The Marauder Chronicles - 01

Year One
 

Prologue – The Letter

Remus Lupin was always a quiet sort of boy. Even before . . . even before it happened, he preferred to sit in his room and read. He didn’t like to go outside and play, any more than he liked to go with his mother into Hogsmeade, which was within Floo distance.

He’d only truly been curious once . . .

Afterwards, he secluded himself even more. He stopped speaking altogether, and when his aunt Mary had come to visit, she’d loudly asked her sister if being a you-know-what made the boy slow. 

Remus had tried not to let his aunt’s words get to him – she was only a Muggle, after all, and she couldn’t be expected to understand . . . Not when wizards didn’t even understand . . . Not when the faces of the supposed experts at St. Mungo’s held so much contempt . . . Late at night, when he was trying to sleep, Remus found himself thinking of  that pretty, young Healer with the big brown ringlets, who always cringed every time she had to touch him . . . 

It really wasn’t fair on his mother. She handled it the best she could, but Remus could tell it was hard on her. Remus had faint memories of his mother smiling and laughing, and looking young. But he didn’t know if they were real, or just dreams, and when he came into the kitchen in the morning and saw her, looking sickly and pale, spaced-out over her cup of tea, he knew that she would never look like that again.

He finally broke down and spoke at ten, when his mother came to fetch him one morning. 

“Remus, sweetheart?” her voice floated down the stairs . . . down the stairs, to where Remus lay on the cellar floor, mangled, covered in blood.

She sat down on her knees next to him and wiped him off with a cold rag, slowly, getting blood all over the blouse she was wearing, but she didn’t seem to care.

“I’d like some water,” Remus managed to croak.

“I’ll get you some,” his mother said, dabbing his forehead.

Remus would never forget that, the way she didn’t even make a big deal out of him speaking at last. Maybe it was because she’d known that they all had their battles, and speaking aloud again was just a very small bit of it for Remus, but, either way, he appreciated it.

His father didn’t come to fetch him the mornings. His father spent most of his time in his study; although, one day, Remus saw his mother and father outside, inspecting the cellar.

“Do you think we need to double up the wards again?” his mother asked.

Remus had his window open – he liked the fresh air, but it was taking all his willpower not to shut it, because he was so afraid of the outdoors, but he wanted to brave, he really did, and then his parents were out there, talking about him . . .

John Lupin stood up and wiped his dirty hands on his trousers. He frowned, and ran a hand through his grey hair. Remus’s father traveled a lot. Remus knew it was about him. He knew that his parents were desperate to find a cure, but they never shared their hopes with Remus. 

All Remus knew was that, every time his father came home, he always looked a bit more grey.

“I don’t think so,” his father said, walking around the cellar, making some complicated motion with his wand. “He’s getting bigger, but I don’t think he’s going to break out just yet.”

“The noise last time . . .” his mother muttered, so quietly that Remus barely heard her. “It sounded like he was throwing himself against the door.”

“Probably was,” his father said with a sniff. “Could probably smell . . . could probably smell rabbits, or what-have-you. It’s an animal, Ev; of course it’s going to want to get to where the food is.”

Remus knew that werewolves didn’t eat rabbits, and he knew that his father knew it, too. He didn’t mean to shut the window then – it slammed shut, seemingly of its own accord, but he didn’t complain.

Like with most young witches and wizards, things happened around Remus. 

Mostly small things that could be dismissed rather easily, like the window slamming shut. That could have been a draft, for instance. But other times, it was not so easy to dismiss the odd things. Like when his mother had been complaining about him growing so fast that his clothes no longer fit, and then, suddenly, they did. Or like when his mother had told him he could not have another chocolate muffin, and he’d gotten angry and then the plate of muffins had levitated right by his mother’s head. She acted as if nothing strange was going on at all, and, in fact, grabbed a muffin and ate it right in front of Remus, quite spitefully, to tell you the truth.

Remus was a wizard.

He knew it, on most levels. He knew that he probably wouldn’t have even survived at all if he wasn’t magical, but things just would’ve been so much easier if he wasn’t. Things would have been so much less painful.

He found his father’s spare wand once – it was hidden, in his desk, locked in a drawer. Remus didn’t mean to open the drawer; it just did, all on its own, because Remus’s curiosity had gotten the better of him. He knew that his father would never believe that he just happened upon the wand, and he really had no excuse to be messing with it, so, after holding it for less than a minute, he set it back in its place.

If his father noticed that it had been touched, he never said a word.

Although Remus was pretty sure he could legally own on a wand, he was also pretty sure that he would never get to learn magic the way other kids did. His mum asked him one night how he felt about doing some at-home tutoring. He smiled, and said, “That would be nice,” but it wasn’t the same, really.

His parents had both gone to Beauxbatons, and he overheard them talking about it, the same night his mother offered the lessons. They were in the kitchen, looking ominous in the flickering candlelight.

“Isn’t there any way. . . ?” his mum asked.

“You know as well as I do; there’s absolutely nothing we can do.”

“But, John, don’t you have some contacts – ?”

His father shook his head.

“Monsieur Riley would never let Remus attend in his . . . state.”

Remus almost laughed at that. His parents were so tactful about it, so delicate about it.

Sometimes his mother accidentally took him to Hogsmeade when the Hogwarts kids were there, and it was just awful, seeing them walk around, having so much fun. But, really, he told himself, it was for the best.

Remus resigned himself to solitude at the tender age of eleven.

So, really, he was quite shocked one sunny day, when he’d been sitting at his desk, reading a very interesting book, and there was a peck at the window.

His mother’s owl had died several years before, and they’d never gotten a replacement, and so owl post became something they were little concerned about. His parents didn’t even take The Daily Prophet. They lived in solitude, as well.

But there was an owl at his window, pecking persistently; a tiny, tawny owl that nipped at his hand when he opened the latch and let it in. Remus wondered if it had been a mistake to let the bird in – really, letting strange creatures into your home couldn’t be a very good idea – but then the owl held out its leg, and Remus realized there was a note tied to it.

He untied it very carefully, and then the owl hooted impatiently.

“I don’t have any money, Owl, I’m quite sorry. How would you like some bread crumbs?”

The owl hooted again, in agreement, Remus could only guess, so he headed for the kitchen, looking at the letter as he went.

On one side it said:
Mr. Remus Lupin
The Bedroom on the East Side of the Cottage

And on the other, it had the Hogwarts seal.

Remus’s eyebrows went into his fringe. It couldn’t possibly . . .

The bread crumbs were forgotten in that instant. 

He ripped the letter open.

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. . .