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More than thirty years ago, Lyall Lupin worked at the Ministry of Magic.
At the time, he served as a member of the jury in a murder trial involving a werewolf. Again and again, he argued that the suspect must be detained and investigated thoroughly, refusing to yield even as the session dragged on.
But his firm and impassioned appeals only met a wall of indifference. The rest of the jury, eager to collect their pay and go home, shifted in their seats, their faces blank and impatient.
Werewolves were a taboo, a plague. No one wanted to be involved with them, no one wished to speak of them.
The wizarding world had no way to restrain a werewolf's transformation. Wolfsbane Potion, that miracle of modern potion-making, had not yet been invented.
At that time, it didn't matter how or why someone had been bitten. Once marked by the curse of the wolf, there was no coming back.
Lyall believed this without question.
During the trial, he stood up in anger and declared that the accused man, who sat there pretending to be innocent, was very likely the murderer they were looking for.
Werewolves, he said, were dangerous, soulless beasts. Every last one of them should be hunted down, locked away, or destroyed.
But in the end, the charges were dismissed for "lack of evidence."
The werewolf walked free. With his masterful performance of feigned innocence and the jury's careless indifference, Lyall could only watch in fury and disbelief as the murderer strode proudly out of that solemn courtroom.
And then came the nightmare.
Just as the freed monster stepped out of the Ministry's grand doors, he suddenly turned back, seized one of the escorting officers, and tore him apart before vanishing into the shadows.
Several days later, beneath a full moon, four-year-old Remus Lupin woke from his sleep to the shattering sound of breaking glass. Through the window burst Fenrir Greyback.
The child's screams tore through the night. The curse of the werewolf, savage and unrelenting, sank deep into his flesh and soul.
Lyall arrived moments later. A volley of sharp spells drove the creature back, but the damage had already been done.
Under the pale light of the moon, his son's small body was torn with wounds so deep they exposed the bone. In that instant, Lyall's heart plunged into an icy abyss. He understood, with crushing certainty, that unless a miracle came to pass, this child, his child, would spend every full moon of his life ripped apart by the curse, transforming into the monstrous creature everyone despised.
From that moment on, their lives sank into a pit as dark and hopeless as that of any Muggle family burdened by incurable illness.
Work became impossible to maintain, and their finances grew tighter with each passing month.
They kept young Remus hidden within the walls of their home. Husband and wife, nearly driven to madness, scoured the world for ancient rites, obscure spells, and folk remedies that might lift the curse. Every flicker of hope, no matter how faint, would soon gutter out, leaving behind a deeper, heavier despair.
The curious stares of neighbors felt like thorns pressing into their backs. Whispers followed them from one street to the next.
And so, they began to move, again and again, from one quiet little town to another, each more remote than the last. They ran from gossip, from pity, and from the shadow of the moon that never stopped haunting their lives.
Remus's childhood was steeped in the inky darkness of pain and loneliness.
Yet under his father Lyall's strict and exacting tutelage, he absorbed magical knowledge far beyond what most children his age could grasp. And under his mother's gentle wisdom and steady kindness, he grew into a boy of warmth and understanding, humble, courteous, and soft-spoken.
The turning point came when Remus turned eleven.
Professor Albus Dumbledore himself appeared at the door of the old wooden cottage where they were hiding.
The wise old wizard extended his hand to the despairing couple, offering Remus a chance to study at Hogwarts.
At that moment, after so many years of gloom, a long-lost light finally broke through the dark clouds that had shrouded over their family.
For the first time in years, the Lupins found a fragile kind of peace.
Now, the brown-haired boy in the photograph—the one laughing with carefree delight—had long since been tempered by the curse of the full moon into a man marked by hardship and endurance.
Since graduating from Hogwarts, he had lived like drifting foam upon water, wandering from place to place.
Lyall knew all too well how hard those years had been for his son.
Remus's letters home were written on the cheapest scraps of parchment he could find. Each word carried a faint weariness that could not be washed away, and between the lines lingered a fragile, heartbreaking distance.
Again and again, Lyall called for his son to come home, even if only for a brief visit.
But Remus always refused, stubborn and quiet.
He was afraid...
Afraid that on the night of the full moon, the beast inside him might lose control. Afraid that he might bring ruin upon his aging father.
His identity as a Werewolf was like a brand that cut him off from the normal world.
A stable, respectable job? That was nothing more than a fantasy dream.
He could only move from one meager, temporary job to another, struggling to survive, fighting each day simply to earn enough to keep himself alive.
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