The Wolf, the Rat, the Dog, and the Stag
Wednesday, 1 September 1971
Sirius Black was well and truly sick of his mother. Despite all that happened behind closed doors, she was nothing but the proper, pureblood mother while in the public eye. No one on the platform would have any clue that the two young boys felt anything but respect for their mother. From the outside, it seemed like the Black brothers were simply well-mannered, well-behaved, perfectly raised pureblood children. They stood with their shoulders back and their chins raised and said things like “yes maman,” and “yes sir,” and nodded politely and gave their thanks when their parents acquaintances said things like “you’ve grown into such fine young men,” and “I’m certain you’ll be a Slytherin and make your family proud.”
Sirius hated many things, but he hated that the most. It grated at him. It had for quite some time. The way it was always phrased; carefully and in such a way that made you believe that the only way to make his family proud was by being a Slytherin. The specific order of the words and the tone in which they were spoken told Sirius that there was no shot in hell of making his family proud if he was anything else. The heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black could not be brave, loyal, or intelligent. He must be ambitious, cunning, he must be a snake.
As the heir to, arguably, the most infamous pureblood House, Sirius should have wanted to make his family proud. But he often found himself wondering if he could sleep at night knowing he was a source of their pride. It wasn’t that he wanted to bring shame on his family. It wasn’t that he had some evil plot to bring ruin to their name. He was eleven years old for Merlin’s sake. So, it wasn’t any of that. He simply wondered whether seeking their pride was worth sacrificing his pride. He’d never liked the way his family spoke about others; whether it was the muggles that walked through the park in front of their home in Islington, or the other pureblood families who could never be quite good enough, or – worst of all – the muggle born students who deigned to believe they had a right to walk the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.
Sirius, to put it quite frankly, thought this was all a load of bullshit.
But he’d never known another way.
So, he politely nodded to his mother and his younger brother - because a proper young man would never dare to show affection - grabbed his trunk and boarded the train. He’d let his parents think that he wanted to be a Slytherin, that he wanted to make them proud, and that he wanted to grow into the proper heir. But as he made his way down the aisle of the train, he resolved once again to be nothing like them. Sirius had never been happier.
James Potter woke up that morning more excited than he had on every birthday and holiday combined. Today was the day he went to Hogwarts. Today was the day he became a Gryffindor. His parents had both been Gryffindors and they spoke of how wonderful their house had been. How the students cared for each other and challenged each other and how the common room was the happiest place in the world. When they spoke of their time at Hogwarts, it was always with a wistful look in their eye and a smile on their face.
James couldn’t wait.
They’d arrived at Kings Cross early just so he’d stop pacing. His father had laughed in that special way he always laughed. The sound filled James’ heart to the brim. His father’s laugh had a way of warming anyone up. His eyes crinkled up and the sound boomed through the house and James thought it was the best sound in the world. He loved his parents, and he loved his life. He had one friend who lived a short walk away that he’d spend his days with chatting about whatever it is that little boys chat about. But, aside from Peter and his parents, James didn’t know many people. And, as much as he loved Peter, he’d always wanted more friends. He dreamed of friends who would push him to be better, who would love him no matter what, who would challenge him in new and exciting ways. He knew he’d eventually make those friends at Hogwarts; he hoped that Peter would be along for the ride. He didn’t want to lose his friend, he just wanted to make more.
When they arrived at Platform 9 ¾, James almost passed out. There it was! The Hogwarts Express! The train that would be taking him to the place he’d call home for the next seven years, to the place that would make him into the person he was meant to be. Never in his eleven years had James been this excited to see a train. His parents just smiled, and his mother laughed in that soft, lilting way she always did when James did something amusing. James had never been happier.
He hugged them hard and promised to write every week and then he grabbed his trunks and went to find Peter.
Peter Pettigrew was a quiet boy. He knew he wasn’t as smart as James or as talented or as, well, anything. But James loved him anyways. Peter and James had been friends since they were five. Peter supposed they’d probably met before then because their parents were in the same circle, but, really, what does a baby know about having friends? Peter remembers being at some stuffy party, bored out of his mind and trying his level best to not throw a fit when James appeared out of thin air and asked if Peter might want to go play with his new charmed quidditch figurines. Peter and James had watched as the little toys flew around the room, ducking and swerving out of the boys’ reach. Peter had never been happier.
Now, as the pair made their way onto the Hogwarts Express and found a place to store their trunks, Peter found himself wondering whether he was about to lose James.
Remus Lupin had a secret. A secret so big and so scary that, when he thought about it for too long, made him feel like he was sinking into a black hole. He’d arrived at the platform early; his father didn’t want to draw too much attention. Lyall Lupin hated his son. He’d never said it out loud, but Remus knew. Some days, he could tell himself that his father didn’t hate him, he just hated what he was. But, on days like today, it was pretty hard to buy that line. Lyall was happier than Remus had seen him in years. Many of the parents on the platform were happy. But the difference was that those parents were happy for their kids, Lyall was happy to be rid of his. Remus could see the difference. The other parents were smiling, but they were trying to hold back tears. They were excited that their kids were heading off to experience something truly, genuinely magical, but they weren’t happy to be away from them. Lyall couldn’t give one fuck whether Remus was leaving to experience something good, he only cared that Remus was leaving.
When they’d arrived at the platform, Remus had realized, once and for all, that his father hadn’t loved or liked him since he was five years old. Remus found himself thinking, not for the first time, that he wished he could let the wolf loose on command. He wished he could tap into that untamed violence and power and finally show his father how his disdain made Remus feel. It wasn’t that Remus wanted to hurt his father. In fact, he was truly scared of hurting anyone. It was that he sometimes wished the strength of the wolf stuck with him between moons, instead of leaving him as this shy, scared little boy.
Remus had no friends. He’d never been allowed to meet any. He’d barely left his home since he was released from St. Mungo’s six years ago. His only friend had been his mother, and she’d died two years earlier. Some part of Remus knew that hadn’t been his fault, but his father did a much better job of fostering that part of Remus that believed that it was.
When Dumbledore had come to the Lupins house to explain that there was a place for him at Hogwarts, Remus was sure he was dreaming. His father spoke very rarely about his time at Hogwarts, but Remus had read about it in the books on magic he swiped from the shelves in his father’s office. He had always wished that he was normal. That he was just another wizard who would receive a letter on their twelfth birthday with directions to arrive at Platform 9 ¾ on September 1st. But his father made it clear that this dream would never be a reality.
He maybe should’ve realized then that his father hated him. No rational person would concede so immediately that, yes, a child who also happens to be categorized as a Class XXXXX creature should be allows to walk the halls with other students. Lyall, though, had all but begged Dumbledore to just take Remus now. Why wait until September? Remus had spent the next six months alone in his room crossing out the days on a calendar pinned to the back of his door. Instead of spending time with his son before sending him away for the school year, Lyall had let Remus exit like a prisoner.
So, when they’d arrived at Kings Cross that morning, Remus had been more than exited to get away from the person who didn’t love him anymore. Remus had found himself wondering if it would’ve been better if he knew his dad had never wanted him, existing knowing that he’d been loved once was all the more painful. He scanned the faces of the other parents, realizing that his father truly hated him, and found his eyes catching on one other parent who seemed … off.
Remus found it nearly impossible to tear his eyes away from the three impeccably dressed people accompanied by what Remus knew from his books to be a house elf. They all had sleek black hair and sharp features. Well, maybe not all. As Remus watched longer, he realized that one of the boys was measurably softer than his family. This boy had the same black hair and the same features, but, somehow, he didn’t seem so sharp. He seemed strong. Remus noticed almost immediately that the boys’ mother regarded her son in much the same way that Remus’ father regarded him. With a mask of pleasantry for the world to see, but an unmistakable look of disdain in her eye. Remus found himself thinking that, maybe, that look wouldn’t be so noticeable if one hadn’t found themselves on the receiving end of it every single day.
Remus had boarded the train and found an empty compartment and watched his father leave before the train even started moving. He was sitting quietly, literally twiddling his thumbs, wondering what to do for the next nine hours, when the compartment door was thrown open and two boys with rosy cheeks and blinding smiles asked if they could sit with him. “Everywhere else is full,” the taller boy had said with a sparkle in his eye. “Sure,” was all Remus could force himself to say. He hadn’t really spoken with anyone other than himself in two years. “Thanks! I’m James, he's Peter, it’s great to meet you,” the boy had then paused and allowed Remus to introduce himself, “oh, erm, I’m Remus … its, ah, great to meet you as well.” Remus had responded, with all the enthusiasm he could muster. He wasn’t used to anyone acknowledging his existence and he wasn’t quite sure how to behave. The boys started yammering on about nothing Remus understood, but he was oddly at peace.
Then, the door opened again.
The boy with the impossibly soft features and the sleek black hair stepped in to the compartment without invitation. He stepped over James and took the seat across from Remus. And then, with the most beautiful smile that Remus had ever seen, said “Sirius Black, pleasure to meet you all.”
Remus had never been happier.