@harriedwritings
With all things considered, the walk to the train station wasn’t that far. Just over in the next town from their small little village. They had moved to this home before he even dreamed that he might go to Hogwarts -- it was all they could afford, their TINY little farm. His parents would have ideally driven him, but there was a farmer’s market in the big city an hour away, and they couldn’t afford to miss it. The crops had been poor this year, so they had to sell every bit they could.
So he made the walk to the station himself, lugging his two suit cases behind him. He was so, so nervous to see his friends again. Over the summer, he hadn’t much contact. He had been working most of it to help out his parents. But in the few letters he was able to write...He never mentioned any of this. He had c h o p p e d his hair up above his ears. It was a little rough, his mother had to use the kitchen shears. But gone were the long locks, over eight inches dropped to the stone floor. They had managed to buy an old boy’s uniform from his mum’s friend -- it was too big, and baggy, but it worked. The extra room in the shirt helped conceal the slightest bit of chest he had, and that was all fine with him.
What took him longest, though, was his NAME. He played around and considered many. Nothing sounded right in the mirror. It was after one of his shifts that summer that he came across one of the old mythologies of Remus and Romulus -- The latter was a bit too much of a mouthful, but the former seemed to stick. REMUS, the boy raised by a wolf. Killed and reborn by myth. It fit.
He took the train to King’s Cross, shifting nervously all the while. He was already the odd one out in the group. He was not only a werewolf, but until now, he had been considered the only female of the group. Would this be too much for them to handle?
In the midst of King’s Cross, he searched for his boys. It was James he spotted first, towering over the first years lining up for the train. He gripped the handle on his bags a little tighter, and approached. “James!” he shouted, trying to get his attention. Would he even recognize him?