Chapter Text
1 September 1971
five days until the full moon
☽ Remus ☾
The shrill sound of the alarm clock cut through the silence of Remus Lupin’s room, dragging him from a restless sleep. Groaning, he reached out to silence the insistent beeping. The room was dimly lit by the early morning light filtering through the skylight of the basement he was in, casting long shadows across the cluttered space.
Slowly, Remus swung his legs out of bed, the cool wooden floor sending shivers up his spine. His pajama pants, a faded blue with little stars scattered across them, hung loosely on his thin frame. The once soft fabric now seemed worn and barely adequate against the chill of the morning. He stood up, wincing slightly as the old scars on his body twinged with pain.
Dragging himself to the bathroom, he glanced at his reflection in the small mirror above the sink. The sight that met his eyes was awful for a twelve-year-old. His face was gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes that spoke of too many sleepless nights. His torso and arms were a tapestry of bandages and dressings, some stained with a hint of dried blood. The scars beneath them were hideous and uneven, a constant reminder of the monster within.
That was what he was, a monster.
With a shudder, he tore his gaze away from the mirror and turned on the tap. Cold water splashed over his face, the chill momentarily jolting him awake. He used a rough washcloth to scrub away the remnants of sleep and frustration, trying to erase the haunting image of his reflection.
After patting his face dry, he reached for the deodorant on the edge of the sink. The familiar scent of “24-hour fresh” provided a small comfort, a routine that grounded him in a world that felt increasingly foreign. He applied it quickly, the action being almost mechanical.
Next, Remus carefully began changing his dressings. With practiced hands, he removed the old, soiled bandages and replaced them with fresh ones. Each movement was deliberate, though his fingers trembled slightly as he worked. The scars were an ever-present reminder of his condition, and the process of managing them was both painful and effortful.
Once he was done, he moved to his closet. He pulled out a pair of old jeans and a threadbare sweater. The clothes were worn but comfortable, a far cry from the pristine uniform of Hogwarts. He dressed quickly, the jeans hanging loosely around his slim waist, the sweater sagging slightly on his shoulders.
Making his bed was a small victory in a day that promised little respite. He smoothed the wrinkled sheets, tucking them neatly into place with a practiced hand. The simple act of tidying up was a small semblance of normalcy in a world that was anything but.
Remus took a deep breath and walked to the door. He knocked softly, his knuckles brushing against the worn wood. He stood there, waiting for a response, his heart pounding with the familiar mixture of anxiety and anticipation.
The soft, rhythmic knocking on the door was met with a series of metallic clinks from the other side. Remus’s ears perked up as he recognized the unmistakable sound of locks being undone. His heart tightened, a familiar anxiety settling in his chest. He waited with bated breath, hoping he didn't have to see his father.
When the final lock clicked open, he counted silently, giving himself a minute to ensure that he would not be seen. He glanced around the room, his eyes falling on his battered luggage sitting quietly in the corner. It was an old, leather-bound case with more scratches and dents than he cared to count, a relic of many years of use, of course not by him, he only was allowed to leave the house for special occasions.
After a brief moment, he exhaled softly, carefully stepping towards the luggage. Each movement was measured and deliberate, trying to avoid making any noise that might draw attention. He felt a pang of sadness at the thought of leaving behind the small comforts of his room, but there was little choice. His assistance at magical school was mandatory, or at least that was what the old man with the long beard told his father.
He carried the case to the door. He could hear footsteps on the other side of the thin wooden barrier, which only spurred him. With a final glance around his room, he grasped the handle of the case and turned the doorknob ever so slowly.
The door creaked open, just enough for him to slip through. He held his breath, peeking out into the dimly lit hallway. The house was eerily quiet, the usual sounds of activity noticeably absent. He moved swiftly but silently, pulling his case behind him as he made his way down the hallway.
Every creak of the floorboards felt amplified, and he tread carefully to minimize the noise. Reaching the staircase, he ascended with cautious steps, trying to avoid making any sudden movements that might alert anyone to his presence. His heart raced as he neared the top.
Once he reached the front door, he took one last deep breath, steeling himself for what lay ahead. He turned the handle slowly, the door opening with a soft groan. Stepping out into the crisp morning air, he pulled the door gently behind him, closing it with a barely audible click.
Remus stood on the doorstep only for a moment, feeling the weight of his situation.
As he walked away, each step was a step towards the uncertain but hopeful future that awaited him beyond the confines of his past.
He knew he had to face another day, but this was the day in which everything was going to change.