16th February 1965
Remus Lupin didn’t remember much about the day he was bitten. He had been too young. Not even five years old. But there were some things he could never forget. The shattering of the window as a massive beast hurled itself at him, roaring. His father screaming when razor-sharp canines sunk themselves into his son’s exposed calf. Then, the pain of his body breaking into a thousand different pieces.
***
17th February 1965
No one explained to him what was going on. Remus heard aggravated whispers from his parents, arguing downstairs. He heard the words monster, transformation and dangerous repeated over and over again, though not much else. He tried to listen in, but the low voices quickly escalated into overlapping shouting. Their voices rose and his parents were screaming and screaming and screaming so loud that he was sure their voices would fill up the entire village. Little Lupin looked down at his feet and limped silently back upstairs.
Remus didn’t cry. He was too tired. He brushed the splinters of his broken bed frame and the shards of shattered glass off his mattress and stared at the wall. It was splattered with blood and the wallpaper had been ripped to shreds. He had done that. But not of his own accord. Something had come into his room and made him do that. And the bloodstains he was sitting on hadn’t come solely from him. Remus didn’t know how he knew, but he did. Some were his parents’, but that wasn’t the smell that was bothering him. It was faint - just a singular drop.The blood of a stranger. But he wasn’t really a stranger, was he? He was the one who did this to Remus. He would remember that scent for the rest of his life.
***
June 1965
Not long after that day, his father left. He’ll come back, his mother, Hope, kept saying. He’s just in London for a while. For work. But Lyall Lupin didn’t come back. All he did was send a little bit of money each week, along with the renewal of his promise to return in a month’s time. Remus understood that Lyall had to work. It had to be expensive to take care of him, now that he was what he was. A werewolf. And Hope Lupin did her best with what she had. After all, she was just a single mother with a monster son and an estranged husband. Remus just wished his father would come back. And not only for Christmas.
***
December 1965
Remus had a cage now. Lyall gave it to him that first Christmas after the incident. It wasn’t quite a gift - if it was, it was a terrible one. The cage folded down into its base, then magically shrunk to the size of a game board which slotted itself in a Jenga box. Remus had been astounded when he first saw it, but neither Hope nor Lyall would explain how it worked to him. He was considerably less excited, though, when he realised it was for him. For his transformations. The bars were far enough to give him the illusion that he wasn’t trapped, but close enough that he couldn’t pry his way out. It was immune to his rain of destruction and had some sort of sound barrier so that Hope could sleep on the nights of a full moon. At least it seemed bigger from the inside than the outside. It was gruesome, but Remus couldn’t help but admit that he was fascinated by all the things it could do. But how? It was just bars of metal. Remus stared at it for hours, but no answers came to him.
The Lupins never discussed Remus’ condition. Hope would just lock him in the cage for the night, bandage him up in the morning, and feed him a good breakfast. By the next week, they would begin packing. Secretly, Remus loved it. Not the transformations, or the scramble for money. He loved the rush of power he was awarded every month. He grew quicker than most children, tall and strong. He could tell which neighbour was coming home by their footsteps, and when Lyall was returning for the holidays, he sat by the door and sniffed the air until he caught his father’s heavy musk down the street.
When Lyall was with his wife and son, their home became a ticking bomb. After the initial excitement, there were just tight smiles and veiled accusations. When was Lyall coming back? Why was there no cure? Why hadn’t the other werewolf been caught? Remus pretended not to understand the tension between his parents. That way, they were forced to be civil in front of their son. When he was sent off to bed, he pressed his ear up against the door and listened to every word. Hearing angry footsteps storming their way to bed, little Lupin hurried away and threw himself on his bed, feigning sleep.
***
1966-1971
Hope and Remus were poor as dirt. It was inevitable. They had to keep moving around after every other full moon, and the cost was only getting higher and higher. Sooner or later, the villagers would get suspicious. But they stayed in Wales, going from one shitty flat to another. He had no friends. Why bother? All the kids in all his classes gawked at the increasing number of scars etched across his body. They thought he was a freak. He was.
Remus’ education wasn’t the best. Understandable, considering he never stayed at one school longer than two months because every now and then, he turned into a murderous fucking beast. He developed a thick Welsh accent, a defensive yet self-loathing attitude, and a hatred for learning which later morphed into a hatred for people altogether. He was hardly at school anymore. Remus couldn’t stand the whispers that even the teachers had started exchanging, nor the discomfort of not understanding the strings of letters and numbers on the board. Why did he need school anyway? He could do basic mathematics - otherwise, how would he count the money he stole? He was surprisingly sharp at it; by just feeling around in his pocket, he could count how much he had in a second. His English and Welsh were decent, though littered with curses, and science was a load of bullshit anyways. He could take care of himself. He would stay in school for just enough days to keep Social Services away.
Meanwhile, Hope worked odd jobs late into the night. When she came home, she would grab a bottle of vodka and collapse on the sofa. Remus always felt a stab of guilt looking at the tear-tracks her mascara carved. It was because of him. Otherwise, they would still be living in that cottage up in the Welsh mountains, happy and safe, surrounded by his mother’s family and friends. Hope loved him, Remus knew that. But it was difficult to be so sure when she was always too tired to even spare a glance his way. It was almost as if they were leading separate lives.
***
Summer 1971
It came as a surprise when Remus received an acceptance letter to some posh school or the other. Most of their mail was spread out across all their old addresses, because Hope had forgotten to update their home address. The only letters they got were eviction notices. Besides, Remus had been skipping so much school, he didn’t even know his teacher’s name. He had flunked all his tests. Why would it be for him? The letter must have been misdirected. He threw it in the overflowing rubbish bin.
***
Sunday 5th September 1971
On the last day of summer, there came a knock at the Lupins’ door. Hope was working, but Remus was sprawled, asleep, across his mouldy mattress. He jolted awake, and the bottle of vodka he was holding slipped from his fingers and shattered. Remus cursed. Now his mother would definitely know he had been sneaking some from her cupboard.
Tonight was the full moon. Remus was tetchy and agitated, yet had too little energy to do much about it. He needed all the sleep he could get before his transformation. He wouldn’t have much time to recover; on Monday, it was back to school again. Secondary school, for the first time. He thought of the itchy uniforms and mountains of homework and sighed. He threw his head back down onto his pillow. Surely whoever was at the door would go away once they realised no one was home. But they were persistent. Remus considered throwing a rock at them through the window, but that seemed like too much effort. Groaning, he stumbled to the door.
A phrase that someone had told him once, years ago, resurfaced in his mind. Stranger danger. He had heard stories of kids that had been taken right at their doorstep for opening the door to the wrong person. Remus gritted his teeth. He wasn’t stupid enough to get kidnapped. Anyway, who would want him? But he wasn’t that careless. He pulled open a drawer in the kitchen and grabbed a knife. Then, gripping it tight, he cracked the door open.
There was a middle-aged man standing at his door, smiling pleasantly. He wore a brightly patterned robe that looked like a Halloween costume Remus saw in charity shops. His hair was long and pin-straight, and silvery in colour. It glittered in the morning light. It had to be fake. No one’s hair was naturally that weird. But what nutcase would willingly do that to themselves? Remus side-eyed him, and began to close the door.
“Remus Lupin?” said the man in his light, careless voice. He had a London accent - that explained the abnormal getup. Londoners were messed up in the head.
Remus narrowed his eyes. Social Services, probably. How else would they know his name? The man hadn’t seen his knife yet. He slid it into his pocket, and put on his baby face. He raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes in mock astonishment at the man’s two-months-too-early and thirty-years-too-old Halloween costume.
“I’m sorry, sir, my mummy said not to speak to strangers,” he smiled out every last word, cringing on the inside. His act was very convincing. It was his backup plan when he was ever caught cheating or stealing: innocence and charisma. But the weirdo by his door wasn’t fazed.
“Well, Remus, I’m not a stranger at all. I worked with your father when you were younger. In fact, we’ve met before.”
Bullshit. Remus would most certainly remember meeting someone as odd as this guy.
“My name is Professor Albus Dumbledore.”
Remus slammed the door in his face. What a ridiculous name. Clearly, this guy was just high and wanted to fuck with him. Who would believe he was a professor? Didn’t you have to be sane to get a degree?
“Wasted my fucking vodka,” Remus cursed under his breath. Something was bothering him, though. How did the man know his name? He and his mother had only moved into this flat last weekend. No one in the area knew them yet. It couldn’t have been read off his mail: all the letters were addressed to Hope Lupin and made no reference to a son or a husband. Maybe it was worth seeing what this Professor Albus Dumbledore had to say.
The knocking had resumed. Remus yanked the door open mid-knock. He leaned on the door and gripped the handle, ready to slam it closed if the professor guy tried anything. His other hand was in his pocket, holding his knife.
“Sorry sir, I just lost my balance and accidentally closed the door in your face,” said Remus sarcastically, but not dropping the baby act. His eyes showed he wouldn’t put up with any of his crap. Straight to the point, or out.
“No worries.” The professor’s eyes twinkled at Remus’ sarcasm. “Is your mother home? I would prefer to have this conversation with her present.”
“No, she’s working.”
“Well, this is quite urgent. Is there any way I could make contact with her?”
“Why?”
“It’s regarding your schooling.”
Dammit. Social Services. They couldn’t take him away from Hope, could they? If they took him away, would they lock him in a cage? Would they poke and prod at him, experiment on him until he died, slowly and pathetically?
“She’s homeschooling me,” Remus lied.
“Well, we were hoping she might reconsider. We are offering you a place at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.”
Once again, Remus slammed the door. Witchcraft and Wizardry? Complete nutter, that guy. Must’ve thought it’d be funny to get his name somehow and make him look like a fool. Well, no more.
For the third time, the onslaught of knocking began. Remus growled. The full moon looming up that night wasn’t helping him keep his cool.
“What the fuck do you want?!” Remus yelled, wrenching the door open. “Oh.”
In front of him were his mother and the professor, chatting politely.
“Mum? What are you doing here?”
Hope blinked, confused all of a sudden. She wasn’t supposed to be here until the small hours of the morning. She didn’t supply her son with an explanation, mainly because she wasn’t quite sure why she wasn’t at work. She shrugged nonchalantly and stepped through the door, beckoning the man in.
Neither adult commented on Remus’ outburst. He had the guts not to blush as he allowed the professor in. He watched the old man’s reaction to the flat half challengingly, half ashamedly. His house was a shabby mess. Mould, peeling wallpapers, scratched hardwood floors. But the professor’s face remained placid, still like the calm waters.
“May I sit?” He gestured to the sofa and took a seat comfortably in its depths. Hope took one of the chairs and Remus fought the urge to lounge on the floor. Then he realised that even if the professor was legit, he wouldn’t be going to his school for very long. This was his house. He made himself comfortable on the ground, kicking his legs out.
“Allow me to reintroduce myself,” the man said. “My name is Professor Albus Dumbledore, and I am the headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.”
Remus couldn’t fathom why his mother was allowing this fool to jabber on. He raised an eyebrow and leaned against the wall.
“I would like to reinstate my offer to have Mr Lupin at Hogwarts. To continue the Lupin legacy, if I may.”
Continue the Lupin legacy? Had his mother gone to this school? For ‘Witchcraft and Wizardry’?
“Now, we have sent multiple offer letters, with no response. I suspect the owls must have gotten confused as to which of your various past addresses to post the letter to, or sent it to the wrong Lupin. Which is why I am here. I’m not sure if you are familiar with Hogwarts. It’s located in Scotland, but I’m sure you’ll manage to catch the Hogwarts Express from Platform 9 and ¾ at King’s Cross Station. Of course, it’s a boarding school, so all of Mr Lupin’s belongings and school supplies will have to be sorted out by tonight. I can have one of the teachers take you to Diagon Alley today, whenever suits your convenience. Unless it’s not possible, in which case, I can have it ordered for you, and delivered to Mr Lupin’s dorm. Now, I have a few forms I’d like you to complete, Mrs Lupin…”
“Of course, Professor,” said his mother, trying to mask her heavy Welsh accent - something she did to seem more posh.
Professor Dumbledore put his empty palm out in the air, and a roll of parchment and a quill appeared. Remus hid his surprise in a cough. Just sleight of hand. He handed it over to Hope, who unrolled it and began reading through without even the slightest hint of confusion.
“Okay, what is going on here?” Remus burst out. “Is this some sort of joke?”
“Oh, I assure you, Mr Lupin, it is not. I am offering you a genuine place at one of the most prestigious magical schools in Britain.”
“No, you’re not. You’re messing with me. I’m not stupid. As if I’m gonna believe I’m about to be whisked off to some school up in Scotland with magic and wizards. I’m not six.”
Dumbledore looked mildly startled, then something seemed to click.
“Ah. Has no one explained the Wizarding World to you yet?”
Remus rolled his eyes.
“What do you think your father’s job is, Mr Lupin?”
“Uh…” He didn’t actually know, and never bothered to ask. Why should he care? Lyall wasn't a part of his life.
“He works for the Ministry of Magic, under the Dark Creatures Control department. He specialises in werewolves.”
Remus flinched at that last word. He still wasn’t convinced that Dumbledore wasn’t just a creepy druggie. But now that he had mentioned his father, some things started to make sense. Like how Lyall could make things appear just as the professor had done with the parchment, or the words he muttered when Remus was half-conscious, recovering from his transformation. He healed abnormally quickly when his father was around. And all the owls hanging around the place over the holidays, and that stick Lyall kept always on his person. The old man explained the hidden magical world that Lyall Lupin was part of. Wizards, witches, goblins, trolls, giants, elves, potions, charms, wands, and all kinds of magic that Remus could hardly even imagine. Dumbledore pulled shimmering images out of thin air to dance in front of his face, describing the world he belonged to. The smell of poverty was overpowered by the fresh breeze of blue that seemed to ooze from him. It was difficult to believe, but things were starting to make sense. That cage that Remus howled out his transformations in - wasn’t it soundproof? It could shrink to fit into a little cardboard box. It had become nothing but a fact of life; Remus took it for granted and thought little about it. Werewolves were magical creatures, weren’t they? So, were wizards and witches that much of a stretch? And Remus couldn’t deny he could smell something different about Dumbledore. Light, buzzing energy with the faintest taste of azure. His father was the only other person Remus had ever met whose scent was similar. The base of their smells were the same, but they were layered with different colours and tastes and thoughts. Lyall smelled like pulsing energy, heavy and midnight blue.
“So… my father’s a wizard?” Remus hated how weak he sounded, but he was so tired and so confused. Was he a wizard too? Or just a werewolf? Was it possible to be both?
“Yes, as are you.”
So that answered his question.
“He was a fantastic student at Hogwarts. Top marks in his OWLs and NEWTs, Head Boy…”
“His what now?!”
“OWLs and NEWTs. I believe they are the magical equivalent of your GCSEs and A-levels.”
Remus sighed. At this point, why not just accept whatever Dumbledore said and move on?
“So, will you be taking up the offer, Mr Lupin?”
Remus scratched at one of his old scars. Boarding school. A posh one, presumably. He didn’t think he was that smart, but with magic in the mix, there probably wasn’t much to learn. He’d manage. It would be better for Hope, too. She’d be able to get a steady job without having to leave every month or so. She’d stop drinking so much and start sleeping and eating more. Maybe Lyall might come back to support her, now that his problem child was gone.
The only issue was his… condition. Dumbledore had mentioned werewolves, but he didn’t know if he was aware that he was in the presence of one. Remus was dangerous. Was he allowed around other children? Who knew what could happen if he couldn’t get in his cage quick enough? He could kill someone. But he couldn’t go exposing himself just when the only decent opportunity of his lifetime had presented itself to him. School was shitty, but magic? He was intrigued.
Remus nodded. “I will.” He signed the papers Dumbledore presented to him quickly, as if they might disappear if he stopped to blink.
“Of course, we have made arrangements in advance for your lycanthropy. I understand that tonight is a full moon, yes? Would you prefer to spend it at Hogwarts, or here?”
Remus’ throat closed up. He wasn’t quite sure why. It was a perfectly normal question. It was just that no one had ever been so direct with him before. Lycanthropy. Full moon. It had always just been heavy silences and darting glances.
“Um…”
“He’ll spend it here,” Hope jumped in for him. “Maybe we’ll be able to get to Diagon Alley and get his school things before it gets dark.” She looked out the window and frowned. It was late afternoon. Whatever this Diagon Alley place was, Remus was pretty sure it would be closed by now, especially on a Sunday.
“I’m afraid that may not be possible so late into the day. I’ll make arrangements to have some delivered by Monday. Unless, of course, you wanted to have tomorrow off to rest and recuperate?”
“No,” Remus said, harsher than he meant to. He could handle himself, thank you very much.
“As you wish, Mr Lupin. I’ll leave you the rest of the day to pack your personal belongings, and I look forward to seeing you again tomorrow.” Dumbledore stood up and he and Hope exchanged some sort of formal goodbye.
Then, he was gone.
***
Remus didn’t have very many personal belongings. He moved so much, all they kept were the mattresses and some shabby clothes. The only thing that was really his was a cassette tape that he won when some rich kid had bet that Remus couldn’t beat him in an arm wrestle. It would be a good bargaining chip at this new school. Apparently, Dumbledore would be buying him some sort of robes, so bringing his clothes was unnecessary. Remus hoped fervently that robes were just a joke. But based on what he had been wearing, maybe not.
Remus threw on his most presentable clothes: a dark brown jumper that covered the worst of his scars and a pair of baggy blue jeans. He tried to flatten his dirty blond hair down, but discovered that he was too prone to running a nervous hand through his hair for it to stay put. He grunted in frustration, and gave up.
Taking nothing but a toothbrush, the cassette tape and his cage smuggled in the Jenga box, he and Hope spent the rest of the day taking a series of cabs, buses and trains to King’s Cross Station in London. They planned on waiting out the full moon in a cheap hotel, then he’d jump aboard the Hogwarts Express and wave goodbye to his normal, magicless life.
While they were waiting for a bus, Remus nicked a couple pens and a handful of sweets from the convenience store by the station. He didn’t have any stationary, and maybe the candy would buy him favour among the new students. This school was permanent, apparently, so it was time for him to make an effort. He had hoped that the adrenaline rush of shoplifting would distract him from the sense of doom pressing against his chest. He was wrong. Remus sucked on a lollipop, but his nerves kicked in and crushed it to dust. He spat out the stick, then the lollipop too. It was too sweet for his liking.
He tried not to think too hard. He was already agitated from the full moon that was edging closer, but he was hyper aware that just this morning, he had slept through his broken alarm clock going off every fifteen minutes. Now, he was off to a magical boarding school in Scotland and wouldn’t see his mother until the October half-term. Assuming she’d want him back for the holidays. He had never even been outside of Wales before. That was fine, though. It wasn’t really so different here in London.
That was a lie.
London stunk of sweat and grime and poverty and gluttony and city fumes. Wales smelled like home, with its earthy richness and that lingering taste of rain. London left a bad taste in his mouth. It confused him, not hearing people dabbling in a little Welsh in their sentences when they spoke. The announcements were only spoken once, instead of first in English and the second time in Welsh. There was no middle class here. You were either a beggar on the side of the streets with not even enough to buy a loaf of bread, or a rich snob, swanning about in casual suits. It made Remus feel sick. He smiled politely at the homeless scattered by the roads, but he was so tired it probably looked more like a growl, especially paired with the scars across his face. People stared at him, the abnormally tall boy with a baby face clutching a Jenga box like it was his lifeline, who spoke like a thug roaming the dark alleyways at night.
He sniffed his Jenga box hard, hoping to smell familiarity, but all he got was the sweet iron scent of his own blood.
***
Nighttime was chasing at their heels when Remus and Hope finally rushed into their hotel room. There were two single beds, a bedside table and a small desk. It was getting dark; the moon was nearly out. Hope locked the door and pushed the furniture against it. Remus could feel the wolf rising up in him, preparing to break free. A howl banged against his throat, demanding to be let out. He kept his mouth clamped shut with difficulty.
His transformation was beginning.
The Jenga box. He leapt at it, but overshot by a metre. The bedspread ripped under him. His canine and human visions were conflicting, and he felt like he was hallucinating. He tore his clothes off and threw them across the room. Not a moment too soon, because his spine was elongating and curving in that dangerous, lupine slant. Somehow, he managed to get his paws on the cardboard box. He scrabbled at it, and he could feel that he was leaving claw marks behind.
He could hear screaming. The last shred of human in Remus understood it was his mother. She was trapped alone with a feral beast with nothing to protect her. He had never transformed out of the cage before - not in years. Now he was older, who knew what he could do? He had to get into the cage. Human Remus transmitted the image of him curled up within the bars to Wolf Remus. The animal understood, and threw its still transforming body at the Jenga box. The cage was jammed. By now, Remus was almost fully wolf. And the wolf had no time for being gentle. It grabbed the box in its teeth and shook it. Slobber dripped from its snout, weakening the battered cardboard. It ripped, and the cage thudded to the floor.
The wolf forced the walls up into its shape and flung itself in. It pawed at the door. Only when it was locked would the sound barrier kick in. It growled at the human cowering in the corner. She scampered forward and locked the door as quickly as she could, then ran back. Then, her shoulders relaxed. The wolf couldn’t hurt her anymore.
The beast tore at its own skin, howling to its heart’s content. It threw itself at the cage’s bars, over and over again until the entire thing toppled over on its side. The wolf was going crazy. Why had it locked itself up? It longed to run free, to chase rabbits, to make the other animals bow at its feet. It was a majestic creature, and deserved to rule the ground it walked. But for now, all it could do was prowl within this humiliating confinement. The wolf snarled, and turned its claws and teeth at itself. It would not stop until the ground ran with blood.