Author's Note: This little oneshot collection I'm writing is for the Wand Wood challenge on the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges Forum. This is for Black Walnut (write about a character having to accept/face a truth about themselves). Enjoy!
Black Walnut
Remus Lupin generally has no problem admitting that he's afraid—except when it comes to something concerning someone other than him. Even at all of ten years old, he isn't ignorant to what his parents want, and that's to see him off to Hogwarts. They're scared too, of course, which is why he makes himself insist that he'll be fine at school, to soothe their fear.
So he gets sent off to Hogwarts.
How will he ever make friends? He's a werewolf. He's a werewolf.
Three boys sit with him on the train that day. Two sit across from him—Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew, but one sits right next to him. "James Potter," he introduces himself, and shakes Remus' hand enthusiastically. "I'm going to be in Gryffindor. What house will you be in?"
"I don't know," Remus tries quietly, since everyone looks at him and he's squirming under the pressure. "Gryffindor?"
James cheers.
Wait until he finds out about Remus' little secret.
/
It just isn't fair, he sobs in his mind, as the transformation takes hold of his body, feeling like it's tearing all of his limbs off, his organs out of his torso, winding his muscles and bones around each other and sucking out his blood.
They call where he is the Shrieking Shack now.
He does scream, a lot—awful awful wails of pain reaching agony, and he weeps for himself and his parents and his friends that don't know about this.
The transformations at school are some of the longest nights of his life.
/
The first time Remus goes to an Order meeting, he feels scared out of his mind. But why? He knows a great deal of the people there already. He has no reason to be afraid. He scarcely talks at that gathering. Instead he sits almost impossibly still, but with his folded hands shaking in his lap.
These people accept him. Everyone says so.
But he doesn't really believe it.
They don't know him, not really, and most of them never will. Those who do know must have a tainted opinion of him, or maybe he's just being paranoid. Yes. That has to be it. Because that's what James and Sirius and Peter always said.
And Remus Lupin trusts his friends.
/
He's a teacher, now, looking out on the great hall from the professor's table, and he's not talking to anyone. Who is there? Half of them were his teachers—talking to them just seems awkward and not right. There was dear old Snivellus, of course, and Dumbledore himself… no conversing there. Hagrid takes Remus under his wing, and if he's honest with himself, it earns him no favor.
But he doesn't mind the giant. Maybe he understands some.
The students don't really get him either, but he doesn't seem to be disliked. The professors mostly accept him, but other than the Order members, little more.
He talks idly, and watches Harry and his friends over at the Gryffindor table. Slytherins stare at them and laugh. No surprise there. Some things never change, he thinks. The house points and Quidditch scores tell the story well.
/
Remus doesn't fancy himself the type for love. He's just not suited for it. He is suited for looking at pictures of old companions and spending the days drinking tea and eating chocolate and reading the Daily Prophet by the fireplace. He is not suited to late nights out and romance and sharing a bed with someone.
Let alone Nymphadora Tonks.
His best mate's little cousin, with the bright pink hair and clumsiness and way of being too young and too delicate and too good for him. Bloody brilliant. She doesn't seem to mind. She insists she likes being with him.
Being with him. What was that supposed to mean?
/
Always his mantra: too old, too poor, too dangerous.
"Don't be depressing," she teases him easily. "You're not even forty and you have more money than any of London's beggars."
"More money than a beggar," he says. "That makes for a delightful and charming companion, does it?"
"It does."
/
She looks so bloody hurt when he leaves her that he learns how the word "heartache" was made. He does feel lonely, and misses her more than anything, but in a way, he's also relieved. No more worrying about somewhere far away to go for the transformations. No more having to control his outbursts around the full moon. No more worrying about accidentally doing something stupid and ruining her life.
But no more love for him, he decides.
/
It doesn't last long. There was always a small part of him that thought, hoped, that it wouldn't. He gives in to her. He can't fight anymore. It's all worth it, for Dora. Who was he ever kidding? Maybe he is suited for love after all.
/
Some acceptance of his life's boundaries has hit him. It's not easy, but if he doesn't let himself think too much, some of the pressure lets up a bit. He stays awake late one night thinking about it, pretending to read a book. The thoughts swirl around and around, making him nauseous, and he tries to avoid looking out the window at the waxing moon. It only ups his anxiety.
Remus sets the book down on the nightstand, turns off the light, slides down to be under the covers, rolls onto his side and tries to sleep. Tonks is peaceful and still beside him, breathing slow and even. He wishes he could sleep like that. But he hasn't been able to since he was just a child. And pining does him no good.
He works on relaxing each sore muscle in his body one at a time, counts sheep—no, no, no sheep, then—and ponders what he pretended to read in the book set down next to him. He tries to match his breathing with Tonks'. It doesn't work.
We're too different; the thought comes in a panic. But tonight, he can ignore it. He's not going down that road again.
/
Later, he will die feeling only acceptance.
He will accept that he cannot be the father to Harry that James and Sirius couldn't be.
He will accept that he and Nymphadora could never have a fairy tale love story.
He will accept that Fenrir Greyback changed his life forever.
He will accept that fitting in was never his strong suit.
But he will also accept that he had found some happiness in his life, short as it may have been.
End.