Chapter Text
24 08 1972
REMUS
The days bled together, thick and suffocating, like fog trapped in a valley that refused to lift.
Remus stopped counting after the first week.
Time here felt different. At Hogwarts, it moved with purpose; marked by the ringing of the bell between lessons, the hurried rush of students down stone corridors, the warmth of candlelight flickering against ancient walls. Even in the depths of his worst full moons, there was Madame Pomfrey’s steady hands, chocolate left at his bedside, his friends. His brothers. Pulling him from the haze of pain with bad jokes and half-hearted scoldings.
Here, time crawled. The house, old and rotting at the corners, felt like it belonged to a world outside of time itself. The air was stale, thick with dust, and nothing ever seemed to move except the rats skittering in the walls and the shifting shadows cast by candlelight.
Letters never came.
He waited for them at first. Told himself they were probably just delayed. That James, Sirius, and Peter were too caught up in summer mischief, or Fei was drowning herself in books somewhere, temporarily forgetting to write.
But days turned into weeks, and the silence stretched unbearably thin.
There was no parchment, no ink blotches from Sirius’s lazy scrawl, no neatly written study schedules from Fei, no exaggerated tales from James about pranks he’d played on his parents, no doodles from Peter squeezed into the margins.
Nothing.
Either they’d forgotten him, or something kept them from reaching him.
He stopped expecting letters after that.
Instead, he woke up hungry. The ache in his stomach was a dull, constant thing, curling in on itself like a starving animal. If there was food left over from his uncle’s meals, he was allowed to have it. If there wasn’t, he went without. The hunger gnawed at him, hollowing him out, until he wondered if this was what it felt like to disappear.
The house was silent during the day. His uncle never said where he went. Remus learned early on not to ask. The few times he did, the answer came in the form of a hard slap across the face, his uncle’s voice curling in disgust:
"You don’t get to ask questions, Beast."
So he didn’t. He just sat in his room, if it could be called that. A small, empty space with no bed, only a blanket on the floor, a single window with rusted bars that let in barely any light.
And he waited.
The full moons were the worst.
At school, the transformations were brutal, but at least there was the Shack, the potions, the soft hands that bandaged his wounds. Here, he had nothing. No Wolfsbane, no Madame Pomfrey, no friends sneaking in with sweets and whispered reassurances.
Just the iron cage bolted to the floor of the basement and the taste of blood in his mouth.
His uncle never came down afterward. Not until days passed and the scent of decay was too strong to ignore. By then, Remus would already be curled in the corner, broken and feverish, struggling to heal himself with what little strength he had left. Sometimes, if he was lucky, there’d be a bucket of water within reach. Other times, he’d have to crawl, limbs screaming, ribs shifting painfully, to the opposite side of the room where the leaks from the pipes left just enough water to lap at with his tongue.
This wasn’t living.
This was waiting to die.
The only thing tethering him to himself were the new moon visits with his parents. But even those were slipping further from his grasp.
He barely recognized them anymore.
His mother, always so soft, so warm, looked frail now, her skin almost translucent in the candlelight. His father’s shoulders, once strong and steady, were hunched, his eyes dull.
They still smiled at him. But their voices sounded hollow, like a song played from a broken instrument.
"We miss you, darling."
"We just want what’s best for you."
"It’s better if you stay here, Remus. We worry too much when you’re away."
They were lying.
But not willingly.
He could see it in the way their hands twitched when they spoke, the hesitation in their eyes, the way they always glanced at his uncle before answering.
"Is that really what you want?" he asked once, desperately searching their expressions for something, anything , that told him they weren’t lost to him.
His father hesitated. Just for a second.
Then his uncle stepped in. A heavy hand clamping onto Remus’s shoulder. A smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
"Of course it is. They worry about you. Don’t they?"
His parents nodded. Perfectly in sync.
Like puppets on a string.
Remus didn’t know how , but he knew. Something was done to them.
And his uncle was behind it.
But until he could figure out what, all he could do was survive.
Remus was still curled on the floor, every muscle trembling, when the door creaked open. The iron scent of his own blood lingered in the air, mixing with the damp mildew of the cellar. He barely lifted his head. His uncle never came in so soon after. He usually let Remus fester in the aftermath, starved, aching, fevered, until the stench of him became unbearable.
The voice that spoke, however, wasn’t Keir’s.
"Ah, Keir," Albus Dumbledore said, his tone as light in semblance of if he were greeting an old friend rather than stepping into a dungeon where a child was left to rot. "I see you've done as expected."
Remus forced himself to sit up. His vision swam, but he made out the tall figure of the Headmaster standing in the doorway, his robes far too rich a blue for a place this gray and lifeless. His gaze swept the room, pausing on the rusted chains embedded into the walls, the scratches on the stone floor, and the blood drying in the cracks of Remus’s skin.
For a moment, just a flicker, something dark passed over Dumbledore’s expression. A glimmer of something that looked almost like satisfaction.
Then it was gone.
Keir scoffed. “What do you want, Dumbledore?”
"Why, to collect my student, of course," Dumbledore said pleasantly, as though this were a routine exchange. He turned his gaze back to Remus, eyes sharp with something unreadable. "It’s time for him to return to Hogwarts."
Keir stepped forward, blocking the doorway. “His parents don’t wish for him to return.”
“Do they not?” Dumbledore asked, tilting his head. His voice was still gentle, but there was a distinct, cutting amusement beneath it, as if he already knew the answer.
“They’ve said as much,” Keir snapped. “He’s a danger. A beast, and you know it."
Dumbledore didn’t deny it.
Remus’s stomach twisted.
Instead, the Headmaster merely sighed, in such a way that implied he was burdened by some great responsibility. “I am afraid that decision is not yours to make.”
Keir sneered. “I am his guardian.”
Dumbledore pulled something from the folds of his robes. A collection of crisp parchment, official-looking seals glinting in the dim light. “You are his summer guardian,” he corrected smoothly. “By the wishes of his parents, of course. But as they are… unavailable at the moment,”
Keir’s nostrils flared.
“the will and directive ensure that Remus is under the care of Hogwarts during the school year.” Dumbledore’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I trust that won’t be an issue.”
Remus watched his uncle’s lip curl. He was trapped, cornered in a web of paperwork and legalities he couldn’t argue against. But the fight in him didn’t die yet.
“You act as this is some great mercy,” Keir spat, stepping aside with a glare. “Taking him back to that school of yours. But we both know what he is. You just want to keep an eye on him. On what he could become.”
Dumbledore gave a small nod, acknowledging a truth neither of them would say aloud. Then he turned to Remus.
“My boy, let’s get you cleaned up.”
Remus didn’t move at first. His legs were leaden, his body weak, but that wasn’t the only reason. The way Dumbledore spoke, the way he acted, it didn’t feel like a rescue.
It felt like a transaction.
But it was a way out. And he would take it.
With great effort, Remus pushed himself to his feet, his joints protesting. He staggered but remained upright. Keir didn’t offer a hand. Of course, he wouldn’t. He never helped him before.
As he made his way to the doorway, Dumbledore placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Ah, and one more thing,” he said, his voice infuriatingly casual.
He reached into his robes once more and pulled out a bundle of envelopes.
Remus stared at them. His breath caught in his throat. The letters, dozens of them. Some wrinkled, some pristine. But he recognized the scrawl of each one.
James. Sirius. Fei. Peter.
His hands trembled as he reached for them.
“I believe these belong to you,” Dumbledore said kindly, almost… too kindly.
Remus clutched the letters to his chest. He barely noticed Keir’s confused scowl, the way his uncle’s eyes darted between him and Dumbledore.
“You had these?” Remus croaked, voice hoarse from disuse. “You kept these?”
Dumbledore waved a dismissive hand. “Of course not, my boy. Simply ensuring they found their way to you safely.”
Keir scoffed. “Don’t look at me. I never touched his bloody mail.”
Remus’s grip on the letters tightened. His mind swam, piecing together the implications. Keir wasn’t lying, not about this. He was cruel, but he wasn’t cunning. If he confiscated the letters, he would have boasted about it.
Which meant…
Dumbledore had them the entire time.
A slow, sick feeling settled in his gut.
The Headmaster turned, already striding toward the exit. “Come along, Remus. Madame Pomfrey will be expecting us.”
Remus hesitated for just a second longer. Keir stood by the doorway, arms crossed, eyes cold with something between disdain and relief. He looked past Remus, straight at Dumbledore, and scoffed.
"Good riddance," he muttered. "About time someone else dealt with the bloody burden."
Remus felt something curl tight in his chest, but he forced himself to breathe past it.
Keir didn’t care. He never did.
Dumbledore gave a small, unreadable smile. "You won’t have to worry about him any longer, Keir."
Keir snorted. "I never did."
Remus didn’t wait for anything else. He stepped past the threshold, out into the open air, gripping the letters in his hand like a lifeline.
He didn’t look back.
25 08 1972
Hogwarts smelled different than home.
The air was lighter, tinged with parchment and candle wax, and free of the cloying scent of damp stone and iron bars. Even though his entire body ached from his most recent transformation, his muscles sore, his ribs protesting with every breath, Remus didn’t complain as he followed Dumbledore up the familiar corridors toward the infirmary.
He wasn’t going to give the old man the satisfaction.
Dumbledore walked at an unhurried pace, hands folded behind his back in a manner that implied he had all the time in the world. He didn’t ask Remus about the summer. Didn’t acknowledge the bruises or the stiff way he moved, the way his lip was still split from a transformation days ago. But the silence between them was thick with understanding. Remus knew Dumbledore knew. Knew he knew all along.
And yet, he waited until the very last possible moment to do anything.
Remus clenched his jaw. His uncle had all but thrown him out of the house, barely sparing a word once Dumbledore arrived, and as much as Remus wanted to be relieved, wanted to feel safe again, he couldn’t shake the wariness curling in his chest. He was grateful to be gone from that place, but at what cost?
Madame Pomfrey was already waiting when they arrived, hands on her hips, her face lined with something that looked suspiciously like anger.
"Get in," she ordered briskly, waving her wand to summon fresh linens. "Merlin’s beard, Mr Lupin, you look half-dead."
"Feels about right," Remus muttered, limping his way to the nearest cot.
Pomfrey shot Dumbledore a sharp look, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Headmaster, if you don’t mind, I’d like a moment alone with my patient."
Dumbledore merely inclined his head, the twinkle in his eyes dimming for just a fraction of a second before he turned on his heel and left without a word.
Remus exhaled and deflated into the cot.
Pomfrey sighed, sitting on the edge of the cot as she waved her wand over him, her expression softening. "Let me guess. You haven’t been taking care of yourself."
"Not exactly by choice," he murmured, wincing when the diagnostic spell glowed an angry red over his ribs.
Her gaze flickered with something unreadable. "You’re safe now, dear. We’ll get you sorted."
He wasn’t sure if he believed that.
But he nodded anyway.
She worked efficiently, healing what she could, but after mending his ribs, easing the worst of the muscle soreness, and smearing a strong-smelling salve over the scratches on his arms, she pulled back.
"You need rest," she said firmly. "No arguments."
She knew him too well.
With one last searching look, she pulled the curtains around his cot and left him alone.
But rest was the last thing on his mind.
His fingers twitched as he reached for the stack of letters resting on the bedside table, bound together with a piece of twine. Dumbledore tried to make it seem like some grand favor, returning them to him, but Remus knew better.
He tore through them, his heart lurching at the familiar scrawls of his friends.
From Fei:
"Remmy, if you don’t respond to this letter soon, I will personally break into wherever your family is keeping you and drag you back myself. The humidity at the Isle is more brutal than I remember, and I need someone to complain to who isn't James. Write back or suffer the consequences."
From James:
"Lupin, I assume you’re alive, but I’d still like confirmation before Fei follows through on her threats. Peter and I have been keeping busy. Mum’s been spoiling us rotten, and Dad’s been teaching us new tricks for Quidditch (don’t tell Sirius, he’ll be insufferable). Speaking of, he’s been sending owls nonstop, mostly complaining about his family, but what else is new? You’d think with all the writing Fei and I have been doing, she’d have less time to boss me around, but no such luck. Write back soon, mate. We need our full team before the year starts.”
From Sirius:
"Remu, I know you’re probably off being a nerd somewhere, but you could at least have the decency to tell us how miserable you are without us. I’m dying of boredom here. I even tried to teach Regulus how to cheat at Exploding Snap, but he’s too much of a stickler for rules. Hope you’re suffering slightly less than I am. PS: Fei’s threatening violence again. It’s honestly impressive."
From Peter:
"Remus! Hope you’re doing well. James and Sirius are planning some kind of elaborate prank the moment we’re all back together, so be prepared. Also, Fei made us all swear to make sure you’re eating properly, so consider this my official reminder: eat something. See you soon!"
Remus couldn’t stop the small, tired smile that tugged at his lips.
They missed him. They worried.
And for the first time all summer, he let himself feel excited.
He was back.
Back at Hogwarts. He would soon be back with his friends.
Back to something that almost felt like home.
JAMES
James was never good at waiting.
It was only a few weeks since they last saw each other, but without Remus’s quiet, grounding presence, summer felt a little off. Sirius was still sending owls every other day. Half of them complaints about his family, half of them nonsense. And Peter had been at the manor twice already, which meant they’d spent most of their time dodging lectures from Euphemia Potter about the “art of subtlety” after she caught them trying to charm the dining table to float mid-dinner.
It was a good summer.
But the letters, those were starting to get to him.
James flipped through the pile of parchment stacked on his desk, his fingers pausing over Fei’s latest letter.
It was short. Fei was never short.
James,
You still haven’t heard from him, have you?
Fei.
That was it.
No inside jokes. No snide comments. No " try not to break your neck this year, Potter " or " are you actually studying or is your mother forcing you at wandpoint? "
Just that.
And that, more than anything, annoyed him.
James dropped the letter and flopped back onto his bed, arms crossed behind his head.
Remus probably just lost his journal or was too busy studying or... Merlin, he didn’t know. But if Dumbledore finally dragged Remus out of whatever horrible, book-infested cave he’d been rotting in all summer, he would have written by now.
Right?
His stomach twisted.
He didn’t like thinking about that.
He didn’t like Fei thinking about it more.
Because she was. Constantly.
Every letter she sent, she asked about Remus. Not James’s Quidditch training, not Peter’s latest near-death experience at the hands of a Boggart, not Sirius’s latest tale of family woe. Just Remus.
Which, all right, fine, James was worried about him too, but it wasn’t like he was dead.
Probably.
James sighed, rolling over onto his stomach and pressing his face into his pillow.
This wasn’t how he expected to spend his last week of summer. Lying around, waiting for a letter that wasn’t coming, thinking about why Fei’s lack of jokes was bothering him so much.
It wasn’t like he cared if she was thinking about Remus more than him.
Right?
There was a sharp knock on the door.
James groaned. “Unless you’re here to tell me Dumbledore’s just handed me the Quidditch Cup in advance, I’m busy.”
“James, it’s me,” Peter’s voice called from the other side. “And we’re busy.”
James cracked open one eye. “We are?”
Peter huffed. “You forgot, didn’t you?”
James thought. He had, in fact, forgotten.
“…No?”
Peter groaned. “Your dad is taking us to Diagon Alley for school supplies. Your mum’s been calling for you for fifteen minutes.”
That was now?
James bolted upright.
“Bloody hell! Why didn’t you say something earlier?!”
“I did!” Peter threw the door open, exasperated. “Twice! You were being dramatic about your bed!”
James ignored him, scrambling for his robes. “Why didn’t you hex me awake?”
Peter stared at him. “Because I value my life?”
James nearly tripped over himself as he pulled on his shoes.
“Come on, come on,” Peter urged, dragging him by the sleeve.
James barely had time to grab his wand before they were bounding down the stairs, past a very unimpressed Euphemia Potter.
"Your father has been waiting for you both in the Floo room," she said, eyes narrowing.
James grinned sheepishly, dodging past her before she could launch into a speech about responsibility.
"Thanks, Mum! Love you! Gotta go!"
As they stepped into the Floo, James let out a breath.
A day out.
This was good. This was a distraction.
Diagon Alley was loud, bustling with students gathering supplies, shopkeepers calling out sales, and a number of Hogwarts professors weaving through the crowd.
James and Peter did their best to dodge the worst of the chaos, darting between Flourish and Blotts, the apothecary, and finally stopping at Quality Quidditch Supplies to admire the latest model broomstick.
“You know,” Peter mused, glancing at the broom, “if you don’t make the team, it’d be hilarious if I did.”
James scoffed. “Please, you’re too short to be a Chaser.”
Peter huffed. “Not everyone can have legs for days, James.”
James threw an arm over his shoulder, grinning. “It’s all right, mate. You’ll make an excellent, uh, ball polisher.”
Peter shoved him off, laughing.
For a moment, James felt normal again. The weight of the last few days slipping away.
Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw her.
Fei, standing in front of Flourish and Blotts, scanning the crowd with her arms crossed.
James frowned.
She was supposed to meet them later.
Why did she look so...
“Oi, Loes!” he called, pushing through the crowd. “Looking for a book to crush your enemies with?”
Fei barely reacted.
That was… weird.
He and Peter reached her, and James tilted his head. “You all right?”
She blinked, startled, like she didn’t even realise they were there.
Then, finally, she rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, James.”
But James didn’t believe her.
She wasn’t making fun of him.
She wasn’t grinning.
She was tense.
“Did something happen?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
Fei exhaled slowly, looking away. “No.”
But then she added, quietly,
“No letter. Again.”
James’s stomach twisted.
“Oh,” Peter said, shifting awkwardly.
James scratched the back of his head. “Well, Dumbledore must’ve gotten him out by now. Maybe he’s just busy.”
Fei’s eyes snapped to his. “Too busy to send a single bloody letter?”
James didn’t have an answer for that.
Fei sighed and shook her head, turning toward the shop entrance. “I need to pick up my textbooks.”
James watched as she walked off, her jaw tight in frustration.
Peter nudged him. “She’s worried.”
James let out a breath. “Yeah.”
But that wasn’t what bothered him.
Because Fei was always worried about something.
This felt different.
And James didn’t know why that was bothering him .
But it was .
And he didn’t know what to do about it.
01 09 1972
REMUS
The Sorting Feast was already a blur of movement and chatter by the time Remus made his way to the Gryffindor table, still sore but steady on his feet. The warm glow of the enchanted ceiling, reflecting the late summer sky, bathed the Great Hall in a golden hue. For the first time in months, Hogwarts felt real again, like home.
He barely had time to take it all in before a blur of blue and black came crashing into him.
"Remmy!"
Fei’s arms wrapped around his middle, nearly knocking the wind out of him. He staggered, but she held on tighter, her face buried in his shoulder.
“I was so worried,” she muttered, voice thick with emotion. “You didn’t write. You didn’t-” Her grip tightened as if she were afraid he’d disappear again.
Remus let out a shaky laugh, overwhelmed but grateful. “I’m here, Fei. I’m back.” He felt the sting of tears pricking at his eyes. He didn’t realise just how much he missed this until now.
Fei pulled back just enough to smack Remus’s arm, gently, but with enough force to make her point. “You absolute prat. Do you know how worried I was?”
Remus chuckled, though his throat felt tight. “I can take a wild guess.”
“You didn’t write,” she accused, eyes still shining. “Not once.”
“I- I couldn’t,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t know how to explain it yet. Not here, not now.
Fei exhaled sharply, her fingers still curled around the sleeve of his robes like she wasn’t quite ready to let go. “I knew something was wrong.” She sniffed once and then straightened her shoulders. “Well, you’re here now. That’s what matters.”
Before he could respond, an arm slung around his shoulders, nearly knocking him off balance.
“Remu! You look like hell .” Sirius grinned. “I mean, even worse than usual.”
Remus let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Fantastic welcome, as always, Black.”
James clapped him on the back, grinning. “You should’ve seen Fei all summer. She’s been threatening to kidnap you for weeks.”
“She still might,” Peter added, looking mildly concerned.
Fei crossed her arms. “That’s still on the table.”
Remus felt warmth spread through his chest. He spent months isolated, convinced he was a burden, convinced he was better off staying away. But now, surrounded by the people who cared about him. Who missed him. It was hard to remember why he ever thought that way.
Fei glanced back toward the Ravenclaw table, where Emmeline and Pandora were waiting, their expressions patient but expectant. “I should go before they start wondering if I’ve been recruited into Gryffindor.” She stepped back, giving Remus one last searching look. “But you will tell me everything. Eventually.”
He nodded. “Eventually.”
She hesitated, then nodded back before turning and making her way toward her own table.
James nudged him as they all took their seats. “Good to have you back, mate.”
Remus looked around the Great Hall. The flickering candles, the enchanted ceiling, the warm laughter filling the space.
“Good to be back,” he said, meaning every word.
As the Sorting continued, Remus kept his eyes on the first-years, but his focus drifted. The Great Hall was alive with anticipation, but his mind still felt foggy from the summer, the weight of it lingering in his bones. He was home, finally, but something about this year felt… different.
Movement across the room caught his attention.
At the Ravenclaw table, Fei sat between Emmeline and Pandora, but she wasn’t paying attention to the Sorting either. She was looking straight at James.
Remus turned his head just in time to catch James making an exaggerated face. His eyebrows arched high, lips twisted in mock horror, as if one of the first-years was about to be sent straight into the mouth of a dragon.
Fei pressed her lips together, clearly holding back a laugh, before tilting her head slightly, unimpressed. She lifted her chin, smirking, and shot him an expression of utter boredom.
James snorted.
McGonagall shot a sharp look in his direction. He immediately straightened up, looking incredibly guilty, but when she turned away, he glanced back at Fei and winked.
Fei rolled her eyes, shaking her head with an exaggerated sigh.
This back-and-forth went on throughout the Sorting, small changes in expression, ridiculous reactions to things that no one else seemed to notice. James mouthed something at her. Remus couldn’t tell what, but whatever it was made Fei snort so loudly that Pandora turned to her with a puzzled look.
They would never do this.
Remus barely had time to process the thought before Sirius, who was aggressively buttering a roll, jabbed him in the side with his elbow.
“Oi, Remu, you see that?” Sirius muttered.
Remus blinked, prepared for Sirius to make some kind of remark about James and Fei, but instead, Sirius was glaring at the front of the hall.
Following his gaze, Remus turned just in time to hear,
"Black, Regulus."
The room fell silent as Sirius’s younger brother stepped up to the Sorting Hat. Regulus’s expression was calm, composed, the picture of a perfect heir, just as his family likely coached him to be.
The hat barely grazed his head before it shouted, “Slytherin!”
Sirius let out a sharp exhale beside Remus, his fingers tightening around his fork. “Figures,” he muttered, slumping back against the bench. “Of course he’d go there.”
Remus hesitated, but didn’t say anything. It wasn’t his place to comment, but he could tell Sirius wasn’t surprised, just resigned.
The last first-year was sorted, and Dumbledore rose to address the hall.
“Another year begins,” he said, his voice even and steady, but there was something heavier behind it. “A year of learning, of camaraderie… of choices.”
His piercing gaze swept across the students, lingering in certain places just a fraction too long. Remus wasn’t sure if he imagined the way it flickered over him.
“Hogwarts stands, as it always has, through darkened times and the unknown ahead.”
The words sent a small shiver down Remus’s spine.
“This castle is a place of knowledge, of refuge… but also of great mystery,” Dumbledore continued. “The past has a way of reminding us of its presence.”
Remus didn’t understand what Dumbledore was implying, but his stomach twisted.
“Be vigilant,” Dumbledore said, voice lowering just slightly. “Be aware. And most importantly, be wise in what you choose to seek.”
A beat of silence.
Then, the twinkle returned to his eyes. “And now, let us eat.”
The golden plates filled at once, and the hall exploded into conversation. The heavy moment dissolved as students eagerly dug into their meals, excitement replacing unease.
Remus let out a slow breath and reached for a serving spoon, but his attention was pulled back to Fei and James.
Fei lifted her goblet slightly in James’s direction, an exaggeratedly solemn expression on her face.
James, without missing a beat, mirrored her, lips pressed in an overdone display of mock-seriousness.
They both took slow, synchronized sips of their drinks, like two officials making an unspoken agreement.
Fei dramatically wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin. James followed suit.
Remus shook his head, exasperated. They’re ridiculous.
Sirius elbowed him again, but this time, his mouth was full. “Pumpkin juice,” he mumbled, nodding toward the jug.
Remus handed it over, deciding to let Sirius remain blissfully oblivious to whatever was happening between their two friends.
For now.
After the feast ended, the five of them slipped onto the stone balcony just outside the Great Hall, the cool night air brushing against their faces. The sky stretched above them, vast and endless, a scattering of stars twinkling over the castle. Their goblets clinked together in a toast. Warm pumpkin juice, the first taste of home after a long summer.
“To another year of chaos,” Sirius grinned.
“To Hogwarts,” James added.
“To not getting expelled,” Peter muttered.
“To actually studying,” Fei quipped, arching a brow at James.
James made a show of placing a hand over his heart, gasping in mock offense. Fei simply lifted her goblet in a silent, smug challenge. James narrowed his eyes at her before taking an exaggeratedly slow sip of his drink.
Remus watched the exchange with amusement before raising his own goblet. “To making it back.”
Fei glanced at him at that, the weight behind his words not lost on her. James and Sirius didn’t seem to notice, too busy trying to slosh pumpkin juice on each other. Peter was already yawning into his sleeve.
It was safe. It was normal. It was everything Remus missed.
And yet, the moment still felt too fragile.
“Dumbledore knew,” Remus said suddenly. “About this summer.”
Sirius, mid-sip, snorted. “Remu, Dumbledore knows everything.”
James rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you sound like you think he’s plotting something.”
Remus hesitated. “I mean, he let me stay there all summer. He waited. Until yesterday .”
Fei frowned. “Waited for what?”
Remus swallowed. This wasn’t like his transformations. It wasn’t something he had to hide.
“My uncle,” he muttered. “He- he didn’t want me to come back. Said it was my parents’ wish. But when I asked them, they didn’t even know what I was talking about.”
There was a beat of silence. Fei’s brows furrowed, her grip tightening on her goblet.
James shot her a quick glance and, just like that, the tension was temporarily broken as she lifted a single eyebrow at him .
James sighed and knocked his shoulder against Remus’s. “Well, it’s a good thing Dumbledore came and got you, then. I mean, imagine if he didn’t. You’d be stuck there all year, listening to your uncle being a right prat.”
Remus forced a chuckle. “Yeah.”
“Exactly!” Sirius grinned. “If Dumbledore waited, it’s ‘cause he knew he’d have to step in eventually. That’s how he works. He’s got this all-knowing, twinkly-eyed thing going on.”
Peter gave a noncommittal hum, clearly half-asleep, while Fei was still staring at Remus. She didn’t say anything, but her lips pressed into a thin line.
James caught Fei’s expression, then flicked his gaze back to Remus before giving Fei the smallest shake of his head. Fei rolled her eyes and took an overly dramatic sip of pumpkin juice, clearly unimpressed with his nonchalance.
Remus exhaled and shook his head. Maybe James and Sirius were right. Maybe Dumbledore just waited for the right moment.
He could believe that.
He had to believe that.
Sirius stretched dramatically. “Right, I don’t know about you lot, but I plan to be very unconscious in the next five minutes.”
Peter, still yawning, nodded. “See you in the morning.”
James took one last sip of his pumpkin juice, then turned to Fei as they all headed for their dormitories.
“Night, Fei.”
She lingered just a moment longer, her eyes sharp, challenging. “Try not to fail all your classes this year, Potter.”
James smirked and shot her a lazy salute. “No promises .”
Fei huffed, but her lips twitched. “Night, James.”
Remus watched the way James grinned before turning away, Fei casting one last glance back at him before vanishing back into the Great Hall.
He sighed, exhaustion creeping in now that the weight of summer was starting to lift.
For now, he made it back.
And yet, as he turned toward Gryffindor Tower, Fei’s expression lingered in his mind. The only one who didn’t laugh. The only one who truly listened.