(Remy, Moony, Blodyn tatws, Washi, Cariad Bach, the Grey Pilgrim, the Wolf of Heddwyn)
Full Name: Remus Lleuad Heddwyn Lupin
House / Alignment: Gryffindor
Year / Birthdate: March 10th, 1960 – Pisces
Remus was not born Remus. The name was a penance, an iron band hammered around a frightened child to keep the world safe from him.
He was born John Isaac Bowen, of the Bowen Hunter Line — hunter royalty of the northern Welsh wilds, proud and pitiless. The Bowens had served the god Amaethon for centuries as slayers of wolves and wardens of the untamed.
John was five when a wolf came through their valley: Fenrir Greyback, a fearsome creature of the far northern wastes. His birth name was Nikolai Oswald Vasimir, an Alpha who on that tragic, starlit night was struck senseless in a fit of 'moon madness'. A term which here means 'led by the nose' to fate's preditermined victim.
His father Waltyr would have killed him, tried to, were it not for his wife Isobel. A truth Seer, an Echo from a lost Wixen line. She spared his life, though it could hardly be called a merciful action. He was renamed that night; Remus Lleuad Heddwyn Lupin - Orphan of the Moon, Child of Nothing. A captive in the home that should have been his.
From that night onward he was no longer kin but a thing locked beneath iron lattice and holy salt. Until of course Albus Dumbledore arrived six years later with a Hogwarts letter and an offer of freedom. It's hard to say what agreements Albus came to with the Bowens, but they permitted his admittance upon the single condition that he would return each summer to be kept under lock and key once more.
A handsome, sun-brown face scored by pale scars that ladder across cheek and jaw. Wide dark eyes, a constellation of freckles, curls always a little too long. He looks harmless — that’s the first mistake most people make.
Hogwarts was Holy to Remus; the only freedom he’d ever known outside the stifling, brutal walls of the Bowen compound. It was there, in unlikely friendships and challenging studies he found his stride fully. He realized rather quickly that he was different not only for his…unfortunate monthly condition, but for his mind. What challenged his friends came to him as easily as breathing. His drive, his thirst to know and understand could never be sated by any professor he ever encountered.
His friends though, they were the true wonder of his youth. His first pack. The only real family he’d ever known. And while they were themselves not wolves, he found they settled into an odd kind of pack-like dynamic rather easily. James, in all his flashy, arrogant brilliance would have assumed himself the Alpha Remus was sure. That’s not how it worked though. For all his heart was often in the right place James lacked the empathy necessary to care as an Alpha should.
Remus, almost entirely without meaning to, stepped into the role of unofficial leader rather easily. He didn’t command, he didn’t argue, he simply looked at them. He cared for them. He watched their backs, delivered reprimands, and cajoled them as necessary. And they, again, almost entirely without realizing it; followed his lead.
They weren’t perfect years to be sure, certainly summers were often horrible, locked once again in the basement at the compound until he began receiving invites to his friends homes instead. Mistakes were made, enemies gathered, friendship and love and betrayal. And then, of course, war. War which broke them. War which took from Remus the only family he had. And in the ensuing silence, with Harry ripped away and tucked behind wards that scattered his scent to the winds; Remus was left alone again with only the moon for company.
Remus is, in a word, a genius. He’s brilliant at nearly everything he puts his mind to, and as such rarely has to truly ‘try’ at anything academic. He pursued Defense into his Mastery, though had no interest in the Aurory even if they would condescend to allow one of ‘his sort’ in.
After the war he took to scholarship: a PhD in Mythology and Ancient Religions, his thesis banned in Britain by the Ministry for being “dangerously sympathetic to predatory entities.” A polymath, polyglot, and experimental ritualist, he is equally comfortable dissecting a hex or a hymn.
His truest studies, however, concern himself: the nature of the Wolf, the divide between Wixen and Wyr, the possibility that lycanthropy is not curse but communion.
Remus fears the thing that saved him. He calls it prudence; the Moon calls it cowardice. That fear births his monthly moon-madness — the psychic backlash of resisting a divinity that demands surrender.
Remus, for all his outward gentle appearance, soft voice and kind smiles; harbors a rage that borders on something holy and forbidden. Beneath his knit jumpers and unassuming air lies an ocean of violence just waiting for the right moment.
Allies: James Potter | Sirius Black | Peter Pettigrew | Lily Evans | Severus Snape
Family Notes: As has been established Remus does not consider the family of his birth to be his family at all. Indeed, he feels little to no connection at all to ‘John Bowen’ or the Bowen Clan. He is instead devoted to the family of his own making; James and Sirius, mousy little Peter and the brave and tragic Lily and Severus. He is painfully aware that he is something of a ‘one of a kind’ creature. He wears this as best he can, falling into music and self-expression, research and rebellion. Violence on the very rare occasion when it becomes necessary.
Enemies: Voldemort | The Lestrange Family | The Bowens (and all Hunters) | Albus Dumbledore (for taking Harry away)
Affections & Entanglements:
It is a truth that literally no one outside of the Marauders group would ever know that Remus 'got around' quite a bit more than James or Sirius combined.
Boys, girls, Remus…well it’s not so much that he was a slut as it was that he was ‘free with his affections’ so to speak. He made connections with people easily, and found satisfaction in 'no string attached' friendships built on honesty and mutual respect. Love, real love, the kind that made his inner wolf growl and keen, had come to him early. He’d seen it, recognized it for what it was, and then proceeded to ignore it for years until it became innevitable. The resulting affair was as passionate as it was tragic.
Drinks his tea black, with honey, never milk. “Milk’s for calves, love.”
Speaks five languages, swears fluently in eight.
Keeps a journal written partly in lunar runes that only reveal themselves by moonlight.
Can fall asleep anywhere—learned survival from fieldwork, not comfort.
Once beat Sirius at poker using a deck enchanted to cheat for Sirius.
Hates mirrors; loves vinyl; cries at protest songs.
It is fashionable to call Remus Lupin tragic. This is Incorrect. Tragedy implies the absence of choice, a victim of circumstance and fate. Remus is a survivor. And that is a very different sort of creature; built in blood and desperate panting breath.
Remus learned young and quickly — to be gentle when he could be cruel, to speak softly when the wolf in him howls for blood. He is not a victim of the Moon; he is her priest. Reticent, reluctant, fated. It is no simple thing to deny the gods their due, Remus does it every day.
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