Sunday 1st September 1974
As Remus approached King’s Cross station for the fourth time in his early life, he felt utterly invincible. He had grown taller still over the summer, and his face had changed too – no longer childish and round; his jaw was set and his eyes mean. In his heavy black boots (polished to a shine that morning) and his smart new clothes, Remus felt a stronger sense of identity than he had ever had. Ste had been very keen to give him a tattoo before he returned to school, but Remus had balked at that – he had enough marks already.
“They’ll all think you’ve joined a gang,” Matron tutted, barely concealing her disdain as she dropped him outside the station, “You look like a delinquent.”
“Piss off,” he muttered, “What do you care?”
She gave him a sharp clip around the ear, and he winced. She had to reach up to do that these days, but she still knew exactly where it hurt most.
“You’ll be at school before it gets dark, won’t you?” She said, business-like. He nodded, sullenly. It was a full moon that night. “Good.” She nodded. “See you next summer, then.”
He entered the station alone, and walked through the crowds with a practiced masculine gait – legs apart, hands balled into fists. People moved quickly out of his way as he approached, and a station guard eyed him suspiciously. Remus ignored them all and strode forward, purposefully, directly through the ticket barrier, bursting onto Platform 9 ¾ without so much as flinching.
He was late, and the platform was already almost empty, with only the last few tearful parents of first years lingering to wave goodbye. A cursory glance told Remus that the other three marauders were already on the train, so he climbed aboard and headed straight for their usual compartment, pushing roughly past the other students – many of whom seemed very small to him now – as he struggled with his battered old trunk.
They were in there; all three sitting squashed up on the same side of the compartment, huddled behind the morning edition of The Daily Prophet.
“Alright?” Remus said, as he entered.
James, who was sat in the middle, holding the paper, lowered it, and three pairs of eyes stared up at Remus. Peter looked white and nervous, which was pretty normal, and began to chew his bottom lip, glancing at James for an appropriate response.
James smiled, trying to be friendly, but his brown eyes wandered over Remus, from his steel toed boots to his closely shaved head. Sirius was hardest to read; his eyes widened slightly, but his expression remained neutral. Remus slung himself into the seat opposite as if he had not noticed. “Good summer?”
“Not bad,” James said, cautiously, “The usual, you know… how was yours?”
“Yeah, good.” Remus withdrew a small tin case from his back pocket and opened it to reveal five pre-rolled cigarettes. He placed one between his lips and lit it with a match as the train began to pull away from the station.
Peter was now staring at Remus with his mouth slightly open, as if he didn’t recognise him. James looked concerned, a small crease formed between his eyebrows,
“We were worried when we didn’t hear from you.”
“Sorry. Busy.” Remus shrugged, exhaling smoke.
“Doing what?” Sirius asked, bluntly. James got up to open the window and let the smoke out, but he didn’t say anything about it.
“Just busy.” Remus said. They kept secrets from him, after all. He didn’t have to tell them everything.
“Are you ok, Remus?” James asked finally. “Has something happened?”
“Nope.”
“You seem different.”
