The Werewolf Chronicles, Book One: Remus

by Rose Romola Lupin (Puritysan)

Summary:

The Ministry made a mistake.
Lyall Lupin tried to warn them.

When justice fails and darkness slips through the cracks, a quiet family is changed forever.

A prequel exploring the origins of Remus Lupin’s curse—and the quiet love of two parents trying to protect him.

Chapter 1: CHAPTER ONE

Mr and Mrs Lupin, of Number Thirteen Oakwell Crescent, were proud to say they were perfectly ordinary, thank you very much—though neither of them had led a particularly ordinary life, and both quietly suspected the other of being anything but.

Mr Lyall Lupin was a thin, clever wizard with a passion for magical creatures, a perpetually ink-stained collar, and the distracted air of someone always halfway through a sentence no one else could hear. He worked at the Ministry of Magic in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, where he had once written a scathing essay on werewolves that still lingered in obscure Ministry archives and was known for quoting magical law whether or not anyone had asked. Fiercely intelligent and rather opinionated, Lyall viewed werewolves as dangerous, soulless monsters—and said so loudly enough to shake the Wizengamot once or twice.

Mrs Hope Lupin (née Howell) had been a Muggle schoolteacher with a fondness for daffodils, grammar, and good stories. Her life had been quite peaceful until the day she wandered into a misty Scottish glen and came face-to-face with what she believed to be a terrifying beast. It was, in fact, a Boggart—and it might have frightened her half to death if not for the sudden appearance of a flustered young wizard who banished it with a flick of his wand and a muttered charm that sounded like a sneeze in Latin. Hope thought him brave and a little bit mad. He thought her brilliant and entirely fearless. Within a year, they were married.

They settled into a small, tidy home on the edge of a quiet Muggle village, where Lyall learned to mow lawns without magic, and Hope learned to make tea in a kettle that occasionally tried to hop away. Hope liked to believe her life was now as calm and orderly as her flowerbeds. Lyall liked to believe he had left dangerous creatures behind him.

They had one son, Remus, a quiet, curious boy who liked books more than people and trees more than toys. The Lupins believed in bedtime stories, strong tea, and pretending the world was not nearly as dangerous as it truly was.

When Mr. Lyall Lupin left for the Ministry on that rainy Thursday morning in early autumn, there was nothing about the drizzle on the windows or the porridge burning slightly on the stove to suggest that he was about to make a terrible mistake. Mrs. Hope Lupin kissed him goodbye with one hand in the sink and the other holding their five-year-old son’s muddy boot, and Lyall promised—not for the first time—that he would be home in time for tea.

“I’ve only been asked to speak, not duel,” he said lightly, though his robes were pressed sharper than usual, and he checked the knot of his tie in the mirror more than once.

“Still,” Hope said, watching him with her teacher’s stare. “Say what’s needed. Not what you’ll regret.”

Lyall didn’t answer. He was already halfway out the door, papers under one arm, muttering something about policy reviews and the proper spelling of lycanthrope .

That was the sort of man Lyall Lupin was—clever, well-meaning, and just a bit too proud of being right.

---

Far beneath the bustle of London, the Ministry of Magic’s oldest courtroom sat carved in cold stone, its walls charmed to carry sound but never warmth. Torches flickered along the edges, giving everything a peculiar blue tint. The Wizengamot—robed in plum and stiff with self-importance—had gathered in full. Not for lawmaking or budget debates, but for something far older and far more satisfying:

A trial.

At the center of the room, in chains enchanted so heavily they sizzled faintly against his skin, sat Fenrir Greyback.

Even in human form, he looked more wolf than man. His hair was wild and matted, his nails long, his eyes pale and unblinking. His smile—if one could call it that—was thin and full of teeth. Every now and then he sniffed the air, as though searching for something sweeter than torch smoke and damp stone.

The trial had barely begun, and already the gallery was tense with a peculiar energy—half fear, half fascination. Capturing a werewolf was rare. Capturing this one was almost unheard of.

Lyall Lupin, summoned as an expert witness, stood alone in the well of the court, holding a battered folder filled with notes, articles, and a rather dramatic drawing of Greyback’s teeth. He cleared his throat.

“The subject before us,” he began in a crisp voice, “is not only a werewolf by affliction, but by ideology. Fenrir Greyback has deliberately evaded all efforts at containment, has attacked innocents—including children—and actively seeks to spread his condition as widely as possible.”

There were some murmurs. A few members of the Wizengamot frowned. One sipped noisily from a teacup.

Lyall continued, warming to his task. “Let us be absolutely clear: this is not a man who suffers from a curse. This is a beast who delights in it. A soulless creature, entirely incapable of remorse, and dangerous beyond reason.”

At this, Greyback gave a low, gravelly chuckle that echoed around the chamber.

“Now that’s not very nice,” he said, grinning through yellowing teeth. “You always did think you were better than everyone, didn’t you, Lupin?”

The name stopped Lyall mid-sentence.

Greyback leaned forward, just enough for the chains to creak.

“Recognize me, do you?” he purred. “Didn’t think I’d forget. Seventh year—Defense N.E.W.T. You corrected me in front of the whole class. ‘Proper incantation for a Severing Curse,’ you said. ‘You’ll never pass if you don’t learn Latin,’ you said.” He clicked his tongue. “You really ought to be more careful who you embarrass in front of a room full of future monsters.”

There were more murmurs now. A few in the gallery were clearly beginning to wonder whether this testimony was going to stay within the lines of professionalism.

Lyall’s jaw tightened. “The memories of a delusional creature are not admissible in this court.”

“Oh, but I’m not delusional,” Greyback said, voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I remember everything about you. The way you looked down your nose. The way you spoke like the rest of us were beneath you. Smelled like ink and old books then too. Just like now.”

Lyall’s grip on his notes tightened.

“There is no potion that can undo what he is,” he pressed on, louder now, with deliberate force. “No prison that can contain what he chooses to become. The only protection the wizarding world has against monsters like Fenrir Greyback is justice. And in this case, justice must be final. He should be executed.”

A gasp ran through the courtroom, sharp and sudden.

Greyback only smiled.

“I’ll remember that too,” he murmured. “Every last word.”

And this time, when he looked up at Lyall, his pale eyes were gleaming—not with fear, not even with rage, but with a promise.

That night, Lyall didn’t mention Greyback’s remark to Hope.

He came home late, muttering something about “last-minute procedural delays” and “idiots from the Centaur Liaison Office,” and though Hope saw the stiffness in his shoulders and the too-careful way he stirred his tea, she didn’t press.

Instead, she let Remus crawl into his father’s lap, dragging a storybook and a stuffed Hippogriff with him, and the three of them passed the evening as they often did—quietly, gently, as though the outside world had no business intruding.

By morning, Lyall’s name was in the paper. Not on the front page, of course—Greyback’s trial was classified and shielded from most—but buried in the Ministry notices, under “Court Appearances and Testimonies.” Just a line or two. Easy to miss.

But it hadn’t been missed.

---

In the weeks that followed, odd things began to happen around Number Thirteen Oakwell Crescent.

At first, they were small things. A missing milk bottle. A loose latch on the garden gate. Footprints in the soft earth by the rose bushes, too large to be Remus’s and too bare for a neighbor.

Hope mentioned it once to Lyall, half-laughing, suggesting foxes or teenagers, but Lyall only nodded too quickly and changed the subject.

Then, one evening, Hope found a dead squirrel on the windowsill—its neck broken, its fur matted with something dark and dry. The glass hadn’t been broken. The window hadn’t even been open. But the squirrel was inside.

She told Lyall. He said nothing for a long time.

By late February, the snow was melting, and Remus had taken to playing alone in the back garden with a toy broomstick that barely hovered above the ground. He liked to pretend he was an Auror, chasing after invisible dark wizards, ducking behind trees and shouting spells he made up on the spot.

One afternoon, Hope watched from the kitchen window as he stopped suddenly, stared toward the hedgerow, then turned and bolted inside without a word. He said he saw a dog—big, grey, “with yellow eyes, Mummy, like candles.”

When Lyall came home, he checked the garden with his wand drawn. No sign of anything. No prints. No scent. But the wards—his carefully placed perimeter charms—had been tampered with.

That night, Lyall didn’t sleep. He stood by the window until dawn, wand in hand, watching the hedgerow.

The full moon rose in early March, two weeks after Remus’s fifth birthday.

It was a clear night. Cold. Quiet.

Remus was tucked into bed, his stuffed Hippogriff clutched in one arm, dreaming of dragons and enchanted forests.

Downstairs, Lyall checked the locks on every door—twice. Hope made tea and didn’t ask why.

And in the field beyond the garden, just beyond the reach of the streetlamps and Ministry wards, something waited.

Low to the ground. Barefoot. Grinning.

Waiting.

The moon rose higher.

Lyall paced.

The kettle boiled twice over before Hope realized she hadn’t poured a cup. She turned off the stove with shaking hands. Somewhere above them, a floorboard creaked as Remus rolled over in his sleep.

Then—  CRACK.

A sound like a whip splitting the sky. Not Apparition—no—something real . Something close .

Then, a growl – Low. Wet. Almost human. Almost not.

Lyall’s wand was in his hand before he reached the door.

“Stay here,” he told Hope. His voice wasn’t calm. It was barely a whisper.

“Lyall—”

But he was already gone, rushing out the back, spells half-formed on his lips.

The yard was empty. Silent. Nothing but moonlight and the faint smell of turned soil.

And then— CRASH.

From upstairs.

She didn’t remember running. She didn’t remember the stairs. Only the sound—sharp and final—as a window gave way, followed by something heavier, something alive, landing.

The door to Remus’s bedroom was ajar. Too dark inside. Too quiet.

“Remus?” she called, and her voice cracked.

And then she heard it.

A snarl. A scream. High and thin. Her child’s voice, full of terror.

“NO!”

Hope flung the door open.

A shape moved in the dark. Too big. Too fast.

Moonlight caught fur and fangs and eyes—those pale, yellow eyes.

A werewolf. Inside the room. Inside her house.

On the bed, Remus was screaming, curled up in his blankets, arms flailing, trying to push it away. Tiny fists. No match.

Then— Teeth.

They sank deep into the soft flesh of his arm. His body arched. He screamed, and Hope felt something break inside her, something she didn’t know had a name.

“GET AWAY FROM HIM!” she shrieked, uselessly.

She hurled a lamp. It shattered against the wall.

Then a spell—brilliant white— split the room.

“Reducto!”

The creature snarled, flung back against the far wall.

Lyall was in the doorway now, wild-eyed, his wand sparking. “Stupefy! ” he shouted. “ Incarcerous!”

But it was too late.

The creature lunged for the open window, its body twisting unnaturally. It vanished into the night, leaving blood and glass behind.

---

Remus lay curled on the mattress, clutching his arm, eyes wide and wet with shock. His mouth moved, but no words came out. He was shivering so violently his teeth chattered.

Hope reached him first. She gathered him into her arms, pressing his head to her chest, her hands trying to cover the wound, to warm him, to undo it all.

“It’s all right, sweetheart. It’s all right,” she whispered, over and over, though she didn’t believe it herself.

Lyall stood beside them. He was silent. Still.

Not because he didn’t know what had happened. But because he did.

He recognized the bite. The depth. The angle. The mark of intention.

Greyback hadn’t come to kill.

He’d come to curse .

To make a point.

And he had.

Chapter 2: CHAPTER TWO

For the five years that followed, Mr. and Mrs. Lupin did everything they could think of.

There were countless visits to St. Mungo’s, most of which ended in polite apologies and uncomfortable silences. No one liked to say it plainly, especially not in front of the boy, but the truth lingered in every forced smile and sympathetic nod: there was no cure for lycanthropy. Not then.

Lyall read every book in the Magical Maladies wing of the Ministry archives—twice. Hope wrote long, careful letters to Healers in France, in Greece, even in Tibet, folding each one neatly before placing it in the jaws of their rather sullen-looking owl. A reply once came from a reclusive magical physician in the Appalachian foothills, and the family traveled all the way to America only to find a dusty shack, a handful of crystals, and a goat.

None of it helped.

Every full moon came like a punishment. Remus, small and pale and quiet, would whimper through the long days leading up to it. His body would tense when the sun dipped low. They tried locking the doors, silencing charms, even enchanted sleep draughts—but nothing dulled the transformation. Nothing softened it.

Hope stopped reading bedtime stories on the nights before the full moon. She couldn’t bear the sound of his voice saying “Don’t go.”

And Lyall, who had once declared that werewolves were soulless, inhuman things, could only sit outside the locked bedroom door with his wand in one hand and his face in the other.

Eventually, they stopped looking for answers. Not because they gave up, but because there were no more answers to find.

Instead, they focused on surviving. They moved often, usually after a neighbor heard something strange in the night. Sometimes Remus said too much at school. Sometimes he said nothing at all. By the time he was ten, the Lupins had lived in seven different homes, each smaller than the last.

And then, just a few weeks before his eleventh birthday, as the family was settling into yet another quiet cottage on the edge of a forgotten village, there was a knock at the door.

Not just any knock. A precise knock. Measured. Rhythmic.

Hope and Lyall looked at one another—neither expecting visitors. Remus peeked through the sitting room curtain.

“It’s a very tall man,” he said. “With half-moon glasses.”

---

The knock came a third time—steady, patient.

Lyall opened the door, wand tucked discreetly behind his back, only to find a man standing calmly on their modest front step as if he were calling on old friends and not complete strangers who hadn’t stayed in one place for more than a year.

He was tall, with long silver hair tucked behind his ears and a beard that brushed his belt. His robes shimmered faintly, deep blue and stitched with stars. But it was his eyes that held Lyall still—blue, sharp, and impossibly kind.

“Mr. Lupin,” the man said with a slight bow. “And Mrs. Lupin, I presume?”

Hope had appeared behind her husband, her hand curled around the edge of the doorframe.

“My name is Albus Dumbledore.”

There was a beat of silence, as if the air itself was waiting.

“You’d better come in,” Lyall said.

Inside, Remus was sitting on the carpet by the hearth, a small, battered paperback in his lap. He didn’t rise when the strange man entered, only looked up with wide, suspicious eyes.

Dumbledore stepped lightly over the threshold and into the sitting room, where the furniture still smelled faintly of polish and the paint on the skirting boards was barely dry. The home was new. The fear in it was not.

The headmaster eased into the armchair with the grace of someone who never rushed unless it mattered.

“I imagine you already know who I am,” he began.

“I’ve read your papers,” Lyall said, wary.

“And I’ve read yours,” Dumbledore replied with a glint that was almost mischief. “An especially scathing one on the treatment of dangerous were-creatures. Very passionate. Very thorough.”

Lyall bristled.

Hope’s voice was softer. “Why are you here?”

Dumbledore folded his hands over his knee. “I’m here about your son.”

The room stilled.

Remus looked up sharply.

“You’re here to tell us he can’t come to Hogwarts,” Lyall said quickly. “You’re here to say you know what he is.”

“No,” Dumbledore said firmly, and gently. “I am here to offer him a place.”

There was a silence so complete it rang in the ears.

“You—what?” Hope breathed.

“I am here,” Dumbledore repeated, “to offer Remus John Lupin a full, formal education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, beginning this September.”

Remus sat up straighter. His mouth opened, then closed. His fingers gripped the cover of his book, as though it were the only thing keeping him on the ground.

“But… he’s a—” Lyall began.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said simply. “I know what he is. I also know what he is not.”

He looked directly at Remus then, his gaze unwavering. “He is not dangerous, so long as he is protected and understood. He is not unworthy of learning. And he is certainly not alone.”

Hope’s hands had risen to her face. Lyall stared at the man before him as though seeing him through new glass.

“But how?” Hope whispered. “How could it possibly work?”

“Because I’ve made arrangements,” said Dumbledore, reaching into his cloak and placing a thick envelope on the table. The Hogwarts seal gleamed red against the cream parchment. “A secure location has been built near the school. A tunnel has been constructed to connect it to the grounds, hidden beneath the roots of a tree that was… strategically planted. Each month, Remus will be escorted there in secrecy. He will transform safely, with no risk to others.”

He paused, and his voice lowered. “It will not be comfortable. It will not be easy. But he will not be alone in this world. Not forever.”

Remus blinked very hard.

Hope was crying now, openly. Lyall rubbed a hand over his mouth, stunned.

“He’s not like other children,” Hope said through her tears. “Not since…”

“No child is like any other,” Dumbledore said softly. “But all deserve a place to grow.”

He turned to Remus again, and for the first time, the boy saw no fear in an adult’s eyes.

“I hope to see you on the train, Mr. Lupin. I’ve no doubt you’ll do quite well.”

He rose, nodded to both parents, and left without flourish. The door clicked softly behind him.

No one moved for a long while.

Remus stared at the envelope on the table like it might disappear if he blinked.

“Can I—?” he asked, voice small.

Hope picked it up with trembling hands and passed it to him.

He ran his fingers over the seal, his name written in deep green ink.

Mr. Remus John Lupin
Thirteen Heatherbank Cottages
Dunleigh Moor
Devon

---

Weeks Later – Diagon Alley

The fireplace made a strange whooshing sound as the green flames flared up, licking the stone like wind-fed ivy.

“Hold your breath,” Lyall warned.

Remus did, and a moment later the world twisted into a blur of green fire and spinning hearths, the scent of soot and cinnamon in his nose. Then—with a thud and a stumble—he landed awkwardly in a tall brick fireplace and was promptly dusted off by his father.

“Diagon Alley,” Lyall announced, as if Remus weren’t already gaping at it.

Remus stepped out from the grate, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

It was unlike anything he’d ever seen.

The cobblestone street twisted and stacked in impossible ways. Owls hooted from upper windows, a self-stirring cauldron clanged somewhere behind him, and a sign for Eeylops Owl Emporium creaked in the breeze. The air buzzed with life and magic, full of scents Remus couldn’t name—spiced ink, parchment, roasted nuts, and the clean shimmer of spellwork.

Hope appeared in the fireplace behind them, clutching her handbag with both hands. “Oh, my,” she murmured. “It hasn’t changed a bit.”

They spent the first ten minutes just walking. Remus’s head turned every which way, catching glimpses of cloaks in every color, a goblin polishing gold behind a window, and a small boy levitating a chocolate frog with a proud grin.

“Careful,” Lyall said gently when Remus nearly walked straight into a witch with six shopping bags. “We’ve got a list, remember?”

They stopped at Gringotts first. The goblins were sharper than Remus expected—not just in manner, but in teeth—and the cart ride to their vault left him clinging to his seat with white knuckles. Still, the sight of a few glittering galleons in a worn leather pouch felt impossibly rich.

From there, it was like stepping into a dream.

Madam Malkin’s Robes was a flurry of measuring tapes and gentle pinpricks, with a squat witch who didn’t blink twice when Remus flinched at the touch of fabric over old scars. “Growth charm in the hem,” she muttered, tucking a pin into her teeth. “Save your mum some trouble.”

Flourish and Blotts was heaven. Remus disappeared between the shelves and didn’t emerge until Lyall found him cross-legged in the Magical Creatures section, reading the opening line of Famous Beasts and Where to Find Them like it was scripture.

“Pick two,” Lyall said with a smile.

“But—”

“Two. And we’re not counting the ones on your book list.”

He picked three anyway. Hope didn’t say a word.

Ollivanders was the quietest place they visited, and somehow the most alive. Dust hung like spell residue in the air. Mr. Ollivander didn’t ask Remus many questions—he only looked at him with those pale, silvery eyes and murmured, “Ah, yes… something resilient.”

It took seven tries, but when Remus finally held the wand that responded—10 ¾ inches, cypress wood, unicorn hair—he felt it hum like it recognized him.

“Curious,” Mr. Ollivander whispered. “Cypress is associated with nobility of purpose… and sacrifice. Very curious.”

Remus didn’t ask what he meant. He was too busy feeling something warm and quiet spread in his chest.

At the end of the day, as the sun dipped low over the crooked rooftops, they bought ice cream from a cart and sat on a bench near the entrance.

“I can’t believe it,” Remus murmured, spoon halfway to his mouth. “It’s all real. All of it.”

Hope smiled at him, brushing a bit of lint from his collar. “You’re going to be all right.”

And for once, he thought she might be right.

---

The morning of September first was cool and grey, with mist coiling gently along the garden wall as Remus tied his shoelaces for the third time.

No one said much over breakfast. Hope packed a tin of sandwiches, though Remus had barely touched his toast. Lyall checked the clock twelve times. There was a flickering nervousness in the air, like the house itself wasn’t sure how to feel about letting the boy go.

When it was time to leave, Hope hugged Remus twice and then once more at the door.

“You write to us, all right?” she whispered into his hair. “Every week. Even if it’s just one line.”

Remus nodded into her shoulder. “Okay.”

Lyall carried his trunk down the stairs and they both took the fireplace to the ministry, and from there, walked to Kingdom Cross. Arriving at the barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten, they lingered a little too long beside a pillar, pretending not to stare at the wall they knew was more than just brick.

“All right,” Lyall muttered. “Just walk straight at it. Bit of a brisk pace.”

Remus swallowed. “And if I—?”

“You won’t,” Lyall said, more firmly than he felt.

So Remus did.

He walked through the barrier and out the other side into steam and scarlet paint and the sound of hundreds of voices calling out goodbyes.

The Hogwarts Express stood waiting, tall and gleaming. Trunks rattled, cats mewed, and somewhere nearby, someone’s toad was making a break for it. A whistle blew.

Lyall emerged a second later and let out a breath.

They stood in silence, father and son, beside the open train door.

“You’ll do fine,” Lyall said.

Remus nodded, lips pressed tight.

“If anyone gives you trouble,” Lyall added, “don’t start a fight.”

Remus gave a very small smile. “But I can finish one?”

Lyall huffed through his nose and ruffled his hair, awkwardly. “Write to your mother. She’ll worry.”

Remus hoisted his trunk with some effort. “I’ll see you at Christmas.”

Lyall opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “Yes. You will.”

And that was it.

Remus stepped onto the train, dragging his belongings behind him, and didn’t look back until he was halfway down the corridor. His father was still standing there, small and stiff against the chaos of the platform.

He found an empty compartment near the back and sat with the window open, letting the wind brush against his face. The noise of the train was both exciting and overwhelming, and he wasn’t sure whether to feel proud or panicked.

The door slid open suddenly.

“Is this one taken?”

A dark-haired boy stood there with a crooked smile.

Remus shook his head.

“I’m Sirius,” the boy said, stepping inside and flopping onto the seat across from him. “Sirius Black.”

Another boy followed him in almost immediately, already talking mid-sentence. “I told Mum not to fuss but she was crying and darning socks at the same time, like that’s going to—oh.”

He looked at Remus.

“Hi. I’m James. James Potter.”

“Remus,” said Remus. “Lupin.”

“Nice,” James said easily, then looked at Sirius. “Do you think we’re all in the same year? D’you reckon we’ll be in Gryffindor?”

“I’m not,” Sirius muttered, scowling briefly at the window.

James blinked. “Why not?”

“Family stuff.” Sirius waved a hand. “They all expect me to be in Slytherin. But I’ll eat my own wand if I end up there. ”

James grinned. “Then we definitely shouldn’t be in Slytherin.”

Sirius gave a low chuckle, and Remus, quiet in the corner, felt something stir in his chest. Not fear. Not dread.

Possibly—possibly—hope.

The train gave a great lurch, and then they were off.

---

The train had been moving for perhaps an hour, the countryside outside the windows giving way to green hills and winding streams, when Remus began to relax enough to stop gripping the edge of his seat.

James had taken out a pack of Exploding Snap cards and was attempting to teach Sirius how not to lose his eyebrows. Sirius, for his part, was leaning into the game with an intensity that suggested he wanted the cards to blow up—just to see what would happen.

Remus watched from the other end of the bench, trying not to feel in the way.

He hadn’t meant to find anyone. He’d planned on a quiet seat, a quiet ride, a quiet life at school, if he could manage it. Something as close to invisible as one could get.

But Sirius and James didn’t seem the sort to let things remain quiet.

“Hey, Remus,” James said, looking up after another minor explosion of red smoke, “you want in?”

“Oh, I don’t really—”

“C’mon, it’s more fun with three. You’re not going to let him win by default, are you?” He jerked a thumb at Sirius.

“I am going to win,” Sirius said flatly, grinning as he shook out the singed tips of his sleeve. “He just doesn’t want to be embarrassed.”

Remus hesitated—then slid down the seat and took the cards James offered.

Five minutes later, the window was fogged with smoke, someone’s card had fused to the floor, and Remus was laughing—actually laughing—as Sirius shouted, “ That one cheated! ” and James threw up his hands in mock outrage.

The trolley witch came by just before two o’clock, pushing her cart of sweets with a cheery “Anything off the trolley, dears?”

James immediately leapt up and bought one of everything.

“Isn’t that your mum’s money?” Sirius asked, eyebrows raised as James dumped an avalanche of chocolate frogs and Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans onto the seat.

“She gave it to me,” James said, unwrapping a pumpkin pasty. “Which means it’s mine. Want one?”

Sirius shrugged and reached for a Liquorice Wand. “If you insist.”

Remus picked at a chocolate frog, unsure whether it was too polite or not polite enough to decline free sweets from someone he’d just met.

“You’ll want to eat that quickly,” James said. “Before it jumps away.”

“I know,” Remus replied, then realized they were both watching him like he’d just grown a second head.

“What?” he asked.

“You know? ” Sirius said. “So you have read about Hogwarts already.”

Remus gave a small smile. “I like books.”

“You’re not related to Evans, are you?” James asked. “She reads like it’s a competition.”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“She’ll be on the train. Red hair. Very opinionated.”

“Do you know everyone already?” Remus asked, eyebrows raised.

James looked offended. “Of course not. Only the interesting ones.”

Sirius tossed a chocolate frog wrapper at his head.

They spent the rest of the afternoon speculating about the four houses. James was convinced Gryffindor was the best (“my dad was in it”), while Sirius insisted he didn’t care, but made a disgusted noise every time Slytherin was mentioned. Remus mostly stayed quiet, nodding when prompted, letting their chatter fill the space between his worries.

As the sun began to dip low behind the hills, the compartments started to quiet. Somewhere near the front of the train, a prefect’s voice called for everyone to put on their robes.

Remus opened his trunk and carefully pulled out his school robes, the sleeves freshly mended by his mother’s hand. They still smelled faintly of the laundry soap she used.

James and Sirius were still arguing—this time over what, exactly, Hufflepuffs did all day—when the Hogwarts Express rounded a bend and slowed.

The lights of the castle came into view, flickering on the lake like candle flames in a goblet of ink.

Remus stared. Nothing had ever looked quite like this.

---

The train pulled into Hogsmeade Station with a hiss of steam and a loud clatter of brakes. Remus stepped off behind Sirius and James, blinking in the twilight. The platform was buzzing with students, trunks, owls, and nervous first-years trying not to trip over their own feet.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here!”

A lantern bobbed in the dark, and a massive figure came into view—tall as two grown men, with wild black hair and a voice that rumbled like a friendly avalanche.

“C’mon, now—Firs’ years this way!”

“That’s Hagrid,” whispered James, nudging Remus. “My dad said he’s Keeper of Keys and Grounds. And possibly half-giant.”

“I heard he keeps a dragon under his bed,” Sirius muttered with interest.

Remus wasn’t sure if that was a joke or not.

They joined the cluster of nervous first-years gathering around Hagrid, who was waving them along a steep path. The wind was cool and sharp, and the trees overhead whispered with the weight of September.

“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid called as they reached the edge of a great black lake.

Remus stopped short.

There it was again: Hogwarts.

Lit with hundreds of windows, the castle sat high on the cliffs like something out of a storybook his mother might have once read him—if his storybook had included curses and full moons and a thousand other things that could never be undone.

A small boat rocked gently nearby. Sirius and James climbed in without hesitation, and after a brief pause, Remus followed, taking the last seat as another boy—a short, chubby one with a round face and trembling fingers—tried to board and immediately fell in.

Sirius reached down and yanked him back out by the collar, laughing. “You all right?”

The boy nodded, soaking wet.

“I’m Peter,” he managed, shivering.

“James,” said James. “That’s Sirius. That’s Remus.”

“Hi,” said Remus, quiet and quick.

The boats pushed off with no oars and began gliding silently across the water. The castle loomed larger and larger, glowing gold against the deepening sky.

Remus sat with his hands tucked under his arms to keep warm, listening to the slap of water and the quiet buzz of nerves in his chest.

He could do this.

He had to do this.

“Heads down!” Hagrid bellowed from somewhere ahead, and the boats passed under a curtain of ivy into a wide tunnel beneath the castle. The water echoed around them, cool and still, until they emerged into a cove with stone steps leading up.

One by one, the first-years climbed out, blinking in the torchlight as Hagrid led them up the steps.

The great front doors of the castle swung open without a sound.

And there she stood: tall, severe, and watchful, in emerald robes and a square hat that did not appear to have moved in a decade.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” she said crisply. “I am Professor McGonagall. In a few moments, you will be sorted into your houses. Please follow me.”

The group of eleven-year-olds shuffled after her in a tight knot, their voices hushed.

They entered a vast stone chamber with high ceilings and walls lined with lit torches. Somewhere beyond, Remus could hear the hum of hundreds of voices—the rest of the students, already gathered.

He caught sight of James nudging Sirius, eyes wide with excitement.

Remus glanced back at the doors, no turning back now .

---

The rest of the castle buzzed just beyond the heavy oak doors—plates clinking, students murmuring, footsteps echoing overhead. The first-years stood shoulder to shoulder, whispering nervously among themselves.

Remus kept to the edge of the group, back against the cool stone wall.

He could feel the press of everything he’d been trying not to think about all summer: the quiet desperation in his father’s voice when he told him it’ll be different here ; the too-long looks his mother gave him when she thought he wasn’t watching. The way his parents had clung to one another after Dumbledore left, like they were afraid of what they'd done—letting him come.

He had heard the word special more times in the past two weeks than he had in the previous five years combined. As if it was meant to comfort him. As if it wasn’t just another word for broken in careful wrapping.

He stared at the cracks between the flagstones.

He couldn’t help but wonder: what if they knew?

What if the Sorting Hat could see it?

The way the moon pulled at his ribs like a fishhook, the way the screams tried to claw their way out of his throat every month. What if it said—out loud, in front of everyone—what he was?

What if it said monster?

Across the room, James Potter was practicing imaginary swordplay with a rolled-up chocolate frog wrapper while Sirius Black rolled his eyes and pretended not to care. Peter Pettigrew stood close by, eyes wide and shifting.

They were laughing, and Remus didn’t know how they had room for it—how their nerves hadn’t swallowed them whole. He almost envied them.

A voice interrupted his thoughts—Professor McGonagall, returning through a side door. “It’s time.”

The whispering stopped.

The room held its breath.

Remus stood straighter, trying to remember how to breathe like a normal person, walk like a normal boy.

The doors opened and golden light spilled into the chamber.

Remus Lupin stepped forward.

The Great Hall was more than a room—it was a cathedral of candlelight and wonder.

Hundreds of enchanted candles floated in midair above four long tables filled with students, all turning to stare as the first-years filed in. The ceiling shimmered high above, reflecting the star-flecked sky outside. The walls were draped in old, dignified banners. Everything smelled faintly of wax and roasted meat and books too old to forget their stories.

Remus felt his fingers curl in his sleeves.

At the front of the hall stood a rickety wooden stool and a patched old hat that looked as if it had been left too long in an attic and forgotten.

The Sorting Hat.

He watched it warily. It looked harmless enough, but then—with a sudden rip along the brim—it sang.

Remus only half-heard the words. Something about courage and cleverness, loyalty and ambition, houses proud and bold and brave. The hat’s voice was scratchy, theatrical, and oddly cheerful for something made entirely of felt.

But Remus’s mind was elsewhere—he was still worrying. Worrying what it would see. What it would say. If it would call him dangerous . If it would say he didn’t belong here at all.

“Abbott, Daria!” called Professor McGonagall.

A fair-haired girl with anxious eyes stumbled forward. The hat barely touched her head before shouting: “HUFFLEPUFF!”

The list went on.

“Black, Sirius!”

Sirius sauntered up with his hands in his pockets, smirking like it was all a joke just for him.

There was a longer pause this time. The hat tugged low over his eyes.

Remus held his breath.

Sirius looked… annoyed.

Then— “GRYFFINDOR!”

Sirius blinked, then grinned like someone who had just gotten away with something. He joined the red-and-gold table with swagger.

“Bones, Edgar!” – “HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Evans, Lily!”

A girl with brilliant red hair walked up with quiet confidence. The hat considered for a moment, then declared: “GRYFFINDOR!”

She looked surprised, but not displeased, as she made her way across the hall.

“Lupin, Remus!”

His name echoed like a bell struck in a quiet church.

He stepped forward slowly.

The stool creaked beneath him. The hat came down over his eyes, and the Hall vanished.

---

“Well now,” said a voice in his ear. “A curious case. Very curious indeed.”

Remus flinched slightly, though he knew he wasn’t supposed to speak.

“Oh, don’t worry,” said the Hat, its voice low and thoughtful. “I’ve seen your kind before. Not for a long time, mind—but I know what you are. What you’ve survived. ”

Remus’s throat tightened.

“Now, let’s see,” the Hat continued. “Plenty of intelligence. Ravenclaw would welcome you—but you keep too much close to your chest. That won’t do. Not there.”

A pause.

“Hufflepuff... oh, you long to be safe, don’t you? But no, you’d go mad with all that cheer and trust and quiet. You’re too sharp for that. Too watchful.”

A longer silence.

“There’s courage here, yes. Courage earned the hard way. The kind that hides. The kind that suffers. But also—something else.”

Remus gripped the edge of the stool.

“A deep hunger. Not for power, but for control. For mastery. For understanding. You want to overcome it, don’t you? To prove you’re more than what they say.”

He swallowed.

“Not Slytherin,” he whispered, barely audible.

“Oh, but why not? You’d be good there. Clever, careful. You know how to survive. You’ve had to. And isn’t that what they all fear in you—that you’ll turn your pain into power?”

Remus said nothing.

The Hat was quiet for a long moment.

Then, gently— almost kindly —it said:

“Very well. If not Slytherin… better be—GRYFFINDOR!”

The shout echoed.

The hat was lifted from his head, and Remus blinked into the light.

The Gryffindor table was clapping. James and Sirius were both waving him over, grinning. Peter gave him a sort of thumbs-up.

Remus slid off the stool, legs slightly shaky, and walked toward them.

He still wasn’t sure what he was. Not really. Not yet.

But for tonight, at least, he had a place to sit.

Chapter 3: CHAPTER THREE

The golden plates had just appeared, filled to the brim with roast beef, sausages, and crispy potatoes, and the Great Hall rang with the comforting clamor of hungry students. The tension from the Sorting had melted into warm laughter and the smell of gravy, and for a while, it seemed as though all was well in the world.

James Potter was already halfway through his second helping of chicken when he leaned sideways to talk across Sirius’s shoulders.

“You're Lily Evans, right?”

The red-haired girl blinked up from her plate, startled but not unfriendly. “Yes?”

“You did brilliantly in Charms during the Sorting. Thought your feather was going to fly before it even touched the table.”

She smiled a little, though her brow arched with suspicion. “That wasn’t Charms. That was sitting in a chair.”

James grinned. “Exactly! Very magical sitting. Most of us would’ve fallen off.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Don’t encourage him, he’s been like this since breakfast.”

Lily glanced between them, then said to Sirius, “And you’re the one who was nearly Sorted into Slytherin, aren’t you?”

That wiped the smirk off Sirius’s face.

James laughed. “He begged the Hat. ‘Please, anything but green.’”

“I did not beg.”

“You pleaded.”

“I reasoned.”

Lily shook her head, amused. “You lot are loud.”

“Thank you,” James said, like it was a compliment.

Further down the table, Remus watched quietly, chewing a piece of bread. He didn’t say anything, but he noted how easily James and Sirius seemed to command attention. Lily didn’t seem particularly impressed, but she didn’t seem annoyed either. She had sharp eyes. Remus thought he liked that.

Just then, from the Slytherin table, a voice drifted across the Hall.

“She’s already talking to Potter,” someone muttered, not quite quietly enough.

Remus looked up.

A pale boy with a curtain of greasy black hair and sallow skin was glaring toward the Gryffindor table. His eyes were fixed on Lily, though not with jealousy exactly—more like betrayal.

“Is that Snape?” Peter whispered, following his gaze. “The one who got Sorted right after her?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said. “Looks like someone got their cauldron in a twist.”

Snape was whispering to a boy beside him—Mulciber, maybe, or Avery—who snorted into his pumpkin juice.

Lily didn’t notice. Or if she did, she didn’t acknowledge it.

James, on the other hand, had clearly heard. He leaned forward, catching Snape’s eye with a grin so wide it could only have been intentional.

“Something you’d like to share with the class?” he called lightly.

Several heads turned.

Snape’s nostrils flared, but he said nothing. He simply turned his attention back to his food, his jaw tight.

Sirius gave a low whistle. “That’s going to be a fun rivalry.”

“Who?” asked Peter, confused. “Snape and James?”

James shrugged, still grinning. “Only if he keeps acting like I stole his wand.”

Remus said nothing, but his eyes lingered on Snape for a moment longer. There was something hard and angry about him, like a boy made entirely of corners and shadows. And something wounded, too.

He looked away and passed Peter the pumpkin juice.

Chapter 4: CHAPTER FOUR

Sunlight streamed through the enchanted windows of the Great Hall, lighting the breakfast tables in warm gold. Toast popped itself onto plates. Jugs of orange juice poured at a wave. The air was filled with the comforting smell of eggs and the rustle of owl wings arriving with letters.

James Potter, still in rumpled uniform robes, was pouring treacle onto his porridge like it was some kind of potion ingredient.

Sirius yawned. “What’s first?”

“Charms,” said Peter, consulting his schedule. “Then we’ve got History of Magic after break.”

Remus buttered his toast silently, glancing up only when he heard laughter—Lily Evans’s laugh, clear and bright.

James perked up like a Kneazle hearing a can open. His eyes darted to the Ravenclaw table. “There she is.”

But she wasn’t laughing at him.

Down the hall, Lily was sitting on a stone bench in the courtyard just beyond the open oak doors. Next to her, leaning awkwardly on one elbow and wearing his usual sneer, was Severus Snape.

They weren’t exactly smiling, but there was an ease to it—something practiced, familiar. Lily said something. Snape smirked in response.

James’s eyebrows shot up.

Sirius followed his gaze and groaned. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“Don’t.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re absolutely doing something.”

James stood, brushing toast crumbs off his sleeves. “Just going for a stroll.”

Remus sighed. “Maybe let them be. It’s not your business.”

James only grinned. “They’ll thank me later.”

---

Lily glanced up at the sound of footsteps and immediately stiffened.

“Potter,” she said.

James came to a halt, all grinning charm. “Morning, Evans.”

Severus narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Nothing,” said James, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Just thought it was a shame to see a Gryffindor wasting her time.”

Lily’s eyes went ice cold.

Severus stood slowly. “Go away, Potter.”

“Not talking to you, Snivellus.”

Lily stood too. “Leave him alone.”

James raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t think you liked the type who uses hexes on people for fun.”

Snape’s fists clenched.

“We’re friends,” Lily said sharply. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Right,” said James, eyes flashing. “Well, enjoy your morning chat. Try not to teach her any curses, Snape.”

Severus stepped forward.

But Lily held her arm out in front of him. “Don’t. He’s not worth it.”

James opened his mouth again, clearly planning one more quip, but Remus appeared behind him and lightly grabbed his sleeve.

“Class,” Remus said quietly. “We’re going to be late.”

James hesitated.

Then, with a flash of resentment in his eyes, he turned. “See you around, Evans.”

They walked back toward the Great Hall. James didn’t speak for a few minutes, which was rare enough to be unsettling.

“You’re jealous,” Sirius muttered when they were out of earshot.

“Am not.”

“You are. It’s written all over your smug, irritating face.”

James shrugged. “I just don’t like him.”

“He hasn’t done anything yet.”

“He will. You can tell.”

Remus glanced at James and said nothing. He’d seen the way Snape looked at people. But he’d also seen how Lily softened around him, like she was clinging to something she'd known before all the Sorting and stigma. And Remus knew a thing or two about clinging to people who knew who you were before the world made its mind up about you.

---

Lily Evans had never seen anything like Hogwarts Castle.

The enchanted ceiling. The moving staircases. The ghosts drifting through walls like mist with faces. Even the stone walls felt alive, humming quietly beneath her fingertips as she followed the other first-years out of the Great Hall and into the bright morning corridors.

She and Severus stuck close together as the groups broke apart for the first time. The Gryffindors were heading in one direction, the Slytherins in another, and she didn’t like the stretch of space it created between them.

“I’ll see you at break,” she said, quickly.

Severus nodded, already being pulled into a knot of black-robed Slytherin boys. He glanced back once, his expression unreadable.

---

They met again half an hour later in the open courtyard off the west wing, where the cool September breeze made Lily’s hair whip around her face.

“You survived,” she said, brushing it away.

“Barely,” he muttered. “Some of them think Peeves is a teacher.”

She laughed, but stopped when he didn’t smile. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

He kicked a pebble. “Slughorn likes me already. But Mulciber and Avery—”

“Are idiots,” she said firmly.

Severus gave a short nod. “Anyway. We’ve got double Potions next. With the Gryffindors.”

Lily perked up. “Oh! Maybe we’ll be partners.”

But Severus didn’t reply. He was staring over her shoulder.

She turned just as James Potter and Sirius Black rounded the edge of the courtyard, flanked by a few of their housemates. James had clearly caught sight of them.

“Oh look,” he said with theatrical delight. “Evans and the bat.”

Sirius snorted. “Didn’t know we were brewing anything yet. Smells like grease.”

Lily folded her arms. “You’re hilarious.”

Remus Lupin trailed behind the other Gryffindors, slightly out of step. He didn’t say anything, but he met Lily’s gaze briefly and offered the barest flicker of a sympathetic smile.

Severus, however, was already tense.

“Keep walking, Potter,” he snapped.

James raised an eyebrow. “You’ll have to speak up, Snivellus. The wind’s blowing all your words into your hair.”

Lily stepped in between them, her voice sharp. “Go away.”

Sirius was grinning now. “Aww, protecting him already?”

James's grin faltered, just for a second.

Then he said, “Enjoy Potions. Hope Snape doesn’t drop anything in your cauldron.”

With that, the Gryffindor group peeled away toward the dungeon staircase, Sirius bumping James on the shoulder as they went.

Lily turned to Severus. “Ignore them.”

But Severus wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was watching the back of James Potter’s head as  if he could hex him in half just by thinking hard enough.

 

The dungeons were cooler than the rest of the castle—cold enough that Lily kept her arms folded tight across her chest as they filed into the Potions classroom.

Slughorn was already there, beaming beneath his walrus mustache.

“Welcome! Welcome, my young brewers! Ah, two houses I’m very fond of—let’s hope you don’t blow each other up, eh?”

There was polite laughter, and a few glares exchanged between tables.

Students were sorted quickly into pairs. Lily turned toward Severus, but Slughorn waved his wand.

“Assigned today, I’m afraid! Let’s see… Evans, you’ll be with Black. Snape… with Lupin.”

There was an immediate stir.

Severus’s mouth twisted, but Remus Lupin was already moving quietly to the empty seat beside him, avoiding anyone’s gaze.

Lily hesitated a moment, catching Severus’s expression, but Sirius flopped beside her with a dramatic sigh.

“Well, this should be awful,” he said.

She gave him a flat look. “Good. I was worried you’d enjoy yourself.”

Across the room, Severus scowled down into his cauldron.

Remus set his bag on the bench and began arranging ingredients with practiced calm. “I’m not going to bother you,” he said quietly, eyes on the dried valerian root. “So you don’t have to hex me just for existing.”

Severus blinked, caught off guard. “I wasn’t going to.”

Remus nodded slightly. “Okay.”

Slughorn began instructions for a simple Cure for Boils. James and Peter were across the aisle and already fumbling with their beetle eyes. Sirius added too much porcupine quill. Lily leaned away just before it fizzed pink.

But at Severus and Remus’s table, the work was… oddly efficient.

Severus still worked quickly, methodically, but Remus wasn’t careless—he ground his snake fangs exactly to the right consistency and didn’t speak unless it was useful.

“Your stirring’s clockwise,” he said softly. “He said counter-clockwise after the leech juice.”

Severus looked at him. “Right. Thanks.”

For the first time that day, his shoulders unknotted just slightly.

At the end of class, Slughorn passed their table and said, “Excellent teamwork! Ten points to both houses.”

Severus watched Lupin return his supplies, quiet and careful.

Maybe, he thought, not all the Gryffindors were idiots.

Chapter 5: CHAPTER FIVE

Notes:

Okokok... Sorry for the short random updates. I got kinda onto a roll, and things happened. 😂 But hopefully you all enjoyed the updates. Some tension. I'm working on Halloween to New Year's. Changes are coming. Some tags will be activated - so make sure you read the tags carefully. And I'll definitely be throwing in some random Snupin-ish fluff when I can!

By late September, Hogwarts had begun to shift into autumn properly. The trees beyond the lake blazed gold and rust-red in the afternoon light, and the halls smelled faintly of roasted pumpkin and candle wax. Jack-o’-lanterns had started to appear in the windows, and Peeves had taken to floating around in a Frankensteinian bedsheet, pretending to be “Sir Screams-a-Lot.”

The castle was alive with excitement for the upcoming Halloween feast. All except one eleven-year-old boy who walked a little slower and laughed a little less as the days shortened.

Remus could feel it coming.

The moon was waxing, fuller each night. His dreams had begun to twist and turn, restless and hot, and in the mornings his joints ached like they’d been pried open in the night. He had spent so many years hiding his condition, so many months dreading this exact moment—and now it was here.

His first full moon at Hogwarts.

The arrangements were all in place, of course. Dumbledore had seen to that. Madame Pomfrey would collect him under cover of night and lead him through the secret tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow to the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade. Wards had been reinforced. No one would get hurt.

But it wasn’t them he was worried about.

It was James, Sirius, and Peter—his first real friends. Friends who noticed when he disappeared for more than five minutes, let alone an entire night.

He was sure they’d guess something. And if they knew what he really was...

Remus couldn’t finish the thought.

---

He started laying the groundwork early.

“I think I’m getting sick,” he told them on Tuesday, clutching his stomach between bites of toast. “Might go to the hospital wing later.”

James frowned. “You never go to the hospital wing.”

Remus shrugged. “Well, maybe I should.”

Sirius looked suspicious. “Since when do you clutch your stomach when you’re sick? You look like you’re going to throw up feelings.”

Remus gave a weak laugh.

“Did you eat one of those weird toffees Peter dropped on the floor?” James asked.

Peter flushed. “I only dropped one.”

“I’m fine,” Remus said quickly. “Just—really tired. Might have to miss class tomorrow.”

Sirius gave him a look. “Evans said you corrected Slughorn in Potions yesterday. That doesn’t sound very ill.”

Remus bit his tongue.

---

By Thursday evening, the day before the full moon, he was jumpy and pale, his schoolwork abandoned at the corner of the common room table. He’d said he was going to bed early—again—but he lingered in the stairwell, listening.

“They’re hiding something,” James was saying in a low voice.

“Yeah,” Sirius muttered. “He acts like he’s been caught doing something illegal, and he’s rubbish at lying.”

“Maybe it’s a family thing?” Peter offered, always the peacemaker.

There was silence.

“Do you think he’s being bullied?” Sirius asked.

James sounded thoughtful. “He doesn’t have any bruises.”

Remus slipped up the staircase quietly, throat dry, guilt crawling in his stomach like ice.

He hated lying.

But he hated the thought of their faces—twisting with fear or disgust—more.

---

Just before the moon rose, Madame Pomfrey arrived, quiet as a whisper in the shadows of the dormitory. She touched his shoulder and gave him a soft, sad smile.

“It’s time, dear.”

He nodded and rose from bed, already aching.

---

Outside, the castle was still. A silvery mist clung to the grass, and the Whomping Willow stood like a sleeping giant, its branches calm in the late hour. Pomfrey pressed the knot at the base of its trunk, and it froze. The tunnel yawned open beneath the roots.

Remus climbed down without a word, the silence pressing tighter with every step.

Behind him, back in the dormitory, three boys would wake to an empty bed and a thousand questions.

And ahead of him, in the creaking bones of the Shrieking Shack, the wolf was waiting.

Chapter 6: CHAPTER SIX

The Shrieking Shack groaned with the cold as Remus stepped inside. It was the same as it had been when Dumbledore first showed it to him—dusty, bare, but thick with enchantments. A few thick mats had been laid down across the splintered wooden floor, and iron bars still lined the windows, though he doubted they’d hold if the wolf really wanted to get out. But it was safe. He was alone.

It was always safer that way.

Madame Pomfrey laid a hand on his shoulder, her voice very gentle. “I'll come for you just after dawn.”

He gave her a tight nod. There wasn’t much left to say.

She withdrew, and the door sealed behind her with a click and a low hum of magic.

He was alone.

For a few long minutes, he sat curled on one of the mats, arms wrapped around his knees, breathing slow and deliberate. The minutes passed. The light outside turned silver.

And then—

It began.

---

The change came not all at once, but in waves, like his body trying to fight what it already knew was inevitable.

His skin burned. His bones pulled and cracked and lengthened. Joints snapped backward. Muscles knotted and split. He couldn’t even scream properly—his voice tore into something raw and bestial, more howl than human.

He clawed at the floor, fingers already changing shape, and blood slicked the wooden planks.

There was no way to prepare for it. No way to brace. No easing into it gently.

It was a breaking.

The boy broke. And the wolf emerged.

---

The night was a blur of red and pain and fury.

The wolf hated the walls, the scent of people far out of reach. It hated being trapped. It threw itself against the shutters, clawed the walls, howled long into the night in frustration and loneliness. But there was no one to hurt but itself.

So it did.

When the moon finally sank below the hills, the creature collapsed in a pile of bruises and blood and broken breath, twitching and growling until fur faded to skin, claws to fingers, the howl to a sob.

And what was left, in the cold blue light of dawn, was a boy curled in a pool of his own silence.

---

Madame Pomfrey found him like that.

She didn’t flinch. She never did.

She cleaned the wounds with gentle hands and murmured charms, whispering nonsense sounds like a lullaby. “You’re alright now, Remus. You’re alright. It’s over.”

He barely registered her voice through the thick fog of exhaustion.

The trip back through the tunnel was a haze. The castle halls were still quiet. Early risers might have been waking, but no one saw them as they slipped back to the hospital wing.

---

He drifted in and out of sleep all morning. A bitter potion sat untouched by his bed. His entire body ached like it had been set on fire and then stomped out again.

He didn’t cry. Not yet.

But he turned his face to the wall and stared at nothing for a long time.

Because the hardest part wasn’t the pain. It never was.

It was what came next.

Lying.

Pretending.

Facing the boys he now called his friends—James, Sirius, and Peter—and acting as if everything was fine.

As if the world hadn’t just torn him apart.