Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns all of Harry Potter's world and its wonderful characters. I own nothing but the plot I made up and a few OCs.

Child abuse casts a shadow the length of a lifetime.

(Herbert Ward)

REMUS:

Remus was glad he'd managed to find an empty carriage almost as soon as he stepped onto the train at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. He had been feeling increasingly hot and strange and dizzy over the last few days and the swelling of the burn had not really got any better, in spite of the potion that Frank had sent him. He worried that he was going to have to go to the Hospital Wing. It was two weeks away from the last full moon and he would have a difficult time persuading Madame Pomfrey that the oval-shaped burns that now littered his body along with the bruises came from that transformation.

He placed his hand over the infected burn through his robes. It throbbed painfully at the touch and his head felt heavy as he leant it against the cool glass of the window. It hadn't been this bad when he'd been lying still and silent in his room at home. The movement seemed to have made it worse.

As the train began pulling away from the station, a couple of first years peered around the door of his compartment and Remus snarled at them until they squeaked and ran away. He fought down the wolf and slumped back in his seat. It was a long journey to Hogsmeade station. Although his savage wolf-glares managed to keep him his compartment, the motion of the train made him feel iller, hotter and dizzier than ever. Even getting out his new journal didn't work as a distraction because his eyes were too fuzzy to focus on it properly.

It felt like days of torture, rather than hours before the train finally approached Hogsmeade station. He staggered out, glad that the house elves would be moving his trunk up to his dorm so that he didn't have to drag it behind him. He pulled himself up into the nearest coach, ignoring the horrible bat-horse creature that pulled it.

He looked up to see the coach's other occupants and groaned when he met the incredulous gazes of his roommates.

"Who said you could sit with us, Loopy?" Pettigrew demanded.

Remus stared fuzzily as Potter elbowed the smaller boy in the ribs then exchanged a meaningful glance with Black who, Remus now realised, was sitting beside him. Unable to face an argument, Remus sighed and pulled himself up to move to another coach. He jumped when he felt a hand on his arm, stopping him.

He blurrily followed the line of the arm up to Black's face, and saw Black's eyes widen as he looked at him.

"Bloody hell, mate," he said, peering at Remus in the dim light of the carriage, "You look like death warmed up."

Black gave a tug on his arm and Remus' legs gave out. He sat back down hard and shivered when a hand touched his clammy forehead. He was very dizzy now and the boys' faces were flicking in and out of focus like a fuzzy wizarding photograph. He thought Black or Potter might be saying something else but he couldn't be sure because there was a strange roaring in his ears. He was vaguely aware of the rocking movement of the carriage which made his stomach roll, and of urgent, muffled conversation around him. Someone tried to loosen his robes and Remus thought he might have snapped at their fingers, but he wasn't sure.

Then the rocking stopped and the door opened. Someone put their hand under his arm to try and help him out the carriage, but they touched one of his silver burns and the pain was enough to tip him over the edge. Blackness took him.

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Remus slowly came back to consciousness. He didn't need to open his eyes to know he was in the hospital wing. His strong sense of smell immediately identified the sterile scent of clean sheets, scrubbed stone and healing potions.

Someone – Madame Pomfrey, he guessed – had removed his robes and shirt and was now rubbing something very cold onto the infected burn on his belly. The coldness and pain made him tense but he didn't make a sound and didn't open his eyes. He heard her begin to mutter a spell under her breath and slowly the hot, throbbing pain that had been plaguing him for weeks began to ease. Unable to help himself, he shuddered with relief.

"Mr. Lupin? Remus?"

Reluctantly, Remus opened his eyes and stared up at her sleep-blurred image. He was not in the hidden back-room that he usually stayed in after his transformations, he realised, but in one of the beds in the main area of the hospital wing.

"Who did this to you? I know these are silver burns."

Even with his sleep-fugged mind, Remus knew he couldn't tell her the truth. She wouldn't understand. She wouldn't realise his father only hurt him to prevent him from becoming the animal the wolf threatened to make him. His mind raced as he desperately tried to think of a good explanation.

"Remus? Talk to me. please. Who did this?"

"Some people. From where I live." His voice sounded really odd. Scratchy and dry, like the voice of an old man, only not because it hadn't broken yet.

"Who Remus?"

"Just some people who know I am a w-w-werewolf." It was strange how difficult it was to saw that word out loud.

"Grown up people?" Her voice was deceptively gentle, but Remus could hear the underlying current of vengeful anger in it. For some reason, it made him feel warm inside. It was the first time since his mother had died he could remember anyone displaying anger on his behalf. His father was usually angry at him.

"Yes." No need to let her think he was weak.

"Who?"

Remus closed his eyes and didn't answer.

"Why didn't your father do anything to help you?"

"I hid it from him."

"Why?"

"I didn't want him to w-worry. I thought he might be w-worried."

"That's ridiculous! Do you know how much poison was being released into you body from this infection? If those boys hadn't brought you in there might have been permanent damage. How could your father not have noticed this?"

"He's b-b-been away." Remus was quite desperate now.

"Oh, Remus." She leaned down and gently put her hand to his forehead, preventing him from trying to lift his head. "I'm not angry at you, love, but this is inhumane. This is abuse."

Remus winced violently at the word.

"Tell me who did this."

"I don't know! I don't kn-n-now! They didn't show their faces."

She was silent. She picked up the pot of lotion again and began applying it to the smaller burns that littered his body.

"How long, Remus?"

"What?"

"How long have they been hurting you? Don't think I can't see that some of these burn scars are old. I should have noticed before. I don't know why I didn't."

Remus didn't answer. He couldn't think of a good story and his head felt fuzzy again.

"Remus?"

The white of the ceiling was starting to melt into the grey stone of the walls and Remus blinked at everything started going dark around the edges. Madame Pomfrey sighed and Remus glanced down his body as she began poking at the edges of the infected burn again. It looked disgusting. She had obviously opened it to drain it, and it now looked like a bloody crater a few inches above his naval. One if her pokes made a thread of violent nerve-pain shoot through his body, right up to his chest and down to his thighs. Unable to help himself, he let out a loud, wolf-like yelp of pain. As soon as he heard it, he automatically froze, waiting for the punishment to come.

"It's sorry, love," she whispered, obviously thinking his frozen tension was due to his pain rather than his ingrained fear. "I know it hurts, but I need to check it's clean. You'll have to stay here for a few days, I think."

"But the Sorting…"

"Is already long over. You were unconscious for a while, Mr. Lupin. It took both Black and Potter to drag you in here, with that Pettigrew opening doors."

Remus didn't know what he thought about that. He remembered Pettigrew calling him Loopy, and Black's hand on his arm.

"Drink this."

He obediently opened his mouth and Madame Pomfrey poured what he recognised as pain potion down his throat. Gradually the walls became fuzzy again as he slipped into sleep.

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He woke again to the sense of someone watching him. A year of sharing the same dormitory immediately enabled him to identify who it was by scent – a delicate mixture of good-quality fabric, spicy citrus from expensive shampoo and the blue-grey smell of an approaching rain-storm that was probably all Black's own.

Remus groaned, shifted and opened his eyes, turning his face towards the scent. Black was standing over him with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his robes and an unusually solemn expression on his handsome, aristocratic face. The lack of his usual mischievous grin made Black look older for some reason.

Remus flicked his gaze away from those slate-grey eyes and down towards his own chest, checking that Madame Pomfrey had dressed him in a hospital gown so his wounds and scars were covered.

"It's okay, I can't see them," Black said, tone unreadable.

"What?" Remus kept his voice as blank and unwelcoming as possible. It was almost not a question.

"Your scars," Black said, not seeming to be fazed. "I can't see them. But I know they're there. You almost bit my fingers off when I tried to loosen your robes to help you breathe on the coach."

Remus had no idea how to react in this situation. It was uncomfortable but at the same time oddly alluring. He was having a civilized conversation with a person his age and the word 'loopy' hadn't been used once yet. "I don't know what you mean by s-scars."

"Like hell, you don't."

Before Remus could react, dosed up as he was on sleeping drought and pain potions, Black reached down and yanked back his sleeve, revealing his scarred arm. The bunched fabric pressed against one of the burns and caused Remus to emit a half-swallowed whimper of pain. He jerked his arm out of Black's grasp and pulled down his sleeve, cradling his arm defensively.

"Sorry." For the first time ever, Remus thought Black might have actually meant the apology. "I didn't mean to hurt you. But I do know about the scars. What does Madame Pomfrey say, hm? Does she know who does this to you?"

"Don't what you mean," Remus said, curling up a little further into his defensive ball. All good feelings had vanished and he only wanted Black gone.

"Does she know it's your dad who's hurting you?"

If he had used the word 'abuse' Remus might have been able to withdraw fully from his words, but even if he knew it was for his own good, it was his father hurting him. "You don't know anything about my father," he snapped. "He only wants what's best for me. Now leave me the hell alone!"

"I hit a nerve," Black observed, head tilted to one side so his wavy black hair brushed his shoulder.

"You know nothing."

"I know I saw him press something to your arm at the station. And I know it hurt you enough that you bit through your lip."

Remus felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. "You're wrong!" he screamed, voice hoarse and protesting. "You're wrong!" His terror and fear gave him the strength to sit up in bed, his fingers curled into claws, lips skinned back from his teeth. Black actually took a step back, looking frightened.

"GET OUT!"

Black backed out of the hospital wing quickly, just as Madame Pomfrey burst out of her office. Remus sank back to the bed feeling utterly drained.

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2nd September

Dear Minerva,

I need to speak to you regarding Remus Lupin. I'm worried that someone at home is abusing him. Hints that he has unconsciously made in the past lead me to believe it might be his father, but he venomously denies this and claims it is prejudice adults who know he is a werewolf. I am very concerned for his health – both mental and physical. Please stop by the Hospital Wing and your earliest possible convenience to discuss how we should approach this matter.

Poppy