First Year
Remus knew about suffering. Lord did he know.
The rising moon was nothing to scoff at. It was beautiful, in its own way – opalescent, a shimmering white globe suspended in the night sky, illuminating the dew on the grass and the reflective eyes of the night animals. The earth smelt cool, the day's heat dying down. The crickets chirped loudly, accompanied by the fervent murmurs of prayer.
"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,"
Remus turned his fever-glassed eyes towards the sound, head lolling painfully on his neck; almost as if it wasn't meant to be attached there at all. His mother knelt at the small altar she had created in their backyard: it consisted simply of a small alcove with a statue of Mary inside. Chrysanthemums, lilies, daisies, hydrangeas and flowers of all sorts clamored around it, indicating a garden once carefully and lovingly tended but as of late ignored and disused.
Rhea Lupin knelt on the cool ground, eyes closed, head bowed. Her blonde curls were loose, in disarray, carried this way and that by the nights wind. Her bow shaped lips mouthed the words to the prayer: a prayer for safety, salvation, redemption. Remus watched numbly, hearing the words but knowing they meant nothing. They never meant anything. They never did anything.
"Blessed art thou amongst women,"
Remus was a smart boy: a logical boy. Descended from a long line of Ravenclaws, his brain functioned on a level that knew that one plus one always equaled two. Always. His dear, loving, muggle mother said her prayers once a month, every full moon, complete with kneeling and her old rosary. She never let anything interrupt her, not even the imminent rise of the beast.
But for all the prayers, for all the fervent, impassioned pleas his Mother gave, there was never any response. Not one. Remus still felt pain, still transformed and when he woke up the next morning (or afternoon, or evening), he knew that in 29 more days his little, broken family would do it all over again. No cure ever came (although many people professed they had found one). No respite was ever given. Remus suffered every 29 days like clockwork, when he screamed his throat raw and clawed his nasty, terrible, cursed body into tatters. It didn't matter if his Mother prayed to Mary or the Lord himself (or Krishna, or Buddha – Remus was a well read, accepting child): no amount of prayer could provide his salvation. He was destined to live the life of a cursed, wretched dark creature.
"And blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus."
He felt the muscles in his legs tighten painfully, readying themselves for the oncoming slaughter. He whimpered painfully but it did not deter his mother from her praying. He was eleven. 7 years of this hell. He couldn't even claim it as his own: no, it was his family's burden. His mother coped with prayer and an excessive amount of baking. His father with alcohol and silence. And Remus with books and music and logic: anything to drown out the wolf's voice in his head. It got worse, the closer is got to the full moon. It would start off as whispers that Remus used to mistake for his parents speaking. The ill look they would share reminded him that it wasn't. The week leading up his brain would suddenly be attacked by insane ramblings of the wolf that he tried his best to keep at bay (hungryhungryrunrunrunrunrunr un). Reading helped, his father's daily lessons in simple charms, his mothers chocolate chip cookies, the muggle radio.
His aches and pains were soothed with a long, hot bath and a good cup of tea. He always got to sit in his father's beloved armchair in front of the fireplace when it got bad, his grandmother's knitted quilt over his lap. He never prayed: never murmured a faint amen at the dinner table, never sent up a 'sweet merlin' like his father did when something had him in awe. If the Lord answered prayers, he wouldn't be living a life like this. He wouldn't be stuck in a wretched body like this. He clenched his jaw in sudden agony as a tendril of pain shot up his side.
"Holy Mary, Mother of God,"
He felt his father's large, calloused hand come down on his shoulder. He looked up into the grim, dark eyes of the silent man. With his heightened senses Remus could smell the whiskey off his breath, along with a faint scent of chicken that left his stomach reeling. Remus simply blinked up at John Lupin, amber eyes illuminated by the night, doing his best to hold back a snarl at the hulking figure intruding into the wolf's space.
John simply brushed the graying hair out of his eyes tiredly and picked up his son, not saying a word. No words needed to be said: no words were adequate.
"Pray for us sinners now," his mother's voice got louder, shriller, betraying her aura of calm as she heard her two boys head inside. Remus rested his head against his father's broad shoulder, anxiety rising as they thudded past the door and down the stairs into the darkened cellar. Down, down, down into the blackened room.
John put his son down gingerly on the decrepit mattress, taking in the flushed, sweaty skin. He looked down at him before heaving a sigh and walking slowly back up the stairs, closing the door with a resounding bang. Remus felt his breath quicken in anticipation, as he struggled to remain composed. He could hear his father murmuring protection charms; pleading, whispered words to Merlin; practically taste (humanhumaneateateat) his mother's erratic breathing, shrill praying.
", and at the hour of our death,"
And it was here that Remus broke the level of calm he had been trying to embody all day (allweekallmonthallyear). Here, alone in the cellar where no one could hear him or see him except the wolf who reared back and howled as the moon came through the clouds and the moonbeam inched its progress on the cement floor towards the mattress.
Please Lord! Hare Krishna! Gurur Brahma! Hare Rama! Sweet Merlin Please!
The moonbeam lighted on his hand and Remus ceased to think, ceased to call out to whatever deity was listening (take me away, have mercy, please) and screamed a feral, horrifying scream as his body bowed and snapped under pressure. The wolf came out laughing its terrible, wrathful laugh. John Lupin leaned his head against the fortified door sadly, eyes clenching shut tightly. Rhea Lupin paused for only a minute, golden curls eerily still, tears making their way out from underneath her closed eyelids and down her rosy cheeks.
"Amen."
Remus opened his amber eyes blearily, looking around his room. He could feel the bandages across his chest, around his leg, his arm, wrist, foot. There was a slab of chocolate next to his bed, along with a small teapot and a glass filled with a vile liquid that made Remus grimace before even having moved. He sat up slowly, careful to mind the bandages and take stock of his aches and pains this month. With trembling hands he downed the liquid in one gulp, gagging, before breaking off a piece of chocolate and savoring the sweetness as it melted in his mouth. He was reaching out for his tea when he heard the sound of quick whispering downstairs. His father's deep baritone, his mother's soft alto….and there: another, one he does not recognize. Curious, Remus slowly lifts himself off the bed, glad that his mother had put on his favorite pajama pants for him.
The stairs to the kitchen seem so steep and so, so high, but he leans heavily against the railing and makes it downstairs nearly silently. He stands, barefoot in the doorway of the kitchen, one hand trailing the wall as a just-in-case assurance and takes in the scene before him, blinking. His mother flutters nervously from the stovetop to the kitchen table to stand behind John, thrusting cookies, brownies and cake of all varieties at their guest. She smoothes her blond curls repetitively but cannot hide the bloodshot eyes and perpetually pinched corners of her mouth. John sits at the table, resting on his elbows, fingers steepled at his lips contemplatively. The purple and blue bags indicate it was another difficult night for the Lupin family before he looks up and spots the thin, sickly child in the doorway. His face blanches but Remus spots something unrecognizable spark in his eyes. He is not familiar with the emotion, and cocks his head to the side in question.
Their guest catches John's gaze and turns around to follow the stare. He is an old man, dressed in wizarding dress robes of various shades of purple. He has a tall, purple hat and a white beard. He is wearing glasses the shape of half-moons and his pale blue eyes twinkle over the top of them at Remus.
"Why hello. You must be Remus." The guest says casually, as if not noticing the jagged scars crisscrossed across his arms and the great, white bandages stretched across his chest. Remus nods warily, looking away from the guest and towards his parents who are watching him apprehensively.
"My name is Albus Dumbledore," he continues gently, before gesturing to the seat beside him. "Please, there is no need to stand in the doorway, our conversation should include you." Remus shuffles slowly to the seat, and struggles into it, his Mother helping him, attempting to quickly flatten his wayward locks.
"Oh dear, you'll have to excuse us Mr. Dumbledore, we weren't expecting any company you see –"
"It is absolutely not a problem my dear Mrs. Lupin. John was a novel student and I have come, I believe, at a very trying time. Perhaps I should have come another day…"
"No." John says, perhaps a little too forcefully, as Rhea and Remus startle, turning identical wide eyes at him. "No." he repeats, softer this time. "You are always welcome in our home Professor Dumbledore, always."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkle, but there is an underlying emotion: not pity but something very much akin to it. Compassion perhaps: Remus cannot tell. He finds it difficult to identify emotions beyond anger and sadness. Even when his parents are happy there is a pervasive, lingering sadness underneath it all.
"Please John, you have not been a student in many years now – call me Albus. No need for formalities." He responds cheerfully, taking a sip of his tea. John simply nods stiffly, none of the Lupins touching the various pastries on the table.
"As you may or may not have been aware, Headmaster Diddle retired a number of years ago. He passed on the title to myself." Dumbledore intones, setting his tea down.
"Congratulations," John murmurs with a forced grin. Dumbledore inclines his head slightly but continues.
"And as I am sure you are very much aware, the Ministry has a policy against the admittance of….certain dark creatures into schools." John says nothing this time, simply looking out the back window into the backyard. Rhea starts at the term and busies herself at the stove. Only Remus has the nerve to look the Headmaster in the face, and is rewarded with a small smile.
"I understand you turned eleven this past March, Remus." He can only nod, wondering what is going on, not fully comprehending the conversation in his weakened, sleepy state.
"Let be noted that, regrettably. I cannot change the rules of the Ministry." Not one of the Lupins move, shoulders slumping and already resigned to their fate. Their hell.
"I understand Albus," John murmurs, not meeting the older man's eyes. "I'm sure you've done what you could…"
"I cannot change the rules of the Ministry," Dumbledore repeats, over John's soft murmuring. "But I do have the power to change the policies at Hogwarts." The silence is ringing. John stares across the table in shock while Remus and Rhea both look slightly perplexed.
"Does this – does this mean…?" Rhea questions softly, hands at her mouth.
"I can go to school?" Remus finally questions, incredulous. Dumbledore smiles at him and lays an old hand over Remus' scarred one.
"Yes my dear boy, that is, in effect, what I am trying to say," Remus grins suddenly: a whole grin, teeth and all. His eyes crinkle around the corners and his left cheek has a dimple that his parents are sure they'd forgotten existed. Rhea begins to giggle and John's mouth turns up at the side.
"Cor-" Remus breathes. "Love me a duck!" Dumbledore simply throws his head back and laughs.
Later that night, after Dumbledore has stayed for lunch and been sent back to Hogwarts with 2 bags full of baked goods, Remus crawls into his bed. His ribs hurt and his face hurts from laughing so much, but his heart feels light like it hasn't in quite some time. The logistics are already planned out and he and his parents will be going to Hogwarts in a few weeks time to meet the medi-witch and get a feel for the grounds. Remus finds that, with all the excitement, he cannot sleep so he leans over and turns the muggle radio on softly.
"My sweet lord
Hm, my lord
Hm, my lord
I really want to see you
Really want to be with you
Really want to see you lord
But it takes so long, my lord"
The little boy with the amber eyes simply smiles and hums along with the music, taking time to send up a silent thank you to God, Allah, Vishnu, Buddha and Merlin. Maybe he was a blessed child after all.