Chapter Text
22 December 1977 - North Wales: Beddgelert
'I got a whole trunk full of fireworks lads - even managed to sneak in two of those dragon fire ones.'
'Aren't they banned in seven countries?'
'Eight,’ James corrected with a gleam in his eyes. ‘And yes, dear Wormtail - those very ones.’
Remus Lupin dragged his school trunk over the icy cobblestones. The sound of the wriggling wheels echoed through the town square. Wrapping his Gryffindor scarf once more around, he sniffed back a prickling cold from his nose that had edged on a sneeze since he got off the town train. He had to consciously stop the thought of the warm Hogwarts train compartment from his thoughts - wishing wasn’t going to make him any warmer.
Remus being the only brave fool to walk through this cold – the town remained devoid of anyone other than the occasional dweller walking from one doorway to the other. Remus peered through shop and pub windows, taking in the soft glow of merriments pouring from inside. Windows were frosted with festive greetings in Welsh, thick garlands with plump red bows were strung up over the dark stone walls, lit-up trees twinkled at each other from across the street. This was certainly all very pretty and charming, but Remus could not help comparing it all to Hogwarts. Wonderful, warm Hogwarts. Although, how can one weigh the two without being biased, after all, Hogwarts had magic – this town had…
Mam and dad.
Remus thought of his mother anticipating his arrival, cooking and baking all day – his father decorating the house with as much Christmas magic as he could muster. The thought left a bitter residue of guilt and Remus tried to swallow past it.
His thoughts were interrupted by a door suddenly bursting open in front of him, almost toppling Remus over onto his backside. A group of rosy-cheeked friends stumbled out of the pub, laughing blissfully with their arms draped over one another, neither really helping each other in walking straight. Remus hastily kicked his trunk to activate his father’s concealment charm and the Hogwarts emblem flipped over, just as the group stumbled past him. Though Remus figured, they were probably too sloshed to even take note.
The taller of the friends began to belt out a song, and although the tune sounded familiar to Remus, he suspected the bloke had completely forgotten the words and was adlibbing with the national anthem.
'You call that singing? You’re as subtle as a fart in chapel, you twpsyn!' The other friend snickered.
The group of them began to roar with laughter and joined in the chorus. Remus glanced over his shoulder and watched them hobble on the cobbled stones in their drunken state. This truly did little to cheer him up, as all he thought of now were his own friends. Remus tugged his trunk over a stubborn pebble and continued his way home.
It was when the singing behind him had dissipated and the buildings around him had become further apart, that he began feeling the wind pick up from the mountains. Remus looked up and paused mid-step. In front of him was a stone structure with walls low enough to peer over – the memorial was built to commemorate where Gelert had died valiantly. Remus had always hated walking past it, the statue always made him feel watched.
Shaking his head, he reminded himself that he was almost 17 now, he gripped his trunk’s handle a little tighter and continued to walk. Drawing closer he began to see the arched opening between the walls – slowly the blackened statue of Gelert the greyhound appeared. The hound who had died a hero, protector of children, the symbolism of loyalty – wolf slayer. Downcasting his eyes, away from the cold watchful hound, Remus tucked himself deeper into his scarf.
Just a statue, just a statue, just a statue
His breath was hot as he mouthed the words under his scarf. Remus quickened his pace away from the memorial site, and with a soft thud tugged his trunk onto the dirt path that led home. Now in the open field, the wind bit at every angle – Remus blinked away stinging tears and hunched over to protect himself as best he could.
It wasn’t long until their little home began to appear in the distance. Nestled between the foot of the valleys, surrounded by frosted thickets and a tree that canopied behind it – sat their white stone cottage. Smoke billowed from the chimney and Remus grinned behind his scarf.
Approaching closer to the wooden fence, he made sure to stick to the path to avoid his father’s charms - including the everlasting stinging nettles. Remus had barely unlatched the gate when he heard the front door open. Looking up, he pulled his scarf down to smile.
‘Hi, mam.’
His mother beamed at him with her arms stretched out as wide as she could. ‘My boy is home.’
Hope wrapped her arms tightly around her son, comfort radiated from his mother, and he began feeling warmth tingle back into his cold limbs. While still holding his arms, she pulled him away and looked up at him, her warm eyes creasing in the corners.
‘Grown again, isn’t it?’ She smiled and then shook her head. ‘What are they feeding you at that school?’
Remus shrugged sheepishly and grinned down at her, having missed the effortlessly melodic way his mother spoke.
Hope ushered him inside. ‘There we are then,’ She closed the door behind them. ‘I’m sure you are cold to the bone Remus, should I make us some tea?’
Remus unwrapped his scarf and felt the pleasant prickling of warmth on his cold cheeks. ‘Yeah, that would be brilliant, mam,’ He began unbuttoning his coat when he looked up and saw his mother still gazing at him - her one hand on hip, the other over her heart.
‘Mam, you’re looking at me like I’ve come back from the war,’ Remus groaned.
Laughing, her nose scrunching up as it always did, Hope walked down the entrance hall to where their kitchen was. ‘Can a mother not admire her son?’
Shaking his head incredulously as he hung up his coat, he noticed the empty peg besides his. ‘Is dad not home?’
‘The Ministry needed him urgently in London – one of the biggest poltergeist infestations they’ve ever seen in the toy store,’ His mother called out to him.
Remus threw his gloves on the small entrance table and walked towards the kitchen. The smell of buttery sweetness drifted to him, mixed in with sounds of stewing pots and his mother’s crackling radio. Leaning against the doorframe, he suddenly felt as if he had never even left.
‘They think the children’s excitement over Christmas, bless them, is what tempted the rascals,’ She placed the teapot onto the kitchen table. ‘Been at it for a week, your father has.’
Rubbing the back of his neck, Remus looked beside him on the doorframe he was leaning against and read over the pencil markings his mother had done to track his growth. ‘Bet there will be lots of memories to wipe,’ He dragged his finger over last year’s height and measured it against his shoulder.
‘And during this season, they have to be quick about it,’ Hope walked over to the stove and carried a tray of still steaming bakestones. Remus’ stomach growled and he made his way towards their small table.
‘I hope dad will be back by Christmas?’ He asked, pulling his chair in.
His mother was fiddling with the radio dial by the windowsill, switching through the stations. ‘Ah, there we are.’ The sound of jazz instruments and singers swooned through the speaker. ‘He’ll be back before the moon, Remus.’
Remus traced his finger over the floral pattern on the tablecloth. ‘I didn’t mean if he would be back by the moon, mam, I can manage it myself now.’
‘We know you can, but your father likes to be here with you, my boy,’ Hope squeezed his shoulder gently and sat down across from him where she poured them each some tea and stirred in milk.
Remus could feel his mother’s gaze so he busied himself by placing two sugar dusted bakestones onto her plate and his. She passed his cup of tea to him and adjusted herself on her seat. ‘Now, tell me about school - you lads behaving? Not going into that dangerous forest over there, are you?’ She raised her dark eyebrows suspiciously but smiled at him.
Remus shook his head and tried to mask his grin by sipping his tea. ‘Nah, we don’t go in there – forbidden and all,’ He took a large bite of the Welsh cake – the stewed raisins burst in his mouth and blended into the warm buttery dough. If it weren’t for the instant satisfaction a warm cup of tea and his favourite baked goods bought, especially after a walk in the cold, then he would have surely noticed the inkling of guilt for lying to his mother.
The radio host’s muffled voice introduced the next song by Louis Prima. A tinkling of piano keys began to drift out of the radio followed by the singer’s rich voice.
Remus’ stomach filled happily, the sound of jazz instruments and a stewing pot that promised a wonderful dinner later, floated together through their kitchen. Any mischief he had gotten into at Hogwarts wasn’t important right now, after all, it had mostly been Moony’s fault.
Yawning loudly, Remus lined empty ink bottles onto his desk that his father would refill directly from his office. He looked back inside his open school trunk and picked up his Transfiguration textbook next. As he paged through the chapter McGonagall had set as holiday homework, a piece of loose parchment slipped out and fluttered onto the floor. Curiously, Remus picked it up and turned it over – he grinned, recognising the scratchy handwriting immediately.
Seeing as I’ll be setting another win for Gryffindor tomorrow – how about a little grocery shopping tonight?
Bit premature, Prongs. Who said Gryffindor is going to win?
Your mother last night, Padfoot.
You can have her, mate. As for me, reckon McGonagall will show me how to transfigure my hair into red and gold? – Moony, you joining me?
Remus snorted, slipping the parchment back into his textbook. McGonagall had refused to show Sirius the spell to transfigure his hair, and in true Sirius Black fashion, had taken it as an extra homework challenge. On the other hand, James and the team had indeed won the match and the Gryffindor common room had held one of the best celebrations to date – not even Sirius’ hair, that occasionally released a pungent red smoke, dampened their mood.
Reminiscing on the memory of the party, he smiled as he rolled up an old pair of his father’s Ministry socks. Tossing them into his open drawer, Remus peered between the bars on his window to look outside. The last bits of sunlight clung to the tips of scraggly tree branches before they disappeared behind the valleys. Stepping closer he looked down into their garden and watched as a rabbit scurried into the thickets. The height had always made him feel safe in his bedroom at night - that, and the metal bars.
They weren’t there when they had first moved into their new home in North of Wales. On their first night, Remus realised his bedroom window was big – too big. It was the right height and width for someone to come through. At the thought, he had begun to tremble in bed staring at the darkness behind the curtain, waiting for a hand to draw them apart, for snarling teeth to appear - to hear his name uttered by a stranger. The scar on his shoulder had ached with phantom pain that he didn’t understand. Remus hadn’t slept that night and the very next day he begged his father to put a charm on his window.
Don’t tell mam – do something muggles can’t see.
It was the first time his father had ever spoken to him sternly in that manner, as if he uttered a great pain.
Listen to me Remus, I will never use magic to hide something from your mother.
But, dad, it will upset her.
Let me worry about that.
Remus had never heard the conversation his parents had had, and to this day his mother never spoke about the bars - they might as well be invisible to her.
Leaning his forehead against the cold bars, Remus yawned loudly misting the window with his breath. The rabbit below paused and lifted itself on its hindlegs, sniffing at the air. Pressing himself even closer to look up at the sky, Remus saw the familiar shape of their barn owl in the pink wintry hue. His eyes quickly darted back downwards, but the rabbit had disappeared into the tall grass once more.
Hiding right under its nose? Remus smiled. Guess I’m doing the same with old Gelert here.
There was a loud bang downstairs followed by his mother shouting. ‘Ych-a-fi! Out, out!’
‘Mam? Everything okay?’ He said, pulling out his uniform from his trunk.
‘Your father’s owl,’ He heard his mother’s footsteps coming up the wooden stairs. ‘It flew into the kitchen again and stole a piece of lamb from the cawl. Left feathers everywhere,’ She tutted, appearing at his doorway reading a piece of parchment in her hands. ‘Oh good - they managed to drive the last of the poltergeists out, he writes… be here by Christmas Eve morning, send Remus my love. ’
Remus smiled, threading his pair of pants through a hanger.
Hope walked up to him and held out the trouser legs, measuring them side by side and frowning. ‘Remus, what happened over here? They’re different lengths.’
Hastily pulling them out of her hands he hung them up in his wardrobe. ‘There’s nothing wrong with them,’ Remus turned to hook his Hogwarts cloak up next and dared a glance at his mother, hands on her hips, eyebrows arched over her dark eyes.
‘Did you try and lengthen them yourself?’
Scratching his head, Remus gave a sheepish grin.
‘Remus,’ She sighed and smacked her hands to her side. ‘I asked you if you needed trousers during Easter – you told me you didn’t.’
‘And I didn’t – I can still wear them for another couple of months,’ Thanks to a nifty spell he found in a Hogwarts library book called Sewing, Without the Sewing. Yes, they had turned out a little lopsided but at least his socks weren’t showing anymore.
‘I’ll get you a new pair.’
‘I’m only in school for another couple of months – what’s the point?’ He shut his empty trunk sharply.
Hope crossed her arms in front of her. ‘What’s the point? You’ll be applying for that St. Mungos Training program, won’t you? You’ll need to look smart.’
Ignoring her, he crouched down and pushed his trunk under his bed.
He heard his mother walk back out of his room. ‘Why don’t you come with me to the Christmas market – I promised I’d bring Beca some cakes,’ She called out to him.
Baffled, Remus stood up. ‘It’s going to be dark soon - we’ll freeze.’
‘Freeze?’ Her laugh travelled up the stairs. ‘Are you not a Welshman, Remus?’