Fic - Fragments of a Wolf
Title: Fragments of a Wolf - 2/100
Author: Spaceandcanada
Rating: Overall, R.
Summary: 100 fragments, just 100 memories, telling the story of a wolf.
A/N: This was written as part of the 100_prompt challenge. Although I altered the challenge somewhat, by telling one long story in 100 smaller ones. Slash.
For L - because Remus Lupin is your favourite, and you are mine.
Bathroom
It’s the 1st of September, 1971.
A red train cuts a path across the landscape, bending like an exotic snake, clouds of white smoke billowing from the chimney.
Inside the belly of the snake, sits Remus Lupin.
He’s eleven years old, and scrawny by anyone’s standards. He’s far too pale, and his eyes are ringed by dark circles. His hair is light brown, and slightly floppy, and seems to be complying with his wish to not stand out in any way at all.
His new robes are not new, they are patched and second, perhaps third, hand. His cauldron has a large dent in its side, and all his textbooks are already thoroughly annotated. He has no owl.
The only thing that is new is his wand, eleven inches, elm. Core of unicorn tail hair. It’s feels like it’s burning a hole in his pocket, simultaneously a reminder of why he does not belong, and why he actually just might.
He is a dark creature. He is not supposed to carry a wand.
But the wand chooses the wizard. And this wand had chosen him.
He had thrown up three times before leaving the house that morning. His mother’s face had been pale and pinched, his father’s strained.
And he’d regretted it. Wanted to shout that he’d made the wrong decision. That Albus Dumbledore was a fool and that there was no way a werewolf could attend Hogwarts. Beg his parents to take him home.
But then he’d walked through the barrier onto Platform 9 and ¾. Seen the scarlet steam engine, heard the shouts and calls of children, the chatter of stressed parents. Seen owls, and chocolate frogs, and broomsticks, and trunks.
He was still scared. Petrified, really. That he’d hurt someone. That someone would find out. That something would go wrong.
But standing on the station had reminded him that he had a chance to actually live as a wizard, instead of watching the world passing him by through metaphorical, and once a month literal, bars.
He was selfish and he still trusted Albus Dumbledore, so he swallowed his fear and got on the train.
He was in a carriage right at the back. This was by choice.
He felt as though every thin, pale scar on his face and hands was on fire, burning. Tiny beacons alerting everyone in the vicinity:
Look at me.
Look.
Freak.
Monster.
Werewolf.
Look.
So he hunched in his seat, looked out the window and concentrated very hard on remembering that he wanted this, and that he was very fucking lucky to have any chance at it at all.
Hours passed, and then, just as twilight was falling, the door to his carriage opened, and a boy appeared.
He was short, and his wild black hair appeared to be trying to escape from his head. His glasses were placed at a ludicrous angle on his nose, and he was beaming like a twit.
‘Hey,’ he said, ‘hey, sorry, don’t suppose you know which way the bathroom is? I’ve been wandering up and down this bloody train for what feels like hours.’
Remus had swallowed reflexively, and heart beating fast and palms slightly sweaty, somehow forced words out.
‘Next door down,’ he croaked.
The boy nodded, grinning.
‘Thanks mate.’
Two minutes later, after what must have been the fastest pee in history, the boy re-appeared. This time however, he shoved his way into the carriage and threw himself down in the seat opposite Remus.
‘You don’t mind do you?’ he asked rather belatedly. ‘It’s just some great git called Black is holding fort where I was originally sitting, and if I have to listen to one more word I’m going to have to flush his great swollen head down a toilet if we ever arrive.’
Remus stared at him in mute shock.
After a minute of this, the boy looked slightly concerned, and straightened up in the seat.
‘Look, if it bothers you, I can just go find somewhere else to sit. I could go and sit in that other carriage opposite, with the boy with the enormous conk. His hair is leaving slime trails down the window.’
Taken by surprise, Remus managed a laugh, and his scars seemed to burn with a little less heat.
‘No,’ he muttered, ‘it’s fine. Of course I don’t mind.’
The other boy crinkled his nose, hitching his glasses up, and leant forward, extending a hand.
‘James Potter,’ he said.
After a moment, Remus leant forward and shook.
‘Remus Lupin,’ he said, and his scars stopped burning.
Author: Spaceandcanada
Rating: Overall, R.
Summary: 100 fragments, just 100 memories, telling the story of a wolf.
A/N: This was written as part of the 100_prompt challenge. Although I altered the challenge somewhat, by telling one long story in 100 smaller ones. Slash.
For L - because Remus Lupin is your favourite, and you are mine.
Bathroom
It’s the 1st of September, 1971.
A red train cuts a path across the landscape, bending like an exotic snake, clouds of white smoke billowing from the chimney.
Inside the belly of the snake, sits Remus Lupin.
He’s eleven years old, and scrawny by anyone’s standards. He’s far too pale, and his eyes are ringed by dark circles. His hair is light brown, and slightly floppy, and seems to be complying with his wish to not stand out in any way at all.
His new robes are not new, they are patched and second, perhaps third, hand. His cauldron has a large dent in its side, and all his textbooks are already thoroughly annotated. He has no owl.
The only thing that is new is his wand, eleven inches, elm. Core of unicorn tail hair. It’s feels like it’s burning a hole in his pocket, simultaneously a reminder of why he does not belong, and why he actually just might.
He is a dark creature. He is not supposed to carry a wand.
But the wand chooses the wizard. And this wand had chosen him.
He had thrown up three times before leaving the house that morning. His mother’s face had been pale and pinched, his father’s strained.
And he’d regretted it. Wanted to shout that he’d made the wrong decision. That Albus Dumbledore was a fool and that there was no way a werewolf could attend Hogwarts. Beg his parents to take him home.
But then he’d walked through the barrier onto Platform 9 and ¾. Seen the scarlet steam engine, heard the shouts and calls of children, the chatter of stressed parents. Seen owls, and chocolate frogs, and broomsticks, and trunks.
He was still scared. Petrified, really. That he’d hurt someone. That someone would find out. That something would go wrong.
But standing on the station had reminded him that he had a chance to actually live as a wizard, instead of watching the world passing him by through metaphorical, and once a month literal, bars.
He was selfish and he still trusted Albus Dumbledore, so he swallowed his fear and got on the train.
He was in a carriage right at the back. This was by choice.
He felt as though every thin, pale scar on his face and hands was on fire, burning. Tiny beacons alerting everyone in the vicinity:
Look at me.
Look.
Freak.
Monster.
Werewolf.
Look.
So he hunched in his seat, looked out the window and concentrated very hard on remembering that he wanted this, and that he was very fucking lucky to have any chance at it at all.
Hours passed, and then, just as twilight was falling, the door to his carriage opened, and a boy appeared.
He was short, and his wild black hair appeared to be trying to escape from his head. His glasses were placed at a ludicrous angle on his nose, and he was beaming like a twit.
‘Hey,’ he said, ‘hey, sorry, don’t suppose you know which way the bathroom is? I’ve been wandering up and down this bloody train for what feels like hours.’
Remus had swallowed reflexively, and heart beating fast and palms slightly sweaty, somehow forced words out.
‘Next door down,’ he croaked.
The boy nodded, grinning.
‘Thanks mate.’
Two minutes later, after what must have been the fastest pee in history, the boy re-appeared. This time however, he shoved his way into the carriage and threw himself down in the seat opposite Remus.
‘You don’t mind do you?’ he asked rather belatedly. ‘It’s just some great git called Black is holding fort where I was originally sitting, and if I have to listen to one more word I’m going to have to flush his great swollen head down a toilet if we ever arrive.’
Remus stared at him in mute shock.
After a minute of this, the boy looked slightly concerned, and straightened up in the seat.
‘Look, if it bothers you, I can just go find somewhere else to sit. I could go and sit in that other carriage opposite, with the boy with the enormous conk. His hair is leaving slime trails down the window.’
Taken by surprise, Remus managed a laugh, and his scars seemed to burn with a little less heat.
‘No,’ he muttered, ‘it’s fine. Of course I don’t mind.’
The other boy crinkled his nose, hitching his glasses up, and leant forward, extending a hand.
‘James Potter,’ he said.
After a moment, Remus leant forward and shook.
‘Remus Lupin,’ he said, and his scars stopped burning.