Diagon Alley is amazing. If you’ve never been there, you have no idea what you’re missing. It is a maze of colour, movement, laughter, creatures, bangs, flashes, spells, people, and best of all- books!
That’s where I am now. In the bookstore.Since I have been home-schooled for a year Professor Dumbledore says I don’t need to be in the first year at Hogwarts, that I can go straight to second year with other kids my age. I’m glad of this, because I would have been bored otherwise, but on the other hand I feel that I should probably study these books quitethoroughly, just to make sure I’m not behind. Well, that’s my excuse for reading them, anyway. I’ve already bought all the books on the list that came with The Letter, and now I’m just going over them. I am not able to take my eyes off them, actually. Not only are they rich colours, beautiful, soft, shiny, and the pages perfectly un-crinkled, but they’re fascinating! I’ve never imagined that textbooks could be this interesting! My favourite is the Defence Against the Dark Arts book, but Fantastic Creatures and Where to Find Them comes a close second. Did you know that there is a type of bird called a Snidget, and that the Golden Snitch is based on that? I’ve never cared much for Quidditch, but that’s a funny little fact.
I turn the page.
Werewolf.
The werewolf is found worldwide, although it is thought to have originated in Europe. Humans turn into werewolves only when bitten. There is no known cure. Once a month, at the full moon, the otherwise sane and normal wizard or Muggle afflicted transforms into a murderous beast. Almost uniquely among fantastic creatures, the werewolf actively seeks humans in preference to any other kind of prey.
Ministry of Magic Classification: Known wizard killer.
I feel slightly sick. That’s me, a wizard killer, a murderous beast. For the last half-hour, I’ve forgotten all about it- I’ve felt like a normal boy, who is being stunned by the wonders of these magical shops. I’ve even been excited. It has felt so good, to be someone else, to be ordinary. But I am a werewolf. I am a werewolf! I must not forget, I must not forget!
There is a sliding sound beside me, and I quickly stop pummelling my forehead. A book has been removed from the shelf next to me, and through the sizeable gap it creates I see a boy about my age looking shiftily around his aisle. He has sallow, pale skin, lank black hair that hangs around his collar, and a long hooked nose. Black eyes glance suspiciously around as he tucks the large tome under his arm and heads towards the counter. I creep to the end of the aisle and peer around the shelves. Something in the demeanour of this hunted, friendless young boy almost connects me to him. He reaches the wizard lounging behind the sales desk and, without making eye contact, presents the book to him. He mutters something that even my sharp, wolf-like hearing can barely make out.
“It’s for my older brother,” he claims. But I feel that it’s a lie, by the way that he clutches the book to himself, and still won’t meet the sales wizard’s eyes.
“Well, a boy like you’s hardly gonna be reading summat like that!” drawls the man behind the counter. “That’s thirty Galleons. Cough up.”
The boy reaches into the pockets of his dirty, tattered, and too-large robes. Clutching a grimy handful of coins, he counts them out. Then he hesitates.
“You’re still two Knuts short!” informs the wizard, eyes narrowing in silent laughter. “Didn’t your brother give you enough gold?”
The boy is torn. I see in his eyes the yearning expression as he glances from the book in his arms to the money on the counter. My hunter’s eyes read the situation: his body is poised defensively, ready to fly, but across his features is displayed an almost wolfish hunger. I glance down at my pocket, where the weight of a single Sickle rests against my side. Mother had given it to me, to buy myself sweets while she wandered over to Madam Malkim’s.
“Here.” I am pushing the Sickle across the counter where it settles with the small pile of the boy’s coins. “I- I don’t need this.”
The boy looks at me with surprise and suspicion. The shop wizard rests back into his slouch behind the counter.
“Lucky your mate here “”
“I don’t need help from you,” the boy says. “I don’t even know you. Keep your money, I’m no pauper. I’ll come back later.”
I am surprised by the venom in his voice.
“I was only trying to- look, you can keep it, honestly, I don’t want it. I’ve already got enough books to last me, you might as well buy yourself one, I, I…” How can I say that I have seen the similarities between us, that we are both outsiders, different to other people, outcasts? But he seems to read it in my face. The shop wizard is forgotten, we look at each other for a long moment before he nods slightly and sticks out his hand.
“I’m Severus Snape. Slytherin.I’m about to start my second year at Hogwarts. You?” I take his hand. It is cool and damp, and his grip is light.
“R- Remus. Remus Lupin. I don’t have a House yet, I’ve been home-schooled but I’m going to Hogwarts this year. I’ll be in second year too.”
“So you’re not Muggle-born?” he asks, seeming both relieved and disappointed. I frown. This seems a strange question.
“No. All my family’s magical.”
Without realising it, we have walked away from the counter and towards the door. Both of us have our books clutched to our chests, and at almost the exact same moment we lift our hands to push hair out of our eyes. I notice the scars and bruises on his arm and he notices mine.
I smile easily, and nod towards the book I helped him buy.
“So, do you really have an older brother?” I grin.
The suspicion returns to his eyes.
“No, but I will read it myself. I do understand it. And I didn’t steal the money either, if that’s what you’re thinking, I’ve been saving. If you tell anyone “ my mother “ my father “ ” Now he’s anxious as well as aggressive. The understanding between us has disappeared.
I find myself reassuring him, and we walk together down an alley that I think is a shortcut to the section Madam Malkim’s is in. Mother always tells me not to go down these types of alleyways, but Severus seems to think it’s alright. What could happen in a place so close to Diagon Alley, anyway?
As we round the corner, four figures are waiting. Silently, they curse us, and we fall to the ground, immobile and defenceless. They take our books, both his and mine, and discard their wands to physically beat us. They kick our paralysed bodies savagely, over and over. They bloody my nose and blacken Severus’s eye. And then it stops, and as silently as they appeared, they leave, melting into the shadows and Disapparating.
We lie on the ground. Blood is trickling down my face, but I can’t wipe it away. Beside me Severus is moaning. Gradually I can hear him forcing his hand to his pocket. He pulls out a wand and mutters,
“Expecto Patronum.” A silver doe that glows in the gloom of the alleyway materialises. It bends its head to his mouth, and he forces instructions through his numb lips. The doe canters up the deserted alley, and into the street beyond that is Diagon Alley. I am in awe. A Patronus is very, very advanced magic. Even my father has difficulty casting one, let alone sending it on errands. Apparently Severus Snape is more than he’s letting on.
Minutes later I am beginning to regain movement of my hand and arm. How Severus has willed his to move before, when he produced the Patronus, is beyond me. I hear running footsteps echoing on the cobbled ground, and soon a girl jogs into view. She has dark auburn hair, pale, delicate features, and even now I can’t help noticing that her green eyes are the most stunning I have ever seen.
“Sev!” Her voice is shrill with concern. “What happened? I let you go off alone for ten minutes and you manage to get yourself beaten up? You must have a talent. It was just lucky you could cast your Patronus… Oh, your eye, it’s all bruised, and “ who’s this?” She has noticed me.
She performs the counter-curse, and we sit up, groaning.
“For once, it wasn’t Potter,” growls Severus, and he explains what happened. The girl introduces herself as Lily Evans, and I tell her my name.
As we stand up stiffly and limp back towards Diagon Alley, Lily considers me. Those amazing green eyes take in my hair, limp and uncared-for, and my skin, ghostly white and puckered with old wounds.
“Not all those scars are recent, are they?” she asks softly. I shrug, keeping my gaze fixed on my feet.
When we reach the shop-lined street, full of bustling witches and wizards, I apologise to Severus.
“I’m sorry about, about your book.”
He turns away, silent.
“He’s not angry at you,” Lily murmurs. “He’s just upset. Books mean a lot to him, and I don’t suppose anyone enjoys being mugged. It wasn’t your fault.”
It was. If I hadn’t been talking to him, distracting him, he might have seen the thugs, might have been able to avoid him. If I hadn’t given him the Sickle in that silly act of charity, he wouldn’t have had anything worth stealing. If I hadn’t gotten myself bitten all those years ago, I wouldn’t even have been buying all those schoolbooks. If I weren’t a werewolf, I would never have been compelled to introduce myself to Severus Snape.
But I nod anyway. I think Lily sees the hesitation in my face, and opens her mouth to say more, but Severus has already turned, limping left, back towards the Leaky Cauldron. She hastens to catch up with him, and support him on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry. Take care, Remus,” she calls back. Severus glances over his shoulder, and I meet his unreadable black eyes once again. He inclines his head, just once, but it’s enough. I raise a hand in farewell, and watch them disappear into the jostling crowd.
Mother will be upset about the books, I realise. But there’s so much to do today, so much to buy, so much to see, in this wonder that is Diagon Alley, that within an hour I have all but forgotten meeting Severus Snape.
But I will never entirely forget.
A/N: Thanks to Anna, my wonderful beta, for all her help. She's too hard on herself, honestly. The Werewolf definition is an excerpt from JK Rowling's Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them, edited only slightly for the purposes of this story.