Chapter Text
He sat on the edge of his bed, smiling from ear to ear because he had done his first bit of magic at only a year old. He had accidentally levitated his night lamp and now half of his toys were floating in mid-air. He screeched, the excitement dripping from his face even though he hadn't got a clue what he had done. Remus's parents burst into the room, faces full of worry. Relief and happiness took over not long after when they noticed that the boy's room was practically floating, not one toy left untampered with and on the ground.
Remus was two, sitting in his cot and watching as his dad got ready for work, wand in hand. He didn't understand why his dad owned this magic stick or why his mum didn't. He also didn't understand why his dad always looked at him like he was some sort of legend or something to look up to, or with a look in his eye as if Remus was a gift or present. However, at only two, he did know that his mum looked at him with awe in her eyes, like she couldn't believe this boy in front of her was her son. He was bright for his age and spoke fluently and with ease. However smart he was though, he could never understand the glazed-over look in his parent's eyes each time they looked at him, talked about him, or even mentioned him.
He was three. He was three and it was two days until he was a 'grown-up'. Two days until his Big Day. The day he started school. Not a posh, private school like the one his dad wanted him to go to, but a public one. At only three, Remus didn't want to be fussed over, especially not after being at arm's length from his parents for so long. He wanted to feel normal... or as normal as he could considering he was a wizard and was surrounded by magic pretty much since he was born.
He was four and his parents were arguing. He could hear his mum use his dad's first name, Lyall, and knew it was bad, knew that when dad called his mum Hope instead of love something wasn't right. He hid his head under the covers and puts his fingers in his ears. Unfortunately, he still heard someone being hit and knew it was his mum because of the tiny whimper that came from her mouth. He couldn't do this right now, couldn't listen to them, couldn't pay attention to them. He wanted to check if his mum was ok but he couldn't because not only would that make his dad mad, he didn't think he could get up from his bed because of the purpling bruises on his side and face. He knew his dad would magic all the bruises away, both on him and mum so he didn't need to worry about that and anyway, it was late and he needed to sleep and wake up early for school because school is important and his parents always told him to focus on the important things in life, even if they were small.
He was five, laying bloody and semi-conscious on the ground, pain being the only thing on his mind. At only five, he knew that what was going on was wrong, that it shouldn't be happening. He could hear voices but they all blended and made no sense. He could hear howling, a wolf, someone crying and the distant scream of a woman. The only thing Remus could think of before he passed out was:
No. This is wrong. So, so wrong.
He was six, locked in a basement, only moments before the agony of transforming into a monster would begin. At only six, Remus already called himself a monster, because that was what he was, wasn't he?
A monster.
A nightmare.
A vicious animal all children his age, older and younger learned to fear, what he learned to fear.
Remus was seven as he watched his father look at him with disgust and sadness. Remus could tell that Lyall also felt disappointed when he looked at his son, but Remus couldn't figure out why he was scared. He knew it was fear and he knew why his dad felt it, but that couldn't be true; a father cannot be scared of his son, can he? He didn't want to believe it but he knew it was true:
His dad was scared of him.
Remus was eight, arms bloody, his mother hugging him to her chest. It wasn't close to the full moon, but there he was: on the ground of the basement, his mother talking to him in her calm and caring voice while she wrapped his arms in bandages while he floated between sleep and consciousness. He knew what he did was not something every eight-year-old did, and it could have ended terribly, with him not waking up ever again. But that was the reason he did it, not to wake up. The knife and pool of blood lay on the ground long forgotten as his mother carried him up to his room and called for his dad to examine the damage he had caused himself. The damage would blend in with the little scars the boy has left himself on every full moon. The differences would be that these scars would be neat and in a line, the ones from full moons being jagged and all over the place, and that these scars, these scars he could have prevented.
These scars he had wanted.
He was nine, looking at himself in the mirror after school. The children have started asking more and more questions about his scars and he didn't know what to tell them anymore. There was one girl who didn't, Lily, and the only friend he had. They understood each other and they both knew magic, but it wasn't only that. Lily knew when to ask and when to not and she knew when Remus was hurting and when he needed space or a hug. She was like a sister to him. But, because there was always a but, there was also Severus, Severus Snape. They never got on well, though both of them were close to Lily and spent a lot of time together, in a three.
Remus was ten and he was dead.
Had to be.
Wanted to be.
His mum was too late this time, he hoped. She didn't help me, didn't stop me, he thought pathetically. Because that is how much he wanted it, how much he wanted to be dead. He knew something was off when he saw how pale his skin was, how the scars and veins on his arms were not blending with the frightfully deathly-looking skin. He knew it was because he wasn't eating.
Of course it was.
That was one of the things he planned, starving himself until he was on the verge of passing out, feeling as if he was dying, then he would have to make two thin, deep lines with a blade he was all too familiar with and it would be over.
All the pain, the pity, the disappointment.
The fear.
It was his eleventh birthday and he was hol
ding an unusual letter to his chest Mine he thought.
Mine, mine, mine.
He read it over and over, doubting each word more and more each time but wanting desperately to believe at the same time. They couldn't let him go to Hogwarts, not now.
Not after what happened.
Not because of who he was, what he was. He grabbed the side of the table for support, knowing that his feelings were taking over because they always did at some point, he always cracked. He noticed another letter, from Dumbledore to him specifically. He tried to remember breathing existed when he carefully opened the seal and read the letter. Then all he could remember was passing out because his emotions always took over at some point.
Remus paced the basement, waiting for the shock of pain that came with his transformation. He's asked the internet, and his dad, and even tried reading a few books. None of that came in handy though when he was looking for answers on how to make cracking and reshaping your skull and all your other bones bearable. His mind flashed, memories from when he was little, some happy some sad. This always happened before the pain, the memories, and he could never decide which hurt more.
He tried sitting down on the floor, head in his hands, trying to calm his thoughts, then proceeded to lay on the filthy mattress in the corner of the basement, eventually getting up and pacing again. He could never stay still close to the full moon, always snappy and on edge. Sometimes it was as if the wolf got into his brain days before the actual transformation and it terrified him because no information said that it wasn't true. He undressed quickly, stripping himself completely, not wanting to rip the clothes. He tried to fold them and put them away under the mattress but his hands were shaking and he couldn't quite focus, the room spinning around him.
He carried on pacing when suddenly he felt his legs snap under him and he fell to the ground. He whimpered and grunted until the pain was too much and he screamed. He knew his mum was on the other side of the silver-plated door and hated the fact that she has to suffer through hearing him being ripped and torn to pieces and then sown together again into a different body.
Turning back wasn't much better. He felt like his skin was too tight for his body and felt every bone shrink to its original size. He crawled over to the mattress, on the verge of passing out, and covered himself with a blanket that was also hidden under the mattress. He knew that he should at least try to stay awake, it would be easier to wake up later. Remus never really saw the difference between needing to stay awake and wanting to stay awake, considering he didn't need or want any of these things, so now, when keeping his eyes open was a struggle and it hurt, he didn't fight it, only hoped that today would be the day he wouldn't wake up.
Of course, he wasn't that lucky and got woken up when someone grabbed his arm a bit too tightly and dragged him a bit too viciously up the stairs and into his bedroom. The door slammed closed and it took Remus some time to gather his thoughts.
"Fuck." he hissed, stumbling towards the bed and falling onto the floor next to it. He brought his knees to his chest and rested his elbows on his knees, holding his head. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck"
He knew he shouldn't be swearing. If his dad heard him he would get a beating but Remus wasn't bothered right now. All he could think of was the bloody pain in his head that was now seeping from his brain and into his bones. He tried to collect his thoughts. It was the full moon and he passed out after transforming back. He thought that his dad must have slapped him right across the face to get him to wake up because he could feel the left side of his face turning numb and swelling. He was in his room and his dad had left him without healing his wounds but he didn't quite gather why so...
Oh.
He was meant to be looking at the new scars he has. His dad always did this, made him look at the damage he has caused to himself, giving him fifteen minutes to do that. He hated it. Hated having to look at the map of his life that's been carved out on his body since the day he turned five.
This is who you are.
They reminded him.
This is what you are.
He looked at the digital 24-hour clock on his bedside table.
04:55
"What..." Remus said out loud not understanding why it was so early. Usually, his dad let him sleep until 9.40 but today... "Shit, school!" He remembered, quickly looking himself over for any new scars. "Shit, shit, shit." There was a deep scratch on his back, from his right shoulder to his left hip. He also must have scratched himself on the front because there he had 3 massive cuts from his left shoulder this time, to his right hip. He also had a bite on his left arm and right leg. He stepped closer, seeing an ugly scratch covering his face. It went from his right temple to the bridge of his nose under his eye, and a smaller one from his cheek to his chin that went along his jawline.
He knew that it wouldn't look that bad after the scars magically disappeared but it would never fully fade and he would always see it, as he could now, remembering how old he was, when, and sometimes even how and why. He had quite a few scars on his face but none that went from the side of his head to the middle of his face. It scared him, how he could do this to himself each month and not be able to stop it.
He knew his dad was disgusted with him. He could see it when he looked at him, always disgusted as if he couldn't bare to think about the fact that his son created his scars. His dad was always against werewolves, which was why he had one as a child now, karma. The werewolf that bit him was the werewolf that his dad was trying to kill, that's all he was told, anyway.
He made a mental note of all the new scars as he heard the door open. His dad barged in and grabbed him by the wrist again, taking him back to the basement where he would 'vanish' the scars. His wrist was going to be bruised after, but he said nothing.
As they got closer to the basement, his vision blurred and the world started to spin. It was always hard for him to sit in the basement, the silver that covered the room made him sick. It was always harder to stay calm and not throw up when facing silver before and after the full moon. Usually, it just made him a bit dizzy and burned his skin when he touched it. But, before and after the full moon, it burned just being close to it and when it made contact with his skin he always passed out, the pain being overwhelming and too much. Therefore, it didn't help that when they were in the basement, his dad threw him against one of the four silver-plated walls and then teold him to stand up, straight away.
He did, barely, feeling as if he was just thrown into boiling lava, which probably didn't even burn as much as the silver that crashed against his body moments before. His father grabbed his face and he hissed. His father had put on all his silver rings and they were currently burning into his face. He was breathing heavily and too quickly, his lungs desperately trying to fill with oxygen.
"Well, look at your pretty face," Lyall whispered, face splitting into an unhuman snarl as he pulled away. His father let go of his face and took a few steps back. "Back against the wall." He commanded, "Now."
Remus tried not to wince when his back connected with the silver, without success. His dad stared at him, eyes burning into his soul. After his scars had been taken care of, there were bruises up his right side. He did them to himself too, when he kept running sideways into the door, slamming himself against it, even though it hurt even more when he came in contact with silver in wolf form. He did have a bruise on his left cheek though, and that wasn't from the night. That was the only bruise his dad vanished, since the other ones would be covered, same with the scars. His dad only 'vanished' the bruises and scars that were visible, so the scars on his front and back were still raw and bleeding. However, just because the scars were faded and the bruises vanished,it didn't stop the places in which they should be hurting him terribly.
"Tidy yourself up and then go to your mother. She'll make sure you are ready and take you to the station. Hurry up." The door to the basement closed and he heard his dad locking it and putting the key on the floor, where his mother would later pick it up. Even though she stayed with him all night (whether or not his dad was home) she never stayed for long after the transformation if he was, not wanting to run into him.
He took the first aid kit and slowly started to clean himself up, wrapping the bandages clumsily around his torso, leg, and arm. He hated the fact that the full moon was the night of his first day of school. What he hated even more, was that there was meant to be another full moon in just two weeks. That barely ever happened, he only ever had one full moon a month, sometimes two but at the start and end of the month so he didn't know how he would cope with them so close together.
He got dressed into some loose clothes and saw the clean clothes his mother had got ready for him when he was upstairs and made a mental note to thank her for that, and to thank her for bringing him all his school stuff down and leaving it outside that basement but also out of the way. He put on a pair of loose, slightly oversized pyjama bottoms and covered the top half of his body with a blanket, waiting for his mother to examine him before putting on the clothes that have been brought down for him: light blue loose ripped jeans, an oversized navy turtle-neck, his watch, glasses and his All-Star white Converse that he designed and coloured himself. His favourite outfit for his first day of school, he needed to thank his mum for it. He'd have to change out of them anyway, to put on the school uniform, but at least he'd be comfortable on the train.
He looked at his watch, waiting. His mother was already there, he could hear her heartbeat, but she couldn't open the door because of the magic his dad had cast on it, making it impossible to pick up the key before 5:30. His mother tried to pick it up earlier once, and got burned by the key in the process and then had to wait another hour before the key would let her unlock the door.
At 5:29 he got up slowly and walked towards the door even though it made him unbelievably dizzy, knowing his mother was on the other side, counting down the seconds. There were ten seconds left and they both started to count down.
Ten.
He focused on trying to hear his mother's voice through the door.
Nine.
The door was meant to be sound-proof, but if you sat next to it when he changed you could very clearly hear his screams
Eight.
He could finally hear his mother's voice, only a whisper, and he knew that she was trying to hear him too.
Seven.
The only reason he can hear her is because his senses were stronger before and after a full moon, so she definitely couldn't hear him.
Six.
He knew his mum was whispering because he kept losing the sound of her voice; if she wasn't that wouldn't happen.
Five.
If she was whispering that meant his dad, Lyall, was still in the house.
Four.
Usually, when his dad isn't home, they both shout the countdown so they can hear each other at least a little.
Three.
He closed his eyes and thought I love you, I love you, I love you hoping that the message got to his mum before the spell let her pick up the key because he knew that if it didn't she would worry, because they'd always sent little messages to each other with seconds to spare, and they always came through.
Two.
He pretended he didn't know why he could speak to her like that because muggles weren't meant to be able to do that, but he did. He could do it with anyone (any wizard to witch to be exact, he couldn't do it with muggles) if he tried hard enough but his mother knew how and they'd done it since he was little so it was easier. It was also easier that he knew more things about his mum than he knew about himself.
One
I love you too he heard, as if his mum was talking to him from inside his brain. I love you too.
He heard the key being put through the keyhole and twisted, the click of the door unlocking like a weight being lifted from his chest, the pain disappearing momentarily as he opened his arms and his mum gently wrapped herself around him. He grabbed the back of her shirt and didn't let go, not for a long time, not until he heard the front door opening and closing and the car driving away. When he was finally sure that his dad was gone he let go of his mum's shirt and hid his face in the nook of her neck, silent tears dripping from his face.
His mum eventually pulled them apart, carefully, not putting pressure on his body since she didn't know where he was hurt. She gently put her finger under his chin and lifted his head until their eyes met.
Show me
Her voice whispered gently in his head and he did. He closed his eyes and brought back the memory of when he was looking at himself in the mirror earlier, thinking about each new scar, sending the picture to the front of his brain, then giving it to his mum. He heard her gasp, out loud this time, as she saw what he saw this morning. He opened his eyes and saw that his mother's eyes are closed, hands hovering over his front, then his leg and arm. She gently spun him around eyes still closed, hands hovering over his back. She spun him back around and opened her eyes.
She kissed his forehead and the terrible headache ceased. She held his face in her cupped hand, running a thumb over the newest scar, making the pain from his face fade slightly. She then unwrapped his clumsy wrapped bandages and gently placed her hand first on his torso, then arm and leg, and lastly his back. She ran a finger along the bruises on his side making him shiver. After she looked back at him, some of the pain had gone and he felt slightly better.
"Better?" Hope whispered, pressing another kiss to his forehead. He swallowed, struggling to get the words out of his mouth.
"...Yeah..." he breathed eventually, nodding.
"Oh baby..." she gently pulled him into her chest, hand on his head "My baby, I love you. I love you, love you, I love you. You know that yeah?" She pulled away slightly to look at him, eyes full of tears.
His throat closed in on itself and he couldn't say anything. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish but nothing happened. He could feel his eyes filling with tears and he looked at the ceiling, blinking frantically to get the tears to go back where they came from, but they didn't. Instead, a lonely tear dripped down his cheek and he looked back at his mum, who wiped it away with her thumb.
"Remus, you know I love you, yeah?" She asked again, gently, knowing he needed to hear it again. He did know but his voice wouldn't work. He cleared his throat.
"Y-yeah. Yeah, I do." He let out a small, startled, and strangled laugh and looked down at the floor as the tears fell.
"Oh, oh Remus..." His mum whispered pulling him even closer to her, wiping his face dry. "It's ok. It's going to be ok. Calm down, babe. Come on now, we need to get you ready for your first day at school. At Hogwarts."
He sniffled and gently pulls away, drying his face with the blanket. "Yeah. I-I'll get dressed."
"That's more like it." she smiled at him, "I'll go make breakfast then we'll get ready to leave, ok."
He nodded, slowly, not wanting the headache to start again. Hope started to walk towards the door and was already half-way up the stairs that lead from the kitchen to the basement when Remus spoke again.
"Mum?" He cleared his throat and felt that he must have howled himself hoarse because his throat was terribly sore. His voice scratched his throat as he spoke again, only just noticing how much it hurt to speak because he was using his voice properly "Mum?" he said again, voice sounding strained. He thought she didn't hear him again and got ready to repeat himself again when his mum stopped, turning around.
" Yes?"
Thank you, he thought closing his eyes, I love you.
"I know" She chuckled. I love you too, Remus. Don't you forget that.
When he opened his eyes she was already gone, the door at the top of the stairs left slightly ajar.