Remus always thought there was a sense of irony to life.
Not the sort of theatrical irony, loud as a bang and colorful as a rainbow, where everyone gasped and shrieked aloud because the stories weren't supposed to end that way. It was the sort of irony that crept up like an unexpected fog, wrapping its delicate fingers around your heart and suddenly crushing it with the obliterating power of iron. All that was leaft beging was the subtle sting of ice and no coherent thought in your head to think for comfort or for rage, for madness or despair. Nothing is left but a shocked sort of emptiness, and it's there because … well, because it just can't possibly be real.
Remus had felt like that eight times in his life.
The first time he was five years old. He was playing outside after dark, and he knew he shouldn't have been because his mother always told him so. They lived in the country out by the forests, wild and magical places where beasts just as wild and magical lived, and it was inportant to keep a vigilant eye out. But Remus was just a child then, and the greater worries of the world escaped him. He had liked to make his father chase him around the garden outside whenever he didn't feel like going in just yet, and often it took the warning and sometimes actual use of the water hose to get him to comply. He would often come in the house minutes later, dripping wet and utterly breathless, spent too much energy to giggle at the look on his mother's face, but left just enough to smile and hit the floor.
But on this particular time in question, his father was away on improtant work, and his mother was too busy at the time to remember to call him inside. Therefore, Remus remained outside on this occasion. He was a child plauged with constant curiosity, always getting himself into trouble; it seemed to be ingrained in his nature to disobey. He was told more than once never to go into the forest, but the curiousity he was born with would not leave him in peace that night without venturing out into the mysterious wilderness banked just on the edge of their backyard. Remus was less afraid of the dark that typical night because the grounds were covered with a dreamlike haze from the light of the moon – bright and full – in the cloudless sky above.
The walk was as long as it looked; it required crossing a wide, slightly sloping field that served as a border between their land and the forest, filled with patches of grass that reached as high as his knees (which wasn't really that high at all, considering how short he was then) and plots of mixed flowers, each a different color during the light of day, but all of them faux shades of blue under the deceptive moonlight.
Remus walked as leisurely as a child his age could, which was more of a broken run, with the occasional skip and leap added just for good measure. It didn't seem to take too long at the pace he was going. Remus reached the forest in only a few minutes, though it might have been slightly longer; he could never really tell. Now that it was close and only a couple of steps away, Remus wasn't so sure if he wanted to go inside. The trees were foreboding and large, looming high above him like great big warning signs, telling him to run away and go home with whispers as quiet as the wind. But Remus was always up for a challenge – if the trees wanted him to go home, he wasn't very well going to listen to them.
So he took a deep breath, held his chin up, and disappeared into the leaves.
The rest was always a bit foggy. He had been walking for quite a while, he knew. Very little moonlight pierced through the conopy of leaves, leaving a thick veil of darkness between him and the wild and twisted world around him. Shadows played across that veil, frightening him more than once and often in between. Still, he drew deeper into the forest, refusing to turn back so early on in his journey.
There were yellow eyes, he remembered. Bit yellow eyes staring out from the darkness, gazing at him dangerously – hungrily. He froze, fear tingling up his spine like a spider, settling itself somewhere on the back of his neck and making the hairs stand up on end.
He almost knew what was going to happen next.
Realization settled in his young mind, and with a slight gasp, he whirled around and ran. He ran and ran and ran and ran. Remus burst out from the trees, and once the house came into sight, he began screaming. He was sure his mother would hear him, or maybe his father had just come home and would surely rescue Remus before that thing got him.
But Remus only got so far.
He was knocked over, a heavy weight holding him down. His leg twisted at an odd angle, and Remus cried aloud from the intense pain of it. Then it came, swift and painful, and utterly unstoppable – the searing sting of a thousand sharp teeth biting deep, deep into his shoulder.
Then a loud bang hit the sky, pounding his ears too loudly, too achingly to be natural, and the weight collapsed onto his back.
Remus would have liked to say that he blacked out, that the pain was too much for his young body to bear while conscious, or maybe that he was losing a lot of blood at the time and it caused him to pass out.
But either would have been a lie.
He screamed and cried for hours upon hours – as his father picked him up, as he was carried back home, as the mediwizard came by and took care of him – and he didn't stop choking and weeping until the doctor gave him a dreamless sleep draught for the night.
When he awoke the next day, his mother was asleep, her head and arms laying on the pillow across from his, and her body leaning against the mattress as she sat on the floor beside his bed. His father was awake in a chair nearby.
"Daddy?"
His father's head snapped to attention. He was beside his bed soon enough, and in the scramble to get there, he woke Remus's mother. Remus was afraid of the look in their eyes. He hadn't seen anyone look that sad before. And his mother's eyes were red – as if she'd been crying all night.
Remus didn't want to know what had happened. He was healing, he was getting better, and in a few weeks everything would be back to normal. Everything would be normal.
"I'm sorry, Mum," Remus said quietly. "I know you said never to go near the forest, but I couldn't help –"
She shushed him, reaching out to cradle his head in her arms. "I doesn't matter, Remus. It … nothing can be – can be changed –" She choked up, and Remus heard the unmistakable sound of a sob escape her.
"Mum?" he asked apprehensively, scared of her reaction.
Remus looked up at his father, the expression on his five-year-old face begging for an answer.
His father had a hard time keeping his voice steady as he spoke.
"You've … you've been bitten by a werewolf, Remus," he said quietly. "There's … nothing to stop it from spreading, and … there isn't a cure. You're …" His father finally lost his composure, and his voice cracked as it welled with emotion.
"…You're a werewolf now, son."
- - - - - -
Adjusting to being a werewolf was manageable, in the sense that Remus had manged to survive each time he changed.
His parents never stopped loving him, as most might have done when they discovered their child would change into a bloodthirsty monster once a month. Only children who were werewolves didn't morph into powerful adult wolves. They became baby wolves, actually somewhat cute and playful, and entirely harmless when it really came down to it – that is, as long as they didn't bite you, of course.
Still, Remus was beginning to learn the cruelties of the world, and it wasn't a pleasant experience, especially for one so young and innocent minded.
Which is why when he was eleven years old, he was very surprised to receive an owl from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
His mother clutched her heart as she held the open parchment. "My God …" she whispered. "John … John!"
"What is it?" Remus's father called from the other room. His tall form appeared in the open doorway, dark eyes gazing curiously at his wife.
"It's … it's from Hogwarts …" she whispered. "That … that magic school … right?"
John's eyes went wider, and he ran to his wife's side, grabbing the letter from her hands. He skimmed over the parchment, frozen disbelief marking his features.
"This … this can't be," he said quietly, his eyes still focused on the letter in his trembling hands.
"The Headmaster wants to speak to you about … about special arrangement … for letting him attend, John …"
"It can't be …"
His wife smiled, standing up from her chair and plucking the letter out of her husband's hands. He wrapped her arms around John, and suddenly shrieked with delight, "Our son's going to Hogwarts! He's going to Hogwarts, John!"
"Shh!" John warned, a bright grin breaking across his face as he hugged his wife back. "You're going to wake up Remus, honey …" Then he suddenly lifted up his wife, twirling her in his arms, and almost yelled, "Our boy's going to Hogwarts, Diane! He's going to Hogwarts!"
From the dark shadows, on the stairwell, Remus watched his parents embrace and laugh and thought about their words.
He, a werewolf, was going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
He was going to Hogwarts.
- - - - - -
Remus was twelve years old, and life hadn't been better. He had three good friends, and they did everything together, bet he had been keeping a secret from them. A terrible secret. And they couldn't find out, but he was so afraid they would.
Which was why he was so careful to come up with excuses, plotting them out in detail before the three of them even began asking questions, and he always managed to fool them; they never failed to believe his carefully crafted words. He was sick, or someone had died, or his mother was ill, and sometimes his father was. It always changed from one thing to another, but they were all closely tied in. He was surprised they had never suspected anything thus far, but twelve year olds had other and better things on their minds than whether or not one their best friends was a werewolf, so Remus never encountered any problems … until That Day.
"Remus, where were you last night?" Sirius prodded, his voice sounding irately whiny as usual – it must have been the Black blood in him, Remus guessed -- as he plopped himself down on the common room couch beside Remus, who was quietly studying his Transfiguration notes.
"I think I'm coming down with the flu," Remus replied, adding a cough for good measure. He didn't look up from his notes as Sirius inched away from him.
"Don't pass it to me," Sirius said, looking at Remus warily.
"Don't worry," Remus said casually, "it's not the contagious kind."
"Oh, right." Sirius glanced at Remus sideways. "There's a non-contagious kind?"
"Oh yeah … didn't you know?"
Sirius gazed at him oddly for a moment, but it quickly passed. "Hey!" he said brightly, "You want to play a game of chess?"
"Um … sure, I guess."
"Great! I bought this new set a few weeks age and I've been dying for a reason to use it …"
Sirius practically ran out of the room. When he came back, he was carrying a case the size of the chessboard, but I bit too tall. Sirius set it down on the table and opened it up, revealing an intricate and very expensive looking chessboard within. Its pieces were already standing upright, shining statues of gold and silver on the gleaming stone surface of grey and black squares. Sirius carefully lifted the board out of the box and placed it in the middle of the table. Remus, noticing the silver pieces on one side of the board, suddenly became very still.
"Are those real gold and silver?" Remus asked slowly, and Sirius simply grinned at him. His friend probably thought he was so poor he had never seen real gold and silver before.
"No," Sirius replied, sounding just slightly despondent about it, "but I wish they were. By the way, I'm gold!" Sirius had to turn the board to make this true. "Gryffindor color, and all. You get to be silver, for Slytherin, because you don't hate those slimy buggers as much as I do."
"Great," Remus replied dryly, but he wasn't thrilled with the idea. Then he remembered this was wizard's chess and he wouldn't have to touch anything. His heart suddenly lifted above its burden and Remus smiled. He put down his notes and slipped to the floor in front of the table across from where Sirius was seated.
"If they were real, it's been a shame to see them get whacked around," he joked.
Sirius suddenly beamed. "Ah, but this is a Muggle chess set!" he exclaimed brightly, and the load that was lifted was suddenly dropped onto Remus's heart again and had trouble breathing. "I always wanted to get something Muggle! Mum and Dad would kill me if they foung out!"
Remus thought Sirius sounded just a bit too happy about that.
"But … no, I don't think I can play–"
Better safe than sorry.
Sirius looked incredulous. "But you just said you would! You can't back out at the last minute, Remus – you're playing." And suddenly, before Remus could do anything, Sirius picked up one of the silver pieces and tossed it in his direction. Remus, out of reflex, caught it.
Nothing happened at first, but then there was a sudden burn, worse than fire – like lava melting through his skin, and smoke was rising from Remus's clutched fist. His fingers suddenly sprung open and the silver pawn went flying, knocking into the other pieces on the board. Remus looked up and say Sirius's face – wide eyes, shock, surprise – then the realization … the fear … the horror. Remus quickly stood, bumping into the table, pieces went flying, and he fell into the sofa. Rising again, Remus made a run for it, out of the portrait hole and into the hall beyond. To where, he wasn't sure.
He spent that night in the Room of Requirement, surrounded by something that looked like his home because that's where he was going once morning came around.
Only when morning did come and Remus awoke, he found himself surrounded by the three of his friends: James, Peter, and Sirius. James was looking at him almost sadly, Peter was looking at him sadly, and Sirius … well, Sirius wasn't looking at him at all.
Remus didn't say anything, despite his shock, but he pulled himself up into a sitting position. He held his head high, kept his back tall and straight. He felt like he was awaiting their verdict of him in some trial. He tried not to let his anxiety show.
"I'm surprised we found you," James continued with a small smile, "so I guess it's thanks to him we managed to find you."
Remus looked at Peter, who in return smiled at him a bit timidly. He still smiled, though. Remus felt some of the weight leave his shoulders, but he wasn't about to get his hopes up.
Then the smile disappeared from James's face, but the words that came out of his mouth didn't follow the action.
"We're still your friends, Remus. We'll always be your friends."
At this, Peter nodded fervently. "No matter what!" he squeaked in agreement.
"Friends," James said, and he held out his hand palm down. Peter placed his own, thought slightly trembling, on top of his friend's hand. There was a long moment of silence that followed, but Sirius finally looked down, avoiding their eyes, as he added his own hand to the pile.
Remus didn't know what to say, so he said nothing, but he reached out, laying his hand over Sirius's own. The other boy's head suddenly swiveled in his direction and looked at him – looked at him hard with piercing bright eyes that were angrier than Remus had ever seen.
Remus quickly withdrew his hand, as if touching Sirius stung him. He looked at the floor and slid away from them, feeling guilty, ashamed, humiliated, and saddened all at once. Remus could already feel his muscles trembling fro the exertion of trying to keep from sobbing. But he couldn't hold it back very long.
At least a minute had passed where Remus quietly sobbed and nobody approached him. He expected them to leave, to walk away and desert him – after all, why shouldn't they? He was a werewolf. He was a monster! And it wouldn't ever go away. Not ever.
So it would only make sense that they would.
Instead, however, Remus felt hesitant hands lay upon his shoulders, and the unexpected action caused him to suddenly go still.
"I'm sorry, Remus," Sirius whispered. "I … I just didn't understand." The grip of his hands tightened on Remus' shoulders. "Now … I guess I do."
- - - - - -
"Remus, I have some terrible news, I'm afraid," Albus said, looking at Remus over his half-moon spectacles. The usual twinkle in his eyes was not there in that moment. "James and Lily are … they are dead, Remus."
- - - - - -
Remus dropped the newspaper as if it had burnt him, as if it was made of silver or acid, and he watched it in horror as it fell to the floor.
The headline read, "Sirius Black Arrested for Mass Murder!"
- - - - - -
Sirius fell through the veil, and Remus only watched – only watched him like he watched that newspaper years and years ago as it fell from his hands.
"SIRIUS!"
Remus had only enough sense to grap Harry and hold him back – hold him back and keep him from joining Sirius wherever he was now.
"There's nothing you can do, Harry–"
"Get him, save him, he's only just gone through!"
"It's too late, Harry–"
"We can still reach him–"
Remus tightened his grip on Harry, refusing to let go.
"There's nothing you can do, Harry … nothing … He's gone."
- - - - - -
Remus trudged slowly, walking with the fear one had that you couldn't run because what had happened had already happened and your speed would do nothing to help change things. Harry was still, lifeless, and Remus knew he was dead.
But when he reached Harry's side and found no heartbeat and heard no breath, Remus still drew the boy into his arms like should have done when Harry was alive, but late was better than never.
Late was better than never, he told himself.
- - - - - -
Remus thought that same thought again once more as he stared down the pier through the misty, storm-congested sky.
The end of his roads always seemed to filled with death.
So it was a great surprise when he saw Hermione standing there, he back to him, the long curls of her brown hair whipping around in the torrential wind.
She was alive.
She was very much alive, in fact.
Life seemed incredibly ironic, indeed.