Year One: Scars

“Brilliant, absolutely brilliant,” James mused, as soon as he’d jumped out of bed the next morning.

Remus, meanwhile, rubbed his eyes and turned off the alarm. It was still dark out—and far too early for them to get up—but they had to dispose of the most incriminating things still in their dormitory.

Remus donned the thickest jumper he could find and joined James in the bathroom to clean their tub.

“What’d McGonagall say last night, anyway?” James asked, scooping the ashes into the cauldron.

“Not much,” Remus said, setting the parchment with the potion recipe on fire. “Just that she’d put me in detention if I’m near the kitchens again.”

James laughed. “You in detention?”

“Oi,” Remus said. “I can do bad things.”

“Whatever you say.” James grinned. “At the rate you’re going, you’ll end up head boy.”

“I doubt that.”

James shrugged. Heaving the cauldron out of the tub to reveal the blackened material. “What are we going to do about that?”

Remus unstoppered the soap and dumped it in the tub, then began scrubbing the dark spot with a damp towel.

Remus didn’t know how long he’d scrubbed the tub. He wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead with the left sleeve of his jumper—he never pushed that one farther back than his wrists because of a scar on his forearm.

The stain had lightened—or so Remus thought. It was difficult to tell since most of the tub and his towel had taken the same shade of grey. He pushed himself off the side to rinse the soot down the drain. He felt as if he could hear his knees creak as he rose.

Remus started when he saw Sirius leaning against the doorframe, bleary-eyed and arms crossed. Remus quickly pulled down his sleeve.

“What are you doing?” Sirius asked.

Remus turned on the tap. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Sirius shrugged. “Potters gone with the ash, and Pettigrew has all the ingredients we have to return. He’s just waiting for the cloak.”

“Where’s James?”

“Dunno,” Sirius said. “D’you want help with that?”

Remus wanted to say no. After all, he’d been scrubbing for so long, but the stain was still too visible. The water ran dark grey, and the towel was undoubtedly ruined. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine Sirius would spend the next half hour scrubbing a tub.

“If you don’t mind,” Remus said.

Sirius pushed off the doorframe and examined the stain. He produced his wand from the sleeve of his black nightgown and started murmuring spells. Remus left him to it, instead getting dressed in the privacy of his four-poster.

The Halloween feast was all the students talked about. Rumours spread through the school like wildfire. No one suspected Remus or any of the boys from his dormitory—the potion was too advanced for any first-year to brew without help. That didn’t stop the professors from expressing their annoyance.

Professor Bracegirdle knocked a collective fifty points off Gryffindor and Hufflepuff during the ninety minutes the students spent in her classroom, and threatened to put the entire class in detention for a month if they didn’t stop talking about the prank.

It was difficult for the four of them to keep their mouths shut. James could not keep the smirk off his face, and Peter kept squeaking excitedly whenever someone talked about the prank within earshot. Remus, too, devolved into coughing fits when he overheard speculations that hit too close to home.

Potions class that day was horrible for two reasons. The first was Snape, whose low hissing wouldn’t stop even while Slughorn was instructing the class. Even Lily had turned away from him after nearly an hour of his rambling. Remus focused all his energy on Slughorn’s voice, trying not to scream. The full moon would rise in less than forty-eight hours, and he already felt irritated.

The second was Professor Slughorn, who took half an hour to lecture the class about the ethics of potion-making and potentially hazardous combinations of common potions. Remus left the dungeon feeling worse than before. He hadn’t considered that they could have seriously injured someone with their plans.

On their way to History of Magic, the four boys passed a line of Ravenclaw fourth-years by the charms corridor. They looked miserable, whispering nervously. Flitwick’s squeaky voice carried through the corridor, but Remus couldn’t make out what he’d said.

Remus took careful notes during History as Binns droned on about Ancient Norse witches. He tried to ignore Snape’s piercing stares. He really did, but he couldn’t stop the hairs on the back of his neck from tickling. It was as if Snape could see right through his careful facade.

Remus’s face burned hot, even after class had ended. He disappeared behind a tapestry down a hidden passageway on the second floor, ending up near the exit to the greenhouses. It was drizzling outside, but Remus didn’t care.

He strode out of the castle into the cold and foggy air, down the muddy slopes of the grounds. He didn’t stop walking, not caring who saw him approach the forbidden forest, not even when he breached the treeline.

Remus couldn’t tell what drew him into the forest. He didn’t stray far into the trees, but something about the heavy trunks and the moss-covered ground made him feel at home.

The forbidden forest was nothing like the woods that surrounded the cottage. Remus strained his ears, but no birds sang. Not even the wind rustled the leaves. The light filtered darker through the trees, and the shadows took on a life of their own. After a while, Remus thought he could hear them whisper from the depths.

Remus breached the clearing where they’d had their first practical Defence Against the Dark Arts class. He slumped against a trunk at least three times as wide as him, thinking he might not be in the forbidden forest after all. On that side, the edge of the woods wasn’t technically forbidden, as professors often used it for classes.

His robes were wet and filthy, but he didn’t care. Remus closed his eyes and enjoyed the silence after half a month of near-constant company.

***

“Oi, Lupin,” James shouted as Remus raced up the dungeon steps on Tuesday. “Wait up.”

Remus stopped in the entrance hall, tapping his foot. He hoped to catch a short nap before dinner, although the moon already made him giddy. “What?”

“I was hoping you could help me with a project,” James began.

Remus didn’t have time for this. “Why? Where’s Black?”

“Held back by one of his cousins. But for once, that’s good.” Peter emerged from the dungeon stairs, panting. Remus had taken off again, and the others hurried to keep up. Remus’s hair clung to the back of his neck. It was too hot in Remus’s skin, even with the cold weather outside. They passed a muttering portrait and waited for the staircase to turn back. “It’s Black’s birthday tomorrow,” James continued. “And I want to go all out.”

“How does that concern me?” Remus groaned, flexing his fist.

“Well, you are known for one or the other creative idea,” James said. Remus took the stairs two steps at a time. “So, what do you say? Go to the library and think of something epic?”

“Can’t, sorry,” Remus said, squeezing past a seventh-year Ravenclaw.

“What could possibly be more important?” Remus didn’t answer. “I’ll write your transfiguration essay,” James offered.

Remus pushed a tapestry aside. “I’m busy. Besides, it’s been two days since the last big thing.”

“But it’s his birthday,” James whined.

“Tomorrow?” Remus asked. He was probably going to miss at least half of it. He felt a knot in his throat form.

James nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve been nagging him for weeks.”

“You haven’t exactly given us much to work with.”

James shrugged. “It has to be bigger than Sunday.”

“Noology,” Remus said to the fat lady, who swung open. “How are we supposed to prepare that?”

“We’ll work all night if we have to,” James said.

Remus huffed out a breath and ascended the steps to the dormitories.

“What if,” Peter started. “We explore the castle?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” James muttered.

“Well, he’s always going on about finding a secret passage,” Peter squeaked. His face was pink around the edges.

“We leave after curfew,” Remus snapped, already regretting the decision, and pushed the door open with more force than necessary. He had to admit Peter’s idea wasn’t bad. Still, after the moon, he would likely fall asleep standing. “Peter can get a cake from the kitchens. I’m sure they won’t mind, and we put it in a passage until late at night.”

Peter loosened his tie. “What passage?”

“From the fourth floor to the girl’s loo,” Remus said. It wasn’t like he’d ever use that one, anyway. He’d discovered it accidentally when his cloak had brushed against the wall, when he’d ducked out of the way of a gaggle of particularly busy Ravenclaw girls. It turned out the wall hadn’t been a wall at all, but rather, a doorway that pretended to be one and liked to be tickled on its left column.

“How do you know there’s a passage there?” James asked.

Remus shrugged. “Found it. My first weekend here.”

“Or,” James said. “We could do that tonight. Think about it, lads. It’s the perfect idea. We wake him shortly after midnight and sneak out. We’ll bring stink bombs and hide them all over for Filch to find.”

Remus turned his rucksack upside down, shaking the inkpots and books onto his bed. His hands were shaking—although he couldn’t tell if it was James’s questioning or the moon. Perhaps both; he took a deep breath. From the corner of his eye, Remus saw Peter nodding enthusiastically.

“I can go right now,” Peter said. “Are you coming too, Lupin?”

“Not tonight,” Remus said, more sternly than he planned. “I told you already.”

“Why not?” Peter asked.

Remus shrugged. “I’ve got something to do.”

“Then we’ll wait until tomorrow night,” James said. “Pete, would you mind going down to the kitchens already?”

Peter squeaked and jumped to his feet. “Do I get the cloak?”

James roughed up his hair. “Do you need it?” he asked. “No one can sneak around like you. Just make sure Black doesn’t see you. I don’t want him knowing what we’re up to.”

Peter nodded. “Not technically.”

Remus jammed the next day’s homework in the rucksack, along with his quills—they only had one class, and in the afternoon, they’d have to trudge out into the grounds to go flying.

“Lupin?” James asked when the door had fallen shut.

Remus had dropped his cloak, pulled a patchy wool jumper over his head, snagged the library book from his bedside table, and huddled himself onto the windowsill. He very pointedly ignored James.

“You don’t have to tell me,” James said, sitting on Sirius’s bed, watching Remus.

“Good,” Remus said.

“Are you going to disappear all night again?” James asked. Remus shrugged without looking up from the text. His muscles stiffened. “Like last month?”

Remus’s heart was racing. He knew that he should answer. He didn’t have a choice. “I’m going home.” His voice was barely more than a whisper. Remus could feel James’s gaze sizing him up. “Visiting,” Remus clarified.

The door swung open. Sirius marched into the room, jumped on his bed and burrowed his face in a pillow. James straightened, his eyes finally snapping away from Remus.

“What’d they want?” James asked.

Remus leaned his head back. He’d have to make peace with the lack of sleep that would plague him this week. The sounds were too loud—three heartbeats, muffled voices in the other rooms, Sirius’s uneven breathing. The collar of Remus’s shirt was slightly damp and clung to his neck. Remus felt sanity slipping from his grasp.

With a snap, he shut his book and rose to his feet. “I’m going for a walk,” he mumbled.

James nodded, his tie hanging loosely around his neck. “Lupin?”

Remus turned his hand on the door. “What?”

“What time are you leaving?”

“You’re leaving?” Sirius asked, bolting upright.

“Just for tonight,” Remus said.

“Why?” Sirius sounded genuinely astonished.

“I’m visiting my mother,” Remus said. McGonagall’s suggestion didn’t sound so outlandish now. “She isn’t feeling well.”

“Dragonpox?” James asked.

“Why would you visit anyone with dragonpox?” Sirius answered.

“You wouldn’t know it. Muggle stuff,” Remus said, leaving the two boys in their dormitory. Remus had never mentioned his family before, not even after their letter. Only Peter and James seemed to talk about their parents willingly.

Remus sat at the very back of the library’s top floor. Barely any students bothered to climb the stairs, since the lower area had more than enough desks. He heaved himself up onto the windowsill and leaned his head back against the cool glass. The tranquil tapping of the autumn rain, and the distant scribble of quills from the floor below faded in the background.

“Remus?”

He looked down. Lily stood by the nearest table, staring up at him with deep green eyes.

Remus sighed. “Evans.”

“I’m really sorry,” she said, stepping closer.

“About what?”

“The way I treated you last month. I—”

“It’s fine,” he answered.

“I was horrible,” she mumbled.

Remus raised his eyebrows. She wasn’t looking at him.

Remus couldn’t fathom why she apologised. The only time he spoke with her voluntarily was when he avoided the boys from his dormitory, and even then, he was barely more than a shadow lingering with people he knew wouldn’t tolerate James or Sirius coming up to them.

Lily smiled, and Remus thought her eyes seemed somehow redder. “How’d you get up there?”

He shrugged. “T’s not that hard.” He wondered if he could tell her he wanted to be alone. Everywhere he went, people seemed to linger and attempt to pester him.

Lily swayed on her spot awkwardly. “I’m studying a few tables down if you want to join.”

Remus shook his head. She seemed unconvinced. “I just came here because James wouldn’t stop bothering me,” he said.

“Oh, okay. Well then,” she said, a smile playing on her lips. “Can’t blame you.”

He pulled the sleeves of his jumper well over his palms and closed his eyes, folding in on himself.

***

Remus was running late—very late. He had to skip dinner and run up the steps to the hospital wing. His bones ached, and anger pulsed through his veins. He didn’t understand why he had to run all the way up to the hospital wing if the willow was in the grounds. Madam Pomfrey could just meet him in the Clocktower Courtyard and save both their time.

The nurse scolded him, and by the time the two reached the passage under the tree, Remus was burning up worse than usual. He was agitated and pulled at his clothes. Madam Pomfrey ushered him through the door. “I don’t like the look of you,” she said quietly.

Remus mustered a weak smile, his breaths shallow and laboured. With a wordless gesture, he closed the door behind himself. The stale air of the Shrieking Shack settled around him, and the old floorboards creaked beneath his weight.

The transformation came quicker than the last time. His body burned, stretched, and Remus screamed. A kaleidoscope of intense colours danced through his vision—the screams didn’t stop—until Remus realised it was already morning and he was lying in a pool of sweat and blood, his throat raw.

By the time Madam Pomfrey finally opened the door, Remus shivered, folded in on himself. His breath formed clouds of fog.

“Oh, dear,” the nurse said, rushing to Remus. She laid a blanket over his shoulders. “Are you injured? Remus, look at me.”

“I’m fine,” he croaked. The voice belonged to a stranger. He wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to stretch.

His left arm burned, and a fresh gush of blood dripped from the tip of his elbow. “Alright, don’t move,” the nurse said, moving her wand along the long gash. She fussed, checking his body for more injuries. Fortunately, the only other mark was another scrape over his right ribs, down onto his stomach. The blood had already darkened there, although as soon as he moved, pale yellow bubbles seemed to appear. This, too, Madam Pomfrey mended. All that remained was a bright red line, a bit thicker than his thumb.

“Where is your clothing?” Madam Pomfrey asked, shoving a cup in Remus’s hands.

He looked around the room. “I—Over there.” He gestured to the door. “What is this?” Remus asked, eyeing the liquid.

“A sleeping draught. You need rest.”

“I can’t.”

“Nonsense. I will inform your teachers. You’re in no state to go to class today.”

“They will know,” Remus said, panicky. “I told them I was visiting home. They’ll know.”

Remus tried to scramble to his feet, but Madam Pomfrey held him down, dropping his clothes in his lap. “I cannot let you go to class,” she said.

“Please, it’s only four hours today. I need to go.”

The nurse turned away, pacing the room. Remus quickly stepped into his trousers; they were cold and smelled metallic. His shirt was torn to pieces, but luckily, his jumper had survived nearly unscathed.

Remus tried his best to look healthy, propping himself up. “Madam Pomfrey?” Remus asked. “Can I go, please?”

“You will not exert yourself,” she commanded.

“I might need a note for Madam Hooch,” Remus admitted.

“I will let her know. You are to return straight to your dormitory after class. Drink this.”

Remus nodded. Once outside the dark passage, Remus was greeted by a flurry of white. Under the careful gaze of Madam Pomfrey, the two ascended to the castle. The nurse would only let him go once she was sure he had made it to the fat lady’s portrait undisturbed.

Remus walked through the common room as unsuspiciously as possible. He ought to have borrowed James’s invisibility cloak. He hid the bloodied pants under his bed and headed for the bath. There was still time until classes began. Remus supposed the others were outside, enjoying the snow.

He felt better once he had scrubbed his skin clean of the blood—bruises were forming on his knees, and he sighed. Wrapped in several towels, he rummaged through his chest of drawers for his uniform. Remus was half-dressed when the door opened.

“What’s that?!” Sirius said, standing in the doorway and staring at Remus’s exposed chest.

Remus scrambled, wrapping his shirt around himself. Fumbling with the buttons, he attempted to secure it more quickly.

“A scar,” he muttered. There was no point in saying anything else.

“Did you get it at home?”

Remus didn’t answer—he couldn’t tell Sirius the truth. In fact, he didn’t feel like he could give him any kind of explanation.

“I’ve got scars, too,” Sirius murmured so quietly that Remus thought he’d misheard. He swallowed, shrugging into the heavy school cloak, and sat on his bed.

“There you are, Black,” James said, poking his head through the door. “Hiya, Lupin. Have a good night?”

Remus nodded, waiting for Sirius to rat him out, but the other boy turned slowly and said, “Only safe place in the castle. I’m supposed to meet my family, and they won’t leave me alone.”

“Well, you’re late for class,” James said. “Come on.”

Remus was too terrified to fall asleep in class. He stared straight ahead, bluntly, his leg bouncing under the table, ignoring everything around him. Sirius had seen his scars—he had seen—he knew. Remus was jittery, his heart a caged animal jumping at his ribs. He chuckled at the irony.

James leaned over on their way to lunch and murmured, “No need to be nervous, mate. It’s not like we’ve never done this before.”

Remus didn’t answer. He stabbed his food repeatedly, sure that he would be sick if he ate. James and Peter led the Gryffindor table in a round of ‘Happy Birthday’ over pudding.

At least they didn’t have to fly. Madam Hooch taught the Gryffindors about broom care in the shelter of the changing tents. Remus would bear all the pitying looks if he didn’t have to spend two hours hovering eighty feet in the air in the freezing wind. James, however, moaned and complained until Hooch threatened to give him detention.

The walk to Gryffindor Tower was slow. The snow had stopped, and the dusting of white had melted, resulting in puddles of mud. The head girl waited in the entrance hall and threatened to bodily drag Sirius into the dungeons if he didn’t follow willingly. “Mental, the lot of them,” James muttered on their way upstairs.

Remus shrugged out of his cloak and collapsed into bed. James paced the room while Peter hummed quietly to himself.

“Alright, lads, listen up,” James said. “Tonight, after curfew, we meet in the common room. Peter, you’re responsible for bringing the cake into the passage. Lupin, can you show him where to go?”

Remus groaned his approval, his eyes already half closed.