As the light fades on the evening of February 16th, 1965, only the brightest stars in the sky can be seen as a young boy runs, giggling, out into his backyard. His feet stomp carelessly through previously unblemished snow, the clouds having parted to allow view of the evening sky. Unaware of yellow eyes watching him, unconcerned with being seen or heard—let alone smelled—the boy calls back to his mother that he simply cannot go to sleep before saying goodnight to the stars.
His father tells him that someday he will go to Hogwarts, and he will learn all about the stars, their names, their patterns, and what they have to tell us. For now, the boy simply looks up in wonder. He says goodnight to the stars, to that brightest one, stubbornly shining next to the glow of the last full moon he would ever see with human eyes.
Remus hates this dream. Hates how it always ends the same, turning to nightmare the way that fateful night did: with a pair of yellow eyes and a bite in his hip. Most of all, he hates the pure joy with which the dream begins. Awake, when asked about that night, Remus will insist he doesn’t remember much, he was too young, the night too painful, he’d blocked it all out. It was the easier answer, and easier still to pretend it was true. No, if he doesn’t think of it, he can’t remember it, and if he can’t remember it, well, then he doesn’t remember it, right? But the dream brings into sharp focus crisp winter air, fresh snow on the ground and stars beginning to appear in the dusk sky. The dream doesn’t care if he wants to remember, it simply insists that he does. He remembers the crunch of snow underfoot, snow marred first by little feet, later by bloody paws. He remembers pulling pyjamas on, over similarly unmarred skin, and tucking into bed.
When Remus inevitably wakes up, panting, with a phantom pain in his hip, he envies that boy in the dream. The one who smiled and laughed without restraint. The one who’s parents smiled and wished him goodnight without regret, fear, or pity in their eyes. He envies the boy who doesn’t know that the dream is a nightmare, that the joy will end in pain. A boy that doesn’t know a world where it’s not worth it to go out into the cold to say goodnight to the stars.
The thing about the dream is that it begins the same and ends the same, its conclusion predetermined. The dream is a tragedy, written to end in a bite, because the boy doing the dreaming is already bitten.
Remus knew that his parents missed Cardiff. That they had ever since they left shortly after his fifth birthday. It was a move made out of necessity: if they didn’t stay anywhere for long, then it was never long enough for someone to catch on to Remus’s monthly ailments. Still, as they frequently moved across all parts of the UK, it was in Cardiff where his parents’ hearts remained. It was decided, as Remus would soon be heading off to Hogwarts, that his parents would move back, free from the burden of Remus and his lycanthropy. Not that they’d stated it in those words, but the message Remus received nonetheless.
While few, the memories he had of his early childhood spent there were quite fond. Remus had thought that he too missed Cardiff, and maybe, upon returning, so would some of that childish merriment he remembers feeling there. To his dismay, in that summer before his first year at Hogwarts, he’d faced a truth just as he had in each place they’d lived before: no matter where he went, the moon still waxed and waned. He was still a monster, cursed to tear himself apart every month. He still had nightmares that began and ended the same.
At least, the nightmares weren’t every night, and while the most vivid, they weren’t his only recurring dreams. Lately, as he begrudgingly woke in the morning, he found himself clinging to the last dregs of sleep in the hopes it might prolong the vision. This dream was not a memory; in fact, it was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He was in an unfamiliar room filled with unfamiliar boys his own age. Unfamiliar in the sense that he had no recollection of meeting any of them in real life, or ever being in a room like that: stone walls and grand windows adorned with red curtains. The strangest thing about the dream, however, was that it did not feel unfamiliar at all. If anything, it felt like home, something he hadn’t felt since his last time in Cardiff. Something he’d been disappointed not to feel on his return. Maybe, something he would only ever feel again in his dreams.
The thing he could best recall as sun poked through his windows in the morning was the laughter: a chorus of chortles so infectious he found himself chuckling through his morning routine even as he could not remember the jokes themselves. Sometimes he wondered why his subconscious invented such a thing. Was he really so lonely that, to compensate, his dreams had invented a boy with a barking laugh that stood out among the rest? While Remus’ interactions with kids his own age were limited, these people, the boys laughing in his dreams, felt real. They felt like friends. If he were to know the feeling.
Remus didn’t dare hope to find this feeling of home or friendship at Hogwarts. No, among the standard Hogwarts preparations of buying books, robes, a cauldron and wand, Remus also received, from his father, a series of lectures which seemed might never end: keep your monthly transformations a secret. It was absolutely imperative that no one learn the truth, no one see his scars often hidden under sweaters, that no one suspects a thing.
He had been instructed to change out of sight of the other boys. To lie about late night study sessions or feign a cold around the moon so that his absence from the dorm and presence in the hospital wing might not be deemed suspicious. But also, don’t mention illness or the hospital wing too much, only when it seemed other excuses were unavoidable. A night in the hospital wing could only be explained away so many times. If possible, he really should avoid lingering in Madam Pomfrey’s care there the following day, too, should his post moon injuries not be too bad. But don’t let the other boys see you limp or bleed either, don’t let the evidence of your rough night show.
Among the instructions on how to best keep his secret, were other comments with a clear message: best not to get too close to anyone, at all. So, no, Remus did not expect to find feelings of home or friendship at Hogwarts, not with increasing comments from his father like “I know you like books, Remus, and I know you like to learn, so focus on that while you are at school, eh? Focus on your studies, find company in your books, best not to get too distracted by your peers, you’ll have enough on your plate between classes and the moons anyway” or “it’s a good thing you’re such a quiet kid. No one might even notice you missing at all!”
Lyall Lupin had almost insisted Remus not attend Hogwarts at all, for fear that someone learn the truth. He could not deny, however, that there was no better education for his son, and had been reassured by Albus Dumbledore himself that there would be safe accommodations for the boy during the moon. Well, safe for the Hogwarts population, and safe for his secret. It seemed there was nothing to keep Remus safe from himself on those horrible nights.
On his last night in Cardiff before he was set to be off to Hogwarts, Hope Lupin had insisted Remus join her for a walk down to the docks. When he had shown reluctance, citing his desire to enjoy muggle television while he still could, she refuted that he ought to enjoy Cardiff while he still could, as it was a warm night, potentially the last before the September chill set in, and after tonight he would not be back until the Christmas Holidays. It was when she had asked, “where is the boy who used to love watching the sunset on the water with me?” that he was convinced to go. He, too, had wondered where that boy went. Maybe the once familiar trek would bring it out in him.
He should have known this walk was an excuse for his mother to try and get him to talk. While he might have appreciated a contemplative walk in silence down to the water, that was not quite Hope’s style. She wanted to know how he was feeling. Was he excited for Hogwarts? What was he most looking forward to? The lacklustre responses of “yeah, I guess” and “I dunno” did not seem to satisfy her, as she gave her son a piercing look and stated “now I know you are quite capable of more words and thoughts than that. Now tell me Remus, really, what are you thinking? Are you worried it’s going to be… difficult?”
“Of course it’s going to be difficult, my whole life is difficult, Mam,” Remus replied in a small voice, eyes cast down to his feet.
“Yes, well, of course, but this is a new kind of difficult, and that adjustment can be scary”
“I’m not scared,” Remus retorted.
“There’s nothing wrong with being scared, Remus. It is our ability to face our own fears that shows a measure of a person. That shows their bravery. Now I know you are a very brave boy, you have to be—and believe me, I hate that you have to be—but that doesn’t mean you aren’t ever scared,” came Hope’s kind reply.
Somewhere along the way, Remus had begun kicking a rock on the ground, keeping it along with them for the walk, an imitation of the lone football games he’d played over the years. When he wasn’t ailing from the moon he was pretty good on his feet, capable of entertaining himself with the ball even if there was no one else to play with. Hope had wondered if he’d become so distracted by the rock he hadn’t heard a thing she’d said.
“Remus?”
“Yes, yes, I’m your brave little boy who’s allowed to be scared. I heard you, Mam, I just don’t really have anything to say to that.”
“Well, I’m glad to know you were listening.” She allowed them to walk in silence after that, until they reached the water. “Your headmaster, Dumbledore, he promised us you’d get an education just like any other wizarding child. You’re really lucky to have this opportunity, Remus. I just hope you take the chance to enjoy it.”
“I know, Mam. I’ll try, I promise.” He offered her a smile, then looked back out to the water. The sky was painted in pinks and purples against the setting sun. He decided to try and let go of that child who rushed out to see the first hint of stars, who didn’t fear the sight of the rising moon that came with it. He will never be that boy again, but he can at least be the one who took what he could get; who accepted the education offered to him and agreed to walks with his Mam.