Chapter Text
Realistically, he knew there were better ways to spend a Friday night.
Most people his age were at the cinema, hiking in the woods, or posting beach selfies from the south of France. One of his classmates had even bragged about flying out that morning, sipping cocktails somewhere he didn’t even want to know.
But those people didn’t have to think about money, not really. They didn’t have to count down the hours they could work before it legally qualified as child labour. They didn’t have to wonder if their next paycheck would cover the meds that literally kept them alive. No, they didn’t have to deal with any of that.
Which is probably why, instead of lounging under the sun with a drink in hand, he was slouched on a park bench with a near-empty bag of weed and the bitter taste of reality lingering in his mouth.
He’d originally bought it with the intention of upselling to his friends to make a little profit, ease the pressure. But between the crushing weight of his GCSEs and the chronic illness that dictated every part of his life, he’d burned through most of it himself. Now, the bag barely held enough for three joints.
Which is why he found himself here, alone, slouched on a rotting park bench.
Still, he started rolling. There was something oddly calming about the motion , the way the paper twisted between his fingers, the familiar ritual of it all. Normally, he’d have his cheap earphones blasting music straight into his skull to help him zone out. But one of his idiot mates thought it’d be hilarious to snip the wire in the middle of maths class.
So now, instead of basslines and lyrics, he had to settle for the soft cooing of pigeons and the occasional rumble of a passing car.
It was quiet, but that was to be expected at 2 a.m. on a Wednesday night. He just thanked the Lord there was no more school. He’d broken up for summer over a month ago now and was enjoying the extra free time immensely.
“Gis us a puff, Remus,” came a voice from behind him.
His seconds of peace had been destroyed by his fellow friend and classmate, Darren. He held the joint behind him and waited until he could feel the other boy’s lips suck in. After a few seconds, he let go ( still holding in the smoke ) and jumped over the bench.
Darren was your typical teenage boy you’d see in this area. He wore the classic grey knock-off tracksuit, had his hair slicked back with some crappy gel (probably on offer in Savers), which made him look a bit rough, and had the bad grades to back it.
But deep down, he was a good kid.
From the moment he met Remus, Darren decided to stick close. He’d even declared him a “fucking genius” , a title he used often and with genuine awe.
That admiration, however, came with a fair bit of frustration. It drove Darren mad that Remus could breeze through every exam without ever cracking open a textbook.
“Imagine how well you’d do if you actually studied,” Darren would mutter, half in envy, half in disbelief. But deep down, they both knew that wasn’t what he really wanted.
If Remus ever started taking school seriously, he’d stop giving his attention to what truly mattered: their side hustle.
Not that Remus would call it that , to him it wasn’t a business. All they really did was have Remus do other people’s homework, while Darren handled the pricing, which more often than not, was ridiculously high.
The profits? Mostly spent on cheap booze and the occasional night that ended in regrettable decisions.
They had other friends , like Ben, who was in their tutor class. He was the kind of guy where the phrase “the lights are on but no one’s home” fit perfectly.
There was also Sam, who would sit with them at lunch and try to see how many Year Sevens he could hit as they passed by. But Sam nor Ben were ever as close as them.
“Thought a goodie-two-shoes like yourself would be in bed by now, Lupin,” Darren said, passing the blunt over to his friend.
Remus shrugged, inhaling the smoke and glancing at his phone. It was late, but he didn’t have work tomorrow , and what was the point of summer holiday if you weren’t going to enjoy it?
“Nan and Grandad were asleep, thought I’d seize the opportunity,” he smirked, taking another puff, feeling the effects in his fingers tingling slightly.
Darren laughed beside him, looking out at the abandoned street ahead of them.
“What about you?” Remus asked, also looking outward.
The other boy looked at him.
“Why you out so late?”
He sensed the boy’s shoulders tense next to him.
“Stepdad’s bladdered,” he said, digging through his pockets to take out a cheap neon green lighter. He fiddled with the switch on the side. “Thought I’d best get out before I make a decision I regret.”
Remus was surprised. They hardly ever spoke about Darren’s family. He liked to keep his social life and family life separate. It took Remus three years of friendship before he even mentioned he had a younger sister. Most of the time, he’d just downplay it and say, “It’s nothing to concern yourself with, Lupin, me old pal.”
“How come you didn’t go to that bird of yours?”
Darren looked at him for a bit. Confused, he said,
“Who, Ruby? She’s not my girl.”
Remus snorted harshly through his nose.
Only the girl you like to snog the face off every once in a while, he thought.
“Wot?” his friend asked, his head turning. “She’s not!”
Shaking his head, Remus said, “Of course she’s not.”
“I’m not grasping.”
“That’s a big word for you, Dezza,” Remus said, rolling up his sleeves. “And anyway, you don’t need to.”
He scrunched up his plastic bag of weed and stuffed it in his pocket. Taking the joint from his friend’s lips, he said, “Right, I best be off.”
Darren’s eyebrows furrowed. “But I just got here!”
Remus just shrugged his shoulders again. “Sorry, mate. It’s late. You could come back to mine if you want.”
His friend shook his head and stood up, brushing off his trousers in the process.
“No really, it’s so late Nan won’t even notice you’re there.”
Darren placed a hand on his shoulder and made direct eye contact.
“Remus, I’ll be fine.”
Nodding back, Remus cupped his friend’s hand into a handshake hug.
“Well, if you’re sure?” Remus said, still offering.
“I’m sure. And besides, I can’t cope with being woken up by your stupid fucking alarms.”
He grinned. “See you, mate.”
Remus knew all the doors that creaked, all the steps to avoid, even the drawers that might make the slightest sound. It was like a routine whenever he was out late: sneak in and pretend he’d never left.
What he wasn’t prepared for was the living room light turning on just as he was halfway up the stairs.
Curious, he crept back down to investigate.
What he was met with was his nearly sixty-year-old Nan in the kitchen. Shrinking into himself, he felt her glares digging into him.
“Your alarm went off half an hour ago,” she started. “Were you aware of that?” she asked, her tone sharp.
Remus did know about this. At age five, he was diagnosed with type one diabetes. Having this illness meant he was attached to a device that alerted both him and his Nan when his blood sugar levels didn’t meet standards, which normally wasn’t his fault. But in this instance…
“Your BG was at 16 and I was waiting for you to correct it,” she continued, her eyes getting more and more furious as she kept going. “When it started climbing even higher, I thought you might’ve slept through your alarm.”
Oh shit, Remus thought.
“Tell me why, when I went to look in your room, you weren’t there.”
He’d been caught. Now, he thought to himself, he could either come up with a shitty lie or tell the truth.
But as he opened his mouth, his Dexcom alarm interrupted. He looked at his phone, which was flashing with alerts.
His Nan gave him the most terrifying look you could ever get from a woman barely over five foot.
“Go on, then,” she said. “Sort that first.”
As he was injecting the insulin into his stomach, he thought about how easily he would’ve gotten away with this if he didn’t have this stupid Dexcom app. Or even more so, if he didn’t have fucking diabetes.
His Nan handed him a glass of water, and he gulped it down immediately, not realising how thirsty he was.
“Listen, love,” she said, stroking his arm. “I know you’re a teenager and you want to do all these rebellious things.”
Remus set the glass down on the counter.
“But you have to prioritise your health,” she said.
He inwardly groaned.
“I know it’s annoying, and you’re tired of hearing this crap. But you went out without your bag, and you know how serious that is. What if you fainted? Or had a seizure?”
“But I didn’t,” Remus argued.
“Dumb luck,” she added. “It’s a stupid thing to do , you and I both know that.”
The annoying thing was, Remus knew she was right.
To be fair to himself, he hardly ever left the house without his stuff. But today, he wanted to prove to himself that he didn’t need it , and that if worse came to worst, he’d be fine.
Evidently, he was wrong.
“Pet,” his Nan said, grabbing his chin and looking into his eyes. “I was gonna save this for the morning, but I reckon you might want it now.”
She walked over to a letter stuck to the fridge and handed it over to him.
“You don’t need to make any decisions yet, but think rationally about this , please. That’s if it’s good news, anyway.”
She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek.
“Goodnight, love.”
Remus looked up apologetically.
“Goodnight, Nan.”
He watched her walk up the stairs before looking back down at the letter.
In the centre, it read:
“Mr Remus J. Lupin”
As he flipped it over, he saw a fancy-looking crest on the back with the words:
‘Hogwarts Preparatory School’
“What the fuck,” he said aloud, opening the letter and reading.
Dear Mr Lupin,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts Preparatory with a full scholarship.
Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1st.
We await your confirmation letter no later than July 31st.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
What. The. Fuck.