September, 1946

Minerva McGonagall remembers the first time they met clear as day, even after nearly 30 years. They were both starting at Hogwarts in 1946, the year after the Global Wizarding War, and it had been a strange time indeed to be starting school. The Hogwarts Express was finally up and running again, but Minerva had noticed the emptiness of the station. There were students there, of course, but far fewer than her mother had told her to expect. Also of note were the sheer numbers of students being seen off by just their mothers, or perhaps by neither of their parents at all. Minerva felt very lucky indeed to have had both of her parents with her that day, even if her father had looked incredibly uncomfortable being around so much magic.

Once on the train, Minerva searched around for an empty compartment. She was hoping for some quiet—ideally, she would spend most of the trip reading up on Hogwarts, a place she had heard so little about, thanks to her father's mistrust of her mother's magical abilities. Eventually she found such a compartment, and evened out her dress as she sat, taking Hogwarts: A History out of her satchel. Of course, as soon as she opened the book to the first page, she was interrupted.

"Hi there! 'ave you room for one more?"

Minerva lifted her gaze, forcing out a rather tight smile. She figured she might eventually have company, but this boy looked like a handful. His messy, sandy-brown hair stuck out every which way, and his shirt was half-untucked out of his trousers. His eyes, bright blue, darted around mischievously, and he didn't seem to stop…moving. He was fidgeting even as he stood by the doorway.

"Come in," she said at last, motioning to the seats across from her. The boy looked so incredibly excited and rushed over to plop down on the seats across from Minerva, rummaging around in his bag for something. Taking this is her cue, Minerva once again looked down at her book, making it through the first two sentences when—

"Here, I brought some to share!"

Sighing, Minerva decided that little to no reading would be accomplished that day. As she looked up, she saw that the boy was holding out two small chocolates, wrapped in gold foil, the ends forming little wings.

"Chocolate snitches, I think you'd call them in English," the boy offered his hand further. "They're from France, like me. My family moved to Wales before the war, it wasn't safe for us anymore, but my father always says British chocolate is not nearly as good as the stuff back home. I brought some for my first friend!" The boy exclaimed, and Minerva felt a wave of relief wash over her: the boy could eventually stop talking, he just chose not to do so. In the back of her mind, a voice told her not to accept chocolate from strangers, but the rambunctious boy in front of her didn't look very dangerous at all, and she smiled, putting her book away.

"Thank you," she said, taking the chocolate snitch from his hand. "I appreciate it."

"Careful," he warned. "I'd eat it fast. Otherwise they start to fly away, and then you have to catch them. I've got a…oh, what's the word…"

"Broom?" Minerva offered, holding the chocolate tight and praying she hadn't sent the boy off on another rant so soon.

"A broom!" The boy exclaimed. "Yes, thank you! I've got some of the words confused in English and French, but I've been learning ever since we moved to Wales—I promise," he grinned. "Anyway, sometimes they fly so high, you need to ride a broom to go and catch them, just like in Quidditch. I want to play Quidditch at school, that's for sure, it's the best game ever."

Minerva was about to open her mouth to ask what Quidditch was, but she refrained. She knew it would just send the boy off again, and it seemed he had just stopped talking. At least, for a brief moment.

"Chocolate is very good for you," the boy insisted, already unwrapping his golden snitch. "Go on, eat up. It helps with everything, my papa tells me."

As the boy began to eat his chocolate, Minerva smiled. Talkative, yes, but not loud. And he was clearly incredibly friendly and knew a great deal about the Wizarding World. Perhaps they could be friends, Minerva thought. After all, other than her brothers, she didn't know any other wizarding children and it certainly wouldn't hurt to make a friend right from the start. Minerva unwrapped her own chocolate and popped it in her mouth, surprised at how quickly it melted in her mouth and warmed her up.

"Good, yes?" The boy prompted, licking some of the chocolate off his fingers. "I enjoy Britain very much, but the food here is…oh, what am I thinking of…quite un-tasty," he said, scrunching his face up a bit. Minerva chuckled.

"In England? Definitely," she assured her newfound friend. "But just wait until you have Scottish food."

The boy grinned rather wolfishly, barring his teeth somewhat.

"I'd correct you, but that's the most you've said to me since I got here and I don't want to jinx anything. I know I've done a lot of the talking—my siblings always say I can never let them get a word in. They go to a different school, back in France, since they spent more time there than me. My parents wanted me to go there, but I thought it would be more fun to go to a school in Scotland. The people seem kinder, more, ah, salt of the Earth? Is that the phrase?" The boy asked, and Minerva had to take a moment to process all that he said.

"I know what you mean," she replied. "As a matter of fact, I'm Scottish," she smiled, and the boy returned the gesture with kind eyes.

"I knew there was something I liked about you," he told her. "Moment I walked in I knew this would be a good compartment. I'm Lyall," he stuck out his hand. "Lyall Lupin."

"Minerva," she replied. "Minerva McGonagall." She took his hand and gave it a good shake before sitting back in her seat. She looked at the boy across from her thoughtfully.

"Lupin is a bit of an odd name, isn't it?" She asked. "I've read plenty about France, never heard a name like that."

Lyall chuckled, giving Minerva a wink as he did so. She felt like there was a long story about the name, one she would likely get to hear the longer she talked to the boy in front of her.

"It's old, from Latin. My family…well, what we did in France, it is apparently prohibited here in Britain, so we've had to change our occupation a bit," Lyall explained rather quietly, leaning in close to talk to Minerva. "We have in the past…hunted werewolves."

"Werewolves?" Minerva gasped. "Those are real?"

Lyall nodded a bit gravely. "Oh, they're real. Really dangerous. That's why we hunted them. They don't have souls, my papa told me. Very evil, very dark creatures, deserving of death," he added quietly. Minerva felt a shudder run through her. All this time, she had been looking forward to Hogwarts and magic. Now it seemed a bit terrifying. Not too scary, mind you, and nothing Minerva couldn't handle, but it was a great deal of information for an eleven-year-old witch.

"Don't you worry," Lyall assured his new friend. "We won't run into any. I read, a lot, and I know lots about all sorts of dark creatures—how to spot them, defend ourselves against them. Not that I want to go out into the field," he corrected, shaking his head. "But the research? Fascinating. It's good research, important, and I want to contribute to it."

Minerva smiled. She had read enough about the houses to know that Lyall would be in Ravenclaw—it would be the best for his pursuit of knowledge. Her, however? Well, Minerva wasn't so sure. But she had a feeling that wherever she ended up, the energetic boy in front of her would remain a good friend.

August, 1971

As the years went on, Lyall Lupin remained a good friend. But the energetic boy Minerva once knew had been broken, shattered, and haphazardly put back together again. It was the end of July when she received a letter, the first in nearly a decade, from her old school pal. She responded immediately—of course she would meet with Lyall for tea. She hadn't seen the man in so many years, and given that she would be teaching his son, wanted to learn more about the boy if at all possible as well as catch up. However, as she looked across the table at the worn and tired man in front of her, Minerva struggled to see the Lyall she once knew. How could you catch up with someone who resembled a stranger more than a friend?

The bright blue eyes, so full of cheer when they had first met, were dulled and nearly grey—which, coincidentally, was the same color Lyall's hair was turning. He looked beaten down and utterly exhausted, but the worst part of all was how withdrawn and utterly silent Lyall was. This wasn't the boy she had met on the train, eager to talk to a stranger and offer her half his chocolate. This was a shell of a man, and Minerva knew it was her job to bring that boy back.

"Lyall," she prodded, "you invited me to tea. Are we going to speak, or are you going to stare at the ground?"

Lyall looked up, meeting Minerva's hard gaze, the bags under his eyes all the more evident.

"I'm sorry, Minerva. I didn't sleep well, is all, and I can't stay…I can't stay long," he said quietly. "Hope and Remus need me. I can't leave them for long."

Minerva's face fell. She didn't pity Lyall—she knew he wouldn't want that—but she felt so sorry for the trauma her old friend and his family went through, month after month, year after year. Lyall swallowed, locking eyes with Minerva, speaking once again:

"I wanted to say thank you."

"Thank you?" Minerva repeated. "Whatever for?"

Lyall sighed, looking off to the side. "You know what for," he replied curtly. "Remus. You…you spoke with Professor Dumbledore, I know you did. That's why he can go to school, isn't it? Because you convinced the man that he's safe?"

Minerva pressed her lips together, giving herself an overall severe look. Lyall, brilliant as ever, knew what she had done without her having to say a thing. It was true that Albus had already wanted to give Remus a spot at Hogwarts—Minerva had merely offered what she called 'an extra push.' She knew Lyall, and she told Albus that any boy raised by that man would be an asset to the school. Though Lyall was not the same boy she once knew, she stood by that statement.

"He is safe, Lyall. He's just a boy—"

"—he's not," Lyall snapped. "He's not, and it's my fault. I know he looked safe when Dumbledore visited—and he is, most of the time…" Lyall drifted off, voice growing quiet. Though the two were more or less alone in the Welsh muggle café, Lyall had grown untrustworthy—a trait he had never once possessed before.

"And by the very sense of the phrase, most of the time is most of the time," Minerva stated matter-of-factly. "And most of the time, he's a boy. Albus told me as much—it seems the two played a rather riveting game of exploding snap together. Unsurprisingly, given his father, Remus seems to be a kind, bright boy."

Lyall shuddered. "I'm not kind," he said, gaze meeting Minerva's. "I don't know how much you know, but I'm the reason…I'm the reason he was attacked," he said, shamefully.

"I know about your family's past and their beliefs, Lyall," Minerva said simply. "You told me the very first day we met. It isn't your fault—you believed what your parents told you was true. What you can change now is how you move forward."

"Forward?" Lyall questioned, shaking his head. "For the next seven years, assuming he doesn't hurt anyone, Remus has a home, certainly. And then what? I've ruined him, Minerva. My only son, and he's…he's…"

"Going to be ruined if you keep this up," she snapped. Lyall gaped, eyes narrowing. But before he could interject, Minerva easily took the upper hand in the conversation—not something she would have ever been able to do in 1946. "The Lyall Lupin I know would have never recognized the man in front of me today. You haven't ruined his life—not yet. But if you hide him, act ashamed, scared, mistrustful, then he will mirror that and grow to be afraid of his own shadow. As a teacher, I can't do much. But as one of your oldest friends, Lyall, I must ask you to buck up and be a bit more like the boy I once knew!"

Lyall was, clearly, at a loss for words. Minerva hadn't meant to let her temper get the best of her, but she could only stand to hear Lyall speak so lowly of himself and his son for so long. For a moment, she thought she saw a spark in those dull blue eyes. Lyall reached into his pocket, still silent, and pulled out a small cloth packet. He pulled away the cloth, revealing two small, gold-foiled pieces of chocolate.

"I charmed them, so they won't fly away," he said softly. "I brought some for you. We always have them in the house, they're Remus' favorites," he admitted, saying the first thing about his son that was positive, other than calling him 'safe.' Minerva allowed a smile to creep across her face: of course little Remus Lupin liked chocolate. Lyall slowly started to mirror the gesture, though his face looked like it would crack if he held the smile for too long—clearly it wasn't something he often did.

"I'm not the boy I used to be, I know that. And it's impossible to become him again—not that I would want to. He clearly had his faults. But you're right—Remus shouldn't grow up afraid. He should be brave—he is already, and I need to do a better job nurturing that. I think he'll be a Hat-stall like you," he added.

Minerva raised a brow. "Oh? And what makes you say that, Lyall Lupin?"

"He reads—constantly. He loves it. And he picks things up so quickly, you wouldn't believe it," he beamed. "But he's proud, hates when his mother and I have to help him. And he's so…" Lyall drifted off, looking for the word.

"Courageous?" Minerva suggested. Lyall perked up and nodded.

"Courageous."

Remus Lupin, of course, did grow up to be courageous—incredibly so. Others may have doubted it, even the boy himself, but Minerva McGonagall knew it from the start.

"I think I'll like this boy very much, Lyall," Minerva told her friend. And, despite all the mayhem caused by Remus and his marauding friends, this fact remained true.

Lyall Lupin had chosen compartments well that day in 1946, and he could never thank his first friend at Hogwarts enough for everything she did for his family.