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Saturday 6th of March 6th, 1971
“So, do you remember what we said about boggarts?”
“The boggart is a shape-shifting creature that assumes the form of whatever frightens us the most, and it lives in confined spaces, like cupboards. To defeat it, we have to think of a funny form and then use a spell to make it assume that form, because if we’re able to laugh out loud, it’ll disappear.”
“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” said his father with a warm smile.
In other circumstances the praise would have made Remus beam with pride, but not this time. He swallowed and lowered his gaze, pretending to focus on the book pages.
“Hey.”
Remus kept his eyes down, but from Dad’s concerned tone he could tell he hadn’t fooled him.
“You can talk to me about everything, you know that, right?”
Nodding curtly, Remus turned the page and moved his gaze along the lines without actually reading.
His ruse went on for several pages before his dad drew a heavy sigh.
“Son,” he said softly. “Is everything okay?”
Remus raised his head, meeting his dad’s worried expression, and lightly shook his head. He swallowed, gathering up the courage to bring up the topic he had dwelled on for days. “What’s the thing that scares you the most?”
Dad closed his eyes and pinched his nose, taking a deep breath. “That something bad will happen to you or your mum.”
Something as bad as your son being bitten by a werewolf, thought Remus with a pang of guilt.
“And... that it’ll happen because of me.”
Not knowing what to say, Remus let silence fall, his gaze low.
It was Dad to break it, clearing his throat. “What about you? Do you know what’s your worst fear?”
Remus nodded, but stayed quiet for a bit. Even the mere thought made his heart clench, so he wasn’t sure he could admit it out loud.
“You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”
For a fleeting moment, Remus was tempted to take the offer, but then Dad squeezed his arm reassuringly, and Remus couldn’t hold back anymore.
“To never have friends,” he murmured. “But... I don’t know how to make it funny.”
Dad pushed Remus’s chin up with a finger and locked their gazes. “One day we’ll find a place where we can settle for a long time, and then I’m sure you’ll find amazing friends.” His tone was soothing, but his eyes were sad, and Remus could tell Dad didn’t truly believe that day would ever come. “Now, do you remember the incantation to change the boggart’s shape?”
“Riddikulus?”
“Excellent,” praised his dad, but Remus still couldn’t rejoice.
“When will I be able to try it? When can I cast some real spells?”
Dad looked wary. “It’s still early.”
“But… it’s my eleventh birthday in four days. And I know that I can’t go to Hogwarts, but I’ll need a wand even if I’ll study at home, and I was hoping…”
He trailed off, uncertain, but Dad gave him a nod, inviting him to continue, so Remus cleared his throat, hoping to sound casual and unaffected.
“I was hoping I could ask for one as a birthday present.”
“Remus…” Dad took a deep breath. “You know that children are not allowed to do magic outside Hogwarts.”
Of course Remus knew that, but there was something else he yearned to understand. He twisted his fingers together, so hard that it almost hurt. “What about kids that don’t go to Hogwarts?”
“Well, their parents have to ask for official permission...”
“You can ask, then!” exclaimed Remus with renewed enthusiasm.
Dad’s expression remained grim, though, and Remus’s stomach plummeted. “But it would put us on the Ministry radar, and we can’t risk that.” He swallowed. “What’s the next topic?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady and his eyes dry.
Only a couple of hours had passed when a cheerful, unexpected jingle diverted their attention from poltergeists.
Dad stood up and threw him a wary glance before walking towards the door. Remus hadn’t missed Dad’s worry, so he followed him with quiet steps, lurking beside the cupboard in the hallway to peer.
“It’s got to be a wizard,” whispered Mum, an eye glued to the peephole. “He’s wearing purple robes.”
She moved aside to give Dad space, and he peered through the spyhole as well.
“Dumbledore!” he exclaimed, aghast, and Remus’s heart thundered in his chest.
“In the flesh,” said an amused voice from behind the door. “I hoped we could have a chat.”
“About what?” asked Dad sharply, a trace of fear in his voice. He clenched a hand around his wand, and Remus held his breath. “What do you want with me?”
“Oh, I am afraid I have been misunderstood. I do not want anything from you. It is your son I’m here for,” said Dumbledore genially, as though this was a normal house call. Remus couldn’t believe his ears. “Now, would you be so kind to let me in, so we could talk? Your door looks lovely, but it is rather cold, out here.”
“Why do you want to talk with Remus?” asked Mum, inquisitive.
“I believe it is time to discuss his future education, Mrs Lupin. I would never want Remus to believe that being a werewolf precludes him the opportunity to be educated as any other wizard of his age.”
His parents shared a terrified look, but an unjustified, irrational excitement swept through Remus.
“Yes, I know he is a werewolf,” said Dumbledore with the tone of someone discussing trivial gossip. “I have known it for quite some time, actually, and if it had ever been my intention to report him, I would have seen to it years ago. Now that I think of it, if I were not here driven by the best of intentions, I would have already torn the door off its hinges, so why not step aside and invite me in?”
When his parents shared another doubtful glance, Remus almost left his hiding spot to beg them to let Dumbledore in, but it turned out there was no need. His father finally opened the door, welcoming the most famous living wizard into their house.
Dumbledore was a tall man with long white hair and a matching beard, which seemed even brighter in contrast with the deep purple of his cloak. He had a kind smile and piercing blue eyes behind a pair of half-moon spectacles, and Remus felt oddly drawn towards him. He kept staring at Dumbledore from his hiding spot while the Headmaster’s gaze wandered around, and suddenly they were looking right into each other’s eyes.
Remus jerked back, his heart hammering faster than ever.
“Hello, Remus,” said Dumbledore with amusement.
Caught in the act, Remus had no choice but to come forward, ignoring his parents’ surprised expressions. “Hello,” he mumbled.
“It is a pleasure to finally meet you.” The Headmaster’s tone was amiable, and his smile warm. “Would you be so kind as to show me to your sitting room, Remus? I’d be delighted to offer one of my sherbet lemons in exchange,” he added with a wink, taking a sweet from his pocket and extending it to him.
In the living room, Dad lit a fire in the hearth with a wave of his wand, but Dumbledore’s gaze was fixed on a tiny box laid on the coffee table before the couches, a glint in his eyes.
“I have not played Gobstones in such a long time that I am afraid I have forgotten how to do it.”
Remus glanced at him, twisting his hands in his lap. “I could teach you, if you want...” he offered.
“That would be very kind of you.”
The old wizard sat on the floor with remarkable agility, and Remus openly stared at him.
“I believe it would be wise to start from the basic rules, my dear Remus,” said Dumbledore, crossing his leg beneath his purple robes. “I am all ears.”
When Remus had crushed Dumbledore twice and his mum’s tasty crumpets had been eaten, Dad finally dared to ask why the Headmaster had come visiting.
“I heard what happened to your son,” he said gravely.
“How?” asked Dad, a worried urgency in his voice. “We’ve been very careful. What gave us away?”
“Nothing has, Mr Lupin. I just happen to have ears within the werewolves.”
Then, to Remus’s surprise, Dumbledore turned toward him, looking right into his eyes. “It must be terribly hard for such a young boy to live with this condition.”
Remus tried to say something, but a lump in his throat had rendered him speechless, so he nodded, swallowing hard.
“I can not begin to imagine how difficult it must be not to engage with other children for that many years, and I think it is time to change that. I do not see any reasons to keep a mature, clever wizard like yourself from attending my school.”
Remus gaped at him, not daring to believe what he had just heard. “You mean… Hogwarts?”
“Yes, if my memory does not betray me that is exactly its name,” said Dumbledore with an amused wink.
“But, Professor, how could it be safe?” asked Mum, one hand squeezing Dad’s, the other clenching the arm of the couch.
“As it happens, my brother owns an old shack that nobody is willing to acquire. It is in Hogwarts, and with the appropriate spells it will serve as a safe place for Remus to transform. I will personally create a tunnel to connect it with the Hogwarts grounds; it will be the only way in, and our Herbology teacher will plant a Whomping Willow to protect the entrance.”
“A Whomping Willow?” asked Dad, perplexed.
“An incredibly powerful and rare tree, armed with animated branches that repel whoever gets too close, unless they press a certain knot in the trunk.”
Dumbledore made it all sound so easy, so manageable , but after more than five years spent moving from village to town as soon as someone commented on his peaky skin, Remus was reticent to believe that his greatest dream could become real. It sounded too good to be true.
“If that tree is this rare, how could you find one?”
“Oh, do not worry about that. A herbologist friend of mine owes me a favour.”
Remus was relieved, but he still couldn’t help thinking that Dumbledore must have missed something. His father probably thought the same, because he sent him a wary glance.
“Professor, Remus is getting stronger every year. Are you sure a tree will be enough to contain a grown werewolf?”
Remus jerked his head toward Dumbledore, his insides squirming with horror at the idea that he might break free, but the Headmaster smiled gently. “It most certainly will. Nonetheless, the tree won’t be the only measure we will adopt to keep the wolf inside. I assure you that only someone endowed with human intellect would be able to get out, but I daresay that no one gifted with that kind of intelligence would be so unwise to be present during the full moon,” said Dumbledore, an amused glint in his piercing eyes.
All those informations were reassuring, but there was another question that needed to be asked, a question that had lurked in the back of Remus’s mind since the moment he had been offered to go to Hogwarts.
“Professor… would I have to tell everybody what I am?”
“No!” exclaimed his mum, straightening up. “No, Professor, I won’t allow any –”
When Dumbledore raised a hand, she fell silent.
“The teaching staff will be informed, and any objections will be dealt with by myself. Other than that, the choice is yours, though given the unfortunate prejudices against werewolves, I believe Remus would have a more enjoyable time if his condition isn’t disclosed.”
An aching surge of relief washed over Remus, and when Dumbledore asked him what he thought about it, he needed a long moment to answer.
“Everybody thinks that werewolves want to hurt people,” he murmured. “That they’re evil. I don’t want my classmates to think that of me. I… I’d really like to have some friends.”
Wednesday 10th of March 6th, 1971
It was Mum’s voice that woke him from a restless sleep.
“Happy birthday, honey,” she said with affection, squeezing him in her arms and swinging him softly.
Remus hugged her back, and when he let go Mum cupped his face and gave him a peck on the forehead.
Dad got close and clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “Happy birthday, sleepy boy. Now get up,” he added, poking his belly. “We have something very important to do.”
His parents were beaming, and Remus’s eyes flickered between them with trepidation. “What?”
“Well, a little bird told me that an eleven year old of my acquaintance would like a wand for his birthday…” said Mum, a huge grin on her face.
Remus gaped at them. “We’re going to buy a wand?”
When his parents nodded with excitement, words got stuck in Remus’s throat. He hugged them tight, and only as they walked toward the kitchen did he realise something was amiss.
“Why aren’t you at work, Dad?”
“Well, since the next transformation will be on Friday night, I won’t have to ask for leave the day after, so I thought I’d just take today instead.”
Remus looked at him with awe, thinking that Dad couldn’t have gotten him a better present.
“Good morning,” said a soft voice. Remus jerked his head from the thousand of narrow boxes neatly piled up to the ceiling. An old man was standing before him, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.
“Pear, unicorn hair, eleven inches, springy,” he said, nodding at Dad. “I presume your wand still looks like new, Mr Lupin.”
Dad smiled. “It does.”
“Yes, yes, pear wood is well known among wandmakers for this remarkable characteristic,” said Mr Ollivander, nodding. He then turned towards Remus, his misty eyes roaming over his features without a blink. There was something slightly unnerving in his piercing, silvery gaze.
“What is your name, young boy?”
“Remus Lupin, sir.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Lupin. Now tell me,” – he pulled a long tape measure out of his pocket – “which is your wand arm?”
“I’m right-handed, sir.”
“Hold it out and stay still, then.”
After lifting his right arm, Remus didn’t move a muscle. Mr Ollivander told him about wand cores while he measured him from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and around his head.
Eventually, the wandmaker let the tape work on its own and began flitting around the shelves, pulling down boxes.
“That will do,” he said when he had picked up a wand. The tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor, and Remus felt a thrill of excitement.
“Try this one, Mr Lupin. Eleven inches and half, beech wood and unicorn hair; it’s rather bendy. The perfect match for a wizard wise beyond his years. Just wave it.”
Remus did, but nothing happened.
“No, no, no,” said Mr Ollivander, snatching it from his hand and picking up another box. “Try this other one: phoenix feather with cedar wood, twelve inches and a quarter, very flexible. The perfect match for an uncommonly loyal and perceptive wizard.”
He offered him the wand, and Remus took it, but yet again nothing happened.
A distressing thought started growing in Remus’s mind: what if wands didn’t like werewolves, and no one was ever going to work for him? Would he still be admitted to Hogwarts? And even if werewolves could use it, would Mr Ollivander find the right one, since he was missing that fundamental piece of information?
When the old wizard gave him another wand, Remus cast away those unwelcome thoughts. “Let’s try with dragon heartstring, eleven inches, swishy, rowan. A wand wood for the pure-hearted, known for its strong protection spells.”
Remus swung it more forcefully, clenching his jaw in the effort to focus, once more to no avail.
He felt a pang of aching concern, but Mr Ollivander didn’t falter. If anything, he looked even more excited.
“Don’t trouble yourself, Mr Lupin,” he said, rummaging through the shelves. “It happens all the time. We’ll find the wand that favours you, I can assure you.”
He pulled out several boxes only to hastily put them back, until he finally took one in both hands, humming with intrigue. “I wonder… Cypress, unicorn hair, ten inches and a quarter, pliable.”
When Remus took it, a sudden, pleasant warm spread through his right hand.
Awed, he swished the wand through the air, and a stream of gold and red sparks shot out from the tip.
In the corner of the shop, his mum let out a stunned gasp, and his father cheered.
“Oh, bravo! Very good, very good indeed!” said Mr Ollivander with delight, while Mum reached Remus and squeezed his shoulder with pride. “It’s a great honor for me to sell this particular wand.”
“An honour?” asked Mum, a hint of curiosity in her voice. She probably thought she was missing something because she was a Muggle, but Remus had no idea what it meant either, and if Dad’s expression was of any indication, he didn’t know as well.
“You see, this wood is associated with nobility of spirit,” explained Mr Ollivander. “My ancestor, the great wandmaker Geraint Ollivander, believed that wizards and witches matched with a cypress wand would die a heroic death.”
Mum gulped, cupping her mouth with a hand.
“There’s nothing to worry about, Mrs Lupin. Fortunately, in these less bloodthirsty times, the possessors of cypress wands are rarely called upon to sacrifice their lives, though doubtless many of them would do so if required. Wands of cypress find their soulmates among the brave, the bold and the selfless, those who are unafraid to confront the shadows in their own and others’ natures. And that is why it is an honour to meet a wizard worthy of it, and why it should be a honour for that wizard to have it.”
“It is, sir,” Remus assured him, touched.
Deep down, he knew that if he were to find true friends at Hogwarts, he would be ready to sacrifice everything to save them.