Though it was in the middle of the night, there was enough light to see by. A young child, no more than five, had wakened up to use the loo. There was a terrible noise outside the door and he went to investigate. The door crashed in and in came a horrible looking creature. Too scared to scream, the boy stood glued to the spot. Two adults, presumably his parents, came running in. The woman fainted and the man kept his wand pointed at the thing. But before he could cast the spell the werewolf grabbed the boy and threw him out. It pounced and bit. It bit and clawed and bit some more, until there was nothing left but a barely living body, doomed to never again be the same, never again be human.
A healer looked down at Remus with pity. What a shame a boy so young should have to endure such an infliction. Not only the Sleeping Sickness which racked his body, but the lycamfrea which made him become a mindless monster once a month, and made it possible to get this disease in the first place. Such a young boy, with hopes and dreams in the wizarding world, never to come true.
It was the day after Thanksgiving. A sandy-haired boy went outside, swimming through the air as his head started to pound. In a few more minutes he'd change to the same form as that horrible mindless creature that had almost killed him that night so long ago. He poked the spot on the tree and went inside, almost falling through the tunnel. As he stumbled into the shack, he saw the matron waiting for him with pity-filled eyes. Before he could say anything that might make that pity go away, the pain overwhelmed him and hair grew all over his body. In minutes, the transformation was complete and he was thrashing about the room. The matron bowed her head and shook it sorrowfully.
A frail looking woman sat by Remus's bedside. Her dress hung about her bony frame loosely, her face pale with more lines than should be present for her age. Her sandy hair was pulled back into a plain bun behind her head and her bony hand had a single band on it: her wedding band. There were marks of wear and tear all over her but she seemed not to notice as she gently caressed Remus's face, tracing his scars with a pained expression on her face. Her amber eyes watered and she wiped away a tear. Such a young boy, with such a marred body and memory, never to live out his dreams.
It was to be the first time the boy would be alone when he changed. He'd become too dangerous for the matron to remain present for fear of being bitten. He'd left the castle earlier just to be sure he'd get there in time. When he got there his head was just starting to throb. As he paced the room, he tried hard not to cry that he had to be alone. Just then a boy of the same age with greasy black hair came tumbling in. He was too scared to run; the transformation had already begun. Another raven-haired boy ran in and grabbed the frightened boy, jerking him back and dragging him through the tunnel and out from under the tree. The werewolf threw himself and anything it could find at the walls. A chair was broken, new cuts formed.
A man had joined the woman at Remus's bedside. He too looked frail but still strong. His face was creased at the brow and his hand had a matching wedding band. This same hand held the woman's as she cried into his shoulder. The other gripped Remus's shoulder firmly, as if willing strength and awareness to flow through to him.