When Remus Lupin was five years old a monster broke into his bedroom and bit him. It sounds ridiculous doesn't it? Some story made up to scare little kids. Remus isn't sure he would believe it himself if it hadn't happened to him. But it's there on his side, between his ribs and his hips, the unmistakable imprint of teeth. The skin white and puckered, the ugliest, he thinks, of all of his scars.
I don't think they're ugly, Sirius had said to him once, third year. I think they're beautiful.
The infuriating thing about Sirius Black—well, one of many—is that he can just say things like that. Without thinking. Without caring. Everything about Sirius is careless—his hair, his flying, his words. Sirius acts like nothing matters. It should be annoying—obnoxious—but really, it's addictive. Remus feels like he can never get enough of it. Like he's hungry for him all the time.
He worries that it isn't hormones.
That it's the wolf.
That one day he'll lose control and eat Sirius whole.
When Remus Lupin was five years old a monster broke into his bedroom and bit him. It was his father's fault. His father who hates werewolves. Who wants them dead. Ended up with one for a son. Talk about family dysfunction.
Sometimes Remus wishes it had happened later—that he could have had more time with his parents before all they saw when they looked at him was tragedy. He expects it would be easier to be angry with them. But he isn't. Mostly he just hurts for them. They're good people, they probably would have been good parents. If things had been different.
He knows that they tried for a while, to have another kid. He supposes that's another thing he should be angry about. But he just thinks it's too bad that it didn't work out. They deserved a do-over.
When Remus Lupin was five years old a monster broke into his bedroom and bit him. It was the worst pain he had ever felt in his life—that is, until he transformed for the first time. Locked in the cellar. No windows. No light. Stone floors and stone walls. His father had revarnished the door with wolfsbane. Every time Remus touches it his skin burns, even when he isn't a wolf. It's a trick his father has used a few more times—on his office, the bedroom. Precautions. Incase Remus gets out on some full moon. Incase he comes for them in the night.
Most children ask their parents to check for monsters under their beds. Or in their closets. But thanks to Fenrir Greyback, Lyall and Hope Lupin never had to check. The monster had come and gone and Remus never thought it likely any others would visit. Because he wasn't a little boy anymore. Not really. Not after that. He was a wolf. Just as scary as anything else that goes bump in the night.
"Okay," Lily says as she drops abruptly into the seat across from him, making Remus jump. The books that had been in her hands fan out in front of her. "What is going on?"
He looks at her for a moment before returning his attention to the book in front of him. He's finished all his homework, now he's just revising for his OWLs...again.
"Hello to you too," he says without lifting his eyes.
"Remus."
"Lily."
He can practically hear the frown in her voice. "Sirius is off the quidditch team, Frank is living in your dorm, and the four of you are avoiding one another like the bloody plague."
"We are not," Remus says, feeling particularly defensive about that last point. Because, the truth is, he has been avoiding James and Peter, but he hates that he's doing it, and hates it even more that people have noticed. Especially Lily.
