Remus Lupin had belonged, once upon a time. To a round, shy, blonde boy; a tanned, tall, sunshine; and to a long haired, confident, angelic man who Remus cannot deny he did not adore. Friends since first year. Same houses, same dorms, fate. Soulmates. Meant to be.
Bound together. The closest friends he ever had. The only people he prayed to keep, when he was alone at night within his sorrows. Remus Lupin didn't ask for much, never needed anything, yet found he needed them.
He was never that lucky.
Of course, that sense of belonging went to shit in third year. His boys noticed Remus being absent a lot on specific days, and considering his frequent trips to the hospital wing they found out about after stalking him under James' cloak, the concern grew.
James had followed Remus the past few times he disappeared, relaying to Peter and Sirius how Madame Pomfrey lead him to the Shrieking Shack at the Forbidden Forest, and then collected him in the morning, when he was passed out and sometimes bloody.
James and Peter showed worry and concern, but shit, Remus did not once believe he would witness the boy he developed a crush on in second year to mother hen him.
He didn't blame Sirius, not at all. Sirius had opened up fully to James, and a little to Remus, about his family. His parents were abusive pricks, and his brother was his pride and joy, the thing that kept him going in that hellscape. He figured Sirius didn't think well of mysterious injuries.
Sirius seemed more attached to him than usual that day, but Remus selfishly relished in it. Feigning that it was something small, just a mishap. Wrong place, wrong time.
He kept his secret until that next full moon.
It was one of the rougher ones, three quarters through third year, and he had more scars than he could count afterwards. Pomfrey magically restored his eye, which he somehow clawed at, but the scar going across it was permanent.
He had felt uglier than before, having one on his face like that. It raised plenty of questions too, walking through the halls, and a fifteen minute reassurance session to Lily who turned away from her books and studies to come to Remus, and offer him help should he need it. The only good thing was said help, and the way Marlene said it looked 'badass' to have. Made him feel the tiniest bit better, but not great.
He dreaded going back to his dorm, and he was right to do so, seeing the concerned faces. Expressions drawn, worried. They wouldn't be for much longer.
They never pressed for questions, and he was grateful, but honestly, they deserved to know by this point. Deserved to know the monster, and stop seeing the man. Or boy. Remus didn't often feel like a man, for he deemed himself too weak. Too spoiled. Darkened by the blood which is not his; blood said to be a gift, yet all he has ever saw is curse.
"I'm a werewolf." Remus blurted out one night, no preemptive to it, just playing a game of poker, courtesy of Peter's cards. The room had been silent before, but after his confession, it felt like even the background noise had shut up.
Silence never meant something well. He recalled the stares of Lyall, the silence that he would bring when Remus appeared. Stare at him, just stare and stare and stare, as if he was no longer person, but the beast within. Contempt in every gaze, every expression, as if he is resigned.
Remus shot out of the room when the silence stayed for too long. Minutes felt like hours, and he escaped to the Shrieking Shack through a hidden passage and into the Forbidden Forest, to the place where the monster inside of him always came out; he deserved to be there. It is penance for how he lied to his friends. Drowning in memories of how he became.
"This is fate," Lyall had told his son, as if he did not condemn him. Did not force his own prejudice on a wolf, a man, saw the wolf before the man and not the man before the wolf. Acts as if he did not attack a person for simply being as they are. A born werewolf, a pureblood of his own kind, in technicality, even when he was both wizard and wolf.
His father could never take the blame on being half of the equation on Remus being as he is. He attacked first, the wolf simply struck back. Knew where to hurt. Or thought it would hurt. Can it truly hurt Lyall when Lyall only shows hatred, and not pain?
As loathe as he is to Greyback, the only wolf Remus could view as a monster, his only example of a werewolf out of two, he could not help but hate his own father more. Flesh and blood means nothing when you no longer think through them.
The memory haunts him at night. Never stops playing. Everytime he tries to sleep. He is thirteen, and then he is five. Waking up, writhing, crying out for a parent who would no longer want him. The ages blend, the memory repeats, and on his worst nights, Remus relives everything that went wrong. The beginning of the end. For his peace. For his freedom. For his will.
When he was five, he was a rather lovely child. Shy, soft, gentle. He had a weird obsession with the bees in his garden; tried to claim one as a pet once. It did not work.
He was loving to all, bubbly to strangers, and so full of life nobody could do anything but smile at the free child, living at ease.
When he was five, his father had a meeting at the Wizengamot. One where they would revisit laws, tarnish the old, birth the new. On that night, a legislation for rights was tried. His father had brought him that day; mother was tried, needing rest, and his father thought a learning experience was due.
He was five. And yet.
"We want rights. We deserve a place, no longer on the outskirts. I am woman and wolf and wizard. I am not one, but three; I am me." A wise wolf had said. Woman, within her thirties. Brown skinned with piercing green eyes, blonde hair. She looked gentle, seemed gentle. She even gave little Remus a smile, as if to say, 'Do not fear me. I am not what they say.'
He later found her name to be Clementia Ollivander. Roman origin, like his. He had liked her instantly.
Another wolf had chimed, but this one Remus could not like. A bigger man, burly. He seemed to exist between two states, Fenrir Greyback. Coexisting with man and monster, a face of human, the fur of wolf. He is different to Clementia, and it is not great.
Remus wonders why he was the only one to see it. The only one to notice that it isn't fully good or bad. He is five.
His father does not see. He is twenty-eight. His hand goes straight up when the members are asked of opposition. "They are vermin," His words are harsh, "They eat people! None of them can be trusted."
Greyback had snarled, and the two men had went into a back and forth. It wasn't good, by any means, but then his father made it worse.
"You are more mutt than man," He snapped, "Need a leash since you always act like a bitch. Act like vermin, be treated as one. You are a berk, Greyback, you should not be allowed to threaten us anymore."
Is it trully threatening when the wizards already have the upperhand? Can a wolf cause instigated harm when he is not given a choice to pick peace? Is it power they fear, or is it the loss of complacency?
His father condemns him with those words, as when the small boy flinches at the man's raised voice, do Greyback's eyes fall to him. It is a wolfish smirk, a little unhinged. He sits back on his chair, and eyes Lyall Lupin, "We shall see how you feel when it is kin."
The session is called to end, Lyall pays no heed. Apparated home, Remus curls up in his bed, too tired after such long day.
He is five. And his boyhood is destroyed.
Awoken in the night to piercing pain, crying out against the teeth tearing into his skin; claws almost going as deep as his bones. Deep growls in his ears, all he can hear is the sound of a beast and the ripping of his person.
He is five, and he is mauled.
Writhing and wriggling, screaming and sobbing, broken and begging. Thrashing, or trying to, pinned under the weight of a bloodthirsty man, he had tried to escape. But how could he? He is a boy, and above him is much more.
It feels like hours. It's probably only minutes. Yet, it is a lifetime.
The wolf did not intend to kill, that much is clear. The young boy sees the wolf rear back, lips stained red, teeth sharp in a wolfish grin. An animalistic look in his eyes, and Remus recognizes Fenrir Greyback.
"Let us see how he handles kin." He repeated, "You will know where to find me."
And he was gone.
His father barged in, door blasted off the hinges, his wife at his side. Only to find their poor boy crumpled on his little bed, cut and bruised, beaten and bloody. So many wounds.
Hope was in hysterics for her baby, whilst Lyall had looked on in horror. His boy dying, and all he could see was what was to be. If Remus didn't know any better, he'd believe his father would have left him to die had his mother not bore witness. If Remus didn't know any better, he'd believe his father always found him a beast.
That is how he expected his friends to react. He had lied about his identity. He could harm someone. Remus could NOT take the life of another, nor could he turn a little boy into him. Becoming Fenrir was his biggest fear. Being himself came on par with that.
Curled up within the darkness, far too fitting for his tastes, tucked into the corner of a broken, and damaged shack, much like Remus himself, the thirteen year old wept. Allowed himself to let out the despair he carried everyday, knowing he had lost the few things that mattered. This is why he shouldn't have gone to Hogwarts. He grew to care for people who would rather see him dead.
The boy who was never truly a boy cried himself to sleep that night, mourning those he had saw as family. He would always lose everyone. A monster cannot be loved.