Chapter Text
Remus closed his eyes as he rested the side of his face against the cool glass of the window. The air around him was still, and scarily unmoving, and the wind outside was sharper as the weather crept closer to winter. Everything was eerily still as he looked around the empty compartment.
The red cushions underneath him and on the seat opposite made the room look stuffy; his trunk was resting next to him, and his wand at his side. All unmoving. The only thing that seemed to be daring to move in this stalemate of a moment was his own chest rising and falling and the tiny particles of dust that floated lazily near the compartment door.
Remus's eyes slowly wandered to look outside the window, somehow dreading it. He felt a sort of guilt as he found his parents in the crowd, watching him with varying levels of emotion.
His father, Lyall, seemed to be on the verge of a crisis, but was looking his way gruffly. All stiff and stonefaced, trying to look like all the other dads dropping their seventeen-year-old sons off to Hogwarts: Like he's done this before.
But Lyall Lupin had not.
This is the first time Remus will be this far away from his parents. He wasn't a knock away anymore, or just upstairs in his room. Remus was on a train to a castle between the mountains, where magic bloomed like nature, and nature intertwined itself with magic, as though bending to its will. And that was very, very far away from their little place in Devon.
His mother, Hope, looked far less composed than her husband. Her eyes were softly rimmed red, fingers grasping desperately at the letter Remus had given her and instructed her to read when she arrived back home.
For a moment, he thought about changing his mind. For just a moment, he didn't care about this opportunity that had been given to him, and only cared to dry his mother's tears and to tell his da that it's okay if he missed him, because a part of Remus will miss him, too.
But the thought entered and passed before he could act on it, so instead, Remus smiles weakly at his parents and waves. As he did, he spotted a pair of what looked like Hufflepuffs, judging by the yellow accents on their robes, looking at him in confusion and whispering rapidly to each other. He tried his best to ignore it, knowing the attention would only grow when they reached the castle.
Truthfully, when he first learned about the Hogwarts Houses, his first thought was to be a Ravenclaw. Although most would think he'd want that because his father was one, he also didn't seem to care much about the other houses or what they represent. Nope, definitely not for his da. Remus just couldn't care for the other houses. But he did, and really didn't want to admit it. He didn't even answer Dumbledore when he sat on an armchair in his office, his parents watching eagerly as he asked him what house he wanted to be in. His mouth seemed to lose all motion, staying unmoving. Remus could see the flicker of emotion in Lyall's eyes, searching for just one more thing to be proud of, to add to the pile of overflowing accomplishments and milestones that were never enough to hide the looming fatal flaw Remus has carried since he was four.
Remus had realised that he wanted to give it to him. So as the Sorting Hat was placed over his head, he kept silent. Without thought of what might come next, he had willed his mind to take the form of everything a Ravenclaw strived to be.
It took the Sorting Hat nearly twenty minutes to make up its mind, since Remus had tried tirelessly to convince it to let up and just put him in Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, or even Hufflepuff! Just not there. He didn't want his da's eyes to dim in disappointment, to put a hand on his shoulder and tell him that his house didn't define him, and that it didn't matter that the first werewolf to enter Hogwarts was also put in the darkest house out of the four. But it did matter. It mattered when the Sorting Hat gently coaxed him into giving in, and softly whispered his decision into the silent room.
As the platform cleared of any Hogwarts students —only a few trying to get last-minute hugs in before they had to go—, the train let out another whistle and began to move. With a final wave at his parents, he turned to look at his hands, which were in fists. He blinked at them, not noticing how tense he was. Slowly, he unfurled his fingers, feeling the joints relax but also pulse painfully as he flexed them, observing the scars crisscrossing on his skin.
Remus stared and stared at the white lines forever imprinted on his skin, as though if he stared for long enough, they'd melt away like snow in the morning sun. But if that were true, then Remus hadn't seen the sun in years, so what was it really to bear the cold, when the cold was all he knew? Easy, that's what. Predictable. Fine.
He knew the cold, the bitterness of being emptied of a warmth that had been ripped away from him. He knew what it felt like when the sun wasn't warming your back, making you dizzy in its heat.
Remus sometimes forgets what it is to have fun, and he thinks that's perfectly fine. Fun won't get him into Aurorial Appraisal, will it? His studies had gotten him this far. He just had to push a little more.
He didn't need fun.
All he ever felt was a constant focus on him, by others, by his parents, by himself. His life was a daily routine of getting from point A to point B, over and over. It was a sickening amount of time taken for things like his school work, his condition, and if he's taking his potions, and his mother asking him if he's sure he wants her to donate a box full of makeup he hasn't used in years.
Everyone around cared about such blunt and bitter topics that Remus couldn't seem to care for anything else. But now, as he closes his eyes and imagines a future for himself, he sees a small light at some point.
He hopes it's warmth.
He hopes it's relief.
When Remus looked out the window again, the platform was nowhere in sight.