I solemly swear that I'm up to no good
Remus POV
As the train slowly started moving forwards, I opened the door to the last remaining compartment. It only contained one small, meek boy in the corner and I judged, from his size and shyness, he must be a first year as well. As I entered he looked up at me as if he was about to say something, but then hesitated, and looked back towards his shoes. There was an awkward silence, as neither of us knew what to say. He obviously, like me, wasn't one for conversation.
"You don't mind if I sit here do you?" I asked, breaking the silence. He looked up at me with a startled look on his face. "N-No-I mean- of course you can sit here." he stuttered, bewildered at the fact I had asked, "I'm Peter...Peter Pettigrew" he added with a nervous laugh.
"And I'm Remus Lupin" holding out my hand for him to shake. He shook my hand tentatively, and leaned back into his seat again. Now that he was completely happy with his surroundings once again he smiled and seemed to relax a little.
I smiled back and took a book out of my bag, and began to read from where I had left off, while he continued to stare out of the window.
Fifteen minutes into the journey, Peter began to talk again.
"Which house do you want to be in?" he asked abruptly, just as I was finishing one of the last paragraphs of my book.
"I'd like to be in Gryffindor, I suppose. I mean that's what house my mother and father were in...mind you I wouldn't mind being in any house. Apart from Slytherin."
"Me too. Wouldn't it be nice if we were in the same house...I mean that way we'd both know at least somebody..." He looked at me to see my response. I smiled back to show I felt the same way. I'd never really had a friend growing up because of...what I was. It'd be nice to have someone to share my thoughts with, as I'd always been alone.
"What book are you reading then?" he asked, interupting my train of thought.
"Oh - It's just some book my dad gave me - it's not very - it's not important..." I couldn't find a good reason to finish my sentence.
"What is it about then?" he asked inquisitivly, as hadn't answered his last question.
"I - uh...werewolves..." I admitted in a whisper. I've always been afraid of I become. What I am. I wanted to know more, to see if there was a cure. I knew subconciously there wasn't one. My father had spent years trying to find one. He despises what I become. What I am.
"Oh...I don't really know much about them, but I suppose we'll get told at school. What do you know about them? Quite a bit by the look at the size of that book." I looked down at the book that was laid on my lap. I was quite large. He'd probably be suspicious if I said nothing. It couldn't hurt to tell him a little bit. To warn him how dangerous they are. How dangerous we are.
"Well..." I said slowly, "Not many people are born a werewolf they are usually bitten. And I also know that there is no cure."
He nodded thoughtfully, and then said "That must be horrid. You know, being bitten, realizing that you become a monster every full moon, and you can't do anything about it." He looked at me for a response.
"I know..." I replied quietly. Thankfully one of my good points is that my face can hide emotion. And the truth. I smiled at him and returned to my book, signalling the end of this conversation.
Now, what I needed was reasurance that i wouldn't hurt anyone, especially Peter, once I reached the school I had always dreamed of attending.
