a wolfstar twilight au fic
chapter one - first sight (word count: 6.9k)
Remus’ mother drove him to the Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport with the windows rolled down. It was a perfect 75 degrees in Arizona, the sky a cloudless blue. Remus wore a loose graphic tee with the sleeves cut off. It was a farewell present; his carry-on item was a parka.
In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that his mother escaped with Remus when he was only a few months old. It was to this town he’d been compelled to spend a month every summer until he was fourteen. That was the year he finally put his foot down; these past three summers, his father, Lyall, vacationed with him in California for two weeks instead.
It was to this town Remus now exiled himself– an action he took with great horror. Remus detested Forks.
He loved Phoenix. He loved the vigorous, sprawling city.
“Remus,” his mother said to him, the last of a thousand times. “You don’t have to do this.”
Hope looks like him, sporting the same chestnut brown waves and tan skin, but with the faint, creasing wrinkles that come with raising a child on your own. Remus felt a spasm of panic as he looked into her wide, doe eyes. How could he leave his loving, erratic mother to care for herself? Of course, she had Phil now, so there would always be food in the refrigerator and gas in her car, but still…
“I want to go,” Remus lied. He was a terrible liar, but he’d said this phrase so often it was starting to become almost convincing.
“I’ll see you soon,” She insisted, “You can come home whenever you want– I’ll come right back.”
But Remus could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise.
“Don’t worry about me,” Remus said to her, “It’ll be great. I love you, mom.”
It’s a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn’t bother him; the hour in the car with his father, Lyall, though, he was a little worried about.
Lyall had been fairly nice about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that Remus was coming to live with him for the first time with any degree of permanence. He’d helped in getting Remus registered for high school, and was going to help him get a car.
But it was sure to be awkward with Lyall. Neither was anything anyone would call verbose, but the pair didn’t seem to know what to say regardless. Remus knew his father was more than a little confused by his decision– like his mother before him, he hadn’t made a secret of his distaste for Forks.
When he landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. He didn’t see it as an omen– just unavoidable. He’d already said his goodbyes to the sun.
Lyall was waiting with the cruiser. This, Remus was expecting, too. Lyall is Police Chief Lupin to the good people of Forks. Remus’ primary motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of his funds, was that he refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.
Lyall gave an awkward, one-armed hug when his son stepped off the plane.
“It’s good to see you, Rem,” he said, smiling. “You haven’t changed much. Maybe a bit taller. How’s Hope?”
“Mom’s fine. Good to see you too, Dad.” Remus wasn’t allowed to call his father Lyall to his face.
He had only a few bags. Most of Remus’ Arizona clothes were too permeable for Washington. He and Hope had pooled their resources to supplement his winter wardrobe, but it was still sparse. It all fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser.
“I found a good car for you, really cheap,” he announced when they were buckled in.
“What kind of car?” Remus was suspicious of the way he said good car for you as opposed to just good car.
“Well it’s a truck. actually, a Chevy.”
“Do you remember William Evans, down at Godric’s Hollow?” Godric’s Hollow is the only other populated place within miles and miles of Forks.
“He used to go fishing with us during the summer,” Lyall prompted.
That would explain why Remus didn’t remember him. He did a great job of blocking painful, unnecessary things from his memory.
“He’s in a wheelchair now,” Lyall continued when he didn’t get a response, “so he can’t drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap.”
“What year is it?” Remus could see from his change of expression that this was the question he was hoping he wouldn’t be asked.
“Well, Bill’s done a lot of work on the engine– it’s only a few years old, really.”
Remus hoped his father didn’t think so little of him as to believe he would give up that easily. “When did he buy it?”
“He bought it in 1984, I think.”
“Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties– or late fifties at the earliest.” He admitted.
“Ly– Dad, I don’t really know anything about cars. I wouldn’t be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn’t really afford a mechanic…”
“Really, Remus, the thing runs great. They don’t make them like that anymore.”
The Thing, Remus thought to himself… it had possibilities– as a nickname, at the very least.
“How cheap is cheap?” After all, that was the part he wouldn’t compromise on.
“Well, son, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift.” Lyall peeked sideways with a hopeful expression.
“You didn’t need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car.”
“I don’t mind. I want you to be happy here.” He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Lyall wasn’t comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. Remus had inherited this trait, so he was looking straight ahead as he responded.
“That’s really nice, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
No need to add that Remus being happy in Forks is an impossibility. Lyall didn’t need to suffer along with him. And Remus would never look a free truck in the mouth– or engine.
“Well, now, you’re welcome,” Lyall mumbled, embarrassed by the thanks.
They exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for the conversation. Remus stared out the window, winding the cord of his earbuds around his finger in silence.
It was beautiful, of course; he couldn’t deny that. Everything was green: the trees, their moss covered tucks, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves.
It was too green– an alien planet.
Eventually the cruiser pulled up to Lyall’s. He still lived in the small, two bedroom house that he’d bought with Remus’ mother in the early days of their marriage. Those were the only kinds of days their marriage had– the early ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was the new– well, new to Remus– truck. It was a faded red color, with big, rounded fenders, and a bulbous cab. To Remus’ own intense surprise, he loved it. He didn’t know if it would run, but he could see himself in it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged– the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed.
“Wow, Dad, I love it! Thanks.” Now his horrific day tomorrow would be just that much less dreadful. Remus wouldn’t be faced with the choice of either walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the Chief’s cruiser.
“I’m glad you like it,” Lyall said gruffly, embarrassed again.
It took only one trip to get all of Remus’ stuff upstairs. He got the west bedroom that faced over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had belonged to him since he was born. The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed lace curtains around the window– these were all a part of his childhood. The only changes Lyall had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as Remus grew. The desk now held a second-hand computer, with the phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation from his mother, so that they could stay in touch easily. The rocking chair from his baby days was still in the corner.
There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which he would have to share with Lyall. Remus was trying to not dwell too much on that fact.
One of the best things about Lyall is that he doesn’t hover. He left Remus alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been impossible altogether for his mother. It was nice to be alone, to not have to smile and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few tears escape. Remus wasn’t in the mood to go on a real crying jag. He would save that for bed, when he would have to think about the coming morning.
Forks High School had a frightening total of three hundred and fifty-seven – now fifty-eight– students; there were more than seven hundred people in Remus’ junior class alone back in Arizona. All of the kids here had grown up together– their grandparents had been toddlers together.
Remus was to be the new guy from the city, a curiosity, a freak.
Maybe, if he looked normal, he could work this to his advantage. But physically, he’d never fit in anywhere. Remus Lupin was tan, yes, as usually comes with living in Phoenix for 17 years, with messy, brown curls that never seemed to lay quite right. He had always been slender, gangly, even. He was tall, too, a whopping 6’3”, which didn’t help offset the aforementioned gangly-ness. He didn’t have the necessary hand-eye coordination to play sports without humiliating himself– and harming both himself and anyone who stood too close. All of this, however, was minute compared to the two, long and silvery scars running from the middle of his left eyebrow down, jaggedly, across his nose, until just before his jaw. This was the real reason he’d never fit in.
When Remus finished putting his clothes in the old pine dresser, he took his bag of bathroom necessities and went to the communal bathroom to clean himself up after the day of travel. He looked at the mirror as he ran his fingers through his damp hair. Maybe it was the light, but already he looked sallower, unhealthy. His scars were more obvious here, in the fluorescent, white lighting.
Facing his pallid reflection in the mirror, Remus was forced to admit that he was lying to himself. It wasn’t just physically that he’d never fit in. And if he couldn’t find a niche in a school with three thousand people, what were his chances here?
Remus didn’t relate well to people his age. Maybe the truth was that he didn’t relate well to people, period. Even his mother, who he was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never quite in harmony with him. Never exactly on the same page. Sometimes, Remus wondered if he was seeing the same things through his eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in his brain.
But the cause didn’t matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning.
Remus didn’t sleep well that night, even after he was done crying. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn’t fade into the background. He pulled the faded quilt over his head, and later added the pillow, too. But he couldn’t fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.
Thick fog was all Remus could see out of his window in the morning, and he could feel the claustrophobia creeping up. You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage.
Breakfast with Lyall was a quiet event. He wished Remus good luck at school, and his son thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid Remus. Lyall left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family.
After his father left, Remus sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined the small kitchen. Its dark paneled walls, cream yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed. His mother painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining, handkerchief-sized, family room was a row of pictures. First, a wedding picture of Lyall and his mother in Las Vegas. Then, one of the three of them in the hospital after Remus was born, taken by a helpful nurse. Followed by the procession of school pictures up to last year’s. Those were embarrassing. Remus would have to see what he could do to get Lyall to put them somewhere else, at least while he was living there.
It was impossible, in this house, not to realize that Lyall had never gotten over Remus’ mother. It made Remus uncomfortable.
Remus didn’t want to be too early to school, but he couldn’t stay in the house any longer. He donned his jacket– which had the feel of a biohazard suit– and headed out into the rain.
It was drizzling still, not enough to soak him through immediately as he reached for the house key that was always hidden underneath the eaves by the door, and locked up. The sloshing of his new, waterproof boots was unnerving. Remus missed the normal crunch of gravel as he walked. He couldn’t pause to admire his new truck as he wanted; he was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around his head and clung to his hair under his hood.
Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Mr. Evans or Lyall had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan, upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. The engine started quickly, to Remus’ relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, he thought, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a plus that he hadn’t expected.
Finding the school wasn’t difficult, though he’d never been there before. The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, made Remus stop. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs he couldn’t see its full size at first. Where was the feel of this institution? He wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors he was so used to back home?
Remus parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading Front Office. No one else was parked there, so he was sure it was off limits, but he decided he would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. He stepped, unwillingly, out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. He took a deep breath before opening the door.
Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than Remus had hoped. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large, plastic pots, as if there wasn’t enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, grey-haired woman wearing glasses. The nameplate in front of her read P. Sprout. She was wearing a green t-shirt, which immediately made Remus feel overdressed.
The grey-haired woman looked up, a flash of surprise crossing her face before she schooled it into a more professional expression. As was typical for most people who saw Remus.
“Can I help you?” She asked.
“I’m Remus Lupin,” He informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. He was expected, a topic of gossip, no doubt. Son of the Chief’s flighty ex-wife, come home at last.
“Of course,” she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk until she found the ones she was looking for. “I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school.” She brought several sheets to the counter to show him.
She went through Remus’ classes for him, highlighting the best routes to each on the map, and gave him a slip to have each teacher sign, which he was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled and wished, like Lyall, that he would like it here in Forks. Remus smiled back as convincingly as he could.
When he went back out to his truck, other students were starting to arrive. He drove around the school, following the line of traffic. He was glad to see that most of the cars were older, like his, nothing flashy. At home, Remus had lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. Still, he cut the engine as soon as he was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn’t draw attention.
Remus looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully he wouldn’t have to walk around with it stuck in front of his nose all day. He stuffed everything in his bag, slung the strap over his shoulder, and sucked in a breath. You can do this, he lied to himself feebly. No one was going to bite him. He finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.
Remus kept his face pulled back into his hood as he walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers. His plain, faded brown jacket didn’t stand out, he noticed with relief.
Once he got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large, black 3 was painted on a white square on the east corner. Remus felt his breathing gradually creeping toward hyperventilation as he approached the door. He tried holding his breath as he followed two unisex raincoats through the doorframe.
The classroom was small. The people in front of Remus stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. He followed suit.
He took the slip up to the teacher, a surprisingly stout, strict-looking man with his hair harshly parted down the middle. His desk nameplate identified him as Mr. Binns. He kept his face neutral, but in seeing his name a flicker of surprise and recognition passed through his eyes. He sent Remus to the back with an encouraging nod, mercifully without introducing him to the class. It was harder for his new classmates to stare at him in the back, but, somehow, they managed. Remus kept his eyes down on the reading list Binns had given to him. It was fairly basic: Brontë, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. He’d already read everything. That was comforting… and boring. He wondered if his mom would send him a folder of old essays, or if she would think that was cheating. He went through different arguments in his head while the teacher droned on.
When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a girl with chocolate-colored curls, tied up with a plum headband, leaned across the aisle to talk to Remus.
“You’re Remus Lupin, aren’t you?” She looked like the overly helpful, chess club type, but her eyes sparkled with a hint of mania.
“Um, Yeah,” Remus replied. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at him.
“Where’s your next class?” She asked.
He had to check his map. “Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six.”
There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.
“I’m headed toward building four, I could show you the way…” Definitely over-helpful. “I’m Sybill,” she added.
Remus smiled tentatively. “Thanks.”
The students got their jackets on and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. Remus could have sworn several people were trailing behind just close enough to eavesdrop. He hoped he wasn’t becoming paranoid.
“So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?” she asked.
“It doesn’t rain much there, does it?”
“Three or four times a year.”
“Wow, what must that be like?” she wondered aloud.
“You’ve got those scars.” She prompted.
“They run in the family.”
She studied his face apprehensively, and he sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn’t mix. A few months of this and he’d forget how to use sarcasm.
They walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Sybill walked him right to the door, though it was clearly marked.
“Well, good luck,” She said as Remus touched the handle. “Maybe we’ll have some other classes together.” She sounded hopeful.
Remus smiled at her vaguely and went inside.
The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. His trigonometry teacher, Mr. Kettleburn, who he would have hated anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made him stand in front of the class and introduce himself. He had stammered, blushed, and tripped over his own shoes on the way back to his seat.
After two classes, Remus started to recognize several of the faces in each period. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask him questions about how he was liking Forks. He tried to be diplomatic, but mostly he just lied a lot. At least he never needed the map.
One boy sat next to him in both Trig and Spanish, and he walked Remus to the cafeteria for lunch. He was tall, but just shy of reaching Remus’ eye level. They looked rather similar, too, what with his light brunette hair and eyes, but the signature Forks pale complexion severed any other likeness. Remus couldn’t remember his name, so he just smiled and nodded as he prattled on about different teachers and classes. He didn’t try to keep up.
The boy seated them at the end of a full table with several of his friends, who he introduced to Remus. Remus forgot all of their names as soon as the boy spoke them. They seemed impressed by his bravery in speaking to the new kid. The girl from English, Sybill, waved from across the room.
It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that he first saw them.
They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where Remus sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. They weren’t talking, and they weren’t eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren’t gawking at him, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that caught, and held, his attention.
Mostly, they didn’t look anything alike. Of the five, one was muscled and tall, but gracefully so. He had perfect, glowing, brown skin, with charmingly messy black curls. Another was shorter, leaner, with short black waves and was clearly of Asian heritage. The other boy was lanky, with long, black waves cascading to his shoulders, and shockingly pale. He was more boyish than the first, who looked like he could be in college, but also clearly older than the latter.
The other two girls were eye-catching, as well. The tall one was statuesque. She had a beautiful figure, the kind you saw on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit on her self-esteem just by being in the same room. Her hair was black, flowing in long, clean braids down her back, curling gently at the ends. The short girl was pixielike. Small and pale, and, despite her stature and quietness, seemed alive and bursting with energy. She had stark blonde hair, layered in shaggy waves, with harsh black eyeliner defining her dark eyes.
And yet, they were all exactly alike. Every one of them had a glowing quality about them. The edges around them seemed to blur with a golden-white light, unless you focused too hard. In which case, the aura seemed to disappear. They all had very dark eyes, despite the range in skin tones. They also had dark shadows under those eyes– purplish bruiselike shadows. It was harder to tell with some of them, but they were certainly there. It was as if they were all suffering from a sleepless night, or almost done recovering from a broken nose. Though their noses, all their features, were straight, perfect, angular.
But this is not why Remus couldn’t look away.
He stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see except, perhaps, on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine. Or painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful– maybe the perfect, dark skinned girl, or the long haired pale boy.
They were all looking away– away from each other, away from the other students, away from anything in particular as far as Remus could tell. As he watched, the small boy rose with his tray– an unopened soda, and an unbitten apple– and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. Remus watched, amazed, at his lithe, elegant step, until he dumped his tray and glided through the back door, faster than Remus would have thought possible. His eyes darted back to the others, who sat unchanging.
“Who are they?” Remus asked the boy from Spanish class, whose name he’d forgotten.
As he looked up to see who Remus had meant– though already knowing, probably, from his tone– suddenly he looked at Remus. The thinner one, the boyish one, the most beautiful one, perhaps. He looked at the Spanish class boy for just a fraction of a second, and then his dark eyes flickered to Remus.
He looked away quickly, more quickly than Remus could, though, in a flush of embarrassment, Remus dropped his eyes at once. In that brief flash of a glance, his face held nothing of interest– it was as if Spanish class boy had called his name, and he’d looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not to answer.
Remus’ neighbor huffed in embarrassment, looking at the table as well.
“That’s James Potter and Sirius Black, and Dorcas Meadowes and Marlene McKinnon. The one who left was Regulus Black; they all live together with Dr. Potter and his wife.” He said this under his breath.
Remus glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. His mouth was moving quickly, his perfect lips barely opening. The other three still looked away, and yet Remus felt he was speaking quietly to them.
Interesting names, he thought. The kinds of names grandparents had. But maybe that was in vogue here– small town names? Remus finally remembered that his neighbor was called Frank Longbottom, a perfectly common name, if a little unfortunate. There were two Franks in his junior class back home.
“They’re… very nice looking.” Remus struggled with the conspicuous understatement.
“Yes!” Frank agreed with another huff. “They’re all together though–Dorcas and Marlene, and James and Regulus, I mean. And they live together.” His voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town, Remus thought critically. But, if he was being honest, he had to admit that even in Phoenix it would cause gossip.
“Which ones are which?” Remus asked. “They don’t really look related.”
“Oh, they’re not. Dr. Potter is really young, in his thirties or something. They’re mostly adopted. The Blacks are brothers, though– the black haired wasian ones– and they’re foster children.”
“They look a little old for foster children.”
“They kind of are. James and Dorcas are both eighteen now, but they’ve been with Mrs. Potter since they were eight. She’s his real mom, and her aunt, or something like that.”
“That’s really kind of nice– for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they’re so young and everything.”
“I guess so,” Frank admitted reluctantly, and Remus got the impression he didn’t like the doctor or his wife for some reason. With the glances he was throwing at their adopted children, Remus presumed the reason was jealousy. “I think that Mrs. Cullen couldn’t have any more kids, though,” he added, as if that lessened their kindness.
Throughout all this conversation, Remus’ eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at the walls and not eat.
“Have they always lived in Forks?” Remus asked. Surely he would have noticed them during one of his summers here.
“No,” he said in a voice that implied it should be obvious; even to a new arrival like Remus. “They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska.”
Remus felt a surge of pity, and of relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that he wasn’t the only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any standard.
As Remus examined them, one of the Blacks looked up and met his gaze, this time with evident curiosity in his expression. As Remus looked swiftly away, it seemed to him that the boy’s gaze held some kind of unmet expectation.
“Which one is the boy with the long black hair?” Remus asked. He peeked toward the boy from the corner of his eye, and he was still staring. But not gawking like the other students had today– he had a slightly frustrated expression. Remus looked down again.
“That’s Sirius Black. He’s gorgeous, of course, but don’t waste your time. He doesn’t date. Apparently no one here is good-looking enough for him.” Frank sniffed, a clear case of sour grapes. Remus wondered when he’d been turned down.
Remus bit his lip to hide his smile, then glanced at the beautiful boy, Sirius, again. His face was turned away, but it looked like his cheek was lifted, as if he were smiling, too.
After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They were all notably graceful– even the muscled one. It was unsettling to watch. The one named Sirius didn’t look at Remus again.
Remus sat at the table with Frank and his friends longer than he would have if he’d been sitting alone. He was anxious not to be late for class on his first day. One of his new acquaintances, who considerately reminded him that his name was Peter, had Biology II with him the next hour. They walked to class together in relative silence. He was shy, too.
When the pair entered the classroom, Peter went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones Remus was used to in Phoenix. He already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle. Remus recognized Sirius Black by his unusual hair, sitting next to that single open seat.
As he walked down the aisle to introduce himself to the teacher and get his slip signed, Remus was watching him surreptitiously. Just as he passed, the boy suddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared again, meeting Remus’ eyes with the strangest expression on his face– it was hostile, furious. Remus looked away quickly, shocked, turning pink again. He stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch himself on the edge of a table. The girl sitting there giggled.
He noticed that the boy’s eyes were black– coal black.
Mr. Slughorn signed Remus’ slip and handed him a book with no nonsense about introductions. He could tell they were going to get along. Of course, he had no choice but to send Remus to the one open seat in the middle of the room. Remus kept his eyes down as he went to sit by him, bewildered by the antagonistic stare he’d been given.
Remus didn’t look up as he set his book on the table and took his seat, but he saw the boy’s posture change from the corner of his eye. He was leaning away, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair and averting his face like he smelled something bad. Inconspicuously, Remus sniffed himself. He smelled like coffee and vanilla, the scent of his favorite shampoo. It seemed an innocent enough odor. He ran his hair through with his fingers, deciding to do his best to pay attention to the teacher.
Unfortunately, the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something Remus had already studied. He took notes carefully anyway, always looking down.
Still, he couldn’t stop himself from peeking occasionally past his shoulder at the strange boy next to him. During the whole class, he never relaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair, sitting as far from Remus as possible. Remus could see his hand on his left leg was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under his pale skin. This, too, he never relaxed. He had the long sleeves of his black shirt pushed up to his elbows, and his forearm was surprisingly hard and muscular beneath his light skin. He wasn’t nearly as slight as he’d looked hunched over next to his burly brother.
The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because the day was finally coming to a close, or because he was waiting for the boy’s tight fist to loosen? It never did; he continued to sit so still it looked like he wasn’t breathing. What was wrong with him? Was this his normal behavior? Remus questioned his judgement on Frank’s bitterness at lunch today. Maybe he wasn’t as resentful as he’d thought.
It couldn’t have anything to do with Remus. He didn’t know him at all.
Remus peeked at him one more time, and regretted it. He was glaring at Remus again, his black eyes full of revulsion. As Remus flinched away from him, shrinking against his chair, the phrase if looks could kill suddenly ran through his mind.
At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making him jump, and Sirius Black was out of his seat. Fluidly he rose– he was taller than Remus had thought, maybe six feet– his back to Remus, and he was out the door before anyone else was out of their seat.
Remus sat, frozen in his seat, staring blankly after him. He was so mean. It wasn’t fair. He began gathering up his things slowly, trying to block the anger that filled him, for fear he would lash out or start to tear up. For some reason, his temper was hardwired to his fists and to his tear ducts. He usually cried when angry, a humiliating tendency.
“Arent you Remus Lupin?” a female voice asked.
He looked up to see a cute, baby-faced girl, her mousy brown hair carefully styled into an orderly bob with bangs, smiling in a friendly way. She obviously didn’t think that he smelled bad.
“Yeah,” Remus replied, with a smile.
“I’m Alice, Alice Fortescue.”
“Do you need help finding your next class?”
“I’m headed to gym, actually. I think I can find it.”
“That’s my next class, too.” She seemed thrilled, though it wasn’t that big of a coincidence in a school this small.
The pair walked to the cafeteria together; she was a chatterer– she supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for Remus. She’d lived in California until she was ten, so she knew how Remus felt about the sun. It turned out she was in his English class, too. She was the nicest person he’d met today.
But, as they were entering the gym, she asked, “So, did you stab Sirius Black with a pencil, or what? I’ve never seen him act like that.”
Remus cringed. So he wasn’t the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that wasn’t Sirius Black’s usual behaviour. Remus decided to play dumb.
“Was that the guy I sat next to in Biology?” He asked, artlessly.
“Yes,” she said. “He looked like he was in pain or something.”
“I dunno,” He responded. “I never spoke to him.”
“He’s a weird guy.” Alice lingered by him instead of heading to the dressing room. “If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would’ve talked to you.”
Remus smiled at her before walking through the boys’ locker room door. She was friendly, and clearly admiring. But it wasn’t enough to ease his irritation.
The Gym teacher, Coach Hooch, found Remus a uniform but didn’t make him dress down for today’s class. At home, only two years of P.E. were required. Here, P.E. was mandatory all four years. Forks was literally his personal hell on Earth.
He watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Remembering how many injuries he had sustained– and inflicted– playing volleyball, he felt faintly nauseated.
The final bell rang at last. Remus walked slowly to the office to return his paperwork. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong, and cold. He crossed his arms to battle the weather.
When he walked into the warm office, he almost turned around and walked right back out.
Sirius Black stood at the front desk in front of him. Remus recognized, again, those tousled black curls. He didn’t appear to notice the sound of his entrance. Remus stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free.
He was arguing with her in a low, attractive voice. Remus quickly picked up the gist of the argument. He was trying to trade sixth-period biology to another time– any other time.
Remus couldn’t believe this was about him. It had to be something else, something that happened before he entered the Biology room. The look on his face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It was impossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to him.
The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling Remus’ hair around the sides of his face. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Sirius Black’s back stiffened, and he turned slowly to glare at Remus– his face was absurdly handsome– with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, Remus felt a thrill of genuine fear, raising the hair on his arms. The look lasted only a second, but it chilled him more than the freezing wind. Sirius Black turned to the receptionist once more.
“Nevermind, then,” he said hastily in a voice like velvet. “I can see that it’s impossible. Thank you so much for your help.” And he turned on his heel without another look at Remus, and disappeared out the door.
Remus went meekly to the desk, his face white for once instead of pink, and handed her the signed slip.
“How did your first day go, dear?” the receptionist asked maternally.
“Fine,” He lied, his voice weak. She didn’t look convinced.
When Remus got to the truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing he had to home in this damp green hole. He sat inside for a while, just staring out the windshield blankly. But, soon he was cold enough to need the heater, so he turned the key and the engine roared to life. Remus headed back to Lyall’s house, fighting tears the whole way there.
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