Chapter Text
24 June 1986
In Cheapside, Liverpool, stood a formidable red brick building. Littered with small and symmetrical black rimmed windows, squared and shuttered, and topped with a dark sleeted roof, Main Bridewell police station was no establishment to be reckoned with. It was tall and proud, devoid of character, or if it did have character, it would be that of a tight-fisted principle governing some militaristic school.
Damp and anger clung to every wall, and when Remus Lupin was a mousy haired child of six, he would cling to his mother's warm sweat stickled hand and gaze up at it with gaping lips and shrunken pupils. It had that effect, or was supposed to, and had a tendency of shooting iron rods of fear down Remus' spine back then.
Perhaps it was the lack of plants and birds, or the burly blokes in uniform and tattoos who lingered in the courtyard behind iron gates, or the smog that rose from the chimney (the older kids from Sunday School back then said it came from the bodies of muggers and runner boys, who the magistrate burned when the prisons got too full).
It was most likely all these things, and many more, that made Remus tear his eyes to his mother that day and beg her not to let the 'big men snatch him'. Hope Lupin, with her kindly wrinkled face and soft honey eyes, had told Remus as she peered down at him 'Jes keep yer 'ead down, Remmy, and ne'er get caught'.
A decade later, Remus had once again been caught. It was not his first time in the station, and he was sure it wouldn’t be his last.
The first day he had found himself here, he wasn’t behind bars of cool steel, or in the lucid corridor beyond those hung with bare and temperamental lightbulbs. Nor was he in the interrogation room, or the pews of the court, or the small medical office which he knew was located on the lower floors.
No, the first time Remus had been here was at the ripe age of eleven, and he hadn’t been shaking from the lack of heating, rather the crumbling and gravity defying fear that rose through his small, skittish body when he had been informed of his parents’ deaths.
He remembered it well, despite the small and guilty part of him that clung beneath his skin wishing he didn’t. He remembered a neat black dress, hugging at plump hips, and watery blue eyes as a platinum haired woman told him his parents had ‘gone away for a while’.
He remembered kicking her soft shins and screaming at the walls and the people who lingered by them. He remembered curling up on the floor, because the woman’s sugar-coated words were transparent, and growing up in Liverpool made kids immune to that blurring of real life that adults were so keen of.
He remembered blaming the woman for telling him, and the officers for finding their bodies, and the building for witnessing his hysterics, and himself for not being able to shove the wetness on his splotchy face right back into his tear ducts.
He had rubbed his throat raw, taken away at least half his body weight with tears he was sure, and after being reduced to a state of hiccups and snotty sniffles, he had never cried about it again.
When he left the station last night, his pudgy hand tugged along by another woman, this one in a blue dress that Remus told her he’d seen in a charity shop three days prior, he found himself glancing back up at the building one last time.
He thought in that moment that his slightly ungrounded fear as a kid had been entirely grounded after all, and remained convinced that he had some sort of psychic ability to feel bad omens for many years after. Remus didn’t think of his parents much after that. He found it too painful, and hated the way it brought aches to his bones and a lodge to his throat.
He had been brought to his uncle’s house, an uncle he had only ever seen at the local NewsLink, usually buying things in glass bottles or cardboard packs. His uncle had grunted at him when he got in, shoved lightly by the lady, and had given him a stale smelling embrace which dropped the moment the woman had shut the door.
They had never hugged after that, barely talked though they shouted plenty, and Remus found that that night he crossed a sort of bridge in his life. He had been a naive 11-year-old that morning, and a tumultuous and broken mess by nightfall.
Over the years he had found new family – it wasn’t hard on the run-down streets of Liverpool, and he found his new home outside pubs, and on street corners with kebab shops and chippies. Inside Zippos and fags bummed from strangers, warehouses pumping with slippery bodies and house music, apartments full of other futureless kids and, later, basements with rings and bloody knuckles.
It wasn’t of Hope and Lyall, who had cared for him those first 11 years in a cramped townhouse in Watermoor Rd., but of his more recent chosen family who he thought of now, once again in the slammer of Main Bridewell (fondly donned Bridy).
Remus’ body was stiff. His legs felt as if they’d been torn off in an unceremonious surprise surgery, which he really didn’t think was at all a pleasant reward for his efforts last night. His back was stony as he sat propped against the wall on his thin squeaky mattress, legs loosely bent at the knees as his head rested back on the plaster.
He picked at the scabs on his knuckles, hissing when he yanked one clean off and witnessed crimson pooling in a small droplet from the target of his fidgeting. Narrowing his eyes, he brought it to his mouth, sucking it away harshly as it felt instinctual to do.
He was far more acquainted with his particular cell than he would have liked to be and held grudges against the concrete floor and the sterile odour of bleach that hazed the air. He also remained unforgiving to said bed that he splayed on, and it disgruntled him that the coppers hadn’t taken his advice on providing pillows that he’d given the last time he was down here. Very rude on their part, and not in the least considerate of the regulars.
Dropping his somewhat tamed hand back down to the bed, Remus averted his attentions to the bemusing bars in front of him. He had hoped Clive would have picked him up by now, and was seriously considering socking his elder for the audacity of leaving him there all night.
He was about a third of the way through glaring and telepathically shooting a wrathful rant about ‘the importance of bailing out your mates before they are paralysed from poor furnishings’, when he heard the distant metal clank of the door opening up the corridor, and shot off his mattress to practically throw himself at the bars.
He stuck his nose through them, trying to see who was coming, and silently praying it was for him. As far as Remus could tell, it was only him and a couple of passed out drunks in here tonight. That gave him a one in three chance, so he shouted at the guard he recognised as Brian,
“OI! Brie, ‘as Clive come to bail my arse out yet?”
Brian stomped close, keys jangling from the loop of his belt. He had his hands shoved in his pockets and in irate sort of scowl etched into his squared face, huffing out a sharp breath when he saw Remus (who was convinced he must be a favourite by now, surely), and he replied firmly,
“Lupin. Why ‘my not surprised to see you ‘ere agen? Pretty sure I told yer last time no’ er call me Brie, didn’ I?”
Remus shot him a grin, now loosely draping his body against the bars and tapping on one impatiently with his forefinger. He said, in what he hoped was a bright voice that would make Brian pleased,
“Aw, I’m only tryna make ya blush, Brie. An’ I really couldn’ help getting here again. Wasn’ my fault this time, on ma mum’s life it wasn’t.”
Brian looked at him, evidently not finding the attempt at humour funny, and gave him a hard frown, shaking his head with an air of disappointment. He said, after a tusk of his tongue,
“Don’ talk ill of the dead, Lupin. Even if they ‘appen to be yers. I know enuf of you by now to know its always yer fault, so stop tryna butter my biscuit.”
Remus snorted at this, wilfully ignoring everything he had just been told, and pushing down the urge to genuinely beg to get out. It was freezing, and despite having some lean muscle from matches, Remus wasn’t the bulkiest bugger on the block, and wasn’t cut out for the sordid budget cuts that prevented radiators. Trying to shuffle along the conversation, he said in a slightly whiny voice,
“C’mon Brie, consider yer biscuit already buttered, premium butter at that with extra salt, and tell me if Clive is bloody ‘ere or not.”
Brian grimaced, evidently displeased with Remus’ ability to slip out the station with a mere tap on the wrist and a night under the lock every time, and he said with an exasperated sigh,
“Well, I s’pose since it’s premium I can tell ya that yer step-in Daddy is upstairs, yeh, an’ if you’d step away from coddling the bars for one blinking second then maybe I could get ya out.”
Remus practically flew backwards, beaming with delight and rubbing his arms, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He gushed endless praises to Brian, who took them all with a look of slight mortification and comments about needing to quit and become a full time stripper instead. Remus helpfully agreed that he’d be sure to attend on Tuesday nights, and even nab some cash from the register to throw at him.
Soon enough Remus was traipsing down the cell lined corridor, feeling lighter than he had ten minutes ago, with his hands buried in his pockets, fiddling with a hole in the lining of his right one. They ascended the bleak grey steps to the ground floor, and Brian shot him a final withering side glance as he pushed Remus by the shoulder into the reception waiting area.
The room was carpeted with scratchy green fuzz, the walls stark white and a border of plastic metal legged chairs against the walls, quiet elevator music droning in the background from the speakers, and dusted with equally gloomy civilians.
Remus hated this room, and expelled the memories of upturning many of those chairs after finding out about his parents from his mind. It seemed peaceful now, or rather, cloaked in awkward silence between strangers and intercepted only by sickeningly upbeat tunes.
Remus smiled when he saw Clive, pacing back and forth with a dent in his brow and a hand rooting through his shaggy outgrown buzzcut. He called out, in a voice that he hoped didn’t sound too relieved,
“Clive!”
The man’s eyes shot up to him and Remus was immediately crushed into a firm embrace, being hammered on the back until he was sure there’d be a bruise.
Clive was a large man made mostly of hefty muscle. He looked rather like if a Harly was a person, with grey spiky hair and a slight paunch at the stomach. Tall and intimidating looking, if Remus was quite honest, though perhaps it was the black ink that coated his rough skin or the assortment of leathers he was usually found in. He gripped Remus’ shoulders, pulling away and giving him a stern glare. His voice was sharp but fond as he said.
“Lupin. You almos’ gave me and the boys a bloody heart attack, you hear? With yer bloody long legs you should be able to run faster than tha’. Though’ we agreed you wasn’t gonna get in ‘ere anymore? Five times is enough, boy. I wouldn’t ‘ave bothered getting’ anyone else out that much, and ya know it damn well.”
Remus rolled his lower lip into his mouth, nodding. Remus liked to muck about, and him and Clive were generally easy going, but Clive was the closest thing to a parental figure Remus had. After 5 years of holding Remus under his wing, Remus looked up to and adored the bloke, and if he was going to respect anyone, it was Clive.
Not his waster of an uncle, or the professors at the schools he’d been ‘let out’ of. Clive. His middle aged best friend.
Remus said, sincere and apologetic as Clive was now dragging him out the station by the arm,
“I’m sorry mate. I took longer ‘cus the baggie was lost in my rucksack, an’ Rickie got pissed. Thought I was stallin’ or somethin’, and the right idiot decided it was a fuckin’ bright idea to pull out a switcher. Some nob saw it and called the coppers, an’ here I am. I didn’ mean to get caught, honest, and… yeah.”
Remus sighed and swallowed down the apologetic lump in his oesophagus, with a gnawing feeling that he wasn’t going to be doing favours any time soon. Clive opened the door of his Estate BMW, which had admittedly seen much better days, nodding his head for Remus to get in. Remus tried not to dwell on the clenched jaw of his face and knew it was more concern than anger.
Remus honestly hated the worry even more. He could take care of himself, mostly, and wanted Clive to think well of him. Remus was tough. He felt the constant pull to prove that to the man now beside him in the car, and he knew Clive loved him, but Remus wanted to show him that he wasn’t a kid.
He might be 16, but he had been forced to grow up young, and lived in a world that mostly consisted of people older than him. The silence was stifling for a moment before Clive switched on the rusty engine, the vehicle vibrating in a slightly ominous manner as he pulled out the Parking Lot. Remus chewed off his fingernails, trying not to look at Clive too much, when Clive finally broke the silence, his words making Remus’ heart drop. He said, in a low voice,
“Listen, Remus. We need to talk, alrigh’? Yer a kid, mate. An’ I know you been in this long enough, longer than some of the older ones even, but I consider you somethin’ of my responsibility. And I haven’ been the most responsible.”
Remus head swivelled to Clive, his honey-coloured eyes wide and his heart pounding as he hoped... Clive wouldn’t send Remus away right? He’d let Remus fight right? He’d let Remus be part of this life, the life he’d been in for the last 5 years and the life he found himself happiest in... right? He said, quickly, trying to keep the rising emotion to a low level,
“Clive, what you sayin’? I.. you can’t send me away, alright? I made a name for myself in that ring, an’ all my friends – my family – they’re all ‘ere. You been bloody brilliant to me, Clive, you given me a place to go that isn’t my bastard Uncle an’ I know what we get up to can be risky, but… I been ‘ere so long. I want this. I wanna box, and I wanna help do runs.” Remus swallowed, looking down and saying quietly, “Please, Clive. It’s all I have.”
Clive looked over at him, faint surprise knitted into his creases of his eyes as he said with a small, fond smile, still trying to sound stern,
“Hey, hey, calm down bud, I ain’t kickin’ you outta nowhere. Yer one of the best fighters we got, ‘specially with how young you are, but ya didn’ hear it from me a’ course. Nah I jes… well. You ain’t gonna like it, but hear me out, yeh?”
Remus let out a breath at the explanation, forcing a thankful smile onto his face as he said, intestines still knotted,
“Yeh, sure Clive. Throw it at me.”
“Right, well, I was readin’ the papers, yeh?” Clive started after shooting a sideways grin at Remus, though the younger boy could still sense the hesitation in his tone. Remus replied easily,
“Readin’? must ‘ave been a hard feat.”
“Ha. Witty, really, but shut up. As I was sayin’, I came across one a those lil’ adverts. Now, I know ya bloody hate school, prob’ly why ya got kicked out the last few-“
“Now hang on- “
“Oi, keep ya gob shut boy. One more peep and yer out the next match.”
Remus promptly snapped his mouth shut with an audible click of his teeth, rolling his eyes and resorting to flipping the bird instead before crossing his arms and glaring out the window. He did not like the way this was going so far, and was turning over the likelihood of surviving a jump from a moving vehicle. Probably not very high. Clive continued, a smirk lilting his voice,
“Right, so. Thing is, Remus, yer bloody bright. And no, don’ gimme that look kid. You are. And this ad, it was for this… er… fuck… enrolment thing? The school looked like it was made for bloody toffs, don’ get me wrong, but they run this scholarship program too. You followin’?”
Remus scowled slightly and nodded. Oh, he really didn’t like where this was going. Remus had been out of school for six months after his last one and had enjoyed the freedom immensely. It was now June, and he had hoped for a lovely summer followed by an out of school winter, in fact, he had hoped to never be educated again. He hated classrooms, and pissy kids, and canteen food. Mainly because he could never afford the canteen food and was green with envy, but regardless.
Clive sighed, running a hand over his weathered face while the other gripped the steering wheel, and then he said,
“Look. I seen yer grades, when you bothered to turn up to yer exams, and I know you got offered stuff like this before but… you got a lotta potential kid. You’re young, smart, and you gotta whole lot of life in ya. Most of us don’ have that. Either too old, or just downright dim-witted. I’m not tryna take ya away from us Remus, we all love ya, but I see you as… well almost as a son, to be frank with ya.”
Remus fists tightened, the whitening skin across his discoloured knuckles becoming translucent as emotion swept through him. He stared at his lap, focussing on the fraying seems of his dark wash jeans, and trying not to become too hysterical over the fact that Clive saw him as a son. Remus wanted to say he saw Clive as a father too, but didn’t want to risk his vocal cords right now. Clive glanced at him and reached over to briefly squeeze his shoulder before saying,
“Alright. ‘Nuff of the sop, point is I saw this ad and I yanked it right outta the paper. It’s some sorta test, from what I gathered, like an exam. Yer favourite, I know. Movin’ on, ‘pparently they do this every time a scholarship kid graduates. Probably tryna sound charitable or some daft shit. Remus, I want you to take the test, alright? And don’t do a sod job on it, give it yer best. If ya don’, mark my words boy I’ll know. I seen yer best work, and if ya don’ do it, or if ya fuck it up on purpose, yer out the 86’ tournament down at the ring. Got it?”
Remus stared at Clive, not sure whether to feel thankful, frustrated or angry. It seemed anger had taken its toll, because he started to feel familiar heat grappling through his veins and pooling in his cheeks as he said through gritted teeth, eyes hard, “Can I speak now?”
Clive grimaced at the tone, biting his lip and he nodded, keeping his eyes firmly on the road and trying not to snap at Remus, no doubt for wanting to waste a good opportunity, which Clive knew he was about to try and do. Remus let out a harsh exhale and then said, in a berated voice,
“Right. For starters, that school sounds well pish. I might have some sorta brain, but I ain’t one for school. As ya may have gathered. If they do take me, I’ll be out in a month, no doubt. I struggle to keep my yabber shut when I’m pissed, so yeah. That. Also, for.. uh, seconds? I don’ need school! I’m a fighter, Clive, that’s what makes me happy, and I know I’m getting bloody good ‘cause people keep tellin’ me so. I don’ wanna go.”
Clive finally looked at Remus for a moment with a frown, his eyes slightly pained as if he didn’t want to keep pushing Remus to do this. It was one of those bittersweet things you do for someone because you know it’ll be good for them, like watching your kid cry while they get a vaccine, or getting your friend to apologise to their other mate because really, they were in the wrong. He said, voice heavy,
“Remus. Listen. I know ya don’ wanna do this, and if ya give it yer all and you don’ get in, or you do an’ you hate it there, fine. But yer gonna give it all you ‘ave, alright? Yer gonna take the bloody test, and do it perfectly like I know ya can, and shove it up their tight arses. It’s not a discussion, kid. If it don’ work out whatever, but I needa be able to say I tried.”
Remus gave Clive a cutting look, letting out some sort of noise that consisted of frustration and defeat. The thing is, he knew Clive was right. He did have potential, he just didn’t want it. He wanted to be the same as all his mates, living life to the full while they were young, getting into trouble and sloshing themselves whenever they wanted to. He was young and foolish, and fully aware of the fact. He was about to protest more, simply because he was angry, when Clive cut in once more and said, gently,
“It’s what yer parents would ‘ave wanted, Remus.”
Remus found all the breath sucked from his lungs, his shoulders dropping as he stared at Clive. He wanted to be angry at Clive, tell him that wasn’t fair to say, that Clive didn’t even know Remus’ parents, but then there came a twinge of guilt. They would have wanted this. Clive was right. Remus knew he probably wouldn’t stay in the school long anyway, but he felt all the fight seep away. Begrudgingly, he kicked his feet onto the dashboard, crossing his ankles and saying in a grumpy voice,
“Tell me more about the fuckin’ prison, Clive.”
Clive grinned, tension leaving his joints as he nodded at Remus and said, suddenly jovial and overly pleased with himself,
“That’s the spirit, bud. Alright, so it’s a boarding-“
“NO-“
“Shut it, will ya! I know what yer ‘bout to say and I don’ give a flying fuck. You can sneak out to come to matches and yer bloody tournament for all I care, I already foun’ a train route for that ‘cause I’m a legend, and you’ll be able to come an’ stay down at the flat or the base on holidays. Yeah?”
Remus felt his eye twitch. He stared at Clive, mouth wide open as if stuck mid chorus, and after a few stunned moments he said, grunting,
“Yeh. Whatever. Not like I’m gonna bloody get in anyway, is it?”
To which Clive simply smiled at him, warm and wide, wrinkling his eye corners and accentuating his smile lines. Remus couldn’t help the tug of his lips, as a small smile formed on his face in return, even as he rolled his eyes. Clive said, rather gently for such a beast of a man,
“Sure ya will, Lupin.”
Remus just sighed, feeling a small warmth in the fluttering of his chest at the mans abounding confidence in him. He shrugged once, looking down, abashed, and unable to stay angry with Clive for long. So he sank back in his seat, and listened to Clive drill into him all the dirty little details of the school Remus was apparently going to try and get into.
Remus didn’t want to go.