Six year old Remus sits and broods in his dark, silent bedroom. He listens to his mother cry all the time. He listens to his father pace - heavy boots on the creaky wooden floor. And he sits in his bed, staring down at his blanket and feeling rather lost.
Even now, months later, nobody knows what to do with him. Society doesn't accept werewolves. Werewolves are dangerous. Werewolves are brutal and bloodthirsty. He sits in his bed day after day, everyone speaking in hushed tones and peeking in on him as if he were dying. And he wonders why.
His parents had, of course, sent for all sorts of healers and philosophers and potions masters -anyone who might be able to help, to reverse what had happened to him. He is one of the youngest werewolves alive, and because of that, many who saw him were optimistic. Youth heals, after all. Youth is not as affected the way things affect adults. Children are strong and active. But nothing has helped, and now Remus is left to simply be hopeless. An outcast, before his life has really even started. No more dreams for adulthood. No chance of marriage or children. He is their only son, and now they are raising him to a life of loneliness, poverty, and hatred. He won't be allowed to purchase a wand or go to school. He won't be allowed to do anything but sit at home like a caged animal, until he is old enough to move out, where he will find that he can't do anything but continue to sit home like a caged animal.
But Remus is still young, and he doesn't understand all of this yet. He isn't sure why his parents seem so sad. His mother sometimes so angry. He isn't sure why strange people come to visit him, and why he has to drink disgusting things.
(He suspects, though, that it is something to do with the painful episodes he occasionally goes through.)
He doesn't know he is a werewolf. Anything he might remember of his transformations is ultimately shrugged off as a dream the next morning.
His bedroom door, previously cracked open, is now pushed open all the way when his mother enters the room. Remus's face brightens when he sees her. She silently helps him pull off his shirt, exposing the shoulder where the wound is. Remus tries not to wince as she cleans it - it is healing incredibly slowly, but at least it is healing. He can remember the big dog attacking him nearly four months ago. His father had explained that the injury is magical, and is stronger than regular injuries. That is why it still remains, despite all that has been done.
"Does it look better?" asks Remus as she puts the cap back on the healing paste. He turns his head to the side, trying to peer at his shoulder. He sees nothing but the medicine, slathered thickly upon his shoulder. And then it is gone, covered by a bandage.
She won't look at him, turns her head away. Remus watches her, waiting for a reply, but it never comes. After a moment of simply sitting there, she gets up and walks out of the room, and he sits alone in the dark, wonders what he did wrong.
The rest of the day passes slowly - as does every day. Remus spends much of it leaning on the windowsill over his bed, staring outside at the trees. In between doing this he reads children's tales and plays with a toy broomstick. His mother comes in once more with something for him to eat. But she doesn't linger and she doesn't say anything. Her eyes are red and swollen, and Remus can tell she has been crying again. He doesn't speak to her either, feeling slightly fearful. Why does she cry so much? Everyone acts like there's something wrong with him, but he feels fine. What if something really is wrong with him? Why won't she play with him like she used to, read him stories, take him out for walks or to go shopping?
Despair comes over him, ruins his appetite. He pushes the plate away and hugs his knees to his chest, lays his head on them and stares at the window once more. From this angle he can see only the sky, which is growing dim and colorful as the sun begins to set. He becomes aware of a dull physical ache deep within him.
It is only moments later that he hears his father step out of the fireplace with his boots. His mother has dinner on the table, hot and ready for him. But the man ignores it and enters Remus's room instead, and Remus straightens and smiles. Even if his mother can do nothing but cry, his father still spends time with him whenever he's not working. He seems to be always working. Remus wishes there was more time.
Mr Lupin smiles warmly at his son in the dim light, and settles on the bed. He holds a package out to Remus, and Remus unwraps it to find a piece of chocolate cake. He smiles in delight and devours it while his father fetches the dinner plate and brings it to the desk in Remus's room. He takes a seat and watches his son.
"Did you catch any werewolves today, Dad?" asks Remus through a mouthful. His father works for the Werewolf Capture Unit in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
So Mr Lupin begins with a colorful story about the hunt, but in the end, admits to Remus that no, he did not catch any werewolves today. Remus is rather disappointed about this, as he revels in the stories where he can imagine his father as a hero - saving a village from a savage beast. He finishes the cake and his mood has brightened considerably, whether from the chocolate or the kind gesture - or even both, although it matters not. Then the pain within him grows stronger, and his knowing father pulls the young boy into his lap. They stay like this for several minutes and then Remus is screaming and thrashing.
But his father stays calm and holds on tight. And a few moments later a young pup is trembling in his arms. The werewolf looks curiously up at his face... and for a moment Lupin is hopeful that there will be some sort of recognition in the creature's eyes. But a split second later the pup is lunging, snapping, and snarling, trying to get his throat. The man just sighs, and holds the pup down - for now, he is the bigger creature and the wolf's bite isn't strong enough to break his skin.
Mrs Lupin stands in the doorway with tears in her eyes and hugs an old baby blanket desperately to her chest. She has stood on the other side of the door nearly all day, hidden from view, filled with both longing and terror, both love and disappointment. She can hardly look at his confused face, can't bear to think of his future.
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