A Smart Boy
WEDNESDAY. SEPTEMBER 1, 1971.
Remus Lupin can’t eat. It’s not for lack of hunger, nor is it because the food doesn’t look appetizing. All around him, students have piled their plates high with mashed potatoes, and roasted chicken, and gravy, and stew, and–
His stomach growls.
Remus Lupin can’t eat even though he’s hungry. Even though the food looks delicious. Even though Peter from the train has just about finished his second helping.
Remus can’t eat because he’s nervous. He’s so nervous he’s nearly sick with it.
He jabs his fork at his shepherd’s pie absently. The humor of his food choice is not lost on him. Perhaps he might have been able to stomach more than a few bites if he’d picked a less punny dinner. A werewolf eating shepherd’s pie. Hilarious.
“All right, Lupin?” James says.
Remus nearly jumps out of his skin.
James from the train and his friend, Peter, had been engaged in some sort of private celebration ever since James had taken a seat at the Gryffindor table.
The boys had forced Lily from the boat to budge over. Privately, Remus thought that was a tad bit rude, but he hadn’t said anything. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself.
That’s what Da said. Don’t bring attention to yourself.
Lyall Lupin had been even more nervous about this whole thing than Remus. A less observant son might not have recognized that, might have come to the easy conclusion that his father was being wretched. But Remus is a smart boy. He easily saw beyond Lyall’s stony facade. Saw the fear in his eyes.
Sending your werewolf son off to a boarding school chock-full of people who’d like to see him locked away because of their entirely rational fear that he might eat them can’t be easy. Remus knows that.
He knows his father loves him. He knows that all the warnings to avoid attention, to focus on his studies, to try to remain invisible are all just the ways his father shows that love. Just like when he makes Remus chew on those bitter leaves the night before the full moon. Just like when Hope knits blanket after blanket to pad the floor of the basement, even though The Wolf always tears them to shreds.
His parents love him. His parents are the only people who aren’t afraid of him.
His father is afraid for him.
Hope– bless her– had tried her best to settle her lads’ nerves. She hummed silly little muggle tunes and cooked their favorite dishes. She helped Remus pack his records and even gave him the family record player. Lyall told them Remus wouldn’t be able to use it at Hogwarts because there’d be no elecktrycity. Hope had just tutted and waved him off.
“You lot can figure out how to teleport, I’m sure our son can make a record spin.” She’d smiled.
She’d tucked Remus in each night he spent upstairs, carding her fingers through his chocolate locks when he was too worried to sleep.
“That Dumbledore fellow is meant to be some sort of genius, I hear.” She’d whispered one particularly restless night. “He wouldn’t have sent you a letter if you weren’t meant to be at school.”
Remus had remained silent, feigning sleep. There was no point in pretending though. Hope knew her son.
“You are meant to be there, cyw.” She whispered. “Don’t listen to your father, he’s just…”
She’d been quiet for so long that Remus thought she might’ve fallen asleep beside him.
She hadn’t.
“You deserve to make friends, Remus. Please don’t let him make you think otherwise.”
She placed a soft kiss on the top of his head. Then she left.
Remus had cried himself to sleep that night.
Friends are not exactly a luxury he can afford right now. Remus is a smart boy. He’s smart enough to know that, at the very least.
“Lupin?” James repeats. “Are you okay? You look sick.”
Remus nods wordlessly.
James looks like he’s going to push the issue, but then Peter lets out an indignant squeak.
Remus’ pie has disappeared from his plate, and so, it seems, has Peter’s food. It vanished right off his fork.
All the older students turn to the professors’ table at the far end of The Great Hall.
Professor Dumbledore stands at a podium surveying the crowd. His lips are pressed together in a strange half-smile. “Hello again.” He greets. “I trust you all enjoyed the feast.”
The students around Remus answer in the affirmative. Remus’ stomach growls again.
“I understand you’ve all been on a very long journey today, and you’ve got a busy day of classes tomorrow, so I’ll be brief.” The Headmaster pushes up his crescent-moon glasses and smiles thinly. “I’d like you all to take a look at the students sitting at your table.”
James and Peter from the train are sitting across from him. Lily from the boat is sitting as far away from James from the train as she possibly can without moving to a different bench altogether.
There are two girls he doesn't know on Remus' left. To his right sits Sirius Black, staring silently down at his empty plate.
“I understand many of you already know one another. I ask that you look regardless.”
Peter is practically plastered against James’ side. Lily keeps turning around to look at the Slytherin tables. Sirius is toying with that lush ring.
“Hogwarts is home to a wide array of students.” The Headmaster says. “Each of you is an entirely unique individual. I’m sure you might agree that you are all quite different from one another.”
Remus wants to laugh. He wants to cry. Different. Sure. That’s one word for it.
“Yet you all have at least one thing in common.” Dumbledore continues. “You are here. You are all witches and wizards honing your skills at the greatest academic institution in Scotland.”
Remus shouldn’t be here. That's what makes him different. He's not meant to be here.
“As the year begins, I implore you to remember to pause every now and again. Pause and simply look around at your peers. See beyond your differences. For, I assure you, the things that unite us are far stronger than anything that might divide us.”
It’s a lovely thought. One Remus wants to believe. He’s just not sure he buys it.
“Off to bed with you, now.” The Headmaster smiles, eyes twinkling as he steps down from his podium.
Older students clump into cliques and migrate out of The Great Hall. The first-years stand but quickly realize they’ve got no clue where they’re heading.
While the other students in his year begin to chatter again, Remus looks up at the enchanted ceiling. It's beautiful. The half-moon hangs low in the cloudless sky. Stars glitter like crushed diamonds against the velvety night. The house banners that hung over the children during their meal suddenly snap up into nothingness like a triggered roller shade, disappearing with a faint crackle.
The flock of Gryffindor first-years is herded toward one of their prefects, a girl called Annalena Murk. She’s a willowy blonde girl wearing a big polished silver badge. She stands with her chest puffed out like some sort of bird so that it catches in the candlelight.
A buzz of excitement rushes through the crowd when they hear that upon arriving at the Gryffindor common room, Annalena will help them pick their rooms. Nobody gives a rat’s intestines about the rooms, obviously. They’re all excited because picking rooms means picking roommates.
Remus hasn’t allowed himself to think about roommates much yet. They’d undoubtedly be the worst part of this entire experiment. Especially if his roommates were anything like James from the train, the bright boy who was so clearly willing to befriend Remus. Remus would want nothing more than to let them. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t do that. That would only make it harder to come up with a lie once every month. His roommates would never want to be his friends if they knew what he was.
Annalena leads the Gryffindors out of The Great Hall. No later than the moment he passes through the great big doors, Remus feels a slender hand on his shoulder. “Remus Lupin?” A warm voice floats from behind him.
An older girl with honey-colored curls is smiling down at him. Remus feels like a blydi baby for the way it makes him want to cry. He misses his mam. He misses her something awful.
He sniffs. “Yes?”
“I’m Miriam,” Remus notes the silver badge on her robes. “I’m meant to take you to Madam Pomfrey.”
Remus blinks up at her.
“The nurse.” Miriam clarifies.
Right. Of course. The full moon is in three days. Of course, the nurse would want to see him.
Back at home, Lyall had been the one to stitch Remus up after The Wolf tore him apart. He’d bring Remus a dozen vile potions to drink first thing in the morning and do his best to seal his son’s larger wounds. Lyall wasn’t a healer, and he wasn’t a warm man. But he was Remus’ father, and the sting of his clumsy spells felt like a promise. I love you. It said. I love you regardless. We can fix this. I’ll fix it.
This nurse would be skilled, no doubt. But she wouldn’t provide the same salve.
“Come along, duck.” Miriam prompts, patting his shoulder once more before walking off. Remus follows.
The ceilings at this school, Remus is coming to realize, are ridiculously high. Walking down a simple hallway, Remus feels as though he's in one of those muggle cathedrals Hope always speaks of visiting someday. The castle is all archways and tapestries and stained glass windows. It's beautiful. It makes him feel small... smaller than he already is anyhow.
Lyall seemed to think Remus' diminutive stature had something to do with his lycanthropy. As if The Wolf somehow stole the nutrients from the food Remus ate. Da was of the opinion that once Remus was cured, the boy would grow as he should. Mam thought this was perfectly ridiculous. She assured Remus that he was a fine height for his age. She said her brothers had been late bloomers as well.
Remus isn't sure who he believes.
His stomach aches. It burns somehow, churning and angry despite the fact that it is empty.
Miriam looks back at him. “Don’t be nervous.” She says, eyes soft.
Does it show? Is it obvious?
“Madam Pomfrey only seems scary. She’s very kind really.” Miriam continues, completely misunderstanding the cause of his jitters. “She’ll be gentle… provided you behave.” She chuckles.
Remus supposes he should be glad to hear this, seeing as it’s entirely likely that this nurse– this Madam Pomfrey – will be his only real companion for the next seven years.
“Here we are,” Miriam says, coming to a stop in front of a large set of double doors.
She pushes them open and gestures for Remus to head inside. Remus does as he’s told. Inside, he's greeted with the sight of rows upon rows of white medical beds. A woman in a healer’s dress bustles about, placing empty vials on bedside tables and fluffing pillows.
“Here he is, Madam.” Miriam places a thin hand back on Remus’ shoulder.
“Ah! Miss Strout. Thank you.” Madam Pomfrey ceases her prepping to smile thinly at the prefect.
“He’s a talkative one, miss,” Miriam says. She winks at Remus.
Madam Pomfrey does not laugh. “That will be all, Miss Strout.”
“ ’Course,” Miriam says.
Remus hears the heavy doors shut behind him.
Madame Pomfrey dusts off her hands and looks him up and down. Finally, she nods. “Right. Step into my office, Mister Lupin.”
Remus doesn't know where her office is precisely. But, unwilling to look as lost as he feels, he simply begins walking to the opposite side of the hospital wing. There's a closed door on the far end of the room, and he figures that's as good a bet as any.
When Remus pushes the door open he’s not surprised to see Professor Dumbledore. He is surprised to find The Headmaster isn't alone. He's speaking in hushed tones with another professor. The two are huddled close together over what Remus assumes must be Madam Pomfrey’s desk.
At the sound of the door opening, the pair cease their conversation. The Headmaster smiles at Remus, eyes all aglow. His white beard and rosy cheeks make the man look like some sort of underfed Father Christmas. “Mister Lupin!” His voice is kind and inviting. “Have a seat. It’s lovely to finally meet you face to face.”
Remus isn’t sure that lovely is the right word for it. Hogwarts is certainly lovely. It’s incredible. It’s like nothing Remus has ever seen. There are no moving staircases or enchanted ceilings in Hope’s cottage. Being here, being at Hogwarts, is more than Remus has ever hoped for since he was seven years old. That's lovely. But being here, being in this office with these adults, presumably to discuss the fact that he is a monster who should not be here? That’s not so lovely.
Remus sits in the empty seat.
“Allow me to introduce you to Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House.”
Professor McGonagall looks fairly young for a professor, about the same age as Madam Pomfrey. She’s got her hair all piled up on top of her head in a tight bun, and her eyes feel like they’re boring right into Remus’ soul. He can’t stand it. He looks away.
Under different circumstances, Remus might worry he was being rude. But he doubts anybody is expecting a beast to be particularly polite. So civility ought to suffice for now.
Dumbledore chuckles. "You'll forgive me, of course, for letting Minerva in on our little secret."
His pouting must be obvious. Remus feels his face heat up. He wishes he could disappear.
“I assure you, Mister Lupin, you needn’t worry about her.” The Headmaster seems amused. “As your Head of House, it was important that she be aware of your condition.”
Condition. That’s what his da always called it too.
“She’ll see to it that your professors don’t dock your grades for your absences.” Madam Pomfrey says, noticing the terrible nauseous look on Remus’ face. “Merlin knows they won’t listen to me. Think I fuss too much.”
“Poppy…” Dumbledore sighs.
“I fuss the necessary amount.” She huffs.
“It was also important that I be aware of where you are when you’re out past curfew each month,” McGonagall says primly, putting an end to Madam Pomfrey’s fuss. The woman is looking at Remus, eyes filled with something closer to pity than fear.
Slowly Remus nods. It makes sense. The churning feeling in his gut at yet another person being aware of his condition tells him that he’s not happy about it. But it makes sense.
“I’m sure Mister Lupin would like to see his dormitory at some point this evening, so let’s discuss the matter at hand, shall we?” Dumbledore says, quieting the ladies. He then stands and walks to the window behind Madam Pomfrey’s desk.
McGonagall and Pomfrey look at Remus expectantly. Under their insistent gaze, he shuffles uncomfortably to the window as well.
“Do you see that tree, Mister Lupin?”
Privately, Remus thinks this question is a bit silly. He’s a werewolf, not blind. But he’s meant to be grateful. He is grateful. So he nods. “Yes, sir.”
The tree in question is a scraggly-looking thing. It's gnarled and already rather barren for this early into autumn. It's not terribly large yet, but given the towering nature of a few branches, Remus gets the idea that it will be soon.
“We planted that tree the moment the decision was made to invite you to join us at Hogwarts.”
“Cost us a pretty penny.”
“Poppy!” Professor McGonagall chides.
“Why was it so expensive?" Remus asks. It really is an ugly tree. He feels lost. He hates feeling lost.
“They're rather rare, Whomping Willows." Dumbledore smiles, almost proud. "And very protective.”
As if showing off, the tree suddenly springs to life, whacking at a low-flying bird with its aforementioned branches.
“This particular Whomping Willow was planted to protect you and your peers from your transformation each month.”
Remus doesn't feel any less lost. The only explanation that springs to mind is that he's meant to climb the tree somehow. He knows that's foolish the moment it pops into his head. He would hope that the great Albus Dumbledore could devise a better idea than that nonsense.
“It guards a passageway built to lead you to your safe house”
Admittedly, this is a much better idea. He should have known he'd be kept somewhere far from the castle on nights when he transformed. It was a liability allowing him inside the castle at all.
His safe house. Whatever this place was, it was meant to be the equivalent of the basement back home. Remus wrings his hands, remembering the burns left by Da's silver padlocks.
“On Sunday, please arrive here promptly an hour before sunset.” The Headmaster clasps his hands behind his back. “Madam Pomfrey will escort you.”
At least he wouldn’t be alone. Remus knows he ought to get used to solitude, but he doesn’t think he could stomach being all alone on his first night.
“Do you have any questions?” McGonagall asks.
Remus shakes his head. He doesn’t want to ask questions. He wants to go to bed. He wants them to stop staring at him. He wants his mam.
“If that’s everything,” says Dumbledore as he steps away from the window, “why don't you escort the boy back to his dormitory, Minerva? I’m certain he’s eager to unpack.”
Professor McGonagall nods once, then stands. Her green robes ripple as she gets up. “Come now, Mister Lupin.” She says.
Remus follows, trailing behind her as she exits the Hospital wing.
The walk to Gryffindor Tower is long and mostly silent. The echoes of their footsteps on stone tile fill Remus’ ears. He catches a glimpse of his distorted reflection in a suit of armor as they walk. He looks tired.
“I hope you won’t think any less of me, Mister Lupin, if I seemed uncomfortable during our meeting.” Professor McGonagall eventually breaks the silence.
The quiet hadn't bothered Remus; he was quite sad to see it go. In the quiet, he could gawk at the moving staircases without the threat of judgment.
He scrunches his nose. “No. Of course not.”
Her reaction seemed perfectly normal. Better than he’d hoped, honestly.
“I’d like you to know that I don’t think any less of you.” The professor turns to look at him.
Despite her words, there’s that same pitying look in her eyes. Remus pretends not to see it.
“Thank you, Professor.” He nods.
She seems just as distrusting of his response as he was of her declaration.
Just like Dumbledore’s flowery speech at the feast: It’s a nice thought. But Remus knows better than to buy into it.
They continue the rest of the walk in silence. He's thankful.
Eventually, the pair come upon a large portrait of a sleeping woman. Professor McGonagall clears her throat, and the sleeping woman jumps. She blinks herself awake and looks about. “Hmm? What?”
Remus is transfixed. He’d heard of moving portraits. He’d seen the pictures move on his father’s newspapers and on his own chocolate frog trading cards. But those had never reacted to him. This is fascinating! The woman in the portrait straightens her dress and peers down at the professor and the student. “Out for a late-night stroll, are we?”
“Quite,” McGonagall replies. “It’d be best not to mention this again, yes?”
The woman laughs and makes a show of ‘sealing’ her lips before turning to Remus. “And who’s this?”
“This is Mister Lupin.” McGonagall answers, “He may wake you from time to time. He’s ill.”
The portrait pouts down at Remus. “Poor bird.”
Panicking, Remus forces a few measly coughs.
Professor McGonagall presses her lips together in an obvious attempt not to laugh.
“Let’s get you to bed.” The portrait croons.
“My thoughts exactly.” Says McGonagall. “Puffskein.”
The portrait moves ever so slightly. Remus catches the slight squeak of a door on hinges. The painting is a door. Banging!
“Run along,” McGonagall says. “You’ve got a busy day ahead of you.”
Remus feels along the edge of the portrait, still marveling at it. He pushes it open some more and catches a glimpse of the firelight on the other side.
“Sleep well, Mister Lupin.” The Professor says kindly.
Remus slips through the circular entrance behind the painting. The portrait swings shut behind him.
He steps into a cosy, round room. Cool moonlight streams in from the large windows. It fights momentarily with the warm light of the fireplace before the two mingle and dissipate into an incandescent glow. It’s still too dark for Remus to make out the depictions on the tapestries hanging from the walls.
The fire crackles to his right, casting long shadows on the far wall. He turns to it. A lion's head is proudly mounted above a brick fireplace's mantle. It gazes out stoically into a garden of squashy red armchairs, snug sofas, coffee tables, and loveseats.
Remus approaches the fireplace, drawn to the warmth.
It’s at that moment that he realizes the common room isn’t as empty as he thought. Sitting on the floor, previously hidden by the couch, are James and Peter from the train. James is shuffling through a collection of chocolate frog trading cards. Peter is fast asleep on his shoulder.
Remus wants to slip away. He wants to run up the stairs to his bedroom. He takes a step back to do just that before realizing he’s not quite sure where his room is.
“Erm,” Remus says intelligently. Brilliant.
James perks up, turning to Remus. “There you are!”
Peter makes a muffled grunting sound as James hops to a standing position. He looks around blearily. “Wha?”
“He’s back,” James says, helping Peter up. “We were waiting for you.”
Remus blinks. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. Of course. Of course there's no escaping James from the train. “...why?”
“We saved you a bed,” James smiles.
Remus doesn’t know how to respond. He just stares. James shuffles his trainers on the rug. “Alright, in the interest of honesty, it was the only bed left.” He laughs awkwardly. “But we’d already wanted you to dorm with us before we realized that! Right, Pete?”
Peter nods, but he doesn’t say anything. The poor boy is clearly exhausted. Remus feels exhausted.
“Come on! We’ll show you the room.” James’ face splits into a toothy grin. He takes off like a shot up the stairs to the left.
James from the train feels like the fire the boys just left behind downstairs. He’s warm and bright and if Remus lets himself get too close he’s bound to be burnt to a crisp.
James pushes the door nearest to the stairway open. He makes large, wild motions to usher the other boys inside. “Try to be quiet.” He says in a 'whisper' that is much too loud. “Sirius is probably asleep by now.”
The dorm room is just as beautiful as the rest of the castle. There are four red four-poster beds, each canopied with crimson curtains and flanked by large windows. Banners billow down from the ceiling. A stove is nestled in the corner of the room.
Looking up at the impossibly high ceiling, Remus wonders if there are any rooms in this entire school that won't make him feel like some sort of dwarf.
Peter and James have already unpacked their school trunks. James’ bedside table is covered in quidditch memorabilia and pictures from home. Peter’s holds a wizard chess set, his wand, and a few scattered gobstones.
Sirius has not unpacked. He’s also not asleep. He’s just sitting there on the edge of his bed, staring at his trunk.
Remus turns to James. The other boy just shrugs, his bright grin faltering.
Remus scrunches his nose. None of his business. Whatever is going on with Sirius is none of his business. He turns away from them both.
Remus sees his da’s old trunk at the foot of the fourth bed. It soothes him slightly to know his records, and jumpers, and books, and the record player are all safe inside, even though he hasn’t laid eyes on them yet.
Someone is snoring. Peter, no doubt.
“I think Pete’s got the right idea.” Remus hears James yawn behind him, confirming his suspicions. “Goodnight, lads.”
Neither Remus nor Sirius replies. James doesn’t seem offended. Shuffling sounds indicate that he’s gotten into bed.
Remus opens his trunk, digging out his da’s old Ravenclaw jumper.
Would Da be surprised that Remus was a Gryffindor? He’d never indicated that he had hopes Remus would be a Ravenclaw. Then again, he’d never indicated he had hopes Remus would go to Hogwarts at all.
He clutches the jumper to his chest and dashes by Sirius. He’ll change in the bathroom. Remus is a smart boy. He’ll give the other boys no opportunity to see his scars.