marlenesgirl

[marlenesgirl]

a little something from my tiktok

[marlenesgirl]

“ Chapter 2: Care of Magical Motorcycles

Remus has always known that he understands magic differently. Most witches and wizards can at least feel magic or have a sixth sense for it, but Remus Lupin can peel it apart. He can strip a spell down to the very emotion felt during its conjuring. Most interestingly, everyone has a different magical identity; a scent woven into their spells. Any time Lyall would cast a simple charm, Remus was met with a rich, dark chocolate and cherry cordial. The smell was sweet, warm with the smallest tinge of bitterness. It was so familiar, smothered in childhood and comfort.

That’s why when Dumbledore lifts his wand and murmurs a quiet enchantment, Remus’ senses become overwhelmed. Similarly to his father, the spell smells of dark chocolate. It’s faint, instead overpowered by a citrusy orange and the slightest tinge of cinnamon. Remus is reminded of an autumn evening, wrapped in fuzzy quilts and his mother's love.

The smell dissipates and Remus looks down. Much to his surprise, his jumper is now a crème knit sweater. His pajama pants were gone too, dark wash jeans replacing them and in better condition than anything he’s ever owned. He has shoes now and even catches a hint of vanilla sticking to his skin.

“Our Groundskeeper, Hagrid, will accompany you on your journey, Mr. Lupin,” Dumbledore said. Remus nods, but he’s hardly listening, still surprised at his wardrobe change. The boy has never seen a spell like this. For his entire life, magic has been used to either bind or heal. Otherwise, Hope disapproved of Lyall’s magic. She had always said she wanted Remus to grow up as normal as possible.

A hand rests on Remus’ shoulder. It’s familiar; warm and gentle. He turns his head to Hope, her grip on him tightening as if letting him go would mean never seeing him again.

“Be good for Hagrid. Listen to what he says and don’t get into trouble,” she said. Her lips purse and her eyes search his face. He didn’t have to reply. His mother knew just as well as he did that it was a warning. People would see him and judge him by his scars before anything else, and many would not be kind.

Sometimes Remus forgot they are there. Jagged lightning bolts that cascade across his tanned skin, littering his arms, legs, and back. The scar others eyed the most, however, was the one sitting right on his left cheek - a striking, white wound that connected his temple to his jaw. It had been there for a few years now, its conception lost in a sea of forgotten full moons.

A loud boom shocks Hope and Remus out of their silent exchange. The manor shudders ever so slightly, the chandelier twinkling and picture frames rattling.

Dumbledore, however, smiles. It’s slight and raises just enough to meet his eyes. “That would be Hagrid,” he said calmly. Remus watches as both professors stand to their feet, an action both graceful and intriguing. He’s beginning to notice they do everything with skill only learned from age.

Professor McGonagall waves her hand in the air, beckoning Remus to follow her. He does, and they exit the kitchen and travel the winding halls. Remus wants to ask how exactly they know which room to pass through and which hall to take as they effortlessly maneuver through the manor. But he doesn’t. Remus figures some things are better left to curiosity.

The four of them pass the music room and reach the front door, cinnamon orange chocolate reaching his nose as the front door opens with the flick of Dumbledore’s wand.

The first thing Remus notices is the chirp of songbirds. Just this morning, they lay dormant, but now the birds erupt with life. They sing melodically, swooping in and out of trees, worms wriggling in their beaks. Squirrels bat their tails against trees as they race one another, and animals alike bask in the morning sun. Remus could even hear a fox rustling in the bushes nearby, watching them gather outside the manor curiously.

Something stands out, however. Well, more like someone. Hagrid is tall. Taller than anyone Remus has ever known, though, that list is rather short. His face swims in a mass of black curls, his beard dropping down to his chest. He wears a rather simple outfit, black pants and a black shirt that blend with his beard. His eyes, however, stand out to Remus. To put it simply, they’re kind . Warm and inviting. Hagrid stares down at young Remus with nothing but fondness, smiling brightly.

“Er’s the little guy!” Hagrid exclaims. His voice matches his stature, the sound deep and reverberating. It’s comforting.

“Hagrid! This is Remus and his mother Hope Lupin,” Professor McGonagall said. Hagrid introduces himself to Hope, shaking her hand enthusiastically. She responds just as politely, seeming to shrink beside him. And that was surprising as she has always been just as tall as Lyall.

“Do you have the list Dumbledore sent you?” McGonagall asks.

Hagrid pats his chest, nodding vigorously. “Oh yes, ‘av it right here! Safe ‘n sound!” He assures proudly. McGonagall smiles at that, looking at Remus. “Well then, be on your way! And remember to have fun, Remus.”

Remus grins. His mind buzzes to life with what was to come. Would there be dragons or fortune tellers? Maybe wise, old wizards, or fairies with iridescent wings? Remus can’t help but wonder. All he has are stories from his mother, and even less from his father.

Curiosity would forever be his Achilles heel.

“Put this on!” Hagrid pulls Remus away from his thoughts, surprising him as something is shoved into his arms. Remus looks down and furrows his eyebrows.

“It’s a…helmet?” He questions, inspecting the safety precaution. It’s cold to the touch, white with peeling paint revealing black plastic. Oddly enough, it reminds him of the one he wore when Lyall first taught him to ride a bike.

Hagrid chuckles, stepping aside. Behind him sits a rather large, jet-black motorcycle, with a light blue sidecar attached to its side. Remus’ jaw drops. He has never seen a motorcycle before, only ever hearing of them on the radio or seeing them in the papers.

“Are we taking that?!” He exclaims, rushing up to the vehicle. He gawks, watching as his eyes widen in the pristine reflection. The motorcycle gleams against the sunlight, not a speck of dirt in sight, which should be nearly impossible for driving out in the countryside.

Remus can hear Hagrid’s boisterous laugh behind him.

“Well, o’course we are!” He exclaims. “No better way to Diagon Alley than this!”

“Diagon Alley...” Remus repeats under his breath. He doesn’t take his eyes off of the bike, retreating back into his mind. Wonder overtakes him, a feeling quite familiar to him. His parents offered him as much of the world they could, but he still has so many questions. He can’t help but crave knowledge and exploration beyond the manor and the life he knows.

Remus lifts the helmet, placing it on his head. He climbs into the sidecar, fastening his seatbelt eagerly. Hagrid says his goodbyes to the Professors and Hope, to which she replies with a knowing smile.

Although Remus would be home before the sun set, both he and Hope knew he’d return different; enthralled by magic and eager to go to Hogwarts. To leave home.

“Er we go, kid!” Hagrid exclaims, approaching the bike. Remus immediately notices how he now wore large, circular goggles on his face. He smiles to himself.

Hagrid takes a seat, the motorcycle flickering to life. The bike putts and hums, Remus’ chest rumbling in sync with the engine.

“You might wan’ to hold on tight,” Hagrid warns. Remus swallows hard, gripping the bars inside the sidecar. He squeezes his eyes shut as Hagrid twists the handles and sharp growls erupting from the exhaust.

Hagrid clears his throat, focusing his eyes on the road in front of him. He accelerates quickly, Remus’ body slamming against the back of the seat. He gasps, knuckles now white from his grip on the car. Suddenly, Diagon Alley doesn’t seem all that worth it.

“Don’t look down!” Hagrid yells over the sound of rocks crunching under wheels. Remus’ eyes pop open. “Don’t look down?” He repeats.

Hagrid doesn't respond. Instead, Remus watches curiously as Hagrid pulls the handles upward. In just seconds, and much to Remus' dismay, the motorcycle shoots upward and off of the ground entirely.

[marlenesgirl]

finally posting the next chapter!!! <33

[marlenesgirl]

“ Chapter 1: The White, Bright Bumblebee

August 30, 1971.

Surely, it was too early for visitors. The sun had yet to pool past Remus’ curtains and it was chillier than usual. Most days, Hope would wait until the birds sang and the laundry was hung to wake him. He loved that; loved opening his eyes to the light reflecting off of her long red hair and her lips tickling him with kisses.

But today was different. His mother stood at the foot of his bed and shook him firmly rather than peppering him with love.

“Remus, darling. Get up, there’s some people I’d like you to meet.” Her voice is soft, daring to lull him further into sleep. “Up, sweetheart,” she continues, “and get dressed. They’re from Hogwarts.”

This grabs his attention, the boy allowing himself to open his eyes. “Hogwarts?” Remus murmurs, sitting upward. He grunts a bit. His body was growing sore, a headache threatening to emerge as it always did the week of a full moon.

Hope hums as he finally looks at her. “Quickly now. I’ll start some tea to give you some time.” She offers him a half smile, but Remus notices the worry behind her eyes. They usually adorned a light brown, but today they were sullen and harsh. This wakes him up quickly. Hope only ever got like this when she was worried - and she was only ever worried about him.

She leaves as quickly as she arrived. Remus sits in his bed, still dazed, and listens hard. He felt uneasy now, but focused nonetheless.

He hears the voice of his mother first.

“Sorry about that, he’ll be down shortly. Tea?”

“Oh, yes. Tea sounds wonderful, but with no sugar.”

The second voice is unfamiliar. A bit shrill, aged and wise beyond her years.

“Yes, thank you.” A third voice. Man. “Five cubes for me.”

This one is harder to pick apart. It certainly belongs to someone older, but how old puzzles Remus. He can strip back many years behind the man’s words, but almost more than what’s humanly possible. Then again, Lyall had always said magic tended to defy rationality.

Remus pulls back his covers. Flinging his legs over his bed and onto the cool ground, he makes his way to his closet. His heart races and ears begin to burn. What could they possibly want with him? His mother had already sent letters ahead, detailing their typical full moon procedures, and Oxfordshire wasn’t particularly close to the Scottish Highlands. Am I in trouble already? Remus shakes his head at that thought. There is simply no way he could mess up before he’d even started. …Is there?

The eleven year old tugs a jumper over his head and runs a hand through his hair to part any knots. This would simply have to do. His anticipation overruled a nice shirt and effort. It’s not his fault they had shown up before the sun had fully risen.

Remus opens his door which is almost immediately met by the staircase. Each step creaks, so his presence doesn’t exactly go unnoticed.

“Here he comes,” Hope announces, followed by the quiet clutter of teacups sitting back onto the table. Remus prepares himself, taking a deep breath as he enters the kitchen.

The young boy is immediately drawn - no, entranced - by the two strangers. They sat at the small, circular dining table, straightening up as they, too, took him in. “This is my son, Remus,” Hope prompts. She sat opposite of them, an open seat beside her. This was the most full their dinner table had looked since Lyall’s death.

Remus focuses back on the visitors. To his right sat an old woman - just as he had guessed. She wore a strict look softened by years, with narrow glasses perched on her nose. A pointed hat sat atop her head as if she’d walked out of a storybook, leading him to conclude that she is a witch. The man beside her wasn’t as easy to break down. He had a white beard that pooled in his lap, and a less conspicuous hat of his own. His glasses were similar to the woman’s, but adorned a half moon shape instead. He had an air of importance to him, but what really grabbed Remus’ attention was the electricity seeming to radiate from him. It rattled his bones, and pulsed through his veins. Magic.

“My name,” the old woman begins, “Is Professor Minerva McGonagall.” Her words are much more gentle than Remus had previously heard; kind and unprovoking. In that moment, he knew he could place endless trust in her.

“And I am Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But just Dumbledore will do.” Dumbledore spoke slowly, but with kindness and intrigue. He allowed a slight pause between each word as if saying it all at once would scare Remus off. And it kind of did, either way. Hogwarts felt more real now than ever and that meant dedicating the next seven or so years of his life to being away from his mother and all things familiar.

“Have a seat,” his mother said. Remus’ train of thought is interrupted, and he is quick to oblige.

“We’ve heard a lot about you, Remus,” Professor McGonagall said. “I’m sure,” Remus murmurs, “I doubt you get many kids that turn into animals.”

Dumbledore laughs at this, his eyebrows raising at Remus’ ease in mentioning his “problem.”

“That is very true,” Dumbledore said. “Your case is unique, unlike anything we’ve seen before, which is why we’ve come to visit you, Mr. Lupin.”

Remus’ cheeks go red at that. Mr. Lupin. No one had ever spoken to him that way. Especially someone who seemed as important as the witch and wizard that sat before him. He’d only ever heard Mr. Lupin when someone addressed his father, but of course, it had been years since then.

“And, I must admit, this is a bit more than a visit. With the new year beginning at Hogwarts, there are many supplies you will need. Quills and books, and most importantly, a wand,” Professor McGonagal said. “With your mothers permission, we intend to have a good friend of ours take you to a place that can offer these things to you.”

Excitement bubbles within Remus, seeming to overpower his uncertainties. He’d lived rather mundanely up until now with random bursts of prepubescent magic here and there, but nothing grandiose. The most he’d ever seen Lyall do was Silencing Charm.

“I’m sorry,” Hope suddenly interrupts. “I am completely fine with him going wherever he needs, but I don’t understand why both of you made such a far journey just to say that. Is there something I’m missing here?” His mother speaks tightly, and it becomes clear she is suspicious of their intentions.

Professor McGonagall clears her throat awkwardly.

“Well, we’d like to assess him,” she admits. “There is not much research on werewolves, particularly on children who have been raised with the…condition.”

Remus looks to his mother. She remains unfazed, but her arms are crossed, signaling her dissatisfaction with Professor McGonagall’s answer.

“We know that you and your husband have a routine during full moons,” Dumbledore intervenes, “but we intend to find a different solution. Perhaps with the aid of stronger magic. In order to do this, we need to learn about Remus; see how he interacts with others.”

“We only intend to help him,” Professor McGonagall adds.

The room is quiet for a few seconds, but ultimately, the air grows less tense. Hope relaxes her shoulders.

”Ok,” she concludes. “Do what you must.”

Remus allows that boyish excitement to grow once more. Hope was the most stubborn of the Lupin’s, but she was logical. She knew when an argument wasn’t worth standing on. Surprisingly, Remus had always admired this and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever be half as great as Hope Lupin.

“When does he leave?” Hope asks. She allows her first full smile of the morning.

Dumbledore chuckles, a bright glint in his eyes that Remus would grow to find familiar.

“Now.”

[marlenesgirl]

“ Prologue

Every story starts with a little magic. There’s an idea - and with a little imagination - life. There’s twists and turns unknown to its creator as a flurry of pure thought overtakes all rationality. This story, however, has real magic. A force that’s so powerful, Remus can feel it. The gentle rock in his chest after a spell is performed - its scent that’s unique to each user. Warm, simmering apples for James, blooming daffodils for Peter, and the serene morning of the first winter snow for Sirius. He can taste it; feel it course through his veins and invade his lungs. Not all are sweet, but none are ever bitter. Magic is like that. Forever enticing despite its abilities to deconstruct as quickly as it creates. Remus would know. He wears an ugly scar to prove it, streaked with silver and jagged punctures. A werewolf bite, to put it simply. Given to him when he was only five as a repercussion of his fathers work. Lycanthrope Relief or something or the other. He didn’t know the politics of werewolves, but hell, did he know the pain.

When he was little, hardly beyond nappies, he heard whispers of wolves. Often accompanied by a little girl in a red cape, his mother read to him routinely. He associated full moons with monsters and pulling bed sheets over his head. Naive; sheltered. The truth, he soon discovered, was that they elicit torment. Deep, neverending torment that took that little boy and forced him into what he once only knew as fiction. That’s the curse of being a werewolf. You lose yourself first then everyone around you.

Even though Remus’ life was now mapped out by moon cycles, Hope and Lyall Lupin tried their damndest to shield him from it. His first few years after the attack were unforgettable bliss. Chocolate candies in bed, new figurines any time they went by the shops, listening to whatever Remus pleased on the radio. They coddled him until he was old enough to better understand sorry’s. Like clockwork, they’d block out the one night a month where he was chained to the basement floor, howling in pain. No amount of silencing charms could keep the wolf at bay. Oftentimes, the chains didn’t even hold, and Remus would find himself adorned with gaping wounds, strewn helpless.

That was the only time Hope cried; when she saw glimpses of a weathered man in her son.

This push and pull of guilt and overcompensation, however, ended with Lyall’s life. He died on a cool April morning. Simple, and just like that. It was an accident at the Ministry; an uproar of protests gone wrong. Remus was seven. The only thing he really remembered that day was Hope making pancakes and putting so much syrup on top, Remus was the happiest boy in the world. Then came the knocks on the door and the screams and the cries. The rest was a blur.

Soon after, they moved. Their two bedroom home in London became the countryside of Oxfordshire. With it, a small manor that had been passed through Hope’s family for centuries. It was a bit of a fixer-upper, but it did the job. It was, afterall, where most of Remus’ memories blossomed. The home was big enough for three bedrooms and a kitchen, living room, and most importantly, a playroom. There was no one for miles and it soon became their own slice of paradise. Most days began with collapsing in kelly-green grass so picturesque, Remus remembered it fondly from gardening magazines his father read.

Together, he and Hope soaked up every ray the God Almighty sun had to offer. They’d garden in their pajamas and made friends with the songbirds and stray cats. And, conveniently, it had a basement; hidden and only accessible from the kitchen. Hope said something about it once being used for food storage, but Remus knew it had a bigger secret now.

But life could never be so simple. Remus was getting older, afterall, and with age came the revelation of Remus’ likely future. Hogwarts.

Hope did her best to explain what she knew of Lyall’s world. Spells and legends, magical creatures and ancient history. But her stories always had holes. Little bits of information not quite understood or ready for the ears of a young boy. What she did know was that when Remus turned eleven, he might receive a letter summoning him to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She always emphasized the maybe’s and if’s, but Remus knew. He knew magic lived inside of him, itching to break free like a wolf of its own.

And it did.

[marlenesgirl]

regulus black 🌊

a little edit from my tiktok <3

[marlenesgirl]

new fanfic summary 🦢

After the war, Remus Lupin is haunted by ghosts. They take the shape of his lover, best friends, and their families. Grief-stricken and against better judgement, he publishes a book detailing his life from the moment he arrived at Hogwarts, to the very end of the First Wizarding War. Loss, fear, betrayal. His entire life, he’s been in a race against time; merciless, fleeting time. The legacies of his closest friends ended with their lives, but Remus is determined for generations to come to know just how deep their sacrifices bleed. Even if it's the last thing he does, Remus intends to expose that magic is forever changing, and more complex than anyone could ever imagine. And that they encountered this truth firsthand in the shape of Horcruxes.

[marlenesgirl]

“ introducing…

hi there! my name is kylie and i am a marauders era fanfic writer and editor 💭

my tiktok is marlenes.girl if you’d like to check out my content !!

my ao3 is wave2hao, and i am currently working on a fic titled “love, (by remus john lupin)” 🐈‍⬛