Summary:Remus meets the Marauders.
Remus rubbed his scalp again, then his nose, which kept running. It had been bothering him since dinner the evening before, when another boy had punched him. To be fair, Remus had kicked him first. But the boy – Malcolm White – was fourteen and twice the size of eleven-year-old Remus. Malcolm had made some crack about Remus going to a special school for backwards kids, and he'd had to retaliate. He had a black eye now, which he regretted. Everyone at the new school would think he was a yob. But then, he supposed he was a yob.
Matron slapped his hand away from his head and he scowled up at her. They stood in the huge ticket hall at King's Cross staring at two platform numbers. There was number nine, then number ten. Matron looked at the letter in her hand again.
"For goodness sake." She muttered.
"We have to run at the barriers." Remus said, "I told you."
"Don't be ridiculous." Matron said, "I'm not running at anything."
"I'll go, then. Leave me here."
Remus had only half believed Dumbledore when he'd explained how to access platform 9 ¾. But then packages had started arriving for him, delivered by owls and containing strange books and weird clothes and all sorts of oddments like quills and parchment. Dumbledore had been unfailingly generous over the past month. He'd presented Remus with a list of things he would need for his new school, and promised to send him as much of it as he could from the second hand supplies at Hogwarts. Now Remus was willing to believe almost anything the old man said.
He'd never owned so many possessions before, and was actually glad when Matron had locked everything in her office so it wouldn't get pinched by the other boys. Now it had all been crammed into a battered old charity shop suitcase which he had to hold in a very particular way so it didn't fall apart.
"I'm not leaving you anywhere, Lupin. Just wait there while I find a guard." Matron clipped off towards the ticket office, her big backside wobbling as she went. Remus glanced about furtively, then licked his lips. It might be his only chance.
He ran at the barrier at full pelt, squeezing his eyes shut tight as he approached the metal turnstiles. But he didn't hit anything. The atmosphere changed, and he opened his eyes to find himself standing on a completely different platform, surrounded by people. Not people. Wizards.
The train itself was huge, gorgeous and old fashioned. 'The Hogwarts Express'. He clutched his suitcase with both hands, biting his lip. There were lots of other children, his own age and older, but they were all with their families, some of them crying as they were hugged and kissed by protective mothers. He felt very small and very alone, and thought it best to just hurry up and get on the train.
Inside he couldn't reach the luggage rack to stow away his things, so he chose an empty carriage and sat the suitcase on the seat beside him. He watched the people on the platform through the window, pressing his forehead against the cold glass. He wondered if they all came from wizard families too. He wondered of any of them had episodes like he did. He didn't think so – none of them seemed to have scars. A lot of them were wearing normal clothes, like he was (albeit with fewer holes and patches), but some were wearing long dark robes and tall pointed hats. Lots of the other kids had owls, or cats carried in baskets. He even saw one girl with a tiny lizard perched on her shoulder.
Remus was starting to feel even more nervous, his stomach roiling as he realised that despite everything Dumbledore had said about being among his 'own kind', he would be just as out of place at Hogwarts as he was everywhere else.
Just then, he realised that someone was staring back at him from the platform. It was another boy, his own age. He was tall and slim, but not skinny like Remus. He had dark hair, much longer than any other boy he'd ever seen, curling gracefully to his shoulders. He had fine high cheekbones, a full mouth and startling blue eyes. Seeing Remus staring, the other boy arched one perfect eyebrow in a gesture that clearly said: 'and what are you looking at?'
