For anyone who had been looking, although none were, they would find groups of reunited students donning tanned skin and bright smiles as they embraced and greeted one another after a long summer away. They did their best to crowd into too small compartments, some taking to the floor, others sitting on the laps of those they secretly admired, trying to brush away the blush that had crept up their necks and onto their cheeks as they were held in place by their hips.

And though a familiar warmth and ardor filled that grand red train, one would also find nearly-empty compartments, holding only a student or two as they sat faraway from one another, books pressed into their noses as they pretended to read, hoping that the person who had intruded into their personal space didn't judge them, or worse, speak to them— as one young boy did.

With his forehead pressed against the cool glass, he stared in awe at the colossal brick factories that passed into the blue collar neighborhoods of Greater London. Alone, thus not yet jittery with the anxiety that newfound friendships so often brought, he was able to delve deeper through those streets that faded all too quickly before him. Pubs, crooked houses, broken windows that were shoddily patched up with newspapers and cardboard. It was wonderful and commiserable all at the same time, and he was enthralled by it.

"Filthy city," his father had scowled as soon as they had stepped outside the magical pub sitting across the bustling train station. Sure, the boy had easily agreed with him, but slowly, a peculiar fondness of the graffiti-stained surfaces and still-chained bikes with missing wheels matured within him; a liking to the things that had been long abandoned by their once-owners, left to rot by the side, forgotten, and yet only adding to the atmosphere of laisser aller and, ultimately, freedom.

"Are they wizards?" the boy had asked his father, as two men with emerald green hair and leather jackets with the word 'punk' written in white across their backs passed them. No reply had come, and instead he had been pulled along faster as the pair hurried into the train station. If chaos had a name, it was King's Cross Station. Hundreds of people exited and entered at the same time, their eyes glossed over and peering over into a far distance, barely stepping away from the boy's path as he almost went tumbling into their chests and brief cases.

And it was lovely, overwhelming, and sent a shot of adrenaline up his spine and into every fiber of his being.

"Your neck is gonna hurt if you keep lookin' up like that," his father had muttered to him, half a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. The young wizard hadn't listened, for it was the first time he had seen such massive structures— walls that reached the sky, pillars as thick as a centennial oak tree; he'd engrained the images into his head, to save for a lonely moment where he would salivate over the novel architecture.

And, later on, as he sat in the train compartment by himself, he decided that he didn't care one bit about the cleanliness of it all. It could be dirty and filthy, the street could be filled with rubble, and it'd still be one of the nine wonders of the world to him. The messier, the better, the more chaotic, the better. Because what it gave him, what he made him feel was an indescribable sentiment that made his heart burst and his mind turn faster than it ever had before. Words couldn't even begin to describe the enigma of emotions that tore through him. And the one that stood out the most? Inclusion.

For a child that had grow up lonely, with only his parents to keep him company and fill his day, this was the universe— vast, mysterious, transcendental. There seemed to be enough space for everyone, those of all shapes and sizes, of all backgrounds and life paths came together on those streets. No one looked twice, no one turned around when they saw a deformity or someone who may have been out of place. Cold? Maybe, but accepting of those who were different and recognizing that they, too, were allowed to walk side by side the other? Yes, certainly, or at least, that's what he had gathered.

His differences did not matter to their eyes, they barely even gazed upon him as they pushed and shoved to their work. And knowing that no one would reject him, that no one had the time to, that was liberating, it truly was.

But the truth never did stay hidden for long, and soon enough the young boy had to come to term with the facts— he was not staying in London. Where he was going, there were no busy streets where walking over a homeless man was the status quo. It was an unknown place where he didn't know a name. Even thinking about it made his stomach turn, feeling faint and uncomfortable, but very little could distract him from the needles that climbed their way out from his knees, turning his legs into jelly.

He now understood that he had left the security that only a home and a family could provide. Though he had no friends, no company, he had grown to love his world for its comfort. He loved the summer picnics in the backyard, birds chirping as him and his mother munched away on their lunch. He loved the fireplace that crackled during the winter, the pine of the Christmas tree mixing with his father's cigarette as he attempted to blow it out the window.

"Can we go tomorrow?" he had begged his father as soon as his eager green eyes had ran over the supply list. His father had sighed deeply, looking down at his only son as he took a sip from their afternoon tea. Though he would never let on, in fear of destroying his son's renewed spirits, the older wizard had been, and still was, scared senseless for his little boy. He loved him, and he did not want to see him hurt any more than he had already been. But where he was going, anything could happen; though, seeing his son's eager, pleading eyes made his heart soften, wondering how it was possible to gift someone something when they really deserved the world.

"Tomorrow," he had agreed, and the boy threw his arms around his father's seated body and to thank him.

Once he returned home from Holyhead, the humble Wizarding Welsh Capital, the boy had had thrown himself onto his bed, laying out all the new books and spending every waking hour reading, studying, memorizing the lines. There were demonstrations galore in his Defense against the Dark Arts textbook, and perplexing equations that made his mind spin in the Transfiguration one. And though he cherished each and every one of them, the best was the wand.

"Ten and a quarter inch, pliable Cypress with a Unicorn Tail core," he recalled the wizard with the hennaed-orange beard and the bronze skin saying. But it didn't matter, he would have gladly taken any and celebrated as if it was the finest creation in the entire world— for it was.

"Mammy, look! I have a wand like Tad now!" he had cheered and jumped up and down as he presented the wooden stick to his mother, who had been just as excited and had baked a decadent chocolate cake for her jovial son.

And though he had counted down the days eagerly, spending most nights awake as he read away at the books, the day had arrived quicker than he had expected. Now, he found himself along with just his books, his wand, and one of his father's owls. A tumor grew in his throat, making it harder and harder to swallow, and a sense of despair began to settle deep within a hole in his stomach, and despite all of that, he knew he couldn't turn back now. Remus Lupin had made a promise, and he never broke a promise, not to his parents, not to himself. And with the knowledge that they believed in him, he trusted himself to do the utmost best— to make them proud.

"It's time for your own adventure, darling," his mother had cried the night before as she held him close, and he knew it was.

He thought that his adventure began as soon as he had stepped out of that pub on Pancras Road, but little did he know that it most certainly wasn't.

Because, just in that moment, as he took a deep breath and reminded himself that he was strong enough for this, the compartment door slid open and the boy's eyes grew as wide as tea saucers. He scrutinized her, a young girl wearing olive-colored robes and brown riding boots, as she plopped down into the corner farthest from him. Her breath heavy, as if she was panting, and her chest heaving. Eyes opened and she twisted, pressing her own forehead to the compartment window as she investigated the hallway, her head swiveling back and forth. The young wizard wondered what she was searching for, if she was hiding or running from someone, or something.

But soon enough, her shoulders fell, leaning her back against the cushion as she closed her eyes. Long, dark hair fell onto her face, her lips slightly parted as she took deep and slow inhales.

He wondered if he should say something, and what he would say if he decided to. But before he could open his mouth, her eyes popped open and she stared at him with her head still tilted back. It made Remus jolt, as if someone had come up to scare him from behind. They both fixated on one another, her stare curious, his own startled. And though it was more innocent that it wasn't, it still made his neck redden and his gaze fall down to the floor.

"What's your name?" she spoke up first, breaking the tense silence. It sounded funny to him, her letters off and her words tinted like stained glass, but his heartbeat drummed into his ears, and he wrote it off as his own mistake. "Have you read all three books?"

There it was— he caught it this time, her r was off. Guttural, but not harsh.

He looked up, meeting her gaze, but he was no longer intimidated— he was curious.

"Yeah, I own the full trilogy," he responded, his words coming out surer than he had expected them to be.

‟Me too." She nodded her head pleasantly, as if they had just shook hands and agreed to be apart of some clandestine club. He couldn't help but smile, his shoulders growing less tense as he found her presence calming, nothing threatening or malicious about her soft stare or her friendly composition.

"So, what's your name?" he finally asked.

"You didn't tell me yours," she reminded him. He blushed a little bit, having forgotten that she had asked.

"I'm Re-"

"Merde!" the girl inhaled sharply before he could respond. Her eyes grew wide as she detected someone coming down the hall, someone Remus couldn't see from his position. Quickly, and without warning, she pushed open the door and scurried off. The boy flinched his head back in surprise, completely bewildered as he let the second process.

One moment she had been there, the next she had gone.

For a while, he watched the corridor, but he didn't see anyone particularly menacing passing, and he began to fret that maybe he had been the one to scare her off.

His scars, she'd seen them.

"What will they think about my scars?" he had confided to his mother, who had simply told him to pay attention to his studies and not worry about what anyone else had to say of him. They didn't matter.

No, that's rubbish, he rationalized internally, blinking away from her now empty spot as he looked out the window. The girl had been kind, a gentle touch and words just as melodious that had made him feel welcomed, that had made him feel as if they had known each other for a very long time.

Yes, it had been something else. Remus let the thought grow, causing the tremors from earlier to dissipate as a new puzzle for him to solve laid out in front of him.

Though seemingly insignificant, the young witch had given him hope. She had given him hope, and if it hadn't been for whatever she was running from, she just may have been his very first friend at Hogwarts. But, of course, life was a mysterious, pesky little thing which didn't quite make a lot of sense to a lot of people, if anyone at all.

And the next thing he knew, there was a small tap on the glass window, causing Remus to look up.

A small boy — round on the edges with curly dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes — slid open the door.

"H-hi," he stuttered, "d'you mind if I sit here? I got kick, I got kic-kicked out."

"Okay."

"Manasse, Eva."

The rest of the burgundy painted table grinned and welcomed their next member as Remus took his seat next to a redheaded young witch, who had been sorted not a short while before him. She shared and joined their enthusiasm, her green-eyes a stark contrast against her porcelain skin and flaming curls. Terribly pretty, the boy immediately felt shy, averting his gaze to the stool as a body pushed through the first year crowd to reach the heightened platform.

A low whistle came out from the handsome, young wizard sitting across from him. Grey-eyes squinted and compelling as they all redirected themselves to watch the next sorting. All thoughts of pretty boys an girls escaped Remus' mind as the hall fell silent. His eyes growing wide, his chin tilting upwards as he attempted to get a better look at the mass of dark hair that swung back and forth against her robes. Oddly enough, she now shared a similar air to the boy who had positioned himself across from him and the redhead. A sense of pride and magnetism that he had and, most likely, would never possess. Her back was a light pole, defined and firm; her eyes shined impishly, smirking as her lips rested neutral. But what stuck out the most to him was how she perched on that stool like it was her coronation, as if she had been born for this exact moment.

"Is that—"

"The French Ambassador's daughter? Yep," Remus heard from one of his housemates, who spoke in hushed whispers to his neighbor further down the table.

"What's she doing here?"

"Beats me, but they paid, didn't they? Godric knows why."

There was a pause, a full minute having already passed and the Sorting Hat not showing any indication as it mused over her mind.

"All I know is that I met her cousin two summers ago— the entire family shits gold."

"Blimey," awed the other.

"She looks like she's fighting the Hat," came a bemused voice from next to him. This time, Remus dared a glimpse over at the redhead, who stared curiously at the witch. He returned his gaze, blinking and beginning to catch on to the slight clench in her jaw, and the way her pride had turned into entitlement— as if she was doing the Sorting Hat a favor.

His brows scrunched together, and a snort could be heard from across the table. Both the redhead and the boy looked up at the grey-eyed boy with the shaggy, black curls.

"She's a royal bitch, she'll go where the rest of 'em go— I'll bet a galleon on it," was all the other wizard said. The redhead's brows nearly shot off her forehead, her cheeks turning an indignant shade of rose as he directed his icy stare over to her. "Oh," he said with acid dripping off his tongue, "good to see you here. How's your friend Snivellus doing?"

"That's not his name," the young witch scowled, grimacing as she turned back up to the ceremony. Remus lifted his gaze from her to the wizard, who now graced them with a small smirk, keeping his eyes on the fury that had crept up her neck and hooded her ears.

"SLYTHERIN!" shouted the Sorting Hat after two full minutes of stalling.

The young wizard's heart fell as the table to the far right wall erupted— students in green standing up for the ovation; hooting and whistling as the stoic witch left her place in order to gain a new one by their side.

"Did I call it or did I call it?" asked the grey-eyed wizard, looking at the pair across from him as if he were waiting for some sort of applause.

"You called it," Remus responded distractedly, not paying all that much attention as he continued to watch her.

How were they supposed to be friends if they weren't in the same House? Would they even see one other again? She had been so gentle and curious on the train, and now she had been sorted into the supposed House of Royal Bitches. He frowned, looking down to the marbled, wooden table.

"McKinnon, Marlene."

They all watched an odd-looking witch — long legs with bright blue eyes and dirty blonde hair — walk up to the stool. She had freckles dotted all over her face and neck, which only added to her intrigue instead of removing from it. But as everyone else stared, Remus couldn't help but feel that she wasn't nearly as interesting as the stranger that had sat with him just hours ago. No, not half as interesting, and not quite as disappointing either. And it had nothing to do with her sorting, but the fact that the person he'd met on the train was a drastic difference to the one who had walked away to the far side of the hall. She had so easily gone from deep warm to brittle cold like it had taken the faintest of efforts. Her eyes glazed over and mocking of the rest of them, her nose pointed to the sky and her eyes barely giving them a second glance. Any trace of humility had long gone as soon as she had sped off from that compartment, leaving it behind as only a memory to him.

"RAVENCLAW!"

Another round of claps and boisterous shouts came from the table in blue, welcoming their next newest member.

"Meadowes, Dorcas."

He looked up through his eyelashes to find a Black witch nervously twiddling her thumbs as she took a seat on the over-used stool. A kinder persona than the previous two girls, her eyes soft and cat-like which made her just as pretty as the redhead— if not prettier.

"I'm Lily, Lily Evans, by the way," he the familiar, but cheerful voice come from next to him. He turned, surveying the dainty hand that she held out to him.

"Remus, Remus Lupin," he replied, returning her shy, yet friendly, smile as he took her hand into his own.

"I have a feeling we're going to be good friends, Re—"

"And I'm Sirius, Sirius Black," boasted the grey-eyed wizard, who Remus now knew to be Sirius, Sirius Black. Lily shook her head, scoffing as the witch with the deep, almond-shaped eyes giggled at something the Sorting Hat had just told her.

And then came the shouting: "GRYFFINDOR!"

And finally, it was Remus' chance to stand and clap for their next newest member.

"Here, sit next to me," Lily called out to the girl, both her and Remus making space as she smiled shyly to them.

"Thank you," Dorcas said, brushing a strand of her braided hair behind her ear and lifting one leg to put it over the bench.

"You don't want to be friends with her," came Sirius' voice from across the table. His eyes darted over to Lily before coming back to Dorcas, a callous grin on his face. "She's got a wand up her bunghole."

Lily gasped, her chin jutting forward as she stared, open-mouthed, at her housemate.

And despite himself, Remus curled his lips into his mouth, biting down on the lower flesh as he stared between the two, trying his hardest not to break out into an obnoxious snicker.

He didn't know what to expect, and all he had really planned was to get through the year as best as he could. And, of course, no one was sure what the end would look like, who would be there, what would remain; but one thing was for sure— this was going to be one hell of a ride.

*all chapters that need a trigger warning will have one. remember this is an M-rated story for a reason (dark topics like abuse and rape, sex, etc)