Chapter Text
Remus Lupin was a boy who loved very beautiful things. He always had, since he was a tiny babe sat on the knee of his father. The way the sun would rise over the hills, painting the skies pinks and purples. The flowers cascading across the fields just across from the small cottage he grew up in. The way light would hit crystals hanging on strings, sending rainbows singing across the walls. He could find beauty in most anything, really, no matter what it was. An old, gnarled bit of wood. The ancient bricks in the wall surrounding Hogsmeade that most of the residents hated and called ‘Eyesore.’ Even the doddery old man Aberforth who ran one of the pubs had a glint in his eye which made Remus smile in even the darkest times.
But one thing Remus could not find beauty in was himself.
He was a loved boy, raised by a father who had found him in the wood surrounded by a pack of wolves. He was in a basket, swaddled in a threadbare blanket with a note and a small parcel.
Please care for my boy. He is special and deserves to be loved.
Lyall Lupin could do that. He’d lost his wife Hope to Dragon Pox not two years before, and they had never had a chance to start a family. When Lyall heard the small wails of a hungry child, he couldn’t ignore them. Under a stream of light from the full moon, under the watchful, amber eyes of the furred beasts, Lyall cradled the babe. He called him Remus, for the wolves, and for the moon, and when the babe snuggled into the crook of his arm and slept, Lyall knew it was meant to be.
But life was not easy in Hogsmeade for Remus. It was a small village, and oft times those were unfriendly to those who were different. And Remus Lupin was very different.
It was by chance Lyall notice the mangled limb, the in-turn of the hip on his right leg, and the way the knee would not bend properly. The village physician Poppy said the boy might never walk, but Lyall was determined and as Remus began to become more mobile, he fashioned a crutch from wood and taught the boy how to balance, how to use what mobility he had.
He fell a lot, gaining scars up and down his arms and torso, his face marred on the left side by a particularly vicious fall into a bramble bush, the thorns tearing into the flesh, and scarring his left eye.
But he was resilient and he grew determined, and Lyall could not be more proud.
He was a smart boy, too. Lofty dreams and desires.
“One day,” he told Lyall as they sat in their lounge looking up at the full moon, “I’m going to go there.”
“To the moon?” Lyall asked.
Remus smiled, nodding his head and his eleven-year-old hands clutched round the top of his crutch. “I will. I’ll fly to the moon and visit the stars. That one in particular.” His hand pointed upward at the brightest star in the night sky.
“That’s Sirius,” Lyall said. “I’ve a book on him.”
Remus blinked his wild, amber eyes up at his father. “Will you tell me about him?”
“Well, the story goes, Sirius and his brother Regulus were born very bright stars. Their father, Orion, had big dreams for them, but Sirius had a mind to do something else. He wanted to be his own constellation, away from the control of his father. He started to create his own star, one he could use to be a constellation without waiting for his father’s approval. This displeased Orion, and in the end he made Regulus the constellation, and left Sirius on his own. Not to be outdone by his brother, Sirius finished his star, and though it only glowed dimly, it stayed by his side. Sirius was so proud, he began to shine bright, brighter than all the other stars in the sky.”
Remus sighed and looked up. “He’s beautiful.”
“That he is, son.”
“But he was unloved, even though he was so beautiful. It hardly seems fair. I’m not beautiful at all, and I’m loved.”
Lyall’s face fell and he brushed through his son’s dark curls. “But you are, Remus.”
“No,” Remus said, matter-of-factly. “I’m not. Everyone tells me and well… it’s alright, isn’t it?”
Lyall looked down at his feet. “Someday there will be someone who is bright and wonderful and can see all the beauty you have in you. Then you’ll know what I mean.”
Remus bit down on his bottom lip. “How will I know how to find them?”
Lyall looked up at the ceiling, at the parcel in the old basket he’d found his son lying in, addressed to Remus. The note requested that Lyall wait until the right time, and he knew it wasn’t now. “You just will, son. Now, these old bones must get to bed.”
Remus kissed his father’s cheek, and after the bedroom door was shut, he leant forward and pushed the window open. Staring up, he blinked at Sirius. “I think you deserve to be a constellation, Sirius. And if they’re mean to you, you can come down here and we can be friends. I’d take care of you. Forever.”
As it was, the stars very much liked to watch and listen to the humans, Sirius in particular who was bright and beautiful, but very lonely. The only problem was, the whispers of the humans took so very long to reach them, often years and years passed before he heard their whispers.
But Sirius heard Remus’ vow that night, and it was in that moment he made a choice. Because he was such a lonely star, and he thought perhaps maybe a human lifetime would be so much better than the cold, vastness of the Universe. He knew stars could become human easily—to fall in love would provide him a human soul, and Sirius knew he could fall in love with this small voice offering him all the things he’d ever wanted. Love. Affection. Forever.
So he gathered himself together, said goodbye to his companion star, and allowed himself to fall.
It was on that night, as he streaked through the sky, hurtling toward earth, that Remus’ Lupin’s life was about to change irrevocably. But he wouldn’t know it then.
No, because it would take exactly eleven more years before Sirius reached earth, and it was on that night Remus Lupin was proposing to the most beautiful girl in the village.
Fleur Delacour.