On September 1st, Kings Cross Station was bustling with bright eyed wizards and witches returning to another year at Hogwarts. For some, especially if they were 11, it was their first year. For others, it was their final year at school. I was part of the earlier group, the ones leaving their families for the first time, but I was a gangly wizard in my mid-teens, much older than the average first year and self-conscious of it too. While I was searching for Platform 9 and 3/4, I reached into the pockets of my robes and felt for my wand. I had never truly felt like a real wizard until the moment I purchased my first wand. They say the wand chooses the wizard. Just having it - that simple stick of cypress, carved out of wand wood and handicrafted by Ollivander with unicorn hair - meant that I was a wizard, that I was meant to be part of the Wizarding World.

I knew that my life was about to change forever for the better. That whatever route I took from there, it would be easier than living without magic.

I was a wizard now, regardless of my lycanthropy.

That day in September, while I was admiring the round arches and iron frames that supported the interior of King's Cross station, I spotted two students wheeling old fashioned trunks in a cart on their way towards the platform. I assumed they were heading to the Hogwarts Express, as few muggles walked around with such old-styled possessions, but with the way they were glancing at me and speaking in hushed tones to each other, I had the impression that they were making their way towards me.

I soon discovered that I was right. They were making a beeline towards me, carts clinking against the pavement. Well, the one without glasses was.

A handsome teen with loose, ebony waves stopped in front of me with a grin on his face and one hand on his cart while his spectacle wearing friend with messy hair kept walking. I looked at the gray eyed youth questioningly.

"I'll find us seats," his messy haired friend called as he made his way to the stone walls. "Don't take too long."

"Won't be long," the handsome youth called back as his friend disappeared behind the stone walls. Then, the wavy haired Hogwarts student turned to me, his misty gray eyes peering into my own, and asked, "Remember me?"

"No," I answered carefully. "I'm afraid not."

"We've met before at St. Mungo's during the summer," he explained, his grin dropping into an unsure expression.

That set off alarm bells. No one should have known I was admitted to St. Mungo's Hospital. Hardly anyone should have known who I was at all. I eyed him warily this time, wondering if this conversation had anything to do with my lycanthropy. Only the first day and-

"I caught you looking at me," he explained, interrupting my thoughts, the grin returning to his face again. With the grin masking his haughty expression, he looked even more attractive, I noticed.

"I'm sorry if I was," I said politely, searching the boy's expression for intent, and realizing my palms were beginning to sweat. "I didn't realize I was staring at anyone."

"You weren't," the handsome young man assured. The other teen started drumming the metal handle of the cart, making him appear like a member of a muggle rock band. "So-"

"Is that all?" I interrupted, wishing to know why the young wizard had approached him. "We should head for the trains before it departs."

"Just thought I would say, hello."

"Hello, then," I said, taken aback by his amicable nature. I found it absurd that anyone would approach a stranger just to say hi. He had to be a stranger, I thought. Until that moment, I had never met him. Unless he was one of my previous muggle friends? Doubtful, considering that I had never stayed in a muggle neighborhood for more than a year, and a year wasn't enough time to remember someone for years to come.

"Hello," he repeated with a grin. "I'm Sirius Black. And you are?"

"Remus Lupin," I paused, recognizing that surname. "Did you say Black? As in the pureblood family?"

"That's the one," Sirius sighed.

I was sure I detected frustration from Sirius, but I felt so lightheaded that I could not be sure.

"So you've heard of us?" Sirius said, looking resigned.

"Of course." Perhaps Sirius had been one of the patients in the medical ward. Imagine if a pureblood knew of my condition? "I'm sorry. How did we meet again?"

My heart was racing. I wanted to know his answer but simultaneously dreaded it.

"Just briefly," Sirius consoled, sensing my defensiveness. "Nothing to worry about. I won't tell anyone your secret."

My secret? I thought incredulously.

I stood there, stunned by the revelation that Black knew of "my secret," as the pureblood turned to leave. What did he mean by that? Did he know of my lycanthropy?

When Sirius disappeared into Platform 9 and 3/4, I took a seat on one of the metal benches and placed my head in my hands, suddenly feeling nauseous. I was afraid. Afraid of losing any chance I had at remaining at Hogwarts, afraid of being openly outed as a werewolf. That nausea persisted as I boarded the train and was so exacerbated by the late summer heat that when I finally found an empty compartment, I felt sick. I left my luggage on the floor and bolted down the hall, practically sprinting for the W/C.

"I've never heard of Hogwarts until an owl-" I heard a first year say.

I quickened my pace, feeling my liquidated breakfast at the back of my throat.

"Final year. Last chance to-" someone laughed.

I reached for the lavatory at the end of the corridor and entered it.

The door shut behind me, and all I could hear was the students' muffled voices as they walked by. I scrambled to the toilet and breathed shakily, the taste of vomit and my breakfast now making its way to my tongue and back down my throat.

I questioned everything - my decision to attend Hogwarts, my belief that life would be easier at Hogwarts, my trust in Dumbledore's ability to perform miracles. It felt like the world was narrowing in on me, like I had willing walked into a tunnel that tapered towards the end. Now, I was stuck on a train barreling down the tracks towards Hogwarts with compartments full of wizards and witches who had yet to learn that I was a werewolf.

My head was throbbing, pounding steadily like drums beaten by a musician, and I was struggling to breathe.

How did Sirius Black know?

He said we met at St Mungo's during the summer. If that was true, then all he had to do was read the label on the bed, and he would have discovered my condition. Everything was there - my name, my age, a detailed description of my wounds and my condition. I forced myself to remember my stay at St. Mungo's, the few memories I could remember while conscious. Was there someone beside me, a wizard slumbering behind the privacy curtains? Of course, there was, I thought, feeling foolish. There had to be. I wasn't the only patient. There were always people coming and going - patients, and their maladies, and their guests. Always curtains opening and closing, people talking among themselves.

To avoid being spotted, I was careful to keep the curtains shut around me.

Except the curtains weren't always completely closed.

I recalled it then, in the midst of my meltdown - the memory Black had referred to. It came back to me almost too vividly.

I remembered his eyes first, his curious eyes with a peculiar gleam of mischief.

During the summer before this year, I was omitted to St. Mungo's Hospital after a bad moon with grave wounds, gashes and bite marks that couldn't be healed by a simple healing spell. I was given medicine meant to numb me against the pain of having my wounds stitched together with a needle and thread, so I spent most of my time in the hospital drifting in and out of consciousness.

The sharp pains from my self-inflicted wounds had eased into a dull ache that day, and I had expected to be discharged before the end of the summer, just in time to head off to Hogwarts. Without the pain, my thoughts quickly returned to my father's recent fascination with muggle appliances and to my future - a future that was neither secured in the Wizarding nor Muggle World until I made it to Hogwarts.

A few days into my recovery, a bespectacled young man with messy hair walked into the room, nursing a dislocated shoulder and a broken arm. I could just see him and his friend through the small opening of the privacy curtains. When asked how he injured his arm, the messy haired teen grinned and answered, "Just some rough housing."

"James, here, fell off his broom flirting," his friend interjected.

"Shush, Sirius," James hissed, giving Sirius a light shove. "Like you've never done anything stupid."

I noticed that his friend Sirius was a tall, well-built youth with a defined jawline, a haughty expression on his face, and dark wavy hair. He seemed like someone important, I thought at the time. He had a sort of elegant and confident posture that belied his upper-class upbringing. If I had to guess, I would have assumed he was a pureblood from one of the Sacred 28, possibly his friend too.

"I've never played Casanova for a Miss Lily Evans and ended up breaking every bone in my body."

While the medic patched up James's injuries, Sirius Black, as if feeling eyes on him, let his gaze wandered around the infirmary until it rested on me. The handsome young man eyed me curiously.

I hated to be stared at while wrapped in bloodied bandages, I remember thinking, my eyes closing and opening languidly as I blinked in and out of consciousness. So, I reached for the privacy curtains and closed it shut.

I had never thought my glance meant anything, especially in the stupor I was in. Or that it would attract attention from someone who would remember me a month later.

I groaned as nausea washed over me again.

I should have known that they were Hogwarts students. Anyone in the Wizarding World over the age of 11 was most likely a wizard. And I should have known that Sirius Black was a pureblood. Everything about him suggested that he was from an old lineage in the Wizarding World. Same with his friend. They looked so sure of themselves, so sure of their place in this world.

But did they know? I wondered, almost hopefully like I was expecting to find some evidence that they didn't know.

Of course, they knew. What other secret did I have besides my lycanthropy?

I thought back to that grin on Sirius Black's face and his easy-going attitude as he walked up to me. For a pureblood and a Black, at that, he appeared rather benevolent, but he couldn't hide his mischievous nature. It was apparent the day we first met, and it was there during our conversation at Platform 9 and 3/4. And if he was like his family, he was surely a Slytherin.

Everyone knew that Slytherins valued cunning and self-preservation, both traits that described what muggles referred to as sociopaths. If the world was ever eclipsed again by the dark arts, it would most likely be led by pureblood hegemony and by the quest for wizarding dominion over all others (magical or non-magical) - all ideals that members of the House of Slytherin valued.

Black, himself, seemed like a likable fellow, lively and cheerful (not surly like most Slytherins). Intelligent too, if his eyes revealed anything. If I had never been bitten and turned into a werewolf and if he wasn't a Black, I could have very well been friends with someone like him. But I was a werewolf, and he was a Black. So, the only reason for his interest in me had to do with the dark creature I morphed into every month. That was the secret he knew.

The floor of the lavatory rocked from side to side and the train's whistle rang out as the train turned on the tracks. My head throbbed in response, and I grimaced as the whistle lowered to a steady screeching noise. I brought my head to the toilet, clutching my head, as my mouth watered with saliva and bile rose from my throat.

I felt sick and exhausted.

It felt cruel and unfair that I would lose everything now when I was so close. Not even at Hogwarts, and I was already close to losing my place at the school. After four years of waiting for my letter, after a decade of managing my condition, after years of questioning my place in the world (as neither a muggle nor wizard), I felt like I was heading to a place I belonged.

I had hoped that sense of belonging would last more than a few months. It would be such a shame that it would end today, just as I was heading to Hogwarts. How soon would it be until the school knew that Remus J. Lupin was a werewolf?

Another wave of nausea hit me, and I retched a string of saliva.