A/N: The first part of my chaptered story 'December Boys'. Still a WIP. Enjoy!

(C): Lyrics by Peter Cincotti, 'December Boys'. Harry Potter, its whole universe, belongs to the wonderful JKR. This is merely my POV, on what could have happened.

December Boys - 1?

I. but nothing was easy but i would do it all again and never change a thing

11th September 1971,

Kings Cross - Platform 9 3/4

Remus sits by the window, small and lost in the red leather seat too big for him, mouth open and staring at the platform. His nose and hands are pressed against the cool glass; his breathing goes rather quickly - as if he was afraid he might swallow it - and through his hot breath, the window steams up. Outside on the platform are his parents, looking back at him with eyes as wide as his. It is the first time they part, it is the first time he is out of the house; it is the first time he will not sleep in his own bed. The thoughts swirl around crazily in Remus' brain, making him still more uncomfortable and insecure as he already feels. He fixes his gaze on his parents once more as he forces the thoughts aside; he must memorize this very moment the best he can. He does not know what will await him where he goes, but he knows that it is better to have something he can conjure up before his closed eyes to comfort him. He concentrates, and closes his eyes to give it a try, half his face still pressed against the cool glass. Blackness regards him, and he thinks Mum and Dad and Must concentrate. For a moment there is only silence he hears and the coolness of the glass under his fingertips, under his mouth, and then there are two faces; a man who smiles at him, tall and lanky, with glasses, dark brown hair and blue eyes. His smile is not encouraging; it is anxious, it says When they hurt you I can't be there, it is doubtful and nervous. The woman's face he sees offers a very different one. There are laugh lines and crinkles in the corner of her eyes as her mouth forms into a wide and encouraging smile, and in her green eyes he finds hope and belief.

Warmness surges through Remus' body almost immediately and a tiny smile breaks out on his face, and he has to open his eyes to look at his parents again. His mother waves and now grins at him, red spots on her cheeks because she is so happy. She mouthes something he does not understand and so he shakes his head, still smiling a bit. His gaze wanders to his father whose smile has not changed. Remus wants to go outside and hug his father, wants to make his smile happy and his eyes brighten. He hesitates for a moment, turns around and looks at the empty compartment. He could go out; but then, he undoubtedly would run danger to not get back inside punctually, and then he would miss... everything. As much as he likes to do it, he feels he must not. He can not. Everything is too much to lose, especially when it is always just about Everything Or Nothing. Nothing is what he has now, even though he does indeed sit in the Hogwarts Express (which is a wonder by itself); but he does not dare to hope falsely, for things can change from one second to another. And Nothing is what he will have, should he go outside and miss the train.

Sighing, he turns back, and startles a bit when he sees his parent's faces, now very close to the window. Thoughts hastily thrown aside, Remus hurries forward and presses his face to the glass again, giving in for a moment to the longing just to take his luggage and to run away. He is torn apart between staying here and having to face the unknown, both dangerous and frightening, but the Absolute Chance - and going, going back home, alone and an outcast again, but wonderfully safe and warm and loved. His nose hurts quite a bit as he presses his face yet harder against the window, as if it would suddenly vanish and let him through to his parents. Against his ribcage, his heart starts racing and his eyes suddenly water. He whimpers, "Mum", "Dad". Closing his eyes and pressing his lips together, he tries not to cry; but it does not help, because the tears are already there, pressing through his eyes and staying there for a moment, only to run down his cheeks, and to fall from there to his knees. He never wants to open his eyes again, he never wants the train to leave; for like this, he can both be at home with his parents close, and he would not have to abandon this chance, while sitting here in this compartment. It is not an ideal solution, he knows this, and yet it is the only one he can think of that he could bear.

A soft knock against the window from outside, and he does open his eyes. His mother's eyes are all he can see, on level with his own, and he loses himself in them, forgetting all about staying and leaving and running away. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can dimly see his mother's hands moving where her mouth is. He does not look down, though, for all he can think of is how he loves the green of her irises. They stay like this for a moment, but then his mother withdraws and Remus opens his mouth in protest. Before he can say something, she smiles again and puts both her hands on the glass. He understands and does the same, and they are hand against hand, and he wishes the glass was not there, so that he could feel her warm hands against his cool ones. Slowly she guides her hands downwards, and his follow hers, as if drawn by a string; downwards, downwards, downwards, until she pulls her hands back. He is confused by now, but he does not follow her example, and leaves his hands where they are. His eyes are fixed on six words; words in mirror-writing, in a cloud of his mother's breath, having made the glass steamed up. It takes him a moment to be able to read it:

We are so proud of you.

He looks up and sees his mother crying and his father has his arms tightly wrapped around her. Trembling curses through Remus' entire body, shaking him once and then disappearing. He feels nauseous, he realizes, and on his palms and forehead there is cold sweat. The urge to just go back to his parents is stronger than ever; it is rooted in every fingertip and toe and it pulls at him unpleasantly with silent force.

Oh, it would be so easy to give in, to run away.

But something stops him, hinders him. Something feels wrong about this, about this being easy. Ever since the incident that changed their lives, nothing has been easy for them. Though being completely employable, the Ministry of Magic ensured, hardly days after the incident, that no one should take on the parents of a monster; so they lacked money in every possible corner imaginable – and yet, somehow, they managed to survive. They fought and did not retreat: they did not give up, even with the whole Wizarding Society against them, with starvation and desperation and isolation among every breath.

Nothing is easy, nothing at all. And this, this would not be easy, too.

It would certainly be the hardest time of his life.

Remus would have to learn harder than every other student; he was intelligent, very much so, but his intelligence was more based on experience and the reading of books, rather than natural brilliance. And he would need top grades, when after school he would just want a moderate job; if any job at all, due to his affliction. He would have to lead a life made of lies, to make living among others in his age possible. He would never be able to smile without a doubt, for fear anyone might look behind the mask and see what he really is. He would have to be alone, secluded, and books would probably be his only companions. He would have to forsake the joy of friends, even if there would be a lot of children in his own age. He has learned that it is easier to be on your own and to only trust yourself. Others bring only disappointment and anguish, and he has seen enough of that.

He can not trust anyone but his parents; who are always there for him, who accept and even love him, despite what he is, despite the fact that he is not human.

We are so proud of you.

Nothing is easy, nothing at all. And this, this would not be easy, too.

It would certainly be the hardest time of his life.

He inhales deeply, closes his eyes as there is a loud whistling. The whole train rumbles, rattles and the voices of excited and sad children, crying Goodbyes to their parents, reach his ears. Whistling again, then rumbling and whistling, and the train starts to move, slowly.

He opens his eyes, looks at his parents for a last time. His mother is still crying, but she manages to smile for him, in defiance of her own hopelessness; his father has an arm around her, and with the other he waves. He smiles, and his smile is the same as his wife's: unsure, anxious and lost, and yet happy and blazing with hope for the chance that was given them, and they both secretly burst with pride for this little boy who has endured so much, and yet never fails to look forward and to smile; as he does now.

The Hogwarts Express moves faster now, and the last thing Remus sees are his parents: by now, two tiny figures, waving wildly. He raises an arm and waves as well. Far too late, but he thinks it is better to do it now, than to do it never. "Goodbye," he whispers, and stares out of the window for long.

Then Remus sits back on the red leather seat, which is not as big as in the beginning anymore. He wipes his tears away and pulls out a heavy book of his bag, and puts it in his lap. He looks around the still empty compartment again, and then he props his feet on the seat opposite of him, shoes still on. His parents would not approve if they saw that, it really is something one does not do. But it is so comfortable, he thinks, and how can such a thing be wrong?

A small grin tugs at the corner of his lips as he imagines his parent's indignant would-be faces; and he quickly opens the book and regards Oliver Twist, who will share this first journey ever with him.

It can not be that bad, if books are going to be his only companions. They always have something from home, even though he does not know why.

And for now, Oliver is enough.

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