The Marauders: Year 1

Chained

"Remus, dear, you must hurry up," his mother had urged. There wasn't any disgust in her voice, unlike everyone else he encountered, but he could tell. She was scared. She was anxious. Most of all, she was worried for her son.

Remus scarfed down what was left of his supper, an early supper at that. It was barely 4:30 in the afternoon, but he knew the sun had set very early. He passed the clean plate to his mother and went to his room to take his jacket off.

Hope and Remus had taken the familiar path around the house to the door of the cellar a couple meters away from the house. The cellar was installed by his father, just for him.

After his mother had used her set of keys to unlock the double doors, the two had quickly scrambled inside and down the creaky stairway. It was dark, except for the small lamp that Hope had brought with her. The two knew exactly what to do, as they have been doing the same every month for the past five years: Remus had begun to undress. It was extremely cold in the cellar, but he wouldn't even notice the temperature in a few hours. He passed on his trousers and his shirt to his mother.

Hope knew that this would only make her son feel worse, but she couldn't help but stare every single time he was down here. As Remus was undressing, her eyes were drawn to the numerous scars that he had collected over the years, scars that he had given himself. But she could not do a single thing to help him. She had no magical powers and if even the best magical nurses and doctors could not help him, how could she?

She snapped out her gaze and the two went to the wall that contained shackles. Remus knew that the shackles rarely were able to contain him. Most of the time he was able to break through them, but his parents really could not do much. At the very least, thanks to the charms that his father placed on the cellar doors, he was never able to leave this room at night. He was extremely grateful that he could never break through the doors because he knew his parents were so close inside the house.

His mother was finished locking the shackles up. She just looked at her son, at his eyes. His once brownish eyes had turned more yellowish, some may even call it golden. They would definitely be considered gorgeous, if it weren't for the circumstances. Hope knew Remus absolutely hated his eyes. He hated looking in the mirror. He hated looking at other children.

"Mum, you have to get out now," Remus had pleaded. "Please, Mum."
Hope only nodded silently before placing a small kiss on her son's forehead.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she had said as she turned around. Before her son could see her usual tears, she hurried back up the stairs and shut the doors. The clink had confirmed that she had locked the doors.

Remus was now in complete darkness. His mother had taken the lamp with her. Initially, his mother insisted on leaving a lamp with him every night. But the family quickly realized that it wasn't a good idea. The first full moon had resulted in a burnt cellar and a burnt Remus.

It was the beginning of March and any snow that had fallen the previous month had disappeared, but it was still cold enough that Remus had started to shiver. In the beginning, his parents wanted him to wear enough clothing to keep him warm in the cellar, but they realized that this too was not possible. The morning after the first moon, his parents founded his clothes shredded into dozens of pieces and was beyond repair. His parents told Remus it was okay to wear something, but Remus insisted that he was just wasting them. It would only be a few minutes until the coldness would be the least of his concerns.

There was no clock in the room — and he wouldn't even be able to see it if there was — but Remus could somehow sense exactly how much longer he had until then.

The cellar was quiet enough that you could hear a quill drop, save for the boy's heartbeat which was steadily increasing.

Three minutes.

His arms attempted to resist their jailers all on their own; Remus could not stop them from shaking rapidly.

Two minutes.

Remus blinked and his vision sharpened. The cuffs around each of his arms, the bricks on the walls, the stairwell.

One minute.

His heart momentarily slowed down before Remus flinched. No matter how many times he had to go through with this, he believed he could never get used to it: The way his back arched sharply; the way every bit of skin felt as though someone had lit it on fire. But to Remus, the way he lost control of his own body was the worst of the lot. Eventually, he just couldn't keep quiet and screamed any longer.

Three, two, one.

Remus's screams turned into a howl.