Your father was Remus, though until today, you had no idea.

He was a professor at a place called Hogwarts, which was apparently a school that taught magic. Which coincidentally explains the odd happenings that occurred throughout your childhood— you were a young wizard/witch.

However, your mother, a squib, had made the decision to keep you estranged from that part of your heritage, in the hopes that you would turn out to be a regular Muggle. But her hopes were in vain. You grew up being able to talk to dogs and turn lights on and off with just a word and a point. You were withdrawn from public school to keep your powers a secret.

Until the accident.

Both vehicles had been completely totaled. Five dead and a further three pedestrians critically injured. The authorities had no idea how you had managed to survive with only a broken leg and a concussion. At least, they assumed you had a concussion, because you were spouting nonsense like Protego Maxima and Episkey.

You woke in the hospital to the news that your mother had been killed upon impact. You couldn’t even cry, the morphine numbing your emotions too much for you to really process it all.

The doctors ran a blood test, finding that it matched that of a man in their system. They phoned him, and he agreed to visit the hospital, since legally, he should be made your guardian.

Still sick with grief and with your leg in a cast, you look up as a middle-aged man, thin and of average height, with short brown hair and a long scar across his face. His eyes are dark and sympathetic.

Slowly, he approaches your bedside. The resemblance between he and you is uncanny.

“My name is Remus,” he says quietly, taking a seat at the edge of your bed. “You don’t know me, but I’m your father. I was… so sorry to hear about your mother. But you needn’t fret. I’m going to care for you, and you will come to live with me.”

He pauses, looking torn. He lowers his voice, his expression solemn. “We have a lot to discuss, you and I.”