"HP: Too Late, System!"Chapter 394: They Even Gave Him a Name—Moony
A familiar warmth welled up in Lupin, rising from the depths of memory without warning.
It was a scent—a complicated blend of cheap honey sweets after a prank, the musty parchment of the Restricted Section, and the comforting aroma of applewood burning in the Gryffindor common room fireplace.
He was back in that bustling dormitory: James waving his arms wildly as he explained Quidditch tactics, Sirius beside him, charming his quill into a tap dance, and Peter… Peter gazing at them with pure, worshipful eyes, clutching a squashed cauldron cake in his hand.
He was back in that cold little house—the Shrieking Shack on a full moon.
There, the air was free of fear. Only three unregistered Animagi kept him company.
James became a stag—noble, graceful, driving away danger with his powerful antlers and pushing back the darkness in Lupin's heart.
Sirius transformed into a massive black dog, always grinning, nudging Lupin's hand with a wet nose. That warmth, that silent companionship, was his only comfort in the chaos of transformation.
Even timid Peter would turn into a tiny rat, squeaking and scurrying around, doing his best—however small—to share Lupin's pain.
Those full moon nights, once the darkest curse of his life, became—because of them—a strange, bittersweet ritual, laced with both pain and warmth.
They even gave him a name.
Moony.
A nickname, half teasing, yet filled with that clumsy, awkward tenderness only young boys possess.
They were his brothers. His family.
The ones he thought he could trust with his life, share his secrets with, stand back-to-back with forever.
But that warmth lasted only a moment before it was snuffed out by a wave of icy betrayal.
The memory shattered.
The cozy common room became a ruin; the air in Godric's Hollow thick with the sweet stench of death. James lay by the door, Lily beside the crib.
The laughter in the Shrieking Shack turned into the mad grin of Sirius splashed across the front page, and the cold, heavy letters sentencing him to Azkaban for life.
And Peter—always trailing behind, gazing up at them with adoring eyes…
All that remained in Lupin's mind was a bloodstained finger, and a rat fleeing in terror, vanishing into the sewers.
Wormtail… Peter…
The friend who once squeaked by his side, sharing his pain. The boy who had sworn to be his friend forever…
Betrayal.
The word slithered around his heart like a venomous snake, its icy tongue tightening until he could barely breathe.
Regret.
For the first time, Lupin felt the physical weight of that word, as if regret itself had taken form—a cold hand squeezing his heart, nails digging deep into flesh.
He regretted not seeing the shadow behind Peter's cowardice.
He regretted not asking one more question when everyone believed Sirius was the Secret-Keeper.
He regretted those twelve years spent in exile and denial, instead of searching for the damned truth.
If…
If there had been no betrayal…
If…
If he'd been just a bit more alert, if he'd discovered the truth a little sooner…
Would James and Lily still be alive?
Would Harry have had a real childhood?
Would Sirius still be that wild, handsome youth roaring past on his enchanted motorbike?
And himself…
He didn't know.
He dared not imagine.
There are no ifs.
Reality was cold and merciless—a poisoned dagger carving into his heart again and again.
Those years of wandering alone, burdened with the werewolf curse and the loss of his friends, were so bleak he could barely see a glimmer of light. Every full moon was a double torment—body and soul.
Loneliness, like an invisible hand, gripped his throat, making him believe he might drown in endless darkness forever.
And then, in the midst of that torment, a clear blue glimmer cut into his vision.
It was the empty crystal vial—Douglas's calming draught, the one he'd given to Aldo.
Lupin's gaze drifted from the bottle to Douglas himself.
He stood there, as composed as ever, as if he saw through everything—and yet carried nothing as a burden.
He simply waited, quietly, without urging or questioning, giving Lupin all the time and space he needed to sink, to struggle, and—eventually—to find his own way out.
It was he who, like a bolt of lightning through the night, had illuminated Lupin's world of despair.
He brought the new Wolfsbane Potion, brought hope of breaking the curse—of being human once more.
It wasn't just a potion. It was redemption. The hand reaching into the mire to pull him out. The hope of piecing together a shattered life.
The storm of hatred and pain in Lupin's chest was slowly washed away by a gentle warmth.
In its place came something else—gratitude, and a quiet relief.
He was grateful that, at his lowest, he had met Douglas.
This wizard, who looked so much younger, possessed wisdom and strength far beyond his years—and a heart unclouded by prejudice.
He hadn't treated Lupin with caution or pity because of his werewolf curse. He had always given him respect, equality, trust—and strength.
He had saved not just Lupin, but Padfoot as well.
Lupin whispered the nickname for Sirius in his heart.
He let out a long, shaky breath, as if exhaling all the cold and pain from his chest.
He looked at Aldo again, and now the sympathy in his eyes was no longer that of a bystander, but a deep, soul-level understanding.
He saw his own past.
A wretch, cursed and abandoned, licking his wounds alone in the dark.
But Aldo was even less fortunate. He'd never had a Dumbledore, a James, a… Sirius. Only a handful of companions, struggling in the same mire.
And now, even that last sanctuary was gone.
Douglas's gaze never left Lupin. He saw the pain flicker in his eyes, the white-knuckled fists, the sorrow so intense it threatened to overflow.
He said nothing, just let out a gentle sigh—a sound that echoed in the silent mine.
He understood: Lupin was lost in memory, his rawest nerves exposed by Aldo's story. It was a pain only another outcast could truly comprehend—a despair born of being abandoned by the world.
He didn't interrupt. He simply slipped the whistle back into his pocket.
He knew that some wounds needed time to heal—just like magic suppressed too long, which, once unleashed, could destroy everything.
He gave Lupin a moment of peace, letting him face those heavy memories alone.
And when he saw Lupin's eyes refocus at last, Douglas allowed himself a small, gentle smile.
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