The First Day
September 3rd, 1971
Morning in Gryffindor Tower was nothing short of chaos. The dormitory was filled with the sound of frantic shuffling, the zipping of bags, and Sirius loudly complaining about the lack of coffee.
“Honestly, who runs a magical school without coffee?” he muttered, dragging a comb through his dark hair in front of the mirror.
“Are you planning to charm the professors with your good looks or just annoy them into submission?” James teased, fastening his tie crookedly.
“Both,” Sirius said with a smirk.
Remus sat quietly on the edge of his bed, carefully buttoning his robes. His body still ached from the previous night, but he managed to keep his discomfort hidden behind a practiced mask of indifference. He caught Peter glancing at him once or twice but said nothing.
“All set?” James asked, clapping his hands together.
“Let’s go,” Sirius said, grabbing his bag and swinging it over his shoulder.
The four of them descended the spiral staircase, joining the flow of students making their way to breakfast. The common room was alive with chatter and excitement about the first day of classes, and Remus found himself swept up in the energy despite his exhaustion.
Breakfast in the Great Hall was another feast, though Remus found himself nibbling on toast rather than piling his plate like James and Sirius. Peter sat beside him, nervously twisting his spoon in his porridge.
“What do we have first?” Sirius asked, leaning over James’s timetable.
“Charms,” James replied through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “With the Hufflepuffs.”
“Bet we’ll learn how to make things fly,” Sirius said, pretending to levitate his fork with exaggerated concentration.
Peter chuckled nervously. “What if it’s really hard?”
“We’ll manage,” James said confidently. “We’re Gryffindors, after all.”
Remus forced a smile, but his stomach churned. The idea of sitting in a classroom, surrounded by students who might notice something “off” about him, made his chest tighten.
Professor Flitwick, a tiny wizard who had to stand on a stack of books to see over his desk, greeted them warmly as they filed into the Charms classroom.
“Welcome, welcome!” he squeaked. “Today, we’ll begin with one of the most fundamental spells: the Levitation Charm.”
James elbowed Sirius with a triumphant grin. “Told you.”
Flitwick demonstrated the spell, his wand flicking delicately as he made a feather rise gracefully into the air. “The incantation is Wingardium Leviosa. Remember: swish and flick!”
They were paired off to practice, and Remus found himself with Peter, who looked like he might faint.
“Here,” Remus said gently, showing him the correct wand movement. “It’s more of a flick at the end, like this.”
Peter nodded, his hand shaking slightly as he tried again. “Wingardium Leviosa!”
The feather wobbled and twitched but remained stubbornly on the desk.
“Not bad,” Remus said encouragingly, though his own feather hovered a few inches above the table.
Meanwhile, across the room, James and Sirius were having much more success.
“Look at that!” James said, his feather soaring high.
Sirius snorted. “Show-off.” He waved his wand lazily, and his feather floated up to meet James’s.
Flitwick clapped his hands together. “Excellent work, Mr. Potter, Mr. Black!”
Peter groaned. “I’m rubbish at this.”
“You’ll get it,” Remus said, though he couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at how easily the others seemed to excel.
After Charms, they hurried to Transfiguration, where Professor McGonagall’s stern presence silenced even Sirius’s usual bravado.
“Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,” she announced, her sharp gaze sweeping the room. “Anyone caught misusing it will answer to me. Understood?”
The class nodded, wide-eyed.
“For today, we’ll begin with something simple: turning a matchstick into a needle.” She demonstrated with a flick of her wand, the matchstick on her desk instantly becoming a shining needle.
James leaned over to Sirius. “Simple, she says.”
Remus tried his best to follow the instructions, but his matchstick stubbornly refused to change. Peter fared no better, his matchstick emitting a faint puff of smoke before crumbling into ash.
“Concentrate,” McGonagall said, stopping beside their desk. “Visualize the needle clearly in your mind.”
Remus nodded, focusing all his energy on the small piece of wood. This time, it shimmered slightly, the tip turning metallic.
“Good start, Mr. Lupin,” McGonagall said, her expression softening ever so slightly.
He couldn’t help but smile, the small success giving him a fleeting sense of accomplishment.
By the time lunch rolled around, Remus’s body was screaming in protest. His muscles ached, and his head throbbed, but he forced himself to keep going.
“You alright?” Sirius asked, frowning at him over a plate of shepherd’s pie.
“Just tired,” Remus said quickly, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.
“First day’s always rough,” James said, shrugging. “Wait until Quidditch tryouts—that’s when things get really intense.”
Remus nodded absently, his mind already racing ahead to their next class.
The afternoon brought Defense Against the Dark Arts, a subject James had been eagerly anticipating all day.
The classroom was dimly lit, with shelves of dusty books and jars filled with strange substances lining the walls. Their teacher, Professor Marlowe, was a wiry man with sharp features and a brisk manner.
“Defense is about preparation,” he said, pacing the front of the room. “Dark creatures, curses, jinxes—they all prey on the unprepared. If you don’t stay alert, you won’t stand a chance.”
Remus felt his stomach twist at the mention of dark creatures but forced himself to focus.
They spent the lesson learning about basic counter-jinxes, practicing wand movements on harmless dummy spells.
“Easy,” James said, grinning as he deflected a spell with a dramatic flourish.
Sirius rolled his eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
Remus managed to keep up, though the physical toll of the day made his movements sluggish. Peter struggled beside him, nearly sending his wand flying across the room more than once.
By the time they returned to Gryffindor Tower that evening, Remus was ready to collapse. Every step felt like dragging lead weights, and his head pounded with exhaustion.
“First day wasn’t so bad, was it?” James said, flopping onto the couch in the common room.
“Speak for yourself,” Peter mumbled, rubbing his arm where a dummy spell had hit him.
Sirius stretched out beside James, his boots propped on the armrest. “We survived. That’s what matters.”
Remus sank into an armchair, his eyes heavy. Despite the pain and fatigue, he felt a small sense of pride. He had made it through the day, and for now, that was enough.