Chapter Text
July 1976
Remus couldn’t breathe.
Oxygen felt like shards of glass that ripped their way down his throat. He was bleeding, he was sure of it. Where was he bleeding? He couldn’t move, his limbs felt like they were casted in cement, nailed to the bed. He was on a bed? Wasn’t he?
It didn’t quite feel like a bed. Beds were soft, comforting, a place to rest after a long day. A place to cry into the pillows, to stain with tears or suffocate screams. They were warm. A place where your mother would sit on the edge and read bedtime stories, or where you would hide under the covers and giggle with your friends at your first sleepover.
What Remus was laying on was scratchy, cold, horrid. He wasn’t sure if it was the bed, or just the way his body was unable to feel anything else, to feel any of the comfort that a bed should bring. Remus didn’t feel anything but white-hot pain.
His ears were ringing, and his eyes were blurring at the edges. He felt like he was underwater, drowning. But the water was thick, tacky, maybe it wasn’t water at all, because he had to claw his way to the surface, pull his head from under its treacherous deaths and finally take in a breath.
“Remus?” A warped voice called out. “Remus!” The voice seemed more urgent now, or maybe it was just clearer, his head now above the water. Remus managed to open his eyes.
“Wh-?” He managed, his voice unrecognisable to his own ears- rough and battered as if he’d been screaming all night, perhaps he had.
“Oh Remus, you scared me half to death there” Poppy’s maternal voice stilted with genuine concern. Her face was red and blotchy, as if she had been rubbing her face and frantically wiping away any tears that threatened to spill.
“Here, you must drink this, are you able to sit up?” She asked, not unkindly but firm. Remus used all the strength he could muster, and as wobbly and pathetic as it might have been, he managed to half prop himself up onto his elbow, his head slightly tilted to swallow down the potion that Madame Pomfrey was pouring gently into his mouth. He usually would always do this himself, always turning down Poppy’s careful hands, he had too much pride, and hated feeling anything like a burden, more than he already knew that he was. But he couldn’t turn her down now. He physically couldn’t. He didn’t know if he’s ever felt this terrible after a transformation before. Which is what this was, he discerned.
Figments started to force themselves through the fog in his brain. He remembers taking the well-worn path to the Whomping Willow, remembers walking into the shack… but that’s it really. What could have happened after? What was so different this time?
Remus has had plenty of awful transformations. Has had one every month since he was four, and still small enough to crawl inside the little kitchen cabinet beneath the counter that was always stocked with sweets. His mother pretended she didn’t know where her missing chocolate biscuits went, but there’s no way she didn’t know. He discovered years later that she put them there on purpose, knowing that Remus only ever retreated to that little cupboard when he was feeling especially down. When his emotions seemed far too big to fit inside his little body. Eventually, when he did outgrow his little hiding spot, his mother made sure to always keep a stock of his favourite chocolate biscuits in the very top shelf above the fridge, where only he was tall enough to reach. The point is though, he’s been in pain many times before, has needed those chocolate biscuits more times than his sixteen year old self is willing to admit. But it has never felt like this. Something terrible has happened.
“Remus, Honey?” Pomfrey spoke again. “Last night was a rough one, you’ve got a couple body fractures, six broken ribs, a punctured lung, and have managed to slice your leg up real nice” she tried to keep the mood light, but it failed. Remus doesn’t think she’s ever looked so worried, not since he was that little eleven year old coming to Hogwarts for the first time. He sometimes thinks that she still sees that scrawny little kid with knobby knees and too-long limbs, yet to grow into his height. He can’t imagine how he looks now, if she’s seeing that same little boy, mutilated and lying on the hospital bed.
“What happened?” He needed to know, she had this look in her eye that she knew something but was scared to tell him. He hasn’t had a bad transformation since Sirius, James and Peter, being the loving idiots they are, became illegal animagus just to accompany him on the full moons. The wolf seemed less keen to tear itself apart when it had friends, a pack. So why now?
That’s when it occurred to Remus. Shit. Shit shit shit shit. No. He didn’t hurt them did he? No, please. He knew it was a bad idea in the first place, he was a werewolf, a monster, all he did was hurt people, and hurt himself. But the wolf liked his friends, liked running with the big black dog, and the stag, and the funny little rat. Suddenly Remus couldn’t breathe again, but it was for an entirely different reason, something far worse.
“Please, di- did I hurt anyone?” He begged, tears clouded his eyes but he didn’t care. He didn’t care that he has never let Poppy see him cry before, not in all the years she has known him and cared for him after his transformations. This was the single worst moment of his life. If he hurt his friends, his family, the people that didn’t care about what he was, who still could look at him, let alone love him after they found out he was a monster. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. To live without them, without James, without Peter, without Sirius . He was working himself into a panic, he knew, he could feel it pressuring his already punctured lung, but he couldn’t stop. Please let them be okay.
“No, no, Honey, not quite. It’s okay Remus, deep breaths. You need to try and stay calm, you're in no state to work yourself up like this” she reassured, smoothing his hair down with soothing fingers. “It’s… a little complicated, but you are not to blame, and no one got hurt, just a little scratch- nothing a few stitches and a pepper up potion couldn’t fix”. She continued, but it didn’t holt the beating of his heart.
“Who?” Remus gasped, desperately holding on to the hope that they were okay, that he didn’t hurt anyone, that he didn’t hurt Sirius.
“Severus Snape” She answered.
Remus was confused. Snape? How did he hurt Snape? Did Remus escape the shack? Would he find a sighting of a raging werewolf wreaking havoc in the halls of Hogwarts in the latest edition of the Daily Prophet?
Remus’ questions were soon answered when a new voice broke through the quiet of the hospital room. James was standing awkwardly by the bed, hands fiddling with the hem of his pyjama shirt, he must not have slept. He had never seen James so nervous before, so unsure of himself. James was a great many things, kind and lively, immature, and boastful, but he was never not confident, about anything, his ego and optimism wouldn’t allow for it. Remus was right, something truly terrible happened last night.
…
Present, September 1976
Remus had the worst summer of his life. Seriously, ha, if you had told Remus a few months ago that he had lost all his friends, was outed to Snape of all people about his furry little problem, by the boy that owned his heart no less, and that his sweet, sick mother, finally lost her battle with cancer, he would have asked how the Boggart got loose, because there was no way his already shitty life could get so nightmarishly worse.
Remus was so very wrong.
He didn’t want to stay in his house, the same house that he watched his mother wither away in, where her very existence seeped into the walls that he ran his fingers across as he ascended the stairs. The memories and photos and keepsakes that fill the house, fill everything with her. He was suffocated in it. His father, bless his heart, was hard to live with. They loved each other so much, beyond words really, but without Hope- her presence, her warmth, it was difficult to talk to each other, to be there for each other in the way they needed.
He knew his dad was hurting, he had lost the love of his life, so he tried to help, to distract him. He spent more time bonding with his father than he ever had. With nothing else to do, and no one left to talk to, he helped his dad around the house, with all the repairs they had put off, and the plans they never had time for. They didn’t really talk while they worked, but it was nice enough just being together. It was still stifling though, and he wanted to leave desperately, to have a reprieve of his mother, that was there, in that house, in all ways but the real thing- her body, her voice. He wanted to leave, but he didn’t want to go back to Hogwarts, not when he had to share with those three other boys.
Three boys he used to call friends. Remus knew he sounded dramatic, but he just couldn’t call them friends anymore. Not after what they did, well what Sirius did. Remus can’t really blame the others- James is Sirius’ brother in every sense of the word but blood, and although Remus was an only child, he knew that even when siblings fought, they would make up in the end. Well he supposed that’s how most siblings went, the Black brothers were a whole other story. As for Peter, little Peter, he would always avoid conflict, never wanting to come between anyone, either trying desperately to resolve the tension, or backing away and waiting until they sorted themselves out. He was the same now, not getting between Sirius and Remus. But being James’ friend since they were wearing matching nappies, Remus knew he would always choose James, and thus Sirius by extension. They were a package deal, and Remus found that he no longer fit. They had sent letters, all three of them, over the summer.
The hooting of owls has permanently wedged itself inside his brain like a bad song on repeat, with how many times they would peck at his window with new mail. He never read them of course, he didn’t want to. They sat in a discarded pile in the bin below his desk. Hundreds of carefully inked words, apologies and promises and ‘are you okay’s’ never to see the light that permeated beyond the confines of their envelopes. The letters lessened a few weeks ago.
Peter was the first to get the hint that Remus was never going to open them, never one to pry or push too hard when Remus was upset. Next was James, he was as stubborn as he was kind, but even he seemed to reluctantly stop writing. Sirius never stopped though. Now that he was out of that god awful house, he had free rein on the Potter’s owl, sending letter after letter, day after day. Remus didn’t want to think about how expensive the constant supply of pristine white parchment and ornate stamping must be.
Remus hated him, he hated Sirius. He hated him for what he did. For being his friend for years, learning his secrets, gaining his trust, just to use his very biggest fear against him, and for what? Remus couldn’t figure that out, what had caused him to lure Snape to the tree that night? To put them both in danger? To reveal his darkest secret? The one that he said that he would protect with his life. And most of all, he hated that Sirius wouldn’t just let Remus hate him. Couldn’t let Remus go a day without being reminded of the raven haired boy, of his ridiculous and beautiful name swirled on the top corner of each unopened letter. Of his shit-eating grin, and the mischievous twinkle in his eye. His loudness, and his brightness, and his movement, and his abundance. Sirius was never one to be ignored, Remus knew this, so why was he kidding himself.
Remus hated that he loved him.
Remus was so very angry, and for now that was enough to pretend that he didn’t still love him. He would go to Hogwarts, he would go to classes, he would eat lunches and dinners and he would go to sleep in a bed right beside Sirius’. And Remus would hate him.
Well at least that was the plan. It was almost laughable really, almost. The shittiest cherry on top of the shittiest fucking summer ever, Remus missed the bloody train.
…
Remus was a quiet person. Where Sirius or James could walk into a room and instantly fill it with energy and life, all eyes being immediately drawn to them, Remus would stand alongside the wall and watch on contently. He was going to be the centre of attention tonight however. Remus wasn’t sure how to feel about it. He could tell that he has changed since Sirius’ prank. He was angry, less lenient, cared less about pleasing everyone and doing everything right and being the person everyone wanted him to be. He was a werewolf, a fact he couldn’t change.
While Dumbledore kept him safe and his secret under wraps at school, he knew that as soon as he graduated, his chances at a life worth wanting were slim to none. If anyone found out about what he was he could say goodbye to any prospects of holding down a job, of earning an income, of owning a home, of walking down the street without at least every second person scowling at him in disgust. He would have to register himself, if he couldn’t keep his head down and his secret tight. This was a fact.
So he pushed himself, everyday. He studied and tutored and patrolled as a prefect, he got the best marks in almost every class, he volunteered, he stayed out of trouble (mostly). While the other marauders loved to make a splash and leave a legacy, Remus preferred a more subtle approach- performing masterful pranks that almost never could be traced back to himself. He did all that, and his secret was still revealed, by his best friend. So Remus was angry, and he just didn’t want to care anymore.
After missing the train and negotiating with his father, he was sent straight to McGonagall’s office. The great feast had already started, the new first years sorted into their houses and seated. McGonagall left him to welcome the first year Gryffindors at dinner after giving him a stern reprimand. It fell flat, knowing that she has always had a soft spot for him, even while being a marauder and getting up to no good, he had always been reasonably well behaved and a model student, something McGonagall very much appreciated. He had told her that he would never miss the train again, which he really never would as the ride to Hogwarts has never been quite so unpleasant, and was left to put his things away in the dorm before heading off to the great hall.
He debated just skipping dinner all together and staying in the dorm, but he was so hungry. Seriously, in his rush to leave, he hadn’t packed anything for the ride to Hogwarts. Besides, Remus reminded himself, this year he wouldn’t care so much. So what if he’s late to dinner? He didn’t have anyone waiting on him, Sirius made sure of that, and it might be fun, the attention that is. He could try stepping into someone else’s shoes, be someone different, someone that wasn’t him, because he literally has nothing to lose, and he didn’t care.
So he made his grand entrance through the large floor-to-ceiling doors that adjoined the hall, and awaited a warm welcome back.