Epistulae Heroum

“You started better than you finish: the end’s inferior
to the beginning: this man differs from that child.”

The Heroides - IX: Deianira to Hercules

Thursday 3rd October, 1975

Moooony!

Hi! 

You there?

*

Remus wouldn’t have been surprised if his teeth had worn down to tiny nubs at this point. The moon seemed to have a slightly stronger pull and his brain seemed to be trying to squeeze itself out of Remus’ skull through his ears. The good thing was, of course, that now he had a reason for why he had been feeling so strange. So… care-y.

”You’re acting weird.” Dorcas pointed out, bluntly.

”What?” Remus looked down at where she was narrowing her eyes at him, having stopped in the hallway. Remus halted with her.

“You’re not all there.” She frowned. Not a concerned frown, obviously, “I mean, more than you usually are.”

Remus shrugged, turning his gaze back to the path and continuing to walk too. 

“Oi!” Dorcas scoffed, jogging to catch up with him, “Is it Padfoot?”

“How do you know about the nickname?!”

“Pandora.” She stated, as though it were obvious.

Remus groaned, “Will you both please stop conspiring behind my back?”

“We’re not.” Dorcas crossed her arms, “You’re just… different recently.”

”Dorcas. We didn’t know eachother until a month ago.”

”Yeah, but you’re still different.” 

“How am I different?” He scoffed.

”You’re… happy.” Dorcas wrinkled her nose, her shoulders shuddering, “It’s weird.”

”Right. Well.” Remus ground out, looking down and kicking at the stone floor, watching as a small 

“And you’re all sulky, now.”

Remus scoffed, his shoulders bunching up awkwardly, “I am not. And even if I were—which I’m not—it would not be because of Padfoot.”

It was the moon, he knew that.

”You’re strangely angsty too. Like you were angsty before but that was mainly just ‘the world hates me so I’m gonna hate it back’—“

”Hang on-”

”—but now, you’re moody. You’re frowning like Regulus does when he thinks about… anything.”

“Well. Maybe that’s just me now.”

”Salazar.” She rolled her eyes, “Are you PMS-ing?”

*

Prongs is being really annoying.

He keeps trying this new thing with the girl he likes called ‘being a decent guy’.

Annoying thing is, he is one. He just gets all weird around her.

Funny, right?

***

Friday 4th October, 1975

Morning!!

Busy day yesterday?

Hey, I was wondering if you’re busy tomorrow night.

*

“Remus, you have to get out of bed.” 

He let out a petulant groan into his pillows. They weren’t very comfortable, lightly damp from sweat, but Remus couldn’t care less. 

“What is up with you? You’ve never been like this on a moon before.”

Remus turned his head, his eyes squinted as the sunlight pierced them to see the silhouette of Pandora with her hands on her hips.

”S’a strong one.” He mumbled.

Her brows pulled together as she looked him up and down, “Are you poorly again?”

”No.” Remus huffed, going back to smushing his face into the damp pillow.

It was silence from her end. Well, it was, until there was a girlish shriek that came after the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing.

“Pandora!” 

“Evan?”

Remus lifted his head at that.

”Why are you having a shower in Remus’ dormitory during class time?” She asked, crossing her arms and tilting her head. Remus watched in practically slow motion as the door to the bathroom began to creak open once again. Evan’s hand shot out to slam it closed so fast his towel nearly fell from his waist.  

”There’s—ahem…” Evan tutted, propping himself up on the door and crossing one foot over the other in a way that was, very much, not like Evan, “A leak. In my—uh… in my dormitory.”

”Why are you lying?” She asked, bluntly. 

Evan shook his head, his eyebrows raising, “I—hang on. Why are you out of class?”

Pandora’s brows matched his, “What?”

”What?”

”Nothing—No reason.”

”Well, there’s no reason I’m here either.”

”Good.”

”Good.”

Remus let out a sigh, leaning forwards to tug his curtains closed again, “Will you let me fucking sleep?”

*

Everything alright?

***

Saturday 5th October, 1975

Hi.

*

He felt dense, he’d decided. Not stupid, but… heavy. Like every layer of skin, every organ, had thickened and it was taking even more muscle than normal to keep him going. That was what was making this not-talking-to-Padfoot/Sirius thing so difficult. Every time the lettering on the spine would glow, Remus would sit there in silence, curtains drawn around him and teeth worrying at his chapped lips as he fought against replying.

It felt so wrong. Knowing Sirius was trying to get a hold of him and blatantly ignoring him. But it was for the better. Remus had never cared about his lycanthropy. He had never been bothered more than the pain that came once a month. It was just who he was. He had never liked feeling sorry for himself. But now, for the first time, there was a divide between boy and wolf. And it was shaped a lot like a leather-bound book or a black dog or one constellation in particular. 

So Remus was doing this for, not only the safety of Sirius, but self preservation. Why go through the pain of becoming detached from a part of yourself when he could get rid of the common denominator so easily? 

“You’re bouncing your leg.” Pandora pointed out through her sip of pumpkin juice.

Remus felt his brows draw into a frown, stopping the action.

She leaned forwards, over the dining table with her arms crossed underneath her to hold herself up, “Is it… is it Xeno?”

”What?” Remus looked up from where he had been gazing into his porridge, willing himself to stop imagining it as a large bowl of bacon fat that was threatening him into eating it.

”I know I’ve not been as…” She pressed her lips together, sitting back in her seat, “-there, recently. And I don’t mean to make you feel like you do at home—“

“Woah, what?” Remus immediately protested.

”Remus…”

“No! No!” He shook his head, eyes wide, “Don’t ‘Remus…’ me. My home life is great!”

Pandora raised an incredulous brow, “Remus, you got Jane Eyre for Christmas last year.”

“I love Jane Eyre!” He shrilled.

“Exactly.” Pandora deadpanned, “You have two copies. One of them annotated and the other not.”

”And now I have three. Can’t have enough Jane Eyre.”

”You didn’t get to go on the Beauxbatons trip in third year because your mum never signed the permission slip.”

”Francesca from down the road helps her with her post. She probably thought it was junk. Plus, I never reminded her. She’s got a shit memory.”

“And your mum just didn’t check?”

”I didn’t want to go anyway.” Remus grumbled, picking up his fork and jabbing it into his bacon fat so he had something to do with his hands.

“Then what is it?” Pandora sighed, reaching forwards to tug on his sleeve and grab his attention.

“It’s the moon. I’ve said.” He answered. There was that thick feeling again. 

“No, it’s not.” She scoffed, sitting back and crossing her arms, “You get dramatic. You get sulky. You get tired. You never get quiet.”

It was fine. It was nothing. It was the moon. He thought of it like withdrawal—not being able to talk to Padfoot. Not that not being able to talk to Padfoot was the issue. Just that, well, he was feeling unusual because it was a disrupt in his routine. Talking to Padfoot had been woven into his entire day. His entire week. Sometimes nights, when the pair of them couldn’t sleep because Dolohov was muttering things behind his bed curtains without a silencing spell or Sirius had something on his mind that he never told Remus but Remus didn’t mind being a distraction from.

If he told Pandora that he wasn’t speaking to Padfoot anymore, she’d immediately offer up every possible reason that told Remus he was wrong. He had thought on it until his fingernails bled at the quick. It was an easy thing. There were simply too many bad things that had come from Padfoot. And too many opportunities for new ones in the future. Did Remus feel slightly sick when he saw James Potter screeching out a laugh after some black-haired-nobody-Remus-was-not-to-think-about had made a joke in the hallway? Yeah. Was it painful to feel that same black-haired-nobody-Remus-was-not-to-think-about search for his eye in the great hall after everyone down the length of Remus’ table was covered in red and splattered apricots? Sure. But that was just more proof that he should cut ties. He wouldn’t have felt any of that in the first place if Sirius hadn’t been in his life.

But did Sirius not being in his life make him feel the illest of all?

Well…

“Stop reading into it.” Remus told her once he decided that he was not going to win the battle between both Pandora and his porridge, grabbing his bag from the floor and slinging it over his shoulder. 

*

will you just lixe 

talk to me

why you not  talking

***

Sunday 6th October, 1975

”Professor, please.” Remus sighed, wiping a bead of sweat off his upper lip with his thumb that had formed from trying to keep up with the surprisingly quick man.

”I’m sorry but, you wont be… available tonight. You accepted responsibility as a prefect and the headmaster told me your mother wished for you to be treated as any other student.” Slughorn prattled on, nodding in a way that reminded Remus vaguely of Mr Banks from Mary Poppins, funnily enough. 

“I feel like now is a good time to remind you I didn’t sign up to be a—“

“You will be expected in Professor Cadwalader’s classroom at noon and will cover detention for an hour and a half.” Slughorn interrupted.

“Wha—aren’t there any other prefects who can do it?” Remus pleaded, nearly tripping over his feet as the staircase they were trudging up began to shift.

”’Fraid not, my boy. Unfortunately, quite the number of prefects will actually be attending the detentions. Good on you for not getting involved.”

”Getting involved in what?”

*

”A party?” Remus spluttered, “I literally have not heard one single thing about a party.”

Dorcas snorted, picking up the stack of metre-long parchment at the desk, “That’s because you’ve been too busy sulking.”

Remus scowled.

The second he had been handed the register, Remus’ eyes had taken a second to adjust to just how many names were written. Nearly thirty, there was. Quite the variety of years and houses and… well, students. Did his eyes skip immediately to the ‘B’s? Did he breathe a sigh of relief when the only name listed was Bulstrode? Did he need to stop asking himself incriminating questions in his bloody head?

There was, however, quite the surprise when he found not one, but two fifth year Gryffindor prefects had been jotted down.

Hm. How the tables turn.

Potter walked in with a bright grin, as though being in detention was truly the highlight of his day. The grin dropped into an awful scowl when it landed on Remus.

The tables were staying exactly where they were, actually.

”Well, well, well.” James sauntered up. Literally, sauntered. Hands on his hips and everything.

”Er… grab one of them sheets of parchment. Assignment’s on the blackboard.” Remus muttered, quietly, looking down at the register and sorely debating whether he should just tick people off who hadn’t arrived get simply to just look busy.

”That’s all?” James scoffed, “Do I mean nothing to you?”

”Sorry?” Remus looked up, now slightly more confused as he wondered if his spinning and throbbing mind had made this up.

James leaned over the desk, eyes narrowed in attempt to be threatening. Remus wasn’t going to laugh. He wasn’t. He wasn’t.

“Suppose you find it easy to cut people off, do you?” The boy continued, lowering his voice to a hiss, “I let you into my super-secret prank group, Lupin. I told you things I have only told my dearest friends—nay—my family.”

“…Nay?”

”And you think it’s okay to just drop me without reason! I’ve heard nothing since our time together Wednesday night. Tell me, Lupin.” James leaned so far forwards Remus could smell his toothpaste, “Why aren’t you talking to S—me?”

Ah. This struck Remus as one of James Potter’s signature awful plans he had heard so much about. Well… when he’s being referred to as ‘Prongs’, that is.

”Uh—“ Remus opened his mouth. 

“Potter, what are you doing?” A voice sighed from behind. James spun around so fast he almost did a full three-sixty, coming face-to-face with an unimpressed looking redhead. Remus noticed there were rarely times Lily looked anything other than unimpressed around him.

James shook his head, “Nothing.”

”Is he hassling you to get out of detention?” Lily tilted her head at Remus in disbelief.

Remus opened his mouth, looking from James to Lily, “Uh—“

”Are you hassling him to get out of detention?” Lily turned to the other gaping boy.

“What?!” James spluttered, “No—I—“

“James—uh, was just telling me about his new… ahem, his new interest in… uh.” Remus’ eyes darted around, landing on the books tumbling out of his bag. He looked back at Lily, “Muggle literature.”

She frowned, “Muggle literature? Really?”

“Mhm!” Remus nodded, tightly, wishing both his headache and his (sort of) friends would go away, “In fact, we were just talking about—uh—Jane Eyre!”

At this, Lily’s eyebrows shot up and she stared at James, “You’ve read Jane Eyre?”

James glanced in surprise from Lily to Remus, then back to Lily again, “Yeah!”

“Remus, I appreciate you trying to defend Potter, but—“

“‘Even for me life had its gleams of sunshine.’” James beamed, thoroughly chuffed with himself.

”What?” Lily whipped to him.

”What?” Remus spluttered.

“That’s my favourite quote.” James nodded, as though it were completely expected for a pureblood teenage boy to be quoting Charlotte Brontë, “Sirius, Pete and I did this one challenge over the summer.” He snorted, barrelling on, “See who can find and read the most muggle books since it’s virtually impossible what with the fact I live in Godrics Hollow, Pete lives on the edge of bum-fuck Yorkshire and Sirius lives in a snakes den. Turns out, mum had loads in the attic so I won.”

Both Lily and Remus, in unison, looked at each other speechless. Remus reckoned she was too shocked to even question that he should not be speechless if that had just been the topic at hand. 

“What?” James frowned.

”You just quoted a feminist muggle novel then proceeded to say ‘bum-fuck Yorkshire’.” Lily pointed out. Remus couldn’t tell if there was any hint of fondness given she was so unsettled. But there was no time for deliberation, because Lily’s mouth grew into a slight smile. She grabbed a sheet of parchment and then turned around to find her seat.

James slowly turned to Remus with narrowed eyes, “You know, mate. You make it really difficult to hate you.”

*

Monday 7th October, 1975

The floor burned against him. More than it usually did. Remus was weak and tired from lack of sleep these past few days and, as his bones slotted themselves into place, he screwed his eyes closed and tensed his stomach to brave the inevitable shit that would force its way out of his throat. 

And, this time, it hurt. It hurt because he let himself feel it. He didn’t think of how pain was material and how it’d be gone soon. He didn’t think of how it made no sense to dwell because it would ultimately do him no good. He didn’t lay in silence and wait. He grunted and coughed and yelped when he shifted his definitely dislocated shoulder. Through every outward breath there was a hint of a groan and every inward one furthered his watering eyes from the pressure against his ribs. 

But, what surprised Remus so much, was how he had never realised there was a tenseness in his shoulders. Because now, he didn’t let himself curl into a rigid ball and wait for madam Pomfrey’s healing charms, he let himself rest. He let his legs and arms fall limp and let go of the grip his muscles had on his spine and he just breathed. He heard morning birds through the rattle of his lungs and the creaking as the shack swished and leaned. 

And something hit Remus. It wasn’t like a freight train or a double-decker bus, it was soft and had always been there but Remus had been so adamant on living life the way that had always worked for him that he had never paid it any attention. 

This was what it was like to grow up.

The physical aspect, of course, was there in his joints that matched the creaking of the walls around him and his hair that insisted on growing and growing. He knew that. He’d seen it in the scissors that Dorcas had held as she debated if both sides were trimmed even and in the doorframe to the garden cellar at home that he had bumped his head on countless times. But he had never acknowledged the small, burrowing fear that had always been there every time something happened that reminded him things were changing.

Because things were changing. But Remus wasn’t. 

When a child is small, they know what is definitively right from wrong by what they have been taught. They know that wrong is bad and right is good and good is all they need. They ask for nothing but the food to sustain them and the toys to keep them entertained and attention so they know they are loved. Simple. Easy. They don’t care for things like embarrassment or tact or finding the right person for them. And that worked. But, as that child grows up, they need and want for more because simplicity is pushed out and left with their baby teeth, only to be replaced with a craving for challenge. 

The thing about Remus: challenge was something he had been born into.

Remus had been there, present and lucid, for as long as he could remember. Because, when his mum didn’t do things, the simple solution was for him to. That had worked. It had worked for everything. And Remus had only now realised he had never grown apart from it. The other kids at the park didn’t want to be friends with the boy with the scars, so Remus didn’t bother with them. Adults never understood that he was capable of helping himself, so he payed them no mind.

He could do no wrong, of course, because childhood was the absence of responsibility and, when you gave a child that responsibility, there was nobody to tell them they weren’t right. But now, Remus was realising that life was more than surviving, it was making family from the people around you and, even if it was unsafe, even if fear gnawed at his bones like the wolf inside him, plunging feet first into things you knew nothing about for the tiny chance of doing something more. Having something more.

Remus had never just been afraid of hurting Sirius. He had never been afraid of Sirius hating him for what he was. He was afraid of the change that would come with doing anything more than surviving. Because what did Remus need that wasn’t what he already had? Remus realised that it wasn’t who he was that was changing, he’d always be careless to what didn’t serve him, but it was what he needed. He was only now understanding that, this entire time, he had been afraid of loosing who he was with the wave of so many people who conformed to be liked and lost themselves, so many people who chose to live rather than survive, that he didn’t even realise that you could be both.

And Remus understood it was going to take time to get used to, but he could be both. He could be who he was and he could live.

“Remus?” 

“Remus, are you awake?”

Remus opened his eyes and blinked away the tears he hadn’t realised had been streaming and collecting in the blood that had pooled from a gash on his scalp. 

But, as Madam Pomfrey came into focus, her face full of worry (more than likely for Remus’ un-Remus-like state), he broke into a large grin that stretched his cracked lips over his teeth and made his dizzy but significantly lighter mind swim.

”Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

*

Remus woke of his own accord for the first moon in a very long time. He ached as he usually did but he found that he didn’t mind at all. Well he did, for the first few seconds, until his mind clicked back into place. And dense wasn’t the word to describe him anymore. The stiff hospital beds could’ve been goosefeather, for all he knew in that moment.

How could he have been so stupid? So oblivious when it was right there in front of him? And it wasn’t even that this metaphorical trap Remus had been so determined to avoid was just the people who spent their entire lives miserable to be what others wanted, it was because Remus had been trapping himself this entire time by not allowing himself to live. Laughably ironic.

But, as Remus had established many times before, he couldn’t find it in him to think of the irony and care.

“Mr Lupin?”

Remus smiled at the professor as she rapped one knuckle gently on one of the poles that held up the curtains around him. 

“Uh, come in.” He rasped.

Professor McGonagall’s bony fingers slid the curtains gently to the side and she stepped in, clasping her hands over her front.

"No class?" Remus asked as she surveyed his unusually cheery mood.

"Your third period has just concluded. I came to drop off your homework, chapter one hundred and twenty-two should help with what you've missed."

"I slept 'til lunch?" Remus gripped the bars that made up the bed frame, wincing as he pushed himself as far as his body would let him. He didn't get far. But at least he wasn't speaking to his professor whilst completely horizontal, now.

"Yes, I believe Poppy is under the impression you are concussed." She raised her eyebrows, "And your... state is leading me to agree."

"What?! It's completely normal for me to be happy." Remus protested, clearing his throat as his voice broke slightly.

McGonagall cocked an exasperated brow, but Remus could see the fondness, "I never implied that it was abnormal for you to be happy, Mr Lupin. But I must say, after the night you've had, I think it's fair to assume happiness should not be a prominent emotion?"

"Well, professor, I've had a bit of a revelation." Remus gave a swift nod, his grin returning.

“A revelation?”

“Yep. And I really hope I don’t have a concussion because I’d like to remember it.”

At this, Professor McGonagall’s face matched his grin. 

*

Remus had just barely finished the lunch Madam Pomfrey had brought him along with a vial of pepper-up when his curtains were wrenched aside so dramatically he was half sure it’d take the rings with it. 

“What’s wrong with you?” The voice demanded. Remus’ hand was stilled around a glass of water (definitely water, not chocolate milk) that he had just gone to put back on his bedside, the book McGonagall had left heavy on his lap. He froze as he watched the furious, hands-on-hips Sirius march in and stop at the foot of his bed.

”What?” Remus choked, nearly dropping the glass as he set it down.

”You’re ill.” Sirius threw forwards a hand as though it were obvious before putting it back on his hip.

”I am?”

”And you’ve been ill loads before!”

”I have?”

The other boy let out an impatient huff, “I found you unconscious on a desk the other week, Remus.”

”Unconscious is slightly dramatic-“

“—Plus, you’re always absent! Have been since I can remember first being in a class with you. And now you’re not talking to me, for whatever reason, and I’m betting it’s because of this—whatever illness!”

”You remember first being in a class with me?” Remus’ eyebrows raised.

”What?!”

”What?”

”No!” Sirius scoffed, though had turned a fair shade of pink. He threw his hands out again as he spluttered before settling on crossing them, “I’m just—ugh, you’re doing the bloody thing!”

”The bloody thing?”

”You’re deflecting!”

”Right.” Remus nodded, eyes only slightly narrowed, which he congratulated himself for.

”Just tell me what’s up with you.”

“I—“

”Come on!” Sirius snapped his fingers, “Out with it. Is it Dragon Pox? Mumblemumps? Cerebrumous Spattergroit?”

”Lycanthropy.” Remus said, as though it were easy. Because it was. Because, Remus knew, lycanthropy would always be a part of him. And, as he had so recently concluded, he could be both who he was and live. 

“What?” Was what Sirius replied. And it was so quiet that, without the very thing they were talking about, Remus wasn’t sure he’d have been able to hear it at all.

”Lycanthropy.” He repeated, “I’m a werewolf.”

Sirius didn’t reply.

“Once a month I go somewhere safe for both me and everyone else and, for a night, I’m a wolf. It’s why I’m scarred. It’s why I’m ill. It’s—“

”-Why they don’t have your file.”

That was the only thing that Remus heard from Sirius that day. There were no notes left in the book, no accidental-bumping-into-each-other, not even spared glances in his direction at dinner that evening. But, that was alright. Did it hurt? Yes. It hurt like Madam Pomfrey popping his shoulder back into place or getting a paper cut over a paper cut or having your shins swept out underneath you with a mallet. But would it be worth it? Remus had no idea. He had to plunge feet first if he wanted his opportunity to live, didn’t he? And, even if it hurt forever, Remus would, for that entire expanse of time, be grateful to Sirius for being the reason he wanted to find a way to live.

But, well, something told him, as overdramatic and cheesy as it was, that over a thousand lifetimes, a million universes and infinite experiences, he’d hurt for Sirius Black.