Prologue.
I will begin by saying that you will never discover my true identity, and though I am glad that you have taken an interest in my book, and the lives of lycanthropes, I hope not to be sought out, might it be for praise, or by an angry mob with flaming torches and pitchforks. And yes, I have been chased by an angry mob of villagers with flaming torches and pitchforks. I never wish to experience that again, so excuse me for not informing you about myself.
I am a werewolf.
I am well aware that about half of the readers of this book have just chucked it into the nearest fireplace. Let me continue.
I am a werewolf. But I never wished to be. And I am human 96% of the month. Perhaps more. I was never very good at math.
I was born in March of 1960, in a small wizarding-muggle village. My father was an apothecary, and a successful one at that. My mother abandoned her career as a muggle school teacher after my birth. As a child, I enjoyed the forests surrounding my home, examining astronomical phenomena with my father, who found astronomy amongst his favorite hobbies.
I was bitten on the Harvest moon of 1966. I remember nothing of the account, only that I awoke the next morning in St. Mungo's, hearing my parents being told that they should abandon me, and have me slaughtered and/or tested for the ministry. They refused, for which I am most grateful.
As years past, I found the condition to vary. It gave me the ability to climb the tallest trees, which I had only wished to climb before. I could jump from the second story window of my bedroom and land cleanly on my feet. I healed quickly. I was nocturnal, hence allowed to stay up as late as I wanted. Life seemed good, as I was a mere child.
The year came when magical schooling was to begin in most young wizards. This is where I found just how odd I was, even by lycan standards.
I was accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Never could I have imagined the burden my kind faces, until I entered those hallowed halls.
--------------------------------------------------
"You're dead Lupin."
Remus turned to the shadowy figure, fuming.
"Am I? You would think that I would have stopped breathing or something."
"You know what? I don't like your tone."
Remus stepped forward, gripping his wand tightly in his steady hand.
"You know what James? I don't like your tone either."
James brandished his wand menacingly in Remus' face.
"You don't deserve mercy, you filthy wolf."
"Neither do you, filthy pureblood." Remus barred his teeth. The light of the torch lined hallway flickered across his face, highlighting his scars dramatically. "But I might just provide it if you leave me the hell alone."
"So that's it? You expect to walk away from this? I don't think so."
"Contrary to your belief Potter, you aren't a match for me. Unless we are to judge egos, in which case your's would win hands down."
"Don't you be snappy with me. I know what you are! One simple word, and you're out of here for good."
"Is that a promise?" he stepped closer still. His footsteps echoed across the cool stone "Or a threat?"
"Both. Expelliarmus."
Remus stood lazily, letting James take the wand straight from his hand.
"Giving up are you?" James raised an eyebrow.
"No. I don't really need my wand."
"Oh, so then you wouldn't mind if I-" He snapped the wand clean in half.
"James, do what you want. Its not going to change anything. You're still a bastard. But I don't blame you one bit. "
"Let's see you duel without any wand to save you, Wolf." He balanced out into a dueling stance. Remus mirrored him.
"If I beat you, you're out of here."
"If I beat you, you won't tell a soul."
"Deal. 1, 2, …….3!"
A flash of light, and James Potter awoke in the hospital wing three days later, Remus Lupin, looking entirely distressed, standing over him.
"You win." said James softly.
"No I didn't. I'm sorry." Remus left without another word.