Carrie

Carrie Bones had short brown hair, like a medieval page. Carrie Bones had big brown eyes, always a little startled.

There was never a time when you didn't know Carrie. Your father knew her father. You played together as children. Except that you were sick all the time and couldn't play much. But sometimes when you played, you played with Carrie.

You went to Hogwarts the same year. You were sorted into different houses. You saw her every day, but not alone. You liked her very much, but you never thought about it. Because you were in love with Lily. Except you didn't call it that. Not in front of James. Not in front of Sirius, not in front of Peter. Only at night, with the curtains drawn, when everyone was asleep, locked in the privacy of your mind, did you call it that.

You knew the day was coming and it came. You were the friend, and James the fascination. You were the study buddy, James the great romance. You wished them well. You always wanted the best for Lily.

The moon was waxing. It hurt so much it made you cry. She found you in the corridor, sobbing like a child under the portrait of Roderick the Rancid. She asked you what was wrong.

"Nothing's wrong, I'm feeling sick," you said.

"I know," said Carrie. It could have been flippant but it wasn't. There was something in her eyes . . .

"You know?"

"I know."

"You know?"

"Remus, I've known for years."

You sat up. "Do other people know?"

She shrugged. "They make fun of me in Hufflepuff, for reading all the time. But sometimes when you read a lot, you see things—other people don't."

It was very early on a cloudy, cold Saturday morning, and no one else was up. You held hands as you walked around the lake. Behind the greenhouse, you pulled her to you. You touched her temple, beside those soft brown eyes.

Then came a splash and a scream.

You wanted to think, she's afraid of the giant squid. You wanted to think, she's afraid of kissing. But instead you thought, she's afraid of being in my arms. Because I'm a werewolf.

After a year had passed, after you'd all left school, you tried to make up. You danced with her at James and Lily's wedding. And you realized, for the first time, you felt less sick with wanting Lily than with wanting Carrie.

They came for her father. Her father, Edgar Bones, whom you worked with now, in the Order of the Phoenix. In the middle of the night, they left five people dead. Including Carrie.

Lily wasn't dead yet. James wasn't dead yet. Peter wasn't dead yet. Sirius wasn't a murderer. Not yet.

She was the first one you lost.