Alone

Remus came to his first year at Hogwarts, more alone than anyone who'd ever stepped through those great oak doors before. He had no friends to sustain him. His family had all but abandoned him, after the werewolf bite and his subsequent problem. They were only too glad to release him to the custody of Albus Dumbledore, whose very presence frightened Remus more than he could express.

Dumbledore had more than a passing resemblance to the doctor in charge of him at St. Mungo's, the one who told his parents sadly that there was no hope for Remus, that the best thing they could do for him now was to have him "put down" in the manner of a rabid animal, or failing that, to release him to the custody of a research facility, where perhaps his sad fate could be sanctified by submission to various experiments in search of a cure. Remus's parents had expressed horror and taken him home.

But when he got there he was introduced to a small cage in the tiny cellar, a cellar dug just for him, something to muffle the howls and screams at the full moon. There was nothing, nothing else to be done, they said.

Remus lived like this, caged at the full moon for two years, until the tall wizard with a full red beard shot with shining silver came to take him away. Dumbledore was kind to him, and Remus tried to forget his fear.

He spent half his first year alone, studying as hard as he could to prove to Dumbledore that he was worthy of the man's trust, that he wasn't an animal. That on the contrary, his intellect was extraordinary. And Remus dreamed and thought and wrote and observed the students around him.

His first friend was James Potter, who quit teasing him when he saw that Remus couldn't be insulted (there was only one name Remus feared) and started admiring him. Then he started seeking Remus out, to explain this problem or that spell to him.

The friendship of Peter Pettigrew soon followed, as he did and tried anything James wanted with the fervor of a religious zealot.

Remus was astounded by his friends, that he could be that easy with anyone, a cuff on the shoulder, a friendly insult, and time spent doing nothing. Nothing that was everything he ever wanted to do.

Nothing is ever perfect, and Remus soon found the imperfection in the pure gold of his newfound friendship. Sirius Black. Sirius just didn't trust him, and Remus hated Sirius's arrogance, that which was ingrained and not simply the utterly boyish foolishness that James possessed. James and Sirius had been friends since before they were born and Sirius did not like the wedge in the solid circle that Remus created. Remus was out of place and he knew it, but he wasn't about to give up his first real friends for the likes of a right bastard like Sirius Black.

First year, they circled each other like cats about to fight over territory.

Second year, Remus's friends found out about his so-called problem, and they gave him something in return that he'd never never expected:admiration. Remus went to bed that night crying in relief. And the comforting touch on his shoulder, the one who came to reassure him, was neither Peter nor James. It was Sirius.

Third year, and by this time James and Sirius had long conceived the notion of becoming animagi. They would be animals with him, they said. They would protect him from himself, they said. He saw the truth in their eyes, and the secret taste of moonlit adventures flooded his mouth. They would roam together. They would be Marauders.

Fourth year, and Remus hated what James and Sirius were becoming. He saw how they acted, he saw the hurt they inflicted, and he began to hate his friends.

Fifth year, and Sirius nearly sent Severus Snape to his death. And had the gall to laugh about it the next time he saw Remus in human form.

Remus had tried every form of reason and hatred and love, and he was now reduced to the weapon a teenage boy owned. He beat Sirius until he was bloody, nearly broke his nose, screamed and snarled at him in primeviel rage until Sirius grew frightened instead of angry and begged him to stop.

Remus stopped. He looked down at the boy under him.

He was holding Sirius down by his arms, blood pouring from Sirius's nose and mouth. Sirius was a mess of tangled hair, the hair he never would cut. Too vain.

Remus released one of Sirius's arms and took a handful of his hair instead. He stared at the jumble of black strands. He looked at Sirius in silence. Then he stood up and walked off, leaving the other boy there on the ground, broken.

That night he lay in bed and listened to Sirius's heavy breathing. Sirius refused to go to Madame Rastus for a healing potion, not wanting to admit what happened. Not wanting to admit he needed comfort himself, and knowing she couldn't give him any potion that would heal the hole Remus had left by his side. That wound was invisible.

Remus remembered a night when he was twelve. When he needed something, and Sirius had been there to give to to him. He left his bed, made his way to the warmth of Sirius's side, and stayed the entire night.

In the morning they both were healed.