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Remus had been robbed of a normal adolescence when he was bitten by Fenrir Greyback at 5 years old.
Hogwarts went from being a topic of excitement to one of contention. His mother didn’t understand why he couldn’t still go, when he was only a werewolf for one night a month, and a perfectly normal wixen child through the rest of the cycle.
His father was sympathetic, but despite him doing observation on Remus since he was bitten, knowing that a werewolf contained and occupied for the full moon was perfectly safe. He knew that their exclusion from society was from nothing but fear of the unknown, of the few who used their curse as a weapon, yet, he wouldn’t stand up for the cause.
Some Gryffindor he was.
Remus’ mother had said it was only to protect him. To keep Remus safe from persecution.
Remus was just a kid.
The end of August was always hard for him. He consistently got stuck wondering what it must be like, to go to school. To have friends, and learn magic from someone who was passionate about teaching it. His father did his best in their short practical lessons on the weekends, but Layll still worked full time at the ministry. Most of the time Remus had to teach himself.
His mother was a brilliant muggle teacher, though. She had directed their lessons towards Remus majoring in English.
His creativity, and love of attempting to romanticise the world as he knew it, might have had something to do with what he was doing right now.
Before his parents had woken on September 1st, Remus had snuck out of the house and summoned the night bus. The night bus, at least, did not discriminate.
As dawn broke over London, Remus stepped foot on roads unknown for the first time. He was at Grand Central Station, and he was going to stow away to Hogwarts. He was going to be among the people who would have been his peers, and for just a moment, pretend that he was just the same as them.
He would worry about getting back home when he was in Hogsmeade.
He slipped through the gates unnoticed, and managed to find his way to platform 9, and 10.
He looked around the mostly empty platform, it was still remarkably empty as it was early in the day, and tried to find the pillar that would take him to platform 9 and ¾. It had to be the third of four pillars, right?
He checked his surroundings, before coming at the wall at a jog– bracing his arms in front of himself as he came closer, feeling the magic slide over him as he came through on the other side.
The train wasn’t there yet, but that was a good thing. Remus was going to slip onto the train when the platform was blurred from steam. For now, he just had to keep out of sight.
Perhaps all of his precautions were unnecessary, but he didn’t want to risk being caught out. He might not be able to go to Hogwarts, but no one was going to take this from him.
Once on the train, he closed the blinds of the compartment and sat in the spot closest to the door, so that people walking past couldn’t see him. He wondered if he should change into the robes he took down from the attic, and as people began to board the train, some in robes, he decided to slip his fathers on over his clothes to try to avoid any second looks.
He was fairly plain looking, he knew, so going about unnoticed usually wasn’t too hard. He watched as kids of various ages passed the compartment, chatting excitedly, or in the case of a couple of first years, sobbing quietly. He hadn’t seen so many people in his age group in his life, not even during their visits to Diagon Alley. In fact, he hadn’t seen a single adult since they started boarding. He rolled his shoulders, feeling them finally begin to relax.
The steam trains whistle blew, and the carriage began to fill. He knew it was a matter of time before someone joined him in this compartment, and he practised his excuses, hoping that the people that joined him weren’t snitches.
He startled, when two boys were pushing at each other, laughing and scrambling to get into the compartment first. Only when one reigned victorious, did they notice Remus sitting in the corner.
A raven-haired boy with sharp features looked him up and down, and Remus couldn’t help but shrink back under their scrutiny.
A third boy hesitated at the door, unsure whether to come in, as the raven haired boy was still standing, his piercing grey eyes locked onto Remus’.
The boy who had made it in first mussed his hair, and caught Remus’ attention. He was not as sharp as the other, though handsome even behind large glasses. “Sit down, Sirius.” The boy says, looking up at his friend, who glares at him in turn, but takes the seat across from Remus.
The boy at the door seems relieved that Sirius has sat, and looks at Remus shyly. “Do you mind if I sit there?” He asks, gesturing to the empty spot beside Remus. Remus shakes his head.
None of the boys are in robes. He fiddles with the sleeve of his, looking down at his hands. He can feel Sirius’ eyes on him
“Who are you?” Sirius asks.
Remus’ eyes dart up to Sirius in surprise, the directness of the boy a little disconcerting.
“Sirius–” the other boy scolds him, sighing heavily. “Please excuse him, he has no tact.” He holds up his hand. “I’m James, that’s Sirius,” He jerks his thumb to the raven haired boy, before getsturing to the other, “And that’s Peter.”
Remus glances at the blonde boy who offers him a smile, and waves. Remus offers him a small smile in return.
“I’m Remus.” He says quietly, feeling a little shy.
“Are you like, a transfer student?” James asks.
Remus glances up at him and blinks.
Sirius answers before he can get a word in. “He’s wearing house robes, James.”
And to that, Remus bites his lip. “I was sorted before the transfer?”
“Are those second hand robes?” Sirius asks, and Remus presses his lips together, frowning.
“So what if they are?” He challenges. “Are you going to make fun of me for not having as much money as you?” Remus asks, eying the boy up and down with a scowl. He’s pristine from head to toe. Remus has no patience for people who think they’re better than him because their parents have money.
Sirius goes to say something else, but James is quicker, his hand slapping over his friends mouth. “No, he’s not.” he glares at Sirius. “Are you?”
Sirius huffs, and crosses his arms. James gives him a pointed look, and Sirius rolls his eyes and slumps in the seat, giving in.
Part of Remus wants to feel satisfied by the win, but another part recognises that the two of them have a friendship he could only dream of.
Feeling a little braver, he asks, “What year are you all in?”
“Fifth.” James answers, “you?”
“Same,” Remus nods.
“Maybe you’ll be in our dorm then!” Peter chips in excitedly, shifting forward in his seat. Remus glances at him, forcing a smile and hoping it masks his anxiety.
“You’re all in Gryffindor, then?” He glances around the group.
He doesn’t know for sure he would have been sorted into Gryffindor. But he feels like that’s where he would have belonged– he holds the Gryffindor values dear.
These three boys might have been his friends, and he feels the resentment brewing in the pit of his stomach, for chance to have been so resigned to ensure that he knew exactly what he had been missing.
“I don’t think you could possibly be sorted before you even started at Hogwarts.” Sirius challenges.
“Please, Sirius.”
“Well when Kyle transferred he had to sit up in front of the whole school with the first years.”
“My dad went to Hogwarts.” Remus admits. “He spoke to Dumbledore.”
“What school did you go to before this?” Sirius asked. He just would not let up, would he?
“I was homeschooled.” Remus says. Better to keep as close to the truth as possible.
“Why start at Hogwarts now, then?” Sirius continues, James looking at him resigned.
“O.W.L’s. Obviously.” Remus replied. “Are you quite done with the third degree?”
“Not quite.” Sirius says, his stare unwavering. “Your scar. What’s it from?”
“Da works for the ministry studying magical creatures,” Remus responds, clenching his fist to stop himself from reaching up and touching the scar that runs over his nose and onto his cheek.
“So you’re not muggleborn?” Sirius asks, brow raised.
Remus narrows his eyes. “Halfblood.” He says through grit teeth.
Sensing that his friend has gone a little too far, James clears his throat, causing the two boys’ scathing eye contact to break, and glance at him– Sirius with a look of defiance and Remus with a “dear god please make him stop” kind of pleading look.
“What are your favourite subjects, then?” James asks, and the group quickly delves into a heated discussion on how important is it, actually, to have a comprehensive knowledge of potions as an Auror.
Before he knows it, they’ve arrived in Hogsmeade.
When he hesitates on the platform, it’s met with confusion.
He wasn’t expecting them to become fast friends, to want to ride with him to Hogwarts. His intention had been to observe. To listen. To explore.
He hadn’t even left the carriage.
Remus wrings his hands.
“I– So I… I can’t come with you.” He admits quietly, ashamed.
“What do you mean?” James asks, brows furrowed.
Sirius, who hadn’t let his walls down for a minute, though would engage Remus in conversation as much as the others did, actually looked hurt for a moment, but just as quickly, his features returned to being impassive.
“I– won’t be coming to Hogwarts.” He says, giving them a sad smile. “I was never accepted.” He looks at the three of them, hoping they’ll understand.
“What are you, a squib or something?” Sirius asks, his eyes narrowing.
“Or something.” Remus shrugs, beginning to walk backwards, away from them.
“Boys!” A teacher calls out for the three boys dawdling behind. When they turn at the call of the teacher, Remus slips into the darkness. He sees them turn back, confused, looking for where he might have gone. It looks like Sirius’ eyes lock straight onto his, but that would be impossible.
“Maybe he’s a ghost.” Sirius says, shrugging and turning to follow the crowd. James sighs heavily, and Peter pouts.
“But ghosts are all cold and transparent.” Peter argues, trailing behind them.
“I don’t know what to tell you Pete, maybe we just had a combined hallucination.” Sirius says, brushing it off.
Perhaps Remus was home free after all. They were unlikely to try to find him. He would become a distant memory, the boy on the train, until he faded to nothing. He didn’t think they’d tell anyone about their encounter. For some reason, he trusted that they would recognise that they couldn’t.
Remus made his way back to the highway, and began walking in the general direction of London. Perhaps he could hitchhike. Maybe there was a night-bus in Scotland, too.
Or maybe his father would track him, he realised when he heard the crack of apparition behind him.
“Shit,” He muttered, turning around to find a furious Lyall Lupin behind him.