The Marauders: The Younger Years

Chapter 1: Wednesday March 17th 1965

The night was dark and the moon was full. A little boy lay in his bed, sprawled on his back and unguarded with the innocence of his youth. The child was sound asleep and it seemed as if nothing would wake him 'til morning came and his mother gently shook him with the promise of pancakes. He always boasted that she could make the best pancakes in all of Britain. The room was dark as the world outside the window, the blackness of night broken only by the light from the hallway coming through his door, he had asked the door be left that way after he had heard the story of the Bogieman, he suffered from nightmares and constantly asked his obliging mother to check under his bed lest the terror he feared lay in wait there. This night had been the same as most, he had been tucked in bed after a cup of warm milk whilst sitting on his father's lap. His mother had kissed his forehead as she put him into bed. He begged his mother for a bedtime story, promising to go straight to sleep afterwards. She chuckled softly at this and obliged. Sleep overcame the boy before the tale ended.

It was after his mother left the boy's room that events turned for the worse. Unbeknownst to the boy or his family, a shadow had been waiting under the boy's windowsill. Listening and waiting with the lethal calm of a predator who's pray was almost in its grasp. The man was furious, he had barely stopped himself from taking his sweet, sweet revenge sooner. He had wanted to claw down the front door and leap straight at the man who had offended him so, he wanted to dig his claws into the man's chest and bite his throat out. But he was patient, what better torture was there than seeing your family torn apart? That was what his master had convinced him of and that was what he intended to do: rip them apart in mere seconds with the cruel ease that came from having done so to many other families.

The shadow chinked the window open silently, watching the boy carefully lest he wake from his sleep, that would spoil his plan. The predator was in the bedroom, crouched low so the footboard of the boy's bed hid him. It watched the boy with detachment and loathing, loathing the innocence the boy so foolishly displayed and finding an enormous amount of satisfaction and glee in the fact that he would be the one to end that innocence, tonight. The lurking beast felt the first waves of pain flow through him as his body prepared for the stretching, shrinking and breaking of every bone, muscle and inch of skin. The werewolf vaguely remembered a time when its nature troubled it, when it would fight its transformations with everything in it. That time had long passed, it now revealed in the pain and the inner beast it could unleash when it transformed. As it finished the transformation, it let out one victorious howl and pounced on the boy who had only just woken.

Hope and Lyall Lupin had been down in the kitchen cleaning the dishes and relaxing as their son lay asleep in the room down the end of the hallway. The moment they heard the werewolf's howl, they ran to their son's room, but they were too late. Fenrir Greyback trapped their son face-down on the floor as he victoriously bit into his neck, forever changing young Remus Lupin's life, turning him into a beast just like the one who attacked him. Hope sagged against her husband in shock and horror as Greyback howled victoriously again before sprinting off, his wolfish body jumping through the still-open window and bounding away into the night, leaving the disaster he gleefully anticipated that night behind him.

Hope finally recovered from her shock and ran to her son, comforting him and trying to calm his fears. Lyall stood back, conflicted. He knew that his son's life would never be the same, he knew that it would be a miracle if his son lived to 10 years old, let alone adulthood. Lyall could see himself standing in front of his son's grave, he could see himself in mourning for the only child he would ever have. How was he going to manage with a werewolf for a son? They were disgusting beasts who would soon as rip a man's throat out as eat a plate full of pancakes. That thought brought a new wave of melancholy to the man. Pancakes were Remus's favourite food. Lyall could almost see his son's face, glowing with happiness as he tucked into a plate of Hope's pancakes. How many times had he seen that image? Would he ever see that scene the same way again?. What on earth could he do about the situation, now he had a monster in his house? It was in that moment that Lyall asked himself whether Remus, his son — who was certainly important — was more important than a stereotype as ingrained and inbred as his phobia of werewolves.