𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕠- 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕓𝕠𝕠𝕜 𝕚

prologue: letters and doubts

Zenith

Ms. and Mr. Lupin, of the small cottage in the woods, were proud to say that they had never been normal, thank you very fucking much.

Mr. Lupin was always bouncing from one job to the next, desperately trying to support his daughter. He was a tall, handsome man, carrying an air of melancholy wherever he went. A part of him would always be lost in the halls of his beloved old school, laughing at nothing in particular with his deceased best friends and pining after someone he had always known to be too good to be true. Ms. Lupin had dark olive skin inherited from her father, but the sharp features of an ancient and noble family could be seen showing through, not that she was aware of this. In fact, Ms. Lupin was oblivious to most of the history intertwined with her origins.

Their living space could tell you most everything about the duo. From the calendar indicating when the next full moon would be, to the shelves surrounding the rooms, which were always filled with books read over and over again on quiet rainy nights, to the empty mugs in the kitchen counter, one with dregs of black coffee and the other with remnants of tea with spoonfuls of honey.

It was in that house that Zenith awoke to her most awaited eleventh birthday with the arrival of her grandfather, Lyall Lupin. She was still drowsy with sleep, as she had stayed up looking at old photo albums, filled with pictures of her father and his friends. Most of them were of four bright young people smiling with an obliviousness to the brutality of the world, but unlike them, Zenith had learned of it at a very young age.

She had noticed how her father barely talked of his years at Hogwarts, how her grandfather would always leave specific names out of his stories, and how Remus's face donned the telltale red eyes of someone forever-grieving. Halloween was ignored like it was a pesky salesman at their door, a little too intentionally to be a mistake. There were no decorations, no trick or treating, no costumes, no giggling children.

Remus was already sipping his usual bitter coffee at the kitchen table and reading Little Women, one of his classic rereads, when Lyall got her out of bed. Zenith didn't bother getting dressed, for she was a strong believer in the supremacy of pajamas. The sight of her father already up puzzled her, for neither of them were morning people and often made fun of Lyall for getting up so early—the psychopath!

"Hello? Have you slept at all? " Zenith inquired, though she knew he hadn't, and not only due the dark bags under his eyes that seemed to carry the memories and the grief for him. Zenith would deny it to any soul who questioned her about it, but most nights when she couldn't sleep or when the heavy weight of loneliness hit her, she would tiptoe to Remus's bedroom and—though he would nod every time, with a fond smile adorning his usual nostalgic expression—quietly ask whether she could stay for "just this time".

However, last night, she had been awake until the late hours of the morning—the ones where it was so quiet it seemed the world had stopped and every breath she took seemed an intrusion—and had eventually fallen asleep alone in a room that wasn't truly hers.

Her father, however, disregarded her question, "Look, Zee, I've been thinking about school-" But he was interrupted by the scratch of an owl at the window, making Zenith sigh in relief. She knew what he was going to say. In fact, she had already heard it all a million times as her eleventh birthday began to creep closer and closer. Her father thought it would be best to homeschool her, but she would have none of it. For as long as she could remember it had been just her and Remus (with the occasional visit to her grandad's place when the moon shined the brightest each month), and although she loved him more than she could put in words—for she had always been bad with those—Zenith longed to make friends of her own, to have the kind of companionship four brilliant young boys once had.