was shining, so he lay there beside her, content to die and be with her forever.

<>

James Potter

September

“Mum! Where’s my broom gone?” A young James Potter called from the top of a winding set of stairs. His eyes were alight with an unseen thrill, body alive with youthful excitement. He leapt down, thumping each step as he went. “I’ve packed it three times and it just keeps disappearing!”

“That’s because you aren’t allowed to have a broom at Hogwarts as a first year, love,” Euphemia Potter told him sternly, but there was a certain twinkle in her eye that told him she wasn’t really angry. His parents never got angry with him, and wasn’t that a delight? “Minny would have your head, and then mine.”

“But Dad! How am I supposed to practise if I want to thrash the Slytherins at Quidditch next year?”

“Listen to your mother.” Fleamont planted two kisses on Effie’s cheeks to which she giggled. “Look, James, I’ll give you five galleons for the train ride. Enough?”

James Potter grumbled as he stuffed the gold coins in his pocket, but he wasn’t serious. 

Fleamont’s heart ached as James looked up at him, a spitting image of his father with wild, unruly curls and bright blue eyes sheltered by circular spectacles. They’d been lucky to have a son at all, luckier to have such an angel. The medi-witches at St Mungo’s had been so apologetic when they delivered the news that Monty was likely infertile–damn those Potter genes–but only ten months later, a baby boy was being rocked in Euphemia’s arms, Fleamont hovering fondly. 

They apparated to King’s Cross, and they’d just passed through Platform 9 ¾ when it was time to say goodbye.

“Oh, I can’t believe my little boy is going to Hogwarts!” Euphemia echoed Fleamont’s thoughts and squeezed James’ cheeks. “He’s going to be so popular…”

“Stop it Mum, you’re embarrassing me,” James groaned, lugging his trunk on his back. “No, don’t—,” 

But his mum had already gotten a sloppy kiss on his forehead. Fleamont heartily chuckled and patted him on the back, understanding the struggles of a young boy surrounded by his peers. He remembered being that young, once–so oblivious, filled with elation. 

“Monty, there’s the Blacks,” Euphemia harshly whispered. “I didn’t know they had a son in James’ year.”

Animatedly chatting to his parents with a glint in his eye was a young Sirius Black, straight black hair brushing his shoulders and a spring in his step not dissimilar to James’. The Potters eyed them curiously, watching as the young Regulus grappled onto his mother’s hand quietly. His hair was curly like James’, but it sat perfectly on his head, not one strand out of place. 

“If I have to tell you one thing, James, it is to never judge a book by its cover. But that is a Slytherin through and through.” 

“Monty!” Euphemia exclaimed as Fleamont spluttered defending himself. “What if James is Sorted into Slytherin?”

“Let’s be straight, Effie. James has got Gryffindor written all over him, with the heart to match it.”

“And an ego the size of a lake,” went unsaid. 

In the kerfuffle, they didn’t notice James slipping away and sneaking onto the train. They turned around in shock, and strangely, Sirius Black had disappeared too.  

“We’re good parents, aren’t we?” Euphemia turned to Monty, her eyes creasing in concern for him. “He’ll do well at Hogwarts. Our little boy.”

Monty laughed and kissed her. “We are the best James will ever know.”

<>

Sirius Black

Sirius Black’s first step onto the Hogwarts Express was like crossing a threshold into a world of enchantment. The platform bustled with a frenetic energy, a symphony of laughter, the hiss of steam, and the chatter of black-cloaked students in ties of ranging colours bidding goodbye to their families. Amongst the crowd, his attention was quickly seized by the Prewett twins, Gideon and Fabian, who sent a whirlwind of feathers cascading over unsuspecting first-years. His fascination deepened as he watched their gleeful antics, a grin tugging at his lips. Something warmed Sirius' heart as he saw them. He’d never seen two brothers be inseparable like that. He wasn’t the same with Reggie. Reggie, who was just a bit uglier than him, just that bit slower on his feet, and dumber in the head. Reggie was second best.

As the twins' shenanigans continued, another voice cut through the hubbub, reaching Sirius' ears.     

“You must be Sirius Black!” The voice belonged to a boy with tousled hair and an audacious smile that matched the boldness of his entrance. James Potter's energy was infectious, an instant connection igniting between them. “I’m Potter. James Potter.” 

“Sirius Black, and the pleasure’s mine!" Sirius responded with a grin, the beginnings of a friendship shimmering in their exchanged glances. Sirius reached his hand out to shake it like his parents had taught him, but James looked at it incredulously.

“Your parents aren’t holding a wand to your neck here, mate. Look, let’s find a carriage, and then I’ll harass you for your thoughts on Quidditch. There’s a free one down there. Splendid.” 

It wasn't long before they stumbled upon a compartment bathed in golden afternoon light. Inside, two figures sat close together. Lily Evans, with bright red hair and lime green eyes, dozens of freckles splashed across her creamy skin. And beside her, his knee brushing hers, was Severus Snape, hunched over, eyes sallow and dark like midnight, nose crooked and hair curly, reaching his shoulders. 

As James and Sirius entered, Lily and Severus shared a few quiet words. Sirius' curiosity was piqued, his gaze shifting between them. Neither said a word as James and Sirius put their trunks down and sat opposite them. James immediately turned to Sirius, pushing his round spectacles back up his nose.  

“I was listening to the radio yesterday only to hear commentary from the Chudley Cannons match on Saturday. What a loss!”

Sirius made a noise, and James glanced at him. “Go on, don’t tell me you’re a fan.” 

He laughed, running a hand through his gleaming hair. “Merlin, no. Wasps all the way.”

“The Wimbourne Wasps? That’s almost as bad as the Cannons! I’m a Puddlemere lad, myself.”

“Puddlemere? Beveridge is such an awful seeker. Remember last year when he tried a Wronski Feint and broke his nose on the floor? I’m surprised he’s not off the team.” 

James opened his mouth to retort something about Beveridge, but at that moment, they noticed the red-haired girl sobbing in the seats opposite them, the boy with his hand on her shoulder to comfort her. 

“But we’re going!” He said, unable to suppress the exhilaration in his voice. “This is it! We’re off to Hogwarts!”

She nodded, mopping her eyes, but in spite of herself, she half smiled.

“You’d better be in Slytherin,” said Snape, encouraged that she had brightened a little. 

“Slytherin?”

The word almost immediately piqued James’ interest, who looked around at them curiously; black-haired like Snape, but with that undefinable air of having been well cared for, even adored, that Snape so conspicuously lacked.

“Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?” James asked Sirius, who was lounging on the seats opposite him. Sirius did not smile.

“My whole family have been in Slytherin,” he said. 

“Blimey,” said James, “and I thought you seemed all right!”

Sirius grinned. “Maybe I'll break the tradition. Where are you heading, if you've got the choice?”

James lifted an invisible sword. “‘Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!’ Like my dad.”

Snape made a small, disparaging noise. 

James turned on him. “Got a problem with that?”

“No,” said Snape, though his slight sneer said otherwise. “If you’d rather be brawny than brainy—,”

“Where're you hoping to go, seeing as you're neither?” interjected Sirius, a smirk on his face. James roared with laughter. Lily sat up, rather flushed, and looked from James to Sirius in dislike.

“Come on, Severus, let's find another compartment.”

“Oooooo…” James and Sirius imitated her lofty voice; James tried to trip Snape as he passed.

“See ya, Snivellus!” a voice called, as the compartment door slammed. Severus’ cheeks were red as he left, and he skulked through the corridor looking even smaller, clinging to Lily’s side, her mouth twisted into a frown. Severus had to fight the urge in him to shrivel.

As the Hogwarts Express rumbled onward, carrying them through a landscape of ever-changing views, the two boys settled into their space, laughter filling the carriage. In this space between worlds, the journey was only just beginning, and as Sirius leaned back against the cushioned seat, he couldn't help but feel the electric charge of the unknown. This was life before life began; this was brotherhood.

<>

Remus Lupin

Remus Lupin privately thought the whole Sorting Hat fiasco was utterly droll. But there was no mistaking the looks of awe on all of the first years as they entered the Great Hall. On the train he’d sat with some other first years who shivered the whole way there, and in low tones like telling ghost stories, they’d spun tales of School Houses and Points and ghosts to Remus. The sky was alight with stars and crackles of lightning, candles hung from the ceiling by invisible string. 

There was a ripple of thrilling conversation from student to student as they settled into their seats. The first-years as led by Professor McGonogall gathered in the middle of the hall.

A bloke with a walrus-like moustache, a toupee and uncomfortably beady eyes stood at the front of the hall, and introduced himself as Horace Slughorn. Remus’ mind wandered off as he gave them a speech that was nothing short of boring. He began reading out names from a scroll of parchment and a stool was presented to them: McGonogal held a patchy hat.

“Avery, Alistair?” 

A short, straw-haired boy who was almost shaking with fear sat on a wooden stool, and a shabby witch’s hat was put on his head. Barely a moment passed before;

“ Slytherin!”

The boy sighed in relief as cheers came from the table dressed in green. His tie turned green immediately and he happily skipped to his place on the long table.

“Avery, Astrid?’

A pale blonde girl who was the spitting image of Alistair strolled confidently to the stool. The hat barely brushed her head when it shouted;

“Slytherin!”

“Black, Sirius?”

After four minutes of careful contemplation, the hat shouted;

“Gryffindor!” 

The entire hall seemed to hold its breath. The Slytherin table in particular was gasping, mouths agape. After a moment hung still, the Gryffindor table rumbled with applause. The sorting went quickly from then on.

“Burbage, Charity.”

“Hufflepuff!” 

“Evans, Lily!”

“Gryffindor!”  

A black-haired boy with a hooked nose looked distraught at that. Remus was starting to feel definitely sick now. He remembered being picked for teams during sports lessons at his old school. He had always been last to be chosen, not because he was unpopular, but because he was so frail. And then, it was Remus’ turn. He was almost skulking as he got up on the stage. Suddenly he felt a very real fear; that he was not going to be sorted because he was a werewolf.

Remus Lupin stood at the front of the Great Hall, his heart pounding. The Sorting Hat was placed atop his head, its ancient fabric brushing against his forehead. Around him, the whispers and hushed conversations of his peers were like a distant murmur. 

“Ah, a challenging case indeed,” mused the Sorting Hat within Remus' thoughts. “Bravery, intelligence, and a touch of cunning too. Where shall I place you?”  

He felt his palms grow slightly sweaty as the Sorting Hat continued its deliberation.

"You have the spirit of a Gryffindor," the Sorting Hat began. “The courage to face adversity head-on, the loyalty that runs deep within you...but there's something more. A keen intellect, a thirst for knowledge, and an understanding of the complexity of human nature.”

Remus closed his eyes, his mind racing as he considered the Sorting Hat's words. The tension was palpable, the weight of his hopes and dreams resting on the Hat’s decision.

“However,” the Sorting Hat continued, “there is wisdom in you, a quiet strength that transcends house boundaries. You could thrive in Ravenclaw, with its emphasis on learning, or perhaps in Hufflepuff, where hard work and fairness are cherished.”

A shiver of uncertainty ran down Remus' spine. He didn’t think he was hard-working, or bright. He had missed so much primary school that he was failing almost everything. Remus remembered Mrs Gringe’s smirks when Remus blundered over his words or fumbled with multiplication. He supposed he would do well in Slytherin—cunning wasn’t a trait you had to work for. 

“But ultimately,” the Sorting Hat declared, its tone firm, “I sense that your heart yearns for bravery. Not just the kind that comes from action, but the courage to face your own challenges, to overcome adversity with resilience. It is in Gryffindor that your spirit will shine brightest.”

The Sorting Hat's words lingered in the air, a defining moment suspended in time. Then, with a sense of conviction, it proclaimed, “ Gryffindor!”

A wave of relief and exhilaration surged through Remus as the Sorting Hat was lifted from his head. The Gryffindor table erupted into cheers, welcoming him with open arms. Remus moved to join them, a mixture of emotions coursing through him as he took his place among his new housemates.

“We got Lupin!” shouted a red-haired twin, patting him on the back and Remus grinned, and sat beside Sirius Black who tossed him a smile with uneasiness behind his eyes.

“I’m Gideon.”

“I’m Fabian.”

And in unison: “Welcome to Gryffindor!”

Slughorn declared;

“Mulciber, Bruce!”  

“ Slytherin !” 

Now Remus was at their table, he could hear Gryffindor groaning every time a Slytherin was sorted. Those murmurs; of conniving snakes and blood supremacists. Remus felt a rush of relief that he wasn’t a Slytherin now—Gryffindor seemed the place to be.

“Pritchard, Margot!”   

A bird with wavy brown hair skipped up to the stool and was nearly immediately placed into Slytherin the moment the hat brushed her head. She shimmered with pride as she made her way to her table, but the Slytherin table didn’t seem quite as happy. Was she muggleborn?

“Potter, James!”

His sorting was almost as quick as Pritchard’s. “Gryffindor.” He sat beside Remus and wiggled his eyebrows at him, and then at Lily Evans who rolled her eyes. Sinestra was a Ravenclaw, and then a few Remus couldn’t bring himself to care about. Finally, Severus Snape was put in Slytherin— ‘boo!’ he could hear James and Sirius say—and 8then strangely, the Sorting Hat began to sing. 

“Blimey, the Sorting Hat’s song, I’ve heard stories about this,” Potter whispered.

“I’ve heard it’s ridiculous,” came from a mousy bloke opposite Remus. 

“Same here,” said Black.

In the halls of Hogwarts, where magic intertwines,

I'm the ancient Sorting Hat, with tales through the times.

Four houses stand strong, each with its own grace,

Bravery, wisdom, loyalty, and a clever mind's embrace.

Oh, listen close, young witches and wizards dear,

For I'm the Sorting Hat, and I'm here to steer.

Into Gryffindor's courage, you'll find your home,

Or perhaps Hufflepuff's warmth where friendships roam.

In Ravenclaw's tower, intellect will soar,

While Slytherin's ambition opens paths to explore.

I'll read your thoughts and dreams, the essence of your soul,

To place you where you'll thrive and find your role.

Hear the echoes of those who've come before,

In these ancient walls where magic's at its core.

Embrace your house's values, let your heart be your guide,

For unity and strength, within Hogwarts' walls reside.

Cherish the bonds you make, the lessons that you learn,

In this enchanting journey, there's so much to discern.

So wear me proudly, let your house colours fly,

For in Hogwarts' embrace, you'll spread your wings and fly. 

The hat hushed as Professor Dumbledore, the man who his father praised so intently, stood at the golden podium and waved his hands. He seemed to be wearing a shabby nightgown, a bird on his shoulder, and his brown beard was sprinkled with flecks of silver and grey.

“Welcome, students old and new, to another year at Hogwarts.” Dumbledore spoke each letter like it was a symphony.

“That’s someone’s great grandad in his pyjamas in front of a bunch of eleven year old kids?” Remus murmured to no one in particular. “Bit noncy, innit?” 

“That’s Dumbledore, mate,” James justified. “He’s brilliant and barmy all in one.”

Remus shrugged. “If you say so.”   

In the majestic expanse of the Great Hall, its high ceilings adorned with floating candles and an enchanted night sky, Dumbledore's voice rang out.

“I am Professor Dumbledore. The walls of this ancient castle have witnessed the triumphs of generations past, and now it is your turn to leave your mark on this hallowed institution.

“Remember, magic is not just about waving wands and reciting incantations. It's about the choices we make, the kindness we show, and the empathy we extend to those around us. The power of magic comes not only from our abilities but from the intentions that drive them. As you learn to master spells and potions, I urge you to also master the art of compassion and understanding.” Dumbledore's tone was one of patient wisdom, as though he was sharing a well-kept secret. Remus nodded in agreement, his mind wandering to the nights he had spent thinking about magic under his ratty bedsheets; dreaming of when his life would finally begin. 

As Dumbledore's words flowed, Remus couldn't help but steal glances at his fellow students. Their expressions varied from wide-eyed wonder to quiet contemplation, each individual rapt in their own head.

“In the coming years, you will learn to harness the energies of the mystical world around us. You will explore the depths of ancient knowledge in our library, uncover the spells our professors will teach you. I doubt I will ever know all of the secrets that lie between these walls. But always remember, knowledge is a treasure, and the true magic is in how you use it to better yourself and the world.” Dumbledore paused his speech, and looked at everybody in the hall, eyes twinkling, and warmth washed over Remus’ body. 

“Hogwarts is not merely a place of learning; it is a sanctuary of growth, where friendships are formed, and dreams take flight. As the new year unfolds, let us embrace the challenges and opportunities that come our way. Let us continue to stand united against the forces of darkness, for it is in unity that we find our greatest strength.”

“So, to all of you embarking on this new chapter, whether it's your first or your final year, I implore you to approach each day with courage, curiosity, and an open heart. The future is uncertain, but with the skills you will gain here and the support of your fellow wizards and witches, I am confident that you will shape a world that is brighter and more magical than ever before.” 

Dumbledore's speech drew to a close, but its impact lingered in the air. Remus's heart swelled with determination at the promise that he would be treated just like any other student, no matter what came to pass. 

“On that note, our caretaker, Mr Pringle has asked me to remind you again that the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds for all students, unless you wish to die a very grisly death.”

Remus shuddered and looked to see a grimy man holding a cat the colour of squash grimacing on his face by the doors. Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Prewett twins.

“I have also been asked by Mr Pringle to remind you that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch tries will also be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact their heads of houses and in turn, our flying professor, Sir Thistlewood.”

“…and this year, I am pleased to welcome a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Parishi Kohli.” 

An Indian woman dressed in shimmering purple robes with a white scar snaking across her face smiled at that and raised a hand as there was a rumble of applause. Almost instinctively, Remus reached for his scar that had faded now, on his forehead. 

“Fawkes, if you please.”  

Fawkes, a phoenix that was previously perched on Dumbledore’s shoulder, let out a melodious song. 

“Let the feast begin!”

Stacks of food materialised on golden plates and the students began to tuck in. Remus immediately poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice. Remus caught Professor McGonogall’s eye at the grand doors of the hall as he drank from it and almost choked. He’d forgotten! He ought to meet her in the Gryffindor office.

“Catch you later,” Remus said to Sirius, grabbing a leg of chicken from the Gryffindor table. “McGonagall needs me.”

“Where are you going?” Sirius asked, sat at the table regally, napkin on his knees and fork in hand.

“Not in trouble already?” teased James, pushing his round spectacles back up his nose. “And I thought I held that record when the Trolley Witch scolded me for enchanting a chocolate frog to do ballet on a Slytherin’s head ten minutes after getting on the train.”

“Charmwork like that, Flitwick will love you,” chuckled Peter, face round and ruddy.

Remus shrugged, already halfway through the hall. “Routine check-up,” he shouted over the crowd. Marlene sent him a scornful look and turned back to Lily and Mary. He rolled his eyes. 

“Lupin,” Professor McGonogall said as she welcomed him into her office. “Lemon drop?”

“No thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” She folded her fingers over each other, resting her chin on her hands, and looked at him sternly. “Do you know what house your father was in?”

“Dunno. Slytherin, I reckon.” Lyall Lupin worked at the Ministry into the dark hours of the night, and so Remus didn’t see him much. When they talked, Lyall averted his eyes in fear of seeing his greatest mistake. Two weeks before Remus’ fifth birthday, the infamous werewolf Fenrir Greyback took revenge on Lyall for his anti-werewolf sentiments by biting his son. While Lyall had saved Remus from death, he had never behaved quite the same around him again and his disease had torn apart his family—his mother fleeing back to the muggle world. Sometimes, Remus was surprised his father hadn’t turned him into the Werewolf Registry and stuck him in an orphanage. He still quivered when he saw that white orb in the sky. It seemed to be an awfully Slytherin trait to shunt your own flesh and blood.

“Gryffindor actually.”  

“Right.”

She stared at him again. “Your…arrangements have been discussed with both Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey. You’ll be taken to a safe area every full moon for your transformation. The Shrieking Shack, it is called, and should ward off any… curious souls.” 

Remus shivered, thinking of the cage his father put him in every month. He knew he was loved, if only by his estranged muggle mother, but his condition had left him lonely his entire childhood. He never remembered full moons, but he could recall scratching at the bars, could see bites and scars littering his body.

“As your Head of House, I have taken a special interest in your case, Lupin. I do not believe somebody should be ostracised from society for a condition one cannot control. It will be difficult, however. And I emphasise that you must keep this your deepest secret. For your safety.”

“I know that.”

There was a thin smile on her face. “Humanity will always fear what is different. To live in a world of equality and dignity for all, we will have to change laws and policies; we will also have to change hearts and minds. If you cannot build a world for yourself, do it for your children. You are not alone in this. Trust me.”

I’m not going to have children, he thought. Remus nodded awkwardly. “Can I go now? I’d like to catch the end of the feast.”

“Certainly,” McGonogall said, and Remus fled back to the Great Hall, elated with the promise of a stainless future. This was his chance to be normal. He just had to take it.

<>

Severus Snape

A sense of disgust travelled through Severus Snape’s body as he saw the amount of food laid out on the table in front of him.

In his childhood, his mother had told him to always eat what was on offer, and then keep some in his pocket for later. Almost religiously, he began to do just that, piling his golden plate high with bits of chicken. He was still thrilled whenever he caught sight of the colours green and silver as the Bloody Baron moped about. His mother would be proud of him, he thought. He’d have to make sure he owled tonight and recounted what Hogwarts was like.

“Have you never had a meal in your life?” A brown-haired girl with perfect eyebrows said. “Or is it just tonight you’re stuffing yourself.” 

Severus turned away from her with a dirty look and continued chewing on some chicken. Dark hair fell over his forehead. 

“Look, I didn’t mean it like that,” she restarted. “My name’s Margot Pritchard. I’m new to all of this. You see—I’m a Muggleborn.”

His gaze turned dirtier, and he turned to focus on the other Slytherin first years as Pritchard blabbered beside him. He couldn’t help but feel resentful at the thought of Lily in his rival house. He looked at her, hair sparkling red, chatting with another brown-skinned Gryffindor bird airily. Severus turned back to his plate, and surveyed the other students. 

Mulciber had dark skin and thick, curly hair spiking up haphazardly. His deep gold eyes were flecked with green and he was discussing something posh with the pale Avery. Both Purebloods. He kept to himself for that meal, unwilling to bring up bad blood like the Potter and Black had with him. Severus had never been a social butterfly. He could recall girls crying in nursery when he’d just said what he’d been thinking. It was like accidental magic. It just exploded out when he didn’t want it to.  

On the other end, there was an older boy, perhaps in third year, with white-blonde hair and a pompous drawl as he chatted to the other students. A dark-haired pale girl watched him, enraptured, features soft and striking. 

“Who’s that?” Severus asked another first-year, referring to the dark-haired girl.

“That’s Narcissa Black of course!” exclaimed Wilkes. “As beautiful as she is narcissistic, you don’t want to cross her.” 

Narcissa laughed at the boy, a glint in her dark eyes. Severus felt a chill and sheepishly returned his gaze to his gleaming plate.  

The feast passed quickly. Severus stuffed a pumpkin pasty in a napkin and then in his pocket, and he was eager to get to sleep that night. He felt a thrill shoot through his body at the thought of his first lessons the next morning. 

“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” cried Dumbledore. Severus noticed that the other teachers’ smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick as if he was trying to get a fly off the end and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself snake-like into words.

“Everyone, pick their favourite tune,” said Dumbledore. “and off we go!”

And the school bellowed:

‘Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald,

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling,

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we’ve forgot,

Just do your best, we’ll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot.’

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only Rodolphus Lestrange was left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted his last few lines with his wand, and when he had finished—Severus could hear Avery murmur ‘ Rodoltus’— Dumbledore was one of the ones who clapped the loudest. 

“Ah, music,” he said, wiping his eyes. “A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”

The Slytherin first years followed Tarquinius Travers and Gwyneth Abbott, fifth-year prefects, through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, down the marble staircase and to the dungeons. Severus was on high alert and noticed that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice Travers and Abbott led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. He was just wondering how much further they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of fencing swords was floating in midair ahead of them and Travers took a step towards them and they started throwing themselves at him.

“Peeves,” Travers whispered to the first-years. “A poltergeist.” He raised his voice. “Peeves—show yourself.” 

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.

“Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?” 

There was a pop and a little man with wicked dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the swords.

“Ooooooooh!” he said, with an evil cackle. “Ickle firsties! What fun!”

He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked. 

“Go away Peeves, or the Baron will hear about this, I mean it!” barked Abbott. 

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the swords on Wilkes’ head who batted them away. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armour as he passed.

“You want to watch out for Peeves,” said Travers, as they set off again. “The Bloody Baron’s the only one who can control him, and the Baron barely even listens to us Slytherins as is. Here we are.” 

Severus looked around confused; they had just stopped at a stretch of stone, but Travers looked at them all and said, “Serpentine.” 

The slab of stone suddenly vanished, revealing a square entrance into the Slytherin common room. They all clambered through the hole—Avery needed a leg up.

“Wicked,” murmured Severus. 

His heart raced as he followed Travers and Abbott, eyes darting around the Slytherin common room. The walls were dank, lights green, and there was a low fire burning to distract from the lake’s chill. Tapestries adorned the walls with stitched images of past Slytherins. There was a particular one of Merlin, beard white and tie green, and Severus could not tear his eyes away. 

I’m going to be the greatest, most powerful Slytherin the world has ever known, Severus thought to himself. And damn everybody that says otherwise!

“Welcome to the Slytherin common room, first-years. This is where you’ll spend your free time or study, if you’re not a fan of the library. Make sure to keep quiet, especially when the older years are around. Hierarchy is the staple of the Slytherin house.” 

“Who should we look out for?” Pritchard called out, laughter rippling through the first-years and even Travers seemed amused. Severus felt a slight chill at this—all the purebloods had known each other from birth and he was at a disadvantage. As much as Dumbledore liked to pretend, muggle born and raised students were automatically on uneven footing when coming to Hogwarts. Watch out for members of the Sacred 28, he told himself. The Sacred 28 were a group of the purest pureblood families in all of England, and his mother had once been one of them, money at her fingertips whenever she pleased. He ran through those surnames in his mind.

“Fair enough. Narcissa Black, Zabini and Malfoy—they’re only third-years, but they’re haughty and even give me chills. Black and Malfoy are the third-year prefects, but they have a lot less responsibility than fifth and sixth years.  And then Bellatrix, of course, is a good one to keep an eye on. I see we’ve another Black in your year—well it’s Sirius, but no Gryffindor can be much of a Black.”  

There were light titters spreading throughout the crowd.

Severus snorted. Admitting weakness to a bunch of first-years? It was no wonder Travers wasn’t placed in Ravenclaw.

“Care to repeat that, firstie?” Abbott said coolly. Severus pursed his lips.

“The Carrows—they’re twins in seventh year, cursed Suo ferociously for dropping a mug on Amycus’ toes. In Slytherin, respect and reputation are important. Don’t forget it. But if you keep to our values, you’ll find your true friends.” 

Abbott gestured towards the girls, blonde ringlets of hair tumbling down her back. She was tall—scarily so, towering above all of them with ease. “Girls, with me to your dorms on the right. Lads to the left. No funny business, the wards are set to detect that stuff. Don’t bother trying to get past them, it’s all been done before, trust me.” Travers winked at her and she turned red. “ Trust me.”

Travers led the first year boys to their dorm. The room was circular, five identical beds draped in green had their trunks already beside them. Severus spotted his battered trunk with a black Batman sticker on it, and bit his lip in frustration. Bollocks . He’d thought he could hide it when he unpacked his things. He could only hope they wouldn’t recognise Batman for what he was—a muggle in a fashionable cape.

They quickly departed to their own beds. He unpacked his things and sat down on his bed, drawing the curtains around him. He didn’t have much to bring, after all. His robes—which he folded carefully as he could only afford one pair—some threadbare clothes that used to belong to his mother and basic necessities. He scratched off the sticker while he was at it too, and stuck it on his bedpost where the others couldn’t see. Severus sighed at the sight of the flowery blouses he was damned to wear until his father got a promotion. His school books were tucked under his bed, and Severus made a mental note to visit the library and find a book on magical wards. He then thumbed open The Book of Potions 3, blocking out the introductory murmurs from his roommates, and began to frantically read it, scribbling between the lines with cramped handwriting. He was just in the middle of annotating the Pepper-Up Potion—really, why stir clockwise—when Mulciber drew open his curtains and sat himself down on his bed with the audacity of James Potter, or perhaps a very hungry lion. 

Severus looked up at him dangerously, flipping the book shut. “Yes?”

“I’m Bruce Mulciber.” Severus scoffed at that. He knew who Mulciber was. 

“Snape,” he said curtly, returning his gaze to the textbook.

“That’s not a wizarding surname.” Severus did not answer him. 

“What are you writing?” He tried again. Severus ignored him until he snatched the book in his large hands. 

“Book of Potions 3? That’s third-year work!” Avery with tousled sandy hair and Wilkes, flicking his blonde curls, had now gathered behind Mulciber curiously. 

“Ever heard of reading ahead? Let go of my things!” Snape swiped at Mulciber, but it was useless. 

“Stir eight times anti-clockwise—this is brilliant. I know who’s going to raise my Potions marks this year.”

“Absolutely not.” There was a tremor in Severus’ tone.

“Blimey, you’re randy, mudblood ,” said Avery, who had snatched the textbook out of Mulciber’s hands and was flicking through it carelessly.

“I’m a Half-Blood.” Snape finally reached out and grabbed the textbook from Avery who promptly breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Circe, I was terrified of sharing a dorm with a full mudblood. At least you’re only a bit of a muggle-lover.”  

“I hate my Muggle father! Don’t go around puttin’ words in my mouth.”

“Then your impurity can be excused,” said Wilkes with his blonde waves, and Severus saw his lip curl and he knew that his impurity was most certainly not forgotten, and would be thrown in his face in a cruel word beginning with ‘M’ the minute he began to antagonise them.

Severus pointedly glared at them all, and then drew the drapes back on himself. With a lumos he continued his annotations while chewing on a pasty, as his roommates chatted all through the night. 

*

Name:__________Eileen Snape,_________

Address Line: _______13 Spinner’s End, Cokeworth._________

Dear Mum,

I’ve been Sorted into Slytherin as expected, and I’m able to use your old jumpers. I’m not sure how to Owl a Muggle residency so I’ll send it by the normal post if I can to stop Dad going mental. My fellow first years are as follows: Avery, Mulciber, Wilkes, a twin sister Avery, Pritchard, Cadge, and Bulstrode. The fifth-year prefects are Travers and Abbott. I met my Head of House, Professor Slughorn. He teaches Potions.  

Lily is in Gryffindor—I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised, but Ravenclaw also seemed a possible contender. We’ll still be mates, I swear. If my father starts anything, write to me. I promise, when I’m outta Hogwarts, we’ll run away and he’ll never lay a hand on us again. I won’t let him get the chance.

Sincerely,

Severus Snape

<>

Lily Evans

“Are there really werewolves in the Forbidden Forest?” Mary McDonald said, sceptical as the Gryffindor first year girls ascended the stairs to their dormitory. 

“Oh, yes, there are,” Marlene nodded importantly. “And spiders and pixies and centaurs. There’s all sorts of dark creatures.”

“What about Dementors?” Lily asked curiously. “I’ve heard about Dementors from my best friend, Snape.” 

“They’re these lifeless creatures that guard Azkaban, our prison. Professor Dumbledore would never let them on school grounds.” Lily privately thought Marlene was getting too much self-esteem when surrounded by muggleborns. The other pureblood girl, Alice Fortescue, hadn’t uttered a word yet.

“Snape? Is he in our house?” Mary asked. Lily laughed, and tucked a lock of scarlet hair behind her ear.

“God no, I think he would’ve sobbed if he was in Gryffindor. He’s in Slytherin.”

Marlene suddenly stopped at the top of the red, carpeted stairs, looking at her almost fearfully. “Lily. Are you sure you can trust him?” 

Lily was taken aback and she narrowed her eyes at Marlene, whose shaggy blond hair stuck up in a multitude of directions. “What do you mean? Because if you’re trying to insult him, I won’t take that lightly.”

“I like you, Lily, which is why I’m telling you this. Not one wizard who went bad wasn’t in Slytherin. Grindelwald, Morgan le Fay, Salazar Slytherin himself! You…” Marlene suddenly looked very furvitive. “You-Know-Who is a Slytherin…” 

“Grindelwald was at Durmstrang, actually,” Alice piped up. She looked very nervous when all eyes were on her. “That’s what they said in the History of Magic textbook…”

“Despite that,” Marlene continued fiercely. “Snape is still a Slytherin. Merlin, their symbol is a snake!”

“Who are you talking about, Snivellus?” James Potter shouted from the bottom of the stairs. The Gryffindor boys were clearly on their way to their own dorm, but James had halted the whole procession, holding a hand out in front of Lupin so he didn’t escape into his room like he clearly wanted to, if the look in his eyes was anything to go off of. 

“He’s a slimy git,” Sirius added, black hair falling to his shoulders. If Lily blurred her eyes, she could believe she was staring at Severus right now. Lily’s eyes were slits, but her voice was honey-sweet when she said;

“I agree. I’m throwing away our friendship because he’s a snake. A traitorous snake. Why don’t you come up here so we can talk about it?” 

Pettigrew and Lupin hovered at the bottom of the stairs unsurely as Potter and Black confidently strode up. They got about halfway up the steps before the staircase turned into a slippery slope, and they tumbled down before falling into a heap at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Serves you right,” said Lily and Marlene snorted behind her. 

“We’re going to the common room, if you’d like to join us?” Potter tried.

“Well, I wouldn’t like to join the likes of you, Potter,” Lily said coldly. “Arrogant and prejudiced toerags.” James dithered at the steps before marching into his dorm, head held high.

“How did you know it would do that?” Mary asked wide-eyed as they entered their dormitory.

“Weasley’s speech. No boys allowed. Good thing a magic school has rules to enforce that,” Lily said smugly.

“You’re a force to be reckoned with, Lily,” said Marlene, lounging on her bed confidently. 

Lily had begun to unpack her things, letting her cat Wallace free out of its cage when Mary said quietly, “Who’s You-Know-Who?”

That same secretive expression blossomed on Marlene’s face, and Alice’s cheeks whitened. “He’s a dark wizard. The darkest of all. He wants to kill muggleborns, and he has a group called the Death Eaters who follow him. All of the Death Eaters are Slytherins.”

Mary shook. “That seems awfully scary.”

“Is he succeeding?” Lily said, eyes widening. Sev had never told her about a dark wizard.

Marlene shrugged, looking down at the ground. “Hopefully not, if the Ministry has anything to say about it.”

“Is he actually called You-Know-Who?” Lily said doubtfully. It sounded like a rather ridiculous name. Something a three-year-old would’ve come up with, not a dark lord.

“Of course not! They call him V-Vol-Vold—,” Marlene stuttered.

“Out with it, why don’t you!” Lily said, but Marlene continued to hesitate.

“It’s Voldemort,” Alice snapped, and they looked at her in shock. “That’s his name. There’s no point being scared of a name. His name is Voldemort.” 

<>

Remus Lupin 

“That’s the woman I’m going to marry,” said James breathlessly. There was an awed expression in his blue eyes and his mouth was agape as he sprawled on top of Sirius.

A twisted expression flashed across Sirius’ face, that only Remus, who had been keeping his eyes fixated on that face, noticed. Despite that, he guffawed, and slapped James on the shoulder who at least looked slightly sheepish for it. 

“I’m saying, I’ve got a bit of Sight in me—,”

Remus discreetly rolled his eyes and slipped into their dormitory. It was cosy, a fire flickering in the corner of it, red drapes pinned up everywhere. He didn’t bother unpacking his things, and simply threw himself on his bed. He quietly listened as his roommates introduced themselves. They were all purebloods, but Peter had a squib for a cousin and Sirius kept recounting how traditional his family was.

“My mum once had a tantrum in the middle of London because she saw a Muggle cinema,” Sirius said solemnly. “You know, the ones with the long pictures.”

“I reckon that makes sense,” Peter justified. “I panic when I see unmoving pictures. I don’t know how Cousin Bernard lives like that…” 

“Reggie spat on a Muggle once.”

James was recounting a particularly thrilling Quidditch story, Sirius and Peter hanging off the edges of their beds, when Remus’ interest faded away. He even found football dull. He’d just closed his eyes, resting his bones from the moon before, when there was a cough from outside the curtain. 

“Is there a password or something?” Sirius said. 

“Sorry.” Remus hastily drew open the curtains and threw his shirt back on, fearing having to tell the story of every indelible scar on his back. 

“Sorry isn’t a—password.” Sirius sat on the corner of Remus’ bed, and crossed his legs. Under the lumos Sirius had lit, his face was illuminated brightly. There was this air of raw charisma that hung off him and was impossible for Remus to ignore. The curve of his lips, crease of his eyes—it was elegant, rugged, charming. It was confident. His hair, as dark as a moonless night, cascaded in unruly waves that framed his face and had a way of catching the light, giving them a subtle, silvery gleam. His eyes, too, were framed by thick, dark lashes, were a mesmerising shade of grey—intense and ever-changing, like storm clouds on the horizon. Remus should have been enchanted, as he was sure many people had been before, but he didn’t trust people with gold at their fingertips, who knew the world would fall at their feet.  

“You’ve barely said a word since we’ve arrived, Remus. I barely know who you are. I could tell you things about every single member of this dorm, but you? You’re a clean slate.”

Remus shrugged. “I’m from Kent. Magic dad. Estranged muggle mum. We move a lot so I’ve not been settled down. There’s not much to my story.” 

“I get it. Family issues.”

“I never said I had issues,” Remus said through gritted teeth, but Sirius ignored him.

“My family is going to be furious at my sorting. I can’t wait to see their faces.” Even though Sirius made light of it, there was a heavy expression on his face that meant he was scared.

“They can’t be that bad.” reasoned Remus.   

“You haven’t met the Noble House of Black.”

A stiff moment of silence passed between the two, and then Sirius bid his goodbye and snuck into another bed. Remus lay awake for hours that night, eating chocolate nervously, hearing whispers coming from James’ bed and crying from Peter’s. 

*

Remus was in a forest, wind howling in his ears. It was interrupted by a low growl. The creature's eyes locked onto Remus's, and a voice, primal and haunting, seemed to echo in his mind.

"Why, young one, do you fear me?"

Remus stammered, his voice trembling, "I... I don't know who you are." He’d had this dream before. He closed his eyes and pinched himself in a futile attempt to wake up.

"I am the untamed reflection of your soul, the beast within you. You and I. We share the same fate."

Remus raised his hand to touch the creature's fur, fingers trembling with uncertainty. "But I don't want this. I don't want to hurt anyone."

The beast growled again. “You will submit to your wolvish desires. To the hunger, bloodthirst that lies deep within you. This curse is our prison, our torment. The only way to break free is to submit.”

“No,” Remus cried. “You’re mistaken. I can’t be this—this monster.”

“Remus,” the werewolf said, and he sounded vaguely familiar. “Remus. Remus, wake up!”

Remus’ eyes flew open and he sat up immediately, palms clammy and panting heavily.

“Are you all right?” asked James, already dressed in his uniform. Peter and Sirius were also crowded beside him.

“Brilliant,” croaked Remus. “Simply spiffing.”

James turned to Sirius. “I said he was okay, didn’t I? Hurry and get dressed, or we’ll miss breakfast.” 

Remus quickly dressed himself and followed his roommates down to the Great Hall. The meal was as spectacular as last night, and Remus filled his plate with sausages and ate them as he blearily watched Sirius’ and James’ superficial chatter. 

“Oi, Sirius, your bedhead makes you look like a rather dishevelled kneazle,” chuckled James, buttering his toast.

“Says the bloke who’s got more hair on his broomstick than on his head!”

Remus was slightly disappointed when their conversation was cut short, but everybody else, particularly Evans, was very pleased when it was interrupted by the arrival of the post. Remus thought it unlikely that he’d receive anything, but he reminded himself to visit the Owlery later in the day and send something to his father. Even if just a note.  

James received brown packages with sweets that he eagerly shared around the table, Peter got a letter from his aunt that he beamed at when he read it, and a black owl cordially dropped a letter in front of Sirius and flew away again. 

“Oh no,” Sirius gasped.

“It’s all right, you can use one of the owls in the Owlery,” Remus said, thinking Sirius’ dismay was due to the owl’s departure.

“It’s not that—it’s that.”

Sirius was pointing to the red envelope. It looked quite ordinary to Remus, but James and Peter were both looking at it as though they expected it to explode.

“What’s the matter?” said Remus.

“She’s sent me a Howler,” said Sirius. “Well damn her! I’ll open it. I’m not scared of her—her pureblood embarrassment.”

“What’s a Howler?” Remus said. But Sirius’ whole attention was fixed on the letter, which had begun to smoke at the corners.

“Damn her,” muttered Sirius, and he stretched out a hand and slit the letter open, “oh bollocks.” Peter stuffed his fingers in his ears. A split second later, Remus knew why. He thought for a moment it had exploded; a roar of sound filled the huge Hall, shaking dust from the ceiling. 

“…EMBARRASSMENT TO THE HOUSE OF BLACK, IMAGINE HOW WE FEEL HAVING A GRYFFINDOR SON, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER WENT THROUGH WHEN WE RECEIVED BELLA’S LETTER…”  

Sirius flinched. Walburga Black’s yells, a hundred times louder than even fathomable, made the plates and spoons rattle on the table, and echoed deafeningly off the stone walls. People throughout the Hall were swivelling around to see who had received the Howler. 

“…A BLOOD TRAITOR SON, HOW DID YOU THINK YOUR FAMILY WOULD TAKE THIS? YOU ALWAYS HAD TO BE SPECIAL, EVEN REGULUS WAS APPALLED—,” 

James took out his wand and fired a hex at the letter which burst into flames and curled into ashes. “That’s quite enough of that, isn’t it? Let’s go, Sirius.” 

Sirius just sat stunned, as though a tidal wave had just passed over him.

“You said she’d be mad, didn’t you?” murmured Remus. Sirius made a choked sound.

“She’s blooming insane, that’s what she is. What are you looking at!” he snapped at some Ravenclaw second years who had swivelled in their seats to look at him. He suddenly rose from the table and stomped out of the hall in a fit of fury.   

“I’ll go after him,” said James apologetically. “Make sure he doesn’t do something he regrets later.”  

And James scurried out too. Now, Remus was left with the Gryffindor girls and an apprehensive-looking Peter.

“So,” Remus said. “Quidditch?”

<>

Severus Snape

“Sev!” Lily gasped, eyes sparkling, grabbing his arm and pulling him into an alcove. He’d just been leaving the Great Hall after breakfast, brushing off Pritchard’s foolish offer of friendship as Cadge giggled beside her. He bet they thought it was so funny, poking fun at the reserved bloke who wouldn’t give them the time of day. “Hogwarts is as magical as you told me. Gryffindor tower is spectacular!”   

“And your housemates?”  

“Well, Potter’s a prat, of course, and Black’s just there to follow him around. The other blokes haven’t said much. But Marlene can be all right, and Mary’s really funny. Alice is quieter and more studious…she reminds me a bit of you, Sev! Wallace is also settling in well.”

“I have no idea why you insisted on bringing that rotten cat.” Wallace the tabby cat was a rescue Lily had spied prowling down the river. Severus had eyed her doubtfully as she fished him out, and washed the mud off to reveal an uglier colour of yellow than he’d thought was possible. She had sobbed and bawled before her parents allowed the cat to be kept only after an extensive list of veterinary procedures. His original name had been Buttercup. That colour was nothing like butter. 

“He’s not depraved, he’s philosophical.” 

“Wallace clawed darling Petunia three inches from death.” Darling was hardly a word to describe Petunia Evans—she was a prejudiced, spiteful shell of a human and he was glad to be rid of her at school. It had almost been a cathartic moment when Wallace had scraped her leg. 

While Wallace was the bane of his existence, the cat was all too friendly with him, rubbing his body on Severus’ legs. Sometimes, Wallace felt the need to slip into his house at night and take a nap on Severus’ chest, which was always an unwelcome sight in the mornings. 

“He’s a free thinker. Besides, my housemates love him. Mary thinks he’s a doll.”

“I hope yours are friendlier than mine. Pritchard is a blundering fool with a sharp tongue, and the girls lap up every word she spits. My roommates are mad—as expected. I haven’t met the older years properly.”

“How’s Slytherin?”

“Adequate.” He thought for a minute. “Everything I’ve always wanted.”

“Do you promise?” Lily looked anxious now. “That we’ll be friends forever, even if I’m a Gryffindor and you’re a Slytherin?”

Severus’ response passed through his lips without a second thought. “Always.”

“Good.” Lily looked a lot calmer now. “And Sev—you never told me about a dark lord!”

“A dark lord?” Severus asked, confused.   

“Marlene McKinnon told me about him last night. He swears to rid the world of muggleborns because he reckons we somehow stole our magic. What rubbish!”

“Well,” Severus said awkwardly. “I know some folks look down on blood. I didn’t know about a lord though, honest!” 

“Don’t worry, Severus,” Lily said, and she lowered her voice as a crowd of Hufflepuffs passed the alcove they were hidden in. “I believe you. Have you got your timetable yet? We must have similar classes.” 

Lily and Severus compared their timetables. They shared only three classes: Potions, Flying and Care for Magical Creatures. Severus felt his lip begin to quiver.  

“We can hang out in the library,” comforted Lily, “as study buddies. It’s a shame friends in different houses can’t sit together at mealtimes.”  

“Divide and conquer,” Severus said miserably. The bell rang sharply and Lily’s head jolted upwards. 

“Goodness! I didn’t even see the time,” she gasped, and lightly brushed Severus’ hand. “I’ve got Herbology now, I must leg it or I’ll miss something important!”

Lily, gripping all her books in her hands so tightly she looked rather funny, began to run down the corridor on her way to Herbology. Severus did the same, ignoring the jeers of older Gryffindors, and stopped, panting, outside of the Transfiguration classroom. He watched from outside the door for a moment before entering.   

“Mr Snape,” Professor McGonogall said sternly, eyeing him with dislike. “You’ll do well to remember to arrive on time for your lessons, especially for Transfiguration. I’ll repeat the warning I said at the beginning of class: Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anybody messing around in my class will leave and not come back. Sit beside Mr Mulciber.” 

Severus did, and his cheeks were flushed red. He was glad he hadn’t been seated beside some of the ruder Hufflepuffs who had laughed at him; at least Mulciber had saved him a seat.

“Oh, and Mr Snape?”

“Yes, Professor?”

“Five points from Slytherin.” 

All of the Slytherins immediately groaned and Avery cast him a dark look. Severus shrunk into his seat, and noticed there were matches laying in front of everybody and they all had their wands out.

“Pharetrix acupunctura!” the female Avery cried, and she flicked her wand as Alistair rolled his eyes at her. The match on the desk in front of her transformed into a silver and pointy object—a needle.

“Wonderful work, Miss Avery.”

Avery beamed at the praise and McGonagall flashed her a rare smile. Severus grit his teeth, and vowed to show up Miss Avery in their next lesson.

“Mind if I borrow your notes?” Severus leaned over to Bulstrode who had a long piece of parchment covered in complicated-looking notes.

“No, go away,” Priscilla Bulstrode said rudely. 

“You can have mine,” Mulciber offered, and Severus eyed the messy scribble of words he ought to decipher, and sighed. 

*

Lessons after that were a breeze for Severus Snape. He knew the answer to every question before it was even asked, and the spiteful glares that were thrown his way barely damaged his demeanour. He practically lived in the library, pouring over pages and strategizing to get into the Restricted Section. Really, how did the professors expect their students to learn if they kept them away from the most valuable knowledge? The curses of course, which were etched into the walls at Hogwarts. There were no proper books on the Dark Arts that he was permitted to read, which was the bane of his existence, and he frequently expressed this to Lily who simply sent him slight smiles at his annoyance. He kept to himself most days, walking straight past the groups of Slytherins that converged in the common room to his bed. Pritchard wasn’t bothering him anymore; she’d already surrounded herself with an assortment of Slytherin girls, like Bianca Cadge, the Irish girl with a twisted sense of humour. Everybody seemed to have joined up already, and Severus had missed that train—but it was all right, because he had Lily, and that was lovely, and just enough for him. Madam Pince in particular didn’t like him—she found him too inquisitive, and she huffed every time she spotted him writing in his textbook. Severus was sure she thought writing in books should be an international crime. He’d done it a lot at home too; paper did not come cheaply. 

“Don’t you have any friends?” she asked as she meticulously waved her wand to reshelve books. He kept his head down, hair falling over his face as he continued writing snidely. 

“I’d have plenty if there were any worth befriending,” he told her, and he was honest. Besides Lily, everybody was so childish, and mentally subservient to him. Wilkes bored his mind out, Mulciber didn’t do nothin’ beside ringlead, and Avery only contributed to conversations when he could mutter something sickening about a girl’s underwear, or something of the sort. And then there was the Gryffindors—ugh!

After Transfiguration one time, he left the class and met Lily after Charms, chatting about the developmental properties of Gaunt’s Third Law. He wasn’t listening really—but there was a thin smile on his face when she talked, simply because she was talking. 

“—and McGonagall is just holding us back by not letting us practise it firsthand! This’ll be important in our future! What if I want to go into transfiguration?”

“Not as much as you want to be a potioneer,” Severus reminded her. 

“Not as much as you want to be a potioneer, you perfect prodigy. I think Slughorn could fall to his knees every time you make a potion that’s just the right hue. Really, lock your door at night before he comes in and steals you away forever,” Lily teased, but it was all in good faith.

“He can steal me away to the Slug Club,” said Severus. “I’ll beg him for that.” 

The Head of Slytherin, Professor Slughorn, was famous for his get-togethers and parties that involved only the most prestigious guest list of all Hogwarts students, and it was the place to be if you wanted to move up in the world. Unfortunately for Severus, neither of his parents were particularly important, or even nice (he recalled the scars and bruises that covered his body) so he would have to get in based on skill alone. But first years were never invited to Slug Club unions. And Slughorn never noticed him. Maybe a simple hm of appreciation. He liked pretty things with deep pockets brimming with gold that he could collect.

They’d reached the courtyard now, and James Potter and his clique of wayward mental cases shoved past him, knocking his books to the floor. He sighed and began to pick them up, throwing a spiteful look their way. Tears pricked at his eyes.

“Gryffindor tossers,” Severus muttered darkly. Potter spun around indignantly.

“What was that, Snivellus?”

“Hey, you prick!” Lily called furiously, eyes narrowing. “Come back and apologise.”

“Don’t bother, Lily. They weren’t raised any better.” 

“That’s rich coming from you, Snivellous, since apparently you weren’t raised to wash your hair right. Or is the grease genetic?” Sirius grinned, and James guffawed beside him. 

“He’s got a face only his mum could fancy.”

“Don’t you dare talk about his parents like that,” Lily hissed. She knew he didn’t get on with his parents, but they were for him to insult, and others to ignore. Lily, who had never known unkindness, was almost wondrously innocent—thinking welts on Severus’ knees were due to clumsiness and a broken nose from bullies. Still, it warmed Severus to know that childish perspectives were not lost. It was just him whose childhood was drifting away. Lupin flashed him a guilty glance, and Severus couldn’t believe this was who he shared a twin core with. They couldn’t be more different. 

“It is real, isn't it? It's not a joke? Petunia says you're lying to me. Petunia says there isn't a Hogwarts. It is real, isn't it?” Severus doubted he could invent such a fantastical story just for a laugh. But Lily was looking at him so earnestly, something in his heart prevented him from making a joke out of it.

“It's real for us,” said Severus. “Not for her. But we'll get the letter, you and me.”

“Really?” whispered Lily. 

“Definitely,” said Snape, and even with his poorly cut hair and his odd clothes, he struck an oddly impressive figure sprawled in front of her, brimming with confidence in his destiny.

“And will it really come by owl?” Lily whispered. 

“Normally,” said Snape. “But you're Muggle-born, so someone from the school will have to come and explain to your parents.”

“Does it make a difference, being Muggle-born?” Severus hesitated. His black eyes, eager in the greenish gloom, moved over the pale face, the dark red hair. He thought of his pureblood mother. His muggle father.

“No,” he said. “It doesn't make any difference.” 

“Good,” said Lily, relaxing: it was clear that she had been worrying.

“You've got loads of magic,” said Severus. “I saw that. All the time I was watching you…”

His voice trailed away; she was not listening, but had stretched out on the leafy ground and was looking up at the canopy of leaves overhead. He watched her as greedily as he had watched her in the playground. 

“How are things at your house?” Lily asked.

A little crease appeared between his eyes.

“Fine,” he said.

“They're not arguing any more?”

“Oh, yes, they're arguing,” said Severus. He picked up a fistful of leaves and began tearing them apart, apparently unaware of what he was doing. “But it won't be that long and I'll be gone.”

“Doesn't your dad like magic?”

“He doesn't like anything, much,” said Severus. Not even his own son, he thought to himself.

“Severus?”

A little smile twisted Severus’ mouth when she said his name.

“Yeah?”

"Tell me about the Dementors again.”

“What d'you want to know about them for?”

“If I use magic outside school—,”

“They wouldn't give you to the Dementors for that! Dementors are for people who do really bad stuff. They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban. You're not going to end up in Azkaban, you're too—,” He turned red again and shredded more leaves. Then a small rustling noise made him turn: Petunia, hiding behind a tree, had lost her footing.

“Tuney!” said Lily, surprise and welcome in her voice, but Severus had jumped to his feet.

“Who's spying now?” he shouted. “What d'you want?”

Petunia was breathless, alarmed at being caught. Severus could see her struggling for something hurtful to say.

“What is that you're wearing, anyway?” she said, pointing at Severus’ chest. “Your mum's blouse?”

There was a crack: a branch over Petunia's head had fallen. Lily screamed: the branch caught Petunia on the shoulder and she staggered backwards and burst into tears.

“Tuney!”

But Petunia was running away. Lily rounded on Severus.

“Did you make that happen?”

“No.” He looked both defiant and scared.

“You did!' She was backing away from him. “You did! You hurt her!”

“No-no I didn't!” He cursed himself that he had let his anger get the better of him, as he often did, and that it came out as a burst of accidental magic.

But the lie did not convince Lily: after one last burning look she ran from the little thicket, off after her sister. He was alone again.

Severus picked up his bag, and eyed the crowd of mostly Gryffindors that had surrounded them, and made the most sensical decision.

He fled. 

To the girl’s bathroom on the second floor, and he was glad nobody was there because he hadn’t had the time to think about it beforehand. He shoved himself into a stall, sat on the toilet seat, and held his head in his hands.

He was not going to cry over Sirius Black if he could help it, but the humiliation was pricking at his eyes. He sniffed and blinked determinedly. To avoid rubbing his eyes, he reached for the Star of David that normally hung around his neck, but came up with nothing. Right, he’d removed it before coming to Hogwarts. 

“Ooh, not another whining first-year?”

Severus started, looking around wildly for the culprit. “Who said that?” He’d thought the bathroom was empty. 

“ Me… ” A young Ravenclaw’s girl’s head popped out from the toilet underneath him and floated upwards. “There was another of your sort just a few hours ago…but he ran off the minute he realised I was listening…” 

“And that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” Severus snarled. He hadn’t hidden in a toilet to be interrupted by a moping ghost, of all things. His mum had told him stories about some of the Hogwarts ghosts, and he was hoping to encounter the Grey Lady at least once in his time here. He was a Slytherin through and through, but he knew he would’ve done well in Ravenclaw.

“Don’t leave me…I’m so lonely down here.” 

He careened straight through her and it was like stepping through a waterfall of freezing water. He grimaced.

“Interesting…most wizards have met ghosts before…ooh, are you muggleborn? I’m Myrtle…”

“I’m pure blood,” Severus lied. 

“What’s your name?” The lie did not convince Myrtle.

“Prince.”

“I remember a Prince . A pretty Slytherin girl who sniffed at me every time she saw me in the corridors. Thought it was funny to dunk my head in the toilet with her Muggleborn friends.”

“She wouldn’t have done that,” said Severus with uncertainty.

“Made bad decisions in her life, did she? These popular girls never think their life can go wrong. If I recall correctly,” Myrtle giggled. “An Eileen Prince was disowned not long after leaving Hogwarts for marrying a muggle…young minds, you see—,”

“Leave me alone!”

“These rebellious snakes are all the same!” Myrtle cried, and then vanished through another toilet. Severus determinedly wiped his face and left the bathroom. Herbology was next. Brilliant. 

*

“Where were you?” Mulciber said earnestly, shelling pods. “I didn’t see you on the way to Herbology. You’ve been with that Gryffindor bird all day.” 

Severus opened his mouth to reply, but then he heard a sploosh sound and green pus exploded all over Pritchard and Cadge. It dripped all the way down their bodies and Cadge blinked her stinging eyes. “Oh!” 

“Bianca! I said not to nudge me!” 

Cadge spluttered in indignation, but the ruddy Hufflepuff Herbology professor interrupted her joyfully.

“No worries, let’s just clean it up!” Professor Sprout said cheerfully, bustling through arrays of Ravenclaw and Slytherin students in the greenhouse. “Wilkes, keep the laughter down or I’ll have to take five points from Slytherin. Now, Prichard, we must be more careful when dealing with the stems, we mustn't clip them when we shell the pods—,”

Severus lowered his voice. “I met a ghost in one of the loos,” he muttered. “She was awfully weepy.” 

“Moaning Myrtle!” Mulciber said in awe. “You met Moaning Myrtle!” 

“Who?”  

“She haunts the girls bathroom on the second floor—what were you doing in the girls' loos? You’re not turning into Avery, I hope.”

Severus snorted, and continued peeling the pods and popping the seeds into the pestle. Thankfully, news of his encounter with Potter hadn’t spread to his fellow Slytherins yet. He wouldn’t have liked to see Avery’s reaction to his humiliation. 

Speaking of Avery, he and Wilkes were now also dripping in pus and had been ushered into a corner with Pritchard and Cadge. From the looks of it, Avery was spitting mudblood at Pritchard to which she tossed a handful of pus in his face.

“Anyway, apparently Moaning Myrtle was just a student here when she died. She won’t say how, but the last thing she saw were two big yellow eyes…”  

He handed the pestle and mortar to Mulciber. “Forget those silly rumours. You can start crushing these now.”

“Sprout said to just shell the pods,” Mulciber countered. 

“Evidently.” Severus hissed, although he was glad Mulciber had at least been paying attention to the instructions, unlike their housemates. “Snargaluff paste is an ingredient in pepper-up potions.”

“Peppering up already ? This is a dangerous route you’re going down.” 

“End of year exams are near.” 

“ End of year— Snape! They’re at the end of the year!”

*

“Double potions with the Gryffindors,” said Wilkes gloomily. “Why is it always double potions with the Gryffindors?”

“They’re punishing us, Will,” Mulciber said convincingly, “by forcing us to sit in a room with smelly lions for two hours.”  

Severus, on the contrary to his Slytherin housemates, was thrilled to spend time with the Gryffindors. Or really, one red-haired Gryffindor. 

“Can I sit next to you in Potions, Severus?” asked Mulciber, who no doubt wanted to crib some answers off him.

Severus had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. “ No. And don’t call me that. I’m sitting next to Lily.” 

“We can sit in a row together,” Mulciber suggested hopefully.

“Why would you want to sit with a couple of mudbloods, Bruce?”

Wilkes shoved an elbow into Avery’s gut. “Careful, Avery . The blood traitor teachers are near. Don’t be daft.”

“I’m actually trying not to be a disappointment to my family and pass Potions this year,” Mulciber shot back. “Don’t worry, at the Avery Yule Ball I’ll make sure to mention your lack of Potions prowess. It’s about time we allowed half-bloods to at least help us in class, so I can focus more on Quidditch.” 

“You two knew each other before Hogwarts?” Severus asked curiously.

“Unfortunately,” mumbled Avery. Mulciber opened his mouth to retort, but Severus rolled his eyes, and as was typical, tuned them out. They finally arrived in the dungeons, which were colder than in the main castle and weren’t lit up by a crackling fire like their dorms. It would’ve been creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls. Slughorn, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the register and Snape hurried to sit beside Lily. She flashed him a brief smile which Severus returned gleefully.  

“Now then, now then, now then,” said Slughorn, whose massive outline was quivering through the many shimmering vapours. “Scales out, everyone, and potions kits, and don’t forget your copies of Magical Drafts and Potions …”

Severus hastened to take his things out of his bag and set them up on the desk. He flipped to the first page as Slughorn instructed them and looked up at him expectedly. There was a rummage for quills and parchment as everybody began copying down notes from the textbook, and Severus’ hand flew across the page as he scrawled. Slughorn then paired them up, and Lily and Severus were placed together, and told them to create a simple boil cure which they got to work on quickly. 

“Pass me that asphodel, will you?”

“I need just a dash of merwood—,”

“Only three clockwise stirs!”

Lily and Severus were left with a cauldron filled with a nearly perfect deep crimson coloured potion, just as the textbook described. Slughorn moved slowly between the tables, peering into cauldrons. He occasionally gave the potions a stir, or a sniff. He smiled ruefully at Potter’s and Black’s;

“Potter, I see you didn’t inherit your father’s talent for creating Sleekeazy concoctions…”

He passed over the navy tar-like solution present in Avery’s and Mulciber’s cauldron, and finally arrived at Severus’ and Lily’s. Severus watched Slughorn’s face carefully as it lit up. He saw as Slughorn’s eyes passed over Lily’s dark red hair, her smiling face, and then how his eyes darkened as he saw Severus’ thick oily curls and crooked teeth. 

“The clear winner!” he cried to the dungeon. “Excellent, excellent, Miss Evans! Twenty points to Gryffindor! Is it possible you have any ancestral connection to Damocelius Evans, a potioneer of the mid-18th century?” 

“Thank you sir, but no, it’s not possible. I’m muggleborn, you see.”

“Well you clearly overcame that struggle, Evans. Congratulations!” Slughorn gave a last hearty laugh and Severus’ cheeks burned.  

“Isn’t it wonderful, Severus?” Lily whispered to him. “Being coveted like this?”

Severus nodded tiredly, and glanced back at Mulciber who raised his eyebrows challengingly. With a gnaw in his stomach, he turned back to the mess he had made of his scales in order to create that potion.  

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmured to Lily as they exited the dungeon.

“See you, Sev.”

*

“Tonight—,” Mulciber began, face illuminated by the eerie glow of his wand, “is the first meeting of the Slytherin class of 1977.”

They’d gathered in the Slytherin common room, all of the first years, and Severus had only gone because Wilkes had ushered him after Care for Magical Creatures. Now, he was tentatively sitting on the corner of a sofa, chewing at his nails. He hated when they got too long. Made them difficult to work with. 

Avery snorted. “You sound like such a ponce, Bruce.”

“Calm it, Ali,” said one of the girls warningly. Her skin was pasty white. 

“You don’t bloody tell me what to do. And don’t call me that.”  

“I’ll write to mum and dad. Can’t wait to see how they react when they discover how their only son is behaving.” This, Severus realised, was Avery’s sister—Astrid. He remembered her from Transfiguration—she’d been the first to transfigure a match into a needle. 

Avery murmured to Severus, almost unconsciously. Avery did things like this—bragged to Severus before he remembered Severus was only a poor half-blood. “My lovely sister is filled with resentment, she is. A whole hour older than me but I’ll get the family fortune because I’m the man. Serves her right.” 

Severus wrinkled his nose. “That’s a pretty good reason to resent somebody.”

“Slytherin, as a house, has always presented a united front,” Mulciber continued. “How can we do that…when we don’t know what we all believe?” 

Severus furrowed his brows. “What’s he on about?” he whispered to Avery, who was crossly gritting his teeth.  

“The mudblood issue of course,” Avery spat, eyeing him disgustedly. “We’ve one in our year. And then there’s you .” So the meeting was about him and Pritchard then. He cast a look at her, curled up on the sofa.

“There’s no reason to discuss that now. Some might not last through the year.” 

“You’re not thinking ahead, Bulstrode,” said Wilkes. “We can’t be the divided year in Slytherin. No matter what we think, no matter who’s a mudblood or not, we are one house. We are Slytherin. Look at Malfoy’s year. They’re all chums—Parkinson, Goyle, Black and Zabini.”

“Some of us don’t belong here,” and Astrid Avery glared rather pointedly at Pritchard whose eyes glinted dangerously. “Salazar Slytherin believed that only those of magical blood should be allowed to be in Slytherin. So why should they join? They’re nothing like us.” 

“Well I’m here now, and I’m not going to leave, so you’d better get used to me,” Pritchard declared. “And neither is Snape, right?” 

“Dunno why it makes a difference that I’m a half-blood. I’m a wizard, my mum’s a witch, and a Slytherin,” Severus spat, annoyed at being lumped in with Pritchard. He wasn’t half as daft as her, for one. “That hat chose me.” He shouldn’t have to prove his worth!

“Snape’s not bad at Potions,” Mulciber suggested, and Severus shot him a dark glare. “That sort of stuff is useful, right, Will?”  

“Slytherin legacy runs deep into the roots of Hogwarts. We are the infamous house. The house that breeds dark wizards and evil. We are cunning, ambitious, supremacists. Almost all of us are here because of our families. The Averys, Mulcibers, Bulstrodes.” Wilkes began pacing, and he struck a rather impressive figure, standing before all of them, face illuminated in a dim green glow. “And we are not going to lose. Mud or pure, witch or wizard, prodigy or sportsman. We are one, and in the face of Gryffindor, we are united.”   

<>

Name_____ Hope Lupin ______ 

Address Line_______________

Dear Mum,

My first week of Hogwarts has been a whirl! I’m a Gryffindor. And I might be friends with these boys in my dorm—James Potter, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. 

School is just school I suppose, but I’ve an aptitude for Charms in particular—I was the second student to successfully cast a Wingardium Leviosa charm on a feather. (Evans did it first, she’s an awful swot). Flitwick said if I kept the work up he might give us two some extra reading. I pretended to be dismayed but Evans isn’t too subtle—I saw that grin on her face! James is infatuated with her, but I can’t see why. What’s appealing, the fact she’s a know-it-all? Defence Against the Darts Arts is interesting too but I don’t want to have to learn about, you know, werewolves.

Yesterday, James and Sirius (in rebellion of not being allowed into the Gryffindor Quidditch team) charmed transfigured bits of parchment to explain Quidditch to me and this resulted in a Common Room game of Parchment Quidditch. I won’t ever like the game, but it sure was fun to watch. He’s the good sort, James. A bit of a prat, but he’s got a heart. 

I’ve got to go, Sirius is calling me for dinner.

Love, Remus 

P.S. I miss you.

Name_____________ Lyall Lupin _____

Address Line_____ 3 Maple Street, Kent____

Dad,

I’m a Gryffindor; I never knew you were one? Sirius Black is in my dormitory, and Dad, I know you’ll say the Blacks are bad news. I don’t care. Arrangements for next Sunday have been sorted. Could you spare me a Ministry owl? James told me the Hogwarts owls are subpar.

From,

Remus

P.S. Could you send me more nutty chocolate? I’ve finished my original stash already.

*

The first years filled into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. They all sat down, took out their books, quills and parchment, and were watching as Professor Kohli unpacked some of her things. Sirius had finally come around after the Howler, looked bright and bushy-tailed and positively delighted to have their first lesson. 

”We can finally make those Death Eaters go back to the snake pits they came from,” he said bravely, and Remus nodded along with him. “No more dark magic!”

“Good afternoon,” Professor Kohli said, and she stood at the front of the class, a smile on her face. “My name is Parishi Kohli. You may address me as Professor, or Kohli, I am not in the habit of minding.” She turned around and began to chalk the words defensive spells on the board. 

“How many of you can tell me what a defensive spell is?” 

Peter tentatively raised his hand.

“Pettigrew?”

“A defensive spell is, er…a magical shield that keeps you safe from hexes.”

Peter flushed as James and Sirius sniggered at him and Remus gave them a pointed glare. 

Kohli nodded. “Excellent. Five points to Gryffindor. Write this down in your books please—,”

Remus hastily inked his quill and poised his hand to write.

“A defensive spell is an incantation designed to fortify the spell-caster or their intended target, providing a barrier or protective mechanism against malevolent magical forces, thereby ensuring the preservation of personal safety and well-being.”

Remus could hear the persistent scratching of quills as the students wrote this all down. Lily’s, in particular, was hurrying across the page like it was a race.

“An example of a defensive spell is the protego charm. Can anybody tell me what this does?”

This time, Lily called out the answer. “The protego charm casts a shield around the witch using the spell and causes hexes to just…bounce off of it.”

Sirius elbowed James excitedly.

“That’s right, Miss Evans. But do remember to raise your hand when answering my questions. Mr Lupin also looked rather knowledgeable this time.”

Remus flushed. It’s not like he was exactly hanging off the edge of his seat—he’d just overheard a lot from his father.

Professor Kohli wrote this definition down too, and then turned to Remus, her long feathery quill floating beside her. Remus watched it, charmed. “Now, Mr Lupin, are you aware of any incantations that can enhance a protego shield charm?”

Remus stuttered. “Fianto Duri?” He’d heard it from one of Lyall’s auror colleagues once.

“Ten points to Gryffindor!” Kohli said proudly. “ Fianto Duri increases the power of the protego shield charm. Does anybody know whether the protego charm is light or dark?”  

Lily’s hand shot up. 

“Evans?” 

“The protego shield charm is light magic, Professor.”

“And why do you think that?” Professor Kohli said, curiosity in her eyes.

“Light magic involves spells that protect, promote kindness, and heal. Like the protego charm. And dark magic harms, manipulates and prioritises self-interest over others’ wellbeing.” Lily recited. 

“Close, Miss Evans. Very close. Five points to Gryffindor! But there are exceptions to this rule. You are all aware of the scourgify charm, correct? Useful to wash dishes and for various kitchen chores. However, if this spell is cast on another wizard, that wizard would begin to choke and gag, and can even lead to death. Scourgify is classified as a light spell.”

Sirius chimed in then. “Professor, all dark magic is evil. The unforgivables are all dark magic.”

“What are the unforgivables?” Remus heard Mary whisper, and Alice quietly responded with an explanation. 

“The concept of dark and light magic is very arbitrary, Mr Black,” Professor Kohli said, her voice hard. “Shouldn’t you know?”

A dark expression appeared on Sirius’ face and he slumped back in his chair, with no better response. Remus spared him a concerned glance. He was always sensitive when people mentioned his family—this, Remus knew.  

“What house were you in at Hogwarts?” James said suspiciously.

“I did not go to Hogwarts, Mr Potter. I studied at a school in India called the Amaravati Academy of Magic. But if I had attended Hogwarts, I suppose I’d have been sorted into Gryffindor.”

Sirius made a doubting noise, but Kohli ignored him. “Practicals! Everybody, find a partner.”

They left the classroom after an hour of practising their shield charms against scourgify. Remus was delighted to find he excelled at this, blocking all of Peter’s spells. Even Kohli had approached him;

“You’re shaping up to be one of my finest students, Lupin,” admired Kohli. “Much like one of my snakes. Keep up the good work.”

“I can’t believe Dumbledore hired a dark witch to teach us,” Sirius said the minute they were out of earshot. 

“What?” Remus said, surprised. “Professor Kohli isn’t dark!”

“You’re so naive, Remus. Didn’t you hear her talking about the dark arts? Acting like dark magic is good and light magic is evil. She loves them.”

“I didn’t like her much either,” said Peter. “She wasn’t a very good teacher.”

“That’s only because Remus tossed you on your back a thousand times in that lesson,” James said.

“Oi!” said Peter with annoyance, but James continued.

“Forget Kohli! She’ll be gone by the end of the year anyway.” 

“Why?” asked Remus suspiciously. If he didn’t know better, it sounded like James was plotting to overthrow her.

“Because of the curse on the DADA position. They say no Defence Against the Dark Arts professor lasts more than a year. Some even go mad or vanish! My dad’s said it’s been like this for decades. Cheer up, Sirius, we won’t have her for long.” 

Sirius did look rather cheerier at this. “Besides, we all know Remus just thinks she’s fit. He doesn’t actually like dark magic.” 

Remus was taken aback. He’d barely noticed Kohli as anything but a teacher—bollocks, that was all she was. “That’s absurd!” Remus glared at Sirius furiously who raised his eyebrows at him, and then stormed off blindly in the other direction. He couldn’t believe Sirius had even suggested it. When he left, he could still faintly hear James’ voice; 

“You’ve really done it now, mate.”

*

Remus had determinedly avoided the rest of his roommates by skipping the rest of their lessons. During Charms, he wandered around the castle until Pringle caught on his lead and he slipped into the library. Madam Pince was stamping library books fiercely, a dark glint in her eyes and Remus hid behind a bookshelf to avoid her gaze.

Sirius doesn’t know what he’s talking about, Remus thought darkly. Maybe Dad was right. The Blacks all go bad.

He pressed himself further into the shelf as Madam Pince moved to the other table, and the edge of one of the books pressed into him sharply. He sprang away, knocking it off the shelf. Cursing himself, he knelt down to pick it up, knees creaking, and stared at the cover.

“Lunar Bestiary: Unveiling the Ferocity of Lycanthropes.” Remus’ lips mouthed the words, and as he dropped the book it fell open at Chapter 5: The Savage Reality of Werewolf Transformation. His curiosity was piqued, and he cast a wary glance at Madam Pince as he began to read.

In werewolf-inhabited regions, empirical studies reveal their aggressive territorial behaviour, with a striking 80% of documented confrontations demonstrating their inclination towards DOMINANCE. Despite using magical methods like wards and restraints, the limited 30% success rate in controlling their ferocity calls for more effective CONTAINMENT STRATEGIES, like execution . These alarming statistics, where 90% of encounters lead to severe harm, underscore the urgency for stringent regulations to protect communities from potential lycanthropic threats. It's evident that a comprehensive societal risk assessment and enhanced safety protocols are essential to address the gravity of this situation and ensure community safety from these bloodthirsty beasts.

Something stormy twisted in Remus’ stomach, and he slammed the book closed, ignoring Madam Pince’s indignant squawk, and he charged out of the library, causing a couple of Ravenclaws to glare at him. The sick feeling in his stomach didn’t fade, and at late dinner (to avoid Sirius) he found he couldn’t stuff more than three bites of Shepherd's Pie in. The Gryffindor girls were also late that evening, and sat with him as he retold his fight with Sirius.

“Sirius is a toerag,” Lily said when he finished, and she pushed his plate towards him, urging him to eat more. “He and Potter treat Sev the same way. Don’t listen to either of them, you’re much better off like that.” 

“I like Sirius. He’s a laugh,” Mary said. “But what he said to you was totally out of line.“

“I don’t think he was that out of line,” Marlene murmured, but Mary nudged her with an elbow.

“H0w’s your first week been, Remus? Merlin, Transfiguration is a pain…”

*

The evening sun cast long shadows along the cobblestone path that traced around the castle, and Sirius hurried along it, James closely behind. Remus quickened his pace as he saw them out of the corner of his eye. 

“Oi, Remus! Hold on!” Sirius called out, his voice filled with urgency.

“What’s the rush, Sirius?” Remus glared.

Sirius hesitated, glancing at James for support. James gave him an encouraging nod, nudging him forward.

“Listen, Remus,” Sirius began tentatively, “I need to talk to you.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, his expression guarded. He clutched the strap of his bag tighter. “About earlier?”

Sirius gave a twitch of agreement, gaze faltering for a moment, and his eyes now looked more sunken than bright. “Yeah, about that. I—,” He hesitated, struggling to find the right words.

James urged Sirius on. “Go on mate. You know what you’ve got to do.”

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I shouldn’t have snapped. I didn’t mean to treat one of my friends like that.”

“We’re not friends,” Remus said harshly.

“Well, at any rate, I’m sorry.”

“Remus,” James interjected, stepping closer. “He means it. He’s sorry.”

Sirius glanced at James gratefully, then back at Remus, pleading. “Please, mate. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Remus considered Sirius's words for a moment, still uncertain. After a pause, he let out a small sigh. “Alright, Sirius. Apology accepted.”

A faint smile flickered across Sirius's face, a sense of relief washing over him. He reached out tentatively. “Friends?”

Remus hesitated for a moment, then shook Sirius's hand. “Friends.”

The tension seemed to ease between them. They exchanged a nod, silently agreeing to put their disagreement behind them.

“Shall we catch up with the others?” Remus suggested, motioning toward the common room.

Sirius fell into step beside him, feeling grateful for the chance to make things right. “Yeah, let’s.”

*

“I’m bored,” Sirius whined. “Let’s do something.”

They were leaving their last lesson on Wednesday, Charms, and Remus was already looking forward to taking a long nap in their dormitory.

James’ eyes lit up. “Dinner? Detention? A vicious Quidditch match in which we beat the Slytherins so hard they retreat back into the slimy dungeons they came from?”

“Homework?” Remus suggested to no avail. “We’ve got that Transfiguration essay…”

“I can’t believe McGonogall set an 8-inch essay in the first week,” Peter moaned, and they passed by a group of Hufflepuffs throwing around a quaffle.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Of course you’d suggest homework… I want to do something exciting.”

“Let’s go back to the common room! A round of Gobstones!” Peter cried. “My mum got me a gold set for my eleventh birthday.”  

“Bo- ring .”  

James paused in front of them all right before the tapestry of the Fat Lady, eyes glinting. “Do you all solemnly swear you can keep a secret?”

That’s how it was, with James Potter. Everything was an adventure, a cause for celebration. The three boys were utterly enraptured in the promise of mystery in his gaze. He made for a rather grand figure, towering over all of them at eleven, blue eyes sparkling.

“I swear it,” Sirius breathed. 

“Then I’ve got something to show you. Follow me!” 

They followed James all the way up the winding stairs to their dormitory. James flourished open his trunk and began searching through piles of old quills and books. “My father gave this to me for my eleventh—a little better than Gobstones dare I say—,” Peter’s face fell. “He told me I could only use it for the most extenuating circumstances, and obviously not for mindless midnight wandering…good thing it won’t be mindless. Here we go!” 

James flourished a silky cloak, made of shimmering silvery material. Sirius and Peter gasped.

“What is that?” Remus asked, watching as the light shifted off of it, hand in a box of wizarding jelly beans. James smirked, and wrapped it around his body, and queerly enough, he seemed to disappear, leaving behind a triumphant floating head.

“An invisibility cloak!” Remus realised, eyes widening, dropping the box of Bertie’s Every-Flavour Beans he’d got from James.

“They’re incredibly rare,” Sirius admired. “Merlin, my father’s wanted to get his hands on one since forever.”

“Now we can sneak through the castle undetected whenever we like. Pretty neat, isn’t it?” 

“Neat!” Remus exclaimed, staring at the cloak in awe, watching as the silvery material shimmered. “This is beyond neat. ”

James grinned. “I reckon some of us can fit under here. Sirius, come on.” James enveloped both him and Sirius in the cloak and Peter and Remus watched as they promptly vanished, the only trace of them being the tips of four black shoes poking out underneath. 

“Can I have a go?” Peter cried. “Please, can I?”

“Don’t be so needy, Peter,” Sirius said, but James lifted part of the cloak over Peter. Peter was quite small and pudgy, but he fit underneath.

“Remus, come under.”

Following Sirius’ beckoning, Remus crouched down under the cloak. Looking at his legs, he saw only moonlight and shadows. It was a very queer feeling. He and Sirius were so close he could feel warm breath fanning his cheeks, his elbow pressing into Peter’s hipbone. 

”Let’s go somewhere,” Sirius suggested, knee pressed to Remus’ thigh. “Yes, let’s. James?”

“Right away, Captain.” They crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the common room and climbed through the portrait hole.

“Who’s there?” squawked the Fat Lady. They said nothing, and walked quickly down the corridor. 

Remus let out a howl of pain as a sharpness shot through his foot. “Peter!”

Peter quickly withdrew his heel from Remus’ toes. “Sorry, mate!” 

Where should they go? They aimlessly wandered down the corridors.

“We could try to see the other houses,” James whispered, and he was the one holding a wand illuminated with lumos.

Sirius snorted. “Or we could see Slytherin, decomposed like a ditch—,” Sirius was cut off as James shot out his hand and forcefully closed Sirius’ mouth. Remus realised why—ahead of them, a pair of Slytherin seventh years further up the corridor had their wands out and pointed at a third-year Hufflepuff.

“—is Farroway trying to defy us, Alecto?” came a sinister voice, and it sent chills up Remus’ spine.

The third-year was a shadowy figure pressed up against the wall, and he was trembling. “I’m just heading back to my house. Didn’t mean any trouble.”

“Trouble? Oh we’re not here for trouble, are we, Alecto? We’re here to help, ain’t that right?”

Remus’ blood boiled as he eyed the two cornering Farroway. He felt an intrinsic need to do something, but the words never came to his mouth. 

“Help? Oh, isn’t that sweet, Amcyus. How about you help us by lending a hand with some... overdue assignments?”

Farroway spluttered nervously, hands pressed to the marble behind him. “I... I can’t. I’ve got my own work to do.”

“We’re not asking, see?” whispered Amycus, wand now pressing into the curve of Farroway’s neck. “We’re telling. You wouldn't want to upset us, would you? Not good for your health, is it?”

Sirius and James, now, had their foreheads pressed together, hands inching towards their wands. Remus swallowed.

“Indeed,” drawled Alecto sadistically. “We’ve got our ways, ways to make things rather unpleasant for those who cross us.”

“That’s not allowed,” breathed Farroway, but Remus didn’t quite believe that. He was sure they could do whatever they liked, and that it wouldn’t be pretty.

“Ah, but rules... they're like cobwebs, easily brushed aside when we’re in need. You’ve got no choice, really.”

“You’ll reconsider, won’t you?” said Alecto, a smirk blooming on her shadowed face. “For your own sake. Don't want to make enemies of us, now do you?” 

Remus’ stomach twisted, and the air shifted, then it came like a flash: Sirius and James shouting ‘expelliarmus’ in unison and two wands went flying in the air, clattering down behind them. There was a flurry of motion and suddenly Remus was running along with James and Sirius, Peter on his tail, fiercely gripping his own wand protectively. Farroway split too, and Amycus and Alecto were left wildly spinning their heads around to look for the culprit.

“Stubborn little thing, aren’t ya?” screeched Amycus. “We’ll remember this, mark my words! You’ll regret crossing us. We’ll stand outside Hufflepuff every day!”

While they sprinted, footsteps slapping the floor, crashing sounds reverberated throughout Hogwarts. A nervous giggle escaped Remus’ lips uncontrollably, and James choked and suddenly they were all laughing, curling over and slapping their knees with unstoppable bouts of laughter. Remus buried his face in his hands; it was so unbelievable and remarkable, that he just had to laugh. Remus started to wipe tears from his eyes, and they finally quieted down, Peter’s face still bright red.  

“Who’s there?” croaked Mr Pringle. Bollocks, Remus thought, and he felt chills at the thought of being in trouble in his first week. James hastily covered them in his cloak, and they ran for it. They passed Pringle in the doorway; Pringle’s pale, wild eyes looked straight through him and they slipped under his outstretched arm and streamed off up the corridor, their peals of laughter still ringing in Remus’ ears.

It was only safe to remove the cloak when they arrived back in their dorm, and Remus threw himself on his bed, cheeks still pink. 

“Bloody Slytherins!” Sirius cried out. “That was close!”

“That’s the magic of the cloak,” James gloated, stuffing it back into his trunk. “I can get away with endless schemes now.”

“Not without me?” Sirius said, and James assured him otherwise. This now felt very private; something just between those two, and Remus tucked his chin over his silky pillow despondently. 

“Should’ve known this was what the Carrows got up to at school,” Sirius commented, perching on the end of his bed, legs spread lazily. 

“Those were the Carrows?” asked Peter at once. “Blimey!”

“Why? What’ve you heard?” shot Remus immediately, perking up. 

“They’re stinking snakes!” announced Sirius “Even my dear cousin, Bellatrix, cowers at the sight of them. They’re evil, honest, to their core. We showed them…we’ll wipe the smiles off their smug faces.”

“Just as long as we don’t have to wipe you off the dungeon floors,” said James.

*

Sunday evenings in Gryffindor tower were alive with ruckus. The Prewett twins, as was typical of them, made first years line up as test subjects for spells they’d created. In the corner, Lily Evans was reading furiously, tutting. The Gryffindor Quidditch captain, Rufus Fawcett, was pacing and laying out his plan to win the Cup. James and Sirius were battling each other in a furious game of Wizard’s Chess, Peter slobbered all over James’ chess skills, and Remus, who was usually keen to sit back and observe, found his attention slipping as he gazed out of the window anxiously.  

“You’re fidgeting so much, I’m half expecting you to start levitating,” James quipped as he took Sirius’ pawn. “Keep checking your watch, time might just start moving backwards!”

“Oi!” Sirius exclaimed as James took his rook. “I deserved that rook!”

“Sorry. I’m just…tired,” said Remus, glancing at his watch again. Still seven o’clock. Madam Pomfrey expected him at the medical wing at eight.  

“Then sleep,” grunted Sirius. “Knight to E5.” 

“Checkmate,” said James easily. “I win. Again.”    

Sirius groaned and declared James a cheater, Peter squealing with delight. Remus’ attention was elsewhere.

“I’m going to take a walk,” said Remus eventually, heading towards the portrait hole. 

“Taking a breather from our glorious company, is he?” murmured Sirius, and James punched him lightly in the stomach.

“Don’t be a prat, Sirius.”

Remus swung open the portrait and hopped out to be met with the sight of a scrawny Severus Snape crouched outside, no doubt feuding with the Fat Lady.

“Spying on us, I see?”   

Snape’s face turned red and he whipped out his wand.

“As if I’d ever spy on the likes of you, Lupin,” sneered Snape coldly. “I don’t suppose you’d know where Lily is.” 

“Dunno. Don’t care,” replied Remus, and walked down the corridor leaving Snape’s furious face with the Fat Lady.

Remus wandered aimlessly down the hallways before stopping at a marble balcony that jutted over the Quidditch pitch. The golden sun was bleeding into the horizon and Remus could only stare as the clock ticked closer to the full moon. His stomach twisted in anticipation.

He stopped as he saw a girl with flowing black hair staring wistfully at the skies.

“Sorry! I hope I’m not disturbing you…” Remus apologised hastily and she quickly spun and looked at him.

“I don’t mind. I don’t own the balcony, at any rate.”

“Thanks.” Now that Remus had approached, he could see she was another first-year, in Ravenclaw. 

“What’s that?” She pointed to his forehead, the white scar still present. “You’re all right, I hope.” 

Remus’ fingers jumped to his forehead. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m quite handy at Episkey you know.” She drew out her wand and pointed it at him. “ Episkey!” She looked disappointed. “Maybe it only works on broken bones.”

Remus flushed, and turned back to the sky. It was almost eight o’clock. “I have to go.”

She sent him a fleeting smile as he strode away with urgency. “I’m Desdemona. If you ever need a little help, you know where to find me.”

Madam Pomfrey fussed around Remus when he arrived at the Hospital Wing. She gave him potions, cast spells on him, and finally tucked a lock of brown hair behind his ear and looked at him sternly. “There’s a bell you can ring to alert me to pick you up in the morning. Do not—and I repeat, do not leave the Shack without my accompaniment.” 

Remus nodded in agreement, and she led him through the secret passage to the Shrieking Shack. He took note of every curve of marble, every statue they passed in their hurry. By the end of it, he was certain the entire pathway was memorised.  

The shack was old and creaky, wood strewn around and a half-broken curtained bed in the corner of the room. Madam Pomfrey looked at him expectedly, and Remus self-consciously began to strip. She folded his clothes and placed them on the bed as he shivered in front of her, naked. 

“Tomorrow morning you must tell me if these are too tight or too loose,” she said, spelling the sturdy handcuffs onto his wrist. She stood back. “Be safe, Lupin.” And she locked the door.

When the moon became full, Remus felt agony shoot through his body and he howled into the night, before everything went dark.

Remus felt grime under his fingernails. His body was gaunt, ribs poking out of the thin tan skin. Mouth parched, lips cracked and wanting. There was a shimmer of blood on his hairless chest which he touched and stared at his coated fingertips. He had jerked himself free of one of the silver handcuffs and he used this hand to ring the bell hanging above him. His flaccid penis drooped between his legs, his thighs shaking.  

Remus heard the chain fumbling, and the door creaked open, an apprehensive Madam Pomfrey behind it in her nurse’s frock. She told him the handcuffs would be tightened, and he was too dazed to reply. As she led him out of the shack, something began to blossom on his face. 

And so it began; as all things did. With a little bit of hope.