"The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it."

- Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, JK Rowling

Once, Remus and his father were reading a book called Selvina's Seventy Secrets. Once they'd finished, Remus had said he thought that most of the secrets, even the big ones, were pretty silly and that Selvina was a silly person. His father had laughed. Remus had snuggled up to his father, who looked down at his son's several scars. They were all pearl white and clear as day on Remus's soft skin.

"Dad, what's your biggest secret?" asked Remus, almost asleep.

His father looked down at his son, broken but still so pure as he fell into the warm embrace of sleep. Remus didn't hear his father's answer.

"You."

Remus Lupin had thirty-one distinct scars all over his body at the age of eleven.

He knew because he counted them – and regularly. It was kind of awkward to count the ones on his back, but checking his pale, skinny frame in the mirror always worked. He always had gotten more after his transformations, and found that counting the injuries again and again was both calming and grounding. (He didn't count the scratches, because if he did it'd take him much longer.)

Sometimes he hated his scars; sometimes he liked them. Now, he stared at the slashes on his knuckle, faded with time. Oftentimes, they reminded him of what he was, a werewolf, a beast. But sometimes, they reminded him that the mere fact that they were all over his body and he was there to see it. He was still there to see the scars, despite his transformations. He had the scars and lived – not to tell the tale, perhaps, because if anybody ever got word of a lycanthrope near Muggles, there would be riots. He could be sent into a Happy Home, or into Care, both of which sent shudders down his spine. No, he did not live to tell others. But he did live. And perhaps that was enough.

The scars glowed in the sunlight coming through the window, and Remus was content to stare and inspect his scarred knuckle – rather than listen to his father. Lyall Lupin sat across from Remus on their table, old papers and books scattered all over. This was another one of Remus's learning sessions, perhaps one of his 'classes' about the wizarding world that Remus would never see, taught by his father.

He didn't mind learning. In fact, learning was fun! But Remus knew that his father despised teaching. His father belonged in the wild woodlands searching for a Boggart, or in a wetland marsh investigating rogue poltergeists. Lyall was not a teacher – and both he and his son knew it.

But how else was Remus going to learn? What if one day he was thrust into the world, with no hope of survival because he had such little knowledge? Certainly Hope Lupin, his Muggle mother, couldn't teach Remus. So every Thursday they went into the kitchen, a too-eager student and an unwilling teacher, to learn about the fascinating wizarding world.

Unfortunately, most of the material Lyall used was things Remus had already read. It was boring for both of them, one of them teaching something they didn't care about while the other learned things they already knew about.

Remus looked across the table at his father, who was probably saying something that Remus wasn't listening to. Remus was Lyall's mirror image – they both had the same thick, golden brown hair, the same serious eyes, the same thin frames. Only, Lyall wasn't damaged by so many scars. (At least, on the surface.)

"Remus. Remus!" Lyall said, frowning. "Are you listening?"

Remus blinked and set his hand down on the table. "Yes, I am. Sorry."

Lyall sighed and looked down at the sheets. "Now I've forgotten what I was saying. Have we done–?"

" 'The Great Elven War of 1505?' " Remus guessed, reading the paper in front of Lyall upside down. "Yes, we have, dad."

Lyall bristled and shuffled the texts around, closing and opening the dusty volumes and squinting at the small writing. "What about–?"

"The differences between pixies and nixies? Yes, dad. We did that yesterday."

"And how about–?"

Remus took in a deep breath. "Yes. We've done all of those. And the ones we haven't done together I've already read."

Lyall stared at him for a few seconds and then Remus felt embarrassed. He shouldn't have said that. His father must already feel bad for not being too interested in Remus's studies. He didn't need Remus to rub it in.

"But we can just do it again," Remus said quickly, guilt flooding his body. "I love learning."

"Oh, Remus," said Lyall sadly. Remus raised an eyebrow, confused. Why was his father sad? Shouldn't he be annoyed that Remus snapped at him? "You deserve much more than what Mum and I can give you. I'm sorry."

Remus's bewilderment only deepened. He didn't know what to say.

"I only wish you had a better teacher," Lyall said, equally as sadly.

And as if a prayer had been answered, the front door knocked.

Remus let out a yelp and immediately clamped his hand over his mouth. Lyall's eyes immediately widened in alarm. The taste in Remus's mouth became stale and bitter and his heart began soaring in his chest.

Their house was so small that the front door opened into the kitchen. The front door that was now shaking from the knocking on the other side.

In an ordinary household, such a reaction would be unwarranted. But the Lupin's was no ordinary household, and in an instant, Lyall brought out the wand he rarely used and cast a Vanishing Charm on the papers and texts. They disappeared from the room as quickly as the tenseness had appeared.

"Go hide behind the sofa. Now, Remus," Lyall hissed. "And be silent."

Remus jumped from his seat and stared in shock at the front door, once a comfort and a familiar sight but now foreboding and intimidating. He slid behind the worn, threadbare sofa and shivered.

He silently panicked. Who could it be? The nearest neighbours they had were Muggles and lived miles away. Before his parents had found this hidden place, there were often suspicious neighbours, and Remus was never allowed to play with the other children for fear of being found out. But a year ago, a particularly close incident had caused Lyall to decide to find a hidden home. His parents had picked such a remote cottage, away from society and tucked beneath woodland trees for fear of this very incident – discovery.

Because if somebody from the Ministry of Magic, or really anybody who lived in the wizarding community, discovered an unregulated werewolf, then Remus would be sent away from his parents, whom he knew loved him a lot.

"Who is it?" Remus whispered, but either his father didn't hear or chose to ignore him.

Remus heard the door open the slightest, the chain on the lock jangling. "Hello? Who are you?"

The answer was spoken by a man with a voice that was serene and intelligent. "Hello, I am Albus Dumbledore. I've come to talk about your son, Remus Lupin, and his lycanthropy."

Remus's breath hitched.

Lyall's voice was harsh. "I don't know anybody called that. Don't come again."

Then there was the sound of the door slamming loudly.

"There is no need to be rude, Mr Lyall Lupin," Albus Dumbledore called, his voice muffled through the wood of the door. "Or a poor liar, for that matter."

Remus crawled out from his hiding place, and stared at his father, who looked panicked.

"Hope!" Lyall bellowed at the stairs. "Come down here!"

Remus's mother came to the top of the stairs moments later, looking ruffled. "You know how I don't like being called to you like some slave. I deserve to be treated with respect–"

"Come down here, please," Lyall said weakly.

"That's better," Hope said, smiling and walking down the stairs. "What do you need?"

"There's a wizard at the front door," Lyall gasped.

Hope's smile vanished from her face. Though she was a Muggle, it did not mean she was uninformed. She knew completely about the consequences that the discovery of her son's lycanthropy would have.

"A good liar I can excuse," Dumbledore was still saying and Remus almost laughed. "A good liar can be treasured and recruited. But a bad liar? Nobody has use for a bad liar."

"I'll help barricade the door," Hope said, getting a chair. "But what about Remus…?"

Lyall looked straight at Remus. "Hide. And don't get out for anything."

Remus found it hard to stand straight but he managed anyway, tripping and running into the cramped hallway. Where could he hide? His house was small and unfurnished and had little hiding spots. Certainly sitting behind the sofa would not hide him for very long against Ministry officials. Maybe the living room's bookshelf would provide a proper space–

As Remus debated possible hiding, he heard sounds from the kitchen, including bangs, screams, yells, and Dumbledore talking over all of this in that calm, intelligent tone of his.

Remus smelt smoke and felt heat but didn't look back as he slid into the living room. There he could hide in the bookshelf–

And on the floor of his living room sat a funny looking man in a purple robe and a hat. The half-moon spectacles on his crooked nose glinted. His beard was white and was so long it touched the floor. He was thoughtfully chewing on some candy and when he saw Remus looking oddly at him, the man smiled and held out some twitching balls, some of them even making sounds.

"Care for a game of Gobstones?" Albus Dumbledore asked.

"I don't have a Gobstones set," Remus said, which was code for I can't afford one.

Dumbledore winked. "Well, I do. Want to play?" He offered the special, wriggling stones in his hands, each one like a small little marble.

Remus shrugged. "I've never played."

"I can teach you," Dumbledore offered, his eyes twinkling with excitement, as if he were genuinely enthused at the possibility to teach.

I can teach you.

That was something Lyall had probably said before. But definitely not with the same amount of casualness and kindness and enthusiasm as Dumbledore's words had been said with. Remus knew – somehow – that this man was a teacher. A real, qualified teacher that enjoyed teaching. Perhaps Remus could be one of those too one day.

Remus screwed up his face in thought.

"Okay, then," Remus said, suddenly smiling, and he sat down cross-legged in front of Dumbledore.

And so they played Gobstones. Remus was awful at it, and he was sure Dumbledore was playing politely easily, missing just as many shots as Remus did. Whenever Remus lost a point, the magical marble would shoot a putrid liquid at him. Every time, Dumbledore would stifle a laugh and then with a wave of his wand cleared the greenish pus. After what could have been five minutes or five hours – time didn't exist when you were having fun – Remus realised what was happening. He was enjoying himself, having fun.

"I'm having a lot of fun playing Gobstones," Remus blurted while they began another round. This is an unfamiliar feeling. "Do you play Gobstones a lot?"

Dumbledore smiled. "I'm afraid I don't have too much time."

Remus frowned, getting a marble ready. "Then why are you–"

In the middle of Remus preparing for the shot, his parents ran into the living room, panting and wild-eyed, making him miss the shot and causing the Gobstone to spray liquid into his eye.

Remus wiped away the liquid and stared at his parents, who both looked unfamiliar. Hope was hysterical and panicky, while Lyall was enraged, fury filling his red face.

"Remus!" Hope shrieked.

"Get away from my son!" Lyall demanded, glaring at Dumbledore.

"Dad," Remus said before he could think. "H-He hasn't talked about any werewolf stuff yet. We've been playing Gobstones this whole time."

Lyall's glower remained unchanged.

"Yes, but all this time I've been waiting for you," Dumbledore said, suddenly businesslike. He stood up, hands folded. "It's time I talk to you two, about Remus's education."

"I've been home-schooling him," Lyall said immediately. "We don't have much, but we have a lot of books."

"Ah, but are you two happy with it?" Dumbledore asked, eyebrows raised.

Lyall and Remus exchanged a look. The answer, obviously, was no.

"Then that is settled. I can now offer you an invitation for Remus to attend Hogwarts, which you may know I am the headmaster of," said Dumbledore serenely.

All three Lupins were flabbergasted. Remus frowned, confused. Surely he couldn't go to the most legendary school in Europe. He was a werewolf. He was a burden. He wasn't fit to be around other people, let alone children.

Hope looked shocked. "What? H-Hogwarts?" She whipped around to her husband. "Isn't that the–?"

Lyall looked at his wife and nodded. His gaze switched over to Dumbledore. "You've got to be joking," Lyall said, his tone suggesting that he did not find the joke funny at all. "You know of Remus's lycanthropy, you said five minutes ago. How could you offer him an invitation knowing that he's – that he's a–" Lyall spluttered, searching for words.

"An ordinary, growing young boy who deserves a proper education just like every other child?" Dumbledore questioned. Remus was astonished at his untroubled tone. From what his father had told Remus, werewolves were never treated as ordinary.

Lyall frowned. "You know he's not ordinary–"

"He has an illness." Dumbledore seemed resolute. "That is all that sets him apart from any other child. That should not stop him from receiving an education."

Lyall shook with rage. "It is not a normal illness. He could not only injure himself, but other people."

"I am aware of what your son's illness entails," said Dumbledore shortly. "Safety precautions will of course be put in check."

Remus's father was spluttering. "There are children in that castle of yours, Dumbledore. You cannot let a possible predator around young, defenceless children."

"I am aware of that. But Remus has proven himself to be kind and intelligent, and most definitely not the beast society views him as," Dumbledore said. "Remus will be safe, and so will everybody else." His serious expression softened. "Hogwarts is not just a school. It is a home. You, of all people, should know this, Lyall Lupin. You attended it."

And for the first time during the whole conversation, Lyall's face began to soften too.

Then began a long conversation between his father and Dumbledore, in which his mother gave helpful suggestions. Remus zoned out of it, only catching glimpses of words like "disease," "precautions" and "controlled environment." Despite this opportunity, his heart panged.

Remus had been treated his whole life like a liability. Not always on purpose, but in the involuntary sighs when Remus needed more bandages, or the grunts when Remus asked for more paper to study on. Even though he'd been treated like that his whole life – it still hurt. He didn't want to be a burden, or a trouble.

He wanted to be invisible.

He didn't want to be a werewolf.

No, he wanted to be a ghost.

A week later after the visit from Albus Dumbledore, a letter arrived at the Lupin's doorstep, officially inviting Remus Lupin to Hogwarts. He would take the Hogwarts Express on September the 1st, and arrive at Hogwarts, with special holidays throughout the year. He was given a set of things he needed to buy from a place named Diagon Alley. His mother and father lost their hunches, the shadows under their eyes, the perpetual frowns. They were proud and exuberant for their son to be given the chance to attend the most legendary school in the world.

Yes, Remus was excited too. He would go to Hogwarts as a student, determined to learn and experience this window of opportunity to the fullest.

But he would not go as someone looking for friends. He would not go as a smiler, as someone in love with the idea of being in love. He would not go for anybody but himself, and his parents. He would be as quiet and solitary as possible.

He would be invisible.

He would be a ghost.