Interesting People
September 1st, 1971
The platform was alive with noise and color. Children darted through the crowds, their robes swishing behind them as parents waved goodbye or fussed over last-minute adjustments. The towering Hogwarts Express hissed and billowed steam, a scarlet giant waiting to whisk them all away.
Remus stood by the edge of the crowd, his hands gripping the handle of his cart. He tried not to stare, but it was impossible not to. He’d never seen so many witches and wizards his age before. Some looked nervous like him, clutching their trunks or owls tightly. Others seemed at ease, laughing with friends or leaning nonchalantly against their luggage.
“Are you all right?” his mother asked softly, brushing invisible lint off his sleeve.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, though his stomach churned.
“Look at them,” his father muttered beside him, his eyes narrowing at a family nearby. “The Blacks. Always making a spectacle of themselves.”
Remus followed his father’s gaze and saw them immediately. They were impossible to miss: a tall, severe-looking woman and a regal man with dark hair stood near the train, surrounded by several children. The woman’s sharp voice carried over the din as she berated one of the boys, who stood with his arms crossed and an air of defiance.
“Sirius, stop slouching,” she snapped. “You represent the Black family. Act like it.”
The boy—Sirius, apparently—rolled his eyes so dramatically Remus thought they might get stuck. “Yes, Mother,” he drawled, leaning against his cart even more.
Lyall sniffed. “Arrogant, the lot of them.”
“Let’s not start,” Hope said gently, nudging him. “Remus, have you got your ticket? Your wand?”
“Yes, Mum,” Remus said, clutching his bag tighter. He tried not to stare at Sirius, who was now grinning as a younger boy—likely his brother—scowled at him.
Further along the platform, another family caught his attention. A bespectacled boy with messy black hair was chatting animatedly with a stocky blond boy, both of them laughing as their parents looked on.
“That’s the Potters,” his mother said softly, noticing his gaze. “And Peter Pettigrew with them. Their families are very close.”
Remus nodded, feeling suddenly self-conscious. The two boys seemed so at ease, like they already belonged here. He looked down at his shoes, scuffed and a little too small, and wondered if anyone would notice.
The goodbye was short but full of unspoken words. His mother hugged him tightly, whispering, “Be brave, love. And write to us.”
His father gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. “Remember what we talked about. Keep your head down. Don’t draw attention to yourself.”
“I will,” Remus promised, his throat tight.
With one last look back at them, he hoisted his trunk onto the train and stepped inside.