I've always told myself that my parents love me. They've done their best and were still doing their best to find some kind of cure to this condition. They'd spend their small fortunes on obtaining little objects and ingredients in the hopes that the new rumour they had heard about it being a cure for lycanthropy was correct. No matter how useless, or often downright painful, the potions and spells they used on me were, they were doing it out of love. They wanted their child back. And that was understandable. Because I had been attacked by a monster, and it was only a matter of time before I turned into something similar.
No. At the time of my eleventh birthday I already believed that I was one. My affliction meant I turned into a mindless killer at every full moon. I was already a monster, in both mine and my parents' eyes. My condition was simultaneously pulling my family apart from fear and grief as well as keeping it together, my parents' only positive attitude towards me being those moments when they had a new lead on some obscure and always unreliable theory about curing my werewolfishness. And it was all my fault, because I was the one still there; it was me they had to put up with, not their four year old, untainted son, whom was a simple young wizard. And I was no longer that son to them.
I loved every moment I spent away from my household. I could let my parents live in peace for months on end during my time at Hogwarts, and although I spent most of the time alone, those thoughts comforted me endlessly. My parents didn't have to live in fear of their son attacking them in their sleep on those nights where I was tucked away in a far-away land in the school. And I didn't have to bear the silence at dinner times, or hear my dad tell me the latest research he read about why werewolves are so evil and foul. Why he thought that I was evil and foul. More reasons why I thought I was evil and foul.
Upon my arrival at Hogwarts, the sorting hat told me that he was having trouble on whether to place me in Slytherin or Gryffindor; apparently, I had "faced such events that my courage was to be praised", yet my mind was so "full of such pessimism and darkness" that I was placed in the house of Slytherin. Not that it mattered much to me. I didn't do much socialising. I spent days every month away from the castle, one night in my werewolf form and another day or two afterwards in recovery due to the pain experienced from the transformations. Sometimes it was simply a rest to regain energy, others the school nurse would spend hours trying to heal the wounds on my face and body. She knew after the fifth or sixth time not to ask; I think Dumbledore had told her to stop.
Due to the constant visible wounds, my regular absences from school, and the rest of my time being spent studying, I didn't have much time for socialisation. Not that I didn't yearn it. Hell knows I watched three Gryffindors named James, Sirius and Peter pulling pranks and having such fun. They would always be smiling around each other, laughing and enjoying themselves. How fun it must be I always thought, unable to supress the jealousy rising from my stomach to my heart.
For some reason I always watched them; they were always conveniently in the same place as me, or at least a lot of the time they were. If I was studying in the library, they were serving detention there, helping the librarian. If I was outside in the school fields, they were usually somewhere in sight, creating mischief and laughing at and with each other. It hurt to look at them, yet it also helped. In those moments I liked to pretend I was a bodiless soul drifting through the air, watching them having fun and enjoying their mayhem as I watched, undetected and unjudged.
Perhaps the only person I did speak to was Severus Snape. He was also in Slytherin and, like me, didn't have much of a social life. He had more so than me, yet somehow we were similar. Our conversations were never useless; Severus was never the type for that. He was down-to-the-point and blunt. Yet he was so in an understanding way, as if he felt the loneliness I felt. And I think he must have felt the same as me, because although our conversations weren't frequent, they were meaningful and full of content. I remember the first conversation we had was about the equality of goblins and wizards. Not exactly small talk, if you ask me. By the time second year came around Snape and I had already expressed the unhappy tensions from within our families, and without spilling any details, we both had a silent respect for each other. Not that I didn't respect everyone else; simply that I knew I could relate to Snape on a personal level. In some way, his family was not a safe haven for him. And although I loved my parents for what they were doing, and felt ashamed for thinking so, I too was constantly afraid of the days I would have to return home and face their criticizing remarks and hurtful attempts and making me "right".
After third year was, obviously, fourth. I had missed the first few days of school, including the feast that always took place on the evening of the first day. I was gutted, as I always loved the atmosphere of chatter and joy, which seemed to rub off on me, even if I wasn't directly experiencing any of it. But I missed it, since I was recovering from my last meeting with the full moon. By the time the third day of school came around, I limped to my first lesson from the hospital wing and sat down in the only spare seat left in the charms classroom.
The person next to me didn't even seem to notice that I had sat next to him, since he was turned to the side to speak to his friend at the next desk. It was only then that I had realised the boy whom I had sat next to was none other than Sirius Black - one of the boys I had been secretly watching for the last three years. I suddenly sat up rather straight and snapped my head towards the front of the classroom in the hopes of seeming like I was ready for class to start, but in reality probably looking more like I had just smelt a really bad fart.
Of course, I thought as I remembered that charms classes this year were with Gryffindor. How am I so unlucky that I ended up next to Sirius? I looked down at my desk as there was no teacher at the front to look at yet. I cringed and tried to collect my thoughts. I won't say anything to him. If we have to work together, I'll just act like I do with anyone else – distant. I told myself and repeated the word "distant" over and over again in my head in an attempt to calm down from the panic rising inside of me. Why was I panicking? He's just a classmate, I told myself. But in reality I knew the reason why. I had been yearning to have a friend like Sirius or James or Peter for years, and now I had a chance to talk to one of them. If I wanted to, I could strike up a conversation with Sirius and eventually, over the course of the year, I could even have become acquaintances with him and his friends.
I shook my head. No. You've got to be distant. Distant, Remus. And then my thoughts went into a frenzy about how I will only bring danger to those whom I become friends with. Like my parents said, being a werewolf makes me a monster. And monsters don't deserve friends. I don't deserve friends. I concluded in my mind just before the charms teacher walked into the classroom.
Perhaps it was that thought that caused my mood to be low over the course of that lesson. I took notes and dazed into the distance, a numb feeling washing over my body. As soon as the bell rung, I had already left the desk and briskly walked to the next lesson. There, there were no Gryffindors, no Sirius, and I felt a lot more comfortable because of that. I could take notes and watch the teacher make the Potion of Creativity without my mind screaming about anyone that I had any desire or non-desire to talk to.
That dinner time in the great hall I didn't dare look over at the Gryffindor table. I barely ate anything as I didn't feel like it, and headed down all the way to my bed in the dormitories of the Slytherin common room.
As I walked in, I noticed that I wasn't the only one who was hoping for a suspiciously early night. Severus was sitting on his bed, playing what looked like solitaire, yet the cards were completely black. I am sure there was some magical secret to them, because I never once saw any wizard in Hogwarts, apart from those muggle-born, playing a usual game of muggle cards.
Snape looked up as I walked to my bed and found my pyjamas from my small suitcase.
"You haven't left Hogwarts?" Severus asked me, obviously asking why I hadn't been in school these last few days.
"No, I haven't." I stated, not wanting to tell him anything. I was used to this; teachers complaining that I left for several days every month and asking me what, exactly, was so unavoidable that I missed school. Students never seemed to care where I had went, and I'm not sure they ever even noticed my absences. Yet Severus had asked similar questions a few times before.
"Care to explain?" Snape asked, moving his eyes from my face back to his black playing cards laid out on his bed.
"My mum…" I said, not bothering to say the rest, as Severus had heard the same story every other time that he had asked. I always told him, and the teachers that asked, that my mother was ill and my father unable to look after her. The teachers heard the words "mother" and "sick" and would immediately drop the topic in fear of upsetting me in some way. Severus, however, interpreted my story differently. I'm not certain, but he seemed under the impression that I had to return home for some kind of fight within my family that couldn't be done without me. I'm not sure of the details, as we had a silent rule to never ask each other further than we would easily and openly discuss.
"I saw you were sitting next to the Black kid in charms today." Severus changed the subject rather abruptly, to my relief.
"Oh… yeah. It was the last seat left." I said, wandering why Severus would comment on such a seemingly meaningless detail.
"Good luck dealing with that piece of crap." Severus commented, a frown forming on his face at the thought of Sirius. I was silent for a moment. This was the first I had heard of Severus having a dislike for Sirius.
"Can I ask why?" I asked after a pause, a sudden feeling of dread seeping into me. I pushed the feeling away, knowing full well that I was afraid that the only person I ever held a conversation with would hate the idea of me getting to know the people who I had been yearning to for years. A silence filled the air as Severus thought on how to answer without sounding superficial or overly dramatic.
"He follows that James boy around like a dog. It's disgusting. He creates chaos where there needn't be and he disrespects everyone in Slytherin." Severus said monotonously, not pausing to stop his card game. "And he's a blood traitor." He added, somewhat more quietly.
"A blood… traitor?" I repeat stupidly as I take in what he said. And I couldn't help but disagree with what Severus had said entirely; just because he was a troublemaker didn't make him a bad person. Secondly; I had never given a second thought to someone being a "blood traitor" before this moment. What difference did it make if a pureblood was friendly with a muggle-born? Why was this an issue with Severus? Why did that comment hurt me so much?
"You don't know what a blood traitor is?" Severus peered up from his game again to look at me, surprised.
"No… I know what a blood traitor is." I was hesitant to discuss the subject with him, yet all I wanted to do was ask him what he meant by that comment. "What's wrong with being a blood traitor?" I said, perhaps feeling the most brave I had in years. Severus stared at me for a few moments longer.
"I just believe that mixing any non-wizard blood with wizard blood is wrong. Even if not the physical act of making a child, encouraging the integration of their blood into our society is dirty." Snape finally said, staring into my eyes, as if watching for a reaction. Although fighting to not show it, inside I was indeed feeling a reaction. I had never known that he thought this way. And one thing kept echoing in my mind.
"Non-wizard… so not just muggle-borns?" I said, trying my best to not sound offended or suspicious, but casual, as if I accepted his opinion.
"Well, isn't that obvious? I mean, elves are obvious. But they are all in the control of wizards anyway, so that's fine. And centaurs. If I ever had to make contact with one of them I would refuse. They disrespect us wizards despite them clearly being less powerful than us. That's ridiculous. And then muggle-borns are probably the worst issue at the moment, as there is no restriction against them in the wizarding world. Isn't it suspicious that someone with no wizarding blood in them whatsoever can make magic? It seems too suspicious to me. More investigation needs to be made. Then… what else is there? I guess… werewolves are obvious too. How can the Ministry allow people that transform into killing machines monthly walk around in the wizarding community? And to think, without seeing them in their wolf form, we would have no idea what they are! If you ask me, they should all be put somewhere secure, where they won't leave. We can't risk them spreading their blood further and infecting others. The wizarding community doesn't need any more filth from the muggle-borns and other creatures than it already has" Snape said, still in his monotonous voice, not taking his eyes from mine. I supressed the urge to gulp as he finished.
I nodded, not saying a word in fear that my voice would reveal my mixture of anger and sadness in that moment. A lump was forming in my throat, and all I wanted to do was run away to the house through the corridor underneath the Whomping Willow, where I could be on my own and calm myself down away from the eyes of others. I had just learned that my only acquaintance was openly against people like me. If he knew of my condition he would be disgusted. He said so himself – he thought of werewolves as filth.
"Anyway, homework." Severus stated boringly, taking his body and his schoolbag out from the dormitory and probably into the Slytherin common room, as if he didn't just say one of the most upsetting things I had heard since I had been told that I was a werewolf. I stood there in silence for a minute or two, holding my pyjamas tightly in both hands, unmoving.
A/N: So there's the first chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. I have a few ideas up my sleeve and I just really like Remus' character so I thought I'd give writing a shot after such a long time :) Please favourite/follow and give any feedback, I'd appreciate it lots!