Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, not me.

Warning: This story will contain slash. If you're uncomfortable with male/male relationships, please don't read it!

A/N: Reviews are loved!


UNDER WINTER MOON

Prologue

In which Remus wears his best pair of

shoes, and first impressions count.


On my first day of school, I wore my best pair of shoes. On my first day of school, I fell in love.

It only took a moment. He spoke, I turned, he smiled, I blinked, he held out his hand, I took it, he shook it, and I fell in love. Just like that. It only took a moment.

It's taken me nearly six years to realise it.

It wasn't romantic love, the sort of love that's swollen like fruit and achingly tempting. It wasn't lip biting, nervous delight love, or flushed skin and shivers when his knee knocked mine beneath the Gryffindor table. At that age, I had no concept of what it meant to long for someone.

It was an innocent love, like the calm, constant affection that I felt for my family. Something about Sirius was of comfort to me and I loved him immediately and completely. I would come to love all my closest friends, of course, but Sirius - Sirius only took a moment.

I struggle to remember when and how that love matured into a different sort altogether. It was slow, awkward, painful. First he was Sirius, my wonderful friend, always gadding about. And then, bit by awful bit, my heart got into a muddle. Now, he is Sirius, the ache in my chest.


On my first day of school, I woke to an iron-grey sky.

I shivered something terrible as I clambered out of the shower, in our little bathroom, and wiped the steam from the mirror. I wondered if Hogwarts would be cold. My mother said all castles were cold.

I ran my comb under the leaky tap and scraped my hair flat across my skull, in a neat side parting. The mirror laughed at me. I threw my comb in the sink, ruffled my hair, and went back to my bedroom, frowning.

I watched the swollen rain clouds from my window as I dressed. I wore my favourite knitted sweater and a pair of brown corduroy trousers that morning.

My mother was crying when I went downstairs for breakfast.

"Why are you crying?" I said.

"I burnt the toast," she said.

My mother is a terrible liar. Privately, I knew that she was worried about me, frightened of people finding out my secret. She didn't want me to go to Hogwarts, not really.

I shrugged. "I like burnt toast," I said.


My best shoes were a pair of tan leather oxfords, laces stiff and not a scuff mark in sight. My mother insisted I wear them, on my first day of school.

"First impressions matter," she said. "And nothing gives a better first impression than a good pair of shoes."

That sounded pretty stupid to me.

"That sounds pretty stupid," I said.

My mother glared, and passed me the shoe polish.


At nine o'clock, on the morning of the first of September, I laced up my tan leather oxfords and followed my mother out of the house.

My father locked the front door and loaded my trunk into the boot of our car, an old Mini Cooper.

I liked that car. It was small, like me, and it had rusty doors and peeling red paintwork. I suppose that sounds a little like me too, being rather shabby in my appearance. My father left the handbrake off one day, whilst we were holidaying in Dover, and that car rolled straight down a hill, off a cliff, and into the sea. I'm hoping the similarities end there.

My mother let me sit in the front passenger seat that morning, which pleased me immensely, and I waved goodbye to our little house on the hill as our car sped away down the lane.

As we neared London, I pressed my nose to the window and looked up at the sky outside. It had grown darker.

"Ready for Hogwarts, Remus?" my father asked me.

I nodded, but my stomach disagreed. I felt horribly sick. Who would want to be friends with me, a part time wolf? No one, that's who.

My father seemed to read my mind.

"You'll be fine," he said. "You'll make plenty of friends before you even get to Hogwarts."


I did not make plenty of friends.

I marvelled at the Hogwarts Express. It was a brilliant red, like my mother's favourite lipstick, and it gleamed through the thick white smoke that filled the platform. I'd never owned anything that gleamed, but that train made me wish I did.

By the time I'd stopped staring and actually got on board, the train was packed.

I hauled my trunk the length of twelve compartments before I found a free seat. Fortunately, there were five other first years in the carriage, which made me feel considerably more at ease. Unfortunately, all five of them were girls.

I didn't know much about girls, and I knew even less about how to talk to them.

"Hello," I said, hoping I didn't sound as nervous as I felt.

The compartment fell silent and five heads turned to look at me. After a long and rather humiliating pause, I dragged my trunk over to the window and quickly sat down. The girls went back to talking. Outside, it began to rain.


I stood in line for the sorting ceremony behind a girl with long red hair. I was cold and wet, and I wanted to go home.

I'd learnt two things during the train journey. Firstly, girls were about as much fun as a full moon. And, secondly, upon changing into my uniform, I learnt that my tatty black robes, bought second hand and patched upon the elbows, were so long that they completely concealed my shoes.

So much for first impressions.

As I wallowed in self-pity, another student was called to the stage to be sorted. The red haired girl in front of me sneezed, and the line shuffled forwards. Behind me, someone stepped on my heel.

I turned around, hoping they might apologise. I was wearing my best shoes after all, whether you could see them or not.

The boy behind me was tall and rather gaunt of face. He had a large, hooked nose and lank black hair. His eyes were so dark that they frightened me.

He did not apologise. Instead, he looked very pointedly at me and said, "Do you have a pet?"

I frowned. "Like an owl?" I asked, not entirely sure what the boy meant, or why he was asking.

"No, I mean a proper pet, at home." The boy rolled his eyes, as though it were obvious.

"Oh, no." I shook my head. "Why?"

"You smell like a wet dog," the boy said.

I hated Hogwarts already.


"Gryffindor!"

I didn't know why the hat was so excited. I certainly wasn't.

I hurried from the stage, tripped on my way to the table, and finally sat down with cheeks as red as April rhubarb.

I wanted to go home, and there was nothing that anyone could say to convince me otherwise.

"I like your shoes."

Except, maybe, that. Those four little words lifted my spirits like a phoenix rising from the ashes, and I turned slowly on the bench to look at the boy sitting next to me.

He had bright grey eyes and a shock of brilliant black hair. A dimple winked in his left cheek as he smiled broadly at me and, then, he stuck out his hand.

"I'm Sirius!" he said.

I took his hand rather tentatively, and he shook it with such vigour that I thought it might drop off.

"I'm Remus," I replied. "Remus Lupin."

Sirius grinned at me, and, for a moment, my heart forgot to beat.