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Twelve years. Twelve years had passed since his world has fallen apart; twelve years since his best friends were killed; twelve years since the man he had once called one of his best friends destroyed everything forever. Within one night, he had lost everything that once meant everything to him. And since that night, he had been alone.
Not that he didn't know how it was being alone. When he was a boy, long before he arrived at Hogwarts, he had been alone all the time. Of course, he had his mother and his father, who loved him deeply, cared for him, did everything to keep him safe from the world—and the world from him. And that meant loneliness.
In summer, when other children had ebeen playing outside in the tall grass, tossing balls to each other or meeting up to swim in the nearby lake; or in winter, when the other children had been romping around in the snow or been skating on the ice, Remus had sat at the window, watching from inside. His parents had feared that their secret—his secret—might come out; that the others might ask questions, might have taken him away from them.
Remus had barely been five years old, he barely remembered, when a man, a werewolf—Fenrir Greyback, who held a grudge against Remus' father—had lurked in wait for him to bite and turn the young boy. Since then, every full moon—for most of his life—Remus had turned into a bloodthirsty beast. It was painful as his bones lengthened and cracked, his skin stretched and tore, and his face contorted. But that was nothing compared to the emptiness and self-hatred he had always felt afterwards. And yet it had become a part of him, not remembering what life had been like before.
His parents had kept him hidden away as much as possible, his father locked him in his room every full moon; windows and doors sealed, a Silent Charm cast over the room, to ensure that no one could hear his howling. Nonetheless, it became increasingly difficult as Remus grew older, becoming stronger—more difficult to control. Rumours had began spreading about a boy who was locked away in his house by his parents. So, they moved. Several times.
Things only changed one late evening in the summer when Remus was eleven, when a white-haired man with crescent-shaped glasses and a long beard appeared at their door—Albus Dumbledore.
Remus' father had never thought it could be possible that Remus would be accepted into Hogwarts—the prejudice against werewolves was too severe. After all, he himself had been prejudiced. This prejudice had put him—his son—in that situation in the first place. And yet that was the very reason Dumbledore had come. He wanted to give him a chance, a chance to experience a normal life.
And from then on, everything had changed. For the first time in his life, he made friends. Real friends.
Friends who weren't afraid of him, even when they eventually found out about his "hairy" problem—how James used to call it. Instead, they did everything they could to be with him, even during his transformation. It took years for them to complete their transformation into Animagi and accompany him into the Forbidden Forest at night.
That's how he became Moony. Together with Prongs, Padfoot and Wormtail, they had become known as the Marauders. From then on, he was never lonely again. The transition was still painful—but it was bearable.
They had been young, reckless, invincible—or so they thought. Hogwarts had given him more than an education; it had given him a life worth living, a sense of belonging. For a while, he had almost forgotten what he was.
First, the war came, taking the life of their friends and classmates. And then, eventually, twelve years ago, one of the Marauders had turned on them. That one Remus had thought would give everything and anything.
Instead, he took it all.
Remus had often wondered why and how someone could be so wrong about another person. And while the Wizarding World celebrated Lord Voldemort's fall, Remus' world fell apart. In one night, he lost everyone who had meant everything to him. His best friends. James, Peter, Lily—his family. Only James' and Lily's son survived.
Remus had accepted Dumbledore's decision to send Harry to his relatives without question. The boy had needed distance to grow up. From the Wizarding World. From the name he carried. From people like Remus. It was better that way. For both him and Harry. Better than being raised by a werewolf who could barely hold himself together. There was no place for him in a child's life.
Now he was alone again—his parents had also passed away in the meantime. And yet, even though he had known loneliness so well, it felt... strangely unfamiliar. Odd, how strangers stumble into one's life, and once they're gone, life will never be the same again. As if new people dig a hole in one's heart where there wasn't one before, settle in and make themselves comfortable, and as soon as these people disappear, all they leave behind is this huge hole that refuses to close itself.
After the war, he had largely isolated himself—from the very few people he still knew—and particularly from the whole Wizarding World. The pain, the memory of what he once had, was too much for him to bear. The years blurred into another; he barely noticed the time passing. He supported himself, taking work where he could find it—but his frequent sick days led to him being dismissed after a short time. Not even in the Muggle world there was a place for him that would tolerate his existence.
And then, over a decade later, he returned to Hogwarts. It was truly unexpected when Dumbledore had stood at his doorstep one day in July; an offer to become a professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. He had rejected the offer at first. Him? A professor? Someone like him was not supposed to be near children, let alone teach them.
Admittedly, teaching had always been his passion. A dream he had always wanted to pursue. But not... under those circumstances.
But Dumbledore wouldn't give up. Do it for James. For Lily, he had said. Then—help protect him. Harry.
Remus, who had been living in relative isolation, cut off from almost everything, and everyone, had picked up on it. By chance, in one of the Muggle newspapers.
His former friend. A traitor. Escaped from Azkaban. And, according to Dumbledore, he was after Harry.
But that wasn't all Dumbledore had to say to him. In the meantime, a potion had been invented, one that would lessen the symptoms during the transformation, keep him conscious, and make him less harmful.
Dumbledore had reached out to him yet again, giving him a chance to live a normal life. And then—he accepted.
And now, seated at the High Table; it was lunch time, the Great Hall was packed with students chatting, laughing. Minerva McGonagall sat to his left, both of them watching Harry and his friends sitting at the Gryffindor table. The sun was pouring in through one of the large windows, the light reflecting off the boy's round glasses. He held one hand up to shield his eyes from the glare.
He had thought about him often. Harry. He knew he would see the boy again, he had imagined, how it would be. But it was nothing like he would have thought of.
It was on his train ride to Hogwarts, the last day before the start of the new school year, and he had drifted into a sleep, lulled by the gentle rocking of the train. First a rumbling, then something like a scream, then the icy cold had pulled him out of his dreamless sleep. Dementors had wandered through the Hogwarts Express, searching for him. The boy, deeply shaken by the Dementor's presence, had turned pale as chalk and collapsed unconscious in his seat.
Nothing had prepared Remus for the shock when he realised, he had just met Harry again for the first time in twelve years. And… he looked just like James.
Remus was taken off guard; for a moment, he thought he was dreaming. One of the many nightmares that haunted him regularly at night, but especially just before the full moon.
But it wasn't a nightmare. It was actually him. Black-haired, a little too small for his age, and wearing almost the same glasses as James. But his eyes were bright green. This was Harry, Lily and James' son. No doubt.
And Remus understood. That was not a boy who had been kept from pain.
Guilt rushed over him, a sudden, deep and old aching in his chest. Twelve years of absence. Twelve years of doing nothing. He left, and for the rest of the journey he had locked himself in one of the toilets.
But what had shaken him most was the first private lesson he had given Harry after the incident at the Quidditch match. Teaching him how to summon a Patronus; a powerful spell, one that was challenging even for adult wizards and witches. Even though Harry did well, the realisation for Remus that the boy seemed to have almost no happy memories—apparently none strong enough to conjure a Patronus—shook him to the core.
And for a brief moment, just a blink of an eye, he regretted leaving.
No. No, it was better that way.
For Harry, he was now Professor Lupin. Not Uncle Lupin, as he would have been in another life; as James used to call him, as Peter used to mock him with.
Professor Lupin. That was more he could give the boy.
He watched Harry laughing at something his friend Ron Weasley had said. Their mutual friend Hermione Granger shook her head, rolling her eyes, but she couldn't help smiling a little, either. The sight of Harry, who seemed so carefree—at least for that moment—made Remus smile.
"Every time I see him walking through the corridors... he's the spitting image of James," he said quietly, addressed to Minerva, "but every time I have a closer look… it's not just his eyes, but his whole presence, I see Lily."
"He is indeed," Minerva replied, her gaze softened, "but I assure you Remus, he does have his father's talent to get himself into trouble."
Remus chuckled. He believed that immediately.
"Last year, he attempted to go into the Chamber of Secrets to fight a basilisk," Minerva continued, her brows furrowed slightly, but she remained smiling. "He is... impulsive, just like his father. But he's got both his parents' courage. And a kind heart."
Remus watched Harry who widely gestured with his hand while he was talking. Just like James used to. And yet… there was a gentleness in him, a kindness, paired with fierce and loyalty, he had known from Lily.
As he was watching him, Remus thought that perhaps everything could get better after all. Maybe there was hope. And he hadn't felt hopeful in a long time. Not for twelve years.
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