Ever since Lily taught James how to drive, he’s been borrowing her car and insists on driving me everywhere. Often, I question the sanity of the person who gave him a driver’s permit; then I remember the existence of confounding charms, and sigh.

“Y’know, Moony,” James says, a maniacal glint on his hazel eyes as he narrowly avoids hitting a Ford Anglia, “We should form a band when this is all over. The four of us.”

“What?”

James ignores me. “It’ll be called—”

“A lot of things,” I say, leaning back on the passenger’s seat. “Mostly by angry audiences."

It scares him how quickly she falls into place in his world. There’s an order to these things, he muses to the unnatural coolness of a summer’s night. We’re opposite—

—her face’s soft and comfortable against his sharp lines.

(She clutches him tight, doesn’t say we were never opposite enough)

Remus pretends to move on, and laughs – and sometimes he thinks too much, about this world ravaged by war. If the world wants to fall apart, he’ll be there to catch it—

—but sometimes it’s too much, and his voice cracks, like ice, like a curse – like someone else’s entirely.

The owl arrives, and something is curiously—unexpectedly—tied to its leg, attached to it.

(...We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry...)

—and time, effectively, stops.

He takes it with a grain of salt, and Remus Lupin does not allow himself to be excited, or the least bit relieved. But his mother is the one who shouts, and frets and shouts, and his father frowns, but manages the slightest of smiles.

(But he is excited, and he is happy.)

“It’s not safe for him.” It’s not safe for them.

He remembers it very clearly.

A dialect opened between his parents and the Headmaster. What it came down to was a matter of safety. Not just for the safety of his peers — but for Remus. The reasons that should’ve made him stay outweighed the reasons why he should attend. His mother argued for the safety of their only son. What it would mean if anyone were to find out. His father reasoned that certain measures would be made in order to ensure that it didn't happen.

Outwardly, Remus remained impartial.

But Albus Dumbledore encouraged it, and Remus Lupin was enrolled.

He looks back on those days, often.

It isn’t healthy. It amounts to nothing.

But he thinks, the cracks were there all along.

Peter’s smiles were genuine, but--there was a tilt. Straight line where there should have only been a smooth curve.

And hadn’t his laugh been a little too loud, often?

“No,” Sirius says, as if reading his thoughts. “I would have killed him.”

Remus says, “You’ve mentioned that.”

Sirius counters, “You don’t believe me?”

But tilted smiles and exaggerated laughs are not the whole story. This is what he comes back to, always. “He was our friend, too.”

“Remus,” Madam Pomfrey’s voice cut through the fog and Remus jumped. And hissed. Kind hands were on him, steering him on the right direction. Outside. He was going outside. “Hold on. We are so close.” Her voice broke, just a little. It always did.

Bright, round, and true the moon shone. He couldn’t see it yet, but he didn’t have to. It was all over him, like a torch setting his skin on fire.

“Go,” he said. Squeaked. Growled?

Sometimes it felt like only a disturbing sleep.

But mostly it ripped him to shreds. Over and over again.

Remus ran.