The Bewlay Brothers

March 10th, 1971

Evidently, the monster was very much real, and so was the small boy locked in the hard stone cellar.

The air was clogged with the potent smell of blood and sweat. A blanket of heat was cast over his mouth.

Despite the icy cold brought on from the bars of his cellar, Remus could feel the hot pouring of sweat down his neck.

He could already feel his body vibrating against the cold, hard, stone floor. Every bone in his body ached. From the fire in his lungs to the throbbing of his shoulders, Remus Lupin was properly aching.

His legs were searing in pain, as if a white-hot dagger pierced through his skin. It burned down his legs and his arms like a lightning bolt being carved into his skin.

Groaning, he attempted to hoist himself up.

Bang.

A jolt of pain ran down his arms as he attempted to move them.

Blinking back tears, he reached for the small key hooked to the edge of the window with his aching leg. Due to the silver shackles, his arms were trapped; lodged between the wall and a heavy metal constraint. They burned.

But they were the only thing the wolf hadn’t shattered and they were needed so he would stop scraping at the rotting walls. Hooking his leg onto the key, he tapped the code onto the strange device.

His shoes were dusted with blood and muck. Remus made a mental note to wash them later as he attempted to type the code with his bruised fingertips.

Remus could’ve sworn the key code got farther and farther from him every moon. Or maybe he was just getting weaker. He tried not to think about that.

Unlocking his shackles, his hands fall limp to his sides, burning with the searing pain of silver on his sensitive skin.

Using the wall to pick himself up, he shifts into a walking position, limping at the occasional jolt of pain striking his legs.

The small wooden house was quiet as he limped his way through the wood planks, careful not to step on the ones that creaked.

He could hear his mother snoring from her mattress; the echoes painfully loud across the corridor. His mother had taken the night shift. He had seen her; worn and tired. Gods knew she needed to sleep; because the purple bags under her eyes bear what was definitely more than one sleepless night. A pang of guilt hit his chest at the thought.

His mother had worked the night shift most nights, often working overtime as a result of Remus taking free nights on full moons.

Pushing the thought away, he leaned over to rummage through his box of clothing. It was a small one; filled with clothing which was either torn or dusted with muck or blood.

But his search was to no avail and it seemed as though the cleanest shirt he owned was the one he was currently wearing.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

He had forgotten to change his shirt before the moon. Before the moons he would often remove his shirt, to prevent any damage done to any more of his clothing. At that point, he was afraid he wouldn’t have any more clean clothes left.

Sighing, he grabbed a cloak, hissing as it scratched his bleeding skin.

Stepping out of the cottage, the March breeze brushed against his face, making him shiver against his tight shirt. His loose cloak hardly protected him from the harsh cold.

The place surrounding the small Lupin cottage was a forest, coated with tall, towering pine trees and dark bushes. No home was in sight, except, if you looked hard enough, you might just be able to spot the small oak cafe at the end of what seemed like trees for days.

It was on the edge of a small, abandoned parking lot. Remus liked to imagine that many people used to come there.

He liked to imagine the shop bustling with customers and excited tourists coming to travel to the nature-filled city. He imagined 50’s rock bands jamming to the dusty stage in the back of the shop, all of them smelling of some old fashioned perfume or tobacco-filled pipes.

The warm smell of the earth after rain mixed with the refined smoke.

But instead, he was met with a poor sight. The bustling cafe was no longer bustling, only the remains of the few people that lived in the area coming to get their coffee; cranky and upset because this destitute old stop was the only place to find breakfast.

Tired workers, cranking the coffee machine; cranky and upset because this destitute old shop was the only place to find work.

He didn’t know why he was disappointed every time he was met with the poor old sight of the broken record player stashed in the back of the shop; no longer able to play cool music or fulfil his small-town dream.

He didn’t know why he was disappointed every time he was met with the poor old smell of spoiled milk and old, black coffee beans. Maybe it was because the dream had eased the ache, if only just for a few moments. Nevertheless, it was time to come back to reality, and cover his ears before the old, noisy, coffee machine and work with the cranky and upset customers.

At least the air conditioner worked. Warm air flew through the old machine, giving the occasional hack or cough as a signal it was still alive; like a patient on his deathbed.

“You look like shit,” a woman's voice called.

A woman with striking red hair rounded the counter as she threw a dirty apron his way. At least she was good enough to be honest. He’d always admired that about her.

Remus had always been fond of Kira, and he’d gotten a feeling that she was fond of him too, even if she would never say it out loud.

Perhaps he’d grown on her since they were children, him only six and her eleven. There was a reason why she’d accepted him when he was young. There had to be. And even if there wasn’t, he was sure that he’d charmed her enough to keep him around.

“I know,” he said. “I think it suits me, all these bruises. Kind of like that makeup you say Jessie’s always talking about.”

She laughed. “I’m sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but that” she said, pointing at his face, “does not look like makeup. And don’t talk about Jessie.”

“Got it,” he said, covering his ears to the cranking of the coffee machine. He winced as the machine hacked; a loud, ear-shattering sound. After his ears finally recovered, he mustered a smile. “Got it, girlfriend is off limits.”

She glared at him. “She’s not my girlfriend.” Banging the machine with his uninjured hand, he grinned.

“Not yet.”

Glaring harder than ever, she chucked a cup at his head.

Hearing the motion, he caught the thing, grinning.

“That’s it, you’re fired.”

He grinned wider. “You would never fire me.”

She scoffed, stalking off to the back of the shop. Chuckling to himself, he opened the wooden door.

The man had attempted to ring the bell as many of the newcomers had, unknowing that the bell was in fact broken; the inside frozen and immobile as it had been chopped off by the harsh wrath of last year's winter.

“Welcome,” he greeted.

The man was obviously tourist, probably religious by the long, strange robes draped over him. He was an old man of a long nose and a beard that brushed the floor.

Remus assumed the man was simply of some strange, far off religion, parking in forest for a myth of inner peace or something.

It was surprising how many of these types could be found around the more wild side of Wales.

Kira came out of the back, a sack of orders hoisted onto her shoulders. Stifling a laugh, she mouthed, who is this?

He shrugged. I don’t know. He whirled his finger near his head, mimicking a crazed guy. He looks crazy.

“Coffee?” he asked the man, propping the cup on the counter.

“Do you have any..” he hesitated, as if the menu wasn’t on the counter, right in front of him. “Do you have any Sherbert Lemons?”

Kira gave Remus a confused look. What’s wrong with him? She mouthed. He shrugged. “We don’t sell those here.”

“Oh. Well, that’s unfortunate.” He looked disappointed, as if he had really expected to come into the small coffee shop in a small forest in the middle of nowhere and find a bloody sherbet lemon.

“I’ve come here to deliver this.” On the counter, rested a fancy envelope. He didn’t expect the man with the large beard and the strange beard to work in a corporate job, let alone offer it to anyone working in a cafe in the middle of nowhere.

It was sealed with one of those expensive wax seals, with what looked like a fancy brand name engraved on top of it. It was also followed by the appearance of a jar; like one of those expensive lotion brands. It was a mushy yellow colour.

“That slip better be filled with money,” she told him.

Remus agreed. But even if this man was a scam, it wasn’t as if they could do anything about it.

The police wouldn’t drive thousands of miles to the middle of nowhere for a runaway Loon.

Besides, it wasn’t as if scams were uncommon in this part of the country.

The man was silent, slipping the letter and the small jar towards Remus. “Your father would want you to have it.”

Father. Remus’s heart stopped. He hadn’t heard of his—that man since the night it happened.

He hadn’t seen his face since he left.

Anger rose in his chest at the thought. It thrummed in his chest and pounded in his veins until all he could see was red. “You don’t know anything about me. Or that man.”

“Calm down, Mr. Lupin.”

His heart pounded against his ribcage. “That man is not my father. And he can go burn in the fiery pits of hell for all I care.”

Anger shot through him like a fire, blazing from his heart to his mind, each fueling each other until there was nothing but red left. Until there was nothing but anger for this man who dares to walk into his life claiming he knew him. “Get out.”

“Remus, I implore you to see reason-”

“Get out.”

“Think about it,” the man said. And with that, he disappeared. Remus slumped against the wooden wall of the baristas, his cloak slipping off.

His bruised back banged against the wall violently with the movement. A jolt of pain shot through him. It burned down his back like a blaze. He blinked back tears. “Fucking damn it.”

When he lifted his gaze, Kira stared at him with her mouth wide open. He saw the spark of fear in her eyes and for a moment he felt grateful that it was there.

The knowledge that Kira would actually care if something had happened to him. Just for a moment. “Remus is your mother-”

“No!” he said.

The warm and fuzzy feelings disappeared immediately with the mere thought of accusing his mother of something so outrightly evil.

His amazing, hardworking, mother. It made his stomach lurch.

“She didn’t do anything.”

“Then how the hell did that happen?” she asked, pointing at the splotch of crimson staining his white shirt. Her eye-brow was raised, clearly not believing him for a moment.

“I fell,” he said. Mentally slapping himself for the worst excuse for a bloody shirt ever known to man, he sighed.

Because how was he supposed to explain that he turned into a deadly werewolf and proceeded to tear himself apart and scar himself once a month?

“You are the worst liar in all of Wales.” 

"I’m sorry.” Remus didn’t want to lie to the girl that made paying their rent possible. He didn’t want to lie to the only person aside from his mother that he’d ever loved. He didn’t want to lie to his family.

“Remus. If she- if she did-”

“I love my mam, okay?” he yelled, banging his hand down on the wooden counter. The spike of pain running down his arm knocked him back a step. Suddenly, watching the startled expression on her face, he softened.

All of a sudden his outburst seemed kind of stupid. “Just drop it, alright? It’s fine,” he mumbled, rubbing his sore arm. “Healing nicely.”

“Looks great.” she said stiffly. Remus knew she was being sarcastic. He wanted to tell her how much he appreciated that she cared, or maybe just tell her he was sorry. But instead, he replied, “thanks.”

And he knew that when she stepped into the back, he shouldn’t follow her. Instead, he cranked up the broken old coffee machine once again, welcoming the new customers.

The shift seems to last for days, each cranking of the machine worsening the throbbing in his hands and each hack or cough worsening the ringing in his ears.

It was always like that on full moons, but even then, Remus sensed that something was missing. Maybe it was her laugh, or the occasional sarcastic remark. Maybe it was the friendly banter, or maybe it was just the mysterious letter stored in his pocket that kept him on edge.

When sundown hit, and the orange and pink colours faded to dusk, Kira still hadn’t returned from the back of the shop.

He was beginning to get a little worried about her. Perhaps she was offended or angry at him. Or maybe, just maybe, the thought of firing him didn’t quite seem like a joke anymore.

Pushing the thought away, he made a mental note to look for her after his shift. But that wasn’t needed, because by the time the clock struck eight, and his shift was over, Kira came walking through the back door.

“Where were you?” he asked cautiously. The smell of burnt wood and pastries wafted off of her as she came in. It was strong, chocolatey. “I was out.”

Not trying to make her angry after their quarrel, he decided not to pry, although he was brimming with curiosity. “Okay.”

Remus glanced at the door, and back at Kira and he wondered if he should leave. “I guess I’m going to leave now.”

Turning his back, he wondered if everything would be different tomorrow. But then, as he was opening the glass door, he heard Kira call him back. As much as Remus needed his job, he sincerely hoped it wasn’t more hours because if it was he would probably collapse.

“Yeah?” he asked, leaning against the door for support. After hours of walking, he was beginning to feel the soreness crashing down on his injured legs.

She looked him up and down. “Are you feeling alright?”

He yawned. “I’ve just been on a fourteen hour shift, and let me tell you, I’m absolutely peachy. You know, this might even be the best day of my life. I’m in peak condition.”

“I’m serious, Remus.” He sighed. Any more jokes definitely wouldn’t fly well with her. “I’m fine. Just a little tired from the fourteen hour shift I just had.”

She didn’t argue, although she looked like she didn’t believe him. “Come on, sit down.”

“What?”

“Sit your ass down,” she said, a hint of a smile on her face. “I got you something.”

In the five years he had worked in the small, oak coffee shop near the forest, Kira had never given him anything more than the money he made. Maybe it was partly because the shop spent most of its money trying to fund itself, while still providing Kira a home to sleep in.

And Remus was okay with that. Nobody had much money to spend on useless gifts anyway. As he sat down, the smell of wood and pastries became thicker.

Remus wondered where she could’ve been. Not many cafe’s smell like burnt wood. Then again, not many employers give their employees gifts either.

“Employers don’t give their employee’s gifts,” he said dumbly.

“I’m not giving you this as your employer, I’m giving this to you as your friend.”

Friend. He blinked. In the five years he had worked in the small, oak coffee shop near the forest, Kira had never called him a friend. “Thank you. I really app-”

“Don’t get sappy on me just yet,” she cut him off. “You haven’t even opened the damn thing.”

Looking down at the table, a small box was on there. It smelled good. Like pastries. The sweet smell of chocolate chip cookies coming straight out of the oven. Remus loved chocolate. “You got me a cookie?” 

"You always ruin everything,” she complained.

He grinned. “Super senses.” “Open it!”

As he opened the box, he was met with the biggest chocolate chip cookie Remus had ever seen. It was the size of his eleven year old palm. It was so big he had to hold it with two of his small hands.

Offering to cut the cookie in half, Kira shook her head, smiling. “Happy birthday.”

Remus blinked. “Oh.”

“I can’t believe you forgot your own birthday,” she breathed. Dusk had fallen and a puff of white air spread off into the freezing coffee shop. The old heater had stopped working, but somehow, Remus felt warmer than ever.

“I didn’t forget,” he muttered weakly.

Kira wasn’t convinced. “You should be celebrating,” she said, frowning. A flicker of something passed in her eyes. Something sad, something far away. It was as if she was looking back upon her own faraway memory. “You should be living your life. You should be at a club or playing in the playground, or whatever normal eleven year olds do on their birthdays.”

He laughed, trying to push away the wave of sadness coming over him. “I don’t think there are any playgrounds around here. Definitely not any that can help pay the rent.”

"I'm sorry, Remus."

He took a deep breath. “Birthdays are supposed to be fun,” he urged her. “C’mon, let’s do something fun. How about you finally let me try that fag?”

That got a laugh out of her. “Not a chance.”

By the time Remus had cracked open the door to his house, the moon was already well up in the sky and the world was dark. His mother laid on the small mattress propped up in the kitchen, unaware of him watching her from the doorway. He hadn’t seen her in a few days, missing each other between their many hour shifts.

A warm feeling spread in his chest at the thought of seeing her again. “Annwyl,” she said softly, gesturing for him to come near. “I haven’t seen you in awhile.”

“Kira bought me a cookie for my birthday!”

His mam seemed confused for a moment. “Oh. Right. Happy birthday, annwyl,” she said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you anything this year. When we make more money, We’ll buy you all the presents in the world.”

Hope rose in his chest at the thought. “You promise?”

She chuckled. “I promise.”

They sat in silence for a moment, and Remus soaked in the rich smell of honey and old books drifting off her. The smell of home. His mam was reading a book, the pages browning with age. Remus liked that about his books; he thought it gave them character.

“Have you seen any interesting people today?” she asked. “At the cafe.”

He thought for a moment. “There was this old man. He said he knew– he said he knew," Remus hesitated. He didn't want to make his mam sad. Definitely not on a day like his birthday. A day that’s supposed to be happy. But he couldn’t lie. “He said he knew my—that man.”

“That man is your father.”

The warm feeling in his chest disappeared, replaced by something cold. “No he isn’t. He left us.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it again, thinking better of it. Instead, she said; “the man at the shop is a wizard, just like your father was. He wants you to be a wizard too.”

“I don’t want to be like them,” he said.

He didn’t want to do magic like his father did or go to wizard school like his father did or do anything like his father did.

“Open the letter,” she said suddenly.

“I didn’t get a letter,” he lied, thinking back to the strange Loon and the fancy wax-sealed letter that smelled of parchment and pine.

“Don’t lie to me, annwyl,” she warned, digging through the cloak’s pockets.

Evidently, she fished out the fancy, wrinkled letter, a small smile spreading to her face at the sight. “This is an invitation to Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” she explained.

With every word she said, anger emerged from the cold feeling inside him. A hot, boiling anger. Because how could she want to send him to school after everything that man had done?

“It’s in London,” she told him.

Remus’s anger quickly turned into confusion at the words. “We don’t have the money to move to London.”

She sighed. A pained expression came over her for a moment. “It’s a boarding school. You’ll be fed and you’ll go to classes and you’ll make friends-”

He blinked. His mam wanted to send him away. She wanted to banish him to wizard school. She wanted to send him away to be like his father. “I don’t want to make friends!”

“Annwyl-”

“No!” he cried. “I don’t want to go to classes, or be a wizard or be anything like that man!”

“I think moving away for a while would be better for both of us, you know?” she asked, looking guiltily down at his bloody shirt.

“Yeah,” he said, the understanding dawning on him. “Ye-Yeah. I get it.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

August 1st, 1971

The last thing Remus Lupin needed on his mind after taking the night shift was a bloody wand.

Despite his efforts to decline, the old loon insisted he be at Diagon Alley at seven in the morning.

Kira had been sceptical when he’d told her he needed to leave the shift early, but apparently Ezra was more than happy to pick up the slack.

At first, he’d been quite pleased at missing the hardest hours at the cafe; where everyone was only waking up, cranky and keen on complaining.

But as he stumbled across the stony streets after mysteriously disappearing into the wind, a bustling few hours at the cafe suddenly seemed a lot better.

The man was still wearing his strange robes and customary star-speckled hat when he offered Remus his hand. This time, he held a wand in his hand, curved and sharpened like a dagger.

“Apologies for the strange hour.” The man popped a candy. “Sherbert Lemon?”

The candy fizzed in his mouth and he couldn’t help but grin. Between him and his mother, and the small amount of coins keeping them afloat, there wasn’t much money to spare for trivial things like candies.

In the early hours of the morning, as the sun just began to peek through the horizon, the shopping centre was almost empty and free to venture.

Big banners and poster boards scattered the cobbled grounds and polished shops stood pressed into one another so that every corner was a new surprise.

Some were old and rusted and filled with books of old parchment and others were green and painted with all sorts of designs that could only be described as loony.

To his surprise, as the sun rose higher in the sky and more children began flooding the place, Remus found himself feeling more out of place than the old loon.

As opposed to the fancy robes and glamorised sticks, Remus wore a dirty t-shirt and some old jeans.

The strange smell of magic and stars wafted through the air as they travelled deeper into the place and brushed against more loons. And after what felt like forever— the loon had a bad habit of stopping every few moments to say hello to an occasional old person—they finally reached the building.

It was of tall brown walls and big, widespread windows.

Before he’d entered, Remus was sure they were standing in front of an old bar.

But he was disappointed to find that instead of a bar and perhaps his first taste of a fag, he was entering what looked like a small warehouse.

Apart from the cashier, the place was crammed with what looked like thousands of small boxes. As he looked around, yet another old man appeared at the counter and Remus was sure that if he’d see another old man on their way, he just might lose it.

“You must be the Lupin boy!”

Remus nodded.

The man was of wide eyes and grey curls. He had the appearance of a mad man, with his lopsided hat and strange attire. Like one of the old men living nearby, always complaining about the splintered wooden chair as if it was their first time.

“Come, boy.” He ushered him over to the stack of boxes. “Choose one.”

The boxes were as old and worn as the old coffee shop as the familiar tinge of dust brushed off his fingers. But despite the box, the stick inside was perfectly polished and glistening as if it had been freshly cleaned. He twirled the thing between his fingers. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Ah, son, you hold it up, like this.” He gestured upward with a frankly shocking resemblance to the statue of liberty. Remus had to hold back a laugh at the thought.

“And then you toss it around a little, see if it’ll fit you.”

He snorted. “And how am I supposed to know if it fits me?”

“You’ll know.” The man’s eyes brightened. If he noticed the boy’s scepticism, he didn’t show it. “I suspect you’ve heard, the wand chooses the wizard.”

He almost laughed out loud at that. He couldn’t even imagine Kira’s face when he’d tell her that these loons believed that a slab of wood could choose a person.

Eager to get this over with, he reached for the stick. It was finely carved and glistened in the son. A dark wood, looking as if it belonged to some shady carpenter. He whooshed it around in a few circles. At first, there was nothing. At first, he was sure that most of it was just an elaborate prank and the old loon would just laugh at him, and he’d go back to his shift.

That was until all the boxes came crashing down. It was so loud that Remus left the shop. It rang in his ears like a microphone being boomed through; like a stone avalanche happening only feet from him. The sound was deadly and clanging as what seemed like millions of boxes crashed against the wood.

The loon was saying something, but it was just white noise against the ear-shattering clang of boxes hitting the floor.

Finally, when the ringing became a little less potent, he muttered; “I’m guessing that one didn’t fit.”

The old loon nodded in assent with a grimace as they watched the mess. That was until the man, Olivander he was called, emerged from within the boxes.

“No worries! No worries! This happens a lot.” Waving his stick around a few times, the boxes were stacked orderly on the wooden shelf, as if they’d never been touched. “Now, to the next wand.”

The second stick ruined his wall display.

The next cracked the old man’s chair, making him stumble to the ground.

“Are you quite alright, Olivander?” the loon asked.

“Yes, yes,” he said.

And as he fixed the chair as he fixed the display and the boxes crashing off the shelves, Remus was beginning to think that this whole wizard thing was a lot harder than what he’d bargained for.

The next wand he chose was of a lighter wood. Of regular oak; oak like the walls of the coffee shop, light as the creaking steps of his home. It was crooked, bent like a stick that’s been broken a thousand times and lodged together again.

But it felt good on his hands; like the floors which though unsteady, held their weight a thousand times. And before he knew it, a light of sorts spouted out. But not like the old, flickering lights back at the cafe.

A strong, firm light that illuminated the whole room.

“Ten and a quarter, cypress, unicorn hair!” Olivander clapped his hands excitedly. “Congratulations, boy, you’ve got yourself a killer wand!”

Remembering home, Remus found himself smiling at the stick.

After congratulating him on his new wand, he’d received another candy.

And as the sweet lemon flavour melted in his mouth he decided that if being a wizard meant having candy, he would do whatever it took.

If Remus thought the place was crowded when he first entered, the place was absolutely crammed with people now. The scent of stars and animals drifted through the air, flooding every shop they’d entered.

As he roamed the alleys, he realised that everyone had their own smell of magic.

All followed by stars and the tinge of animals, each wizard had their own type of magic. Of course, he could only smell it when they brushed against him, or when they came too close, but it was there.

Some smelled of spring flowers, and others of rusty railroads.

The loon smelled of the moon, of candies and dark oak.

He wondered what his magic smelled like.

They stopped by a shop packed with ice-cream.

Remus had been sceptical, as he’d never tasted wizard ice-cream before. He remembered before he’d turned five, as his- that man promised to take him to get the best ice-cream he’d ever have in honour of his birthday.

Back then, they were wealthy. They could afford vacations in the summer and hot chocolate in the mornings and big birthday presents.

Remus had looked forward to that day for weeks. He would count down the days on a small calendar with a big green dinosaur at the top. But they didn’t have money anymore and the only calendar Remus had was one with a big round moon on it.

“What flavour would you like, my boy?” a man asked, snapping him out of his thoughts.

A million flavours lined the ice cream bins. Some pink, white, green, and one even had a bunch of cookies in it. It was safe to say that he left the shop with at least three different flavours.

The old loon just had a yellow one. Sherbet lemon, he’d told him. His favourite flavour.

That day, Remus discovered a lot of things.

Wizards didn’t wear jeans or seem to have any casual wear at all.

They took owls and cats and—frogs?—to school.

They made potions and carried cauldrons that reminded him of those old witches with moles and spiky hair.

Remus returned home with a trunk fastened with second hand robes and perhaps third hand books, and most importantly, sherbet lemon in hand.

And though school was a month away, he couldn’t help the nerves that bubbled in his stomach.

Couldn’t help but wish that he’d wake up, and none of it would be real.

That his trunk wouldn’t lay beside his mattress, that on September first, it would just be another morning shift at the cafe.

Because though he loved the sherbet lemons and the many flavours of ice cream that lined the big alley, he dreaded arriving at school. Dreaded being surrounded by wizards. By loons. By people like that man.