Chapter 259 – Lupin
Harry felt deeply embarrassed. In front of Ginny—his admirer—he was like a little doll, tightly hugged by Mrs. Weasley.
His pockets were stuffed full of freshly baked ham pies, and his legs felt as if someone had tied a pair of hot-water bottles to them.
Fortunately, Ron and Draco had already disappeared into the emerald-green flames one after another, so they hadn't witnessed this scene.
"Harry, you should go now." Mrs. Weasley wiped her eyes, her voice thick with emotion.
Harry couldn't help but look around at the Weasleys—Fred, George, Ginny, and even Percy, whose eyes were slightly red.
He didn't want to leave. The Burrow was home to him, just like Hogwarts—it was where his family was.
Taking a deep breath, Harry turned toward the fireplace and said clearly, "Number 12, Grimmauld Place!"
The sensation of traveling by Floo Network was always strange and thrilling. For a moment, it even made Harry forget the sadness of leaving the Burrow.
It felt as though he'd been sucked into a gigantic water pipe—his body spinning uncontrollably as the roaring wind whistled past his ears.
He tried to open his eyes, but the swirling green flames made him dizzy. Something hard struck his elbow, and he instinctively tucked in his arms, still spinning madly.
Cold air brushed his face like ghostly hands, and through his glasses, he caught blurred glimpses of passing fireplaces—like oven doors flashing by in a blur.
The remnants of lunch churned uneasily in his stomach, and the chicken pie in his pocket was in real danger of flying out. He hurriedly shut his eyes tight, praying for it to stop—then suddenly, thump!—he landed face-first on something soft.
It didn't feel like a carpet, more like a thick quilt—probably one that Sirius had thoughtfully laid out in advance.
Harry groaned softly, pushing himself up and blinking around.
The place was clearly a kitchen, though nothing like the Burrow's. It was spacious and elegant, with a long wooden dining table that could easily serve as a bed large enough for the entire Weasley family.
"Harry, you all right?" came Sirius's familiar voice.
"This doesn't look like you," Draco added, smirking slightly.
"Lucky for you, we had that blanket ready," Ron said, helping him to his feet.
"Hello, Harry," said another man—one Harry didn't recognize.
He looked to be in his thirties or forties, his light brown hair streaked with early touches of gray. Though dressed neatly, a faint weariness lingered in his expression.
"Hello, my name is Remus John Lupin," the man said kindly. "You can call me Remus—or Lupin, if you prefer."
Harry hesitated. "Um… nice to meet you. Who exactly are you?"
Lupin smiled faintly. "I'm cursed to suffer once a month," he said casually, as though discussing the weather. "I'm a werewolf."
Ron and Draco immediately stepped back several paces, shifting to subtly form a barrier between Harry and Lupin.
"Hello," Harry said politely, unlike his nervous friends.
He trusted Sirius—and if Sirius trusted this man, then so would he.
"You've got some good friends," Lupin said approvingly. "You really are James's son."
Sirius laughed and clapped Harry on the shoulder, eyes bright with nostalgia. He wasn't looking at a godson now, but at a dear friend reborn in the next generation.
Lupin's expression softened too. There was surprise—and relief—in his eyes, the kind that comes with being accepted once again after years of isolation.
"Oh, how I've missed those days! James—no, Harry." Lupin's voice wavered briefly before he smiled again.
"When I was a child," he began quietly, "I was deliberately bitten by a werewolf named Fenrir Greyback. That's how I became what I am. It was only because of Dumbledore that I was allowed to attend Hogwarts at all."
"Do you know the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade?" Lupin asked suddenly.
Harry and Draco shook their heads, but Ron nodded.
"You don't remember James at all," Sirius said wistfully. "He snuck out to Hogsmeade with us during our first year."
"The name Shrieking Shack actually came from me," Lupin continued, a trace of humor in his tone. "And Dumbledore encouraged the rumor himself."
"Hey! Didn't James and I help spread that rumor too?" Sirius interrupted, pretending to be offended.
"That's not really the point," Lupin said with a soft chuckle. "Being a werewolf was painful. Every month, I'd isolate myself so I wouldn't hurt anyone—but the villagers would still hear my screams and thrashing. They thought it was haunted by a vicious ghost."
"I heard they still avoid the place," Draco murmured in fascination.
"Yes," Lupin said, smiling faintly. "No ghost—just me. Those were lonely, painful nights… but I had Hogwarts, and friends like James and Sirius. That made it bearable."
He paused, his eyes distant with memory. "To hide the truth, I made up excuses every month—saying my mother was ill, or my uncle had died. But your father and Sirius still found out. And instead of avoiding me…"
"They learned how to become Animagi," Sirius finished proudly. "All on their own."
Lupin nodded. "They wanted to keep me company during the full moon. So they became animals that could safely be near a werewolf."
"Then that Peter must've turned into a mouse," Ron blurted suddenly.
Lupin blinked, startled by the accuracy—and by the sudden mention of the traitor's name. For a moment, he simply looked at Ron, wondering how much this red-haired boy already knew.
"He knows because I mistook his pet rat, Scabbers, for Peter back at Hogwarts," Sirius explained quickly, grimacing.
"Why were they safe as animals?" Harry asked curiously. "What about my dad?"
"Werewolves are only dangerous to humans," Lupin explained gently. "There's a Whomping Willow on the grounds of Hogwarts that guards a secret passage leading to the Shrieking Shack—it was planted there because of me."
"Peter's animal form was small enough to slip under the tree's branches and press the knot that froze its movement. That's how they got in."
"Sirius and James became large animals—strong enough to keep a werewolf in check."
Harry frowned thoughtfully. "You said my dad's nickname was Prongs. So he must've been some kind of deer, right?"
"A stag," Lupin confirmed with a fond smile.
"So that's what it means!" Harry said. "I've always wondered."
"Typical Ravenclaw curiosity," Sirius teased. "James was a moose—the biggest kind of deer."
Harry laughed softly, a warmth filling the room that seemed to bridge two generations—the sons carrying the legacy of their fathers, and the friends who remembered them all too well.
(End of Chapte
r 259)
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