Disclaimer: Characters owned by J K Rowling.
Summary: Two boys - one Dark by nature, one Black by blood. What happens when the two contradictions to the rule meet? Enter the Castle of Destiny, and follow Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, as they battle with themselves and the ever-present Dark forces in thier lives...
Prologue
Sirius couldn't sleep.
Moonlight was filtering through a gap in the heavy velvet curtains, bathing his face with silver.
He rolled over, burrowing into the soft darkness of his blankets, his mind fuzzy with sleep.
Downstairs, the clock in the hall was striking twelve, the deep mellow chimes echoing through the house.
Sirius let out a sigh, and rolled over onto his back, kicking his blankets to the floor.
He could hear Kreacher sneaking about the house, muttering to himself –malevolent whispers of blood and hatred.
He stared up at the carved wooden canopy of his bed, his eyelids feeling suddenly and unbearably heavy.
Somewhere deep in the heart of Grimmauld, a floorboard creaked.
Sirius blinked, feeling himself slipping slowly away, his tired mind giving way, sending him spiralling into a haze of dreams.
"Sirius. Sirius?"
A man is calling his name. The voice is cold, and heartless. It reminds him of the freezing burn of ice, and the dirty, bloody taste of money – the taste of power. A name filters into his head. Orion Black. His father. An imposing man at best, and a Dark Wizard at worst, he was powerful, rich, and terrifying.
To everyone but Sirius.
To Sirius, his father is his whole world. And when Little Siri grows up, he wants to be just like him.
Sirius smiles, and blinks, and he's in an Astronomy lesson. They are on the roof of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, gazing up at the midnight sky, staring up at the glittering stars. His father is pointing at them, his stone-grey eyes picking them out one by one.
Orion the Hunter. Brave, strong, a true leader. Sirius' heart is filled with awe as he gazes up at his Father. Truly, his Father MUST be the greatest man alive to have a name worthy of a Hunter of Stars… Then Orion turns to smile at four year old Sirius, and points to another of the shining stars and says, "And look there. It's you!"
"Sirius, the Dog Star. That's what you are! Orion's little puppy-dog!" Sirius smiles up at his Father, feeling proud as anything. Man's loyal best friend – what more would he want to be?
But then… There's something there, something in his Fathers eyes… Sirius frowns, his heart jumping erratically in his chest. There is something cold in his Fathers face, something that makes Sirius think that he means…
Orion's face twists into a sneer, and he starts to laugh. "That's what you are Sirius! A pet. A show dog! Something to be tamed, trained. To obey me without question!" He laughs and laughs and laughs – it's a cold, hard sound, and it hurts Sirius' heart.
He can feel his world imploding, tumbling away from beneath his feet. He's falling, crying, his heart is thumping, louder and louder he can hear blood pounding in his ears. Everything's blurred, everything's wrong… He can hear his mother screaming and hateful, hating him, hating, hating… So much hatred. It's blood red, and makes his eyes burn.
He can see Regulus now, lurking on the staircase, watching him, always watching him, worshipping him. His mother pats Sirius on the cheek, but although her painted mouth is smiling, it's cold, and her fingernails feel like claws against his skin. He steps back, and turns around, only to see…
Regulus is shouting at him. "Get away from me, traitor! I hate you! You betrayed me, I hate you!" Each word is like a knife in his chest, and Sirius staggers, and falls, through the floor, down and down, through the earth itself..
Suddenly, he's fallen all the way to the stars, and he can almost swear that they're laughing at him, mocking him. His vision starts to spin, everything is fizzling, and his heart is beating far too fast, too fast and too hard. The rush of blood is almost unbearable. He can see an eternity of it – of power and money and hurting and hatred and loneliness and darkness.
The clock strikes thirteen,
And Sirius wakes.
He sat up, gasping for breath, his eyes blurred with tears.
For a moment, he could do nothing but sit and sob, deep, desperate sobs that can hardly even be described as such - more like massive convulsions of confusion and terror that racked his whole body, causing tears to escape from his tightly closed silver eyes.
What…
What's happening to me?
What's wrong with me?
Why am I thinking like this?!
Mother and Father… They love me! They're my parents!
He shook his head, shoving a hand through his hair, violently tugging at a knot until his eyes began to water.
Just… get a grip Sirius.
Get a grip.
He rubbed his eyes, and tumbled out of bed, staggering over to the curtains. Pulling back the heavy black drapes, he blinked in the sudden glare of cold morning sunlight.
A new day.
A new month - the First of September.
Sirius smiled slightly, before turning back to his bedside table, and picking up his wand.
This is the first day of the rest of my life.
My destiny… It starts here.
-----
"Run, Remus! Quickly, I'll hold him off!" a tall, willowy woman shouted, pulling out her wand and stopping in her tracks. The wind blew her long, bronze hair across her face, catching the silver light of the full moon. Her large blue eyes shone with tears, but still she encouraged her young son to escape.
The boy, however, had other plans. "No, mum, don't!" he screamed, beginning to run back to her.
"RUN!" Aurora Lupin shouted, just before the huge wolf leapt upon her and tore out her throat.
"MUM!" Remus cried, and the wolf looked up into young eyes that were just as blue as his mother's. Suddenly terrified again, he turned to run, but the wolf gave a single bound to land before him, its jaws dripping with saliva and blood. It might have been Remus' imagination, but he could have sworn that he saw the wolf smile.
It was only when the wolf sank its teeth into his shoulder that the boy screamed again, falling to the floor with the wolf standing over him. He heard the weak voice of his mother over his screams, still repeating over and over again for him to run. She did not know that it was just too late…
Nine-year-old Remus John Lupin was curled up in the corner of his tiny, windowless bedroom, shaking in a mixture of fear and weakness. His recent sleep had been filled with nightmares of a giant, silver-backed wolf ripping out his mother's throat before turning on him... If only they were just nightmares. For it was, indeed, a memory - his first, in fact - and not a figment of a child's over-active imagination; at the tender age of three he had watched a werewolf attack his mother, been bitten himself, and crawled to his mother's body to await being found by his devastated father.
A creaking sound was heard, and suddenly a square of bright light appeared in the ceiling. The silhouette of his father, John Lupin, blocked some of the light, and Remus cowered into the corner even more. Since the attack, his father had forced him to sleep in the secret wine cellar beneath the kitchen, occasionally allowing him to emerge for meals if the man was in a good mood. Generally, though, Remus lived in the small room. He was lucky if he got one meal a day magicked down to him, and even luckier if it was more than a slice or two of stale bread and slightly molding cheese.
It was rare for his father to visit him in the cellar, and Remus knew that it was never a good occasion when he did.
Today was no exception. John staggered down the stairs - closing the trapdoor behind him - and searched for Remus through blurry eyes, finally alighting upon his thin, pale form in the far corner. With an everlasting candle in one hand and a bottle of the strongest Firewhisky in the other, the man struck both a violent and a vulnerable figure. Reeking of alcohol, John stumbled over to the corner and looked down at the boy in disgust. Remus let a whimper escape his cracked lips, and John merely spat at him. He took a long drink from the bottle before throwing it down next to Remus, who wailed as he was hit with the debris of broken glass. John spat at his son a second time before grabbing his long, brown hair and pulling him to his knees. Remus wailed again, unable to prevent himself from crying.
"Be quiet!" John snapped, his face livid. Remus fell silent immediately, but he could not stop his tears. "Open your eyes!" Remus, again, followed orders; large, golden eyes - framed with thick, dark lashes - stared into his father's brown ones with nothing short of terror. John's lip curled. "Still yellow, I see," he said menacingly. "We'll have to try and fix that."
"N-n-no, father, p-please," Remus begged, his eyes imploring. "They w-won't change b-b-back, they n-never -"
"Silence!" John bellowed, throwing his son to the floor. Remus withheld his whimper as he landed awkwardly on his wrist, resting his forehead on the cold, stone floor until his father ordered him to turn over. The boy stared up at him, meeting his eyes for only a second. The thing that was now in his father's hands had caught his attention, and he released a premature yowl of agony; a long, silver coil twirled between them, glittering in the flickering candlelight. "Do you know what this is?" he asked coldly, referring to the coil. Remus whimpered a reply, already trying to inch away. John glared at him, his eyes ablaze in hatred. "I said, do you know what this is?"
"S-s-silver," Remus stuttered in a whisper, his eyes wide.
"Of course it's silver, idiot!" John shouted, flicking the end of it dangerously close to Remus' face. "I mean what object is it?"
"A sh-shower cable," Remus replied, remembering the sight of it from the rare times he ever got to use the shower.
John smiled sardonically. "Well done, boy. It seems your memory hasn't changed, so why have your eyes?"
"B-b-because th-that's how -"
"I didn't expect an answer!" John reprimanded, whipping the cable onto his son's bare skin. Remus' howls echoed around the room for a long time, unheard by anyone but his father.
It was not the first time that John had punished his son like this, nor was it to be the last. But nothing could compare to the pain that the young boy felt on the morning of July 12th, 1971.
It was one of the rare mornings that a sober John Lupin had allowed his eleven-year-old son out of the cellar, and Remus was sat under the table eating a meagre breakfast of a slice of dry toast. Just as he was eating the last bite, a tapping sound could be heard at the window. John was on his feet in an instant, hurrying to open it for the graceful barn owl that waited outside. Assuming that it was a letter for him he reached out to take it from the owl, but she snapped her beak at him before soaring inside the kitchen and landing beside Remus.
The silence that fell in the kitchen was thick enough to cut with a knife. Remus stared at the owl in shock not only because it had brought him a letter, but also because it was sitting next to him with no trace of panic. Most animals fled at the mere sight of a Dark Creature. She nibbled his ear affectionately as she dropped the letter in his lap, and he picked it up with trembling fingers. There was no doubt now that the letter was for him, for his name was written in elegant green script on the front of it. He turned the letter over to see a seal of a lion, a badger, an eagle and a snake entwined around an 'H', and Remus suddenly realised who the letter was from.
"Who would send you a letter?" John was scorning, reaching out to snatch the letter from him. Remus was too quick for him, however, and he scrambled away with the letter in his hand.
"It's fr-from H-H-Hogwarts," Remus stammered.
John blinked. "No, it's not. It can't be."
"It is! It h-has the s-s-seal and ev-everything."
"Then it must be a letter of rejection," John reasoned. "No one would want a Dark Creature in their school. There are restrictions on educating your kind now, anyway. Give the letter to me, to save you the disappointment of opening it."
"N-no," Remus said, clutching the letter close to him. "I w-want to o-o-open it."
John smiled cruelly. "Go on, then. Be disappointed."
Remus looked at the letter once more before breaking the seal, opening the thick parchment and reading the letter that fell into his lap.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr Lupin,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1st September. We await your owl by no later than 31st July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Remus could not help but smile. "I got in," he whispered incredulously, his nervous stutter vanishing in surprise. "I got in!" He looked up into the seething face of his father, and his smile immediately faded.
John stood up abruptly, striding over to the side of the table where Remus was cowering and grabbing his thick hair. He howled in pain as he was dragged from under the table, still clutching his letter. "You're not going to that school!" John yelled, tearing the letter from his hands. "You will write to this McGonagall woman and tell her that you're going to be home-schooled, and that your place should be given to someone else!"
"N-no, father!"
"Yes!" he screamed, before slapping his son across his face; the silver ring on his ring finger burned his cheek, and Remus only howled louder.
"P-p-please, father, m-mum would've w-wanted -"
John slapped his son again. "How dare you speak to me about your mother? How dare you?" He opened the trapdoor in the floor with a flick of his wand, and threw his son bodily down the stairs. "I'll write to the school to tell them that you're not going!" Then he slammed the door closed, plunging Remus into pitch-blackness.
It took Remus a few minutes before he could bring himself to move, and he managed to pull himself over to a corner before collapsing on the thin, ripped mattress that served as his bed. It was not long before he began to cry, his painfully skinny body racking with silent sobs. He did not doubt that John would write to the school and reject his place, and it was this that caused Remus the greatest sorrow; he had always believed that learning magic and having social interaction with other children his age would help him become as normal as it was possible for a lycanthrope to be, and now that his father was to stop him from attending Hogwarts he would never experience normality. The dream that he had grasped onto for six years had shattered, and he had nothing left to live for.
Eventually, John joined his son in the cellar, armed with an assortment of silver cutlery, ornaments, jewellery and the shower cable. He spotted his son in the corner, still crying, and gave a cold smile. "I've written the letter, and that owl returned to Hogwarts with it," he said, his smile becoming colder at the sound of Remus' helpless mewl of pain. "Unfortunately, you dared to argue with me, and you befouled the memory of your mother by speaking of her. You must be punished severely because of it."
Remus did not even protest as his father hurt him this time. He could not help his screams of pain and wolf-like growls of agony, but he did not try to stop the punishment. John Lupin's message had finally sunk in - Remus was to blame for everything, and he did not deserve to live.
It was not until late that night that John finally left Remus' room, leaving the latter bloodied, bruised and broken on the floor. He had not stopped crying since he had first begun earlier that morning, but he now had physical pain as well as mental and emotional pain to weep about. When he heard the soft tapping on the trapdoor, however, he paused his sobs to listen again. The tapping continued, and Remus - despite being terrified - crawled to the bottom of the stairs. Holding his fractured right arm to his chest, he managed to limp up the stairway to press his ear to the wood. This time, the flutter of wings could be heard with the tapping noise, and Remus guessed that it was an owl.
"H-hello?" he called out softly, and the noise stopped. A quiet hoot echoed back to him, and he assumed that it was the owl from this morning returning with his father's reply. "He's n-not d-d-down here," he whispered, but the owl hooted again. Suddenly, an envelope was dropped through the crack between trapdoor and frame, landing neatly in Remus' hand. He looked at it in surprise. "For me?" he asked, only to be replied with a third hoot.
Remus smiled and hurried back down the stairs, scrabbling at a loose stone in the wall beside his mattress. It slid out easily, and he felt around in the darkness for what he was looking for - a small stump of a candle and a box of matches. He lit the candle and placed it gently on the floor before turning to his letter, tearing it open to read it.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr Lupin,
Although we regret the fact that you will not be attending our school, we wish you all the best in your future studies. Your place will be kept open for you until July 31st, in case you wish to change your decision.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Remus' heart soared. Due to what seemed to him to be a happy coincidence, his place had been kept open and the owl had delivered him the letter without his father noticing. Suddenly recognizing the possibilities that this occurrence opened to him, he returned to searching his hidden cache for writing utensils. He soon pulled out a small scrap of parchment and a tiny inkwell, which had no ink in it. He managed to find a quill with a ragged nib and broken feather, but there was no inkbottle to be seen. Deciding that writing this letter was more important than anything else, he pierced the ball of his thumb with his sharp canine teeth and dipped the nib into the scarlet blood.
A few more cuts and words later, Remus shook his wild hair from his face and re-read the little that he had written with the remains of his candlelight.
Dear Professor Dumbledore, (or Professor McGonagall, whichever of you receives this letter),
I expect that this is a rare occurrence, having two owls from one prospective pupil in one day, but I beg you to ignore my last letter. I know that I sent you an owl this morning rejecting my place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but I really do want it. I only cast my doubts this morning because my father and I did not know whether the school knew of my condition.
You see, I am an unfortunate sufferer of lycanthropy, and both my father and I are aware that educating werewolves has recently become heavily restricted. We had only best intentions for the school in mind by rejecting my place - surely having a werewolf in the school will cause uproar with parents, students and teachers alike?
However, should you not mind having a lycanthropic student in the school, I would be exceptionally happy to accept my place from September, if only for a few years until my continued education becomes completely illegal. If I am lucky enough to be accepted again, then I would ask you to write to my father, John Lupin, to tell him that my education is compulsory, for he would let me attend the school with the notion that I would be both safe and secure. If the emergence of my lycanthropy means that I cannot attend, I would be grateful if you merely sent him a copy of your last letter - I do not wish him to know of our correspondence, for he tries so hard to keep my lycanthropy secret from the neighbors that I do not think that he would appreciate me revealing this to perfect strangers.
I reveal this information to you in the strictest of confidence, for my father is still waiting for the Ministry to confirm my registration as a werewolf and I do not wish for them to know about my condition before the paperwork has gone through.
Thank you for your understanding,
Remus J. Lupin
PS: You have a very clever - but reckless - owl. You might want to teach her to flee from werewolves like every other animal.
Remus smiled softly, pleased at what he had written. Still not using his useless right arm, he folded the letter carefully and made a fresh cut with which to write on the front:
Professor A. Dumbledore or Professor M. McGonagall,
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,
Scotland (?)
He hoped that the question mark next to the location would not give the recipient of the letter a bad first impression of him, but he had not read about Hogwarts since before his mother had died and could only recall the vague impression that the school was located somewhere in the country. Grabbing the candle, he carefully tipped the melted wax onto the join to seal the parchment closed. A short, sharp breath cooled it immediately, and he hurried up the stairs to the trapdoor.
A scuffling noise from above told him that the owl was still there, so he carefully pushed the letter between the gap again. He felt it tugged gently from his hand. "Take it to Professor McGonagall or Professor Dumbledore," he asked in a whisper, and the owl gave a muffled noise of confirmation before fluttering her wings and soaring away.
Remus returned to his bed, quickly pushing the quill and inkwell back into the secret cache and replacing the stone. His smile did not fade, and for the first time in six years he fell into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.
Morning arrived unbeknownst to Remus, and he slept in obliviousness until the banging of the trapdoor opening awoke him with a start. Supporting his right arm with his left, he sat up and looked at the furious figure of his father. It was a rare sight to see John with something other than a Firewhisky bottle and silver when he visited Remus in the cellar, but today he had neither; instead, he held an open letter.
"For you, from Hogwarts," he snapped, thrusting the parchment into Remus' injured hand. He struggled to unfold it again, but what he read was worth the uncomfortable pain.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Lupin,
In reply to your letter yesterday morning, I am writing to tell you that the letter that you received was merely a formality. Your education at this school is compulsory not by law, but at the request of the Headmaster himself. Professor Dumbledore wishes you to know that just after you were born, your mother wrote to him to ensure that he would educate you here at Hogwarts - they later met to carry out an Unbreakable Vow, which he is against breaking for obvious reasons. Should you or your father wish for proof of this occurrence the Bonder has sadly passed on, but Professor Dumbledore has the letter from your mother filed, and will happily send you a copy.
I would also like to inform you that we are aware of your lycanthropy, and if you letter of rejection was for your own protection, the protection of other inhabitants of the school or the fear of persecution, I can assure you that you will find no prejudice from staff members here. Our resident Healer, Poppy Pomfrey, has agreed to help you recover after your transformations, and we have already installed a safe haven for your transformations to take place.
Should you have lost the list of equipment from the previous letter, I enclose another copy.
I look forward to teaching you come September.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Remus could not help but smile and he did not regret it, even after his father took out his rage on him again. He was going to Hogwarts to study magic with other children, and they did not care about his condition. Nothing could spoil his day.
Later that night, he heard the same scuffling noise from last night, and he knew that the owl had returned. Limping painfully, he made his way up the stairs to read the new letter in the dim light coming through the crack.
I hope that my letter helped you, Remus.
Minerva McGonagall
And then the owl dropped another note down to him. This letter was written in slanted, looping characters, different to the now familiar handwriting of Professor McGonagall.
The owl - Roselina - is now yours. She will be kept in the Owlery until your arrival in September.
There was no signature.
Remus' trip to Diagon Alley was his first trip away from the house since his mother had died, and as he stepped out of his front door he was struck with a feeling of agoraphobia. It did not last for long, however, as his heightened senses reveled in the unfamiliar smells, sounds and sights. So as not to raise suspicions over Remus' condition, John had ordered him to shower, cut his hair and cover his scars and cuts with a long-sleeved shirt and jeans - despite it being nearly thirty degrees and the middle of August. When the neighbors caught sight of Remus, they smiled reassuringly at him; unsure as to how he should react, he looked away and to the old, rusty Muggle car parked on the driveway. John motioned to him to get into the car (which looked as though it could not possibly be road-legal) as he did so himself, and Remus warily crawled into the front passenger seat. As his father reversed into the road, he explained the neighbor's reactions.
"I told them that you're a hopeless agoraphobic, triggered by the events surrounding... well, you know." Remus guessed that he meant the death of his mother, and he nodded silently; little did his father know that he really was agoraphobic, but that it was not crippling. "It handily explained your long stay out of the public eye." His lips curled in a cruel smile, and Remus looked away to watch the road.
"H-how is this c-c-car s-safe?" he asked quietly, and John laughed harshly.
"It doesn't really look like this, you stupid animal! If I left it undisguised on the driveway, it would have been stolen by now." Driving one-handed, he flicked his wand and the car seemed to transform; the seats became plush, untorn and filled; the dashboard became shiny and new; the dull, faded red that could vaguely be seen beneath the rust on the bonnet brightened and shone through the corrosion. As they drove past a shop window, Remus saw that the old, battered car that they had been driving in was non-existent, and that they were now seated in a brand new Ford Capri Coupe with glittering hubcaps and a blinding red paint job.
John was still smiling. "As much as I hate you, I thank you for surviving the bite. Because I don't have to care for you, I'm rich. Six years of a regular income, child benefits and no child to indulge, my bank vault was upgraded last year."
"W-what about m-m-mine?"
"What about it?"
"W-what's in it?"
"Only the money your mother left to you in her will. Did you expect something more?"
"N-no."
"Good."
The rest of the journey up to London passed in silence, for Remus dared neither to turn on the radio nor try to converse with his father. When they had parked in a side street and John had bought a parking ticket (using Muggle money, Remus noticed in astonishment), he grabbed his son by the arm and led him out to a busy street packed with people. Remus felt the agoraphobia return to him against his will, and he closed his eyes and let his father drag him down the pavement.
Soon, the bustle of people stopped and Remus sensed the enclosed feeling that made him assume that they were inside. Cautiously opening his eyes, he saw that they were in a dingy pub with a young man behind the bar, smiling at them. "Alright, Lupin? Haven't seen you around this way for a while."
Remus opened and closed his mouth silently, wondering how to reply to that statement, when John said, "We've come shopping, Tom. Remus here starts at Hogwarts in September, so we've come to get his supplies."
"Ah, so this is Remus!" Tom cried, smiling widely; Remus could see that he was already missing a number of teeth. "You've certainly grown tall – I haven't seen you since you came here with your mother."
John nudged Remus, who started. "Say something!" he mouthed, and Remus nodded once.
"W-well, sir, I'm a-a-agoraphobic," he stuttered, twisting his hands in agitation. "I h-haven't l-left the house in s-s-six y-years."
Tom nodded understandingly. "I'm not surprised, after the accident. Tragic, truly tragic… Still I hope that attending Hogwarts will help you conquer your fear."
"I h-hope so t-t-too, sir," Remus said as his father ushered him out the back door into the dirty alley behind the pub.
"That's quite enough socialising for today," John sneered, whipping out his wand and tapping the brick that revealed the entrance to Diagon Alley.
The first thing that struck Remus was that the street seemed smaller than he remembered. It was packed with people, many of whom were walking in family groups with school-aged children. The air was saturated with the scents of magic and human and animal, and it was driving the wolf inside him mad. He struggled to force it back, and when he had his acute hearing managed to pick up snatches of conversation:
"Hurry up, Alfred, we have to buy you some new robes…"
"Elizabeth, dear, remind me how this money works…?"
"Come on, Alison, we'll buy you some healing salve…"
Remus did not have time to dwell on these fragments of other people's lives, for his father was dragging him away towards a shop that proclaimed itself to be called Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. As they entered the brightly-painted shop, a short woman dressed in mauve robes bustled over to them with a smile on her round face. "Hogwarts, dear?" she asked Remus kindly, and he nodded. John, however, spoke up:
"I'm afraid that we'll have to buy some secondhand robes, Madam Malkin. We're currently short on money."
Remus opened his mouth to protest, but John reacted quicker; he pressed his silver ring to the nape of his son's neck, and the latter gritted his teeth to prevent himself from screaming in pain. By this time, Madam Malkin's smile had become sympathetic and understanding, and she appeared not to notice Remus' discomfort. "Oh, of course, dear. They might be slightly short for you, as you're tall for a First Year… unless you don't mind them being a little shabby, in which case they could be longer…"
"Just do the best you can," John said. "I'm sure Remus will survive."
Not only did Remus have to settle for shabby, secondhand robes, but John bought him outdated copies of his spellbooks, a rusting cauldron, a hardly-balanced set of scales, an ancient trunk, and a tattered hat. He even tried to find a pair of old dragonhide gloves, but the shop owner insisted that they were too unsafe to be sold and convinced him into buying a new pair. Much to Remus' disbelief, John almost refused to purchase him a brand new wand; he did not relent until Remus threatened to use his lycanthropic strength to smash the Capri beyond repair. They walked into Ollivanders in silence, and yet the owner of the shop appeared in moments.
"Ah, John Lupin," Ollivander whispered eerily, making both father and son jump. "It's been a while since you were in here buying your wand. Nine inches, hazel and dragon heartstring. Good for Charms work, wasn't it?" John nodded mutely. "Does it still live up to expectations?"
"Twenty-five years, and it's just as good as it's always been," John replied tightly, seeming slightly unnerved. "However, there's no time for reminiscing. We're here for my son, Remus."
"Of course, of course," Ollivander said, turning to Remus and scrutinising him in the way an artist examined his muse. "Hmm. You don't resemble your father much –"
"No, he doesn't," John interrupted, "he looks like his mother."
"Yes, Aurora Richardson… I remember the wedding announcement – and the obituary - in the Prophet… anyway, on to Remus." He returned his pale eyes to the young, nervous boy before him, pulling a tape measure from his pocket as he did so. "Now, which is your wand arm?"
Remus was unsure how to answer. "W-w-well, I'm l-left-handed…" he stammered uncertainly, and Ollivander smiled.
"Hold out your arm, then," he instructed, and Remus did so. He measured various parts of his arm and his height before he turned away, beckoning Remus to follow him. "Now, I'll hand you a number of wands, and I want you to wave each one. Don't worry if it takes a while, you mustn't rush this process. The wand chooses the wizard, after all… hmm. Let's try this one." He picked up a long, thin black box at random and opened it, taking the wand out and giving it a quick glance. "An odd combination, rosewood and phoenix feather, fourteen inches. Quite powerful, an all-round wand – you shouldn't have any trouble with it favouring a certain type of spellwork… here, just wave that for me."
Remus took the reddish-brown wand, giving a start as his fingers tingled warmly. Following Ollivander's instructions cautiously, he gave a delicate swishing movement; he dropped it in shock, however, when a sudden shower of scarlet and gold sparks flew from the tip to ricochet around the room. Ollicander smiled. "Well well, what a rarity. The right wand on the very first try." He picked the fallen wand up from the floor and placed it back in its velvet-lined box.
"H-how can you t-t-tell that it's the r-right wand?" Remus asked curiously.
"Are you blind, boy?" John exclaimed, raising his hand as if to strike him. "If it were the wrong wand, there wouldn't've been any sparks!"
"Well for all I know, sparks could mean that it's the wrong wand!" Remus shouted, his teeth bared in an animalistic snarl as his nervous stutter disappeared in his rage.
John was at his side in a instant, gripping his son by the arm so that the silver ring burned him. "Don't you dare answer me back!" he said through gritted teeth.
"Then don't you insult me," he replied quietly, his golden eyes flashing in anger and pain.
Ollivander said nothing.
Remus' outburst in the wand shop cost him dearly. He was thrown down into the basement the very moment they got home, and his wand and spellbooks were kept under lock and key in his trunk in his father's room. John did not even acknowledge that Remus existed for two days, after which he gave his son a tiny glass of water and half a slice of bread before leaving him alone for a few more days. After five long days of being ignored, the real punishments began. They were more liberal and painful than normal; in the remaining two weeks before the Hogwarts term started, Remus had both arms broken and mended at least three times, more silver burns than he could count scattered over his body, and a number of deep cuts from the shower cable across his back. John seemed relentless in his beatings, and his son took them with little complaint; after all, Remus knew that his father was only doing his best to keep the wolf at bay.
Unfortunately, neither of the Lupins realised just how close to the surface the wolf was...
Authors' Note:
This story has been co-written by IdiosyncraticSilence (who writes from Remus' point of view;) and Avada-In-The-Skies (who writes as Sirius).