Epistulae Heroum

”Whatever love commands cannot be wholly denied:
he rules and is a law among the gods.”

The Heroides - IV: Phaedra to Hippolytus

Thursday 5th September, 1975

Remus woke up that morning feeling like an asteroid crashed into his skull whilst simultaneously having a hangover.

The first day of the cycle.

The moon cycle, for Remus, lasted five days in total. The first, the moon is just waxing gibbous enough for Remus to feel it. The first day was always the worst. He felt both insatiably hungry and like he wanted to throw up, it was just about impossible to focus on anything and his joints seem to crack at every movement. 

The second wasn’t so bad, arguably the easiest in the cycle. He would’ve gotten used to it by that point. He could eat without the looming threat of vomit. But then, the third day…

The third day was the full moon. His muscles and bones would ache and pull as though he was on a stretching rack and he’d be impossibly tired. An hour before the moon was due to rise, he’d make his way down the passageway through the whomping willow (a trek Pandora had, many times, insisted she join him on. He had always firmly refused her.) and would prepare. Madam Pomfrey had said his transformations could either get worse or better with age.

A lot of the time, he didn’t really take notice. Not to be dramatic, but the pain wasn’t really something he could think through. 

The fourth day was usually one Remus only ever remembered half of. The morning being gone in the hospital wing with a sleeping potion from Madam Pomfrey so strong he, mostly, didn’t even remember being brought in from the shack. On days where the morning was meant to be filled with classes, the teachers would pretend to reprimand him for his tardiness then later he would never actually have any detentions to do.

They used to just let him off. But Professor Dumbledore realised the students thought of it as favouritism and advised his staff to put on their best acting skills. Remus wasn’t all that arsed. It wasn’t like anyone actually suspected he was a werewolf so he never had to lie.

”Walk of shame, Loony?” Barty had sneered behind him one day in transfiguration.

”No.” Remus deadpanned, “It was a full moon last night and I’m recovering.”

”Recovering?” Barty scoffed.

”Yeah. I’m a werewolf.”

Crouch, Dolohov and Evan all snickered. 

“Fucking weirdo.”

Of course, he’d never say shit like that around Snape. Lord knows he’d believe it.

The fifth day was easier than the second, it was the night he had to be worried about. Sleep paralysis, nightmares, constant waking up. The worst sleeps of his life had been the night before the fifth day. He’d tried everything. Anything from avoiding cheese to draught of living death (Madam Pomfrey didn’t exactly know about that one). But absolutely nothing had been able to bay his nightmares. 

Remus dragged himself out of his four-poster and into the small shared bathroom where, just before he was about to step into the water of the shower, remembered one very brilliant detail.

He was a prefect.

*

There was absolutely no chance he was going in that Olympic sized breeding ground for bacteria they called a tub. His name may have been Remus and he may know far too much about mythology but that did not mean he wanted to bathe like the Romans. 

Thankfully, the place had private showers tucked away that were much more pleasant. And when the water hit his aching joints, he let out a large sigh. The shower was much more spacious than the tiny one in the dormitory he was getting uncomfortably tall for and it allowed for him to have a good stretch. 

When Remus turned off the water, his eyes widened at a very sore realisation that he must’ve left his fucking towel outside. 

Right.

He peeked his head out of the curtain, shivering as the cool air assaulted his skin.

”Hello?” He called out, a little helplessly.

No response. 

“Hello? Is anyone here?” He called out again, cringing as he realised he’d left his wand with the towel too. 

Fuck it.

Like a very ungraceful duck, he padded out of the shower quickly but carefully (to not slip) and sucked in a sharp breath as the rest of the cool air hit him. He spotted his towel, wand and clothes perched on a wooden shelf used for storing the bathe-ee’s things and let out a sigh of relief as he saw the rest of them empty.

He grabbed his towel and, just as he did, he heard a high pitched shriek come from behind him.

”Oh, Merlins—! Bugger! Sorry—!“

Remus quickly wrapped the towel around him and whirled around to see whoever had just gotten a clear view of his bare arse.

”Sorry!” Remus said, quickly, cringing even more, “I didn’t realise anyone was in…”

He recognised the red-head as Lily… something or other? Anyway, she was one of the fifth year Gryffindor prefects alongside James Potter. But mainly, he recognised her because a certain greasy-haired dorm-mate of his never stops going on about the poor girl.

”No! No. Don’t— worry yourself.” Lily said, looking away and holding a hand up to shield any other naked bits, “I only just came in.”

”I’m… covered now.” Remus said, embarrassed. More feeling bad for the girl than he was self-conscious. 

Lily cautiously turned back as he blew out a heavy breath and took both his robes and his wand from the shelf.

Remus wanted to apologise. But he didn’t think ‘sorry, I couldn’t smell you over the heavy lavender’ was a normal greeting. Not from what he had learned, anyway.

Next to him, Lily appeared and unloaded what looked like a dressing gown, a few bottles of something Remus didn’t care enough about to name and her wand into one of the shelves next to him.

”You’re Remus Lupin?” Lily said, to his surprise.

He turned around from where he had just started walking away, clothes still in hand.

”Yeah.” Remus replied, “You’re Lily…” He trailed off, screwing up his features as he tried to bloody think! God, it was on the tip of his tongue.

”Evans.” She chuckled, “You’re the Slytherin prefect in fifth year, aren’t you? We never formally met but I saw you on the train in the prefects carriage.”

Remus was a little confused. Normally people in other houses, especially Muggleborn (which he could tell Lily was, by both the lack of a magical last name and the small collection of muggle makeup among her things), would run as fast as they could in the other direction when they saw him if they knew he was a Slytherin. This girl seemed to be undeterred. Though, he supposed, if she really was friends with Snape at one point, her standards couldn’t be that high.

”Yeah.” 

“I’m fifth year Gryffindor.” She said, “With James Potter, but he’s a bloody dunce and a half.”

Hm. That was strange. Apparently her standards were high given mostly everyone he knew that wasn’t in Slytherin had high opinions of Potter.

“…This is where you tell me about your partner?” Lily said through a chuckle, tilting her head slightly as though checking to see if anyone was home.

”Erm— well, to be honest, I’ve not really spoken to her all that much. She’s not the most…”

”Loquacious?” She grinned, Remus gave an awkward chuckle in response. 

“Yeah,” He said, rubbing the back of his neck then wincing as his hair soaked his hand in water.

”Right.” Lily nodded, “I should let you…” She gestured to his less-than-decent attire and her cheeks turned a little red.

”Yeah.” Remus nodded, turning around to leave then, one more time, turning back, “Nice to meet you.”

Lily chuckled, “You too.”

*

Remus had come to the conclusion to his newfound mystery pen-friend obsession was mainly fuelled by the simple fact he hated when he had nothing to do. During the summer, he spent most of his days sweaty and dirty, fixing up the basement after every full moon. It was a tradition he had only started in the summer after his third year, after one full moon when the wolf had almost bashed the door in and broken out. 

He assumed it was because of the fact spells that dead people put in place weren’t very reliable, so his first instinct was to reinforce that until he realised that more than likely fell under the illegal underage magic umbrella. So he just stuck to improving it so much it would probably withstand world war three.

Now, he could’ve asked Dumbledore, lord knows he would’ve helped. But Remus was a bit sick of the old git sticking his nose into everyone’s business, especially his, and, like he said, he hated when he had nothing to do. It got easier with time, given the wolf also gave him a pretty nice strength boost and, though it refused to show on his lanky exterior, he managed to build up a bit of muscle.

At Hogwarts, Remus had no bomb-shelters to build or heavy steels to lug around, so it was easy for Remus to become caught up in something distracting. A good example being Christy. It was probably the reason he was such a swot too. He liked to fill his time. 

I’m interested in you too.

Well, to answer your question, I don’t
think you’re a bellend. You gave a
very sound reason as to why you are
not.

He had only managed to get to the fourth floor bathroom during lunch given he was severely drained from both the moon and the double defence against the dark arts, speeding there at break time as to not be late for Muggle Studies. They really ought to have some sort of apparition network between classes. It’d be a whole lot less time-consuming.

Given he had a little time, he thought on what to respond. What could he do to subtly get the most information he could without seeming creepy? God. He was really grasping at straws here. Eventually, with a newfound confidence, he wrote,

Interested in me or interested in 
getting to know me?

Thin line, Ziggy.

He gave a chuckle and slotted his note in the usual spot, putting the other note in his pocket.

*

“So he’s interested in you?!” Pandora gasped, excitedly.

”I guess we’ll see.” Remus said, shrugging but unable to hide his grin.

Pandora tilted her head, then gasped once again, “Remus Lupin, look at you! You’re smitten!”

”Miss Rosier!” Madam Pince hissed from her desk.

”Sorry, Madam…” Pandora said, shrinking back into her seat.

They were currently supposed to be paying attention to the study group they had joined at the beginning of the year. “We have OWLs this year. We need to be more prepared.” Pandora had insisted. Remus didn’t understand why they couldn’t just study on their own.

The group was made up of all fifth years, varying houses, and was assembled by a few overeager Ravenclaws that absolutely loved to act like teachers. Walking around the desks that lined the bookshelves and alcoves with things like, “Everything alright over here?” and, “If you need any help, let me know!” Which would’ve been sweet, had they not come every five bloody minutes.

”I’m not smitten.” Remus insisted. Remus Lupin did not get smitten. 

“You so are!” Pandora whispered, “And don’t even try to blame it on one of your obsessions to pass the time.”

She knew him far too well.

“Pandora.” A voice said behind them. They both turned to see Evan with his arms crossed, staring down at them.

“Saved by the brother.” Remus muttered under his breath.

”Everything alright, Evan?” Pandora smiled.

”Yeah.” He nodded, “Did you get the letter from mother?”

Remus did not miss the way Pandora’s smile faltered. And, as much as Remus Lupin did not get smitten, Pandora Rosier’s smile did not falter.

The relationship between the Rosier twins was a complex one, to say the least. They had this strange way of communicating that seemed almost telepathic (cliche, he knew) in the fact they always seemed to know what one another was thinking. Because of this, they never seemed to fight either. Or when they did, it was a very creepy showdown like it was right now.

The pair of them held eye contact that could’ve probably set off electromagnetic field readers with its intensity. That trademark silent conversation in the twitch of an eyebrow, a tilt of a head, a purse of lips, then the pair of them looked away, seemingly coming to an understanding.

”Tell her I need more time.” Pandora muttered in a very un-Pandora-like way. 

Evan nodded, an expression of guilt flitting across his features, before he turned around and left.

Immediately, Remus whirled on Pandora, “What was that about?”

Pandora looked down at the large tome she had been picking information from and creased the corner of the page, deep in thought.

When she eventually turned to Remus, she folded her arms and sat back in her chair.

”At the beginning of summer, my mother started setting up these gatherings with me and…” She sighed, Remus knew what was coming, “Rabastan Lestrange.”

Remus let out a sigh of equal anguish, “Fuck sake. Why didn’t you say anything?”

”I wasn’t sure, at first!” Pandora insisted, cringing as her voice rang slightly loud, then lowering it again, “I honestly just thought she was trying to see if we hit it off.”

Remus gave her an incredulous look, “You’re not really thinking about it, are you?”

She bit down on her lower lip, then gave an anxious huff, “It’d be really good for the family Remus. His brother’s just married into the Blacks and we could really do with the connections. Plus, it could be worse! He could be related to me.”

Remus looked at her like she had grown a bicorn horn. This was not the Pandora he knew. The Pandora he knew would be cursing down buildings at the thought of an arranged betrothal.

”Oh, don’t give me that look.” Pandora said, defeatedly, “I haven’t said yes yet.”

”What’s stopping you saying no?” Remus asked.

She paused, looking back down at the desk.

”Pandora.” Remus said.

”I just…” She stopped, huffing, then, “What if there aren’t… What if no man is enough for me?” 

Remus almost laughed. That was the Pandora he knew.

“So your solution is to trap yourself?”

”It’s not—!” She stopped herself once again, “Think of it like this. I’m looking for dirigible plums and dirigible plums are looking for an owner. But there are zero dirigible plums up to my standards. Like what if all of them are somewhat bruised? Or too sour? Or its gravity’s all skewed? But my mother wants me to take a battered dirigible plum. Why shouldn’t I take the dirigible plums for my mother if I’m not going to get any of my own dirigible plums anyway?”

“I can’t tell if that’s a really good innuendo or a really bad metaphor.”

Pandora narrowed her eyes in an expression very close to a scowl.

”Fine.” Remus said, “What if all the dirigible plums in the world aren’t perfect? We certainly aren’t. And when have we ever cared, anyway? You might find a dirigible plum who has completely different interests to yours, but treats you amazingly. Sometimes you’ve just got to accept that. And what‘s the point of having them in the first place if all of them are the same? Everything would be awfully boring.”

For a moment, Pandora said nothing. Her brows creased as though she was thinking very hard about something and then she looked back up at Remus.

”I think that may have been the wisest thing you’ve ever said.” She said.

Remus just gave a small shrug. It was only common sense, really.

”Maybe we should both just keep off the dirigible plums for a while.” Pandora said.

Remus would’ve agreed, had be not been eagerly awaiting a response from a certain note-writing dirigible plum himself.

*

Careful, stranger. That sounds a whole lot
like flirting.

And I don’t even know who you are yet.

It was official: ‘yet’ was now Remus’ favourite word in the dictionary. It held so much meaning. So much promise. And Remus was scribbling up a returning promise and slotting it behind the tank of the toilet quicker than you could say ‘this guy is a raging queer’.

Oh, but I’m enjoying the mystery. Aren’t
you? 

How about we make a game of it? We can
ask non-intrusive questions. See how 
quickly we can guess who each other is.

The truth was, although he knew it was wrong, Remus didn’t exactly want this other boy to know who he was. Like he had mentioned earlier, his chances of finding someone were already slim. Really, this was a perfect situation! He could get to know this other boy without having the fear of explaining where he went once a month or where his scars came from or why he has no desire to be in the house he was sorted into. 

Remus could get to know this boy and, who knows, he might eventually end up trusting him enough to tell him about his lycanthropy. He did with Pandora (he was choosing to ignore the fact she found out of her own accord). 

For now, this would just be practice. For when Remus eventually had to flirt when he left Hogwarts. He may not have much luck with relationships, but that didn’t mean one-night-stands were off the table. Maybe his slag reputation would be truer than he thought.

Only time would tell, he supposed.

*

His first patrol as a prefect went about as well as it could’ve done, interestingly enough (although his head was throbbing). He tried to make an effort with his distant partner, but she seemed to be having none of it. Remus usually wouldn’t have even tried, had he not have been tied to her all year. And likely the next few too. Christ. That was gonna be fun.

They were near the divination classroom, ducking inside to see if anyone had gone for a cheeky snog. Really, he was just stalling, he absolutely did not want to find out what was going on up on the astronomy tower above them. Dorcas didn’t seem to either, thankfully.

”Let’s not go up there.” She said when Remus started on the first step, “Probably… dusty or something.”

Remus had just agreed, grateful for the, albeit poor, excuse.

”Give me a minute. Need the toilet.” Remus had said when they eventually reached the fourth floor, practically running into the stall.

A game? I’m starting to like you a lot
more than I thought I would.

I’ll bite.

Asking what year you’re in isn’t too
intrusive is it? I don’t really feel like 
flirting with a first year.

Remus giggled. Actually fucking giggled like some sort of mushy-pea-mouthed toddler. He might as well have been a first year, at this rate.

Not too intrusive at all. I’m fifth year.

This is an entirely swotty question, but
what electives do you take?

The electives question was a stroke of genius on Remus’ part. If Ziggy was in the same year as Remus (which hopefully he was) and any of their electives were the same, it didn’t matter what house they were in because electives were mixed-house subjects anyway. He would be able to narrow it down with the same kids in his class.

If he was an older or younger year (hopefully not too young…), he certainly wasn’t going to go digging through the school files, but electives said a lot about a person. People who took Arithmancy were generally insufferable, the ones who took ancient runes were usually curious, you get the gist.

”Sorry.” Remus said when he emerged from the bathroom no less than seven minutes later, “Chile con carne went straight through me.”

“Lovely.” Dorcas said, seemingly through gritted teeth. Remus absolutely did not blame her. 

They made their way through their section of the castle and Remus thought desperately for subjects she may have been interested in. The good sign was that she hadn’t insulted him yet, which gave Remus the impression she was a little like him. Maybe she thought Remus was a git like most in their house? He’d just have to show her he wasn’t.

”So… have you been preparing for OWLs?” Remus asked, cringing shortly after. God, was he capable of asking a non-academic question?

”Mm.”

”It’s quiet.” Remus said, “Quieter than I thought it’d be.”

”Yeah.”

”The weathers shit.” He was really grasping at straws.

”Mhm.”

”But that’s nothing new. Always is around September.”

”Listen! You seem great. But I’m not interested.” Dorcas eventually said, turning to him and stopping in the hallway impatiently.

“…What?” Remus asked with apprehensive confusion.

”I’ve heard what you’re like and I just want to say I’m not interested so please cool it.” Dorcas said.

Remus narrowed his eyes, “What I’m like?”

”Yeah, apparently you’re ‘big with the ladies’ or some bollocks.” Dorcas sighed.

It took Remus a second.

”Oh!” His eyes widened, “Oh. No. I’m not really a slag, that’s just what everyone thinks.”

She let out a huffing, incredulous laugh, “Yeah. Right.”

”Honest. I’m gay, actually.” Remus said, surprising himself more than a little.

She paused, face still and lips parted as though her brain shut down.

”Sorry?” Dorcas blinked.

”Be nice if you wouldn’t tell anyone, though. You know how it is.”

”You’re gay?” Dorcas asked.

”Yeah.”

”And you just… don’t care what I think?”

Remus looked around a little confused, before looking back at her, “Why would I?”

Dorcas seemed to process this for a moment. She kept her eyes on Remus’ face, before narrowing them and drifting them to the floor, deep in thought.

”Huh.” She said.

“Now that’s cleared up.” Remus said, “Will you engage in conversations now?”

***

Saturday 7th September, 1975

That Friday, Remus and Ziggy had corresponded more than they had any of the other days. Remus had probably walked a marathon with the amount of times he had gone to check the bathroom stall and one time there hadn’t even been a note there. It was times like these he missed telephones. 

I’m fifth year too! Brilliant.

I take ancient runes and muggle
studies. Did I mention swots are
painfully my type?

If you could live anywhere for
the rest of your life, where would
you live?

Remus had been buzzing when he got this note. Not only were they in the same year, but they both took muggle studies. A subject sparse in attendance. Unfortunately, his next muggle studies class was on Monday. He’d have to wait a little while longer. 

That’s a difficult one, actually.

Somewhere interesting. And
people-less. Antarctica?

Actually. I take that back. I
like forests. Canada, then?

So you like Bowie. What other
muggle music do you like?

-

You stole my next question!

Also, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be
able to live without people.

That’s alright, though. I’ll just
lend you some of my
gregariousness. 

I like most muggle music I 
hear. I have a record player,
actually. Most of my records
are Led Zeppelin, Queen,
T.Rex, things like that. I also 
just discovered this band called
The Beatles which I quite like!

This is practically a letter now. 
And I stand by what I said. 
What do you listen to?

Remus was grinning like an idiot at this one. There was a whole lot of information he got out of it. Ziggy clearly wasn’t muggleborn. Who the hell hasn’t heard of the Beatles? But that also meant he wasn’t pureblood either. No pureblood would bother with a muggle record player. So half-blood it was. Not to mention, his music taste was fucking brilliant.

Did you stalk me then and go
through my EP’s?

If you like those, I have some
recommendations. The Jam,
The Clash, The Police, basically
any band with ‘The’ in it.

I like smoother artists too. One
of the Beatles’ lead singers, Paul
McCartney, he has some songs
out with his wife. Wings, they’re
called. And Fleetwood Mac is good.

What’s your favourite colour?

-

I’ll definitely have to ask my
cousin about those. She’s married
to a muggle.

My favourite colour, stranger? 
That’s awfully unoriginal. 

I think it changes too much for
me to keep track. 

What core is your wand?

-

Do we really need to have the
’simple questions tell you the most
about someone’ discussion?

My wand core is unicorn hair.

What is something nobody knows
about you?

That was the note Remus had left before retreating to bed Friday night, not at all eager for the day after. He was lucky, really, the first moon of the year being on a Saturday. But that didn’t make it any easier. The next morning, he woke up drenched in a cool, unpleasant layer of sweat and one of his gashes from the moon previous had re-opened. 

Instead of immediately finding out what Ziggy had replied, he had to hobble his way to the hospital wing, one of his trouser legs bulging where the dressing was. Madam Pomfrey had tutted, healed it, then sent him off with some pepper up potion even though he insisted he didn’t need it.

When he finally (albeit slowly) got to the fourth floor boys bathroom, he wiped a bead of sweat from the strain of walking such a distance and made his way into the stall, passing two boys who were chatting far louder than necessary. At least he had this to look forward to.

Well now I want to know what it
says about me! Though, I think the
fact I can’t make up my mind is
probably enough.

Apparently unicorn hair means you
wont be evil any time soon, so
you’re probably not Slytherin.

Something nobody knows? I think
everyone is beautiful. Honestly, I’ve
never really looked at a person and
thought they were ugly.

What about you?

His lips curled into a small smile and he settled down on the tank of the toilet, lighting a fag. It felt wrong to just let him believe he wasn’t a Slytherin, but he really did not feel like telling the unfortunate truth. Besides, that wasn’t the focus of the note. The exhausted part of him almost just wrote the word ‘werewolf’ and left it at that, but he was actually starting to really like Ziggy. Maybe this was were he should’ve stopped replying.

I think that sentiment is beautiful
in itself. And something tells me
you’re the same, Ziggy.

I’ve never told anyone this, but I
actually really hate pets. They 
seem like a shit ton of work.

Remus stepped out of the stall and made his way over to the sink, washing his hands and splashing water over his face. He took a paper towel and dried it.

”Alright, mate?”

Remus flinched as the voice rang through the bathroom. He hadn’t noticed the two boys still leaned up against one of the radiators at the far wall, just underneath the window. Two Gryffindors he recognised from the quidditch team. One of them, wide-shouldered with caramel skin and wild, dark hair, Remus also recognised as the fifth year Gryffindor prefect paired with that Lily girl who had accidentally seen his arse. James Potter, apparently.

The other was a little shorter than Potter, prettier too, with dark hair that curled and fell to his shoulders, pale skin over sharp yet smooth cheekbones and eyes that made Remus’ already weak knees a little weaker. Sirius Black. Everyone knew him, prefects especially. To be honest, Remus wasn’t exactly sure why Potter was a prefect when he, like Black, was also a marauder.

He had been forewarned by many of the other prefects about the marauders. He’d heard of them before, of course, being in Slytherin meant he was more than once a victim to their pranks, but now they were apparently going to be ‘the bane of his existence’. James Potter, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, to be specific. Remus wondered where Pettigrew was now.

”Yeah, sorry.” Remus said, wiping water from his mouth, “Didn’t see you.”

”You sure?” Potter asked, “You look a bit pale.”

”James!” Black hissed, grabbing his friend’s sleeve then whispering something into his ear. But this only seemed to make James grin further.

”I reckon that’s to be expected with Slytherins, though. Is it true you all live in caves?” Potter said, earning a glare from Black. Potter turned to his friend and whispered something that sounded a lot like, “Oh, come on. I’ve seen him with Snivelly.”

By this point, Remus had already turned around and started for the door, not wanting to bother with dickheads right now, thank you very much. But halted as another voice called out.

”Sorry. Ignore him.” Remus turned around to see Black looking at him sheepishly, “We’ve just seen you hanging around Snape, is all. We’re not on the best terms.”

”I know.”

He knew. He’d seen it. The pure loathing his dorm mate had for James Potter. Remus had no idea why. Honestly, the first few years, he just thought Snape fancied him and was bitter because the boy was straight.

“You... Know?” Black asked, apprehensively.

”Yeah.” Remus said, “He’s in my dorm. Got a weird obsession with me.” 

A grin cracked at Black’s mouth at this, “He seems to have a habit of that.”

Remus just nodded, a small smile now on his lips as he turned. And, strangely, he didn’t feel as dreadful as he did before.