Chapter Two: Memories

"No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart. "
[Forgetfulness. Billy Collins.]

"He's our son, Randolph, that's why I'm worried!"

Remus shuffled his books into his book bag, squaring his shoulders like he did whenever he felt stressed out. For the previous two weeks his father had been whistling again. At first everyone had been excited, but now his mother had developed a habit of scowling whenever a tune-happy father stepped into the room.

He could barely remember his childhood except for the whistling. His father had done it when he was angry, content, and blindingly happy. After that day the whistling had stopped. It appeared as if Randolph had pursed his mouth shut too long and the music had collected inside of him, cracking and wrinkling him with the internal pressure.

Two weeks ago the whistling had started. When his mother had inquired as to its causation she had received the answer: "'Remus is getting an education!'" This answer, improbable as it was, was coupled with a "handwritten" note from Dumbledore asking for Remus to show up to Hogwarts a week early for a "surprise."

"Darling, you look wonderful today. Why be worried?" Randolph whistled and kissed her on the top of her mousy brown head. "Remus, are you packed?"

"You're getting his hopes up," Angela Lupin hissed, "I don't know what madness led you to write that horrible letter and forge Dumbledore's signature, but you are not going to disappoint Remus. He has been through too much."

"Tsk," Randolph waved away the venom in her voice, smiling at her like she were his child as well, "After today, everything is going to alright again!"

Remus thought that this analysis was a bit illogical. It didn't matter where he was educated, every month he would still transform into a monster. Nothing would be "alright" ever. Hogwarts was like a dream, though. He doubted his father's sanity, but he couldn't help wondering if Hogwarts (if he was actually accepted) would give him a second chance.

"I'm ready dad. How are we going to get there?" His suitcase was packed with his nicest clothes; including the robes which were among the supplies that his smug father had bought from him in Diagon Ally as a present.

"Remus, you don't have to go with him." His mother bent down to his eye level and laced her fingers through his hair. Her forest green eyes were blurred like mist through the pines. "Even if this turns out to be real, you can still stay here. I already said I would home school you."

"I need to know." Remus put his forehead against hers and rubbed them together. This was a sign of affection he hadn't adopted until after being bitten, "If I don't go I'll miss the chance to be normal."

"You won't be normal," she whispered, a tear dripped over her top lip into the front of his robes, "You don't have to be normal and the ones that love you will love you anyway."

"But I want friends," he argued, "and I want a chance to be integrated into society."

"Hah," She smiled at the word choice. She had given him the definition to the word 'integrated' less than a month ago, "Society can go to hell. Your father was part of society; see how it treated him." Angela gestured to Randolph, who was humming and swaying in the doorway.

As if aware that all eyes were on him, he sputtered to a halt and glanced over, "Come on son, the portkey won't wait forever…well, at least Dumbledore won't."

"Don't go." Angela murmured, pulling him into a hug, "it's safe here."

"It's never safe where I am." Remus tugged away, looking to his father, "I'll write to you from Hogwarts."

The portkey sat in the front lawn. It was a garden gnome, perfectly inconspicuous though rather unattractive, resting against the front gate. The lawn was browned and droopish, leading the way into a slumped flat that had, at one point, been marketed as a modern architectural masterpiece. The real estate witch who had sold it to Mrs. And Mr. Lupin had explained that although the house was very spacious on the inside; it appeared compact and quaint from the outside. This was her main selling point. Angela, who at that point was pregnant with Remus, warmed up to the feel of the neighborhood she would later grow to loath. It was not a wizarding community, but a muggle one. Randolph used to work for the department of mysteries at the Ministry and he wanted a low profile home that was hard to locate and track. All three (four if you include Remus) parties in the transaction went home satisfied with the purchase.

Ten years later the house and its inhabitants slouched under the weight of the present circumstances. Randolph had been disgraced from the ministry for publishing confidential information. He had written a piece anonymously that dealt with the danger of a certain Werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, who was a high profile member of society. Fenrir had been, secretly, turning wizarding children into werewolves for the underground dark magic movement. The ministry was aware of this and had chosen not to make it public as to not disturb the population at large. Deeply disturbed, Randolph had disregarded all his confidentiality agreements and distributed the information. Since there was such a low level of access, it had been obvious that he had been the one who had leaked it. He was dismissed from his position, and the ministry had published a counter article stating that all claims in the previous article had been false. The damage had been done. Anti-Werewolf measures began to be written and Fenrir had found very little credibility in the ministry.

Bitter and bloodthirsty, his idea of revenge was to turn Randolph's six-year-old son into the very creature the public found so horrifying. Angela had told Remus the story; but, he could not remember being turned. He could recall life before he had been bitten and life after. When he was a six-year-old, his parents had to create barrier charms in the woods for him. As a small werewolf, he would roam within the confines of the woods but would not be able to go home until he had dissolved into his human form. Now he regulated everything, travelling far into the brush behind the village and surviving the agonizing transformation without any protection.

How would he handle transformations at Hogwarts? Was there a broom-closet he could settle inside until the moon melted out of the sky?

"Remus?" His father beckoned him to the fence. Remus sighed and held out his hand. He had used a portkey once with his father and mother when he was five, and the feeling rang through him like a flavor he could taste on the back of his tongue. This time was different. There was more of him to transport and he had developed some strain of motion sickness. When they landed he felt sick and heavy.

"Oh dear," Randolph hopped on one foot to the other and bent to help Remus stabilize.

"Portkeys are devilish annoyances," an observer noted gravely, "though inalterably useful to the contemporary wizard when traveling to places impossible to plot on a map."

The stranger was lanky beneath overflowing and richly decorated blue starred robes. His hair hung silvery white in the dulled sunlight, and he peered down at them, tall and poised, through a pair of half-mooned spectacles.

"Albus, how good to see you," Randolph rushed forward, eager as an Aethonon faced with a wide field, and clasped the strangers hand.

Albus Dumbledore was old, but he had youthful eyes. They stared past Randolph to his cowed and slouching son with a bright and penetrating gaze. "Is this your son?"

"Yes! He turned eleven in March, but you would think he was older the way he keeps growing."

"Randolph," Dumbledore started, calmly.

"Yes?"

"It's time."

"Yes, sir," Jovially, Randolph walked over to the portkey, "Remus, don't forget to write home every weekend."

"You're leaving?" Remus dropped his arms in exasperation.

He was nervous to face this white-haired stranger alone, and would have preferred his father stay for a longer amount of time. It didn't make sense, but he was also resentful about being left there because he felt like his presence was entrapment in the first place.

"I got to kiddo. I love you. Stay strong." He left no time for Remus to reply as he collected the portkey into his arms and spun into the clouds.

Remus dropped his head to survey his luggage. There wasn't much to survey so he turned his attention to the trees. Trees didn't hold his interest so he moved his focus to the path leading up to the school gates of Hogwarts.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, "Remus Lupin, My name is Albus Dumbledore. As you might know I am the headmaster at Hogwarts. My primary concern in this administrative position is to maintain the safety and security of the students that attend this illustrious school." Remus squelched in the dirt. This was the part where he would be told that he was not accepted after all. He wasn't safe; he would put everyone into jeopardy. "However, when it came to my attention that your attendance to this school was being called into question we brainstormed about ways to remedy the situation at hand."

"We?" He squeaked. It appeared as if the headmaster was leading to something fortuitous rather than unfortunate.

"Oh, forgive me, by 'we' I meant the professors and I. Professor sprout and professor McGonagall especially have been interested in the planning of a transformation space that allows you and your peers safety and distance. You see, we have procured a very rare breed of plant for our sprawling grounds: the Whomping Willow. The tree has been hollowed out to create a passageway that will lead you into a room where you might find space to spend your transformation period."

Remus heated up with excitement, it all felt too good to be true.

"Follow me, please."

Remus complied, watching the edges of Dumbledore's Robes slide along the dirt. They were as clean and shimmery as a unicorn. In fact, Remus had seen a unicorn once while he was running through the woods with fur and bloodlust. The creature had held him there, even in his derangement, mesmerized by its strong white flanks. He recognized the eyes as they glanced up at him, unwaried by the danger he represented. They were innocent, and sure in his equal purity. Creatures like that, unicorn and men alike, were born to see only the world as it fit inside their own mind. They trusted the world as they trusted themselves, implicitly, and could not be swayed to the cynicism that existed outside their character.

"What is a Whomping Willow?" He heard himself ask.

"It is a plant that has magical properties which allow it to defend itself very successfully." Remus thought he detected amusement in Dumbledore's voice, but it didn't last long enough to be noticeable, "Your residency will be painful," The amusement, if it had existed, was gone. Dumbledore turned to face him with a hard look, probing him for a response, "You may injure yourself during this time, but Madame Pomfrey, our school nurse, will be on hand to mend you after your time of trial has passed."

"I understand." And he did. Pain could not be avoided, whether through the transformation process or through self mutilation. He had come to understand pain as a necessary but short-lived evil.

"I am sorry that you understand," Dumbledore rejoined, after leading him through the brush towards a carriage without horses, "Some wizards go through their lives without understanding pain. There are those who will say that pain is needed to appreciate pleasure, but still, pain is pain."

Dumbledore hopped unto the carriage and held out his hand.

"We are going to it now?" Remus asked, to stall, if possible, the inevitable.

He took the elder's man hand. It was cold and dry, and tensed under his weight.

"Come now, the future is here." This prophetic remark, candidly philosophical, was accompanied by a quirk of an ironic smile, "or so they say."

Remus stepped onto the carriage, staring into the dark forest as they began to move forward into its depth.