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Chapter Text

The Prelude

The circumstances behind the death of the Potters had been strange to say the least, and stranger still that the surviving heir, James Potter, was almost - if not just - as unsure over the cause of their deaths as the rest of wizarding community was.

Regardless whether the fate of the Potters had ended with being personally murdered by You-Know-Who, or from a fatal strain of Dragonpox, one thing was certain…

Euphemia and Fleamont Potter were dead and a Dark Lord was on the rise.

It had been bubbling - no simmering, long before their time. Hushed whispers that threatened to leak out, of squashed shadows engulfing the light, the disappearances over the years and the strange happenings predating so far back that it was incomprehensible to pinpoint just when they had first began.

Whispers they could ignore, disappearances they could forget, after all wizards were a secretive lot, but this? This was beyond out of the ordinary. It came with an avenging force. It came for them and no one was safe. No one could hide.

The day had been calm if a tad sleepy, the only signs of life in the tranquil village being the handful of students roaming through its antiquated shops, all bundled up in layers of coats, scarves and gloves, most carrying the Hogwarts emblem. It had been a cold day in the middle of October and a particularly frigid one at that, the typical weather of the Scottish Highlands allowing for frosty breaths, runny noses and the occasional unfortunate soul slipping on the icy ground, a scene not so amusing when running for your lives.

An abrupt shift in the air, the scent of ozone wafting past, and the crackle of apparition: that was all the warning the students and the inhabitants of Hogsmeade received before they arrived. Figures aided by the darkness of their robes manifested onto the cobblestone paths, appearing as phantoms in the light, the green that washed over them from their wands, marked them for what they were, the heralds of death, Death Eaters.

And as the first body fell, a sixth year Ravenclaw, only then did they start to flee. People were confusedly turning without the trademark crackle, a tell-tale sign that anti-apparition wards had been put up. The Floo network in the surrounding shops and homes proved to be just as helpful. With no way of escape the people began to run, shoving and pushing one another to get to any source of safety, there was no point in crying or begging for help when just like you, everyone's life was in danger.

It can be said that only in times of true, life threatening, impending doom do we truly see people for what they really are, selfish, hypocritical cowards. Escape had seemed near impossible to the residents of Hogsmeade so they did what they do best, they hid. Shut their mouths doors, closed their eyes windows, and warded their minds homes against outsiders. A pleading mass of children, not yet out of Hogwarts, just behind the safety of their 4 walls, left to fend for themselves against wizards far stronger than they were.

And one by one they dropped, the few that'd fought back meeting worse fates than those who didn't, skin flayed and eyes gouged, known Muggleborns made an example of on wooden stakes, and above their heads a skull would emerge from the clouds, sinister green with the body of a snake peeking out its maw, swirling around the darkened skies. The serpent's mouth open as if in wait for its prey.

Then just as they had appeared, the men in black robes and masks of porcelain white withdrew, with the only sign of their arrival being the utter devastation that they left in their wake. A catalyst of war.

The sense of fear that gripped Hogwarts in the following weeks had been suffocating at best. No longer did students aimlessly roam the halls on walks at night but half-bloods and muggleborns were now accompanied by fellow housemates more than ever, as Slytherin students had become increasingly emboldened to disrupt as many lives as possible. With this came the Slytherin/Gryffindor rivalry rising to new heights, specifically between the Marauders and a friend group led by Regulus Black consisting of allying dark families, the Notts, Averys and Mulciber, Severus Snape being able to climb high enough in the Slytherin hierarchy to earn a place just next to Avery.

Whenever both groups were to encounter each other, a fight was certain to break out, hexes and jinxes made specifically to hurt flying from the wands of both sides, words sharper still, digging even into the bystanders, both sides giving as good as they got. And it would seem a similar event was to break out on one Wednesday afternoon Potions lesson, grey rolling clouds showcased through the glass windows grimy from a build up of potion fumes, perfectly representing the class that would soon be thrown into a pandemonium, the result of twenty hormonal teenagers high on stress and nihilism all forced together then tasked to make highly volatile potions with nowhere near the appropriate level of supervision.

It had started as soon as Professor Slughorn had left with a student to the infirmary, the former having 'accidentally' blown up their potion, requiring urgent help, even more 'coincidentally' being that the student had been a half-blood Gryffindor. As soon as the professor stepped out the door, the first taunt came from the Slytherin side, probably something about blood status, whatever it was didn't matter as it did its intended job, soon the two halves of the classroom started trading insults, most fervently Snape and Mulciber towards the Marauders.

"Oh would you shut your gob Snivellus, the stink is bad enough. A real wonder how those cavernous holes you call nostrils can't pick it up" , Sirius Black shouted, his wand tightly clutched in his hand just underneath the table.

Snape merely scoffed, the tension in his jaw a clear tell of just how much he had been affected by the comment. "Cavernous? That's a big word for you Black, you sure you didn't get that from your pet Mudblood when you were sucking his -" , Snape had begun to retort before being interrupted.

"Should you really be talking Snape-", James Potter warned, an eyebrow raised, voice deceptively calm,"-from the way you practically drool at Regulus's feet it wouldn't be hard to say the same for you, now would it?" He taunted, head tilted to the side and his lips drawing into a malicious smirk.

Then the first spell flew and the chaos began.

The room flew into pandemonium, spells flying from left to right, hitting students, chairs and just about whizzing past the cauldrons. Flashes of bright reds and purples, mixing with electric blue and greens, signifying anything from a simple Stupefy to a Bone-breaking curse, an amalgamation of what you get when you give kids weapons of destruction.

For a magical brawl in the middle of a potions classroom, it was going fairly well and safe, if we ignore the actually fighting part. That of course was quickly ruined. A spell had flown and knocked around a cauldron, causing a chain of effects in which, one by one a cauldron would fall, knocking over another and their contents mixing, leading to an explosion which would knock over even more cauldrons, repeating the process.

For any other potions class this would have been far from normal but not so uncommon, but of course, these were 5th years brewing highly complex potion in preparation for their OWLs, which for a certain group of Gryffindors was the Polyjuice potion and Felix Felicis, Merlin knows what they would have done with them if they'd snuck off a few samples.

Luckily, or well, unluckily for them, they would never make it out of that classroom, at least not in time.

The chain of explosions had started at the back of the classroom where the Marauders had been. The fumes and the power of the explosions quickly worked to weaken them and caused a sense of inertia, making it difficult for them to escape.

The students had quickly noticed the nauseous fumes coming from the back of the classroom and started to back away, inching closer to the door, students helped each other off the floors, the first true act of inter-house solidarity in months, perhaps even years. The fumes had now become almost a thick fog, the deep purple of crushed velvet that seemed to come to life, blocking the view off from seeing if anyone was trapped there.

Right in the eye of the storm were the Marauders, the bilious fumes knocking out Peter and Remus before they could reach the front of the classroom. Through the gaps of his heavy eyelids, Sirius caught a glimpse of dark fabric of Hogwarts robes cutting through the swirling purple. "Remus? Moony are you there?"- cough -"Fuck can someone cast a Lumos, I dropped my bloody wand somewhere"

"Looking for something Black?"

"Snape", Sirius hissed venomously his eyes narrowing on the two wands in Snape's hand, "give me back my wand. If you haven't noticed yet we're not exactly in the position to waste time, so give it back yeah?"

"Hmm…see I could, but you aren't exactly in the position to bargain here are you? You and your little friends' lives are in my hands now Sirius, …and I know exactly what I want to do with it", with a slowly growing malicious smirk that promised nothing nice, Snape snapped the wand in two and cast an Expelliarmus at Sirius' chest, sending him backwards towards the ingredients shelf behind him. Glancing from side to side to ensure all other students had left, he took his leave, and charmed the door so no one could open it in time, condemning the four boys to their fate, one he had almost faced at their hands.

The first thing he heard was this ringing, sharp and incessant, he felt as though from the haze that was his mind, he could hear voices; faint at first but steadily growing comprehensible as the fog began to clear.

"Maybe he just-" A man's voice deep and soothing.

"-suddenly fell for goodness sake, I don't know-" snapped a woman's voice, slightly frustrated and perhaps in response to what the man had said.

As he focused more on the voices the boy felt a sense of familiarity, he was certain he knew who these people were, although the soft and caring tones they used to address him with felt foreign. With growing curiosity he considered opening his eyes just a bit— it wasn't like his headache was going to let up anytime soon. So with that in mind, he opened his eyes and was met with…

Chapter Text

Better in the Dark

Light.

It was blinding and the first thing he 'saw', not to mention that it was currently burning a hole through his bloody retinas. He tried as best he could to blink away the brightness and spots in his eyelids, the light an almost constant flood from a window nearby. When his gaze finally focused and adjusted to the light, Remus was met with the faces of his parents, distorted with…concern?

Which was a…strange expression to be found on the Lupin parents' faces, let alone directed at Remus of all people, their very werewolf son who in their eyes was more monster than human.

Now you have to understand that before Remus' "accident" as they had dubbed it, the Lupins had been a very happy magical family. They weren't the purest or kindest of the bunch but they were good people, and best of all good parents, a value the couple would swear they upheld to their graves. For young Remus of course his parents had been anything but good.

After he had been bitten, his parents had distanced themselves from him. It wasn't so much as physical or verbal abuse, but the lack of well…anything. It had become silent in the Lupin household, even when the moon no longer waned and shone its opulent silver and the beast clawed out the boy, the silence still lingered on. Remus at the tender age of 6 had quickly become acquainted with pain and the fear that gripped him as he would lay paralysed after a full moon, in the bunker-like basement just below the Lupin house.

Sometimes he would hear the murmurs of his mother's prayers. Though few as these occurrences were, he'd rest a bit easier, knowing in those moments that a sliver of empathy would guide her down creaking stairs to deliver him small portions of food and clean the blood from gashes the werewolf had made. In those moments, Remus would never know what to truly think of Hope Lupin, her face always steely when she came, not with coldness but with a passive sense of detachment. He'd wonder if she helped him because she still saw the face of her son in the monster, or if she just felt a sense of moral duty to help someone in need even when it was the monster who took her son?

Lyall Lupin for the most part left Remus to himself. Whether it was out of guilt for his part in his son's "accident" or because he thought if he left the problem alone it would somehow solve itself, it was unknown. Though Remus would like to think that his father ignored his very existence because of a strong sense of self-loathing and grief for condemning his son on account of his own hubris.

Knowing this it is safe to say that the way Hope and Lyall Lupin were currently looking at Remus was quite out of the ordinary. Frankly, it was quite disorienting.

So with all the calmness one would exude on any normal Friday, which it really wasn't and by the calendar next to door was actually a Saturday, Remus sat up with the hope that staring back at his parents would somehow give him some answers.

It really wouldn't.

His parents had situated themselves to his right, standing by his bedside as they'd spoke in hushed whispers, as though if they came any closer he'd break. As soon as she noticed he was awake, his mother began to fret, clutching a glass of water on the bedside table like a lifeline. "Oh Remus thank goodness you're awake. Here have a drink you must be thirsty", she said, carefully placing the glass into his hands.

Dazedly Remus held onto it and kept staring, uncertain of what had brought about this odd dream and the fact that if it wasn't, he must have been out longer than he'd thought. And whilst caught in lose threads of thought his mind could hardly muster, Hope continued on, her words barrelling out of her in a mess of jumbled words pronounced just a bit too harshly to be the RP British accent.

"My lord look at you, all skin and bones." His mother's hands reached out as if she could no longer hold back, as she twisted Remus' face from side to side in inspection, tutting as she used the back of her hand to check his temperature. "I knew we should've never put you in for rugby. I told you and your Da I did but who'd listen to your Ma, now you're having fainting spells all over the place."

"Caraid why don't you give him some space, you're suffocating the boy", his father snorted, placing a hand on his mother's shoulder.

Apart from that horrific display of affection from his parents, Remus noticed other discrepancies within the room. For one the bed placement was wrong, it was too close to the window, usually it would have been pushed to the furthest corner of the room, facing the bookshelf and somewhat the door, with a study desk to its left and the window in its adjacent wall. However the bed was currently the closest to the window with the desk to its right, not to mention the nook (?) installed at the window.

Then it was the posters on the wall of bands and movies, some of which he didn't think he'd ever even heard of, and the few he could recognise were a tad too old-fashioned to be anything he'd put up himself. Had his parents done this? The bookshelf was much fuller than last he'd seen it though his clearly possessed parents blocked his view of them, and did he mention the window nook?

"-Oh so I'm being too much now Lyall, the boy is bedridden for goodness sake, God forbid for his whole life at this rate. Will I be too much then Lyall, will I?"

"Course not dear," his father said placatingly, raising both hands in surrender, "just lay off of him a bit so he can drink his water. How are you feeling Remus?"

Barely hearing the question directed at him, Remus turned his attention back to his parents, scrambling to give a response, "I, um I'm feeling fine sir-", his father furrowed his brows, "-there's no need to worry about me, it must have been the summer heat" his mother's lips thinned further to a line of distress.

Hesitantly his mother spoke again, "Remus dear, it's nearing the end of October, are you sure you're feeling fine? Mrs Morgan told us you fainted during PE and you wouldn't, but she couldn't see anything wrong so we had to take you home. We could pull you out of Rugby if it's getting too much for you-"

"-No its alright Ma, I think I just need a bit of rest with -uhm school and all the exams coming up."

"Right of course dear we're just worried that's all. Why don't you lay for a little while longer, you've been out for so long you're already on break." His mother joked with a light pat on Remus' head.

And with a final glance back at him Hope and Lyall left the room, closing the door with a soft click.

As soon as the door closed Remus got up from the bed, barely managing to keep himself from falling off as he untangled his legs from the thick blankets, hurriedly walking straight towards the calendar near the door looking over the date displayed.

It was Saturday, precisely Saturday the 30th of October 1965, which was most definitely wrong. Even the year was wrong. In utter disbelief Remus patted his pockets in search of his wand, back, front, left, right, all came back empty, which ok fine he could handle, maybe it was just on the table or something.

Remus walked over to the desk only to find it clear of most items except some unfinished 'Woodworking' homework, what seemed to be a muggle pen, a potted plant and some odd green people figurines.

His wand was evidently not on the desk, in any of the cabinets, inside the bed, under the bed or the laundry basket.

So his wand was missing. That was fine. He had bigger problems to deal with anyways, like why was he even at home in the first place. He could remember now though in flashes, that the last place he'd been surely was at Hogwarts…

…purple fumes that forced the air from his lungs…

…stumbling over something or someone as black spots slowly filled his vision…

It had been? Was? The middle of May, nowhere near the summer holidays, so why would his 'mother' have even said that he was on break now? And now that he thought about it why was she even talking about Rugby?

If he could just find his wand to cast a Tempus, this wouldn't be a problem right now but never mind that. First Remus needed to know where exactly he was because this was not his home and these were certainly not his parents.

Chapter Text

Casualty of your dreams

Hypothetically Remus could jump out the window. Of course he wouldn't, but that didn't negate the fact that he could…

… He really needed to escape wherever this was before he lost his mind. Without his magic Remus was at the mercy of his 'parents' or whoever was keeping him here. In order to escape however, he'd need a plan, he couldn't just suddenly leave.

The only clues he could gather was that he didn't have his wand, his friends weren't here and the world around him was similar to what he might have envisioned in a dream, loving parents and a normal life. With only those clues and adding to the fact that the potions accident that probably led to this had been incredibly volatile and unstable, it was likely that he was in some sort of magical coma or illusion. All he could think of were two options, either Remus could find out the gaps in the illusion and force himself to wake up at Hogwarts, or he could wait until the full moon, when the wolf would be less susceptible to mind magics compared to Remus and be able to break the illusion that way, which Remus would rather not.

For one, Remus couldn't trust that the calendar showed the proper date so couldn't determine when the full moon would be, meaning it could happen at any moment. Even if it meant being trapped in an idyllic dreamscape, Remus would never again risk putting others in harms way because of his 'furry little problem', the 'Prank' with Snape had been more than enough warning.

Remus returned back to his bed, assured now that he at least had some sort of plan. Running his hands through his hair a final time, Remus let out an exhausted sigh and went to sleep, hoping that the next he awoke the headache would be gone.

The next time he'd seen his parents was when they came to ask if he'd felt up for dinner, considering the fact that Remus for now didn't really have any other choice for food, he'd agreed. So with the barest hint of trepidation Remus had made his way downstairs, looking over the childhood photos that lined the walls, the floral wallpaper and absurd amount of doilies covering every surface, all the while wondering just how he was going to go about his plan.

So here he was, eating with his parents at the dining table.

The table was small and rectangular, clearly meant for a family of four, and was situated behind the living room couch next to the kitchen. The plates had already been set out and the last of the food was settled onto the table by Hope, the ceiling lights casting a warm glow on them. The spread was modest but hearty, a main dish of Lamb cawl with a side of bread and chunks of cheese and for dessert Amber pudding.

Once they were all seated, Lyall brought his arms up, connecting his left hand with Hope's with practice ease, while his right hand stayed up in wait. Remus quickly cleaned any sweat from his hands on his trousers before taking his father's hand, presuming that they were going to pray, a practice the family had stopped doing a year into his lycanthropy.

"Let us pray. Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to rec-

"-eive from Thy bounty, through Christ-"

Sirius was currently panicking. Not the we-might-get-caught-by-Filch type, but the we're-definitely-caught-by-McGonagall type, because why in the ever living fuck was he holding Wallies' hand at the dining table, saying a Christian prayer, a predominantly muggle faith that Walburga had once called 'the faith of filth', when he should be at Hogwarts? This was by far the weirdest dream he'd had in a long time. He was just going to close his eyes and open them again, pinch himself one more time and he'd wake up to his offensively red four poster bed or the mint green walls of the Infirmary, and no, there was no in-between. Sirius was either asleep or cursed to hell and back.

"-our Lord. Amen."

With the prayer concluding and his hands once again far from her clutches, Sirius proceeded to open his eyes, which…

…Well he was still on the dining table, now staring straight at Regulus. Fun. Great. Swell. Totally not panicking. Maybe a little. Maybe a lot.

Their eyes met for a moment before Regulus turned to his food and Sirius was once again lost to his thoughts, wondering how a dream could capture the finest folical of his brother's hair in such detail.

As he'd been staring into space, the people around him had begun eating, delicately choosing the right type of cutlery amongst the many arranged before them. Distantly outside his thoughts, Sirius could hear what could have been his father's voice asking for something. Who was he referring to? His father never spoke to anyone with that tone, maybe in this dream his father had a side mistress, that could definitely explain his mother's behaviour, then again Black madness, wait should he look around, would that be too obvious, maybe if he-

"-Sirius dear are you quite alright?", asked Walburga, her tone laced with concern.

Sirius was jolted back from his thoughts, as he violently flinched away from the hand on his shoulder. This led to him tipping over the edge of his chair and desperately reaching over to grab the tablecloth to support him, only to end up on the floor and the food on the table cascading towards him like an unholy waterfall. Fuck.

Let it be known that Sirius Black never said he was perfect and infallible, just that he rarely made mistakes. This was definitely not one of them, not at all. He was sitting on the floor with bowls of food all over himself on purpose, this was a diversion to get his wand from his pocket and totally not embarrassing at all. Of course the only issue now was that he couldn't find his bloody wand and he could feel arms trying to pull him to his demise in some dark dank dungeon never to be seen again.

Sirius struggled to his feet, careful not to slip on the food and shook off the hands around him. He turned to see who his surprisingly willing assailants were, only to be met with the faces of 2 men and more behind them, all dressed in clean cut black and white muggle attire, looking as though they were going to one of those muggle balls. In the corner of his eye Sirius could also see several women in the same colour scheme who were dressed similarly to Madam Pomfrey. They all looked mortified at Sirius and just as confused as he was, and for a moment they all stood still waiting for the other to move first.

The food and cutlery flooded the floor while what must have been all of the Black family living in the British Isles stood, eyes directed at Sirius before finally, maids and butlers rushed to get tissues and mops in an attempt to sort out the situation. Sirius stood still in the epicentre of it all, eyes darting about in a mix of shock and confusion, his once pristine collared shirt and tan trousers drenched with what must have been a full course meal by the sheer variety of textures and colours clumped onto his clothes.

Then in less than the time it took to say 'Quidditch', Sirius bolted towards the door because despite the cream walls and light furniture this was Grimmauld place, and if there was one thing he knew best about this place, it was the way out, after all the last he'd been here it was the day he ran away. There was absolutely no way he was going to stick around to find out just what was going on here, he could run first and think later.

The people around him had been slow to act, not expecting him to run away for some reason. Behind him he was sure he heard a few people swear under their breaths as they chased after him, which was absolutely golden, James would love this. Whilst he had managed not to slip on the food however, the muggles hadn't been so lucky and this only gave Sirius more of an advantage, soon he was nearing the front door with little to no resistance. Just as he was about to open the door though, he heard someone call his name.

"-Sirius! Wait please." Sirius turned back around, a part of him hoping to see his brother, only to find his fa- Orion holding onto his knees to catch his breath. He looked dishevelled and his cheeks were slightly red, but all Sirius could see was the man who had hid his abuse as discipline and used his neglect to sharpen Walburga's anger into actions.

Sirius could feel his lips curl in disgust, he couldn't remember a moment his father had looked so weak. Orion had raised his head now, face stricken and feet frozen by what he saw in his son's eyes alone. Without sparing Orion another glance, Sirius once again walked out the house, pace quickening as he stepped onto the streets of Grimmauld Place, uncaring of any incoming vehicles.

Sirius was lost. He was stranded in an unfamiliar street in some part of London, all he could see was the way he had come from, the surrounding red brick houses and the occasional car or two parked on the side of pavements. These were streets that Sirius, not even a year ago, had poured over maps of just to be able to escape Grimmauld Place, yet now he could hardly recognise them. In truth he had found himself lost minutes ago but he had hoped if he walked a while longer he might have been able to find his path again.

When he had first walked out of the house it had been early in the evening but now it was closer to midnight more than anything else. Sirius had been so focused on how to get back to the Potters as soon as possible that he had forgotten about anything else. Now that he had time to think he could only wonder how he had even ended up back in Grimmauld Place, he was certain the last place he'd remembered being was Hogwarts. He could obviously remember Snape's ugly mug being the last thing he saw. Had Snape somehow kidnapped him and brought him to his parents? He wouldn't put it past the snake, after all he must have been hanging around Regulus like a kicked crup for a reason. It wouldn't be farfetched to think that Snape had purposefully set up the potions accident to watch Sirius suffer.

As Sirius thought on his pace slowed until he finally stopped walking, coming to a realisation. If he was lost how would he get back to the Potters? How would he get back to Hogwarts? Maybe Sirius could wait until the sun rose to properly recognise the road, afterall the street lamps were only good for seeing if there was some creep following you and not much good for navigating in the middle of the night. And speaking of creeps, Sirius was pretty sure he just saw someone walked past, they weren't exactly following him but they definitely gave him a second glance. Thinking about it now, the houses around him had gotten increasingly dilapidated the further away he got from Grimmauld Place.

Sirius would rather not take his chances in the muggle streets at night but what choice did he have. He had to wait till morning if he wanted to get a sense of where he was and that was at the very least a 6 hour wait, thank small mercies that it was close to summer or the wait would have been much longer. Nevertheless, this meant that Sirius' only hope was to find a back alley where he could hide for a bit and maybe rest his eyes. So Sirius walked on, ensuring to walk only in the areas that the streetlights were working.

Eventually, he found a safe enough area with a car parked next to the alleyway just so, that Sirius would be partially hidden from the view of passersby. And he sat and waited and thought. About Regulus who he'd left a second time. About Orion and Walburga. About Hogwarts. And when he no longer could, the weight of his worries lulled him to sleep.

When Sirius came to, it was to damp clothes and someone talking next him. In the fuzz of just waking up, he couldn't help but think idly, that it must have rained sometime when he was sleeping. He looked up to notice the slate grey clouds, looking as though it would rain again anytime soon, then again you couldn't really expect much else from British weather even when it was so close to summer.

"- you listening?"

"What?" Sirius turned to look at where the voice had come from, eyes focusing on the figure of a man. He looked to be in his 30s with tawny brown hair, and was wearing an odd black jacket with matching trousers and a circular hat, around the jacket was a belt which Sirius could see was holding up a black short stick. Muggles were so weird.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you", the man said, flashing a quick crooked smile and a small wave, "it's just it's been raining for a bit and it'll probably start up soon again, you can just come down the station for a bit to get out the rain."

So a muggle was talking to him, right, now he wished he'd taken Muggle studies. He couldn't for the life of him remember what a 'Staytion' was.

"Sorry where?'

"We're just going to go over to the station down the road", the man gestured with a tilt of his head to the left, "and while we're at it, we'll see if we can call someone down for you."

Sirius was confused, he didn't know anyone in the muggle world and he wasn't sure if he should be following strangers without his wand. Then again, it beats waiting outside when it'll rain.

Sirius picked himself up from the floor, making sure not to touch anything unsanitary and began to follow behind the man. Sirius was sure he looked like a mess, his hair clung soppy and wet to the back of his neck, his clothes were soaked through, and worst of all the stains from last night's food waterfall had muddled up together and the back of his trousers were probably stained from sitting in an alley for hours. It didn't help that it was bloody freezing so he was shivering and walking slightly hunched over whilst his face was deathly pale.

Taking notice of Sirius' suffering, the man took off his jacket to give to Sirius which… well on one hand Sirius was bloody freezing but on the other hand, this was totally a move that James would try on Lily from one of those muggle 'how to charm her' magazines that he forced Remus and Peter to get him. Sirius wanted to bury himself, he already looked bad enough. This was the muggle world, there was no use refusing the help so he took the jacket. James would never let him live this down.

After a bit of walking (thankfully with no one else around thanks to how early it was), the man stopped at a brick building not much different from the houses and shops around it, with a sign at the top saying 'Islington Police Station'.

The place was full of other muggles dressed similarly to the man, most of them were sitting around with cups on their tables while they sorted through parchment and worked away at clunky white muggle contraptions. Sirius was guided to a row of chairs and told to wait until someone came for him, and that if he needed anything he could ask the lady at the front. Left to his own devices, Sirius ran his hands through his hair in an attempt to make himself more presentable and twiddled his thumbs as he went over everything that happened the day before.

He hoped to Merlin that his change of clothes was done magically. They were leaning on the muggle side and he didn't think he had anything like this in his wardrobe but considering the fact he had all but burned most of his wizarding robes, Kreacher must have had his work cut out for him. It really did please him that he could still frustrate that house elf even when he was disowned.

It had been a while since Sirius had arrived at the 'Station', and he was starting to think that the man wasn't coming back to send him on his way. When he'd first come into the building, Sirius had spotted a large metal box that said 'Hot Drinks' at the top in bold white lettering. If he could convince the muggle woman at the front to operate it for him, Sirius could probably get himself a nice cuppa, it wasn't pumpkin juice or butter beer but it'd have to do.

Wearing the jacket to cover his stained shirt and putting on as much charm as he could for someone who'd been beaten by the rain, Sirius sauntered over to the woman at the desk. Just as he was about to lean onto the desk, a screeching voice brought him to a halt.

"Sirius!"

His mother. Fuck.

For the duration of the dinner, Remus' parents had tried to make conversation with him, first it had been little things like how he was, then they started asking about his friends and making references to things he didn't know.

Obviously these were questions Remus couldn't answer truthfully without looking like a fraud, so he fibbed where he could and made vague sounds of acknowledgement.

"Did anyone ask for me while I was in bed?", Remus asked carefully, all the while avoiding eye contact with his parents. He thought it might as well be time to start asking questions to see if there were any gaps in the illusion.

"… Now that I think about it, that friend of yours, was it uh…James? John? You know the one that comes with the paper."

"Oh James, " Hope piped, looking just as uncertain, "he's a sweet boy."

"Yes, thank you caraid, that must be it"

"Wait what did he say?"

"He was just asking if you're well and he said he'd come over again in a few days"

Remus wanted to ask more questions, did this mean that James was trapped in the same place as him, that wouldn't make sense, if he was then were the others here too? Was this an inconsistancy in the illusion? Remus lived in Wales, there was no way James who lived in London would casually drop by to check up on him

Remus needed to find out more about this 'James', he might just be his way back. By the time Remus had tuned back in the conversation his parents had already switched topics. They were now talking about a Mr and Mrs Jones that supposedly lived near the Lupin residence. Remus didn't think he needed to focus on talk about neighbours so he focused on eating.

Honestly the food was just as good as it looked, he was surprised his subconscious even remembered the way his Ma used to add just a bit too much salt in almost everything she made. Remus just watched his parents as they talked, and when he didn't he ate, feeling hungrier than usual, though he chalked that up to the illusion's effect on his perception, after sleeping for at least a day in the dreamscape without food. As he looked on at his parents, he couldn't help but think that some part of him had missed this, the normalcy, the innocence of a simple meal with family.

After Remus had finished his meal he retired to bed early, afraid that his parents would think to ask him more questions. He was already moving towards the stairs before his excuse had fully left his lips. And Hope and Lyalll were left at the table, the ceiling lights cast upon their worried faces as they shared a look. Lyall reached out to hold his wife's hand in support as they stared at their son's retreating back with faces of resolve.

It didn't take much to know Remus had been acting strange. He barely talked to them, avoided eye contact and his shoulders stayed taut for most of the meal. The most worrisome of all was how much he ate, ravenously like a man possessed, like he didn't realise what he was doing. Remus had eaten enough for 3 people then some.

All the Lupins knew was that their son was acting out of the ordinary and they were unsure if it was connected to his fainting spell or the slight amber glint to his eyes.

Chapter Text

Hi guys, it's been like 2 weeks since my last post and I'm so sorry for that. I started back at work and lost my beta reader so it's been a bit tough to juggle. Anyways, good news is the next chapter is coming in a few days (yay) and is going to be around 5k words hence why it's taking a bit longer.

I just wanted to give you all an update in case you thought I wasn't going to post again. I hope this clears up any worries and I hope you all have a wonderful week! Bye (for now)...

Chapter Text

Watching Him Fade Away

Remus had woken up the next day late into the morning, thin streams of sunlight peeking through shut curtains. By then the twitting of birds that usually accompanied a lazy morning had already faded away, leaving room for the distant chatter of neighbours and the occasional cars trailing past as they went along their day.

When was the last time he'd heard that so close to his house?

Remus supposed that rumours must have spread about the strange howls coming from the Lupin household so most neighbours must have moved out before he could even remember he had any.

Heavily supported by the bedside desk, he began a slow trod towards his bedroom door, heading for the bathroom just opposite it.

Remus was starting to hate this illusion just a bit more everyday, you'd think that nightmares wouldn't follow you to your own dreamscape but somehow they were even worse here. The entire night he'd wake up in a fright, met with the unfamiliar sight of 'his' room and think something wasn't quite right. Then the panic would set in as his eyes roam the expanse of the room, only to fall back into a restless slumber until another nightmare came.

Even now in the light of day, there were still wisps of purple wafting past the back of his eyelids.

Blinking through the hazy fog of sleep, Remus bypasses the floor-length mirror, failing to notice the change in his appearance. A pale unmarred back, almost sickly in it's waxy pallor, comes into full display. The sight is… strange, incongruent to the years of lycanthropic transformations that had once upon a time, scarred every inch of Remus' skin beyond the repair of anything short of Phoenix tears.

A bath now, he knew, wouldn't change anything. He'd still be trapped.

Here.

Alone. Stuck in limbo, while everything moved on without him. Things were happening beyond his control. They always had but Remus had always found a way to take it back. His acceptance to Hogwarts, his friends and even the fact he was still alive.

Here it was nothing but some clues and a hot shower.

The bathroom was almost an exact replica of his actual one, but the shower? The shower had been divine. Like the water had washed away all the stress built from a night of terror.

It could have been ten minutes or thirty even, before Remus reached for his towel and started creeping back to his room carefully placing one foot in front of the other, to not alert his parents. There was no way Remus was going to subject himself to conversation with people he barely knew, not when he could barely form full thoughts.

His clothes looked...off?  Earlier, he had taken them off and hadn't noticed, too intent on having a shower, but with the bit of clarity that it had brought, Remus was hit with the sudden thought that his clothes weren't his.

They now lay spread out on his bed for better inspection: a knit brown sweater worn with age and interlaced with white and green patterns, cream loose-fitting trousers and a white, slightly small undershirt. He couldn't remember ever having clothes like these before. Looking into his wardrobe proved just as fruitless.

Was this part of the illusion? Or was this like his supposed friend James, a gap in the illusion?

No, even if these weren't his, Remus could see how they could be. Flannels, cardigans, sweaters and fitted trousers, all in shades of greens or browns, with the occasional splash of blue and red.

Sirius had always bemoaned how little Remus' wardrobe reflected the Gryffindor house colours, so much so that in 4th year he had charmed anything Remus wore an atrocious red for an entire week. He'd sworn up and down that it had been Remus' perfect shade, a lie Remus found particularly hard to believe (then again, he couldn't care less about what Sirius thought of him).

Resolving to not waste more thought on the issue, he reached for whatever seemed the most familiar, a dark brown sweater, slightly worn like most of his things were, and a loose pair of trousers.

It turns out unsurprisingly, that in the light of day Remus could barely interact with his parents (though it was closer to evening by the time Remus found the courage to go down the stairs).

It shouldn't have been a shock to him. After all since the Bite, their interactions had been few and far between, leaving him with barely any knowledge of who his parents were. Sure, he knew their names, he lived with them, for Merlin's sake he was their son, and for a time he had known them...but that time was long gone. How could you know a person that wouldn't let you know them?

 It just meant that now, when he could live a dream that was still deeply entrenched in yearning…Remus couldn't. He couldn't sit at a table with his parents for 5 minutes without the room falling into silence.  

It left a dull ache in Remus. The realisation that even if the conditions were perfect, even in a world where his parents loved him, where they were willing to do more than just acknowledge his presence, he would still be the boy who howled at the moon. The boy whose parents' fear of him outweighed their love.

It felt as though a wound had reopened, one he'd forgotten (or never fully let himself acknowledge), and it was ripping him apart…again. These people were strangers.

The lull in conversation soon turned to silence, drifting about as easily as the scent of food, interrupted only by the clinking of cutlery against plates and tentative sips of tea. 

Even after finishing his meal Remus still felt hungry.

The day seemed to bleed into the next for how little change there was. The nightmares stayed the same, the purple, and the running and the feeling of simmering rage.

Why was he angry?

He could tell that his parents were starting to get worried, or well, how worried fictions of his imagination could get. They began to check up on him with increased frequency, waiting by the door as if he was fragile… or like he was about to lung at them.

Then another day passed, and then another and another, the nightmares worsening. Remus would wake to the memory of beating feet against hardened forest soil, a rhythm as fast as his heartbeat, weaving through spindly dark trees in chase of swift shadows lurking under the curtains of night.

For a moment or two, Remus would be still. Trying to catch his breath and willing his hands to hold steady as his shirt stuck to his body, beads of sweat trickling down the furrow of his brows.

Time slipped by like molasses and with it left Remus' appetite. Food started to feel like ash in his tongue. Each bite felt still and grainy like sand invading the space of his mouth. His teeth pulsating in pain as he grinds them together in a facsimile of chewing. The scent of food, nauseatingly sweet, as if its trying to claw its way out his throat.

 It was the potions classroom all over again. When the air in his lungs was replaced by toxic fumes. When his breaths grew both deep and shallow.  When he fell to his knees, gasping for air, thick black spots filling his vision. When he felt himself take his last-

-Bang ! 

Remus slams his hand on the table, jolting his parents out of conversation as their plates rattle, silverware clinking on ceramics and a cup knocks over, spilling water onto Remus' lap. 

"Goodness Remus, what was that- " Lyall halts at the look on Remus' face, watching the way his hand trembles, his shoulders hunch over and his head bends downwards. The only sound heard is shallow panting, and the incessant clinking of the spoon in Remus' hand against the ceramic plate, like the ticking of a bomb.

Across the table the couple shares a look in the growing tension, eyes finding each other in silent conversation.

"Remus, love, are you alright? You're looking a bit…peaky over there? "

Remus was angry, beyond angry. The kind of sudden all-consuming rage that boils beneath the skin, simmering rather than burning. Its hard to give a single reason why he is suddenly overcome with rage, there are enough to waste hours listing. The separation from his friends, not being able to talk to his parents in a dream, potentially having to rely on the…full moon.

The realisation hits Remus like a train wreck.

…The loss of appetite, the nightmares and the aggression…

What date was it?

Remus shoots up from his seat not bothering to voice his question. He races up the stairs, swinging his door open with shaky hands to look for the calendar. It's not on the wall anymore. After the first day waking up in the illusion, he had set it aside, reluctant to have any reminders of the full moon. 

It doesn't matter now. He can't trust that the calendar will match the proper moon cycles and besides having memorised future full moons didn't mean he remembered ones from before he'd even been turned. The full moon was soon and Remus was terrified.

Even in a dream he couldn't bare to see his wolf form harm others however, an illusion would be even worse. Here he would be able to feel it, taste it, worst he wouldn't know if in the real world, outside the illusion, whether his body would reflect his actions here or not. Remus was almost certain in the real world he was in the hospital wing, a monster amongst the weak. What if he broke the illusion only to find his friends' bodies broken under the wolf's rampage?

Remus couldn't bare the thought but there wasn't much he could do now.

The effects of the full moon takes hold soon after this realisation and by the next day, he could barely leave his room without feeling like every muscle in his body ached. Unable to stand the taste of food any longer the teen had begun to eat less and less, leaving Remus with little to no energy, spending most of his day asleep.

His condition had escalated to the point where he wasn't sure if he was dreaming when 'awake'. Sometimes he'd think his parents would say something or the other but then he'd turn only to see that they weren't there, and suddenly the room was dark, the only light source a shining silver and his clothes replaced with fur. In those moments Remus was never really sure where he was, was he back to his reality? In the basement or at Hogwarts? Or was he still trapped and had transformed? 

The first time it had happened it had been in the middle of the night. Once Remus had come back to his senses the room had been a wreck, like it was ransacked with no particular goal in mind. Later on when Remus tried to clean up as best he could, he spotted scratch marks on the walls, especially near the door and window, as if the wolf had been trying to escape. Except it wasn't the wolf, it was him.

Or at least some part of him because the scratch marks were nowhere near the gouges the wolf's claws would have left. Suddenly the illusion was starting to feel more real…. surely his mind wouldn't have gone through all the trouble to make a new version of his lycanthropy specific to this dreamscape? 

Remus was sure he had felt similarly to how he would when he transformed in reality so why was he still here? The wolf should have broken through the illusion? Maybe time worked differently in the illusion in comparison to the real world?

So he just had to wait until the full moon ended in the real world. This whole situation was starting to make less and less sense to Remus but Merlin be damned if he was going to accept that he was somehow, in someway, trapped in some sort of alternate dimension.

So yes, Remus just had to wait it out.

The scratch marks had indicated an attempt at escape. Remus couldn't trust that if he was allowed out that he wouldn't be as aggressive to others as he was in his 'wolf ' form. 

The second time it happens is worst, it's mid day and so his parents are awake, he thinks that his father must have been at work, because in the haze of animalistic rage he remembers hearing only his mother's voice (Once again she's snuck down to the basement).

"Remus? What's going on in there?" His mother worriedly makes her way up the stairs, the tone of her voice concerned as she draws nearer. She waits a beat before trying again, this time knocking on the door thrice "Are you alright Remus, do you need some help?"

The Wolf waits behind the door, the snarl it makes, a low rumble as it scratches at the wooden frames and somewhere buried inside it is Remus, hoping, praying, wishing that the door stays locked.

(Then again, maybe he shouldn't have locked the door. After all his parents had always been afraid of him. Maybe it was time to give them a proper reason to. It'd be so easy too, it'd be the same as when he'd tried with Snape, except this time he wouldn't fail) -No Remus didn't want that. He did not want anything like that. He was him not the wolf. He was in control.

"Cariad could you open the door please, I just want to make sure you're okay…Remus? Remus please just say something, I…I'll have to phone your Da if-" ( 'Oh dear God, I…I have to get your Da' . Her words are a parallel to a past life, one which even if Remus subconsciously chooses to ignore, the Wolf recognizes. The dichotomy between this world and the last, nothing in the face of the foundations that make a person. She'll call Lyall again and they'll trap him together.)

"Go. Away!" Remus manages to grit out before the Wolf takes over and starts to slam into the door with increasing force.

Remus remembers nothing after that, when he wakes he is fully in control again, his body is bruised and there are parts of his forearm scratched with enough force to have peeled the skin off. He can no longer go outside his room in fear that he 'transforms' again. The second time had happened with no warning and it seemed that it didn't matter whether the moon was out yet or not. He knows in his gut that his mother hadn't left when he'd told her to, he must have said something hurtful under the wolf's influence by the way his parents don't visit him long after that. 

(They must have finally realised that they hate him. Even in a dream it's a constant in his life, his inability to be loved.)

It is the day after the second occurrence, late into the evening, when Hope and Lyall come knocking at Remus' door.

He had decided earlier that day that if he was going to wallow in self-pity he might as well start going through all the unfamiliar books, there's no reason he can't have that little bit of relief. This is how Remus ends up kicking books out his bed as he sits up to attention. His heart sinks with dread, the worry of when the next 'transformation' might be, making him rightfully hesitant to let anyone in.

"Cariad can we speak to you for a minute?"

There's a pause. It tells of the care his father takes to choose his next words.

"You're not in trouble Remus, it's just a little chat with me and your mam"

He'll just ignore them. They're not real. Even if they were it's even better they shouldn't know what he is.

But then what's the point?

They must have heard him throughout the first two 'transformations', if he leaves it at that now, locked in his room, letting their fear fester, there isn't any reassurance that they won't act on what they've already seen.

Between him opening up about his lycanthropy or him leaving them to guess, Remus could be sent to an asylum either way.

Considering his growing doubts about this place he's found himself in, there isn't much question in what he chooses to do next.

The room is more of a mess than it's ever been, it's no surprise that with the sense of dysphoria he feels when transformed, that the wardrobe is what seems to have taken the brunt of the Wolf's attacks. The once polished wooden doors now carry dents and gouges, the doors are swung open and nearly off its hinges, as clothes lay strewn about, some (mostly red in colour) ripped apart to shreds. The clothes were so haphazardly thrown that Remus is barely able to cross the short stretch of space between his bed and the door without tripping over something.

As Remus finally reaches the door, he takes a final look back at the room, the clothes strewn about, papers crumpled up and ripped filling any empty space that the clothes haven't, the posters on the walls torn in a way where only the faces are missing and then to top it off , the bookshelf left in mostly pristine condition with only a few books flung about. After the first 'transformation ' it's not an unfamiliar sight, though he can't help but be thankful that for whatever reason the Wolf seems to like the windows well enough not to break them yet.

Hand on the door knob, the flaking white painted door the only barrier between acceptance or hate, Remus begins to open it, inch by inch, until his parents have a full view of his room, and Remus can see them, standing together as a unit, worry etched onto their faces.

Remus knows they can see the wreckage behind him, he knows they must have heard from all corners of the house as he rampaged on, and most of all they must know at this point, of the monster that lays beneath his skin, the one that acts in spite and spews his most venomous thoughts without remorse. Yet they are standing at Remus's door waiting for him to come to them at his own time, the worry and fear on their faces for him rather than of him.

Remus doesn't trust this situation, he can't even trust that his thoughts are his own anymore, he's been trapped here for almost a week now and he can't help but think that there is no avoiding the truth anymore. He, Remus Lupin is undoubtedly in one sort of alternate world, one where his (muggle?) parents are more accepting than their magical counterparts could ever be. Remus finally has the chance he always dreamed of. This is it.

Through all this his parents eyes remain fixed on him, not on the wreckage behind him, just him.

Before he can even think of what to say, mouth agape, his mother pulls him into a tight hug.

For a second or two he's still, before he leans into the hug, his nose digging into her shoulder as he hugs back, his wiry frame towering over her. Remus is hugging her for the first time in years because he is finally allowed to. As she tells him 'it's going to be alright', words he's heard from countless people who were never her, Remus feels his father hug them both and he let's himself believe her, just this once.

Shit. No literally, shit.

Peter had woken up from what he thought was his death. Completely fine and alive. Completely in the middle of taking a no 2. Quite literally shit.

It's not like he was complaining, at least he was still alive and Peter wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. It was just…incredibly awkward.

Loud banging comes from the bathroom door. His bathroom door?

"Pete I swear to God, if I'm late again because of your sorry arse!"

Ah. The melodic voice of his sweet sister Catherine.

Peter Pettigrew was the only son of his parents with 3 sisters, 2 older and one younger. Catherine, Eloise and Julie (Yes, his parents chose only him to bestow upon the curse of alliteration).

His eldest sister Catherine, Kat for short, if you didn't want a kick to your crown jewels, was quite lovely when she didn't hate you, except she hated everyone so really she was a bit of a…witch. She was only older than Peter by 2 years, but seemed to always remind him of that fact whenever she needed to get her way.

Eloise wasn't much better. She was a year older than Peter, however their closeness in age, did not reflect in their relationship whatsoever. No, it only led to Peter being forced into the role of Eloise's personal doll. At the innocent age of 5, poor Peter had known more than anyone should about fake tea party politics and just what dress would cause a scandal amongst the debutantes (he'd learnt that lesson the hard way). If you asked him, Eloise was demonic despite her name. She looked like the miniature housewife with a new updo everyday, sitting together with their mother whenever new issues of Women's Weekly or Good Housekeeping came out.

However underneath that frilly pink facade was a demon child set on making Peter's life hell, constantly pranking him and getting him in trouble.

It was suffice to say that after years of this treatment that Peter had had enough, so when he'd learnt he'd be an older brother he was the most excited of the family. He had vowed to himself that no matter what, he'd instil into his new sibling the lesson of listening to your elders.

Of course, she turned out to be even worse than her sisters, if Eloise was a demon, then Julie was their creator.

It was expected really that as Julie grew up she changed her loyalties towards her sisters rather than Peter whose great flaw was being born a boy. Something his parents although well-meaning, at times treated as his greatest achievement, something his sisters no matter how hard they tried could never surpass.

On one hand he was allowed more freedoms than his sisters but then again what was freedom when he was held on a pedestal of responsibility, to set an example for his siblings, to to be smart and to provide.

He'd remembered the days, weeks even after he'd gotten his Hogwarts letter, how his parents had argued on about what was would be right for him. Peter had been too young to join such conversations, but he could still hear them, and so had his sisters.

He remembered how they had almost refused, arguing without ever fully saying the words, about how would he possibly get a job to help out if he was away half the time, how if it had been anyone of his sisters they would have agreed in a heartbeat.

It was only then that his siblings attitudes towards him had changed, it was like this was just another thing separating him from them. The first Christmas holiday had been rough, he couldn't talk about Hogwarts without the guilt that his sisters would never get to see it, though some part of him had hoped that Julie would get that chance one day. She hadn't.

"Peter get out now!" Catherine banged on the door with enough force to knock down a troll. The loud banging on the bathroom door jolted Peter out of his thoughts, as hae quickly finished up, washing his hands before opening the door. He knew that if he'd taken any longer Kat would not have hesitated to break the door down. She was a bloodhound when it came to her morning prep time.

A yellow towel zooms right at him, Peter quickly ducks as he runs down the hallway to his room, evading the clothes on the floor and his sisters running about trying to get ready, whilst his mother shouts reminders from the stairs.

"Get a move on loves, I don't want any of you late for school!"

"Mum I can't find any of my white shirts!"

"Well go check the drying rack and see if it's there Ellie. I must have put in the washing a bit late"

The salvation of his room in sight, Peter opens the door quickly shutting it behind him. Without a second thought, he launches himself onto his bed, just laying like a star fish.

For a minute or two he lays there, staring at his green Damasck wallpaper, floral prints flowing from one leaf to another and he thinks.

He had died Peter Pettigrew had died and had come back. Those were cold hard facts. Somehow though he was at home, in his room, while his sisters, presumably got ready for school.

It was odd. With how early Hogwarts started Peter never got to be there when his sisters got ready for school, only during the summer holidays as Hogwarts tended to end earlier than muggle schools. The fact that his feet were already freezing was enough to say it wasn't anywhere near summer, if you could call paltry amounts of sunshine summer.

Now Peter wouldn't say he was very smart but the feeling of death was certain and there weren't many options after. Why would he still be alive if not for some wacky time travel like in Doctor Who? Maybe he wasn't even in his own world or timeline. It wasn't an absurd idea, afterall, Peter could actual magic and at some point was going to learn how to teleport, it wasn't hard to believe that there was some sort of magic that took him somewhere in some timeline.

Could he test this out somehow?

A wide grin splits across his face and he can't not let it. If he was here in the winter that would absolutely mean he was in an alternate universe. Him, Peter Pettigrew somehow accidentally doing the impossible.

He quickly jumps off his bed, but as he lands on the carpeted floor, the teen slips on something silky, loses his footing and promptly falls right back on his bed. He may or may not let out a slightly (slightly) effeminate yelp. Peter looks down in confusion to pick up the piece of cloth, which turns out to be…a tie? It's actually rather smooth, blue and black stripes running through it, and Peter swears he has seen this somewhere before.

It was his sisters'?

Kat and Eloise wore it with their uniform when they went to their secondary school, maybe they had accidentally left it in his room. The tired teen couldn't even be bothered that one of his sisters had, at some point, come into his room, he had practically had no sense of privacy after sharing a dorm with 3 boys in a boarding school for almost 5 years. Peter just walked towards the door, making sure not to slip on anything this time, and raised his voice to shout.

"Found someone's tie in my room, better get it before it's in the bin!" Peter wouldn't actually throw it but it was always better to threaten if he wanted a quick response from any of his sisters, and true to thought they responded promptly and nearly simultaneously.

"Not mine!"

"Shut it!"

Right, so it was neither of theirs and it couldn't be Julie's, she isn't old enough for secondary school yet…

"Peter you better not be moping about, get your uniform on before you're late for school! You are not missing the bus today." His mum bellows from the stairs, her voice increasingly angrier than before. Peter meekly replies "Yes Mum."", before closing the door, eyes wide open, mouth agape.

…So the tie was for him. Right.

No better time to test his theory.

With excitement blooming in his heart, Peter swings open his wardrobe and hopes he'll find the rest of his uniform there. If this was an alternate version of his room, he hopes right now that that version was a bit more organised.

After five minutes of riffling through haphazardly stacked piles of clothing, he finds the standard white shirt and blazer. It takes more time going through his dresser draws to find some black trousers that look like it could be part of the uniform, the shirt is unfortunately unironed but they will have to do as long as he buttons up his blazer.

The uniform was easy to put and along the way he found some shoes slightly under his bed where he had originally found the tie.

Peter gives himself a once-over at the dresser mirror, it just about cuts him from below his torso, however from what he can see and feel, the blazer is ill-fitting and slightly dwarfs him. It's oddly tight around his arms but loose and baggy everywhere else. He tries to mess around with it a bit before giving a slightly exasperated huff and fixing his hair. He strides out his room into the hallway, rushing down the stairs before his mum calls for him again.

He was beyond excited, he was going to muggle school, for once he would blend in with his family, he could even make other muggle friends. Once Peter had left for Hogwarts his first year, he had lost all the friends he'd made in primary, and most holidays he spent his time at home or just walking around the area, going to nearby parks and shops with nothing else to do but write the occasional letters to the rest of the Marauders.

Had they made it just like he had?

He couldn't believe that he had been so caught up in his excitement that he hadn't thought of that sooner, Peter had seen Remus falling before he did and he was guessing that they had all ended up in similar situations since they had all been in the same incident.

But what if they hadn't made it? What if they weren't even the same timeline anymore? What if it was only him who hadn't made it?

Regardless, there was no way to be certain right now, or at least he couldn't think of one right.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs he quickly made his way to the joint dining room and front room, spotting the cereal, milk and bowls on the table opposite his Dad who was drinking his morning coffee whilst trying to put on his shoes, getting ready for work.

"Mornin' Pete" His dad says with a glance up, quickly downing his coffee before putting on his work jacket and walking off. Peter barely comes up with a response before his dad has already walked out the front door, giving his mum a peck to the cheek on his way out.

Peter got back to his cereal, preparing himself a bowl and trying eat as fast he could. Soon enough his sisters come down the stairs and everyone is ready to go. He'd heard enough complaining over the years to know that his sisters took the bus to and from school but he's only been there once when Eloise had enrolled a few years ago. It had been in preparation for him potentially enrolling after her. Little help that did. So he would just be following his sisters and hope for the best. On his way out his mum gave him a packed lunch and a few pennies which was probably for the bus.

Throughout the walk to the bus stop Eloise and Kat ignored him, each walking ahead of him and talking to friends they met up with on the way, whilst Peter tailed them trying to look inconspicuous because they apparently didn't want to seem related to him. Joy.

Eventually they reached the bus stop,and had to wait for too bloody long (ten minutes) before the bus arrived. Luckily there was a free window seat and when everyone from the stop was seated a bus conductor came around with a machine around his neck, giving tickets in exchange of pennies.

Though Peter was aware of the goings on of the muggle world, he was a little out of practice so he chose to copy what his sisters were saying and got his ticket. Since this was probably going to be a common occurrence, he would need to remember what he'd need to say the next day.

The journey was much longer than he had expected, but compared to the painfully long train rides to Hogwarts it was barely anything. His anticipation though, made the wait seem even longer so throughout the ride Peter busied himself with observing the other people in the bus. A few looked to be people going to work, with their briefcases and pencil skirts, whilst a majority wore the same school uniform and sat closer to the back of the bus, making rather quite a lot of noise.

When Peter eventually gets bored of that he begins to think about what the school will be like. From what he could remember he had always thought it was impressive and gave off a foreboding aura almost similar to that of Hogwarts. The building had towered over him at almost 10 which which could mean it was large, then again at 10 pretty much everything towered over him... so perhaps not as large as Hogwarts but still a noteworthy size. He became so lost in his thoughts, that he'd almost missed their stop.

Running out the bus Peter was met with…an average sized brick building with the school's name painted at the top.

Which was quite anti-climatic, the building was about the size of the Hogwarts Great Hall which, even then, it still lacked the height the hall had. How could this possibly hold enough students?

"Peter!" someone calls from behind him, swiftly putting an arm around his shoulders.

"Hey….you?" Peter turns to see a boy around his height, with a wide grin as wild as his curly blonde hair.

"Aw why the cold-shoulder Pete" he waggled his brows at the God awful pun, "the day may be freezing but the warmth of your sister's radiant smile keeps me warm", with that he dramatically rests a hand over his heart.

Peter cant help but recoil in disgust, not even trying to hide on his expression. His presumed friend apparently finds that incredibly hilarious by how he starts wheezing like a dying horse, clutching his stomach as he tries to catch his breath.

"Gosh you should see the look on your face, now that really lights up my day", all he receives from whatever that is is an unimpressed look of disdain from Peter, "Alright, alright I'll stop, I see my mastery of words aren't appreciated here. Anyways did you watch that show that I told you about yesterday?

Peter just gives him a blank look, completely out of his depth.

"Oh come on! You said you'd watch this time. Fine, whatever, be prepared for an epic retelling. Ok so the main character is this macho James Bond type of guy but with…" His friend's voice drifts on a he continued his tirade, Peter half listening, picking up a few words here and there.

At some point he realises what show the other boy had been talking about and he is able to contribute to the conversation, only a few mistakes here and there as they walk inside the school, words seeming to flow out of him on they find a common topic. Overall it is…nice.

By the time lunch came around, Peter felt more stable in the knowledge that in this alternate timeline, he at least had one friend, and if he was feeling a little honest he was happy it was just the both of them.

When the Prank had happened, Peter hadn't known what to do or think. He didn't know if he could side with Remus or James. Remus who had felt betrayed and wouldn't speak to them for months. James who couldn't trust that he hadn't known what Sirius had planned to do. In the end he never really had a choice. When he 'chose' James Peter had been like a side piece, a shadow treated with mistrust.

When it all came to a head and Remus and Sirius clashed like nature out of balance whilst James fought for his innocence like a man on trial. Peter was just left there, his part in the scene no longer questioned, like James' doubt of him had been out of self-blame for not noticing sooner rather than a recognition or an ounce of fear that Peter could ever leave them.

And when it settled down and the Marauders fell back into step, Peter felt like he'd been left behind, like he always was.

It felt as though his friends had been so caught up in themselves and their relationships with each other that they had forgotten about him. And he understood, it had been a frightening situation that almost broke up their friendship completely but it had still hurt Peter's feelings that he hadn't been given voice in the matter.

Everytime he'd tried to talk to Remus he'd either be stopped by James or told to go away by Remus, and when Remus had forgiven James and started that talking to James again, Peter was still being ignored even though he had been equally as innocent as James had been.

It was only until Remus had forgiven Sirius in April that the Marauders got back together properly.