Chapter Text
“C’mon, Moony.” James threw himself onto Remus’s bed without an ounce of his usual athletic grace, nearly crushing Sirius, who was already sprawled across the bed covers. “You can’t expect us to just keep pretending that everything’s completely normal when you continue to just disappear.”
“It’s literally every month, mate,” Peter said from across the dorm, not even looking up from the Chocolate Frog card he was examining. “We’re not idiots.”
The words landed like stones in Remus’s stomach. He pressed his fingers to his temple, where a dull ache had been building for the past few days, escalating now as the moon’s pull continued to rise. “I never said you were idiots.”
“Don’t have to say it,” James continued, adjusting his glasses. “Your excuses are only getting worse as time goes on.”
Remus shoved Sirius by the shoulder, a bit harder than he meant to.
“Oi!” Sirius tumbled off the bed in an undignified heap, all flailing limbs. From the floor, he glared up with offended grey eyes. “I didn’t even say anything! If you’re going to throw people around, at least start with Prongs!”
“I’ll throw you both off if you don’t just drop it.” The words came out sharp, edged with the exhaustion of what he knew was coming. It wasn’t the actual evening itself that left him feeling tired. It was this. It was the constant lies, the excuses just as James had said, trying to remember what he’d already used, what worked, what didn’t. It had been four full years of this, going on five. Every single month, without fail.
Honestly, he was surprised he had lasted this long without his roommates giving him a much harder time. Like Peter had said, they weren’t idiots.
Sirius scrambled to his feet, and for a moment Remus thought he might actually let it go. But then Sirius pointed at him with theatrical accusation. “And besides, you can’t even be that sick you’ve got the strength to manhandle us!”
“Sirius–” Remus started, but his voice came out tired rather than threatening.
“No, he’s got a point.” James sat up straighter now, warming to the argument. “You’re always ‘too ill’ to come to Hogsmeade or to watch Quidditch practice, and then the next day you’re fine. Better than fine, actually, as if you were never sick in the first place!”
Remus dragged a hand over his face, feeling the weight of five years of careful deception pressing down on him. His jaw ached from clenching it. They were so close to the truth, circling it like sharks, and yet still missing it entirely. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or frustrated.
Five years of monthly disappearances, of carefully crafted lies, of watching his friends’ concern turn to suspicion turn to hurt feelings. Five years of Dumbledore’s tight-lipped understanding and McGonagalls’ sympathetic looks. Five years of slipping through that hidden passage to the Black Lake while his roommates slept, completely unaware.
And still, they didn’t know. They couldn’t.
“Please, Moony.”
Sirius’s voice had gone soft, stripped of his usual swagger. He knelt beside the bed and looked up at Remus with an expression that made something crack in Remus’s chest. Those grey eyes held too much. They were filled with worry and frustration.
Remus forced himself to look away. He wouldn’t let himself get sucked into Sirius’s eyes. He wouldn’t let his gaze wander to his jaw, to the way the light turned his dark hair almost blue. The delicate bones of his wrists where his shirtsleeves had been pushed to his elbows. Sirius was all sharp angles and smooth, pale skin, beautiful in a way that made Remus’s chest tight for entirely different reasons than fear of discovery.
He shoved the thought down with practiced efficiency. Just one more secret to keep. One more thing his friends could never, ever know about.
“Just drop it, will you?” The words came out more of a plea than command. He was so, so tired.
“We’re just worried about you, mate.” James stood, backing toward his own bed now. Giving space, Remus realized. James’s voice had lost its usual playful edge, going serious now in a way that meant that James Potter cared. “We just want to help.”
Sirius hadn’t moved from where he knelt, still looking at Remus like he was a puzzle he could solve if he just stared long enough.
The tension between them all felt like a living thing. They all knew there was something. Just not what. And Remus could see the moment when Sirius decided not to push, the way his shoulders dropped almost imperceptibly in defeat.
“I said, drop it.” Remus let ice creep into his voice, even though it felt like swallowing glass.
For a long moment, Sirius didn’t move. His eyes searched Remus’s face. But Remus looked away first. He always did.
With a deep exhale, Sirius pushed himself to his feet. He stalked to his own bed without another word, yanking the curtains closed with enough force to make the rings screech against the rod. The sound made Remus flinch.
“I’ll see you lot in the morning,” Remus said to his remaining roommates. He didn’t wait for an answer, didn’t look at James’s worried frown or Peter’s neutral expression.
He just grabbed his wand from his nightstand, shoved it into his pocket, and left. The door clicked shut behind him with finality.
Once he was in the stairwell, Remus paused, pressing his back against the cold stone wall and let his head fall back, eyes squeezed shut. His heart was still racing, adrenaline and guilt churning in his stomach.
The lies felt heavier each month, accumulating and dragging him down. It wasn’t that he wanted to lie to them. James had always been the welcoming one, inviting him into his circle on the very first day they met. Peter was the one who saved him a seat at breakfast, offering an extra piece of toast with jam after every full moon, as if he knew he needed the extra sustenance without knowing why. And Sirius, who…
Well, Sirius.
But he’d made promises. To Dumbledore, who’d taken a chance on admitting him at all. To McGonagall, who’d help arrange the secret passage and never once made him feel like a burden. To his father, in those final days before he passed, making Remus swear to keep his secret, to stay safe, to never let anyone use his curse against him.
The curse was his alone. His cross to carry.
“Still think it’s the werewolf thing?” Peter’s voice drifted through the door, muffled but clear enough.
Remus went very still.
“I don’t know, Pete.” James sounded a bit confused, not entirely convinced. “It lines up with the full moon, yeah, but nothing else. Werewolves are dangerous, aren't they? And the transformations are supposed to be violent and painful.”
There was a long pause. Remus should leave. Should walk away before he heard something else, but his feet seemed rooted to the floor.
“Maybe we’re completely wrong,” Peter said finally. “Maybe it’s something else entirely.”
Remus didn’t want to hear anymore after that. He pushed off the wall and took the stairs two at a time, their voices fading behind him as he descended the tower.
The common room was nearly empty, the fire burning low in the grate. The only sound was the occasional pop and crackle of wood. One figure sat curled in the overstuffed armchair in the corner, a head of deep red hair bent over a book, her face gilded by firelight.
“Hi, Lily.” Remus kep his voice soft, not wanting to startle her.
She looked up, clearly having been absorbed in whatever she was reading. Then her expression shifted with recognition.
“Remus!” A smile hit her face, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She could always tell when Remus was struggling with it all. “Heading down?”
He nodded.
Lily was the only person who knew. The only person he’d told. Or rather, the only person who’d figured it out and whom he hadn’t been able to lie to.
It happened two years prior, in third year. Lily Evans, because of course it was Lily Evans, had been doing extra credit work for Astronomy. Extra credit in a class where she already had the highest marks in their year. She’d been up in the tower long after curfew with permission, charting lunar movements and star positions.
And she’d caught sight of him.
Through the telescope, she’d seen him. He had surfaced that night, just for a moment, unable to resist the moon’s pull when it was so bright and overwhelming. He was always careful and usually stayed deep below where no one could ever see him. But that night, he’d broken the surface.
And Lily had caught a glimpse of movement in the Black Lake before pointing her telescope on him.
The next morning, she’d cornered him gently in the library. She didn’t accuse him. No, Lily would never. She just asked in that careful way of her if he was okay and if he needed help.
He hadn’t confirmed it outright. Not that it mattered. She’d seen him and that had been enough.
But he’d told her what he could. It was his loophole, the one small mercy he allowed himself because she’d seen him, had figured it out on her own. He hadn’t revealed the secret; she’d discovered it. There was a difference, even if it was a fine one.
Lily had never pushed him for more. Never demanded details or explanations. She was always patient with him, allowing him to tell her what he wanted to reveal whenever he was ready. Instead, she became the only person who truly knew Remus. She helped him with homework he’d miss on occasion, she’d sit with him in the common room on nights when his anxiety made it too impossible to sleep.
Now, she watched him with that same quiet understanding.
“Rough night?” she asked, closing her book and setting it aside.
Remus managed a wry smile. “Always is with that lot.”
“They’re getting closer?”
“They think I’m a werewolf.”
Lily nodded, but she wasn’t able to hide the small smile of amusement that turned the corners of her lips. Remus couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped at the absurdity of the idea.
“That’s not the worst guess, all things considered. The timing fits.”
“Everything else doesn’t,” Remus replied, sinking in the chair across from her, feeling exhausted. “I worry they’ll figure it out eventually. They’re not stupid.”
“No, they’re not. And James and Sirius are quite persistent, aren’t they?”
“Understatement,” Remus replied with a humorless laugh.
She studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Be careful tonight.”
“Aren’t I always?”
Lily raised a skeptical eyebrow, and despite everything, Remus felt a small, genuine smile tug at his mouth.
Lily had caught him more than a few times coming back from his full moon adventures with scrapes and bruises.
“Go on,” she said, picking up her book again. “I’ll make sure no one comes looking.”
Remus stood, feeling the pull already starting to build in his chest, in his bones. The moon was calling, and he’d delayed long enough.
“Thank you,” he said.
Lily just smiled, understanding as always. “See you tomorrow.”
Then he turned, and the firelight faded as he slipped through the portrait hole into the dark corridor beyond, heading for the secret passage that would take him down into the cold, bitter depths of the Black Lake.
Every month since he was five years old, on the night of the full moon, Remus Lupin felt the moon’s pull.
It always started as a gentle tug somewhere deep in his chest, behind his ribs where his magic lived. By the time the moon was fully risen in the sky, he was left without a choice. The ache would spread through his entire body, a longing so intense it was nearly painful. The moon called to him, singing in a language older than words, and every cell in his body strained to answer.
He had tried to resist it. Only twice, but he’d learned quickly.
Once, shortly after he turned, he wanted to prove that he was stronger than this curse. And again, during his first full moon at Hogwarts with the strongest silencing charm around his bed he could manage, terrified of being discovered, convinced he could simply endure if he tried hard enough.
Both times had nearly broken him.
When he ignored the moon’s call, his body rebelled. His skin dried and cracked, splitting at the corners of his mouth, across his knuckles, behind his knees. His bones ached as if they were splintering from the inside out, a deep grinding pain that no amount of his wizard magic could soothe.
But worst of all were the scales.
The began as an itch beneath his skin, maddening and impossible to scratch. Then they started to push through. Small bronze iridescent patches that forced their way onto his skin along his shins, across his hips and the backs of his thighs. It was never enough to transform fully, but enough to mark him as other. As wrong.
And his legs. God, his legs.
The bones would start to twist, to shift, trying desperately to fuse into something else. His feet would begin to flatten, to elongate, the joints bending in ways they shouldn’t. He’d spent both nights writhing in agony, biting down on his pillow to keep from screaming, his body caught between two forms and unable to complete either transformation.
Because even if he resisted the water, the curse did not leave him. It couldn’t. It followed him, claimed him, forced his body to change until morning’s light finally released him and let his body snap back to his human form.
After the first time, his mother had held him while he sobbed, had stroked his hair and whispered that it was okay, that he would never have to fight it again. After the second, Madam Pomfrey had taken one look at him when he entered the Hospital Wing early the following morning, a few scales still visible on his skin, and forced him to rest immediately.
Remus had never tried to resist again.
It all began when he was only five years old.
He remembered it in fragments, the way all childhood memories existed, vivid in some places, and hazy and dreamlike in others.
He’d been camping in the Scottish Highlands with his father, Lyall. It was just the two of them, as was their tradition every summer. His mother stayed home, and Remus remembered cherishing those moments, when he got to have his father all to himself.
They’d set up their tent near a stream, and Lyall had built a fire. They’d roasted sausages that burned on the outside and stayed cold in the middle, and Remus had thought it was the best meal he’d ever had. His father told stories, most clearly embellished, but so wonderful all the same. Until Remus’s eyes grew heavy.
“Sleep now, little wolf,” his father had said, tucking him into his sleeping back. It was what his father always called him because of their family name. The nickname had seemed so sweet then.
The irony was not lost on Remus now.
He didn’t know how long he’d slept before he woke up. Even at five years old, with such little knowledge of magic, only what his father taught him about being a wizard, he’d felt some kind of tugging sensation. It was gentle but insistent, like an invisible string.
And for whatever reason, perhaps just curiosity that comes naturally to someone so young, he decided to follow it.
Lyall was asleep, snoring softly. The fire had burned to embers. Remus had climbed out of his sleeping bag and followed that pull into the darkness.
The forest at night should have frightened him. He was alone and had no torch to light his way, but he hadn’t felt afraid. Whatever was calling to him felt safe.
He followed that invisible thread until he found a pool of water, hidden in a small clearing. Perfectly circular, as if carved deliberately into the earth. The surface of the water was as smooth as glass, reflecting the full moon overheard with an intensity that seemed impossible. The water itself seemed to glow with an otherworldly light.
It was the most beautiful thing Remus had ever seen.
He stood at the edge, mesmerized, watching the water ripple and shimmer despite the lack of wind. It beckoned him, welcomed him. The pool was shallow enough that he could see the smooth stones sitting at the bottom.
He stepped in without hesitation.
The water had been warm, perfectly comfortable. It bubbled around him playfully, and Remus had laughed, splashing and swimming in circles. The pool was just deep enough for him to paddle around, his small body buoyant and free.
He didn’t know how long he’d played there, but it was long enough that the bubbles eventually disappeared entirely, and the moon had moved its position far enough in the sky that it no longer reflected in the water.
Remus got out of the water then, putting his pajamas back on and began his trek back to camp, where his father hadn’t woken the entire time he’d been gone.
They cleaned up camp the next morning and had gone home.
It wasn’t until later that day, when he and his father decided to go swimming in the loch near their home that everything changed.
Remus had been excited. He loved swimming with his father, diving deep and seeing how long he could hold his breath, loved the way his father would lift him up and toss him through the air.
They’d waded in together, the midday sun warm on his shoulders. Lyall had been smiling, relaxed.
“Ready?” his father had asked, and Remus nodded eagerly.
They dove together, breaking the surface in unison. The water had been cold, so much colder than that glowing pond, and Remus had gasped as he surfaced, laughing.
But then he’d felt it.
It wasn’t painful exactly. It was a sensation throughout his body of intense pressure. It was a bit uncomfortable and awkward, and he gasped at the feeling.
His father swam over to him immediately, a look of concern on his face. But Remus groaned at the sensation. It felt a bit itchy, and when he looked before the water, he watched as his swim trunks stretched and then tore apart completely.
He began crying then, and his father held him, trying to say reassuring things in his ears, but it was getting harder to hear what he was saying over his own deep, gasping breaths.
He’d thrashed in the water, trying to get back to shore,but his legs–
His legs were gone.
In their place was a tail. It was long and powerful and completely inhuman, covered in scales that caught the sun’s light like polished bronze metal. It moved through the water with a grace human legs could never possess, propelling him forward with an accidental flick.
Lyall had grabbed him, and dragged them both to shore despite Remus’s tail making him heavier and more unwieldy.
Remus stared at what he had become.
Remus looked up at his father, who was looking at his son as if he didn’t know who he was. Tears began to fall down Remus’s cheeks, and he asked the question he didn’t want to know the answer to.
“What’s wrong with me, dad?”
Lyall looked at his son and had no answer to give.
The tail lasted for a few more minutes once they were out of the water before finally receding, the scales sinking back beneath his skin, his legs separating once more. By the time it was over, Remus was crying tears of exhaustion and fear, and his father had been on his knees beside him, holding him close and promising that they’d figure it out. That everything would be okay.
They never did figure it out. Not really.
They eventually discovered that the curse only activated during the full moon. He found it difficult in the beginning to control it all, small splashes of water triggering a transformation. But as he got older, he gained control over it.
Eventually, his father had stopped looking for a cure and they focused instead on secrecy. On making sure no one ever found out what Remus became once a month.
Because people feared what they didn’t understand.
Lyall had made him promise, in those final days before the strange sickness took him, to keep the secret. To stay safe. To never let anyone use his curse against him. His father died believing that Remus would live his whole life hiding, always alone with this burden.
And Remus, now at fifteen years old, had every intention of keeping that promise.
So every full moon, Remus would silently make his way through the hidden passage at the base of the large willow tree, his wand lighting the way to the secret pool that led out to the Black Lake. He slipped out of his clothes and dove into the water, letting his transformation take over.
And every full moon, Remus would become a merman, beckoned by the moon, a call that he had no choice but to answer.