before Hogwarts
February 16th 1965
He loved the world. He loved his cottage, loved Wales, loved the wildflowers growing all around him, some growing taller than Remus himself. He loved life. His mother was behind him, knitting on the porch, softly singing to herself.
“Dark moon, away up high up in the sky
Oh, tell me why, oh tell me why
You've lost your splendor
Dark moon, what is the cause your life withdraws
Is it because, is it because I've lost my love?”
Remus loved his mothers voice, the soft nuances and the beautiful vibrato. He sat in the snow, his father’s charm against the cold protecting him from the winter weather, building a miniature snowman. His mother had taught him - his father would never build with his hands what he could create with his wand. Remus loved his dad’s wand - how warm it felt when you held it, the beautiful things his father would create with it.
Remus’ fifth birthday was coming up, and he would ask his parents for the same thing he had asked for his last two birthdays: his own wand. So far, his parents had always said the same thing, to wait until he was eleven.
Remus had already made magic though, twice, so he didn’t see why he was forced to wait. The first time, he had been 2. His mum had taken away his soother, but he desperately wanted it back. So, after hours of bawling, he grit his teeth suddenly and a brand new, bright red pacifier appeared in his mouth. When Hope realized what had happened, she was torn between amusement and anger. In the end, her good humour won out, and she laughed for a few minutes, hugging Remus and showering him with kisses.
The second time was only a few weeks ago. It had been the middle of January and Remus was cold. His father was working, though, and his mother was cleaning, so no one could light the fireplace for him. So, without meaning to or thinking about it, he lit the fireplace. The warmth felt spectacular. Later, when Hope saw the crackling, woodless flames, she assumed it was Lyall. Neither of his parents ever found out it was him. Remus liked getting away with things, so long as they didn’t hurt people. It made him feel energized and alive.
Suddenly, a howl pierced the night. It wasn’t too strange - the Lupins lived on the border of deep woods, and it was common to hear some animal sounds.
Remus looked to his mother. She was still knitting away at what looked to Remus like little wooly blobs. He was surprised he was still allowed to be awake. It was almost 10:00. Remus didn’t say anything though, thrilled to be up later than he was supposed to be.
Ahead of him, in the nearest bush, a very slight rustling caught Remus’ attention. He smiled, hoping to spot a squirrel, or maybe even a little rabbit. He crept closer to the brush, trying not to startle the creature.
Through the thick leaves and branches, he caught a glimpse of a glowing pair of yellow-ish eyes. Remus squinted, trying to decipher what kind of animal was hiding in there.
A low growling started emanating from the general direction of the eyes. Remus backed away slowly. That doesn’t sound like a bunny rabbit, Remus thought to himself fearfully. The growling continued, and Remus called for his mother. Before the words could fully leave his lips, though, the creature pounced.
Remus screamed in agony, properly sobbing now, for his father, his mother, anyone, to help him. He heard his mother calling his name, but he couldn’t hear her very well around the pain. The creature, which looked like a wolf, but bigger, somehow, more feral, had Remus pinned to the floor by his hip. Remus could feel the blood pouring out of him in pools, his eyes burning with tears, throat burning with bile and screams.
His mother was now sprinting towards him, right towards the wolf.
“No, mama, NO,” he managed to gasp out, wanting her to run, to get far far away, to be safe from the pain he was feeling. The wolf threw its head back, its maw dripping with Remus’ blood, howling at the moon in its piercing way. Then, as quickly as it had attacked, it retreated, taking off towards the woods, paws pumping faster than Remus would’ve thought possible.
“My baby, my baby,” Hope was sobbing into his chest, trying to move him, bring him closer to her. He cried harder and screamed every time she touched his right hip.
Remus’ vision was starting to go black, but the last thing he heard was his father’s voice calling for Hope.
June 1rst 1971
In the six years that followed, Remus’ life changed dramatically. Gone were the peaceful evenings spent knitting, reading or listening to Hope’s record player. After only 6 full moons, Lyall decided he couldn’t take the shame of having a half-breed for a son, and left Remus and his mother with little money, no connections and, worst of all, next to no knowledge on Remus’ lycanthropy.
The two of them, Hope and Remus, had to move out of their beloved little cottage in Wales. Instead, they lived in a very seedy neighbourhood in Essex.
Currently, Remus was sitting outside on the muddy porch, reading a book for his useless English class. He hated English class- he didn’t understand the point, and he hated being corrected on his accent. Though he’d left Wales years ago, his Welsh accent was still distinguishable unless he was actively thinking of masking it. It was a pain, especially since the other boys from the upper part of town loved to torment him for it.
“Oi! Loopy Lupin!”
Remus sighed to himself. Speak of the devil, he thought sourly.
“You so thick you can’t even hear me?” drawled Paul Mitchell as he sauntered towards Remus. Paul was a 14 year old boy who hated Remus, for the simple fact that Remus was around to hate.
Remus kept ignoring him, lifting his book a bit higher in front of his face.
Suddenly, it was ripped out of his hands.
“Piss off, Mitchell, ‘fore I bash somefink permanent.”
Remus had long since learned that neither aggression nor docility worked for fending off bullies, so why not go out with a fight?
Paul bared his teeth at him. Right as Remus was bracing himself for a punch, a loud CRACK sounded nearby. Both boys jumped.
“What the bloody hell was that,” Paul asked, rubbing his right knuckles in what was probably supposed to be threatening, but Remus just saw as anxious.
“Dunno, do I? Go home,” and with that Remus turned around and strode back into his shack of a house. He locked the door behind him, even though he knew it probably wouldn’t do much good; they had a break-in at least once a year.
His mother was home, like all Tuesday middays, cooking up a storm for supper, making enough to last them all week.
“Hi, mum,” he said. She looked up at him and grinned. Remus smiled back. He already came up to her nose, Hope being five foot four, and Remus already standing at five foot one. He was tall, for his age. His mother told him once that Lyall was a giant of a man - probably where Remus got the genes.
“Done your readin’ already, love?” she asked. Remus loved the way his mother talked - still in that Welsh-english way, casual and melodic.
“Not really,” Remus said truthfully, “Paul Mitchell came up and bothered me some.” He didn’t mention the noise that spooked both boys.
Hope pursed her lips.
“The kids ‘round here are trouble, Remus, but it ain’t their fault, not really. The system jus’ failed ‘em.”
Remus was about to argue, point out that their problems didn’t give them a reason to give him problem, when there was a cheerful knock on the door.
“Were you expecting anyone?” Hope asked him, frowning. Remus shook his head no, and went to answer the door.
“Who’re you?” he asked the stranger at the door, rather rudely. In his defence, the man was dressed really weirdly. He had a beard down to his ribs, and his hair was just as long, both silver in colour and thick in texture.
“Ah Remus,” the man said, blue eyes twinkling. “I am Albus Dumbedore. At last we meet. Might I come in?”
Not waiting for an answer, Dumbledore strode past Remus into the house, calling a cheerful greeting to Hope, addressing her by name as well.
“You’re one o’ his sort, aren’t you,” Hope said shakily to Dumbledore. “Lyall’s.”
Remus looked up quickly at the mention of his father. His mother rarely spoke of him, or his magic.
“You’re magic?” he asked brusquely to Dumbledore. Dumbledore gave him a piercing look and some words of affirmation.
“Would you like to play Gobstones, Remus?”
Shocked by the turn in conversation, Remus agreed. While they played, Dumbledore explained his reasons for showing up at the Howell-Lupin’s uninvited.
“How would you like to go to school, Remus?”
“I already go to school,” he replied monotonously.
“A special school, then. A school where you could learn magic.”
Remus thought about it for a second or two before decidedly shaking his head.
“Nah, I dunno how to do magic. Haven’t done it by accident in years,” he said.
“Ah but Remus,” Dumbledore looked up at him, twinkle in his eye again. This time, though, Remus swore he saw something else in his eyes, more appraising, “you would very quickly, I’m sure, learn how.”
Remus was about to say something when his mother interrupted. She had tears in her eyes.
“Remus…” she took a deep breath, “Remus, baby, you should go. Iss what your father would’ve wanted.”
Remus felt a stab of guilt at the mention of his father. It was his disease, his un-normalness that had made him leave.
“My father went to this school?” he asked Dumbeldore wearily. The latter simply nodded at him.
“I’m dangerous, though,” he said fiercely. “Turn into a monster every month.” Dumbledore’s look turned sympathetic.
“You are not a monster, Remus,” he said kindly. Remus snorted at him and crossed his arms. His mother smacked him on the back of the head gently for his insolence. He muttered an apology.
“We of course would provide necessary means of protection for Remus and his affliction,” Dumbledore continued as though nothing had happened.
“It ain’t really me who needs the protection,” Remus pointed out. “Lock me up anywhere with enough silver barriers and I probably won’t get out.”
“That would be a cruelty I wouldn’t inflict upon you unless strictly necessary,” Dumbledore said mildly.
“Naturally, we have found a way to keep you as unharmed as possible, while simultaneously protecting the other members of the school from the danger of the wolf.”
Remus winced at the word wolf - he himself never referred to his condition as its real name. If he didn’t call himself a werewolf out loud, maybe it wouldn’t be true anymore.
Dumbledore explained the whole idea of a Whomping Willow and a secret tunnel leading to an abandoned, now-warded shack into which no one would be able to enter, aside from the tunnel.
“So, Remus, I ask you again,” the old man said, twinkle as strong as ever. “Would you like to come to Hogwarts?”
This time, Remus didn’t have to think long at all. He nodded his head.