fire and scales
Regulus shuffled in his sleep, for though the night was quiet, his dreams weren't. Sirius was screaming, screaming—
He woke up gasping for breath.
"Reg?"
He almost cried at the sound of his voice.
"Sirius? What are you doing here?" It was midnight, for Merlin's sake.
The lamp next to Regulus' bed came alight.
"Just… wanted to wish you a happy birthday," Sirius Black's face came into view.
There was some shuffling. Regulus ignored him. The screaming was still roaring in his ears.
"And also… I'm sorry for what you had to see yesterday, Reg,"
Regulus allowed himself to release a breath. So that meant Sirius was going to stop— that he would—
"And I'm sorry, because you might have to see it again later today," he said, and now his voice was slightly bitter.
What?
"Why, Sirius?" Regulus said harshly, "What do you get out of defying our parents? Some sort of sickening satisfaction from the pain?" He paused to take a breath helplessly, "Why, can't, you just, listen?! You're the Black Heir— Mother and Father will stop hurting you if you just listen to them…"
Sirius pushed himself onto the bed and sat next to his brother to stop his shaking.
"Because if I surrender once," He said finally, "I'll always be listening to them. I don't know how it is for you, Reg, but I know it took me a lot to be this brave. To defy what they tried to instil in me. And if I give up… I don't know if I could live with myself." Sirius looked at Regulus with some hope, then, "I'll be going to Hogwarts next month, Reg! Freedom is so close. So yes, I'm okay to be hurt now if it means reminding myself that what they're doing is wrong and I must fight against it."
Regulus didn't have words to express what he thought about that.
"Why do you have to fight? What's so wrong so long as you don't get hurt?" He swallowed, "I don't care about the rest of the world, Sirius. I care about my family— I— you."
Sirius gave his arm a brief squeeze. "I'm getting hurt regardless, Reg, don't you see? They're making me into something I'm not," A bitter laugh, but one with a note of triumph, "trying to, anyway, but I don't want to be Walburga and Orion Black's little puppet. I want to be me, whoever I may be, and do whatever I may think is right. I want to be Sirius."
Regulus said nothing. He looked up into his brother's grey eyes, perfectly mirroring his except that there was something alive there that Regulus just… didn't have.
Freedom.
"You're very brave, you know that?" Said ten-year-old Regulus Black, "Stupid, but brave. What if you're sorted into Gryffindor?"
Sirius laughed, "Mother would have an aneurysm, wouldn’t she? You know what, I just might."
Regulus's palm was clamming up again, "No, please don't, I—" He took a deep breath, "Sirius, you might be brave enough but I am not. I can't—" see you screaming like that again. See anyonescreaming like that again.
Sirius shifted so he could see Regulus clearly, "You are."
Sirius didn’t elaborate, and Regulus didn’t press. This conversation was choking him up.
"Wh-What if you are sorted into Gryffindor, but I go to Slytherin?" Regulus said, an unspoken fear finally coming to voice itself, "Sirius, you know I can't do what you do. I'm not brave. I don't want to be…" screaming. Writhing on the floor in agony. Pain.
"—hurting like you hurt."
Sirius didn’t say anything. But this time the silence didn't seem warm.
"Sirius?"
"Reg, you know what kind of person they will make you, right? If you continue to conform?" Sirius said. Something was odd about his voice now. Something that made it seem as though he'd just been faced with a fact he'd been trying hard to avoid.
"Like them, you mean?" Regulus said, "Sirius, I know that they look down on—"
"No, Reg," Sirius said, "They'll ask you to join this upstart who calls himself the 'Greatest Dark Lord of the Age'. Terrorists. Killers."
A shudder passed down Regulus' spine.
"Maybe I won't have to," He insisted, "If I please them enough."
Sirius had a very heavy, sad smile, "I won't push you much, because I know what the repercussions of rebelling are, but Reg?"
"Yes?"
"Choosing not to choose is still a choice." Sirius said, "And I know you're braver than that."
The clock struck twelve.
Sirius leaned forward into a hug, and whispered into his ear, "Happy Birthday, Reg."
He pulled back, and after an exaggerated wink, climbed out the window into the room directly below Regulus': his own.
Just in time too, because a minute later Walburga and Orion stepped into his room.
Regulus was once again annoyed with Sirius. It could be because he'd put him in a moral dilemma, or simply because he'd done something stupid again by cutting the time so close. He knew mother and father came to wish him at midnight; it was pureblood tradition.
Regulus didn't know what bothered him more: what Walburga and Orion would have done to Sirius had they heard the things he said to Regulus, or that Sirius wouldn't really have cared risking it at this point.
"Happy Birthday, Regulus dear," His mother said.
"You are now eleven, fit to hold a wand," Orion said with a smile.
Regulus could have pointed out that that had never stopped them from handing him an illegal wand before for some early tutoring as befitted pureblood children who were 'above' the ministry, but he didn't. Good boys didn't interrupt formalities, after all; they smiled and gave a pretty bow, so that's what Regulus did.
"Indeed, father," he drawled.
It was funny. He hadn’t realised how good he was at faking things.
I know you're braver than that.
It had never occured to Regulus that you didn't need to be brash and bold to defy someone. It wouldn’t occur to him now, but it would later, when the Lion in him was set free by choice.
But through a snake's coils.
***
"But Mum—" Said James quietly.
"No, child," Said Euphemia Potter wearily.
The silence lay heavy.
The mother and son stared at each other as they stood in the magnificent hall of Potter Manor, the former leaning on a table after a harrowing experience, and the latter in utter concern.
"Be a darling and please leave me be for now, James?" Euphemia Potter said, and her voice broke ever so slightly, "Please?"
James took a step back, but he had to ask, "Is Dad going to be okay?"
The mother closed her eyes, and though it took all of her self-control, when she opened them, her entire bearing had lightened, and her eyes had some of their comforting charm back in them.
"He is. I promise, we'll make it so he is." She had to be strong, she had to be strong.
James nodded firmly, though she could still see the sharp concern in his eyes.
"D'you… Do you need me to get you anything?" Her son asked, then seemed to remember sheepishly that she'd asked him to leave her be.
She shook her head gently.
"I'll go, then?" James said uncertainly, and backed out of the hall.
Euphemia pulled a nearby chair closer and sat quietly.
Minutes slipped into an hour, and all she could think about was Charlus Potter as he took the spellfire meant for the Prewetts. Meant for her.
His condition had gotten steadily worse over time, but the healers could do nothing. They didn't even know what had hit him. Euphemia could best describe the spell as one that emitted inky black light, for all the good that it did her.
The next war was coming, she knew. Only now she feared it would be too soon.
Oh, James.
"Be brave," Euphemia whispered, finding Charlus' words falling from her lips, "Be brave, my son."
Elsewhere, unbeknownst to her, James Potter was repeating the same words to himself.
James, by all standards, was a pampered child. He was given nearly everything he'd ever wished for…
Except the truth.
You see, a drawback of having parents who wanted to give you roses with the thorns pruned off was, well, they tended to hide things from you.
On one hand, James had grown with very strong notions of "Good" and "Evil", and "Right" and "Wrong", and he'd always been taught to staunchly oppose the latter, no matter what you had to do.
On the other hand, his parents… hid the latter from him far too often
To protect him, they said.
To not have him face cruelty until it was absolutely necessary, they explained.
James understood… except when he didn't, because it was contradictory!
If something was wrong you had to face it head on. You weren't supposed to hide behind an adult until you couldn't. That wasn't brave. That wasn't right.
Still, James loved his parents dearly, and he knew they did too, so he listened.
The night wind blew cooly against his face, and James smiled as he mounted his broom.
James loved to fly . He was told he was a natural, almost a prodigy. James didn't know too much about that, because flying was just so, well, easy. So freeing. He didn't see how anyone would have trouble doing it. In fact, he enjoyed adding another task to the activity, such as reflecting or studying (his dad had shown him a spell to get books to talk aloud, and James had taken to asking him to cast it whenever he flew with zeal and cheer).
His dad wasn't here today.
Where is he? Why don't they tell me? Said a voice from somewhere inside him.
James shook those thoughts away
Anyway, since his Dad wasn't here today, James would be flying and reflecting.
Specifically, on what was going on with his Dad.
There. Now it sounded less like he was doubting them and more like he was a brave child facing reality.
His father and mother had been going to a 'certain friend's' consistently for the past few months, and on one such outing, Dad had not been present with Mum, who had arrived very late, ashen-faced.
He came home several days later, but it was obvious to James that something was wrong. He staggered seemingly at random, and got tired much faster than usual. Charlus Potter was an energetic, resilient man, and James had seen him wince in pain countless times over the course of a few days.
And then, a few hours ago, James had woken to his scream, and Mum had shrieked, and he had seen her almost lugging him to the Floo and everything had happened too fast—
James took a slow, deep breath, and pulled off a perfect Wronski Feint five inches off the ground.
—And then he'd had no news for hours until Mum had returned looking tired and very upset. Which, he thought with a strange feeling of hurt, she'd tried to hide from him. Pretty well, too.
James did a dip and a roll in the air and thought about the vague references to "war" that he'd come by. He thought about Uncles and Aunt Prewett and how when they came, they most certainly set time aside alone to talk to his parents.
Which should have been fine, only they would cast a lot of privacy spells beforehand, and even more spells to ward off… what, exactly, he didn’t know.
James had received his Hogwarts letter the same as every other witch or wizard at eleven, and his parents had been equal parts proud and indulgent of his happiness, only, there had been relief there too. And a line from his Dad hadn't exactly fit right among the list of things James had thought he would say.
"A powerful wizard, Dumbledore is. You will be safe there."
And his mother's reply, "You will."
James had just smiled and said , "And even if I am not, I'll—"
"Be brave," they said.
***
"Remus?"
A boy hid behind one of the pillars of the house, shivering and hating himself for it.
What was the big deal, really? He knew this would happen.
Normal children got their Hogwarts letter at the age of 11. They cheered and wrote back to the school by July 31st, confirming their admission.
But Remus Lupin was not a normal child.
He knew this, so he shouldn’t be upset. He let out a shuddering breath. Why was he crying, why?
Remus should have, by all wizard rights, gotten his letter come July. He didn't. In retrospect, it was obvious, given what he was, but that didn't stop him from hurting.
Today was August 1st, and the deadline for acceptance was up. Any hope that Remus had of his letter 'just being late' was crushed and lay broken on the floor.
I'm a monster, of course they don't want me around other children I could hurt.
"Remus?" His mother said again, and this time she had found him.
Remus sniffed.
"Oh, come here dear," Beatrice Lupin said, and spread her arms. Remus lost himself in them and their warmth.
"We'll figure something out, I promise," She whispered in his ear, and then pulled back to look at his face, "How does homeschooling sound, hmm? I know Daena's son is doing it, so maybe you could study together!"
"...He's three years younger than me, Mum," Remus mumbled, but he felt the cold knot in his chest loosen a little, "Dad will throw a fit, anyway, 'cuz little Michael always makes so much noise."
Beatrice pouted, "All the better. Your Dad needs a call to reality now and then."
Remus' lips tugged into a grin, though the cold feeling was solidifying itself again, "Yeah…"
Lyall Lupin had been a very prominent member of the anti-werewolf community, pushing for harsher laws against werewolves and making his utter distrust and horror at them very clear. He'd proposed the highest possible punishment for Fenrir Greyback when he'd been tried for killing two children: The Dementor's kiss.
Greyback had gotten away.
And he'd come back for revenge.
Remus suppressed another shudder.
His Dad didn't mistreat him, exactly. It was just that… he didn't like Remus very much. More like he hated Remus' affliction. Remus knew that he loved him, it was just that his being a werewolf made it rather hard for Dad to show it. If it hadn't been for his Beatrice Lupin, Remus had a sneaking suspicion that Lyall would have just dropped him off at an orphanage and spared himself the misery of seeing him every day.
His mother, for her part, was absolutely disgusted with his father's behaviour, but she did, Remus knew, still try to understand him.
But that was fine. He could deal with some complications in their relationship so long as his father deep down really did care for him. What was not fine was this. Remus didn’t know much about the outside world, but he knew enough, he thought, to know that he would be denied most opportunities because he was a werewolf. He— if he couldn’t even receive his education properly because of it, what did that say about how people saw him?
A monster, a monster, nothing more.
Freak.
"What do you want for dinner, Rem?" Mum asked gently.
"A-anything's fine," Remus said, attempting a smile. There were still six days to the full moon, and he didn't have any particularly strong cravings yet.
"Ok, dear," Beatrice said, and made her way to the kitchen. Before disappearing out of sight, she called, "Be in the dining room in half an hour for dinner."
Remus called out an acknowledgement and went to reread something about werewolves. Specifically about how 'cruelly' they would harm humans when transformed. The text, though Remus didn't know at the time, was quite bigoted. If his mother had known, she'd have burnt it, but she didn't know. It was his father's.
"Remus!?" His mother called out with equal parts excitement and nervousness, "Scratch what I said, come here as soon as you can!"
Surprised, Remus set the book aside and did just that.
The dining hall was somewhat small, as the Lupins made a very modest living. Two people were already seated within
Remus frowned. That wasn't his father. Remus took in his mother and their guest— a very old yet cheerful looking man with half moon spectacles settled over twinkling blue eyes.
"Dumbledore," Remus breathed, "You're Albus Dumbledore!"
The Headmaster of Hogwarts !
He must be very kind, Remus thought wistfully and rather sadly, to have come to personally inform his family that Remus couldn't come to Hogwarts.
He needn't have bothered. Though Remus didn't like it, he still understood. He was dangerous. He could hurt people.
Pretty words for 'monster,' said a voice from somewhere inside him, still too cowardly to face the truth, huh?
It took a moment after Remus flinched to realise the words had been paraphrased from the book he'd been reading.
"Hello, Remus," Dumbledore said with a warm smile.
Remus stood there awkwardly until Dumbledore gestured at a nearby chair easily, and the chair spun opposite him. Remus took a seat carefully. He was suddenly aware of the harsh wound on his jaw from the last full moon, and the dozen other visible scars that raked his body.
"I'm sorry to not have come here sooner, my boy, but I was held up by some unexpected events," Dumbledore said, "But given that this was an error on my part, my offer still remains."
He interlaced his fingers and rested his chin on them.
"Tell me, Remus, how would you like to go to Hogwarts?" Twinkling brightly, those eyes.
Everything else seemed to vanish. There was only Dumbledore and his kind eyes, and Remus, whose dreams were a few words away.
"W- What? " Remus gasped out, "I w-would love to— more than anything— I—"
And then reality caught up to him.
It came, quite literally, in the form of a bell ringing. A doorbell, to be exact.
The door opened with a wave of her mother’s wand, and Lyall Lupin stepped in. Really though, even if he hadn't, Remus was pretty sure reality would have caught up to him in some other way. That was just the way it was. Fantasies were for normal people, not monsters.
"—but I— I can't go to Hogwarts, Headmaster Dumbledore," Remus stuttered quickly.
"And why is that, Remus?" Dumbledore asked. He looked an awful lot like Remus' Mum—
"I'm—" A monster. A monster. "—a monster."
Heat was prickling at Remus' eyes, and he realised as the first drop fell that he was crying. Ugh. How embarrassing.
Stupid tears! He thought angrily at them, but that only seemed to make it worse.
Beatrice gasped and rushed over to him, chiding him and reassuring him at the same time, while Dumbledore mercifully looked away and appeared to be thoroughly engrossed in a teapot. Lyall looked conflicted on whether to leave Remus alone to calm down, go and console him, or just walk out of the uncomfortable situation. A look from Dumbledore decided for him. He pulled another chair near enough to not merit comment, and sat down quietly.
Once Remus' tears had stopped and been wiped away, Dumbledore turned to look at him once more.
"You are no monster, Remus," He said softly, "You are a bright, gifted child, and Merlin damn us all if I stop you from growing as you ought."
Remus stared at him, too stunned for words.
…a bright, gifted child…
…growing as you ought…
"Y-You really think so?" Remus said.
"Of course, my child," Dumbledore said, "Now, I'll ask again: How would you like to go to Hogwarts?"
"I'd be very happy and grateful for the chance," Remus said.
"Very well then," Dumbledore said genially, "There are some arrangements you'll need to agree to and your parents approve of for your full moon nights, but otherwise there should be no problems at all."
"...What arrangements, Albus?" Lyall said quietly.
"We've planted a tree with a passageway connected to a secure location," Dumbledore explained, "Remus is to go there for his every transformation." He paused, "That is all."
"That is all?" Lyall said incredulously, "And will anyone know of his secret?"
"It shall not be common knowledge, but some trusted staff will be aware, and will always be approachable in case Remus needs something,"
"And how do you plan on keeping his… ailment a secret?" Lyall practically drawled, "Surely even the dumbest students will notice he is always missing during the full moon over the course of seven years!?"
"Lyall," Said Dumbledore in a warning that reminded Lyall to check his tone, "To address this problem I consulted with our Hogwarts Mediwitch Madam Pomfrey, and she says we can claim Mr. Lupin suffers from what muggles call PTSD. Only in wizards, such problems cause the magic to also manifest the physical effects from such trauma, so the wizard not only re-lives the mental stress and pain but the physical effects of the memory too—"
"So you mean for my son to seem a cowardly child," Lyall said, "Yes, it will provide good reason for his old scars and the ones to come. It might even excuse his absence on every full moon, should he take leaves on other random days on account of the same problem, but what of my reputation, Albus?"
Albus Dumbledore stood, and he truly looked the part of the wizard who had defeated Grindelwald when he levelled his gaze at Lyall Lupin.
"Forgetting the part where having trauma does not make you cowardly," He said, while giving Lyall a look that said no, such a disgusting thought was not forgotten, "You talk of reputation, Lyall?"
Lyall backed down after a second of hesitation, and inclined his head, "Fine, Albus. I see the sense in your words, and withdraw my objections."
Huh? Thought Remus, What on earth was that?
"Just as well, Lyall," Dumbledore said, "Just as well,"
They discussed a few more technicalities, until it was time for Dumbledore to go. All the while, Remus squeezed his mother’s hand tightly.
He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe it. And yet, it was happening right in front of him. Remus had a chance to live a normal life, he had a chance to prove himself
And prove himself he would. He'd show them all that he deserved the opportunity to go to Hogwarts so that they'd never regret the choice.
Just before leaving, Dumbledore's hands brushed his, "Just remember, Remus: You have nothing to prove. I shall never regret this decision, and that, I know."
With a chuckle at Remus's astonished expression, Dumbledore added, "That said, do your best." And with a wink, the wizard was gone.
Remus stood there at the front gate, his parents behind him, and wondered if anything would ever be the same.
***
"Peter! " Kaylee Pettigrew snapped, "This is the fifth time!"
Peter stared at the broken shards of his bulb and drew a blank. There was this sudden devastating feeling of something wrong , and then that too vanished, leaving behind a sickening vertigo.
He didn't understand. He'd been doing it fine just moments ago!
"I-I don't know what happened," Peter said quietly, "But you should have seen it grandmother! Just a moment before you came in I was levitating my lamp! Willful wandless magic, grandmother, I—"
"Just stop," Kaylee said wearily, "That must have been accidental magic, Peter. Just because you are aware that you are doing it doesn't mean it was willful!"
"But I willed the lamp to levitate itself, and it did, so shouldn't it count as a conscious act rather than an unconscious one?" Peter said patiently.
Kaylee ran her hand across her forehead, "Sure."
Peter didn't really know how to respond to the tone in her voice. The unspoken 'Whatever helps you sleep at night,' was clear.
So he just said, "What's for dinner, grandmother?"
Kaylee conjured a comfortable yet elegant chair for herself and ignored his question. Perhaps she knew it was a throwaway one. Perhaps she didn't care.
"Peter, next month you'll be going to Hogwarts, and you need to understand— this needs to stop."
"What needs to stop?" Peter inquired, though he had the unpleasant feeling he was about to be insulted.
"You know what happened to my husband— your grandfather, right? He fought against Grindelwald in the war, and our side won, in the end," Kaylee paused, "Except the Pettigrew family lost everything. And we got nothing for it. Many a hundred had given their lives heroically in the war, and my husband's name was just lost in the sea. He gave his everything— money, power, family and life — but we were not remembered. And we had near nothing left."
She was going on one of her rants, Peter realised, but didn't say anything except nod. He didn't want to get a verbal lashing, or worse. Dinner hadn't yet been served, after all.
"What I need you to understand, is that we need to take our place back in society," Her voice was hard like iron, "You were supposed to be the perfect Heir, bring back our status to what it once was—"
Except I'm a disappointment, Peter finished, Here it comes.
“Except you turned out disappointment after disappointment. First, magic didn't manifest in you properly— you're a weakling, and then you didn't inherit your father's looks or charm, nor even your mother's voice,” her voice had grown sharper, “And I don't care how you do it, young man, but you will not show the world the mess you are, you hear me? Put on a good mask, keep the mystery about you thick if need be, but show no one that you lack what your predecessors bore like a crown. Our line will fade away, or worse, be held in disgrace if this continues, and I shall not have it! Not because of someone like you!”
Peter didn't actually resent her for most of her statements. She was right— there was something odd about his magic, which, while he wouldn't use her words— could be unsettling at times. Sometimes his magic would be very easy to control, and creative in what it could do as well, but other times, it left Peter feeling quite… sick. Both figuratively and not. It would cause damage to the nearest things suddenly and spontaneously, and send Peter reeling. There was definitely something wrong with it. With him. And yes, he didn't have his mother's voice— so soft and melodic you could feel it sway your will and still stand helpless (or so he had been told). There had been some sirens' blood from his mother’s end that had mixed with the Pettigrew family, but if Peter had inherited any such trait, it was dormant.
Perhaps Siren Magic only manifested in females, or perhaps he really was just an unlucky boy, like his grandmother said. Peter didn't know.
What troubled Peter was that his grandmother thought those were the only things for him in this world: that if his magic was a bit wonky, and if he didn't inherit his parents' good traits, he was bound to be a failure. That just sounded wrong.
But he couldn't say that, not if he wanted any peace at all, so he just exhaled slowly, and said, "Yes, Grandmother."
Kaylee watched him for a moment, then stood up and made for the door. Peter let out a relieved breath and brought out his favourite book—
"Oh, and Peter?" Kaylee said casually.
Peter withheld a groan. Barely.
He turned, "Yes?"
"Yes, Grandmother, " She corrected with a tut, and said, "No dinner tonight."
Oh, hell. Peter kept his face controlled until she smirked and left, then rolled onto bed with the book clutched to his chest.
The silence grew thick after a while, and he still wasn't able to sleep. His head was aching really badly. Any wish to read or write something had dissipated now.
Peter stared up at the ceiling and wondered what Hogwarts would be like. Despite his grandmother's nagging, he had no intention at all to be someone he was not there. He had enough of submission and pretence at home.
Would people understand him there? Would they let him be? Would he… Could he… make friends?
Peter shuffled about in his bed, and his last fleeting thought before sleep finally overcame him was that some things were better left unanswered.
But then again, it was human nature to hope.