Sunday 1st September 1974
As Remus approached King’s Cross station for the fourth time in his early life, he felt utterly invincible. He had grown taller still over the summer, and his face had changed too – no longer childish and round; his jaw was set and his eyes mean. In his heavy black boots (polished to a shine that morning) and his smart new clothes, Remus felt a stronger sense of identity than he had ever had. Ste had been very keen to give him a tattoo before he returned to school, but Remus had balked at that – he had enough marks already.
“They’ll all think you’ve joined a gang,” Matron tutted, barely concealing her disdain as she dropped him outside the station, “You look like a delinquent.”
“Piss off,” he muttered, “What do you care?”
She gave him a sharp clip around the ear, and he winced. She had to reach up to do that these days, but she still knew exactly where it hurt most.
“You’ll be at school before it gets dark, won’t you?” She said, business-like. He nodded, sullenly. It was a full moon that night. “Good.” She nodded. “See you next summer, then.”
He entered the station alone, and walked through the crowds with a practiced masculine gait – legs apart, hands balled into fists. People moved quickly out of his way as he approached, and a station guard eyed him suspiciously. Remus ignored them all and strode forward, purposefully, directly through the ticket barrier, bursting onto Platform 9 ¾ without so much as flinching.
He was late, and the platform was already almost empty, with only the last few tearful parents of first years lingering to wave goodbye. A cursory glance told Remus that the other three marauders were already on the train, so he climbed aboard and headed straight for their usual compartment, pushing roughly past the other students – many of whom seemed very small to him now – as he struggled with his battered old trunk.  
They were in there; all three sitting squashed up on the same side of the compartment, huddled behind the morning edition of The Daily Prophet.
“Alright?” Remus said, as he entered.
James, who was sat in the middle, holding the paper, lowered it, and three pairs of eyes stared up at Remus. Peter looked white and nervous, which was pretty normal, and began to chew his bottom lip, glancing at James for an appropriate response.
James smiled, trying to be friendly, but his brown eyes wandered over Remus, from his steel toed boots to his closely shaved head. Sirius was hardest to read; his eyes widened slightly, but his expression remained neutral. Remus slung himself into the seat opposite as if he had not noticed. “Good summer?”
“Not bad,” James said, cautiously, “The usual, you know… how was yours?”
“Yeah, good.” Remus withdrew a small tin case from his back pocket and opened it to reveal five pre-rolled cigarettes. He placed one between his lips and lit it with a match as the train began to pull away from the station.
Peter was now staring at Remus with his mouth slightly open, as if he didn’t recognise him. James looked concerned, a small crease formed between his eyebrows,
“We were worried when we didn’t hear from you.”
“Sorry. Busy.” Remus shrugged, exhaling smoke.
“Doing what?” Sirius asked, bluntly. James got up to open the window and let the smoke out, but he didn’t say anything about it.
“Just busy.” Remus said. They kept secrets from him, after all. He didn’t have to tell them everything.
“Are you ok, Remus?” James asked finally. “Has something happened?”
“Nope.”
“You seem different.”
“Your clothes!” Peter squeaked, suddenly.
“I’ve seen muggles dressed like it,” Sirius finally spoke up, “It’s cool, right, Remus?”
Remus shrugged again, feeling pleased, but hoping he looked outwardly nonchalant.
“My mates got ‘em for me, that’s all.” He said.
“Oh, well, if it’s a muggle thing…” James said, uncertainly. “You sure you’re ok?”
“Lay off, Potter,” Remus sighed, rolling his eyes. He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Though he’d expected – even wanted – a reaction, he didn’t like the way they were all staring at him. Typical purebloods, they could prance around in hundred-year-old robes and stupid pointed hats and nobody said a word – but jeans and doc martens were apparently a step too far.
“What you reading, then?” He asked, nodding at the newspaper, hoping to distract them.
James looked gravely down at the broadsheet in his lap.
“The war.” He said, handing Remus the Prophet.
“War?!” That made him sit up straight. “What war?” He looked down at the headline, which read ‘Jenkins criticised as security measures on ministry tightened’.
“Didn’t you know?” James looked incredulous, “The wizarding world has been officially at war since 1970.”
Sirius and Peter nodded, solemnly.
“We weren’t even at Hogwarts in 1970,” Remus said, defensively, “I hardly knew anything about wizards then. What… I mean, who are we fighting?”
“That’s the problem,” James said, brusquely, “It’s too difficult to know, but this ‘Dark Lord’ person has been gathering a lot of allies – almost all purebloods.”
“I reckon those are the meetings my family are going to,” Sirius said, his voice low, even though they were alone. “James’s dad agrees with me.”
“Is that why the Slytherins were such a pleasure to be around last year?” Remus asked, connecting the dots now.
“Yep,” Sirius said. “And it’ll be worse this year, you can bet.”
“There were some… attacks, this summer.” James said, nervously. “On muggles, and a few mixed blood families.”
“They think the Dark Lord is using dangerous creatures,” Peter said, his voice trembling with fear, “Vampires and giants and… and…”
Remus shot him a look, and clenched his jaw,
“And werewolves?”
“Moony…” James started.
“I need the loo.” Remus stood up, quickly, exiting the compartment.
He stormed through the train, younger students leaping out of his way as he passed them, terrified. He didn’t need the loo, obviously, but he there wasn’t exactly anywhere else to go, so he locked himself inside a cubical at the far end of the carriage. It was much posher than the loos on muggle trains – with actual red velvet curtains in the windows and glimmering gold fixtures. The mirror even had a gilt frame. He stared at himself for a few minutes, glaring into his own eyes, clenching the sides of the sink until his knuckles turned white.
He’d thought he would be so tough after this summer – thought that nothing could touch him now. But everything was already unravelling, faster than he had expected, and he’d lost it at the very first mention of werewolves. How would he ever do what needed to be done if he couldn’t stay calm? Greyback would eat him for breakfast.
Unable to look at himself any longer, Remus sat on the toilet seat and considered punching the soap dispenser. That probably wouldn’t provide the satisfaction he needed, and he’d only end up covered in floral scented pink slime. He kicked the basin with his boot instead, leaving a long black rubber streak on the white porcelain.
“Fuck.” He muttered. That felt good. “FUCK.” He shouted, kicking the basin again.
“Who’s in there?” A sharp rap came at the door.
“Bugger off, it’s occupied.” He shouted back fiercely.
“This is a Slytherin carriage, you know.” The voice said coldly.
“Oh fuck off you stupid busybody.” Remus replied, slamming the door with his elbow.
If he had been in a more reasonable state, he might have calmly explained that the carriages were not divided into houses, and actually, anyone could sit anywhere they wanted, even if it was on a closed toilet seat.
“I shall call for a prefect!”
“Oh my god,” Remus stood up, withdrawing his wand, “Are you looking for a fight or something?!” He flung the door open, finding himself face to face with a very shocked looking Severus Snape.
Severus might have frightened him when they were both eleven, but at fourteen Remus towered over Snape now, and with his wand raised and his face screwed up in annoyance, he must have been a terrifying sight.
“You.” They both hissed. Snape tossed his black greasy hair and sneered,
“What were you doing in there?”
“None of your business. Out of my way.”
“What are you wearing?” Snape pulled a face, looking him up and down with disgust. “Are those muggle clothes?”
“So what if they are?” Remus took a step forward, now so close to the Slytherin boy that he was practically breathing on him. “Got something to say? Not so big without your creepy mates around, are you, Snivellus?” He gave him a hard shove, knocking Snape to the floor.
Snape glared up at him, scrambling to his feet quickly and dusting off his shabby black robes. He narrowed his eyes,
“You’ll find out all about my ‘mates’ this year, Loony Lupin, I promise you that.” He said, very coldly.
“Not exactly in a position to be giving out threats though, are you?” Remus replied, almost conversationally. “I’ve heard that lot prefer purebloods… and Lily’s told me all about you, Snape…”
Snape’s eyes flashed, and a look of pure hatred crossed his face. He reached for his wand but – whether it was thanks to the closeness of the full moon, or just pure adrenaline – Remus was too quick for him. He grabbed Severus’s wrist and slammed it against the wall of the carriage, causing the Slytherin to cry out and drop his wand. Then, thinking of nothing but causing the most pain possible, Remus snapped his head forward and butted Serverus, knocking him down a second time.
Snape was staring up at him, his black eyes shining with fear and rage, he clutched his robes against his nose, which was now gushing blood. Remus, feeling no better about any of it, spat on the floor and stepped over Snape.
“There’s your warning for the rest of the year,” he growled, “Stay out of my way.”
Snape said nothing, but didn’t try to get up. Remus walked away, confident the other boy wouldn’t try anything now. He stalked back the way he’d came, trying to get away from the rich, intoxicating smell of blood, and shut himself in the first empty compartment he came across.
There he sat, breathing deeply for a few minutes, trying to bring his heartbeat back under control, and to ignore the craving that was echoing somewhere deep inside him, where human reason could not touch it. Eventually, with shaking hands, he pulled out another cigarette, and smoked it broodily, staring out of the window.
He was not alone for long.
“Moony?” The door slid open, and Sirius’s head poked around the door. Remus glared at him, but Sirius came in anyway, and sat opposite. “All right, what’s up?”
“Nothing.” Remus crossed his arms and slid down in his seat, staring at his boots. The laces didn’t match, red on the left, yellow on the right. He’d thought that looked really cool back in July, but now it looked a bit silly.
“Something’s up. You’re not yourself.”
“How would you know.” Remus spat in reply. “Maybe this is who I really am.”
“I just know,” Sirius replied, uncharacteristically calm. Apparently spending so much time at the Potter’s had done wonders for his patience. “It’s ok to be angry sometimes, Remus. It doesn’t mean anything, except that you’re normal.”
Remus looked up at him, surprised. Sirius smiled, understandingly, then smirked, “And for what it’s worth, I really do think you look so bloody cool.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Kind of dangerous.”
Remus snorted at the irony.
“Thanks.”
“So… bad summer, was it?”
Remus shrugged,
“It was ok. I was… I did a lot of stuff. I don’t want James to know about it.”
“Ok.” Sirius agreed, then cocked his head, brightly, “Can I try a cigarette?”
He pronounced the word as if it was new to him, with a slightly French accent, which was oddly endearing. Remus felt a surge of affection for his friend, which sent his heart pounding again. He fished a fag from his case and tossed it over with the matches. He watched Sirius carefully purse his lips around the white paper cylinder, strike a match and cup his hands close to his face. He didn’t cough, which was bloody impressive in itself, but only took a shallow breath before exhaling, and making a sour face.
“You get used to it.” Remus smirked.
“Ok.” Sirius tried again, inhaling more this time.
It was weirdly hypnotic, watching Sirius smoke. The haze of bluish grey made the carriage feel more intimate and private. Remus began to relax for the first time in months, as if something inside of him was unclenching, slowly. He looked at Sirius, and thought – why not?
“I found out some things, end of last term.” He said, quietly, looking at his boots again.
He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew the three newspaper clippings Ferox had given him last year. He handed them to Sirius, who reached through the smoke with long white fingers to receive them. “I don’t want to talk about it yet.” Remus said, quickly, “But read them if you like.”
“Ok,” Sirius nodded, gently, “Thank you, Remus.”