eleven

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It was only a few days before Christmas break, and the grounds surrounding Hogwarts had been enveloped with a pure layer of white snow. It coated the bare branches of the trees, painted the turrets on the castle and had caused the Black Lake to ice over. The Whomping Willow was fine of course, having shook all the snow from its branches the second it stopped falling.

Wren was pacing outside the Gryffindor boy's quarters, wringing out her hands in her usual anxious fashion. She was waiting for Milo to leave for lunch, planning out her apology in her head as she waited to pounce. She felt well prepared, having practised her speech multiple times the night before and yet still couldn't rid herself of the sick feeling rising in her gut.

Wren stopped mid pace as the oakwood door opened, a comforting head of platinum blonde hair shining in the artificial light. As soon as Milo's eyes met hers, the nonchalant expression on his face dropped into a frown, a slight roll of his eyes as she tried to push past her.

"Milo!" Wren tried, grabbing onto his arm with commanding hands," Please!"

The boy wasn't going to stop, but there was a pleading tone in Wren's voice that tugged at his heart strings. He couldn't deny that he missed her, and he knew that he had a tendency to be too stubborn for his own good sometimes.

"What?" He released a sigh of defeat, sinking into Wren's hold on his arm as she blinked up at him.

"Uh.." She stuttered. Despite having a whole script planned out in her head, she hadn't actually expected Milo to listen. So now that he was standing there, watching her expectantly, she was speechless. "I'm sorry?"

Milo furrowed his brows, "Is that a question, or?"

"No, no!" Wren panicked, "I really am sorry, Milo. I seriously don't know why I kissed him back like he really isn't my type! Not that there's anything wrong with him of course, I see why you like him! I just don't like him.."

"And I'm rambling." She sighed, her arms dropping flatly by her sides, "I had this whole apology planned out and.. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry and I miss you."

Milo just blinked back at her, before his lips curled up into a small smile, "I miss you too."

*

The platform outside of Hogwarts was bustling with excited chatter, students of all ages wrapped up in knitted scarves and woolly hats in an attempt to fend off the frostbitten December air.

Steam was billowing over the top of the Hogwarts Express, the windows iced over as the younger years pushed their faces up against the glass to wave goodbye to their professors.

Wren found herself smiling as she watched Hagrid excitedly wave at Hermione Granger as she climbed the stairs onto the train, the professor looking every bit the big friendly giant that everyone knew him to be.

"I swear this bag is 10 pounds heavier than it was this morning!" Milo groaned, as he tried to sling his duffle bag over his shoulder.

Wren giggled at her friend as she followed behind him, "That's because you kept adding things you didn't need!"

Milo shot Wren a dubious glare over his shoulder, "How do you know what I will or won't need?"

"Milo it's christmas break," She started, "You're not going to need sun cream, especially not factor 50!"

"Hm," Milo huffed, before muttering something under his breath about having 'sensitive skin' and that he would rather 'die than get a single wrinkle.'

Wren's attention was drawn elsewhere midway through Milo's dramatic speech, as she noticed a curly mess of mousy brown hair. Remus was standing not too far away, deep in conversation with the Potter boy. She wondered for a moment if he, in some way, felt responsible for Harry.

Remus could feel someone watching him as he looked up to catch Wren's eye, the girl giving him a small and pleasant smile. She could have sworn she saw his eyes brighten at the mere sight of her across the platform, but he quickly turned back to Harry before he let too much away.

"I bet my mum has knitted you another blanket." Milo chimed in, "She was so excited when I told her you were coming for Christmas, I actually thought she was going to pass out."

Wren giggled at her friend as she wrapped her arm around his. She found Milo's parent's to be fascinating, not only because they were Muggles but also because they were happy.

Back at Winslow Manor, Christmas was seen as more of a chore than a celebration, and they hadn't exchanged presents since Wren was seven. Dinner consisted of her father sitting at the head of the table reading the special edition of the Daily Prophet in silence, whilst Wren and her mother made small talk about school.

Christmas at the Shaw cottage was the complete opposite; Milo waking up at the earliest possible hour to open the presents in his stocking, matching hand picked sweaters and even an occasional carol sung by Mr.Shaw.

Christmas was slowly starting to become Wren's favourite time of year.

Milo cleared his throat. Wren looked up at him to find he was looking at something, or someone, over her head. She turned, to be met with that mousy brown haired professor that she had been watching earlier.

She felt Milo's arm slip from hers as he whispered a quiet "I'll see you on the train."

They looked at each other for a moment without speaking, before Remus' hand reached for the back of his neck, an awkward gesture that just made Wren smile even more.

"I, uh.." He started, "Just wanted to give you this before you go."

He was holding a small black box in his hand, concealed from any onlookers by the sleeve of his cloak. Wren's brows immediately furrowed, "I haven't got you anything!"

"Wren." Remus shook his head, as he reached to slip the box into Wren's pocket, "Do you really think I'd give you a gift just to get one back?"

Wren blinked up at him in defeat, as she stopped trying to argue back.

Remus stuffed his hands into his suit trouser pockets, knuckles bulging through grey plaid. His eyes were downcast, an awkward step in his stance as he rocked on the balls of his feet.

"Thank you." Wren's voice was quiet with a slight tremble to it. Nobody had ever given her a present just because they wanted to.

"My pleasure." Remus smiled, "Merry Christmas Wren."

*

Christmas Day had been and gone quicker than Wren could say Quidditch, the joys of the day slowly disappearing into the drunken smiles of the evening.

Milo's father was gently caressing the keys of his piano, as his mother sat on the seat beside him singing along. Wren watched as Milo winced, his features contorting into that of discomfort as his mother hit an out of key note. She hit her friend on the arm, widening her eyes with a small raise of her brows, as if to say "be nice!"

Wren could positively say that she was as stuffed as she had imagined the turkey had been earlier that day, a slight pink hue on her cheeks from all the champagne that she had been drinking. Loose curls hung across her shoulders, slightly covering the unflattering jumper that Milo's dad had gifted her. She and Milo were matching; A tradition that they had upheld since the very first Christmas that Wren had spent with the Shaw family.

Her eyes flutter over to her friend, whose cheeks are also flushed, as he sings along with his parents. Wren silently curses at herself for a moment, the disbelief that she could actually hurt her closest friend as much as she did bubbling in her chest.

She tried so hard to alienate herself from her family, only to turn out exactly like her father.

"I need to pee." Wren whispers to Milo as she places a gentle hand on his bicep. He shoots her a quick smile as Mr.Shaw flips the sheet music to another carol.

Wren makes her way up the crooked wooden stairs of the Shaw cottage, taking the first door on her left instead of continuing to the end of the hall for the bathroom. As soon as the door is shut behind her, she lets out a rather shaky breath.

The music from the piano is creeping in past the hinges, only making the tears fall quicker as Wren sinks to the floor. Memories flash across her mind with every chord that is struck - floorboards caked in crimson, erratic screams bouncing off concrete walls.

Was being born a Winslow really worth all this mental torture? She would rather have been born a muggle, to never have known that this world even existed, than have to relive her childhood in the manor she once called home. She would give almost anything to forget it all, and yet she was stuck with it coursing through her veins, stuck with it literally carved into her skin like she was some sort of satanic sacrifice.

Wren found herself laughing at the irony. She could recall countless times that she expressed her annoyance of Remus being so secretive about his scars. And yet, here she was, conjuring dark magic just to hide it.

She shut her eyes and rested her head against the door with a slight thud, picturing Remus' face as if he were right in front of her. He could heal them, and yet he chose not to. Were they there as a reminder of something? She wondered. A reminder of something he didn't want to forget or a reminder of his consequences?

Wren wipes the tears from her cheeks, before reaching over to the bag she had packed for Christmas break. Sitting in the inside pocket is a small, square box which she pulls from the confines of the burgundy canvas.

She falters for a moment as she wonders what she ever did to deserve this, before quickly opening the box as if ripping off a bandaid. As soon as she sees what sits inside the box, her heart practically melts in her chest, brows furrowed as a delicate finger picks up the chain.

Wren holds the necklace up to the window, faint rays of white moonlight bouncing from the silver. A small pendant hangs from the chain in the shape of the moon at its crescent just before a new moon takes its place. Small silver gems paint the moon, twinkling as the light hits them.

"I've always felt safe in the moonlight."

She had told Remus that in a moment of weakness, a fleeting comment that she didn't even think he had acknowledged. And yet, he had remembered.

Wren wasn't sure what this meant, or if it even meant anything at all. All she knew was that Remus Lupin was the first person who had ever truly listened to her.

*

Wren craned her neck as she made her way up the rather rickety stairs that led to Lupin's office, trying to decipher whether the office was occupied as she struggled to see past the large oak frame.

She found the office to be empty, rogue pieces of ink splotched parchment scattering the desk and floor. Wren took a tentative step forward; The room looked as though it had been left in a rush, a few half empty vials stood beside a round mirror.

Something was telling her that that the state of the room wasn't meant to be seen by anyone, let alone her. But Wren had always had a nosy side, a quality she had gained from her mother, and so wandered aimlessly over to the desk.

Her eyes scanned the parchment, trying to decode Remus' messy scribble. Tea stained paper lay askew atop the oak surface, a few diagrammatic drawings spread about that slightly resembled the moon. Pencil outlines of a plant she recognised to be wolfsbane artistically sketched and annotated with phrases Wren couldn't quite decipher.

A soft hand ran itself across the array of scattered parchment, stopping on a freshly printed newspaper article dated yesterday.

"RIOT IN AZKABAN PRISON, HUNDREDS PRESUMED DEAD!"

Her fingers rapidly flicked open the newspaper, small cuts forming on her skin from her hurry. She stopped on the page with the same title, her eyes scanning across the story as she searched for something in particular.

"Many infamous dark witches and wizards stalk the halls of Azkaban Prison, including the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange and Thomas Winslow. Known for their loyal infatuation to the Dark Lord, they were facing extended life sentences..."

Her eyes continued to scan the page, her brows furrowed in frustration as she read through the article.

"The ministry have not yet released the names of those who perpetrated the riot, nor how they managed to escape their cells. This atrocity occurs not long after the escape of notorious mass murderer, Sirius Black."

"The Daily Prophet are unable to comment on those hurt at this time."

Why did Remus have this on his desk? Why had Snape not told her about the riot if it happened yesterday? Wren's questions were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat, an unfamiliar silhouette of a man standing in the shadows of the doorway.

The man's hair was a mess, greasy looking black curls drooping across his forehead and in front of his eyes. An off white cardigan of sorts hung from his shoulders, covering a black and white striped top and trousers that loosely hugged his frame.

A tattoo lined the front of his chest, running along the visible bone of his sternum. He looked as though he had just been to Hell and back, and yet he still had a smile on his face.

"Hello, there." His voice was quiet, calm.

Wren couldn't help but stutter slightly, "Hi!"

"Sorry," He eyed the girl before him suspiciously, "I was just looking for a friend."

"Professor Lupin?" She asked with a raised brow.

The man smirked, a small laugh escaping his lips as he shook his head in disbelief, "Professor. I'll never get used to that."

Wren watched him as he took a look around Lupin's office, running a muddied hand across the many books on the wooden bookshelf, him too allowing himself a look at the parchment scattered across his desk.

"Do I know you?" Wren broke the silence, "You look familiar."

The man had dark brown eyes, which quickly flicked down to one of the many papers on Remus' desk. It was only a subtle glance, but a glance that Wren noticed nonetheless.

The words were big and bold and sent an uncomfortably cold shiver down the length of Wren's spine.

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS WIZARD?

Approach with EXTREME caution!!

Below the title was a picture of a rather violent looking man, his eyes nothing more than black pools. He looked soulless, and he was standing right in front of her.

As Wren's gaze slowly lifted to meet those of the escaped convict, her breath hitched in her throat as she realised how close the man had gotten to her. He was a mere inch away, as he slowly picked up his wanted poster from the desk.

The man studied it for a moment, before comically scrunching up his features, "I've never been very photogenic."

Despite the anxiety bubbling in her gut at the position she found herself in, Wren couldn't help but smile. The joy emanating from the man before her was somehow contagious; She had to admire how he made light of such a dire situation.

"I think it's just the lighting." Wren quipped back, to which the man laughed. His mouth opened to reply to Wren, but was cut off by the gravelly voice of someone standing in the doorway.

"Sirius?" There was a hint of shock in Remus' voice, but he had a sort of fiery anger in the brown of his eyes that Wren had never seen before.

Before Wren or the man before her even knew what was happening, Remus was standing between them with a protective arm held out in front of Wren. In his other hand was his wand, pointing straight at Sirius' chest.

The joy on Sirius' face faded immediately, replaced with what Wren could only describe as hurt. His brows were furrowed as he looked at his old friend, flickering between the anger on Remus' face and the wand firmly clutched in his hand.

"What are you doing here?" Remus practically spat. He had unconsciously stepped a little closer to Wren, his hand now sitting protectively across her stomach.

Sirius seemed to notice this, a small smirk playing on his cracked lips, "I came to see you, old friend."

Wren watched as Remus faltered, the hand holding his wand displaying a slight tremble.

Sirius took this as his opportunity to explain, "I didn't do it, Remus."

He still had the wanted poster clasped in his hand as he shook it in a furious gesture, "Do you really think I would do that to James and Lily? Do you really think I could do that to Harry?"

Remus lowered his arm as he loosened the grip on his wand. Wren's hand wrapped around the forearm of the arm held in front of her, as she watched the annoyance fade from Sirius' demeanour.

"What do you want, Sirius?" Remus' voice was a lot calmer now, laced with disappointment rather than anger. He was looking at his old friend with pity, something that made Sirius feel uncomfortable. Growing up in the family that he did, Sirius had never done well in times of discomfort, always feeling the need to crack a joke to lighten the tension.

"I didn't know you were into younger girls, Remus." It was a light hearted comment; Sirius was just trying to figure out exactly what was going on between Remus and Wren. He didn't mean for it to sound judgemental or conceited and he definitely didn't mean for Remus to take it that way.

But he did - And before Sirius could protest, he was hit in the chest with an explosion of blue light. Remus had hexed him, his body slamming into the bookshelf lining the far wall. Books fell to the floor from the collision, as all the wind disappeared from the pit of Sirius' stomach.

Remus shoved Wren backwards as he anticipated Sirius morphing into his signature scruffy dog. He hadn't meant to push her that hard but she fell to the floor with a grunt.

Drool was dripping from the sharp edges of Sirius' teeth as he stalked closer to Remus, the fur on the back of his neck standing on edge. A low growl was lingering in his throat, his pupils growing bigger with every step that he took.

He grabbed the wanted poster that he had dropped when hexed, puncturing the paper with his teeth as he ripped it to shreds. He gave one last snarl at Remus before he ran from the room, whimpering as he descended the stairs from where he had been violently thrown against the bookshelf.

Remus found himself frozen, his mind not even able to form a thought as he watched the retreating form of his longest friend. It hurt him, to see Sirius like that; He remembered a time when Sirius Black was the life and soul of the party.

But times changed - the sun ascended to give rise to another day and the moon reappeared every night in its usual tormenting way. Times changed, and people changed too. There was once a time that Remus and Sirius had told each other everything, but the boy's cocky smiles and quick wit had changed into the soft scent of vanilla and dimples on perfectly freckled cheeks.

Sirius was no longer Sirius, but that was something Remus had grown to deal with over time. No matter how much it really hurt.

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