For most of his life, Remus Lupin had hated the fact that, somewhere out there, there was a person who was destined to be his soulmate. As a young boy, the feeling was more fear at the idea of a soulmate in the first place; he'd discovered the concept while reading about his lycanthropy and had brought up to his father in innocent curiosity, too young to have known better.
"You'll never find her, if the gods are good," his father had said. "Like as not she'll be normal, not a werewolf, and you'll ruin her life. Most werewolves eat their mates-ripped to shreds, they are. She'll end up hating you before you do it, no doubt."
Remus had been horrified, a feeling that had barely faded two years later when he started at Hogwarts and learned that his father had been wrong on more than one aspect. There were no records of werewolves causing intentional harm to their soulmates, for one thing, and they weren't always of the opposite gender, either. Soulmates did not have to be werewolves themselves, but those that were had an even more intense bond. Not that the bond between a werewolf and human soulmate wasn't intense enough; everything he'd read from Hogwarts' library had told him that the affected humans were happy, almost deliriously so. However, this was what worried Remus the most. He worried that he could somehow ruin a person's life by fancying them a little and causing the soul bond to happen, even though that was said to be impossible.
Remus had reassured himself with the fact that soulmates were also incredibly, impossibly rare.
Years passed at Hogwarts, and Remus's childhood fear eventually faded enough to do some more reading on the subject. The more nuanced material at the Hogwarts library had been lost on him as a First Year. He understood more of the subtlety behind the concept once his voice had changed, his height had started rocketing up, and his shyness had become even more acute in the face of his prettiest classmates. He would never be able to fancy someone and then will them to be his soulmate, which to his fifteen year old self had been both disappointing and a huge relief. He'd know them right away, even if they themselves might not (meaning, unfortunately, that he hadn't met them yet). It took a conversation with his closest friend to really reframe the idea of his soulmate as a physical companion, with all that implied. That particular memory was almost as strong as discovering James, Peter, and Sirius had learned to become Animagi; would that it had replaced the memory of their so-called prank on Snape, but Remus had never had much in the way of luck.
Remus and Sirius were lying on their backs near the Quidditch pitch, there to provide support for Gryffindor's Quidditch practice, and Remus had taken advantage of the privacy to confide in his best friend.
"'S not me, then," Sirius said casually, his tone hovering between rueful and studied indifference. Remus flushed a bit, recognizing his friend's implication in the weight of his words. He let the silence draw out just a bit before nudging Sirius gently with an elbow.
"Nah, you're my mate, just not my Mate," Remus said, dropping his voice low on the last word. "-and honestly, I don't think our lot could stand any more undying devotion anyway. After you three spent years actually studying to become... well." Remus turned onto his side to look at Sirius, trying to keep his tone light and completely failing. That act of friendship was still very new and very, very humbling. "That's got to mean more than any predestined soul nonsense could, anyway, right?"
To Remus's great surprise, Sirius let out a hearty, barking laugh, loud enough that James darted towards them on his broom to see what he was missing.
"Not trying to shit on your gratitude, Moony," Sirius said just before James got to them, "-but you might want to get back to me about that after you've at least kissed someone once or twice."
Nearly five years had passed before Remus truly understood what Sirius meant. Looking back on it now, with the kind of hindsight only twenty years and two wars could bring, he realized that coming of age at a time when suspicion was rampant and death a real possibility had warped him in a very real way. Add the lycanthropy to it and it was a blessing that he'd never come across his soulmate. Sure, that specific catalog of fears he'd sold himself through the years had mostly all been nonsense-the boogeyman equivalent of Slick Silas's Styling Stick versus Sleekeasy's Hair Potion-but the very worst fear was the most persistent. It was also, by the strangest of strange twists of fate, actually true.
Look at the life you've led, the voice of his father would taunt him, fearfully rather than lovingly recreated in Remus's mind. Can you imagine a witch finding out that she's destined for the rarest of magic only to be shackled to the likes of Remus Lupin! What misery! A smart witch in that position would spend her life writing spells to avoid having to suffer through even a minute of it.