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This is Snowdonia National Park (Welsh: Parc Cenedlaethol Eryri). Established 1951 as the third national park in Britain after the Peak and the Lake District,it has 2130 kilometres square of mountainous, deciduous forests of Welsh Oak, birch, ash, and hazel, the highest density of medieval castles per square mile on planet earth, and is the only known home of the rare Snowdon Lily .It is also the only known home of the less rare and thus aptly named Common Welsh Green Dragon. It has 6 million muggle visitors annually, but is sufficiently wild and remote to shelter a number of largely magical communities. Criss-crossed by multiple footpaths, Snowdonia is easy to get lost in.
The year is 1971.
…
“Hello? This is Captain Sharp, over.”
“Captain Sharp, this is Rhodri Miller. Over.”
“Morning Sharp, what can I do for you?”
“I’d like to report a missing child, last seen at a children’s orienteering camp near Llanberis.”
“To determine the nature of the crisis, I need more detail. How old is the child? Young enough to be exhibiting uncontrolled magic?”
“Yes sir. Eleven sir.”
“Then this is a matter for Terpsichora Loveday at the Statue of Secrecy at the Ministry then. I’ll get in touch.”
…
“Remus Lupin? The Remus Lupin? Sir, this constitutes an emergency!”
“I’m confused. Why exactly?”
“Sir, the boy is on the official werewolf registry.”
“A werewolf? Attending a summer camp with Muggle children? Why were we not informed?”
“It’s a three day summer camp, sir, the next full moon is a week away. The centralised unit for handling the paperwork knew and came to a decision to allow it.”
“Is that legal?”
“Not strictly, but I just spoke to the parents and the authorities in question and apparently the registry agreed on compassionate grounds. Being- well, you know, the boy is chronically ill and will not be permitted to attend Hogwarts. A few days of fun for the child to make up for— other things, see.”
“I see.”
“The boy poses no risk at present. As long as we find him in the next three days.”
“And if we don’t?”
Static crackled.
“God help us all.”
“Miller? Miller!”
“Yes, Mrs. Loveday? It’s the middle of the night!”
“It’s worse than we expected. Another wizard child is missing in the same region. We think the two boys might have been corresponding with each other and that their disappearances are connected.”
“Well, what’s the other child’s name? Is he a muggle-born? Familiar with the region? Quickly!”
“It’ Sirius, sir. Sirius… Black.”
“God almighty.”
“You mean to tell me that the heir of the Black family of all people may be on the run in Snowdonia National Park with a registered half-blood werewolf? Do you know how many people could get fired for this?”
“Wait, hold on, I’m getting another message here. The werewolf’s parents say his books and camping equipment are missing. Also his cat.”
“What are we dealing with.”
…
They stand on opposite sides of the grove, backs to two different oaks, the dip in the ground between them cordoned off by brambles and holly.
Sirius clears his throat.
“I accio’d some muggle clothes from a clothesline,” he says. “Do they look— right?”
Remus tightens his grip on Llew’s basket and stares at Sirius’ scruffed trainers, jeans and short-sleeved black shirt, the pack on his back, all worn with a fumbled awkwardness.
Remus smiles.
“Did you run far?” he asks.
“Flew. Cissa can get the broom back with a charm once they realise I’m gone, if they ever do. Are those your maps you told me about?” he asks, pointing.
Remus grins, jumps down from the tree-stump with a crunch as he sinks ankle-deep into the dried holly-leaves, runs across the dip and unrolls the pencilled scroll to his friend.
“I’ve got all the trails in this part of the mountains. Of course, I have maps for plenty of others places too, but this one is for the route I think we should be taking today. I feel like we should go halfway today and halfway tomorrow. Oh, and this,” he says, opening the basket over his shoulder revealing the sleepy grey kitten inside, who yawns and squirms at the light “is Llew. You can call him Lion if you can’t pronounce that.”
“What’s this symbol?” Sirius asks, pointing to the corner of the map with his wand.
“It’s a compass rose, see? North, south, east, west—“
“Cool! Wizard maps just spin around on the parchment” he says, unrolling the map still further and outstretching it “depending on the way you face. I never really thought about muggle maps before.”
He hands the map back.
“You should make one with magic sometime,” says Sirius, as they begin to trudge through the parched holly leaves and out of the grove, towards the mountains.
“Maybe someday,” Remus says, and smiles.
…
For all his enthusiasm in setting up camp, Remus has never been hunting or fishing before. Sirius, however, gruffly acknowledges that it’s a family tradition among the Blacks and he knows more than enough about the subject to put dinner on the tree-stump they’ve designated a table, reels in a trout and cleans and cooks it while Remus neatly takes an inventory of their supplies in his notebook.
“I brought my cat, my record player, my maps, my books, my binoculars, both kinds of compasses, and all of my medicines. Oh, and a watch so I can remember to take them all at the right times.”
“Mum has a pill-bottle that sings when she has to take hers. You should get one.”
“It would be more like a 24 hour radio in my case.”
“Do you take lots of medicines?”
“Loads. Being— like I am, it causes lots of problems.”
Sirius nods, shuffles over to sit next to his friend on the bedroll in front of the tent.
“We’ll have to use our fingers,” he says, and Remus grins. They eat straight out the frying pan balanced between them; Sirius burns his fingertips and swears under his breath, but Remus has too many scars on the tips of his to feel the heat. When they’ve finished, they lie back against the bedrolls and stare at the fire. Llew crawls over and snuggles under Remus’ arm and begins to purr. The fire flickers.
“Do you want to give your cat the leftover fish guts?” asks Sirius, blowing on his singed fingers.
“Llew only eats kitten food.”
Sirius draws his knees up to his chest.
“Cats are allowed at Hogwarts, you know. Will he be coming with you?”
“I told you already, I’m not allowed. To go to Hogwarts I mean.”
“Oh,” Sirius says, fiddling with his shoelaces. Remus sits up and shifts the kitten off of his lap before reaching for his backpack.
“I’ve read all the books though. Reading is the next best thing to going places, if you can’t. I have all the textbooks in my suitcase. Dad enchanted them for me so they wouldn’t weight as much, look.”
His arm jolts upwards at the jarring feather-lightness of Hogwarts, A History as he lifts it and passes it to Sirius.
“Are these library books?” Sirius asks.
He nods.
“Yeah. From the wizarding library in Diagon Alley, why?”
“You stole them?”
Sirius flips the book over in his hand, nearly dropping it.
“Sort of, yes.”
He sets the book down against his thigh.
“I’m not mad. Why?”
“I just wanted to- I wanted to break a rule on purpose. Be wrong because I want to be, not because of what I am for once. Does that sound crazy?”
“No. Not at all. And,” Sirius sets the frying pan down against his leg, “what you are isn’t wrong.”
“Yes it is. Even Mum and Dad say so, even though it isn’t my fault and I can’t help it.”
“Parents aren’t always right, you know.”
“I know. My dad— he said something wrong once, something he shouldn’t have, and that’s why I got bitten. I don’t know what it was though. He and Mum refuse to tell me.”
“Mine never tell me anything. I don’t think my parents know I exist, half the time.”
“I wish mine were like that. They never let me go anywhere or do anything, they just fuss and worry constantly, tell me I’m going to get hurt. I’m lucky I’m ever allowed get out of bed. I wish they’d just ignore me sometimes.”
“I love you, but you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sirius?”
“Goodnight!”
…
The policeman unfurls his umbrella as he stands on the muddy front lawn of the Lupin family’s tiny slate cottage, the valley deep in the shadow of a gathering rain-storm.
“Do you know how it happened?” he asks.
“No,” Lyall Lupin says, wrapping his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “We let him have a pen-pal, but that started off as an assignment set by the wizard homeschooling organisation, and they said they picked at random. A Black for crying out loud, I wish we’d known.”
The policeman clears his throat.
“You didn’t know who your son was writing to?”
“We let him have some privacy. God knows, our son gets precious little of it.”
“Would Remus have told his correspondent about his condition?”
“I don’t know,” Hope says quietly, crossing her arms and shivering. “He’s not allowed to, but he was devastated by not being able to go to Hogwarts though.”
“Could his running away be an act of rebellion against that?”
“Quite possibly,” says Hope.
The policeman adjusts his umbrella to accommodate the now pouring rain. Hope shifts uneasily in her slippers.
“90% of runaways are found within six hours, ma’am. In all likelihood, Remus is hiding in a friend’s closet playing Chinese Checkers.”
“Remus doesn’t have any friends,” she says quietly.
“Are you certain about that?”
…
Dear Sirius,
How are you? My name is Remus. I live in Wales and I have two parents and a little sister. I don’t have any pets but Mum says I can get a cat when I turn 11. I don’t really have a favourite place to visit, because I’m sick a lot and don’t get to travel much. I guess you’re my pen-pal. Do you have any brothers or sisters?
Your friend, Remus
Dear Remus,
I have one little brother, Regulus, and lots of cousins. I am sorry to hear that you are sick. That can’t be much fun. Have you been to Gormlaith Carmley’s Apothecary? My mum says they have potions to fix everything (they’re at 16, Knockturn Alley, Magic District, Camden, London, UK, Europe, World).
Get well soon.
Your friend, Sirius
Dear Sirius,
There’s no cure for what I have unfortunately, it’s a lifelong chronic condition. Thanks for the help though!
Your friend, Remus
…
Dear Remus,
I haven’t heard from you in a while. Are you sick again?
Your friend, Sirius
Dear Remus,
Where are you? I sent Artaxerxes again but he came back without any leters! Twice now!
Your friend Sirius
Dear Sirius,
I was very, very sick three weeks ago and then we went to London so I could try alternative therapy at St Mungos and that made me sick all over again. I’m sorry I didn’t write to you.
Your friend, Remus
Dear Remus,
You were at St Mungos? I live in London, could have visited you!
Your friend, Sirius
Dear Sirius,
I’m sorry but we wouldn’t have been allowed to. I’m really not supposed to play with other children.
Your friend, Remus
Dear Remus,
Why not? Are you dangerous or something?
Your friend Sirius
…
Dear Remus,
I’m sorry I thought insinuated that you were dangerous. Are you sick again? I haven’t heard back from you in a while.
Your friend, Sirius
Dear Sirius,
I’m not allowed to tell you this, but I want to.
I’m a werewolf. It’s why I’m sick all the time.
Your friend, Remus
Dear Remus,
YOU’RE A WEREWOLF?
Dear Sirius,
(this letter is short because I broke my arm
…
…
Dear Sirius,
It is sad that your parents fight all the time. Do you get along with your little brother? My sister and I do, but I think we’re lucky like that. One time when I was really little she drew all over one of my maps with her crayons while I was transforming, and I got back from the ministry and it was ruined and I hated her then. I don’t anymore though.
Your friend, Remus
Dear Remus,
Maps are awesome! What kinds of maps do you draw?
Your friend, Sirius
Dear Sirius,
Here is one of my maps I drew. It’s of one of the trails in the woods near our house. I’m not allowed out much, but when I do I take careful notes. I’d love to be a mountain guide and an explorer someday. I know all about maps and camping and tying knots and survival skills because my Dad taught me and he brings me back survival books from the camping and climbing store in the village and I practice in the backyard. I don’t think my parents will ever let me go camping on my own though.
Your friend, Remus
Dear Remus,
What kind of map is this? It doesn’t even move! Is this a muggle map? Is it broken? Have you tried fixing it?
Your friend, Sirius
Dear Sirius,
Magic maps move?
Your friend Remus
Dear Sirius,
I made the paths move! I did it! You were right, maps are so much cooler this way!
Your friend, Remus
Dear Sirius,
My mum and dad are letting me go camping! It’s just what I’ve always wanted. It’s a four day muggle camp in the national park, and I’ll get to camp and draw maps and do orienteering and hike. I’m so excited!
Your friend, Remus
Dear Remus,
I’m meant to go stay with my cousins in Snodon Snowdon National Park on those days! I don’t like them much though. What if we were to meet up and go camping together?
Your friend, Sirius
Dear Sirius,
Meet me at the ruins of Saint Peris Church. It’s close enough to the summer camp I’m going to and to my house that I can sneak away. I’ll bring my cat with me. Bring all the camping supplies you can.
Your friend, Remus
Dear Remus,
My parents took me up to Diagon Alley early as a surprise for my birthday so I have my wand now and I’m allowed to try it out, so now I’ll be bringing my wand and a cauldron along too.
Your friend, Sirius
P. S Do you like Chocolate Frogs?
…
At precisely 11:33 AM, Remus sets down his map and shouts:
“Look! That must be Lake 35!”
Sirius grins at him. Just ahead, the mountain trail splits to reveal a sandy lakeshore adjoining a peal-drop flawlessly blue mountain lake, rimmed by the green and harp shaped hills and distant mist-covered peaks.
Remus fumbles to try and fold up his Ordinance Survey Map, but Sirius is already untying his trainers and racing ahead into the summer sun.
“Come on!” he shouts as he runs to the other side of the lake. Remus abandons his map and pack onto the mossy ground with a thunk and begins to take off his shoes.
“We should jump in from opposite sides,” Sirius yells. “See who can make the biggest cannonball?”
A wide smile breaks across Remus’ face.
“It’s a deal, Last one in the water’s a rotten egg!”
They strip off their jeans, run to the hilled edges of the pearl-drop lake, leap screaming into the water, come up in clouds of bubbles. The water sparkles like crystal under the August sky.
Sirius surfaces in a spray of bubbles, his teeth chattering.
“Do you have your ears pierced?” he shouts.
…
“What’s wrong with you, you didn’t even scream! I cried buckets when Bellatrix did mine—“
“I break most of my bones twice a month. I have a high pain tolerance.”
“Do you want me to do the other one?”
“No. Just one. Like yours. And they’re on opposite sides now, I like it that way.”
“Perfect.”
“Do you like music?”
…
Cliff Richard’s Summer Holiday plays in the background in a crackle of static. They lay out Remus’s sweater as a towel and his backpack as a pillow on the beach and snuggle up against each other. Wet and sandy, they shiver for all that the sun bleeds through their cold and soaking t-shirts onto their backs. Remus pulls out his notebook and begins doodling a rough map of their surroundings, in pencil, occasionally leaning over to consult the damp ordinance survey chart propped up beside them on the rocks.
“Lake 35. This spot needs a better name I think.”
“We should name it after us. Something that incorporates both our names or things about us—“
Sirius pauses.
“Moonrise,” he finally says, “Where the moon and stars are together.”
“Moonrise Kingdom. Sounds more like something from a book that way. From Narnia or something.”
“What’s Narnia?”
“It’s, uh, never mind.”
“Moonrise Kingdom. I like it.”
They share a kiss. It tastes like lakewater and sand.
…
The following day, the Welsh weather comes to its senses and they awaken, snuggled up against each other in their small blue tent to the steady pouring of the rain, drumming hard against the canvas roof and dripping down. Llew whines; Sirius meticulously packs up the site with the aid of a bit of underage magic; Remus mourns the water damage to one of his maps he accidentally left outside the night before; all of them shiver as they begin the slow hike up into the mountains towards Dolbadarn castle and the heights of Llanberis Pass.
…
Back in the Lupin family’s tiny slate cottage, the local Ministry of Magic Constable refills a chipped yellow tea-pot from an even older kettle and fumbles through the cupboard for a tea-bag. He pours the tea, then levitates the pot with his wand and directs it back into the living room, a small space with a broad slate fireplace, empty cat basket, pots and pans set along the floor collecting leaks from the roof, and a moth-eaten sofa where Mr. and Mrs. Lupin sit holding hands, the previous batch of tea cold and untouched.
“He won’t go far,” Hope says quietly as he enters. “He’s very responsible about his lycanthropy, I swear it, we’ll assure this never happens again—“
“I know your family and I believe you,” the constable says as he adds another log to the fire and rubs his hands together. “He’s only eleven and people know that. So long as he gets back before the waxing gibbous lunar phase, there’s nothing to worry about.”
He sighs.
“The news about Hogwarts can’t have been easy for him. I’m sorry.”
“I thought he knew,” Lyall Lupin says. “I should have broken the news to him more gently than I did—“
There is a knock at the door. Hope tugs at her husband’s hand.
“I’ll get it,” the constable says.
Whatever he expects to find, a grinning magenta-robed, crooked-nosed Albus Dumbledore, brandishing a walking stick and bending over to fit through the door-frame is not it.
“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Lupin,” he says with a smile entirely inappropriate for the situation, “Kendall Mint Cake?”
The Lupins and the police constable stare at him in complete disbelief. Lyall frowns at the package of Mint Cake in the Hogwarts Headmaster’s outstretched hand, and clears his throat.
“Professor Dumbledore, we weren’t expecting you—“
“I have some rather happy information for your son, Mr and Mrs Lupin. Is Remus upstairs?”
Hope folds her arms and steps forwards.
“No, he’s—“
The police constable chooses this moment to but in.
“Young Remus has run away. Along with— the heir of the Black family. We think they ran away as an act of rebellion against Remus’ not being permitted to attend Hogwarts,” he says.
“Well that’s a pity,” says Professor Dumbledore. “Seeing as I have his Hogwarts letter right here.”
“What?”
Lyall splutters.
“The other parents would never allow it! Besides, who’s to see to his medical problems? You?”
Dumbledore fumbles through his robes and retrieves a yellowing envelope with the Hogwarts seal from a fold of magenta velvet.
“I have made the appropriate arrangements with the Ministry, the School Council, the matron and the rest of the staff,” says Dumbledore. “Remus will be more than welcome to attend Hogwarts in September. That is, if he still wants to?”
“Of course he does! Professor, how can we ever thank you—“
“Good then! The only condition is that he has a clean safety record.”
“Oh god.”
“What is it, Mrs. Lupin?”
“The final lunar phase of the month begins in less than six hours! If he isn’t in a Ministry registered location at that time— it will go on his permanent record.”
Dumbledore claps a hand over his mouth. Lyall grabs his coat from a hook and opens the door, stepping back at the burst of rain and wind that follows.
“Well, what are we waiting for? Where could he have gone?”
“Just a minute!”
Hope sprints up the stairs. She comes down a minute later with a metallic pencil box, filled with maps and drawings in children’s handwriting.
“He expressed an interest in Dolbadarn Castle recently,” she said. “He wanted to know how to hike there. Asked us lots of questions about it, We promised we’d take him there, after the next full moon—“
“May I see?”
Hope passes him the drawing. Albus stares at it for a few minutes, then pushes his glasses up his nose and grabbing his walking-stick.
“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”
…
The downpour has become a thunderstorm by the time Remus and Sirius reach the base of the mountain and begin to climb the winding slate-flag trail up to the staunch and craggy heights of Dolbadarn Castle. The pines drip and air is heavy with mist, the slate flags of the trail polished lethally slippery by eight centuries of mountain rain and the trees rotten with the never-ending damp. Soaked to the skin and exhausted, they scramble upwards onto the mossy plateau beside the castle and are nearly knocked over by the force of the wind.
“We need to take shelter!” shouts Sirius, forcing himself to be heard above the lashing wind and rain, and the two of them run forwards into damp and cavernous heart of the castle.
There is a crack of thunder.
“Llew, no!”
Remus yells as the kitten scrambles out of his basket and sprints up the old stone stairs that wind around the outside of the tower. He and Sirius follow, up the stairs, and onto the wooden platform that connects them with one of the citadel’s surviving towers, which is where Remus finally finds Llew, huddled in the corner.
Sirius conjures a small ball of bluebell flames, which they hold close between them, wrap their soaked and shivering hands around for warmth; they take shelter on the stairs, looking out the nine hundred year old window as the rain pours and the thunder shakes the mountains.
Sirius rests his head on Remus’ shoulder.
…
Back at the cottage, two parents, four wizard policemen, half a dozen umbrellas, and one very squished Albus Dumbledore are successfully bundled into a small cramped station wagon, which whizzes along the winding mountain roads, rain falling thick and fast down the windshield as they head into the depths of Llanberis pass. The car screeches to a halt in a car park at the base of the mountains, and its contents tumble out and begin sprinting up the steep mountain trail that leads to the castle.
…
Hope Lupin is the first to enter the cavernous base of the ruined tower, calling up to its dripping heights for her son.
“Remus? Sirius!”
There is no reply. Her husband rushes in behind takes by the shoulders, points his wind up to the pouring sky.
“Lumos,” he whispers, and the small light goes someway to illuminating the crumbling towers as he wipes the rain out of his eyes.
“There they are,” he says, glimpsing the two very wet and shivering eleven year olds and one very soaked and grumpy kitten through the empty windows in one of the towers.
“Remus, Sirius, come down! You’re not in trouble!” Hope yells.
No answer.
“Remus, it’s ok. You can go to Hogwarts after all!”
He moves closer to the window.
“You’re lying! I don’t believe you!” he shouts, his arms folded across his chest.
“It’s true,” says Lyall Lupin, wrapping an arm around and his wife. “Darling, it’s true! Dumbledore says it’s allowed—“
“But I’m—“
“Look,” says Lyall, fishing the now very soggy acceptance letter out of his pocket and holding it up. “I’ll levitate it up to you so you can open it yourself, yes?”
A small surge of hope sparks in Remus’ chest, but he quashes it back down again. He learned years ago not to get his hopes up for things.
“Wingardium Levoisa.” The letter flies up the cavernous centre of the castle to the cramped tower and Remus catches it, struggles to hang onto Llew as he opens the soaked envelope.
Dear Remus Lupin, we are delighted to inform you that…
“It’s real!” says Sirius, standing behind him in awe. “Mine looked exactly like that!”
“Sweetheart,” yells Hope Lupin, “You can go to Hogwarts, but only if you come down and go home. If you’re not back at our house for the next lunar phase, you won’t be allowed to!”
Sirius pokes his head out of the window slit, resting his hands on the sill.
“We want to, but we can’t. We think we heard slats in the stairs up here breaking.”
“Well, then professor Dumbledore or your father can get you down—“
“Llew!”
Another crack of thunder frightens the kitten, who squirms out of Remus grip. Remus sprints after him, forgetting the collapsing slats of the floorboard, and Sirius sprints after Remus.
There is a loud crack and the stairs collapse.
“Remus!”
There is a crack of thunder and a succession of screams. Dumbledore leaps forwards, and somehow, he succeeds in catching and suspending all three of them in an interlinked chain in the air, two boys and one cat, Sirius dangling from the wall of the castle and Remus hanging on for dear life to Sirius’ feet.
When Hope has stopped screaming and dared to look up, the Hogwarts Headmaster Wingardium Levoisas them back down to the muddy ground, where Lyall and Hope wrap both boys in blankets and Dumbledore conjures them up hot chocolate for the hike back down.
…
“Are my Mum and Dad coming?” asks Sirius as Hope towels his head dry in the car park.
“Please don’t tell them. I don’t want Remus to get into trouble—“
“He won’t,” says Albus, looking over at Hope and Lyall, wrapping their son in an old blanket and passing him a thermos and his blood pressure medication.
“Get going now,” he says kindly. “Take your son home. I’ll see to it that the Blacks get a somewhat, er, altered version of the events that transpired here.”
He kneels down to Sirius and Remus’ level, looks at the two shivering children clutching their thermoses of hot cocoa.
“It might be best,” he says. “If you two keep this little adventure a secret.”
“Cross my heart,” says Remus.
“And mine,” Sirius replies.
Dumbledore smiles and straightens his back. The two boys embrace, and are rapidly bundled off into two separate cars.
“I’ll see you on September 1st!” shouts Sirius, poking his head out of the window as the police constable drives away.
“And I’ll see you both at Hogwarts” winks Albus Dumbledore. “Goodnight!”
…
The creation of the reservoir and subsequent flooding of a number of sites within Snowdonia National Park in 1982 was not without controversy. Among the places buried beneath the floodwaters, to the chagrin of local hikers, historians and environmentalists, was the small alpine lake and its surrounding trails, known to the Ordinance Survey simply as Lake 35. The spot was submerged completely when the dam was created, and now lies beneath dozens of feet of water in the storm-lashed mountains of Northwest Wales, lost and inaccessible forever.
…
There is a glitch in the Marauder’s Map, they say. The map, of course, does not lie, but if you go far enough to the south of the castle, allow the moving dimensions of the map and the carefully inked Compass Rose to shift far enough around to the south, a few words and a solitary arrow will supposedly appear. Or so generations of Hogwarts pranksters have whispered and repeated to their successors, debated the provenance of those few words over toasted marshmallows and butterbeer, scheming in the ancient castle’s myriad secret tunnels and hidden spots.
This way to Moonrise Kingdom, 434 miles, the map says if you turn it just right.
Where the moon and the stars first met.
Beleriandings Tue 25 Jul 2017 10:16PM UTC
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