Metanoia • Harry Potter • Book I

Chapter One

The sun was warm as Remus Lupin walked through the woods, the cool summer breeze stinging at his fresh cuts. The robes that clung to his back had been patched up so many times he couldn't tell what was the original fabric.

It had been a bad moon, one that he had not experienced in years and years. Perhaps it hurt, even more, thanks to the letter folded up in his pocket.

As soon as Remus had come back to himself, the first thing he'd done was check if the letter was alright. Thankfully, it was still in good condition. He brushed his fingers over the painstakingly neat letters, so familiar yet alien. He saw where the blue ink had quivered and where it had suddenly stopped before continuing.

It was like he was fifteen again, sitting in his window as an owl chewed on his jumper. Except the letter wouldn't be titled 'Dear Remus Lupin'. It would just say Moony, followed by pages of rambling and jokes and half-baked pranks.

A tear slipped down onto the page, smearing the signature.

Remus had had the letter for just over a fortnight but he still couldn't reply. He'd left behind a part of himself all those years ago and returning to it was scarier than turning into a werewolf every cycle.

"Would you be ashamed? Would you be ashamed of how I am now?" he asked aloud, eyes scraping the treeline. He didn't expect an answer but the looming silence made him feel emptier than before.

Remus Lupin had a tattoo over his chest. It was the only one he ever got, right after he graduated, in a dingy shop on the edge of Diagon Alley. They had all been so excited, bouncing on the balls of their feet as Evans shook her head with exasperation and fondness.

He tripped suddenly, all thoughts screeching to a halt. Throwing his hands out to stop from tumbling through the bush, Remus collided with the ground. It had been a crooked root that caused it, jutting out of the ground like a gnarled hook.

Swearing under his breath, Remus struggled to his feet. He always felt weak after a full moon but lately, it was getting harder every day to get back up. He was only thirty-two but his body had already lived through a lifetime and it was starting to show. The lines on his face got deeper every month and the grey hair was getting more numerous.

Remus wondered how difficult it would be to just sit down on the forest floor and not move. Eventually, the forest would grow around him. He could just sit there until the moss overtook him and the roots twisted through his bones. But no, he was too much of a coward for even that.

Merlin, that was the problem, wasn't it? He was too much of a coward to do anything and he always had been.

There were other letters in his robes, all wrapped in wax to keep from damaging. Most of them from his father, spare a hastily scribbled note from Rubeus Hagrid begging for old photos of Lily and James Potter.

As soon as he had read it, Remus's first instinct was to rip up the paper and possibly flee to the other side of the world. That was always the plan. If people got too close, you packed up and left with not even your footprints behind you.

Except this was for Harry and Keziah Potter. It was present for the only living relics of his best friends. Remus had sighed and immediately apparated back to the cottage he was staying at.

No matter how much he wouldn't admit it to himself, Remus hadn't completely left himself behind. He was still in there, buried under a decade of poverty, self-hate and unprocessed grief.

Now that he was standing by the treeline, Remus twisted on the spot, eyes shut until he opened them in his semi-derelict flat in an estate in Manchester.