Butterfly 🦋

Her son would never be the same after that night. For seven years afterward, Hope sat on the stairs leading down to the basement every month. A hand pressed over her heart and prayer on her tongue. Sometimes she prayed to God. Sometimes to nobody at all. Then dawn would come, and she would rise with aching knees to dismantle the protective wards and carry her exhausted son upstairs, tucking him back into bed as though he were still small enough to fit against her shoulder.

Hope had smiled the day he received his Hogwarts letter. Smiled when he ran circles around the kitchen waving the parchment over his head. Smiled when he talked about moving staircases and magical libraries and centuries of witches and wizards who had walked those halls before him. Then she had gone upstairs and cried behind the locked door of her bedroom. Because Hogwarts meant full moons away from home, it meant strangers learning what her son was. It meant rejection.

Cruelty.

Fear.

And then there had been the stories. Three boys in his dormitory. Three boys who somehow saw Remus Lupin and loved him anyway. Their Moony.

Hope still remembered the afternoon years later when her teenage son sat at the kitchen table while she stirred soup on the stove. He had been pretending to read. She had been pretending not to notice, giving him the time to come to her.

"There's a boy."

Hope had turned to see Remus staring firmly at the table.

"A boy I like."

Her heart had clenched, not because of the boy. But because her son sounded afraid. Because he sounded ashamed. Because he looked so much like the little boy who had once hidden fresh scars beneath oversized jumpers.

"What if..." Remus had swallowed hard. "What if it's because of... the thing?"

The thing.

Neither of them had needed him to say it.

"What if that's why I'm like this?"

The memory still hurt, the way his voice had broken, the way his hands had clenched in his lap, the way he'd looked at her as though bracing for disappointment. Hope had crossed the kitchen in three strides and pulled him into her arms.

"No," she had whispered into his hair while he cried against her shoulder. "No, sweetheart."

Her fingers carded through his curls.

"You are loved because of who you are." And then, softer: "And whoever that boy is, if he's worth loving, he'll know that too."

Years later, Hope had opened her front door on Mother's Day to find Regulus Black standing awkwardly on her doorstep. A bouquet of daisies in one hand, and a cinnamon cake box in the other.

His shoulders were drawn tight with nerves, and Hope remembered blinking at him in surprise.

"Regulus?"

"Happy Mother's Day." His voice had come out almost too quickly.

Then, before she could respond, he'd thrust a small card into her hands.

His throat bobbed.

"I'm sorry if this is out of place."

Hope had looked up, but Regulus wasn't meeting her eyes, a small habit she had noticed over the years he resorted to when he was being sincere.

"Growing up, I never really knew that mothers could be mums," a weak laugh escaped him. "But then, my family isn't exactly something to compare anything against."

The laugh faded. And for a moment he looked heartbreakingly young.

"You make silly jokes, you dance around the kitchen with Remus to those Muggle bands he likes," a smile pulled reluctantly at his mouth. "You cook his favourite foods whenever he comes home, and mine too."

Hope could already feel tears threatening.

"You write me letters asking how my music is going," his fingers tightened around the cake box, "every week."

The words seemed to embarrass him.

As though kindness itself was something he still wasn't used to receiving.

"I think..." He swallowed. "I think if I looked up the word mum in the dictionary, it'd be your face there instead."

His laugh came out nervous and breathless.

Hope immediately looked away.

Just for a second, just long enough to blink back the tears burning behind her eyes. Because nobody had ever accused Hope Lupin of being particularly composed when it came to her boys. And somehow, impossibly, Regulus had become one of them.

The silence stretched.

Then Regulus shifted awkwardly.

"And..." His voice softened, "thank you for bringing Remus into the world so I could love him."

Hope's breath caught.

"Thank you for making him the softest person I've ever met."

His eyes finally lifted to hers.

"And thank you for opening your home to me too," his smile wavered, "even though you had every reason not to."

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Hope simply stared at him. At the boy who had arrived in her son's life carrying years of hurt and loneliness hidden beneath expensive jumpers and practiced indifference. The boy who always hesitated before entering their house, as though expecting someone to tell him he wasn't welcome.

The boy who never left without washing the dishes even if he had never known where the kitchens were in the mansion where he grew up.

Who sent her pressed flowers in letters, different magical kinds that he developed potions for just so he could surprise her with a new one ever single time.

Who pretended not to know she slipped extra food into containers for him to take home.

Who loved her son with every piece of his battered heart.

Hope set the card down, then she reached forward and cupped his face between both hands.

Regulus froze.

Like nobody had ever done it before.

Hope remembered thinking, as she stood there on the doorstep with flowers crushed between them and tears on her cheeks, that motherhood was a strange thing.

Because she'd spent years praying for Remus, for his safety, for his happiness. For someone to love him exactly as he was.

She had never expected that one of the answers to those prayers would show up carrying daisies and cinnamon cake and quietly ask if he could belong, too.

Ever since then, every Mother's Day, Hope has opened her door to find the same thing waiting on the other side.

Flowers.

Cinnamon cake.

And Regulus.

No longer asking for a place in the family.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME AND HAPPY ONE MORE YEAR OF ME KNOWING YOU AND HAVING THAT WONDERFUL BLESSING 🥹🥹❤️❤️❤️❤️

The slope looked wrong. Too quiet. Too still.

His radio crackled sharply.

“Fall reported near the lower ridge. Skier refusing evacuation. Possible injury.”

Remus sighed once, already pulling on his gloves.

“On my way.”

He found him halfway down the slope, bracing himself against a marker pole, one ski twisted at an unnatural angle. Snow clung to his jacket and dark hair alike, breath puffing white in the air.

“I’m fine,” he said immediately when he saw him approach. His accent was clipped, controlled. “You don’t need to call a whole rescue team every time someone takes a spill.”

Remus crouched in front of him anyway.

“Funny,” he said dryly. “That’s not what my job description says.”

He scoffed, trying to shift his weight, and immediately hissed through clenched teeth.

Remus’s eyes flicked up to his face.

“Uh-huh.”

He reached for his ankle. He jerked back.

“Don’t.”

“Then stop lying,” he replied coolly. “You’re favoring your left leg.”

“I’ve skied through worse.”

He finally really looked at him when he managed to pull his helmet and goggles. High cheekbones tinged with a pink flush. The sharp jaw, the familiar profile he’d seen plastered across screens all week.

Oh.

Two times French skiing gold medalist.

Regulus Black.

His expression didn’t change, “Congratulations,” he said flatly. “Your medals doesn’t make you invincible.”

His brow furrowed.

“You know who I am.”

“Hard not to when your face is on ever twenty something girl's banner and on every billboard in the fucking city,” Remus said, already unzipping his kit. “Now sit before you fall again.”

“I don’t need help.”

He stood, stepping into his space deliberately.

“Oh believe me,” he said, voice calm and immovable, “you do, and you will.”

The wind whipped around them. Regulus stared at him, surprised, something else flickering behind his eyes.

Slowly, begrudgingly, he let her guide him down onto the snowbank. When he wrapped her hands around his calf to check for swelling, he sucked in a sharp breath.

“See?” he said quietly.

His jaw tightened.

“You know I've been doing this for my entire life, right? It’s not the first time I’ve fallen.”

“And if you keep pretending you’re indestructible,” Remus replied, fingers firm but careful, “it won’t be the last.”

He laughed once, breathless and incredulous.

“You’re bossy for a medic.”

“I’m the head of emergency response,” he corrected. “And right now, you’re my problem.”

Something in his gaze shifted, annoyance melting into reluctant interest.

“…Lucky me,” he murmured.

He helped him up, one arm slung over his shoulder. He was warmer than Remus expected. Solid. Real. He leaned heavier than necessary, pretending it was balance.

“You always argue with people trying to keep you alive?” he asked.

“Only the ones who don’t look impressed by me,” he said.

He huffed. “Get used to it.”

As they moved toward the med tent, Regulus glanced down at him, snowflakes clinging to his lashes.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Remus didn’t look up. “You’re welcome.”

But his hand tightened just a little around his waist.

"I hope I'll see you around then," Regulus whispered, his throat working as he looked up at him from where he was sat on the bed.

"I hope you don't, since you know, you have to keep your leg to ski and all that," Remus teased.

"I hope you'll be watching when I manage the third one then, ..." Regulus trailed off questioningly.

"Remus." He answered right as few people ran towards them with alarm written on their faces, his poor team most probably.

"Just don't fall."

Regulus watched him, eyes dark and amused, holding the length of deep emerald silk between slender fingers.

“You really don’t know how to do this?”

Remus tugged at his collar, cheeks pink.

“No. My mum always did it. And then—well—I avoided situations requiring them.”

Regulus stepped closer.

Too close.

Remus’s breath stuttered.

Regulus looped the tie around Remus’s neck slowly, deliberately, fingertips brushing warm skin beneath the collar.

“I should’ve asked Sirius, you really didn’t have to-” Remus muttered, trying not to yelp at how cold the silk felt.

Regulus smirked.

“Sirius doesn’t know how to knot one properly. I do.”

He slid the fabric under and over, pulling the ends with controlled precision.

Remus swallowed hard.

Regulus’s knuckles dragged against the hollow of Remus’s throat, lingering.

“You’re shaking,” Regulus murmured, voice low.

“I’m—just not used to this.”

“What? Being dressed?”

“Being touched.”

Regulus’s hands stilled. Then, slowly, he tightened the knot.

Not dangerously, not enough to choke, but enough for Remus’s eyes to widen, breath catching.

A soft, involuntary whimper escaped Remus’s parted lips.

Regulus went utterly still.

His gaze flicked down Remus’s throat, then back to his dilated pupils.

That small, accidental sound changed the air between them, thick, charged, electric.

Regulus tugged again. Slight. Testing.

Remus’s pulse fluttered under Regulus’s fingers; his knees nearly buckled.

“You like that,” Regulus whispered, almost reverent.

Not a question.

Remus exhaled, shaky, unable to look away.

Regulus tightened his hold on the tie, pulling Remus half a step closer by the throat.

“Good,” he murmured, lips ghosting near Remus’s ear.

“Because if you want, I can teach you far more than knots.”

Remus shivered.

Regulus loosened the tie just enough for breath to return freely, but kept hold of the silk.

“Now,” he said softly, tone commanding enough to leave Remus weak,

“ask me properly.”

Remus licked his lips, voice barely steady.

“Teach me.”

Regulus smiled, slow, feline, victorious.

“That’s better.”

His fingers curled around the silk once more.

Lily had spent a month trying to convince her of the miracles of yoga, telling her all the good reasons why she should definitely think of starting it to help with the soreness in her back and strengthening her muscles insisting that she knew just the class for Remus. But on this fine Monday morning, Remus suddenly remembered why she should never listen to her best friend’s athletic advice nor should she fall for the sham of trying new thing on the new year like every idiot on the fucking planet. She just wanted peace, quiet, maybe a nap on the mat if no one judged her.

Then she walked into the studio.

And saw the instructor.

Black leggings hugging long legs, a cropped black top showing toned arms, pale cheeks flushed warm from setting up props. A loose curl spilled from her bun and stuck to her temple with sweat, glinting under soft lights.

Remus forgot how to breathe.

She could feel her pulse everywhere, too loud, too obvious.

Regulus turned, catching Remus staring, and smiled. That soft, startlingly gentle smile instructors must spend years perfecting.

“Welcome,” she said, voice smooth and low. “First class?”

Remus nodded, cheeks heating. Words were not cooperating.

“I—yeah. First time.”

Regulus stepped closer, offering a block.

“I’m Regulus, I’ll take good care of you. Don’t worry.”

And Remus almost dropped the block on her own foot.

Class began. Warm lighting, soft instrumental music, incense curling sweetly in the air.

Remus tried to focus on her breath. On her posture.

Not on Regulus moving at the front of the room like water poured into the shape of a woman.

Not on the curve of her tiny waist that was not covered by her black bra, or how the leggings clung to her ass when she bent forward, muscles shifting beneath fabric.

Not on how that one rebellious curl kept slipping loose.

Remus pressed her forehead to the mat and prayed for self-control.

Halfway through, she wobbled in downward dog and nearly tipped sideways.

A warm hand steadied her hip.

“Spread your fingers nicely, root into your palms and raise your hips higher for me,” Regulus murmured, voice barely above a whisper as her hand pushed the curve of her spine down, the ghost of her body behind hers making her imagine scenarios she’d rather not in a class full of people...

Remus inhaled sharply, her head feeling light because of the position and the jack rabbit beating of her heart.

Regulus’s fingers lingered a second too long. Or maybe Remus just wished they did.

The cool-down finally arrived, thank every deity. Remus collapsed into child’s pose, face burning.

When class dismissed, she rolled up her mat, trying desperately to look calm.

Regulus approached, towel around her shoulders, lips still flushed from exertion.

“You did great,” she said softly.

Remus snorted before she could stop herself.

“I almost face-planted into Susan’s mat.”

Regulus laughed, bright and melodic.

“Most beginners fall. You stayed. And you breathed through it. I think you can take it.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, warm, slow, curious.

Regulus bit her lip, then asked, voice shy despite herself:

“I hope I’ll see you again next week?”

Remus swallowed.

“I’ll be here.”

She stepped outside into the morning chill, heart pounding, legs still shaking.

Yoga might not have relaxed her muscles, but her chest felt warm, alive.