remus j. lupin

Out of the Loop

Talk to Caradoc or Edgar? That was some terribly vague advice, and as much as Frank wanted to apparate to headquarters immediately, he was drained, both literally and figuratively. He was beginning to think that this was a bad idea to try and do more–to do something–while he was still in bandages. 

It was not that Frank didn’t want Remus not to rush to Sirius’s side, since they were childhood friends and all that. Remus was probably the most appropriate person to go check on him, even if Frank couldn’t imagine doing much more than keeping his distance. He wasn’t sure what was worse; dealing with the monthly transformation or having to take care of someone when they were falling apart. 

He exhaled, trying to buy himself some time to think of how to properly have this conversation, flicking his wand towards the cupboards where the dishes were. The charm rummaged through noisily until it found what it was looking for. 

At the very least, Remus should know what he was getting himself into. “I’ll make some tea.”

That was as much of a kindness as Frank was willing to extend, and he sat at the table and let the teacups and kettle  set themselves in front of him.

Well, the lack of answer felt a bit alarming.

Remus was so tired. Too tired to be talking to Frank, of all people, where every conversation somehow felt like it was happening in a language he didn't know. Why did it always have to be so confusing between them?

"Are you... Is--" Remus paused to gather his thoughts, frustration leaving him in a sigh. 

At least the two cups settling on the table were quite polite. In fact, he could definitely use some tea now; the familiar warmth filling his chest would work wonders to soothe his nerves. A momentary distraction, but one he could let himself welcome, given his current position -- talking to Frank Longbottom, that was.

"If you're thinking of sugarcoating it or trying to word it a certain way, you don't have to," he offered. Maybe that was an issue, too. Maybe Frank saw him as too much of a child to be blunt, and that left him tiptoeing around harsher words. "I'd rather we both speak more earnestly."

“Your shoulder,” she repeated, and there was no doubt that there was relish in this idea for her, “that’s one of the most vital body parts.” The shoulder allowed your arms to move, but also kept you standing upright. A broken collarbone could be deadly, almost impossible to heal, and the surrounding bones and complicated mechanics of the shoulder weren’t much less important or complicated to deal with. “A single stray splinter forgotten to be reattached can pierce right into your lungs. Kill you instantly.”

She was smiling. “But I’m sure Benjy’s done a wonderful job. Please, let’s not burden him. Sit.” And she nodded to the stretcher-bed installed behind her. Wiping her hands, she put the fire on low for the potions. There were few things she found more interesting than brewing potions, but seeing a werewolf suffer was certainly one of them. Who knew, perhaps she’d be lucky and Benjy had indeed butchered a thing or two, allowing her to make it worse and blame it on him?

Kill you instantly. Dramatic. Remus, by then, re-thought his previous concept that Bran wouldn't be so cowardly to choose this moment to end him. Maybe that had been just his stupid side talking, the one tiny optimistic streak in his otherwise pessimistic system, the side that wanted to see the good in people. Perhaps not the good, even; this one was more about a moral compass. He'd convinced himself Bran was too proud and too righteous to pull something ridiculous on him now, but maybe she wasn't that big of a person. Assuming other people didn't fight dirty was so Gryffindor of him.

Peter was more than grateful that Remus had so quickly stepped in to say that he’d stay with him, and had actually stayed. He’d been so scared that once his friends found out he couldn’t answer their questions yet that they’d leave him then and there. Lily and Sirius’ responses hadn’t been comforting either, but Remus… Remus had given him the tiny bit of hope that he’d needed so desperately and he was grateful for that. At least there was a spark of hope.

The dinner hadn’t been too awful, though Peter supposed he couldn’t say anything considering how he nibbled on food anyway, and he did quite like the scraps that Edgar gave him while he was in his rat form, but that was besides the point. The hot chocolate was even better, and although it wasn’t quite doing the full trick to soothe him, it was enough to make his shoulders sag just slightly and relax.

Then they were getting ready for bed, and Peter was curling up, trying to make himself as small as possible again. Part of him wished he could just turn into Wormtail and hide under the pillow, or to make a pile of blankets and curl into them as he did at home. But that would be rude in front of Remus and he didn’t want Edgar coming in to find him like that either. So curling up and clutching the blankets to his chest was about the closest that he could get to that comfort. Plus, it was still nice to talk to Remus.

He lifted his head a little at hearing Remus’ words, though he had to agree with him. The night before he hadn’t done much sleeping himself, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he still felt terrified over what all was happening and what his friends would think, or if it was because of the way the house felt around him. He was already on edge, and now he wondered if it was just his panic making him scared, or if Remus was feeling the same thing. Somehow, if they were sharing the experience, that was more comforting.

“Me either,” he spoke after a moment then. At least his voice was more steady than it had been earlier, he thought, at least he didn’t sound as if he was about to break into tears for the thousandth time. And then Remus asked about his hand again, and perhaps… perhaps he should try and lighten the mood. Perhaps a joke to reassure his friend. “I don’t know. I think if I keep concentrating on it long enough, another one might pop up in it’s place,” He spoke in a deadpan tone.

There was comfort in knowing someone else was awake when you couldn't sleep, at least. Remus had always known this. When he was a little kid, the trauma of the attack still fresh enough in his mind that he couldn't bear sleeping alone, or sleeping much at all, he'd always wanted a friend to stay up with him. He had to take comfort in peeking out the window and seeing the distant lights of the town occasionally, and he'd imagine what other people were up to. It was definitely much better to actually have a friend to stay awake with you.

And then Peter cracked a joke into the quiet atmosphere of the room, and Remus' laughter burst out of him like water from a freshly broken dam. It was a quiet giggle for a second, before it grew into something hysterical, the heels of his hands pressing into shut eyes in embarrassment. He didn't know why something so ridiculous could make him laugh so much. It wasn't even the joke itself -- although there would always be humour in hearing someone poke fun at their own awful situation --, it was something else in his gut, this awful mix of exhaustion and this looming horror that sat on the back of his mind. The slightest bit of joy felt like enough reason to break into hysterical cackles.

The light air that had settled between them, however, was short-lived. The house retaliated against his laughter like an annoyed professor hearing students whisper in the back of the room -- Remus told himself he was being irrational to think of the comparison at all. He was halfway through his second wave of laughter when the window between their beds sounded like it was slammed onto.

He sat up, laughter trickling down into a humorless chuckle before it stopped. "Merlin, sorry--" Was he apologizing to the House or to Peter? He was, either way, feeling insane. "That was probably just... the structure of the House. Adjusting. Or whatever. Right?"

He wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, trying to cling to the feeling of joy that was quickly slipping away from him. "This House is--"

Before he could finish, there was another noise. This time, a whimper that grew into a cry, like when the wind whistles, but somehow much worse. It wasn't like anything he'd heard before, so he wanted to shrug it off to just the wind, but it felt different. He couldn't tell where it was coming from -- it might've been from his own head --, but it sounded like a thousand voices in unison, crying, wailing, singing, agonizing. Dread trickled quickly down his throat and into his stomach when he gulped.

Remus told Lily he loved her and her eyes welled up with tears - not because it was the first time they’d ever said it, but because it was the first time anyone had said those words to her since James died. The last person had been James, just before the mission - and then he hadn’t come back. “I love you, too,” she said, her voice breathless.

She pulled away, almost laughing self-depreciating at herself as she wiped her tears with her thumb. “Have you heard word of Sirius or Peter?” she asked Remus before looking around, as though they’d be standing right there. “I haven’t seen either of them.” Not knowing made her nervous - but, then again, hadn’t she been looking when James had died, his name disappearing from the map. Knowing hadn’t helped then.

Remus kept his hold on Lily even as they parted from the hug, his good hand still reaching for her arm to keep her close. There was so much hurt, so much unresolved pain in each of them, all they could do was hold on to each other for now.

"Sirius was at Diagon Alley." He'd been asking all day, so that's why he'd heard. Anyone he'd come across had received a questionnaire, once he'd helped them -- who did you see, where were they, where did they go. Eventually, he'd gotten a pretty good picture of the state of his closest friends. "It seems he went with Frank, I think he should be safe. I haven't heard from Peter. But I... he has to be okay. We would've heard by now, if not. Bad news travel fast, and all that, right?" He needed that reassurance more than he even knew.

Sirius momentarily tensed. He knew things could have been much worse for him, but it seemed irrelevant to him to even consider when Florean was gone. From the moment Sirius had been able to pick himself back up–with Frank’s help, granted–he’d been worried about others. He couldn’t bring himself to focus on his minor issues when so many bigger things had happened to everyone around him. He relaxed slightly at the feeling of Remus’ hand against his skin, something to ground him and remind him that Remus at least was still warm and breathing. 

“You did what you had to,” Sirius muttered against the mattress. “You did what you could.” Sirius hadn’t killed today, just watched death. If Remus had, that wasn’t something Sirius would ever hold against him. Sirius had probably killed too in situations like Lowe. Moments where he couldn’t say for sure what had happened or if they’d get up. It was unfortunate that Lowe of all people had gotten back up. 

“You did what you had to,” he repeated again, feeling almost lost in a loop. Sirius managed to uncurl himself just enough to turn over, careful not to jostle Remus’ hand away from his back. He grabbed onto the clothing before him and pressed himself against Remus’ chest, close enough to feel his heart beating against Sirius’ cheek. “You’re alive. That’s… We have to get through. We have to. For James.” Sirius wasn’t sure he was making sense anymore and couldn’t have explained it better if he’d tried. He’d just felt a wave of exhaustion fall across him, the last of his adrenaline from the day finally slipping away. “We have to,” he said again and let his eyes fall shut.

Remus sighed. He didn't need Sirius' reassurance of his morals, but it was admittedly good to know he wasn't being judged by his best friend. Killing was necessary. He was far past that line, these days. He'd killed consciously, and he didn't regret his choice. If he'd attacked someone out of blinding anger, purely rage, like he'd done to Severus, that would bring him more agony than the cold-blooded murder he'd executed earlier to defend himself. He didn't want to be a monster, but that didn't mean he wasn't willing to kill.

"Yeah. Yeah, we're alive," he murmured back, and he didn't know why the words felt like such a burden on his tongue.

Hide & Seek

Location: House of Bones Date: March 27th 1982 For @inconsolcble

Maurice marched up to Remus.

“You were gone for years, right? With the werewolves? Nobody knew where you were. Or at least, you were very hard to find.” 

Weeks ago perhaps, perhaps Maurice might have spent some time on a greeting, instead of ambushing him in a corridor like this. Truth was he’d been keeping an eye out for Remus with the aims to ask this very question. He remembered the period of time where Remus had seemingly dropped off the map. He didn’t know Remus very well, but he’d been aware of him and his group of Gryffindor friends during Hogwarts, and later when he’d joined the Order of the Phoenix. He’d never particularly cared much about Remus’ disappearences, until it became something he started to consider himself.

“How did you manage that?”

Remus always had a hard time not flinching whenever someone walked up to him so determinedly. It wasn't like he'd been punched many times in his life, but for some reason, that was always what came to mind.

He'd been on his way to sneakily return the book he'd gotten from the Bones' library, after spending a pretty uneventful couple of hours reading it, so this was a turn of events. He only blinked for a few seconds, his brain catching up to what he was being asked.

It didn’t help. The thing Lu said, it didn’t help. The glisten in Remus eyes seemed to have disappeared for good and all that was left was this impenetrable sadness, the one that Lu knew all too well but had never learnt how to fight. “I feel very special then,” they tried, anyway, as a joke, light and sweet as always, but Remus was gone. Not physically, but mentally. Something had pulled him away, and Lu – cynically optimistic as they were – hoped this was just the pre-reaction to an alcohol-caused throw-up. 

The theory seemed covered when Remus pulled away physically as well, in a manner that Lu recognised at least from their much younger self when they were still very embarrassed about throwing up and would hide somewhere so no one would see them. But instead of half-digested alcohol came words.

And such words. 

Lu’s eyes widened.

Their first instinct was to take this as a joke and laugh about it, and the reply – something akin to ‘naughty!’ or ‘kinky!’ – was already on their tongue when they realised that … Remus looked far too frozen to be joking now. Frozen as in fearful, frozen as in wary, frozen as in frozen by the weight of one’s own truth, incapable to escape it.

“Ouh là,” Lu eventually let out, and their back against the balustrade, they slid down until they sat on the ground.

The thing was that Lu had no skin in this game. They had not been raised believing in werewolves, let alone to fear them. They were part of fairy tales, or at the most mythological metaphors that you found in medieval stories. They weren’t real, they couldn’t actually hurt you. And when Lu had grown up, and learnt that, yes, it was all real, they had of course also learnt that it was dangerous to approach a werewolf on full moon, and of course Lu had learnt to fear them in a way. But it was a clinical fear, a logical fear, it wasn’t inherent. It wasn’t a blinding prejudice. 

Nevertheless, Lu had lived in this world long enough to understand that even if the fear of werewolves was mostly a wit-consuming prejudice with not much reason behind it, werewolves had anything but an easy life. That was, the people inflicted by what was called lycanthrophy, were forced to live a life in the shadows, far away from civilisation, or at least far away from truth. It was a stupid, unfounded prejudice, but the effect was real and it was violent.

So while Lu’s instinct was to just brush it off and say: ‘Well, it could be worse’, they couldn’t. They couldn’t because they knew that in this Wixen World? There were very few things that could be worse than being perceived as a blood-thirsty animal.

For a while they thus sat there and thought. Thought about how stressful a life in the shadows was. About how dangerous truth could be, especially in the wrong hands. And how stupid Remus was for confessing something like this right after Lu had given him a lecture about being more careful. Really! “You know,” it came out almost suddenly, sharply but also attached to the previous line of thought with not much certainty where this was going to go. A beat. Two beats. Lu sighed.

“When I was little, there was this film I used to watch a lot. It was about those two detectives who have to find an mobster, who was currently living in a hotel somewhere, and so they have to get into this hotel, incognito, and because they learn that there’s this all-women band playing there for a couple of days, they decide to dress up as women and join the music group.” Why on earth were they telling him this? They continued, a lost, confused smiling on their lips. “It’s a comedy. But also a romance, because the singer is really beautiful and one of the guys ends up falling in love with her and-, well. In its core it’s a comedy, and of course them being dressed up as women is played for jokes a lot.” A glance to Remus. “I still always envied them for being able to wear dresses for a while.” Then their gaze found their hands again. “At one point, there’s this boat, and the rich owner falls in love with the the other detective, who’s obviously trying to run and whatnot and, well, it doesn’t really matter how and why, but eventually this rich man saves them with his motor boat. So the very last scene is the detective and the rich man on this motor boat driving into the sunset, and the rich man declares that his mother was all happy to hear that he’ll finally get married. And the detective, still speaking in that high-pitched woman voice, goes: ‘We can’t get married!’ And the old man asks: ‘Why not?’, and the detective, in blind panic thinks and then replies: ‘Because I’m not a natural blonde!’ But the old man goes: ‘Doesn’t matter!’. So the detective continued: ‘Also I smoke!’, but the old man shakes his head: ‘I don’t care.’. ‘I can never have children!’, ‘We can adopt some.’ And then the detective has had enough and rips the wig off his head and his voice drops and he says: ‘You don’t get it, Oscar, I’m a man!’” Lu, who had been imitating voice and intonation let silence arise. “And you know what the old man says?” Their eyes were glistening with fond memories now as they saw it all happening in the shining surface of their acrylic nails. “He says: ‘Well, nobody’s perfect.’ And the film ends.”

More silence. Lu noticed they were holding their breath. They let it out in a sigh; it sounded like a chuckle. Shaking their head, they pressed the heels of their hand into their eyes for a moment. “And I know it’s all meant for jokes, and in theory it’s a bit upsetting that him being a man, or at least not a ‘real woman’ is even considered a fault, but-, You know,” It was the exact same ‘you know’ from the beginning of their speech, “when I was little it … gave me hope.” Their hands sank back into their lap. “I mean, they could’ve had Oscar throw the detective out the boat, or something vulgar. But instead he just smiles, so happy, so proud, so in love, and says: Well, nobody’s perfect. Like-, As though-, Love’s this thing that surpasses the physical, the material. It gave me hope.”

Finally they raised their gaze back to Remus, and in their dark eyes there was still the helplessness of not knowing what to say and the fondness of those memories, but now there was also that pesky little feeling. This ‘love’ feeling, they were usually so good at evading. Love, not for Remus, of course, they had just met, after all, but for all that Remus represented. The impossible happy life, the courage for truth, and … hope. Not for Lu today, but for Lu ten years ago, who had watched this film until the tape was so thin and angry with them that you could barely hear a word anymore. “Nobody’s perfect. Sit with me?”

Lu slid to the ground, and Remus took a half-step further away from them, a pained hum slipping into the night sky. Maybe the fact that they weren't so close anymore was better. If his face had broken from the previously frozen numbness into crippling sadness, he'd be better off without anyone seeing that. He already found it hard enough to hide his feelings without the addition of alcohol, imagine now.

He didn't understand, however, how he had just confessed to being a monster and their response had been to get on the ground like that. Remus felt uncomfortable standing, like he'd been put in a position of power he never meant to be in. The way he saw it, Lu was the one with the faulty self-preservation skills, now.

But then they started talking, and it took him a while to even catch up to what they were saying, lost as he was in his own head. He risked a glance, and saw them distracted as they spoke. There was a heaviness behind their words -- this was a fun story, a comedy, but it obviously wasn't about that. He related to it, but he didn't understand the connection until Lu drew it out for him and asked him to sit.

He obliged, even if his legs felt wobbly under him and he wasn't graceful on his way down. Another time he might've reached out, offered Lu's hand a squeeze for all the words he couldn't say, but when he'd just exposed the shittiest part of himself, it was hard. He couldn't pretend to be just the fun guy on a night out, anymore. He was a werewolf. And he knew not everyone wanted to be so much as touched by one even if they were kind, and he couldn't ignore that, and it'd be setting himself up for humiliation if he received a flinch in return. He was already feeling raw and vulnerable enough, he didn't need the added pain. His hands flopped down on his own lap, too.

He nodded, then, like an afterthought response to Lu's story, his lips tugging briefly in somewhat of a smile that was sad in nature, but genuine. 

"I never watched that one," he whispered. He wished he had, now. He wished he'd been given that kind of hope, when he was a little kid. Maybe things would be different today, maybe he could be prouder of who he was if he'd believed from a young age that love could be like that. He had learned that later, but the previous twelve years of his life were impossible to erase. "But I understand. I never--... Love always felt like collateral damage in my house. My parents loved me because they had to, but they weren't equipped to love a werewolf. Y'know. I don't blame them," he shrugged. "I never did. Wasn't easy on any of us."

"I got bitten when I was four." He supposed that bit of information was quite important to get the bigger picture here. A life never knowing what it was like not being a werewolf. Still, a lifetime of hiding it so deeply that talking about it out loud felt like navigating a language he wasn't fluent in, words coming out stiff and feeling foreign on his tongue. "I know there's a lot of... hopelessness, growing up like that. Maybe watching that early on would've given me some perspective, hm?" He gained that much later, with his friends, the way they had accepted him so blindly, gone out of their way to help him. They'd never flinched away from his touch once, never hesitated to be by his side, and never tried to change him. He was lucky he found that love. Twelve years without it were enough to fuck him up for good, but he considered himself one of the lucky bastards who found it later on, at least. "Well, now I know for a fact we would've gotten along when we were younger," he added, and it could be passed off as a humorous quip if it wasn't said so earnestly. Wasn't it so interesting, meeting people later in life that you wished your younger self had met, too? Wasn't that the bittersweet melancholy of it all?

[Previously on: Lu (Chemin de) Traverse]

To the Potter Estate, Caradoc ordered them, and to the Potter Estate Lu went. It took a moment for them to gather their thoughts, their energies, and even when they did find the strength to disapparate from Diagon Alley, they knew this wasn’t the end of their troubles. The curse sat deep in their muscles, perhaps even deeper in their bones, and they knew that they could apparate now, once, to safety, to the Potter Estate, and call for help, but then they’d need to rest.

Unfortunately, there was no safety at the Potter Estate. A battle had broken out here too.

Lu, having run up to the house from the driveway, saw the lightning flashes of spells illuminating the windows at dangerously fast intervals, and froze on the spot. Their head turned, looked to where they’d come from. They could still run. The gate wasn’t far behind them and they knew there was a village not far from here. They could still run. Safety. Rest. Recharge. Return home. To Atlas.

Atlas?

There. His eyes. This unmistakable blue, the blue that spoke of the limitless skies and their freedom, the blue that Lu had spent so many hours looking at, through debates, through arguments, through fights, there they were, on the first floor, and Lu knew they needed to see them one more time in times of peace. They ran towards the house.

Inside, screams and shouts were filling the corridors. Lu didn’t check who was fighting; their wand was clutched tightly in their hand but would they have enough strength to fire even just one curse? There! The stairs. They just needed to go upstairs and find Atlas and they’d be safe. They’d be safe with Atlas.

But before they could even make it half-way across the corridor and over that gaudy, tasteless chandelier on the ground – served it right, who even would want this thing up?! – they saw a face. I Wanna Be Loved By You, Marilyn’s voice breathed into Lu’s ear and they cursed. Of course this meek little fishy boy with the self-preservation sense of a mosquito would be part of the Order. Well, at least he was in a corner with his back safe to a wall, right? With a wand in his hand, right? With no one around about to attack him, right?

Wrong. Goth Boy. Severus Snape. Unmasked, but certainly not unwilling to kill. Lu still knew nothing about this man, nothing but all that they did know to be a lie, and they’d long stopped underestimating him. If he were to raise his wand against their poissonet, it would be his end. “Remus!” Lu called, leaping over the chandelier. A spell came their way, and in their single-minded ambition to protect, they brought up just enough strength to deflect it, to reach Severus before he could try another spell, grab him and by pushing him back against a wall, pull him away from Remus.

His wand-hand pinned to the wall above his head, and Lu’s own wand pressed into his throat, they looked at him. What came now? Killing? Kissing?

@inconsolcble

Remus felt the stiffness of his legs start to melt off, relief flooding his chest with it. He kept his wand pointed to the room in front of him, worried another threat might show up on his most vulnerable open side, but things fell quieter now. And then there were steps, and some distant scurrying, and someone calling out his name.

By a chance of fate, perhaps, he recognized the voice. He'd never heard Lu sound like that when most of their meeting had consisted of happy giggles over drinks, but he knew that voice immediately. The alarmed tone was an alarming surprise in itself.

He turned back to them, having to scuffle about because he couldn't quite get up yet. His feet were still tingling, the effects of the counter-charm only now starting to work its way down. "Lu!" He called back, his eyes widening as he saw them pinning Severus to a wall, wand to his throat. Well, shit. The last thing they needed was this. "Friend!" He yelled the first word that came to mind, holding his own wand hand up in surrender. "Lu, he's a friend. Don't." 

         HEIGHT HEADCANON .

EFA: 1,80m / 5'11"

Efa is a tall. she's more legs than torso and we love that for her. like one of those Tube Person who just flails around, all limbs, no grace. she doesn't hunch over, but she is usually wearing flat shoes, so she looks exactly her height. on the times where she does wear heels, she wears insanely thicc and probably tacky platform shoes and yes she has twisted an ankle while being reckless on those a million times before, but nothing will stop her. just move out of the way and let her be, she's in a Mood.

REMUS: 1,75m / 5'9"

benjyfenwiick​:

Both Remus and Severus yelled at Benjy to get out of here and he didn’t need told again. While the guilt overwhelmed him at the idea of leaving the two wix to fight on their own, Benjy had no false pretenses about his abilities. He wasn’t a dueller because he couldn’t be. And, if he didn’t get Emmeline to safety now, then she would likely die.

“Good luck!” he yelled back towards the other two because there was nothing else he could do except hope that, the next time he saw them, they would be alive. He grabbed both his and Emmeline’s wands up in his hand, then pulled her close to him, her body against his, before he Apparated them both out of the Potter Estate.

FIN FOR EMMELINE AND BENJY. 

@sectumsmpra​

He saw the spell through his peripheral vision. It came just as he leveled a curse at one of the remaining Death Eaters and thus by the time Severus swiveled around, wand raised in defense, the spell had already landed. The bandages wrapped around his frame, beneath his shirt, hugged his wounds closed and slowed the bleeding to a stop.

Severus stared. Hand touching the white fabric before his gaze shifted towards the werewolf. The other man turned his wand towards himself and muttered a spell. Exhaled in relief. Sagged against the wall. Severus wasn’t close enough to hear the spell used, but with the way Lupin still carried himself it was not a healing spell, or at least not one that was done correctly. A hasty patchwork, as quick as the one he’d sent towards Severus himself a moment ago.

Have you ever fought on our side’s ranks? Shoulder to shoulder with another Order member?

He hadn’t understood what the difference was then, beyond their methods, and Black’s class hardly convinced him otherwise. But he could count on one hand the number of people he trusted to watch his back in the battlefield and still have fingers to spare.

He looked back towards the Death Eaters. The wix that was behind the chandelier was dead, pierced through the heart with metal and glass, and the second, further down, dropped to their  knees a moment ago, still struggling with Severus’ curse. They won’t be standing up any time soon. ‘ One, ’ he called back to the werewolf, and stood, striding towards their lone remnant enemy. He dodged the first curse, and the second, and deflected the third, before — Avada Kedavra.

Green light. The last of the Death Eaters fell to the ground, and Severus took a moment to breathe. To survey his surroundings. And then strode briskly towards his injured comrade.

@inconsolcble​

One.

Just one. Before Remus could even think about what to do with that, Severus was already out on his way, spells flashing across the hallway. He gritted his teeth through the blind hope that his companion would be fine, and flinched at the burst of green light that quickly followed.

He looked behind him, fear curling up his chest. If Severus died, this would be on him. He had been an awfully incompetent duelist today, he'd done more damage than good, he should've been at least more helpful with protective spells, for Merlin's sake.

A masked Death Eater crumpled to the ground. Remus let out a relieved groan, turning back.

Only to see another one rising. The Death Eater they (Severus) had previously controlled seemed to have one last breath in them to fight. They lifted their wand, the same split second Remus raised his. He casted the spell before his wand had even reached its proper position, and he didn't have to be creative to earn special points, so he repeated what he'd done to the chandelier -- Confringo.

His adversary exploded back in a burst that was far too gruesome to consider, but not before they could've sent their own spell.

Remus wasn't fast enough to block the curse, despite managing to change its course the slightest bit. It seemed to have been aimed at his heart, but it landed somewhere on his legs, and he found himself inconveniently stuck to the ground. His legs were petrified, heavy as stone, and he could barely lift his hips.

The counter-curse was intuitive, on the tip of his tongue, but his wand spluttered uselessly when he said it. The fucking Tag. He ripped the thing over his head with unnecessary force before casting it again.

💬 Who does he willingly lend a book to, who does he refuse to lend a book to because he knows they'll rip it, and who does he snag a book from when he needs a new one? 

Willingly lend a book to: honestly, anyone? he doesn't care too much about the physical state of books, he thinks books are just fine whether they look perfect or if they've been through thick and thin, so he'll lend to anyone. it's not like he has a lot of books, anyway, these days LMAO but for the sake of it, I'll say he would choose Lily as his favorite. he probably enjoys talking to her about the books afterwards.

Refuse to lend a book to: I'm willing to choose someone he randomly hates, so sure, Regulus. why not!

✨summon, banish, absorb

Summon: Dedalus, by elimination. you go, buddy.

Banish: Frank. no more awkward talks in the kitchen.

Working late nights was getting easier.

Remus was no stranger to staying up past bedtime, his insomnia near the full moons was unparalleled and quite terrible, but hey -- now he had a reason to stay awake anyway. Most of his shifts were schedules for late into the night, save for a couple stray ones placed smack dab in the middle of empty afternoons. He thought he'd like the day shifts more, but the eery energy inside Ganymede's when it was too early was something terrible to see.

Either way, he'd only worked for a couple weeks so far, but he'd gotten the hang of it pretty fast. The drunker people were, the less they cared about whether or not his drinks were crafted perfectly. And most of the time, people reached that point by drink number two. Every night spent here he just felt more lucky that no one else had snatched this position before he did. Sure, there were downsides, like the rare case of patrons who thought they could get aggressive or too friendly with the bartender, or the times when a familiar face showed up.

This night chose to grace him with the latter. It wasn't that he didn't like talking to people, or that he minded serving drinks to his Order pals, but watching someone like Fabian walk in the door felt... daunting. They didn't know each other that well, so it wasn't that easy to just crack a joke and try for a good-humored greeting, which would likely be the way Remus might've greeted a close friend. 

It was reassuring, in a strange way, to hear him talk for a bit longer. It felt almost casual, if she were to ignore the entire point of the conversation. But that was impossible, of course, and while she still appreciated his honesty, she couldn’t help but stiffen at his admission. An unwelcome comparison appeared in her mind; Death Eaters killed based on blood status. This… this wolf, it didn’t care who it killed, according to Remus. She opened her mouth to speak, once, twice before any actual sound came out. “Right.” A long pause. “I… understand why didn’t tell us. Me.” That was of no consolation, she was aware, but anything more would feel like a lie. Finally, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Remus. I really am. But I just need some time.”

🐾

Remus waited for anything else, at first with bated breath, and then when a reaction didn't come soon enough, with a quiet sigh. In the end, her reaction was more positive than he expected, after hearing all of this. He'd expected her support when he first came in, and had those dreams shattered pretty quickly. After that, he could only hope for a little bit of understanding. Maybe some time would be good between them. Maybe their friendship didn't have to feel as finite as it had felt when he first thought about walking back out of here. "That's okay," he nodded, lips pursed before he forced a careful smile. "No, I'm sorry, too. Yeah. I'll leave you to it. It's-- if you have any more questions, you can send a letter, or something, too." He shuffled his feet in silence for a beat, and then added hurriedly, upset that he hadn't said it earlier: "thank you. For listening, I mean, that's more than most people have done. Sorry again."

Benjy stood up straighter at the mention of the arm, reaching forward instinctively with his wand, but Remus backed off a second later. He stopped mid-reach, making his wand hang in a weird angle between them, before his brows pinched together in confusion. Remus was just going to… wait to get healed? Was that a joke? If it was, it wasn’t very funny.

“Are you kiddin’?” Benjy asked, though it was almost a statement rather than a question. “Don’t be stupid. Sit down.” He indicated to one of the cots. There were only a couple in the McKinnon infirmary - most of them had been at the Potter Estate. Several had been destroyed, but a lot of them were transferred to the House of Bones before the explosion.

Benjy took a step towards Remus. “Which shoulder is it? Do you know what happened?”

🐾

Remus' eyes widened a bit at Benjy's bluntness, but he was quick to sit down as ordered. He supposed he had underestimated how much the kid could handle on a day like today. He'd wanted to make things easier on Benjy, but he might've come across as quite stupid or, at best, patronizing. He had to learn to do that less.

"I just don't mean to be a bother," he started, but the chuckle that followed was more an embarrassed than anything else. With his good hand, he gestured vaguely towards the wounded-but-then-half-repaired shoulder. He felt painfully awkward having to explain what was the situation of his clavicle, but he soldiered on. "Right, well, it was an incarcerus, it shattered my shoulder. And then, um. Gelidossium. I had to do it, or I would've been useless in the battlefield."