Chapter Text
A shock of sound made Remus jolt awake. His shoulders tensed toward his ears automatically, but no other deafening crack came. For a moment, all he could hear was the rustling of greenery in the summer wind. Then, he heard cracking twigs and shifting grass; someone was approaching their house. Remus stood from his bed slowly, tossing his ratty blanket to the side. It didn’t do much to stave off the unrelenting cold anyway.
His legs were unsteady beneath him, from both the temperature and nerves. That sound usually meant Lyall was home from work, but it was the man’s day off. Remus could still hear his father snoring upstairs, his smoke rattled lungs wheezing with every breath. So someone else was outside. Someone new. No one ever visited their house.
Remus stood on the tips of his toes to peer over the edge of the window. It was level with the ground outside, so his view was blocked by grass and weeds. The dirt and dust covering the glass did not help either. But, with the help of his other senses, Remus was able to make out a lone figure outside.
A man stood just beyond the fence that lined their property. His gaze moved serenely around their home, taking in the towering trees and tall grass. The garden was full of native wildflowers and lush rose bushes, and the house had been repainted recently so everything was bright and full. Hope liked to keep up the exterior of the house in her free time with the aim that a cheery outside would lead to a joyful inside. So far, her plan had not worked.
Lyall only tolerated this because it helped keep up the idea that they were a happy family. He allowed her to spend their limited funds on gardening supplies and paint buckets so that anyone who passed would see a picture-perfect little family living happily in the deep country of Wales. Presumably, this was what the strange man was seeing. He had a small grin on his face, displaying deep smile lines that cut through his face like ravines.
The man was obviously very tall, but he was obscured by a long, blue robe from the neck down, so Remus couldn’t discern much about his figure beyond that. Dress shoes peaked out from under the robe, looking like they had just been taken out of the box; they were as dark as the night sky but glimmered in the sunlight. It had rained just yesterday, so the man’s feet sank a bit into the mud. He didn’t seem to mind.
The most notable thing about the man, however, was his hair. It fell down his back and across his shoulders from underneath his pointy hat in a waterfall of brown and gray. Little beads and charms hung from a few strands, each shining brightly as they caught the light. His beard was just as long and decorated, but it was more white than brown. It was also tied together with a little blue cord at his clavicle and had little braids running through it.
The world shook when Lyall woke up. “Who the fuck…” he muttered to himself. He was out of bed in a moment, the floor creaking with his heavy footsteps. He stormed out of his room, the door slamming against the wall, and yelled at Hope for not waking him up earlier. Remus knew he would have been in a worse mood if Hope had shaken him awake at nine that morning, but Lyall usually wasn’t logical when he got angry.
Remus could hear his father’s hands drag through his hair, as if to tame his bed head, and then the front door was swinging open. “Albus!” Lyall exclaimed. He was using a much different tone than before, one fit for public consumption. “What a surprise.” The walls shuddered when he slammed the door behind him.
“Mr. Lupin, I was sure you knew I was coming. Professor McGonagall sent many letters for you and your son to read.” The man sounded as old as he looked, his voice creaky like the floors of their house.
“They must have gotten lost! We didn’t receive anything.” Lyall was lying.
Over the past three days, they had received upwards of ten letters from a mysterious sender. Remus had found the first one himself, sticking out starkly from a rosebush. The white envelope contrasted the muted greens and reds of the roses, so it was quite hard not to notice. His name had been printed on the front in ruby red lettering that looped and twirled on the paper. Never once had he received something addressed to him, so he decided to open it. It was his after all. He should have known better.
The seal had only been partly torn when Lyall had burst through their front door. His father had slapped the letter out of his hands and stomped on it with his dirty shoes, mud obscuring Remus’ name on the front. “Do not touch things that are not yours,” he had said, picking up the letter to throw in the bin. Remus didn’t often argue with Lyall but he felt the urge to at that moment. Indignance rose in him like a volcanic eruption, and he almost spoke.
He raised his hand, a stuttering “B-b-bu--” leaving him before he could stop himself.
Lyall had glared at him, cutting him off, “And don’t talk back to me.”
And that was that. Lyall went back inside and shoved the letter into their fireplace. Remus watched it burn through the open front door.
The letters kept coming, though. Each was a near copy of the last, but Remus was only able to catch a glimpse of them before they were torn up or burned or tossed. After the tenth one arrived, Lyall had decided it would be best if Remus stayed in his room. The boy was still nursing splinters and bruises from being knocked down the stairs into the basement. He could clearly recall the sound the iron lock made when it clicked shut behind him, mocking him as he stared up at it.
Lyall never bothered with food while Remus was in his room, so Hope was in charge of keeping him alive. She sent down scraps when she remembered to, but she was spacey and often forgot about her son rotting away below her.
Thinking about all of that made Remus lose track of the conversation upstairs, and he only tuned back in when he was mentioned. The man, Albus, said, “Remus is of age. Our records are never wrong.” He sounded firm, but not unkind. “It is time for him to go to school.”
Lyall sighed heavily. “He’s never left our house, let alone Wales. He can’t go to Hogwarts; it’s too dangerous.”
“Now, I understand why you would be protective of him, my friend, but we are well aware of his… situation.” Lyall cleared his throat as if to speak, but Albus cut him off. “My Deputy Headmistress and I are the only ones that know, as of now. Once Remus comes to school, our Healer will be made aware, but that is all.”
“How did you find out? Even the Ministry doesn’t know. They think he’s dead.” Lyall sounded breathless; taken aback in a way he hadn’t been since the wolf came and turned Remus into a monster all those years ago.
“You know as well as I do that the Ministry has no idea what they are doing. Especially now, with all that is going on.”
“I’m afraid I’m not exactly up with the times, Albus. So, no, I wouldn’t know. And don’t speak so flippantly about my former employers. I was one of them, you know.” Lyall sounded more bitter than usual, and Remus knew that his father’s distaste was directed at him. Supposedly, Remus had ruined his father’s life, taking away every opportunity Lyall had carved for himself in the cruel world in one night.
“Of course, Lyall. I am sorry. Though, I would advise that you read the paper at some point. Something other than the Daily Prophet, of course.” There was contempt in the man’s tone, now. He obviously had some strong opinions about Lyall’s source of news.
“This is nice and all, catching up, but I have work to do. Remus won’t be going to Hogwarts, and that is final.” Lyall didn’t bother to hide the malice in his tone anymore.
Hope, who had been lurking on the other side of the door, moved to open it. The slow, dying creak the door made as it opened halted the conversation before it could go any further. “Lyall, dear,” she said, seeming to ready herself. “Why don’t we consider it?” Her voice was steady, but Remus could smell how scared she was.
“Oh? And why would we do that?” Lyall asked, his voice dangerous. “It would be too dangerous, you know that.” He stepped closer to her, turning fully away from the guest in their garden. Albus hadn’t even entered the front gate, Remus noticed.
With Lyall closer to her, Hope dropped her voice to a whisper. “It would get him away from here,” she said. “We wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore. For all but one or two months, someone else would take care of his… problem.” There it was. Of course, she wanted the burden of his care off of her shoulders. Dealing with him after full moons was something she was constantly dreading, Remus knew. He was just too much for her to deal with.
“It would endanger the other students,” Lyall hissed. “We can’t risk drawing attention to ourselves because of him. If the Ministry found out that we've been hiding him for so long, we would get into serious trouble. I would have my wand snapped, and you would be Obliviated.”
Hope’s skirt rustled as she shuffled her feet. “Albus seems sure that he can handle it. He wouldn’t offer to take the boy if he didn’t think it would be safe. Besides,” she snapped, “He would get in trouble, too, if people found out that he let a werewolf into Hogwarts.” She said werewolf like it was a dirty word.
Remus felt sick from his mother’s distaste, but leaned up to hear his father’s verdict.
Lyall thought for a moment, weighing his options. “Right… you’re right. That’s a good point.” He raised a voice for Albus to hear, “You’re sure you want him?” No longer did he play the part of a concerned father.
“Quite,” his voice was as poisonous as Lyall’s. “Are we settled, then? Remus is coming to Hogwarts?”
“Yes,” Lyall decided, “yes, I think we are”.
“Good. Have Remus at the platform with his things no later than eleven in the morning on September first. Professor McGonagall will send you a list of the supplies he will need for the school year.” Albus paused for a moment. “I hope you’re doing well, Lyall,” he said, sounding quite sad.
“I don’t need your pleasantries,” Lyall spat. “You’ve delivered your message; you can leave now.”
Albus sighed, then a crack split the air once more and he vanished in a whirl of blue fabric. Lyall stormed back inside the house, dragging Hope along by the arm. Remus heard a slap. “Never disrespect me like that in front of someone again.” Then he was gone. He would hide in the office for the rest of the day and channel his frustration through cigarettes and alcohol.
Hope went back into the kitchen and finished preparing lunch, the stench of sadness and pain following her.
Remus unstuck his limbs from the position they had been holding, sighing as he fell back on his heels. He had been so focused on the conversation that he hadn’t noticed the pain in his legs. He went to sit down on his bed, drawing his blanket over his shoulders. From above, he could smell the smoke of Lyall’s freshly lit cigarette.
The smell wasn’t as horrible as it usually was, though. Remus was too elated to even notice it at first. He buried his face in his blanket and curled his knees against his chest. His excitement threatened to overflow, and he found himself rocking back and forth with barely contained energy. The stairs creaked as they were disturbed by a wave of accidental magic, but nothing broke. Trying to reign himself back in, Remus bit the inside of his cheek a few times and clenched his eyes shut tightly.
He was going to Hogwarts. He was going to school. Come September, he would leave this house, his mother and father, behind for months at a time. He would meet people like him-- people who exploded things when they got excited or angry-- people who had magic.
Lord, he was going to learn magic. He wouldn’t have any more outbursts because he would know how to control his magic and himself. Maybe-- maybe he could even find a cure. He would scour the books at this school, at Hogwarts, and he would find a solution to the thing that made his parents hate him. He would read and read until he found something-- anything-- that would take the monster away.
As his excitement grew, the single lightbulb in his room exploded. Glass rained down, hitting the stone floor with little tink tink tink’s. Remus couldn’t bring himself to care about the mess he had just made. He would worry about that later. For now, he could let himself drift on his wave of euphoria.