rosie

Quite early on in life you learnt two things.

First—timing is everything.

One split-second decision has the power to change the entire trajectory of a moment, and that will trickle into your day, your week, your month—altering things in ways you’ll only notice much later. A choice as small as turning left instead of right, staying instead of leaving, speaking instead of staying silent.

And although, you tried not to dwell on things like that too much, you often found yourself staring up the ceiling fan, thumbs twiddling on your lap—lost in deep thought. Recounting moments, mind flitting back and forth trying to distinguish things, pin-point the trivial choices you’d made. Pondering. The possibilities, the what-ifs, the way things could change, if you’d done something else how different the moment you were in now could be.

Only sometimes did it frustrate you, the way life was seemingly always a one track path—curious of the small branches each decision could form.

All the coulds, woulds, shoulds melting away in a fraction of a second.

The permanance of it all erked you.

Still, you’re thankful that in the moment, you aren’t debilitated by the action of decision making, rarely plagued with regrets, just harmless wondering. It wasn’t a frequent occurence for you to wish to turn back time.

“You’re thinking too loudly, Y/N, it’s distracting.”

Regulus.

Sitting behind you with James and his brother on the table in the Gryffindor common room, supposedly studying for the advanced potions exam but you zoned them out ages ago. Head tilted back resting on the edge of the sofa—you looked quite peaceful in your mindless contemplation, Remus thought, he’d been subtely watching from the other end. His back against the arm of the sofa, book resting on the ball of his knees that he’d brought up into his chest. Tracing over your side profile in his mind, your head rolling slightly as you lifted it up, as if it was weighty on your shoulders.

You didn’t turn back to look at them behind you, only producing a small questioning hum, gaze falling on the fire. Remus continued watching as your eyes unfocused, blinks become slower and slower, almost entranced by the embers flicking off the body of fire.

The rise and fall pattern of your chest slowing as you sunk deeper into yourself again. He had to fight the twitch at the corners of his lips, sometimes you drifted away with the fairies, only a physical presence in the room—and he found it rather endearing. Using that time to steal small glances at you, the way the jogging of your foot slowed to a stop, how your face relaxed and rested in a slight pout.

He stretch out one of his long legs, letting it fall off the edge and brush against your ankle—the contact brought your back down, turning your head to him quickly a small sheepish smile blooming on your face; you’d been caught.

Still shifting in his seat, sitting upright, letting his limbs extend and crossing his ankles over one another, his book opened face down on the armrest. Remus was still looking at you, a huffed chuckle leaving through his nose when he asked, “You tired?”

Your face scrunched slighty, arms wrapping around yourself, fingertips playing with the loose yarn of your jumper. Shaking your head and mumbling a light, “No,” Remus had already made space for you, gently patting his lap, a signal. You rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite—you were already moving, twisting your body to rest the back of your head on his lap. Looking up, admiring him, melting into his touch—his hands instinctively playing hairs at the nape of your neck when you turned your head.

And the second you did, he looked down to you, mirroring your previous actions. Watching as the light from the fire flitted across the skin of your cheek, reflecting off the glisten in your eye. He whispered to you, fingertips ghosting over the skin of your neck as he twirled a strand around it, “What y’thinking about?”

Shifting further to get more comfortable, your head rolled back over to him, tongue darting out to wet your lips before you inhaled deeply through your nose—eyes boring into each others. Your brows raised on your face, humming out an answer, “Hmmm…just things,”

Remus leaned down dramatic and inquistive, hand having abandoned your stray hairs, and was now stroking over the top of your head. Your face split into a wide grin at the playful glint in his eye—voice full of feigned skepticism, wiggling his brows at you.

“Ooo, scandal! What things?”

You couldn’t help that laugh that bubbled in your chest, shaking on his lap, eyes squeezing shut as you giggles filled the room—his chest bloomed with pride when you broke, grinning with you. His fingers twitched at his sides in efforts not to just squish your face because, Merlin were you pretty.

Your friends watched the scene from the far table.

But no-one said anything, it was the norm. You and Remus—close, very comfortable with each other, but just friends. They all knew it; he liked you, you liked him, but for whatever reason neither of you addressed it.

The fond looks, lingering touches, magnetised to each other, but never crossing that line that you’d both magically drawn in the same place.

In the great hall, you sat with Lily, Marlene and Dorcas, they were all engaging in light conversation—enjoying their lunch. But you sat there silent, face vacant, mind drifting off far far away. So far infact that even in all their noisy hustle and bustle, the clattering of plates and scratching of benches, you hadn’t notice the late arrival of the boys.

Toast barely half buttered let alone eaten, hands cradling your wrists, completely content in your daydream. Not long after they settled in, Sirius snicker at your flat gaze—nudging James with his elbow before nodding over to you, and he quickly joined him in amused observation. Unsuprisingly, the whole table began watching you, the sound of metal against the china of their plates had slowed and they were waiting—waiting for you to notice or feel their gaze.

Sirius even went as far as to blow at you in hopes of a reaction, barking out a laugh when you didn’t move at all; “D’you reckon she’s sleeping with her eyes open?”

Even Remus chuckled lightly at your blank expression, after eventually deciding that your friends had had more than enough fun experimenting and speculating, he ran his hand from the top, gently trailing down the entirety of your spine, settling in the small of your back. And following the movement of his hand, your back arched, straightening, becoming taut—finally blinking your way back into the room with a deep inhale through your nose.

The table erupted with small giggles and snickers, you whipped your head around at them, and then to Remus—wide-eyed and innocent, he just ducked his head down with an airly laugh, his palm still pressed against you. “What? What’s so funny?” You couldn’t help but smile along with them, even in your oblivion.

“Oh nothing. It’s just that Moony factory reset you like you were a Monster Book of Monsters.”

This time it wasn’t just small snickers, the laughter barked and sounded loud around the great hall at Sirius comment, poor Lily even choked on her pumpkin juice, spluttering out a laugh. Your mouth was agape, heat rushing to your ears but you didn’t have any words to fight back with, just shaking your head—hand reaching out for your globet and taking a shy sip.

The chaos did eventually die down, as did the heat in your ears—chatter building again at the table that you stayed present to, humming along. Remus’ hand slid up lightly to your waist as he leaned in, head dipping to your ear. You could feel his breath warm against the skin of your neck as he pulled you in slightly closer, low enough only for you to hear—

”Where d’you go, love?”

You were sure there were goosebumps appearing down the back of your neck.

As you turned to him, your breath hitched just slightly—just enough for Remus to notice, his lips twitching at the corners. His eyes, soft and inquisitive, searched yours, waiting for an answer you weren’t sure you could give.

Nowhere, you almost said, but your lips parted, and something else came out instead.

“Just thinking.”

His fingers, still resting at your waist, squeezed gently. “About what?”

Pads digging in to your robes slightly, like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet, and you rested further into him, a small huff of laughter leaving you—but you stuggled to find the words, hesitating. You were always thinking about the same things, the moments that have passed, the infinite possibility before choice.

“Dunno,” you said, though the words tasted like a lie.

His eyes lingered on you a moment longer, like he wanted to press—like he wanted to reach into your mind and untangle every thought keeping you so far away from him. But then, just like that, the moment passed.

Remus only hummed, low and thoughtful, before leaning away. The warmth of his breath on your skin disappeared, his hand returned to his plate, and you tried to continue your meal—but a small twinge of doubt built in the pits of your stomach. The same itching thoughts, if you’d just said, if you didn’t hold back, if your didn’t lie.

Once again leaving the room, slipping away into yourself.

If, if, if.

Your only hesitation, your only regret, your only reason to wish to turn back time.

Remus.

It wasn’t until your final year that a small distance built between you and him.

At first, it was barely noticeable. A few missed conversations, a shift in routine, your usual late-night talks fading into occasional, fleeting moments. You told yourself it was just school, just NEWTs, just exhaustion. But deep down, you knew better. It was you. It was him. It was time—always working against you.

And then, one evening, during the celebration of Gryffindor’s Quidditch win, you saw it.

Remus, standing in the middle of the common room, golden light flickering across his face, his arms wrapped around her. A Hufflepuff girl—someone kind, gentle, with a soft smile and bright eyes. He was beaming, spinning her to the music that played.

The world around you dulled. The cheers, the base, the laughter—it all became muffled, as if you were underwater, sinking deeper with every second.

You watched as she laughed against his shoulder, her fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. Watched as he leaned in, lips brushing against hers like it was the easiest thing in the world.

And maybe it was.

Your heart ached, twisted into something tight and unbearable, and for a while you didn’t look away. You couldn’t. Maybe some part of you thought you deserved to watch—deserved to feel this.

Time was cruel, the second thing you learnt was that nothing lasts forever.

You’d hesitated, debated—watch as a bystander to the passing of time, missing all of your many windows of opportunity, this was your punishment.

The music, laughter, loud chatter, thumping of feet still danced around you, and yet you sat in the corner of the sofa—transfixed on absolutely nothing. Unaware of the time as it slipped away from you—lost, at some point, Regulus took notice.

He had been standing off to the side, lingering in the shadows like he always did, observing. He saw the exact second your expression changed—the way your eyes dimmed, the way your body seemed to curl in on itself, like you disappeared into the noise.

He sat next to you, but you didn’t move. Didn’t acknowledge him. Your mind was somewhere else—somewhere far away, but he could always tell, always hear how loud your thoughts were.

So, after a moment, Regulus took your hand.

You blinked, barely registering the warmth of his palm against yours, barely noticing the way he guided you out of the common room. You let him. You followed. The party faded behind you, swallowed by the quiet halls, the cold air biting at your skin as he led you to the bell tower.

And then, you sat.

Neither of you spoke. Regulus wasn’t the type to offer empty words or false reassurances. He didn’t tell you it would be okay or that it would pass. He just stayed. And in the end, that was enough. It wasn’t until he wrapped an arm around you—his touch gentle, grounding—that the cracks began to show.

A single tear slipped past your lashes, landing on your lap, and you forced out a nod.

“He’s happy,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Regulus frowned. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. The weight of his silence was enough to say I know—to say I see you.

The next morning, you couldn’t bring yourself to sit next to him.

You came to breakfast late, sliding into the empty seat next to Lily, despite the open space beside Remus. You didn’t feel his gaze on you, heavy and searching. You plate remained untouched, no one questioned your silence—accustom to your drifting. But Lily saw it—the puffiness around your eyes, the way your fingers picked slowly at the skin of your nails, fading in and out of the room.

And so did Remus.

The way your face didn’t have it usual peaceful thinking expression, your shoulders were sagged, each small breath, each rise and fall of your chest moved like it was too heavy, too taxing to breath any deeper—there was no pout on your lips, a telltale sign of your contemplation. Instead your lips were curved down, edged with something sadder.

It made his stomach twist, made something unfamiliar settle in his chest. But before he could act on it, before he could make his way around the table and ask you what was wrong, he heard his name.

“Remus!”

His girlfriend, smiling up at him, tugging on his sleeve. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

He hesitated.

Just for a second.

But then he let himself be pulled away, let himself walk out of the Great Hall without looking back.

Time was a silly and fickle thing.

Without the one constant presence, Remus, time seemed to escape you—more often than not just far away, floating through the days. Because any time you were actually present in the room, a squeezing pressure in your chest gathered, making each word, each thought heavy and burdensome.

It was so much simpler to just fade away with the time.

The first year after graduation, your barely saw him, it made it a bit easier—less like rubbing salt in an open wound and more like a dull ache, something buried just beneath the surface. Manageable, if only because you didn’t have to look at him, didn’t have to hear his laugh or catch the warmth in his eyes that no longer belonged to you.

Time blurred. Days bled into weeks, weeks into months. Life went on—without him, without the weight of what ifs pressing down on your shoulders.

But absence didn’t mean forgetting.

There were still moments—passing through a bookstore and spotting a title you knew he’d love, hearing a joke that would’ve made him throw his head back in laughter, seeing the first full moon of the month and feeling that quiet, familiar worry settle in your chest. Even smells, whiffs of fresh parchment and earl grey tea, laced with rich dark cocoa.

The memories lingered, slipping through the cracks when you least expected them. They weren’t as painful, not exactly. Just...hollow.

Because no matter how far the time stretch, Remus would still have a piece of your soul.

It was a chance encounter, one of those moments that felt almost cruel in its inevitability.

A cafe in Diagon Alley—warm, light streaming through the windows, a stark contrast to the biting cold outside. The scent of roasted coffee beans lingered in the air, mingling with the quiet hum of conversation and the occasional clink of porcelain against saucers. It was the kind of afternoon that made the world feel a little slower, a little softer.

Remus hadn’t planned on stopping. He had only been passing by, coat pulled tight around him against the cold, mind elsewhere. But then—through the fogged-up glass of the window—he saw you.

His breath caught in his throat and his legs moved before he could stop them.

You were sitting alone at one of the small corner tables, hands curled around a cup of something warm, though it remained untouched. Your gaze was distant, fixed on nothing in particular, lost somewhere far away. The familiar empty expression, corners of your lips still tilting downwards.

Against all rational, he stepped inside the café, ordered himself a cup of tea, and made his way over to you.

You didn’t notice.

Not when he pulled out the chair across from you, not when he sat down and set his cup gently on the table. You remained frozen in thought, thumbs gently rubbing over the procealine of the handle—chest rising and falling in that same pattern that Remus knew so well—shallow on the inhale, deeper on the exhale.

He watched you for a few long moments—old habits creeping back in, it hadn’t even been that long—maybe fifteen months since graduation, and you were the same you that he missed. He’d memorised it easily, those small things; the way the slower your blinks were the further away you were, how when you drifted, the longer you spent the more your body would begin to sway.

Then, slowly, hesitantly, he spoke.

“Y/N,”

Gods, it was that same unfairly warm and fond tone he always used without knowing, it just rolled off his tongue.

It was as if you’d been pulled abruptly from the depths of some distant memory, yanked back into the present. Your entire body stiffened for a fraction of a second before your eyes finally lifted to meet his, breath catching in your throat—eyes running over his figure.

Remus watched as recognition flickered through them, followed by something else—something unreadable. Your fingers twitched slightly against your cup, and your back straightened, as if bracing yourself.

For a moment, you just stared at him.

Then, your lips parted slightly, and in a voice quieter than you intended, you breathed, "Remus."

His name on your lips did something to him. Opening up that quiet ache in his chest, caught somewhere between longing and nostalgia, between familiarity and distance.

A small, careful smile tugged at his lips. “Hi.”

You blinked, and for a second—just a second—your expression cracked. Something raw passed over your face too quickly for him to grasp. Then, like always, like before, you smoothed it over with a practiced smile, one he had seen countless times before.

Another moment of silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable, not easy either—thick.

For the first time since seeing him, you let yourself look at him. Really look. He was the same, but different. His hair had grown out slightly, curling over his ears. There were faint circles under his eyes, like he hadn’t been sleeping much. The scar on his cheek, the one you used to trace absentmindedly with your fingers, was still there.

And his eyes—they still held that same warmth, the same quiet intensity, the same way they had always looked at you like he could see through every carefully constructed wall you had ever put up.

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “Still away with the fairies, Y/N.”

It was a simple statement, lighthearted, harmless—but you felt your lungs squeeze at his voice.

Huffing out a small laugh, though it lacked real amusement, fingers tracing over the rim of your now cold cup, avoiding his gaze with a light shrug; “Mmm, old habits die hard,”

Remus hummed, taking a slow sip of his tea before glancing back at you. “I missed you at Mary’s birthday last month.”

The pressure of his gaze was undeniable, it made you want to hide away, run, escape it. And though he surely didn’t mean it to be scrutinising, you could look at it no other way.

Your fingers curled slightly against your cup.

You hadn’t gone. You’d intended to—had even gotten ready—but in the end, the thought of seeing him had felt too much. It wasn’t that you hadn’t wanted to, it was just…you weren’t sure if you could bear standing in a room with him and feeling so far away, like a stranger.

Swallowing thickly, “Yeah, I—” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “I got caught up with things.”

Leaning forward, brows raised, eyes glistening with a playful curiosity that you hadn’t seen in so long, “Ooo, what things?” His voice was so casual, slipping so easy back into old mannerism with you he couldn’t even catch himself. He smiled softly, watching as your eyes widened slightly—earning a real laugh, small and breathy, shaking your head.

Noting the way the grip on your cup lessened, relieving your shoulders from their overly tense position when you replied. “Nothing interesting,”

Gods did he miss your smile.

He almost missed your words, absorbed in the moment of you, “I would’ve liked to see you there,” he admitted.

Something in your chest ached, like bandages were being taken off too early, too slowly, the wound underneath burning against the harsh contact of air. Inhaling deeply, your smile faltered slightly, swallowing the words you want to say and Remus studied you for a beat too long, he saw it but wasn’t going to push you on it.

Instead, he nodded at nothing, a soft exhale escaping him, as he brought his tea to his lips—he’d tried to drink it slowly, prolong the time he could sit with you, but it was almost finished. His time was almost up.

Placing the cup back onto the table with a dull click, he glanced at your cup, barely touched as you traced the rim—“I was going to the market—if, you’d uh…like to come?” His words were lightly rushed at the start, slowing down in hesitance by the time he reached the end.

Your mouth opened and closed several times, eventually sighing in way that told Remus, she’s about to refuse. A quiet war waged in your mind, hesitation curling around your thoughts like vines, creeping and twisting until they tangled themselves into knots too tight to unravel.

It’s not like you didn’t want to go.

But things were different now—time had passed, life had changed and the space between you both had been filled with too many unspoken things, too many missed chances.

So, instead, you inhaled softly, gaze dropping to your untouched cup. “Remus, I—”

“It’s not too far from here, I promise,”

His gaze was almost pleading as his interrupted, words hurried with a cadance that teetered on desperate. “Just to the market,” you breathed back, more to yourself than anything. As if that made it all alright, as if your heart wasn’t already well on the way to giving out with each moment you spent with him.

He knew deep down he was being selfish, he shouldn’t have put you in this situation, shouldn’t have disturbed you and sat down at the table, shouldn’t even have come in to the shop when he saw you—but he just couldn’t help himself, it was you.

“Just to the market.” He affirmed, a glimmer of hope blooming in his eyes as he watched the cogs turn in your brain, the internal discourse—debating if you should go.

“…Okay,” you said, barely above a whisper—shoulders slumming slightly as you relented.

Remus had to use every signal in his brain not to beam at you, just allowing the corners of his mouth to twitch into a small smile, eyes crinkling at the edges, flickering with something warm, something light—releasing the smallest exhale of relief.

He pushed his chair back slightly, standing and shrugging on his coat before motioning toward the door. “Shall we?”

You nodded, your own movements slower, more careful, as if afraid the moment would shatter if you moved too suddenly.

The streets were painted in hues of late afternoon gold, the cool breeze threading through the air, tousling Remus’ hair and slipping beneath your sleeves.

At some point, without thinking, his fingers brushed against yours—the conversation was light, easy—effortless, just like two friends catching up. Technically, that’s what you were.

Just seeing you settled some of the unrest that seeped into Remus’ bones, but being with you, in your space, conversating like it were just yesterday when you sat together infront of the common room fire—it had him forcing the pits of his stomach to rest with shuddering intakes of breath. It made him feel like he was living again, made him realise that he’d not known peace in your absence.

Constantly finding his heart reeling as each crease forming by your eyes when you smiled, each time you wandered over to a stall, his breath hitched watching you enthuse with the vendor—unbelievely bewitched by your presence. The familiar shiver down his spine when you got close to him, like he was a teenager again.

Gods, you should have said no.

You should have made up a cheap excuse to avoid this, the slippery slope that was Remus Lupin.

You should have said no because you knew you were weak to him, every word that left his lips more hypnotising than the last, willing the away the invasive pinch that accompanied the crooked smile on his face, smothering the urge to let your eyes linger on him as his brows squeezed together with each laugh he let out.

You should have said no because it wasn’t just the market.

Unknowingly, time had escaped you both, trailing down the emptying narrow roads, slowly treading along the cobbled paths, hours passed like minutes until the sun had resigned under the horizon and the skies filled with small scattered pin-pricks of light, the moon smiling down at you.

The laugh that spilled from your lips was cut off with a gasp when you caught glimpse of your watch, it was already so late. Trudging to a sudden halt, Remus looked back—eyes filled with concern, frantically scanning your frame, words immediate and panicked, “What’s the matter?”

Shaking your head, realising how quickly time had slipped through your fingers. “Nothing—I hadn’t realised the time” you admitted, glancing back up at him. “I should probably—”

Go.

You should go.

Remus’ face fell almost imperceptibly, but you caught it. The subtle downturn of his lips, the flicker of something like disappointment in his eyes before he schooled his expression slightly, into something more neutral.

You’d barely started to fill the gaping hole you left in Remus—and now you were leaving?

“You don’t have to rush off,” he said, voice gentle but insistent.

You let out a small breath of a laugh. “Remus, it’s late.”

“All the more reason you shouldn’t go home on your own,” he countered easily, slipping back into that same old protective streak of his. “And besides—” He glanced down at your hands, your half empty takeaway cup from earlier, before looking back up at you with raised brows. “You haven’t eaten anything.”

You blinked at him. “I can eat at home—”

He’d only just begun to feel like he could breath again and time was already up?

Remus wasn’t a particularly prideful man, and most definetly was not above begging, not when it came to you—already rushing out words, as if he needed to say them before he lost the nerve. “You can eat with me. At mine.”

That startled you into silence.

Running a hand through his hair, pushing it back before shoving both hands into his pockets. “It’s not far. Just a few stops on the train.” He tried to keep his voice casual, easy, but there was a layer there, undeniable—something raw and vulnerable and desperate.

Your mouth opened, instinct telling you to protest—but at that exact moment, your stomach betrayed you, letting out a rather loud rumble.

Remus’ lips twitched, amusement flashing across his face before he pressed his hand over his heart in mock sincerity. “Really, I insist.”

Your jaw clenched, eyes narrowing slightly at the smugness creeping into his expression.

But despite yourself—despite every hesitation curling in the back of your mind—your lips curved upward, just a little.

“…Fine.”

And if Remus let out a breath of relief, if his smile stretched just a bit wider than before—neither of you mentioned it.

The train ride to Remus’ was comfortable and quick—he hadn’t exaggerated when he said it was only a few stops. But as you turned the corner onto his road, as his footsteps slowed, and a quiet realisation settled over you.

You’d never been to his house before.

It wasn’t a big deal—he’d never been to yours either—but still, something about it felt strangely significant. You’d spent countless afternoons, evenings, nights, knee-deep in conversations about homes you’d live in after Hogwarts—the perfect little flat you imagined for yourself, the cozy two-story house Remus had always wanted—planning.

And now, after almost a year and a half apart, you were finally seeing the place he called home.

When he unlocked the door, the lights at the bottom of the corridor were already on, accompanied with the faint sound of a radio and quiet clattering, you were still slipping off your shoes when you looked up at Remus. An expression of mild concern at the liveliness of his house, eyes flickering between the end of the corridor and him—he only huffed out a small chuckle, placing his hand lightly on your back motioning you further in.

Squinting at him in slight suspicion before following, allowing your eyes to wander around the walls, absorbing the decorations, the small homely touches he’d added—the graduations pictures, the keys hanging next to the broom stand, two framed burgundary ties with mustard yellow strips.

Two?

You were still in a state of curious admiration when the door infront of you swug open wildly with a vigour that made the hinges release a high pitch groan, almost immediately you were ingulfed in to warm clutch—feet lifted off the carpet and the world around you spun. The squeal of shock that left you was completely swallowed by the loud bellowing call of your name.

“Y/N!”

When you finally made contact with the floor again, leaning back to take a good look at your assailant, the largest grin split across your face—matching his enthusiasm and pulling him in to another tight, squeezing hug. “Jamie?!” Rocking side to side in his grasp, a laugh of disbelief bubbled through his chest—even when you seperate his hands moved to your cheeks, smooshing your face into a pout as you laughed.

“Where have you been, love?”

It had hardly even been three months since you last saw James, and he was still acting as if you had disappeared off the face of the earth. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks before he finally released you, though not without a playful shake of your shoulders.

“I swear, one minute you’re here, the next you’ve vanished into thin air! I was starting to think you’d moved to another bloody country,” James accused, though his grin never wavered.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest only grew. “Three months, Potter. Hardly enough time to start missing me that much.”

James scoffed, dramatic as ever. “Three months too long, if you ask me.”

Remus stood not to far behind you, and as much as he was warmed by the scene that unfolded before him, a small sharp pang of something else shot through his chest, something ugly—something green. James made it look like it was the easiest thing in the world, pulling you back in, slotting you so effortlessly into the space you had once occupied in their lives.

James had always been good at that—at making people feel like they belonged, like no time had passed at all. But Remus…Remus wasn’t sure he had that same ability. Not with you. Not after everything.

His fingers twitched at his side, resisting the urge to reach for you. He watched the way you laughed, eyes crinkling as James animatedly retold some ridiculous story, and it should’ve made Remus feel nothing but comfort, ease. Instead, there was that pang again—the bitter discontent and regret tangled and settled uncomfortably beneath his ribs.

He couldn’t help but think back to the times when that would have been him, easily able to pull you close, not treading lightly around undisclosed boundaries and avoiding silences.

You’d all sat on their sofa together, eating dinner—thankful James still hadn’t mastered portion control, always making enough to feed the five thousand. It was pleasant, relaxed—unpressured conversation filling the room, time once again passing too quickly for his liking.

James let out a loud yawn, stretching his arms above his head before slinging them back around both of you, pulling you in for one last quick squeeze. “Right, I’m off to bed,” ruffling your hair before turning to Remus with a lopsided smirk, “Have fun with the dishes, Moony,” he teased.

Remus scoffed, rolling his eyes as James trudged up the stairs, his footsteps heavy against the wood. The house settled into a softer quiet in his absence, the warm hum of the radio still playing faintly in the background.

You stood up abruptly, taking Remus’ plate with you on your rise, gathering the dishes on the coffee table, swiftly making your way into the kitchen. Remus followed behind, a tad bit too low to stop in your wordless flurries—as you surveyed the room he gently tried to pry the dishes from your grasp but you quickly pulled away, “At least let me help clean up. I did kind of barge in on dinner—”

Remus cut you off, frowning slightly. “You didn’t barge in. I invited you.”

But you were already brushing past him, stationing yourself at the sink as you rolled up your sleeves.

“Still,” you murmured, voice stubborn but gentle, “it’s the least I can do.”

Remus sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, but didn’t argue further. Instead, he grabbed a clean dish towel and joined you, falling into place beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world. The lulling sound of water running, dishes clinking softly as you scrubbed and he dried, felt almost domestic, shoulders brushing together with each movement.

For a moment, it was like nothing had changed. Like time hadn’t stolen so much from you both.

And as he watched you, sleeves pushed up, hands covered in suds, brows furrowed slightly in concentration, something in his chest ached.

Because this—this quiet togetherness, this moment, this you—it burned him to think that it would eventually have to end.

The quiet hum of the radio faded into the background as your hands moved on autopilot, warm water running over your skin as you scrubbed a plate, mind drifting in the comfort of routine. You barely noticed the way Remus stared as he worked beside you, slipping into a rhythm that felt like you had done this a hundred times before.

You hissed, yanking your hand back as a bright bloom of crimson welled up along the curve of your palm.

“Shit—” His voice was sharp with concern, his body moving before his mind could catch up. Remus was on you in an instant, dish towel abandoned on the counter, forgotten, as he closed the space between you in a heartbeat. “Let me see.”

“It’s noth—”

But he had already reached for your wrist, his fingers curling around it, gentle but firm as he tilted your hand toward the dim light of the kitchen. The sting pulsed under your skin, warm and insistent, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his touch, the way his thumb brushed over the uninjured part of your palm in silent reassurance.

His brows furrowed as he studied the wound, jaw ticking. “It’s deep,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. His grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly before he exhaled sharply. “Come on, sit down. We need to clean it.”

You let yourself be led to the dining table, pulse thrumming a little too fast beneath your skin. Remus released your wrist only long enough to retrieve a first aid kit from the cupboard, and you sat there, suddenly hyperaware of the way your hand throbbed in time with your heartbeat. Mumbling out a small string of excuses littered with apologies, before he could even begin fussing over you.

When he returned, he knelt in front of you, one knee pressed to the floor, his free hand resting lightly against your knee for balance. His eyes flicked up to yours, filled with something exasperated but fond. “Are you seriously apologising for bleeding?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again, heat creeping up your neck. “Well—no, but—”

His lips twitched, cutting you off before you could fumble out an excuse. His voice was low, unfairly gentle. “It’s fine, Y/N.”

You swallowed, pressing your lips together as you dropped your gaze to where he was already tearing open an alcohol swab. He worked deftly, practiced and careful.

“This is going to sting,” he warned, glancing up at you briefly.

You took a slow, steadying breath, closing your eyes. “Okay.”

The antiseptic made contact, and you hissed, the sharp burn blooming across your palm.

Remus’ fingers tensed around yours, brows knitting together at the sound. “I know,” he murmured, voice softer now, soothing. “Almost done.”

You nodded, forcing yourself to relax as he continued, his thumb absentmindedly brushing slow, reassuring circles against your wrist. After a moment, he leaned back slightly, inspecting the wound with quiet concentration. “Not deep enough for stitches,” he murmured, reaching for the closure strips, “this’ll seal it to keep anything out.”

You watched him as he worked, your gaze tracing the furrow of his brows, the way his lips parted slightly in focus. He hummed softly under his breath—an old habit, one you hadn’t heard in so long it made something in your depths of your chest sting and squeeze.

You hadn’t realized you were staring until his voice cut through the quiet.

“What?”

Your eyes flicked up to his, startled. “What?”

The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement, and though he hadn’t stopped tending to your hand, you could feel the air around you thin slightly. “You’re staring,” he said simply.

You hesitated. The instinct to brush it off, to deflect, clawed up your spine—but instead, you inhaled, considering your words. The confession was quiet, airy—

“I just like looking at you.”

Remus’ fingers stilled over your palm, and you felt rather than saw the breath he sucked in. He didn’t move, didn’t speak for a long moment—just looked at you, something flickering behind his eyes that you couldn’t quite pinpoint, then, a quiet, disbelieving chuckle left him, breathy and low.

His hands, still warm against you, curled slightly against your knees as he tilted his head, something playful and teasing in his voice. “Do you now?”

Your lips parted slightly, and though your pulse was hammering against your ribs, you held his gaze. “I do.”

The words left you on an exhale, soft and breath—yet certain.

Disarming him completely, briging to the surface what he’d always pushed down, unravelling something Remus was always to fearful to face.

His fingers flexed, unconsciously pulling himself closer, the warmth of his breath brushing against heating surface of your skin. His eyes flickered to your lips—lingering—just for a moment, but you felt it, the hesitation, the war between thought and impulse. The space between you was dwindling, a mere breath away from closing entirely—

Then, the sound of near footsteps, the screeching of hinges.

Remus shot to his feet so fast it was almost comical, nearly knocked the first aid kit off the table, his face twisting into something like panic. The tips of his ears flushed pink, guilt flickering over his features like he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

James stood in the doorway, frozen, a glass in his hand.

His eyes flicked between you and Remus, and his face twisted slightly in slow realization, when he muttered, “Shit—sorry, I just…came to get some water.”

Voice flat, mildly exasperated, as if he knew exactly what he had just interrupted. You swallowed hard, heart still lodged in your throat as James stepped around the room, deliberately avoiding eye contact as he filled his glass at the sink.

Remus ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply, the tension still clinging to the air like static. “Yeah, no, it’s—uh—it’s fine.”

While you sat still in your seat, heart pounding, fingers curled tightly around the edge of the chair, James practically tiptoed around you both as if being quieter would make it any less painfully awkward.

Then, without another word, he left, water glass in hand.

The silence he left behind was deafening.

Remus let out a slow breath, still standing rigid beside you. You swallowed. Hand—still warm from his touch—lay limp in your lap. Your pulse still thrummed wildly beneath your skin. Clearing his throat, busying his hands and clearing the first aid kit, he mumbled something about getting to the dishes later.

You stood, looking around the room aimlessly—you both knew it, it was about time you left, made your way home.

But he wasn’t ready. You can’t leave, not yet.

Rubbing his palms forcibly on the surfcae of his trousers, wracking his brain for an excuse, a reason for you to stay, words to reset your time.

“Would you like to see the garden?”

He scolded himself internally, of all this he could blurt out, the garden was his best answer? There wasn’t even much to see—

“You have a garden?!” cutting his reprimanding monologue short with a small gasp, your words overflowing with enthusiasm that shocked him, purging some if the anxiety that had built in his shoulders. With a huffed chuckle Remus nodded, extending an arm to guide you through the house.

If there was one thing you missed about Hogwarts, it was without a doubt the endless view of the clear skies, the privilege of seeing the stars in all their beauty any time you wished—cloud free.

As you stepped though the sliding doors after him, another gasp slipped from your lips, Remus turned, watching you marvel at the skies, eyes wide with childlike wonder as you stepped further into the small patch of land.

The garden itself was modest, with a few well-tended plants lining the perimeter, a bench seated against the fence, but you hardly spared them a glance. Your gaze was locked skyward, drinking in the sprawling expanse of stars, their silver glow scattered like spilled ink across the inky blue.

Remus watched, momentarily forgetting himself, his lips quirking into something impossibly fond.

"You like the stars that much?" he asked, voice softer now, lower, as if speaking any louder would shatter the moment.

You turned, beaming at him, an excitement so pure that it made his breath catch in his throat. "Are you kidding? It’s been ages since I’ve seen them properly like this." Your voice was full of quiet awe as you turned your gaze back upward, taking a few more steps into the cool grass.

"I used to sneak out to see them all the time at school, but it’s hard to find a good view in the city."

He swallowed, tucking his hands into his pockets, watching the way your face reflected the soft glow of the moon. He had brought you out here on impulse, desperate to keep you close, to not let you run away again. A cool breeze drifted through the night air, brushing loose strands of hair against your cheek, and without thinking, Remus reached forward, tucking them gently behind your ear.

You stilled.

The warmth of his fingers lingered against your skin, fleeting but unmistakable. You turned to him fully then, eyes searching his face, and the only thing he could hear was the loud thumpng of his heartbeat bouncing between his ears, throat bobbing as he swallowed, the hum of the world around you steadily fading away.

"You really love them, don’t you?" His voice was barely above a whisper now.

You nodded, gaze never leaving his. "Yeah," you murmured, smiling softly. "They make me feel small, like in a good way. Like...I’m part of something bigger."

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "You always say things like that."

"Like what?"

He barely even hesitated—

"Things that make me realize how much I missed you.”

Remus could see the internal panic set in, flashing wildly behind your eyes, completely undeniable, so was the way your breath audibly hitched in your throat fingers twitching where they rested by your side.

The way he said it—automatic, definite, without fear of what it might mean—had all your heart threatening to pump right out of your chest and land on the floor beneath you. His voice, the quiet certainty in his tone, the way his gaze held yours without wavering—it was too much.

Your lips pressed into a tight line, as if to keep words from escaping you, as if it could stop everything from seeping through the cracks. Crumbling under the intensity of his gaze, the weight of his words, the wanting his touch left in its wake.

His fingertips still ghosted over your skin, light yet burning, grounding yet unsteading—caught in the strange balance between too much and not enough. And though you were outside, it seemed there wasn’t enough air for you—each one of your senses overwhelmed with something distictly Remus.

You wanted to look away. Needed to. If you could just turn your head, break the moment, maybe then you could breathe properly, think again. Maybe then, the seconds wouldn’t feel so suffocating. But you couldn’t. You were frozen in place, trapped, imprisoned under his gaze—he was still, patient—searching, waiting.

The moments continued to stretch, until you finally parted you lips, exaling shallow and testing, as if you’d forgotten how to breath. Voice meek and quieter than you’d meant it to be.

“I didn’t mean to disappear,”

It was the truth. But only part of it.

The rest of the words died, heavy on your tongue, unwilling to be spoken aloud.

But it seemed easier that way. But that was the only way you knew how to survive.

That every time you saw him, it felt like pressing on an open wound, one that was so far away from healing, one that probably never would. But you didn’t say it. You couldn’t.

Remus hummed softly, and there was something knowing in the sound, something that made your stomach twist. He could see it—could feel it. That there was more. That there had always been more. And for so long, he had let it slide, let it slip through the cracks, let you get away with unfinished thoughts and lingering pauses, mystery and obsurity, silences that stretched too long between words.

But not this time.

His voice was steadier when he spoke again, pressing, “But?”

Your throat bobbed, struggling to swallow, fingers curling into your sleeves, curling into yourself as the temptation to look away won, eyes flickering down the the grass.

He tilted his head slightly, compelling your gaze onto him, studying your face with careful intent, reassuring, he was so close—one hand just barely ghosting over the fabric that rested over the dip in your waist, and the other’s palm pressed flush against the skin of your neck—spreading the heat that already prickled down your spine even further.

“It seemed easier,” the words trembled, breaking slightly at the end, and his brows pinched high on his brow at the raw cadance your voice took, but he still wouldn’t let you look away—forcing your presence in the moment, forcing you to not drift away, not again.

He knew what you meant, the words hung heavy in the air, bouncing and echoing in Remus’ brain over and over again, easier. Easier to allow the distance between you to build. Easier to fade away before his very eyes. Easier to just escape everything. Even if it did hollow you out.

His fingertips curled slightly where they rested, finally grasping on to you, palm warm against your waist, anchoring you, tethering you to him in a way that made escape impossible. Touch still cradling the side of your neck, firm but gentle, thumb running over your pulse, feeling it race beneath him.

Pursing his lips together, exhaling through his nose, the guilt in your eyes so clear to him, but he wasn’t satisfied, he wasn’t going to accept half truths anymore—you’d both already wasted so much time, he couldn’t stomach the idea of letting this go on any longer than it already had.

“Was it?”

The second the words left his lips and reached your ears, he could feel the way you tensed in his hold, your breath catching in your throat as though the very question had knocked the air from your lungs.

Your lips parted, a response forming—then hesitating, your voice failing you entirely. You swallowed thickly, gaze flickering over his face, searching for something—what, you didn’t know. A way out, maybe. A sign that he’d let it drop.

But he wouldn’t. Not this time.

His hand at your waist shifted, his fingers pressing gently into the fabric of your shirt, thumb tracing absent, soothing patterns against your side. He was patient, unyielding but never forceful, his grip warm, grounding. And the way he looked at you—soft, knowing, understanding in a way that made your chest ache—was so much. Too much.

Your lips moved soundlessly at first, as if your thoughts were warring with your voice, stuck somewhere deep in your throat. And he just waited, unwavering, unwavering in the way only Remus could be, the way that made you feel like there was nothing in the world except this moment.

Finally, you breathed out, “I—”

Then nothing.

You swallowed, throat dry, you weren’t sure you wanted to be here, standing in front of him with nowhere left to run, no more room to hide behind half-truths and evasions. Lips parting, then closing, then parting again, like the words were caught somewhere deep in your throat, tangled and knotted together, refusing to be spoken aloud.

“You… you were happy,” you murmured, voice trembling, like you were forcing the words out through a tight throat. Your fingers twitched against the fabric of his sweater, eyes darting away. “It just made sense—”

His head shook before you could even finish.

No.

He knew you were skirting around it. Knew you’d try to twist the truth, try to say just enough without saying anything at all, try to dance around the edges of what you really meant, as if that would be enough. As if he would let it be enough.

He wouldn’t let you. Not now.

The words came haltingly, breaking as they stumbled out of you. The effort of articulating the truth left you trembling, and as soon as the words left your lips, you instinctively broke eye contact, unable to bear it any longer. But Remus would not let you drift away.

"No, no, no, no—" The words were quiet, but firm, insistent. His hands moved then, slipping from your waist to your face, cradling it so delicately, so reverently, like you might shatter if he wasn’t careful. "Look—look at me…please," his eyes searching yours with an urgency that made your pulse race. Touch steadying you, and despite the tremor in your body, you found yourself listening, unable to look away.

“Was it easier?" he asked again, his voice low and sympathetic, each word a gentle command that left little room for evasion.

You knew it. He knew it.

But saying it—admitting it—felt like standing at the edge of something bottomless, staring down at the unknown.

In the quiet that followed, your eyes became glossy with tears as you shook your head slowly, once, twice, until you couldn’t stand it, everything just too much to contain, eyes squeezing shut.

Remus's thumb came up to gently wipe away the wet drops from the corners of your eyes, his touch both tender and apologetic. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against yours. Voice, soft and laden with tenderness, that made the surface of your skin prickle, breaking through the silence once more.

"I know,"

That single word, conveyed all the unspoken emotions that had built up between you—the ache of separation, the pain of absence, the desperate hope and longing that you’d both let fester for too long.

You struggled to breathe, each inhalation more shallow and shuddering than the last, your lips trembling as you fought to contain the bubbling sobs. The sight made the depths of his stomach churn with concern.

The tip of his nose brushed against yours, and wisps of his hair skimmed the surface of your cheeks as he let his hand slip down to pull you closer, his palm rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back. He coaxed your ragged breaths into a steadier rhythm, his voice just above a whisper and lulling as he murmured—

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, love.” softer, like he was absorbing the ache from your chest into his own.

You clenched your hands into the fabric of his shirt, gripping so tightly your knuckles ached, like if you let go, you might lose yourself completely.

His thumb brushed against your cheek, catching the last remnants of your tears, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, neither of you moved. You could feel his heartbeat—fast, unsteady, as if it was caught in the same whirlwind you were. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly, eyes searching yours for something—hesitation, permission, an answer to a question he hadn’t spoken aloud.

Remus’ lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but no words came—just a slow exhale, like he was finally letting himself from getting lost in you.

Closing the gap, his lips ghosting, shy—testing over yours.

So you leaned into him instead, letting yourself fall into the warmth of his touch, into the way his fingers curled slightly against your jaw as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. It was slow, unhurried, like a quiet confession in itself—one that had been waiting far too long to be spoken. The weight of unsaid words, of time lost and wounds left open, all melted away in the spaces where your lips met, where his hands held you like you were something precious, something he was terrified to let slip through his fingers again.

His thumb traced delicate patterns against your cheek, a stark contrast to the quiet urgency with which he kissed you, as if trying to make up for every moment he had spent holding himself back. Your fingers, still trembling from the unraveling of emotion just moments before, found their way into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself to him, grounding yourself in something tangible. He sighed against your lips, the sound reverberating through your bones, pulling you deeper into him, into this fleeting eternity you had both fallen into.

Finally able to bask in each other, in the way your breaths tangled between kisses, in the way his hands pulled you closer without hesitation—no more space, no more running. Just this. Just you and him.

This was restraint.

Deliberate, careful restraint.

It struck him, not for the first time, how strange it was to have you here.

Sirius’s little sister. Regulus’s twin. The girl who had never quite belonged in the Black family, yet never managed to leave it behind either.

You had been sorted into Gryffindor a year after him—an offense neither of your parents had ever forgiven. Sirius had taken to you immediately, the way an older brother should, shielding you from their wrath when he could. But he had left. He had run, escaping the madness of Grimmauld Place in a way you hadn’t been able to.

Because you couldn’t leave Regulus.

Remus hadn’t known you well back then. Not really. You had been a fixture in the background of his years at Hogwarts—always around when Sirius was, always a little quieter than him, more cautious. The Marauders had spoken to you in passing, exchanged pleasantries when you lingered at their table, but that was all.

Except for one thing.

His second year—your first. A pack of older Slytherins had cornered you near the Greenhouses, sneering, cruel. Sirius had seen, had stormed in like hellfire itself, hexes flying. Later, after the dust had settled, he had turned to Remus and said, voice tight with anger, “If you ever see her in trouble and I’m not around, promise me you’ll look after her.”

Remus had promised.

And now, years later, with James and Lily gone and Sirius in Azkaban, after everything—

You were here.

Because he had asked you to be. Because he had promised to look after you.

He turned, crossing the small kitchen before setting the plate down at the table. “Here,” he said, not looking at you as he went back for his own.

He wasn’t sure what he expected—hesitation, protest, some half-hearted attempt to refuse—but you didn’t do any of that. You just sat down. Picked up a piece. Ate.

Like you had been waiting for permission.

Remus took his seat across from you, watching out of the corner of his eye as you tore off another piece, movements slow, deliberate.

But there was something else, too—something in the way your fingers gripped the toast a little too tightly, how your shoulders tensed as if bracing for something unseen.

Like you were holding yourself back. Like if you weren’t careful, you might devour it too fast.

A strange feeling settled in his chest, heavy and sharp.

Were you not eating when he wasn’t here? If he didn’t put something in front of you, did you just—go without?

It made him think back over the past two weeks. How every meal you had eaten had been one he had made, one he had handed directly to you. How you had never once grabbed anything for yourself.

Remus exhaled slowly, pushing the realization down for now.

Instead, he just reached for his tea, took a sip, and casually asked, “Anything you want from the store later?”

You barely looked up. Just shrugged. “Whatever’s fine.”

He didn’t respond.

But later that day, when he was restocking the cupboards, he pulled out a bar of chocolate and set it on the counter.

Then, like an afterthought, he tossed it to you.

“Here,” he said.

You caught it instinctively, staring down at it before looking up at him with quiet confusion.

“Sirius would kill me if I let you go without chocolate,” he added, voice light.

Your fingers curled around the wrapper, pressing into the foil. For a moment, he wondered if he had overstepped, if this was something he shouldn’t be noticing, shouldn’t be acting on.

Then—slowly—you unwrapped it.

And he let himself breathe.

It took weeks, but eventually, he noticed things shifting. A cup of tea made before he woke up. A biscuit taken without hesitation. And one evening, when he walked in to find you quietly finishing an apple on the couch, without waiting for him to offer.

He didn’t say a word.

But something inside him eased.

.・。.・゜✭・.

It happened so fast.

One moment, you were reaching for your tea, fingers curling around the warm ceramic, the steam rising gently from the surface, and the next—

A sharp clatter. The mug tipped over, sending tea flooding across the table, splashing over the edges and pooling onto the floor, splattering onto your jumper in an instant.

You froze.

Your heart seemed to stop for a moment, your breath caught in your throat. Shoulders tensed, and your hands squeezed into fists at your sides, as you stared at the mess, unable to do anything but watch it unfold.

The sensation of panic rushed through you in waves, and your mind spiraled faster than your body could react. How could you have been so careless? What if he gets mad? What if this ruins everything? The thoughts came in rapid-fire succession, until your chest tightened and you felt like you might drown in them.

Remus looked up from his book just in time to see you, frozen, as the last of the tea dripped from the table onto the floor. His eyes caught yours almost immediately. He noticed the way you weren’t just staring at the mess, but at your own hands, as though they might betray you any moment.

And just like that, he recognized it.

Not frustration or annoyance, not embarrassment or regret, but fear.

Fear not of the spill itself, but of the reaction to it—the consequences that came with something so small, something so insignificant.

Without hesitation, Remus put down his book and stood up. His movements were calm and deliberate as he reached for the towel on the counter.

“No harm done,” he said, as though it truly was nothing—because to him, it really wasn’t.

You didn’t move at first, not even to breathe. Your eyes stayed locked on the mess, as if the world might shift around you if you didn’t watch it closely enough.

But Remus simply took the towel, knelt down, and began wiping up the tea without any sign of frustration, picking up the broken pieces of the mug. His movements were methodical, his focus entirely on the task at hand, as if the mistake had been no more than a tiny inconvenience. He even set the towel down and went to refill the kettle, continuing to talk as if everything was entirely ordinary.

“I’ll get you another one,” he said, looking over his shoulder to see if you were okay. “Still want tea?”

For a long moment, you didn’t answer. You just stood there, unmoving, your fingers twitching at your sides like you didn’t quite know what to do with them.

Remus noticed this, and his brow furrowed slightly. He could feel the weight of the silence, the tension still hanging in the air between you both. He paused and then turned back to you, watching you carefully, trying to gauge what was going through your mind.

You were looking at him, but it wasn’t quite like before. There was a moment where it seemed like you were... waiting. Waiting for something.

He couldn’t quite place it, but it hit him all at once—you were waiting for him to get angry.

The realization settled over him with an ache, sharp and sudden. He could see the flicker of confusion in your expression, the silent question that had yet to be asked: Why wasn’t he angry?

He sighed softly, the weight of the thought lingering. "Why would I be mad?" he asked, his voice casual, though a part of him wondered just how many times you’d been on the receiving end of such unnecessary anger in the past.

Your lips parted, as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, your gaze shifted, and for a moment, it seemed like you didn’t know how to answer that.

For the first time since the spill, your shoulders relaxed just a little, though you still seemed unsure. There was no defensiveness in your posture, but there was still a hint of hesitance, a kind of caution that clung to you like a second skin.

“I don’t know,” you said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

Remus stood there for a beat longer, then grabbed another towel from the counter, glancing back at you as he gently mopped up the remainder of the mess. He handed you the towel with a small, reassuring smile.

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for,” he said, his voice steady and calm. “It’s just tea. Spills happen.”

You looked down at the towel in your hands, then up at him, your eyes searching for something in his face, something that told you he wasn’t just pretending that it was no big deal.

But Remus just let the moment hang there, waiting. His expression never faltered. He had seen how you reacted to small accidents before, how you braced yourself for anger or disappointment, how you’d flinch when something went wrong.

And it stung, really. The idea that you had been conditioned to expect harshness, even from the smallest mistakes.

When you looked down again, something had shifted, ever so slightly. The tightness in your shoulders was gone, the faintest of breaths escaping your chest, but still—you weren’t entirely at ease. Not yet.

When he set the new cup of tea down in front of you, he didn’t say anything more. He let you sip it at your own pace, and for a few moments, the room was just quiet.

And then—just as he had hoped—you reached for the cup without waiting for him to make a suggestion or a joke. You didn’t look to him for approval, didn’t hesitate as much as you had before. And it was small, but it was something.

And when you looked up, there was the slightest glimmer of something new in your eyes.

For a moment, Remus almost felt like he could breathe again.

And, of course, later that night, when you knocked over a book on the coffee table, he noticed the way your shoulders tensed, the way you held your breath. He didn’t even have to look up from his book to know that you were waiting for something to happen.

But when he casually reached over and picked it up without a word, your posture softened, just a fraction.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t make a big deal of it. But he did catch the briefest flash of relief on your face, the kind of relief that made him feel like he was, in some small way, doing the right thing.

He just hoped, more than anything, that one day soon, you’d stop waiting for the storm.

And start believing that he was never going to be the one to bring it.

.・。.・゜✭・.

Remus glanced down at the money in his hand, brow furrowing. It was more than you owed him for your share of rent. A lot more.

He looked up, about to ask, but you were already talking.

“I, um—” You shifted your weight, arms crossed tightly over your chest. “I broke a mug.”

He blinked. “What?”

“A mug,” you repeated, voice a little too even, like you had rehearsed this. “One of yours. I was doing the dishes, and it slipped.” You hesitated, then added quickly, “And I— I needed some of the first aid kit.”

Remus’s frown deepened. “You hurt yourself?”

“Just a little cut,” you said, glancing away. “It’s fine now. But you’ll probably have to restock some of the supplies in it.”

His fingers curled around the bills, but he didn’t look at them. He was watching you now, watching the way your shoulders tensed, how your jaw twitched as if you were bracing yourself.

“And I’ve been keeping you up,” you added, before he could respond. “I know I have. With the pacing. And moving around. And—” You inhaled sharply, as if forcing yourself to keep going. “I know I’m being a pain. So just—take it. For the rent and the other things. To make up for all the trouble.”

The words made something twist inside his chest.

He exhaled slowly, then, with deliberate care, he set the money down on the table. Pushed it back toward you.

“You don’t have to pay me for any of that.”

You shook your head, frustrated. “Remus—”

“You’re not trouble.”

You blinked.

His voice had been quiet, steady. But the words sat between you like something immovable.

A muscle twitched in your jaw. “I broke something of yours.”

“And I’ll buy another,” he said simply.

“I used your first aid kit—”

“And I’d rather you use it than not.”

“I keep waking you up—”

“Do you think I’d be able to sleep through the night if you weren’t here?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You faltered.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Look, I understand why you’re trying to give me this. I do. But you don’t owe me for things like this.”

You didn’t say anything. So he tried again. Softer.

“You already pay your part of the rent. You’re working. You’re sorting things out the best you can.” He paused, searching for the right words. “I don’t want you feeling like you have to pay to exist in this flat.”

Your fingers twitched at your sides. Your lips pressed together, like you wanted to argue, but couldn’t quite find the words.

Remus let the silence settle. Let you sit with it.

Then, as if it was nothing, he grabbed the money, folded it neatly, and tucked it back into your palm. “Put it toward something you actually want, yeah?”

You didn’t let go at first, fingers tightening around the bills, but after a moment, you gave a small, reluctant nod.

And he let himself breathe.

.・。.・゜✭・.

Remus had always considered himself a patient man. He had to be. Life had never given him the luxury of impatience.

But the past few weeks had been testing that patience in a way he hadn’t expected.

Not because of you—not really. You weren’t difficult to live with. If anything, you were the easiest flatmate he’d ever had—too easy. Too careful. And you apologized for everything.

At first, he had brushed it off. Everyone had their habits, after all. Some people were just overly polite. But then he started noticing it more and more.

The way you murmured, “Sorry,” when you passed by him in the kitchen, as if simply moving around him was an inconvenience.

The way you whispered it when you asked him a question, like you weren’t sure you deserved an answer.

The way you said it now, sitting on the couch when he walked in, as if existing in the same space as him was something you needed to atone for.

It was the fifth time in as many minutes, and Remus finally set his book down with a sigh.

“What exactly are you apologizing for?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I dunno. Just… everything, I guess.”

His chest ached at that. He wished he could say he didn’t understand it, that he didn’t recognize the carefulness in your voice. But he did. Too well. He knew what it was like to feel like a burden.

It made him think of the Black family home. He remembered the stories Sirius had told about you—how you had fought back, how you had refused to bend under the weight of their expectations. And yet, here you were, curled up in the corner of his couch, apologizing for simply being here.

He exhaled slowly.

“New house rule,” he said, keeping his voice light.

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You’re only allowed to apologize when you actually do something wrong.” He met your gaze, holding it. “And just existing? That doesn’t count.”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Non-negotiable.”

You huffed, crossing your arms, but he could see the hint of something amused—almost touched—in your expression. The corner of your mouth twitched like you were fighting back a smile.

Remus looked at you for a moment longer than he probably should have.

He had been trying to ignore it—this thing that had been creeping up on him ever since you moved in. It had started small, unnoticeable at first. The way he felt strangely at ease in your presence. The way he found himself watching you more often, cataloging the little things—the way you took your tea, the way your lips pressed together when you were deep in thought, the way you had started to feel like home in a way nothing else had in years.

It was a dangerous thought. One he shouldn’t entertain.

You were Sirius’ little sister.

You were still trying to pick up the pieces of your life, still trying to unlearn the damage that had been done to you. The last thing you needed was someone like him—someone cursed and complicated and already carrying too much of his own baggage.

So he pushed the thought away.

Later that night, as you reached for a book on the coffee table, your elbow knocked against his.

“Sorry,” you murmured, barely even thinking about it.

Then, as if remembering the new rule, you immediately clamped your mouth shut, your lips pressing into a thin line.

Remus just gave you a small, knowing smile.

You were learning. And so, he supposed, was he.

.・。.・゜✭・.

The flat was quiet again that morning, the kind of quiet that settled into the space like a familiar coat, one that wrapped around them both in its stillness.

Remus had been sitting at the kitchen table with the morning newspaper, eyes scanning the headlines, but the words were starting to blur together. The Ministry had failed again—more misplaced priorities, more innocent lives at risk, more political nonsense clogging up everything that needed to be done. His hand tightened around his cup of tea, and without realizing it, his jaw clenched.

The frustration, the helplessness, the anger at the world outside was all so familiar, but for some reason, it felt heavier today.

He took the paper, his knuckles white from the pressure, and slammed it down onto the table with an audible thud. The sound echoed in the room, louder than he had intended.

“I swear, the Ministry’s latest failure is—” He cut himself off, realizing the words were starting to pile up, one after another, as if they could take the weight of every little thing he hated about the situation. But even as he began muttering under his breath about the state of the world, something caught his eye.

You.

You had been sitting on the couch, your back turned to him, but the moment the noise of the newspaper hitting the table broke through the air, he saw it.

A tiny, almost imperceptible jerk of your shoulders. A flinch.

It was so quick, so small, that if he hadn’t been paying attention, he might have missed it entirely. But he had been paying attention, he always did. And his heart stopped for a split second as he saw it.

You were scared.

Not of the noise, not of the frustration in his voice, but of him. Of his reaction. You were bracing for something, preparing for the storm that you thought might follow.

The realization hit him hard, deep in his chest. Something soft and aching swirled in his gut as he stood up quickly, abandoning the paper, moving toward you.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer now, quieter, almost gentle in its intent. He didn’t want to shout, didn’t want to cause that flicker of fear again. “You okay?”

You turned towards him, your face a careful mask. Your eyes were wide, and there was a slight tremor in your hand as you placed your mug down on the table.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, a little too quickly. The words came out like a reflex. “Of course, Remus. I’m fine.”

But Remus didn’t believe it for a second. He saw the way you were gripping the edges of your mug, fingers tight around it, as if it were the only thing holding you together. He saw the faint tremble in your lips, the way you pulled your knees up under yourself, as if curling inwards might protect you.

But he didn’t press you, didn’t ask anything more. Instead, he just nodded slowly, his eyes softening. “Alright.” He took a breath, glanced at the table where the newspaper still lay crumpled, and sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

You said nothing, but he saw you nod, just once, before you leaned back into the couch again. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it carried the weight of something unspoken.

That night, after dinner, when the evening had settled and the low hum of the flat surrounded the two of them like a blanket, Remus found himself glancing at you from across the room. You were curled up on the couch again, your legs tucked beneath you, eyes focused on the flickering television screen, but he knew you weren’t really watching it.

The weight of the earlier moment pressed on his chest, and he knew he needed to say something. He needed to reassure you somehow. He couldn’t stand the thought of you flinching every time his temper got the best of him, even when it wasn’t aimed at you.

He walked over and sat beside you, keeping his distance for a moment, unsure if you would even welcome the proximity. But then, after a beat, he spoke.

“I don’t think I’ve told you this yet, but—just so you know—I don’tmean yell,” he began, voice calm and steady, just like he was letting the words fall between them with the weight they carried. “And I definitely don’t yell at people I care about.”

You didn’t look at him right away. You stayed focused on the screen, but he could see the way your fingers wrapped just a little tighter around your mug, a subtle reaction he’d learned to read.

“Okay,” you replied, the word soft, careful. “Thank you.”

It wasn’t much. It wasn’t a declaration, but it was something. A seed planted. A small flicker of trust, maybe.

Remus let the silence stretch between you. His fingers itched with the need to reach out, to do something, but he held back. He had learned enough, after all these months, that you would open up when you were ready. He wasn’t going to push.

But that didn’t stop the way his chest ached as he watched you. How every part of him wanted to protect you, wanted to make everything easier for you—wanted to make you believe, truly believe, that you weren’t walking on eggshells anymore.

You shifted slightly on the couch, leaning a bit closer to him, almost imperceptibly. It was small, but it made his heart skip.

A few minutes passed before you broke the silence, your voice soft, almost hesitant. “I… I didn’t mean to flinch earlier,” you said, your eyes not quite meeting his. “I just… I don’t know. I guess I’m used to it.”

Remus’ heart twinged at the words, but he pushed the feeling aside. “I’m not like that,” he said firmly, his voice steady, but the underlying emotion threading through it was clear. “And remember, you don’t have to apologize for anything.”

You gave him a look then, just for a brief second, that made his pulse race. There was something in your eyes—a softness, a vulnerability—that made him wish he could pull you into his arms, hold you there, and protect you from everything that had hurt you before.

But instead, you just nodded, slowly. “Okay.”

Maybe you were starting to believe him. And maybe, just maybe, he was starting to believe you too.

.・。.・゜✭・.

Remus had always been the steady one. The one who kept things together when the world around you seemed to fall apart. He was the one who quietly made sure everyone else was okay, who, even when the weight of his own burdens was too much to bear, never let it show.

He had always been unshakable in your eyes. That quiet strength, that constant reassurance. He was a pillar, something you could lean on when everything else felt uncertain. You’d never questioned it. He was Remus, and he was always going to be fine.

Except tonight.

Tonight, Remus was not fine.

It wasn’t obvious at first. He had come home after the full moon, his usual quiet self, moving slower than usual, but you had chalked it up to the usual post-transformation exhaustion. It had happened before—he’d stumble through the door, and in the morning, he’d be better.

But this time, something was different. There was no warmth in his smile, no spark in his eyes. His skin was pale, almost sickly under the soft light of the living room. His usual calm composure had fractured into something weary, ragged.

He was barely holding himself together, and it made your heart ache.

You were halfway across the room when you noticed it—the slump in his posture, the way his steps were slow and uneven. He looked… defeated. Not in the way he sometimes did after the full moon, but deeper. Like a part of him had been left behind out there in the dark.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stood in front of him, usual calm giving way to a burst of urgency.

“Remus,” you said softly, voice a little too sharp with concern. “Come on. You need to rest.”

He opened his mouth to protest, probably to say something like he always did—I’m fine or don’t worry about me—but when you stepped toward him, he only sighed, the fight draining out of him.

He didn’t have the energy for it.

Taking his arm, you gently guided him toward the couch. He let you, his shoulders heavy with exhaustion. Once he was seated, you grabbed a soft blanket from the back of the chair and draped it over his shoulders, tucking it carefully around him.

“Just stay still for a bit,” you insisted, kneeling beside him to check his bandages. “Let me see.”

He grumbled under his breath, clearly not happy about the fussing, but he didn’t stop you either. He never did.

He let you carefully unwrap the old bandages, fingers light as you examined the wounds. It wasn’t that they were severe, but the way they had been healing made you want to take extra care. You dabbed at the cuts with a soft cloth, movements slow and deliberate.

When you finished, you simply sat beside him, reaching for the kettle. His eyes were closed now, his face even paler than before, a frown creasing his forehead as if he was battling against the weight of a thousand thoughts.

You tipped the kettle over his mug and prepared his tea in the silence between you, a quiet rhythm to your movements as you worked.

When you placed the cup in his hands, his fingers barely brushed against the porcelain, like he was too exhausted to hold it properly. You took the cup from him, steadied it in his hands, and then…

And then, you did something he wasn’t expecting.

You reached into the pocket of your jumper and pulled out a chocolate bar, the small, unassuming wrapper crinkling as you pressed it into his hand. “Here. Some chocolate will surely make it better.”

He blinked at it, confused at first, then glancing up.

“You’re starting to sound like me,” he murmured, a faint, exhausted smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You smirked back, eyes softening, but the smile was there.

“Terrifying, isn’t it?” you quipped, voice light, though there was warmth in it.

His smile deepened, a little more genuine this time, but it was clear he was struggling to hold himself together. He let out a sigh, sinking further into the couch, his hand shaking slightly as he unwrapped the chocolate.

And you watched him, your heart quiet and full. You had always been the one needing care, the one who needed to lean on him. But for once, you felt like you were the one who could look after him. It was a strange, comforting feeling—a responsibility you hadn’t known you needed until this moment.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said softly, watching him finally take a bite of the chocolate. “You’ve always been here for me. Let me be here for you.”

His gaze softened, the faintest hint of something warmer flickering in his eyes. He didn’t say anything at first, just nodded, slowly, like the weight of the moment had settled between you both.

And in that quiet space, in the soft glow of the flat, you both allowed yourselves to rest. You stayed close, your presence a quiet comfort in the midst of his exhaustion, and for once, it was him who was allowed to lean on someone else.

For once, it was your turn to be steady.

Masterlist

Barty Crouch Jr. prided himself on many things—his sharp mind, his quick reflexes, his ability to get under people’s skin ( much to Regulus’ and Evans dismay) when he wanted to. But patience? That had never been one of them.

And yet, patience was exactly what was required when he found himself sitting across from you in the library, parchment spread between you, potions textbook propped open, the air between them thick with silence.

It wasn’t just any silence. It was a suffocating, calculated quiet, the kind that settled around the you like a second skin. You liked it. Humming in contentment as you flipped through the book to gather enough information for your assignment.

It drove him mental.

You had been partnered up in Slughorn’s class earlier that day, much to Barty’s irritation. You were everything he wasn’t—controlled, meticulous, the sort of person who took diligent notes and never spoke unless you had something of actual substance to say. The worst part? You were no outcast. Despite your quiet nature, you was well-liked, hovering at the edges of the Marauders’ usual chaos, laughing softly at Pandora Lovegood’s dreamy theories, and using your smart mouth (Gideon insists) to get the Prewett brothers out of trouble from Mcgonnagall. You were… respected.

Barty was tolerated, at best.

Now, in the dim glow of the library’s enchanted lanterns, you sat across from him, quill in hand, completely ignoring him. Well, unintentionally, he had been fussing in his place since you both arrived an hour ago, trying to get you to do merlin knows with him.

Barty exhaled sharply through his nose, slumping back in his chair. “You could at least pretend to be interested in conversation,” he muttered.

You didn’t look up. “I don’t find unnecessary conversations stimulating.”

He scoffed. “How very Ravenclaw of you.”

You merely hummed in acknowledgment but said nothing more, flipping to another page in his (you lended yours to Peter after he accidentally got soaked by the bucket of water from the black lake intended for Snape) textbook.

Barty’s fingers drummed against the table. He could handle a lot of things—detentions, duels, even his father’s unrelenting scrutiny, but this? This was insufferable.

So, naturally, he decided to make it his mission to ruin the silence.

It started small.

A flick of his wand, and your inkwell slid ever-so-slightly across the table. You caught it before it could spill, shot him a glance, and continued writing.

Next, he nudged your parchment just out of reach. You didn’t even blink, simply shifted your chair forward and carried on.

Fine. If you was going to be stubborn, he’d up the stakes.

With another subtle movement of his wand, your beloved muggle book „The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie“ the one you had tucked beside your Potions text, began to quiver. Slowly at first, then more violently, the pages ruffling as though caught in a windstorm.

you sighed, set your quill down rather roughly, and calmly muttered, “Finite Incantatem.”

The book stilled.

Barty whistled. “Impressive.”

You finally looked up at him, expression unreadable. “It‘s a First Year spell. Are you always this restless?”

He grinned. “Are you always this boring?”

There was no offense in your gaze, only quiet scrutiny. “No. But I also don’t feel the need to fill the silence just because it makes you uncomfortable.”

Barty opened his mouth, then shut it again.

No one had ever called him out so plainly before. Most people either avoided him, tolerated him, or challenged him outright. But you… you understood him in a way that unsettled him.

And worse, he had no idea what to do with that.

The pranks escalated.

By the end of the week, Barty had:

• Transfigured your quill into a small snake (you turned it back with no regard of his presence, only trelwaney who shrieked in horror).

• Enchanted your book to read aloud in a dramatic voice (you merely bookmarked your page and waited for him to get bored).

• Jinxed your notes to rearrange themselves whenever you tried to read them (you rewrote them without complaint).

Each time, you met his antics with infuriating patience. No anger. No exasperation. Just quiet indifference, as if you knew exactly why he was doing it.

It wasn’t until he charmed your beloved novel to hover just out of reach that you finally snapped.

With a soft Expelliarmus, the book yanked itself free from his spell and slammed down onto the table between you. you met his gaze, eyes burning with guarded anger.

“Why?” you asked, voice level but firm.

Barty leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. “Why what?”

You exhaled, slow and measured. Merlin, was he testing your already low patience “Why go to such lengths just to get a reaction?”

Barty opened his mouth to fire back something witty, but the words caught. He couldn’t answer.

Because the truth was something he didn’t want to admit. Because silence had never been kind to him. Because silence meant expectation, the weight of his father’s disapproval, the loneliness of never being enough. Because he didn’t know how to exist in a world that didn’t constantly react to him.

You watched as something shifted in his expression—something raw, something unguarded. And for the first time since they’d been paired together, she didn’t seem like she was trying to solve him.

You just saw him.

The silence stretched between you once more. But this time, it didn’t feel suffocating. This time, it felt like something else entirely. Something dangerous. Something inevitable.

The library had become a battlefield.

Barty didn’t lose. Not at duels, not at arguments, and certainly not at mind games. But after a week of relentless pestering, pranks, and jinxed books, but all he was met with was radio silence.

And Barty hated being ignored.

Tonight was no different.

You were back in your usual spot in the potions section near the back, candlelight flickering over parchment, and you were sure you could hear people snogging in the aisle next to you. Barty wasn’t writing. He was watching, and it pissed you off.

“Fascinating,” he drawled, chin resting on his palm.

You sighed, not even bothered to look up. “What is?”

“You,” he said simply.

At last, you glanced at him, one brow slightly raised. Not surprised, not flattered, only curious and slightly amused. As if he was some interesting tale from Trelawney‘s weekly horoscopes

Barty leaned forward, smirking. “You’re too patient for someone who spends time with the Marauders. They’re reckless. Loud. Gits.”

Your lips twitched in almost a smile. “And yet, I don’t find them insufferable.”

“Lucky them,” he muttered.

You tilted your head, studying him. “You don’t actually hate them, do you?”

Barty scoffed, leaning back. “Tell them that, and I’ll hex you.”

You hummed, unconvinced. “You could have joined them, you know. You’re clever enough. Quick-witted. You keep up with them in class.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What makes you think I wanted to associate myself with obnoxious Griffins? I have a reputation to uphold ”

You only raised your eyebrow at that. “Oh yes, because being a maniacal, havoc wrecking wizard is soooooo important”

He roared into laughter, clutching his stomach like you have given him the funniest joke in Salazars sake. Tears were dripping out the corner of his eyes with his ropes falling messily over his shoulder.

After his sudden burst of emotions, there was silence, well, as much as you could say from Barty‘s loud wheezing trying to calm himself down and a group of second year Hufflepuffs discussing the use of Mandrakes, the space between you two was peaceful

Then, you shrugged, rolling your shoulders back to ease the growing pain (or the growing tension that is about to engulf you two) “or maybe, its because you’re lonely.”

Barty went still instantly.

For a moment, the pleasant quietness became oppressive, thick with something neither of you wanted to name.

Then,he laughed again. Though, now, it was short, sharp, utterly devoid of humor. “You think you know me?”

“I think,” you started, carefully trying to puck out the right words, “that you spend too much time trying to get people to notice you, y‘know?.”

His smirk returned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And yet, you’re the one paying attention.”

This time, you didn’t look away.

Checkmate.

Barty wasn’t sure when it started.

When you became the first person he looked for in a room. When silence with you stopped feeling suffocating and started feeling… different.

It was a slow, creeping thing, like poison slipping into his bloodstream.

You weren’t like the Marauders. You didn’t fill space with noise or demand attention. You simply were, an observer, someone who noticed things most people didn’t.

And Barty hated being noticed.

The Slytherin common room was quiet this late at night, with most students crammed at the Hufflepuff quidditch After-party after they had won against Ravenclaw earlier that day. Except for Barty and Regulus.

The younger Black sat in one of the loveseats by the fireplace, posture perfect as always with his messenger bag on his side while across from him, Barty sprawled lazily on the couch, legs stretched out, looking more reckless (or crazy according to Evan) than usual.

Regulus had been watching him for the past ten minutes. The tension in his shoulders, the way he ran a hand through his Black-Green hair in agitation or the way his knee bounched when he thought no one was looking.

Finally, as if this thought gave him immense pain, he sighed. „You’re obsessed.“

Barty stilled. „What?“

„With her.“ Regulus arched an eyebrow knowingly

Junior scoffed, throwing his head back against the couch dramatically, flailing his arms „Oh, not you too!

Regulus ignored him. “It’s pathetic.” Barty turned his head, smirking. “Funny. Sirius said the same thing about you once.”

Regulus’ fingers twitched. “Sirius is an idiot.”

“And yet, here you are, acting just like him—concerned about my well-being, giving me the I know best speech.” Barty sighed, stretching his arms behind his head. “It’s sweet, really.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t care what you do.” Barty grinned. “Liar.”

Regulus exhaled sharply. “What is this, Barty?”

Barty hummed, considering. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Reggie”

Regulus frowned. “You’re distracting me by talking about my idiotic brother. So spill, what are you afraid of? ”

Barty’s smirk faltered. For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Just stared into the flickering fire, expression unreadable. Then, with a slow breath out “Everything.”

Regulus didn’t press. Didn’t have to. He understood better than anyone what Barty really meant. The weight of expectations. The suffocating presence of a father who saw only duty.

Regulus studied him for a moment. “You don’t get attached to people. Especially not to someone like L/N. " Barty’s smirk returned, but it was weaker this time. “Maybe she’s just different.”

Regulus leaned back, unimpressed. “Or maybe you just don’t like that you can’t control her.” Barty exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair. “And yet, I keep coming back.”

Regulus tilted his head. “That’s called liking someone, Barty.”

Barty scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Please. I don’t like people.”

“Then why does James Potter look like he wants to murder you?”

His expression darkened. “Because he knows.” the curly haired boy hummed thoughtfully. “Knows what?”

Barty looked him dead in the eyes.

“That she’s mine.”

Regulus sighed, standing up. “Merlin, you’re insufferable.”

But as he walked away, Barty didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just sat there, watching the fire, thinking about you.

It was , like Regulus said, James who noticed first.

Barty had expected it, really. The four eyed boy was too perceptive for his own good, especially when it came to people who operated in the gray spaces between morality.

One evening in the Gryffindor common room, James leaned against the couch where you were reading, arms crossed. “So,” he mused, “are you finally going to tell us why Crouch won’t leave you alone?”

You barely glanced up. “Because we’re Potions partners.”

Sirius, sprawled across an armchair, snorted. “Right. And I’m Minister for Magic.”

Remus, ever the voice of reason, tilted his head. “You do spend an awful lot of time with him.”

Peter nodded, mouth stuffed with fizzing whizzbees. “It’s weird.”

you sighed, closing your book without marking your spot first, which you internally curse. “He’s… frustrating.”

Sirius smirked. “But?”

You hesitated. Just for a moment. “But he’s not as easy to hate as people think.” That was all they needed to hear.

Sirius groaned dramatically. “Merlin help us, she’s sympathizing with the enemy.”

Remus grinned. “This is going to be fun.”

James Potter knew you better than anyone.

He had known you since you two were small—before Hogwarts, before the Marauders, before any of this. You had been his first real friend, little pigtails following him around, who always listened when he rambled about Quidditch, often times playing the referee and giving yellow cards to his imaginary opponents and someone who was there when he needed you.

And now? Now you were spending too much bloody time with Barty bloody Crouch Junior.

James didn’t like it. Not one bit.

At first, he thought nothing of it. A Potions partnership was just that—a school assignment. But then he started noticing things.

The way you lingered in the library after hours.

The way Barty watched you fondly when he thought no one was looking.

The way you didn’t seem nearly as irritated with him as you should have been.

And that was unacceptable.

James wasn’t stupid. He knew who Barty Crouch Jr. was. The arrogant, sharp-tongued Slytherin who played by his own rules, who didn’t care about anyone but himself and his best friend‘s brother. And yet, somehow, he had wormed his way into your schedule, your attention—things James had always had without question.

He didn’t realize just how much it bothered him until he saw you two together.

It was a late evening in the library, and James had come to find you. Instead, he found your little pest stuck to your side.

Barty was leaning back in his chair, smirking, while you sat across from him, rolling your eyes but not actually telling him to leave you alone. There was something different in the air between them—an ease James didn’t like.

Not one bit.

“Oi.”

You looked up, blinking in surprise. “James?”

Barty groaned. “Oh, fantastic.”

James ignored him, focusing on her. “We were supposed to go over Transfiguration notes, remember? Minnie was bugging me to take lessons with you”

You frowned. “That’s not until—”

“Now,” James said firmly. Barty snorted. “Territorial, aren’t we, Potter?”

James’ jaw clenched. “Just making sure my best friend isn’t wasting her time.” He just grinned, all teeth. “Oh, trust me, she’s not.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples to ease the incoming headache. Is it from Barty‘s constant yapping, the oh so frustrating instructions of the Felix Felicis, or James bickering? Who knows. “James, we’re just working on Potions.”

“Right,” James muttered. “Because that explains why he won’t stop staring at you.”

Barty raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You jealous, Potter?” James hated how his stomach twisted at that. “Of you?” He scoffed. “Hardly.”

“Good,” Barty said smoothly, “because she’s free to spend time with whoever she wants.” The Gryffindor bristled. “And you’re free to bugger off.”

“James.” your voice was sharp now, cutting through the tension. you stood, gathering your books. “I’ll meet you in your common room later, okay?”

James hesitated, then exhaled sharply. “Fine.” But his glare at Barty said this isn’t over.

As he left, Barty chuckled under his breath. “Protective, isn’t he?”

“You love making things worse, don’t you?” you simply glared at him. Barty grinned. “Admit it. You’d be bored otherwise.”

You only shook your head at that, exasperated. But this time, you didn’t argue.

And Barty? He liked that just a little too much.

James Potter wasn’t the jealous type. At least, that’s what he told himself. But this—this infuriating, undeniable thing happening between his best friend and Barty bloody Crouch Jr.—was driving him mad.

It wasn’t just about Barty. It was about you.

You were his best friend. The one person who had always been there before Sirius, before Remus, before Peter. You had an unspoken understanding, a rhythm that no one else could touch.

And yet, somehow, you were slipping out of reach.

Because of that foul git.

Because wherever you were, Barty was not far behind.

Pandora Lovegood was an odd one. Everyone knew it.

She spoke in riddles, saw connections where others didn’t, and had a habit of appearing exactly where she was needed.

So James should have known better than to groan when she plopped down next to him on the bench in the transfiguration courtyard, humming thoughtfully.

“You’re sulking,” she observed. “I don’t sulk,” James muttered.

She smiled, entirely unconvinced. “It’s about her and him, isn’t it?” He scowled, borderline pouted. “There is no her and him.”

Pandora tilted her head. “Not yet.” at that, James sat up straighter. “Yet?”

Pandora just hummed again, her dreamy expression betraying nothing. “I think you’re afraid.”

“Of what? Crouch?” He snorted. “Please.”

“No,” Pandora mused. “Not him. You’re afraid because for the first time, she’s paying attention to someone else.” James didn’t respond. Because that would mean admitting she was right. The Rosier smiled knowingly. “You can’t stop it, you know.”

“Stop what?”

She simply shrugged, standing as if that answered everything. “The inevitable.”

James groaned. “Merlin, you’re worse than Moony.”

But as she walked away, her words lingered. And James hated that more than anything.

James found Barty alone that evening, leaning against the cobble stone wall just outside the Charms Classroom. He didn’t hesitate.

“Stay away from her.”

Barty turned, raising an eyebrow. “Potter,” he drawled, lips curling into a smirk. “This is getting predictable.” James stepped closer, jaw tight. “I’m serious.”

“Sirius is the loud one,” Barty quipped. “You’re the one with the tragic hero complex.” James hated that he had a point. “Whatever game you’re playing,” he said sharply, “she’s not a part of it.”

Barty’s smirk faltered. Just for a second. “Who says it’s a game?”

James scoffed. “Oh, please. You don’t care about her. You just like getting a rise out of people. And I won’t let you use her to do it.” Barty’s expression darkened.

“Use her?” he repeated, voice low, dangerous. “Funny, coming from you.”

James stiffened. “What the hell does that mean?”

Barty leaned in slightly, voice smooth as silk. “It means you don’t like that she’s spending time with me—not because you think I’ll hurt her, but because you can’t stand the idea of not being the most important person in her life.” James clenched his fists. Barty’s smirk was sharp, knowing. “Hits a nerve, doesn’t it?” James took a slow breath. He would not hex him.Not yet, at least.

“She’s my best friend,” James said coldly. “And I trust her. But I don’t trust you.” Barty’s gaze flickered—just for a moment. Then, with an infuriating grin, he stepped back.

“Well then, Potter.” His voice was almost mocking. “Let’s see who she trusts more.” And with that, he turned and walked away.

James stayed there for a long time, breathing heavily, hands clenched at his sides. Because for the first time, he wasn’t entirely sure who would win.

You were avoided him.

Not subtly. Not carefully. Just completely ignoring his existence

It started the week following the small… confrontation in library. Barty walked into Potions, expecting you to be at their usual table at the back, books already open,quill tapping absently against parchment, asking about his usual trouble with filch and a soft smile gracing your lips. Instead, your lips never opened and gaze never left your paper.

No glance in his direction. No acknowledgment at all.

Barty stared. His fingers curled into fists beneath the desk.

Fine.

But then it kept happening. In the corridors, you veered away when you saw him approaching. In the library, you sat with James, Sirius, even Remus—anyone but him. When he did catch youe eye across the Great Hall, you looked away so quickly it felt like a slap.

It wasn’t anger. It was erasure, like he wasn’t even there.

Barty Crouch Jr. had never been ignored in his life. People watched him. They feared him. They respected him, hated him, wanted to be him. But you—you were acting as though he was nothing.

And he couldn’t stand it.

At first, he played it off. Shrugged, smirked, pretended not to care. But then a week passed. Then another. And with every second of silence, something inside him frayed. He found himself watching you too closely. Waiting for you to look at him. Wanting your attention, even if it was anger, frustration, anything but this emptiness.

And when James Potter threw an arm around your shoulders at the Slytherin party, whispering something that made you laugh—

Something in Barty snapped.

You didn’t know how it had come to this.

One moment, you had been talking with Evan about absolute nonsense, nursing a cup of firewhiskey mixed with something you didn’t want to know, trying to focus on anything other than the tension between James and Barty, the way they seemed to be circling each other like wolves.

And now…

Now you were backed against the cold stone wall of an abandoned corridor, heart pounding as Barty loomed in front of you, eyes blazing with something wild, something dangerous.

“You’re avoiding me.” His voice was low, accusing.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m not.”

“Liar.”

You flinched. Not because you were afraid of him, Merlin, no—Barty is lunatic at best—but because there was something desperate in his voice, something fraying at the edges.

“I just needed space,” you said carefully. Barty let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Space? From me?”

His fingers twitched at his sides, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you thought he might actually grab you, hold you there like he could force you to listen. “You belong with me.”

The words sent a chill down you spine. Not because of their meaning—but because of how much he believed them. “Barty,” you whispered, voice betrying you slightly, much to your annoyance “you don’t own me.”

His jaw clenched. “I never said I did.”

“But you act like it,” you shot back. “Like I’m something for you to win. Like James and I can’t be close, like I don’t have a choice in who I spend time with.”

Barty exhaled sharply, stepping closer, invading her space. “You do have a choice.” His voice was low now, almost a plea. “So why do you keep running from this?”

This. Whatever this was.

You felt your breath hitch, your pulse racing as he stared at you, expression laced with something desperate.

“This isn’t normal,” you whispered. Barty tilted his head, studying you. “Since when have I ever been normal?”

Your heart ached at that. Because he wasn’t. He was sharp edges and chaos, wildfire wrapped in silk. And you were intrigued.

“Tell me to leave,” Barty murmured, voice softer now, more dangerous. “Tell me you don’t want me, and I will.”

You opened your mouth, words mingling in your head, yet none of them escaped your lips.

Barty’s smirk returned, but it wasn’t triumphant. It was something else—something satisfied yet frustrated, as if he hated how much he needed you to not push him away.

The next day, you felt off-balance. Everything was the same, yet nothing was.

The Great Hall was as loud as ever, filled with students laughing, chattering, passing notes between bites of dinner. James sat beside you, talking animatedly with Sirius about the shenanigans they pulled at last night‘s party. Remus was reading. Pandora was off in her own world, stirring her tea with the wrong end of her spoon.

It was normal.

But you weren’t . Because he was there. Across the room, at the Slytherin table. And he wasn’t acting normal at all.

Barty Crouch Jr. was watching you. His elbow was propped on the table, chin resting against his knuckles, eyes fixed on you with that sharp, playful intensity. Like he was waiting for something. Like he could still feel last night as much as you could—the heat of his breath, the weight of his words, the way he had opened your eyes.

Your stomach twisted but not in the usual dread

You quickly looked down at her plate, poking at the food with the fork, suddenly very aware of every movement, every breath.

It was fine.

You could pretend it hadn’t happened. You could move on, act normal, be the person she had always been. You could-

“You okay?”

James’ voice cut through your thoughts.

You startled, nearly knocking over your pumpkin juice. James frowned, eyes narrowing slightly behind his glasses.

“You’re jumpy,” he observed. “Weird day?”

Yes. Extremely weird.

“No,” you said quickly. “Just tired.”

James didn’t look convinced.

Barty was still watching. You could feel it. Your pulse quickened. You needed to get out of here.

With a forced smile, you pushed back from the table. “I just remembered-I have to grab something from the library before class.” James raised an eyebrow. “Now?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

You turned before he could question you further, walking briskly out of the Great Hall, heart pounding.

You should have known he would find you.

It had been inevitable. Barty Crouch Jr. wasn’t the kind of person who let things go. He didn’t believe in backing down, in walking away—especially not from you.

And so, a day after the Slytherin party, after you had spent the night pretending you weren’t looking over your shoulder for him, he found you.

The Astronomy Tower was, to your luck, empty. The moment you stepped onto the stone balcony, the cold air biting at your skin, you felt him before you saw him in your peripheral vision.

He was leaning against the railing, staring out over the darkened grounds, sleeves rolled up, hands tense against the stone. He looked different in the moonlight. Less sharp, less manic, less like the Barty Crouch Jr. the world expected him to be.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

“I hate my father.”

His voice was quiet. Hollow. You stiffened, startled by his sudden honesty, by the rawness in his tone.

Still, you didn’t leave. Didn’t move.

Barty exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he murmured. “To be expected to be perfect. To be a reflection of someone else, someone you loathe.”

Your chest ached at the exhaustion in his voice.

You stayed silent, waiting.

Barty let out a sharp laugh, but there was no humor in it. “He thinks he can mold me into whatever he wants. A loyal son. A future politician. A Crouch through and through.” He scoffed. “But I’m not. I never was.”

He turned to look at her then, and for the first time, there was no smirk, no amusement—just something raw and vulnerable, something she had never seen before.

“I think,” he said slowly, voice quieter now, “that’s why I wanted you so much.”

Your breath caught unexpectedly.

Barty’s eyes flickered over your face, unreadable. “You don’t try to make me be something.” His lips twisted. “Even when you hate me, at least it’s real.”

Something heavy settled between you, thick and undeniable.

“And”, he started, face twisting into something uncomfortable, trying to find the right words. For a moment, he said nothing. Just looked at you—like he was fighting a battle you couldn’t see.

Then-

“I hate him too.”

The words were sharp, bitter, cutting through the silence like a blade. Your breath hitched. “Barty—”

“No.” He turned to face you fully, eyes burning. “I hate the way he hovers around you like he owns you. I hate the way he looks at me like I’m something filthy. I hate that no matter what I do, he’s always there.”

Your chest ached at the frustration in his voice, the way his fists clenched like he was barely keeping himself together.

“He’s my best friend,” you said softly. Barty let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “No. He’s waiting.”

You frowned at that. “Waiting for what?”

“For you to wake up,” Barty muttered. “For you to realize that he’s the safer choice. The one who won’t make your life complicated. The one who fits neatly into your perfect little world.”

You stared at him, stunned. “You think this is about James?”

Barty scoffed. “It’s always about him.”

Frustration flared in your chest. “Barty, I chose to stay away.”

He stilled.

“I chose to keep my distance,” you continued, voice surprisingly steady despite the inner hurricane you felt. “Not because of James. Not because of anyone else. But because you—”a sharp exhale left your mouth. “You scare me.”

Something flickered in his expression. “I’d never hurt you.”

“I know,” you whispered. “That’s not what I meant.”

Because this, the fire between them, the way he looked at you like he was drowning and you were the only air left—

It was too much. Barty was too much. And you weren’t sure if you were strong enough to handle it.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then, slowly, Barty stepped closer. Not enough to touch, but enough that you could feel his warmth, enough that your breath caught in your throat.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he murmured.

Your pulse raced. “Then stop—” “Stop what?” His voice was rough now, almost desperate. “Wanting you? Needing you?”

“Barty—”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to stop.”

And maybe that was the real problem. Because Barty Crouch Jr. had never been good at letting things go.

And neither had you.

So when he reached for you, fingers brushing against your wrist like he wasn’t sure you’d let him, you didn’t pull away.

And when he kissed you, desperate and reckless and full of something sharp and aching,

One problem. When the instructions said it was a two person job, they definitely meant it. So instead of being pleased with yourself on the sofa when keys start to turn in the door, you're very precariously lifting a big plank of wood, trying to line it up with the other pieces and make sure nothing gets dropped on your feet. 

‘Dove, what are you doing?’ Remus exclaims making his way over as quickly as possible to relieve your arms and help put it together. 

‘No! No, don't help! I'm trying to do something nice for you.’ you say while trying to speed up your movements before he can get to you.

‘What wouldn't be nice is taking you to A&E, let me help please.’ finally getting his hands on the piece, you relent and let him help put it back on the floor. ‘I thought we said we’d build this when I got home, dovey.’ 

‘You're very dramatic, I wouldn't have needed the hospital.’ suddenly Remus realises you look quite upset, and even though he knows everything about you extremely well this has him stumped. 

‘What’s wrong, lovely? You haven't hurt yourself have you?’ he asks hurriedly. 

And out of nowhere tears are stinging your eyes and the sniffling starts. The look on Remus’ face could only be described as heartbroken as he watched. He feels panicked now, not entirely sure how you got here.

There's a warm hand on your back encouraging you into his chest, you bury your head trying to calm yourself before speaking. One hand is planted across your shoulders, the other is slow and sweeping across your back. There's some relief in it. There's a quick succession of kisses planted to your forehead and quiet murmurings of reassurances and sweet nothings.

You pull away, ‘I just wanted to do something for you. You’re so nice to me and thoughtful and I don't feel like I do nearly enough for you and I don’t want you to start secretly resenting me because I don't do enough.’ you sobbed. Everything seems to be spilling out all at once and you can’t stop it.

Remus feels his heart clench in his chest as he digests your words. He pulls you back into his chest with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch. His hands, warm and steady, resume their sweeping motion on your back.

‘Dove... ‘ he starts ‘You do more than enough for me, every day. You don’t have to do anything at all, being here with me is more than enough.’ 

You shake your head against his chest ready to disagree but Remus continues, his voice soft and sincere. ‘You take care of me in so many ways, like when I’m too stubborn to take care of myself when my hip is playing up.’ he says with a sheepish chuckle. ‘And the things I do for you, I do because I love you. It's not transactional and I don't expect anything in return. You're perfect, dovey.’

You let out a shaky breath, clinging to him as the tears subside and you take in his words. For a moment, there's only the sound of your breathing and the steady sound of his soft reassurance. 

When you finally look up at him, there’s a small smile forming on your lips, fragile but genuine. Remus cups your face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing away the remnants of your tears. You lift your head higher, chin pointed up, asking for a kiss. Remus indulges you, giving you a kiss that is as soft and sweet as he is.

That sickly sweet kiss continues with him peppering them over your cheeks. ‘I feel so lucky to be with you and show you all the love that you deserve’ he says softly against your cheek.

You nod, sniffling again, but this time in a quieter, more contented way. The weight on your chest feels a little lighter, and though you still feel vulnerable, there’s a warmth between the two of you now.

‘Love you, Remus,’ you whisper, the words a gentle truth as they leave your lips.

After a long pause, you look back at the half-built bookshelf, still in pieces on the living room floor. You offer a small, defeated laugh, and Remus grins.

Now it’s important to point out that Remus, in all his half-blood upbringing, never once he considered himself religious, but in that moment he prayed to every saint he could remember that it was all a coincidence, or at least a misunderstanding. How could you, a well-known and incredible witch, stand before him– a nervous wreck, minutes before the so-called Werewolves and Survivors Support Group meeting he had been dreading all week, when not so long ago you were on the cover of Witch Weekly?

“Ah, Mr. Lupin,” Said the healer as she stepped out the door, you looked up, fear deeply rooted in the frown of your eyebrows. “How kind of you to join us, come, come! We’re about to begin our session.” She ushered him in, and Remus found himself unable to tear his gaze away from you as he stepped into the room. 

Remus immediately moved to take the closest seat to the door, but he was horrified to find all the chairs neatly arranged with signs with different names. He sighed, reached inside his jacket’s inner pocket for a cigarette and sat on the tiny chair labeled as Remus J. Lupin. His amber eyes scanned the room and the people quietly chatting around, each of them with visible scars to match his very own, people he recognized from packs he visited during his own missions. But you remained a mystery to him as you walked to your chair, next to his, and plucked the cigarette out of his lips.

“We’re in a hospital,” You said, your tone bored and a complete opposite to the state he found you in minutes before. “Have some respect.”

“Yeah, well,” He shrugged but pocketed the cigarette for later. “None of these people mind, I assure you, they already go through hell and back, every month, mind you.” 

You eyed him curiously and opened your mouth, but whatever words you were about to speak were interrupted as the healer walked towards the center of the room. He inhaled deeply and laid back in his chair, ready to get through the session with the most patience he could muster. 

“Good evening, everyone. I’m Healer Figg and I will be in charge of moderating this support group, therefore you must report to me upon arrival in order to keep track of the attendees. The names provided will not be published nor shared without your permission unless you are in a position where you could endanger yourself or your fellow companions.” She said, making a point of looking at everyone in the room. Remus swallowed hard. “Now, who wants to begin?” 

And well, Remus desperately wanted to say he genuinely enjoyed the session, but that would’ve been a complete lie, especially when he spent most of it wishing it was over. Every now and then, he dared to look over at you, your expression blank but your fingers a clear sign of your anxiety as you toyed with your hair. Sometimes you would feel his lingering eyes on you and meet his gaze, your own eyes desperately trying to hide the mixture of emotions inside your chest.

“And what about you? What’s your name, love?” Asked the healer, and you looked up to find her addressing the question to you. You mumbled your name, a slight edge to your voice as murmurs echoed around the room. “What brings you here, y/n?”

“Do I have to?” You asked, trying to get impossibly smaller in your chair. The healer smiled, as if she was accustomed to those responses. 

“If you want to be signed off, yes, you have to.” 

You closed your eyes, as if her answer physically pained you. Remus supposed it did, him being familiar with the after moon aches that came with his own condition, you probably weren’t so far off. 

“Um, well, I was uh… my family was attacked by a,” You paused, scanning the room. “By a werewolf.” The room remained silent as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I’m the only survivor.” 

“Oh, sorry to hear that, love.” Healer Figg said, and scribbled something in her pad before looking back up at you. You, for your part, seemed grateful for the pause to collect yourself. “Is this why you’re here? To find some sense of community?” 

You frowned, “Um, no…? Not, really. I, uh, I play for the Holyhead Harpies, the league said I must attend these meetings or they’ll remove me from the primary team.” A shaky breath left your lips, but you recovered quickly, visibly more relaxed as you added, “See, otherwise Partridge would fill my spot and that wouldn’t do anyone any good, crazy woman, that one.” At that, Remus couldn’t help himself from snorting at your statement. 

Healer Figg turned to him, eyes curious. “Is something the matter, Mr. Lupin?”

“What? No, no.” He shook his head immediately, hoping his disruption wouldn’t encourage the healer to ask him any questions. “Terribly sorry.” He mumbled, properly chastised.

You smirked, and turned to the healer, who looked down at her pocket watch and clapped loudly. “Oh, it seems we overstayed our welcome here, a retired globins meeting will take place shortly in this room, so we must wrap this up. Thank you for coming.” Remus blinked, suddenly aware of everyone around him standing up, you included. “Refreshments are free for everyone to take. I’ll see you next week.” 

He made to turn to you, an apology frizzling in his tongue but he frowned as he watched you walk out the room without looking back. Remus frowned and tried to follow you, however, his fellow werewolves circled him with numerous questions about his work on the Order of the Phoenix, all grateful for his help towards the werewolves rights movement. His eyes lingered a beat longer on the door and surprised himself when he realized he looked forward to the next meeting.

—

You stared hard at the flame at the end of your cigarette, your fingers shaking slightly a result of the cold weather and your tiresome tendency of forgetting your gloves. A habit you unconsciously picked up since the attack, still used to how your own mother would meet you at the door to properly help you bundle up for the low temperatures, walking away with a faint kiss mark on your cheek, before you lost her to– You shook your head, willing your head to think about something else, something less disturbing. 

Few members you recognized from the previous session walked past you, waving and giving you courteous nods as they themselves mentally prepared for the meeting. You gave yourself a couple of more minutes before entering. 

When the captain of your team walked to you with the news, sadness in her own eyes barely contained, you had half the mind to quit the team for good. The trauma of the attack still lingering in your body as she explained the reasons behind the league’s decision, and she begged you to consider it. You weren’t stupid, you knew the possibility of losing you was as much of a tragedy to the team than it was to you, but the idea of speaking out about what happened in front of unknown people who had managed to survive their very own attacks with much worse consequences, made you queasy in your stomach. You supposed you had it better than them, therefore you had less reasons to make a fuss about the whole ordeal, when they had full moons to dread and transformations to suffer; suddenly your new acquired taste for medium rare, almost raw meat being the only consequence of your own attack seemed a pointless thing to cry about. 

“Hey,” You turned, only to find Remus Lupin’s tall figure walking to you. He seemed far more relaxed than last week, very much like you. Both filled with acceptance towards the situation. “Can I have one?”

You wordlessly passed him your carton, he nodded as he opened it and grabbed your lighter from inside as well. A bemused smile tugged at the corners of his lips at the green and gold embellishments in the lighter, the Holyhead Harpies logo front and center, you bit your lip and looked away trying to hide your smile. 

“Sorry about the other day,” He said between an exhale of smoke. You turned to him again. “Didn’t mean to laugh at your… your situation.”

“It’s quite alright, I knew you weren’t.” You smiled. Remus nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. “You play Quidditch, Mr. Lupin?”

Remus supposed he had that one coming. “Call me Remus, please.” He stretched his free hand out and you shook it, your soft palm against his own scarred skin. You said your name quietly and he had no qualms in hiding his own smile. “Oh, I know. But not because I’m a Quidditch fan myself.”

“Well, isn’t that a shame.” You stepped on your cigarette, your boot making a faint sound against the concrete. “Thought Potter had brain washed you by now.” 

“Ah, yes. Well, he thinks I’m a lost case when it comes to Quidditch so,” You chuckled quietly, remembering James Potter and his intensity whenever you encountered him at the pitch. “Lily won’t believe me I’m talking to you, though. She’s a big fan.” 

He enjoyed the way you blushed at his compliment, “Oh, that’s nice. Tell her I said hi?” You said as you walked to the entrance, he stared at your back as you disappeared into the building. 

Remus smiled to himself, blowing the smoke out one last time before putting out his own cigarette. An optimistic feeling lingering inside his chest as he walked inside, maybe this support group idea wasn’t so bad, the more he thought about your tiny smile and faint blush, the more he was looking forward to the next session.

—

“Harry, please,” Remus begged, the tiny wooden  spoon in his hand mid air as the baby shook his head mutely. “You had this just the other day, and you loved it!”

“No.” He said, apparently loving that word when it wasn’t used against him. “Bad Moony!”

“Bad Moony?!” He asked, aghast. James laughed from his spot on the couch. “James, what have you done to your child? Just yesterday he couldn’t leave me alone!” 

“James.” Chided Lily as she walked into the kitchen, assessing her own son and the tall man miserably trying to feed him. She placed her hands on her hips, “Could you stop terrorizing Remus, for once in your life? Here, love,” She made to them and Remus stood up readily, passing her the spoon.

“Terrorizing?!” James echoed, entering the kitchen with faux offense. “It’s hardly my fault Harry decided to antagonize everyone today. If anything it’s Remus' fault for not learning to pick his battles.”

“Prongs, be nice, I met your hero last night.” 

“Oh?” Lily turned, her attention divided between the conversation and feeding her son, who, for his part, knew better than to disobey his mother and happily ate her offerings. “Who might this hero be?” 

Remus frowned at Harry before turning to his friends. “Remember y/n, from school?” 

“What?” James exclaimed, suddenly in front of Remus. The bespectacled boy grabbed him by the shoulders, hazel eyes big with surprise. “From the Holyhead Harpies? Where? Why have you held this information from me? Moony, what the f–”

“James.” Lily chided again, now busying herself cleaning baby Harry’s face. Remus sent her a pleading look. “Besides, if Remus wants to keep his late night rendezvous with this pretty girl to himself, it’s his own decision.”

“Thank you.” Remus nodded, meeting James’ eyes with a satisfactory smirk. Then turned back to the redhead. “Hold on, rendezvous is not the word I’d use. It was just a coincidence.”

“Was it?” Lily asked, irking an eyebrow. “My mistake, then. Your face is saying a completely different thing, though.” 

James seemed to catch his wife’s meaning immediately and smirked salaciously at his friend. Remus groaned and dropped his head to his hands. There was shuffling around and little Harry’s babbling making background noise as Lily walked to change his now food-stained clothes. 

“Wait, where did you meet her last night?” James asked after a long silence. “I thought you had– Oh.”

Remus suddenly felt like this was a conversation none of them had any right in participating. He looked away, eyes lost in the way Lily cooed quietly at Harry as she changed his clothes. A heavy feeling in his chest he suspected was merely guilt, surely he wouldn’t want anyone to go on about his business with other people. Especially when the topic was still raw from the war that had just ended. 

James reached over and patted his shoulder consolingly. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.” 

“Say anything about what?” Asked Sirius, having just walked in time to listen to their hushed conversation. “What are you two babbling about? Remus, what happened to best friends?” 

“Your own fault for going only God knows where.” Remus retorted with a shake of his head, grateful for the change of topic. 

“I’ll have you know I was away buying healing potions for you, dearest Moons.” He said, presenting him with a heavy, brown bag. Remus sighed. “And before you say anything, I absolutely do guarantee you that I don’t mind buying these at all. You’re not the only one with battle scars, alright?”

“Hardly.” James snorted, “Love, getting into a row with a random dog does not count as battle. That’s you being a complete plonker.” 

Sirius gasped, “We’ll see if this plonker is free tomorrow morning to watch over Harry when you and my gorgeous Lilyflower leave for work.”

“Watch over your own son, you mean?” Remus asked, but James beat him to it. 

“Remus can watch Harry, don’t ya, Moons?” 

He laughed loudly and stood up, “No can do, Jamie. I have important matters to attend to.”

“Are said matters a new code for a certain lovely Quidditch player, perhaps?” Asked Lily as she walked in with Harry on her hip, who stretched his arms out as soon as he spotted his father. 

“Scandalous!” Gasped Sirius as he held Harry to his side. Remus groaned, not at all planning to participate again in the same conversation. “And who this lovely Quidditch player might be?”

“Alright, I’m leaving.” He nodded shortly, and turned around. Harry shrieked happily as the man kissed his head lovingly. “Bye, Harry.” 

“No kiss for us, Moony?” Lily asked jokingly, wiggling her eyebrows at him. Remus groaned, betrayed that his own best friend would join in on the banter against him. “Or are you reserving those for—”

“A menace. The three of you.” He said, and walked to the door. “Keep this up and I’ll take Harry from you, this is your first warning!”

—

“What else was I supposed to do?!” Remus asked, his own smile barely contained as he heard you laughing next to him. “I was going crazy, it seemed appropriate at the time!”

“Alright, I’ll give you that,” You allowed, straightening your posture where you laid next to him against a wall. Remus blushed faintly when your arms brushed his when you brought the cigarette to your lips. “But surely you could’ve picked a better song… Changes? Really?”

“Oh, I’ll have you know it would be the best song to die to. Anything from Bowie really,” He considered it, then added, “Or Pink Floyd.” 

“Okay, Pink Floyd I can accept.” You nodded, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. Remus suddenly thought that you looked very lovely under the low street lights. “Didn’t realize you were such a music snob... Well, I suppose it makes sense, keeping to yourself all the time at school.”

And well, Remus couldn’t really blame himself for the way his heart almost leaped out of his chest at your comment, the insinuation that you had noticed him back then. He hoped you wouldn’t notice his blush, or the loud way his heart was beating against his ribcage. You blew out the smoke from the corner of your lips, you had painted them a pretty shade of red he admitted to love, but there was something about your eyes, lost in nothing during the session and now next to him, you seemed… sad. 

“And that’s enough about me.” He cleared his throat, moving to lay over his shoulder against the wall so he could fully face you. You looked over at him with surprise. “Tell me about you.”

“About me?” You asked incredulously, as if Remus wanting to know about you never crossed your mind. He nodded, eyes soft as he studied you. “Um, well… I don’t know, what do you want to know?” 

“Anything.” He shrugged, smiling at you as you frowned, your eyebrows scrunching adorably. “Or at least tell me something I wouldn’t find in that bloody magazine.” 

You smiled, visibly relaxed at the olive branch he offered you. “Read much about me?” Now it was Remus’ turn to smile sheepishly at you. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Okay…” You looked up and brought your free hand to pick at the skin of your lips, a deep rooted habit of yours, he noticed. “Oh, I know. When I was little, the first time I showed signs of magic,” You began, meeting his gaze with a tentative look, something in his eyes motivated you to grow momentum as you continued, “I was outside playing with Sylvie, our family cat, and I don’t remember correctly but my mam said something about her not listening to me that made me so angry that I sent her flying… quite literally.” You laughed, a melancholic glint in your eyes as you placed the cigarette in your lips. 

Remus watched in awe at the red lipstick stains on the filter, but he recovered quickly when you looked at him, “Hold on… You sent your cat…? Flying?” He barked a laugh, surprising both of you. 

You laughed, nodding. “Pretty much, yes. She was alright, in case you’re worried. We found her a couple of hours later, she was stuck on a tree.”

Remus smiled, “And did Sylvie ever forgive you for that? I’m sure you scared the wits out of her.” 

“Nah, that bloody thing wasn’t scared of anything.” You shook your head, your chuckles taking a sad note. Remus frowned. “She quite literally threw herself at Greyback and his pack when he came pounding at our door, fearless creature, that one.” 

Remus felt the air getting sucked out of his lungs at your words. You exhaled deeply and chanced a glance at him, your eyes wide and fearful. 

“I… I’m sorry.” You whispered, harshly throwing your cigarette down to put it out. Remus followed your movements in silence. “Don’t know why I–”

“It’s okay. No need to be sorry, certainly not on behalf of that… that,” He sighed deeply, not courageous enough to finish his sentence, instead, he cleared his throat. “Back there, when you said you said you reckoned Voldemort targeted you…”

You studied him quickly, a slight purse to your lips as you considered your words. “I’m muggleborn, so...” You shrugged, as if that simple fact would make the tragedy obvious, or remotely acceptable.

“Oh.” You sent him a sideways smile, a small trembling thing. Remus wanted to reach out and… What? Do what? He wasn’t sure, but you seemed desperate to change the topic, or leave. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright, hardly your fault.” You straightened your posture, fingers anxiously fixating on a patch of skin in your lips. Remus bit his own lips as he considered you, and desperately thought on another topic, anything to stop you from leaving. “See you soon, then?” You offered. 

“Yeah,” He breathed out, nodding quickly. A candle of hope lighting up inside his chest. You smiled at him, a similar hopeful look in your eyes. “Yes, of course.”

“Bye, Remus.” 

Remus watched you go, a frown in his face. He sighed and laid back on the wall, feeling rather good about the exchange despite the sour turn of events. He had hoped to ask for your number at some point after the session, heart aching to get to know you better, but he supposed it could’ve ended much worse. Eventually you both had to address the elephant in the room, but he could wait, he was willing to wait an eternity if it meant to keep you a bit longer in his life. 

He sighed deeply, reaching out for another cigarette before parting to his own flat. The lighter you brought him heavy on his pocket. You had handed it to him with a mischievous smile, so you stop taking mine, you said while handing it to him when you both noticed yours had ran out of fluid. Remus smiled around the cigarette and brought the lighter to his lips, but his eyes stopped on the messily handwriting on it. Your number. 

—

As the days passed, you weren’t ashamed to admit the giddiness that possessed you when you returned to your flat from practice, fingers itching for the telephone to talk to Remus. Both of you made a routine to end your days with long conversations that easily lasted all night, asking questions that you both usually would hold back from but were feeling confident enough with the help of the distance and the telephone.  

“Harry, stop,” Hissed Remus through the other line, you smiled. Muffled sounds came from his side, no doubt wrestling with his godson for the telephone. “Sorry. He’s in a mood.” 

“It’s okay. He seems like a firecracker, that one.” You pointed, fingers toying with the telephone cord. “Again, can’t really blame him when he has James Potter and Sirius Black genes. Next time you see Lily please offer her my most sincere condolences.” Remus laughed, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder. 

“I will do that, definitely. Add mine as well, while I’m at it.” He mumbled, and laid back and away from Harry’s hand trying to grab the phone from him, he balanced the baby on his lap and used a hand to raise it away from him. “Harry, no. Moony is on a call with a very pretty girl, do you want to play with your toys? A nap maybe?” He whispered, and you smiled against your own phone. Surely not meant to hear the last bit. 

You turned to the clock in your kitchen, reading the time and inhaled deeply, mustering all the courage you could manage. 

“Need help with him?” You offered quietly, hoping to not be heard over Harry’s shrieking. 

There was no response from the other side and you felt both relieved and disappointed, you scolded yourself for thinking that way. 

Then, “You don’t mind?” 

“Not at all, I’m not very well versed in babysitting but I’m sure two is better than one.” You said, your grip on the phone tightened as you stared at your socked feet. “I don’t mean to impose, I just…”

“It’s alright.” Remus breathed out, sounding equally nervous to how you felt. You let your hopefulness linger a bit longer. “Ever been to Godric’s Hollow?” 

You smiled, and just like that, as soon as he provided you instructions for apparition and gave you a very heartfelt goodbye, you rushed to your room and changed your clothes. Fingers tingling with excitement as you locked your own apartment and made to apparate right to Godric’s Hollow. The Potter cottage sat at the very heart of the village, a pretty looking house decorated with well-tended flowers and warmth radiating from every angle you looked at it. A home that drowned in love despite it almost being a cause of tragedy in the wizarding community. 

Remus smiled at you as he opened the door, tiny Harry clinging to his side as both studied you. His light brown hair was tousled, standing on all sides in a clear show of his distress, but his amber eyes looked at you so, so softly you almost melted right there despite the snow surrounding you. You waved shyly, and he seemed to snap out of his trance.

“Hi,” He breathed out. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Hi,” You echoed with a chuckle. Harry blinked at you, his green eyes, a carbon copy of Lily’s, scanning you curiously. “I brought biscuits.” And just like that, you proved yourself worthy to Harry. “Can I come in?” 

“Yes, of course.” He nodded, stepping aside to let you in. You were immediately welcomed by the faint smell of hazelwood and baby powder. “Here, let me take that.” He tried to help you, but his arms were full. 

“It’s okay,” You laughed, feeling rather comforted that Remus himself didn’t know what to do. 

You took out your coat, arms raising to untangle the scarf from your neck. Remus’ eyes involuntarily roved over your form, stopping on the scars peeking through your abdomen, he immediately scolded himself when you looked up to meet his gaze, blind to his reaction. Harry took your lack of layers as an opportunity to reach his arms out, his eyes now fixated on the biscuits you held in your hand. 

“Oh,” You said as the baby basically launched himself into your arms. Remus chuckled and took the bag from your hand and you properly fixed your hold around Harry. “Hello, little one. I’m y/n.” His response came in a happy shriek followed by incoherent babbling, you smiled. “Well, it’s very much my pleasure to help you take care of Moony. Is he giving you a hard time?” You said and Remus let out a startled chuckle. 

His heart did a funny little dance when his family nickname came out of your lips. “Oi, stop talking about me like I’m not here.” He said, words taking a sweet quality. 

“Sorry, sorry,” You smiled up at him and he guided you towards the sitting room. “Well, isn’t this a cozy home?” Harry babbled excitedly, fisting your jumper. “Oh, you did this? You got good taste, Harry.”

Remus felt his heart bursting inside his chest, so he walked to the kitchen to put the kettle on, desperately trying to distract himself before he could lose all his strength to not walk up to you and kiss you silly. He smiled to himself as he listened to you whispering here and there to Harry. 

“Tea, dove?” He called out.

“Oh, sure.” You said, voice muffled as the toddler placed his hands on your cheeks. Remus felt like he was very much on the same wavelength. You laughed. “Is he always this touchy, or just his mood like you said?”

Remus walked in with two cups in his hands, “It’s usually the pretty girls that have him acting like this.” He laughed at you wrestling with baby Harry, who tried to bring your hair to his mouth. “I can hardly blame him–Harry, stop that.” He chided, placing them on the coffee table to reach over and take the baby from your lap. 

“It’s really okay, Remus.” You said, smiling up at him as you studied him with the baby in his arms. You very much wanted to kiss him, your heart still reeling from being called pretty. Twice. “He’s probably going to tire himself off soon, didn’t you say it’s past his bedtime?” You reached over for your cup, trying very hard to hide your blush.

“Yes, indeed it is.” Remus leveled Harry in front of him, the baby simply giggled and grabbed his face, very much like he did to you before. You laughed over the rim of your cup. “He just enjoys antagonizing me, don’t you, Harry? He’s very much like Sirius on that front.” 

“I’m sure he’ll crash out soon,” And as the words slipped past your lips, Harry paused his ministrations to Remus’ face to let out a big yawn. Both you and Remus smiled triumphantly. “See?” You whispered.  

“I’ll go put him down quickly.” Said Remus very quietly, lowering Harry to his chest, you nodded mutely, eyes in a daze as you admired them both. The domesticity of it all. “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be back in a second,” He looked down at Harry, then added, “Hopefully.”

You watched him climb up the stairs no doubt to Harry’s nursery and sighed deeply, eyes scanning the room with something akin to longing. The walls were filled with photographs in every space, all the way to the ceiling; most of them were solo shots of Harry, him laughing, crawling and one even bawling his eyes out, the image shaky as if the person taking it was debating between consoling the baby or capturing the moment. The rest you recognized from school, Lily and James and their first kiss after a match, you remembered that moment, then James and Sirius kissing mid-air, each on their broom, a scarlet crowd behind them, or them celebrating graduation day. The biggest one, though, was the one from their wedding, the one you vaguely remembered seeing one morning on the Daily Prophet. Lily looked beyond beautiful, her crimson, long hair in contrast with the white dress. James and Sirius both sported almost matching tuxedos, a lily of the valley arrangement for their boutonnières. The three with wide smiles that could be seen from earth, you were sure.

The photograph that caught your eye, though, was the one of Remus and Lily on the dance floor from her wedding day, a candid shot of them lost in the moment, laughing away despite the growing tensions. He looked very handsome as he twirled Lily around, you immediately noticed, your heart skipping a beat as your eyes rovered over the photo. You moved your head to look over to the next one, but a large hand covered it from you.

Remus laughed at your startled face. “Oh, don’t,” You blinked again, but recovered quickly and frowned at him. “What?”

“You think I was admiring you?” You asked, a surprised chuckle left his lips and you stopped fighting against your own smile. “I’ll have you know Lily immediately caught my eye, I see where ickle Harry got his looks from.” 

He walked over to stand next to you, both of you admiring the photographs in silence. “I’ll tell Sirius you said that, enjoy your time here cause I just know he won’t let you come in the future.” A giggle escaped you, startling him as he turned to you. He desperately wished to drown in the sound of your quiet, girly giggling. “Thank you for coming.” 

“No problem,” You smiled up at him, his eyes unconsciously fixating on a spot on the corner of your lips. “You’re so good with him, really patient, too.”

“Yeah, well,” He brought a hand to his nape, shy in his movements. “I had plenty of practice with James and Sirius.” His eyes softened as he looked back at you, the corner of his lips tugging slightly. “But again, all I needed to calm those down was to threaten them to burn their shared T. Rex autographed record, so…”

“I assume Harry doesn’t own a T. Rex autographed record for you to threaten, then?” 

“Well, no,” He conceded, following you back to sit on the couch. Really close, you noticed immediately with a smile on your face. “But he does have a Quidditch star as a babysitter so he might have some advantage there.”

You snorted. “Please tell me you did not just compare me to Marc Bolan.” 

Remus found himself scooting a bit closer to you under the pretense of grabbing his own cup, if you noticed, you didn’t show, but your smile was blinding. Your sudden closeness brought out a nervous, happy giggle out of you. You slid your finger around the rim of your cup, Remus’ eyes followed your movements in a daze. 

He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of the silence between you, “If James is to be believed, you might as well be the league’s very own Bolan,” You blinked, clearly not expecting that response from him. “And uh, well, I remember some matches from school too, you’re really good, dove.” 

“Remus…”

“What? It’s not like I’m lying, I’ve got people to back me up.” You shook your head, very much like you didn’t believe him. Remus suddenly had the desperate urge to knock some sense into you. “Oi, I’m serious.”

“I know you are,” You smiled at him, a tiny forced thing, like you were trying to convince yourself as well. “It’s just… Sometimes I feel like everyone makes me sound like this incredible player, when in reality I’m just…” You sighed, like finishing the sentence physically hurt you, you raised your hand to your lips. 

Remus decided to take a risk, and he reached over to take your hand from your lips before you could pick at your skin. Then, “Is it because of… of you being…”

“I’m not a werewolf, Remus.” You frowned, but you didn’t move your hand from his hold. However, Remus did flinch like your touch suddenly burnt him. “I’m sorry.” 

“You’re… not? Then why…?”

You sighed, like this was a conversation you had been dreading. Remus supposed you did, he did too. Then, “The league, they… they said I had to attend the meetings or they would be forced to release a statement. And I don’t–”

“You don’t want people to assume you’re a werewolf?” Asked Remus, a slight edge to his voice that made you frown. “Are you ashamed?”

“What? No, I– Remus. I just don’t want people to know, okay? It’s not because I’m ashamed, or have some negative feelings towards werewolves or… or– Why do I have to explain myself to you, anyway?” You exhaled abruptly, then met his gaze. “Would you want people to know about your lycanthropy, Remus?”

“Absolutely not.” He said quickly, without thinking, too. 

People being aware of his condition had always been one of his deepest fears, one he carried throughout his school years and even after graduating Hogwarts; when tensions and rumors of a war started to surface, many people turning their backs on each other and ‘lesser’ creatures that didn’t fit the pureblood ideologies. He supposed it was a very valid fear, but having you asking him that question felt like a slap across his face. A wake up call of what he had been dreading since that meeting with the Order and Dumbledore laid down the conditions for him. 

“Then why would I want people to know about what happened with my family? So everyone in the Ministry can have their own ‘I knew it’ moment? I think werewolves already have enough on their plate for me to add more fuel to the fire.” You said between nervous sips of your tea, Remus’ own tea already being a sad, cold thing. “Especially when it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not a big– You almost died, y/n.” He said, desperate to make you see his point, a point Remus himself wasn’t sure what was. “How could you say it’s not a big deal?”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I? And I’m not about to turn my family into a sob story for the Daily Prophet just because I didn’t attend the bloody support group.” You sighed, and this time you reached over to take his hand. “Remus, I like you, okay? I truly do, but you need to stop seeing yourself like this lesser, undeserving person–”

“How could I not?” He snapped, making you frown deeper at his tone. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I just— How can you think that way about werewolves, so.. so benevolent, when we killed your family? Attacked you without reason?”

“Us? Without reason? They were sent to do it, none of the werewolves in Voldemort’s barracks had a say on anything. Yes, they might have had some reason or they probably were conditioned to think like the rest of them… But I don’t go around using my… my case to tell people all werewolves are the cruel monsters they’re painted to be. Not all of them anyway.” You searched for his eyes, hoping he would understand your point. When it was clear he wouldn’t meet your gaze, you dropped his hand in favor of holding his face. Remus’ lips parted in surprise. “You need to stop putting yourself under the same category as them. You’re not them, Remus. Neither are the people in our group. Greyback and their people… They’re the ones in the wrong, the ones that want to harm their fellows by feeding into the harmful stereotypes.”

Remus let out a breath, like he had been holding it for a long time, his eyes never once leaving yours as you both stared at each other, a promise in your gazes. Your eyebrows pinched slightly, and he had the sudden thought that maybe you weren’t done, or worse, had changed your mind mid rant. He shyly reached over to place his hand on the side of your head, long finger gently combing the baby hairs of your temple behind your ear. 

“I’m sorry…” He whispered, afraid that speaking up would scare you away from cradling his face in your hands. Remus thought he could get lost in your touch. “I didn’t mean to jump to conclusions, or get so… defensive.”

“I think… I think some defensiveness is alright.” You allowed, your features relaxing as you whispered back. “But it’s really alright, Remus. We must’ve had to have this conversation at some point, though now and with a baby quite literally sleeping above us wasn’t the scenario I had in mind.”

Remus took your attempt at a lighthearted joke as a sign to change the topic, “Have many scenarios with me, then, dove?” He asked with a tiny smirk, you dropped your hands from his face.

“You’re truly insufferable, Moon— Wait, is that why your friends call you Moony?”

His hand moved from your cheek to the nape of your neck, his thumb sweeping your baby hairs up and down in a way that brought goosebumps to your skin. Remus smiled like that had been his plan all along.

“Don’t call me Moony,” He said suddenly, and you blinked in surprise. He was quick to fix your train of thought, “Every time you call me Moony I really, really want to kiss you. If you do it again, I fear I won’t be able to hold back.”

This brought a shy smile to your face, but as quickly as it came, it turned into a smirk. “Terribly sorry, then, Moony.” 

He let out a startled laugh, and brought his other hand to your cheek, a silent permission to proceed with his intention. You, for your part, seemed in a daze as you breathlessly roved your eyes over his face, hands around the crook of his elbows as you scooted closer. Remus watched in awe as your eyes fixated on his lips with something akin to yearning, and self-restraint be damned, he gently pulled you towards him and pressed his lips over yours. 

Now it’s important to say he desperately made a plan of kissing you silly all night as soon as he tasted your lips and the faint notes of bergamot from your tea, he decided to never let go of you, to kiss you until the skin of your lips were the least of your concerns, had it not been by the door being opened wide open in a swift, loud motion. Sirius gasped dramatically at the sight before him, James and Lily in toe with similar reactions, you and Remus sprung away almost immediately at the commotion. 

“Oh– Moony!” He said, a hand to his chest as if he had been the one caught. “In my own home? In my own couch that I bought? How fucking dare you! I’m kicking you out, you ingrate.” 

“Hi.” You said shyly.

“I don’t even live here.” Remus said simultaneously. 

“Well, aren’t you the loveliest sight?” Said Lily as she walked to you, ignoring her husband’s antics. You stood up almost on reflex to accept her hug, your movements awkward. “How are you, honey?”

“I’m doing alright.” You said, your hand instantly finding a patch of skin to pick in your lips. Remus’ eyes followed the movement. 

“She ought to be alright, based on what we just walked into.” James pointed, walking to you both, Remus nudged him rather loudly. “Hi, James Potter, big fan.”

You smiled bemusedly and searched for Remus’ eyes. “I thought that was Lily?”

“Yeah, right, as if Lils could even differentiate a quaffle from a bludger.” Sirius joked, then stretched his hand out to you, as if you both hadn’t shared the majority of your classes at school. “Sirius.” 

You chuckled, grateful for the distraction to compose yourself. “I know.” You said, but shook his hand nonetheless. “But it’s nice seeing you lot again.” 

“And what brings you here this beautiful evening, y/n?” Lily asked, making herself comfortable on a wingback chair next to the couch. The blue color of the chair a high contrast to her green dress. 

Both James and Sirius seemed in a daze as they ogled Lily, you cleared your throat awkwardly, “Well, I…” You turned to Remus with wide eyes.

“She came here to help me with the menace that is your son.” Completed Remus, “Not that you wouldn’t know, seeing you made him that way.”

“Well, good for Harry,” Said Sirius as he draped himself over Lily, she accommodated herself to hug his middle. “Someone has to keep you on your toes.” 

“It really was no problem,” You interrupted, knowing well they could banter the entire night had none of you butted in. “He basically fell asleep after I got here.” 

“Oh?” James said, turning to Remus, who groaned and threw his head back. The bespectacled boy reached over Remus to address you, “You mean Remus or Harry?”

“So this git has been kissing you all night? Using my son as bait?” Sirius asked in faux indignation, though his fingers calmly toyed with Lily’s hair. “Remus you cheeky bastard.”

“Can everyone please stop attacking me?” 

“No can do, Moony. It’s hardly an attack when we’re telling the truth, you’re a real git and a pretty cheeky one too sometimes.” 

Remus looked at you imploringly, “Dove, need me to walk you home?”

“Add educated to the list, too.” Said Lily in between giggles. You smiled. “Maybe you’re not so bad, Remus, isn’t he, y/n?”

“He’s quite alright.” You said breezily, desperately trying to hide away the blush in your cheeks. You turned to Remus, “You don’t mind?” 

“Not at all.” He shook his head and walked to the door. Pointedly flipping his friends off. “Here,” 

You grabbed your coat from his hand. “Oh, thank you.”

“‘Not at all’ he says! When just the other day he properly groaned at me for asking if he could peel me an apple!” James said with a smile as he watched Remus help you bundle up for the cold. “You know, Pads, maybe he is an ingrate.” 

“I told you, but you never listen.” Supplied Sirius, both men offering you and Remus an out. 

Lily loosened her hold around Sirius to send you a tiny wave which you returned enthusiastically before stepping out the door. Had it not been that it was still reeling from your kiss, Remus’ heart would’ve probably combursted right then and there at your silly interactions with his own friends. He felt a really warm, sweet feeling settling in his chest when he realized you fit perfectly in their little family, eagerly following along in their banter against him. Remus hoped the sight would be something to last him for the rest of his life. 

—

The stress and uncertainty from the other night, a full moon, where you waited for Remus to let you know it had been alright and managed to return home without problem seemed difficult to wear off, the lingering anxiety settling in your body like it planned to stay there for a while. You tried to ignore the heavy feeling in the middle of your chest as you walked towards the pitch, hands distractedly fixing your gloves and gear as the coach threw pointers no doubt to the players already in the field. Calista, the team captain, immediately flew down to meet you on the floor as soon as she spotted you, her face pale and an alarmed look on her eyes. 

“Morning,” You said, watching her walk towards you with tentative steps, she seemed in a state of restlessness as her gaze traveled over your surroundings. “What’s gotten into you?” 

“I don’t know who talked to them,” She replied instead, and you frowned. When she realized you genuinely had no idea, she presented you with a rumpled page from the Daily Prophet. “I’m so sorry, I know you didn’t want people to know.” 

Your eyes skimmed hurriedly over the page, the knot in your stomach you had previously deemed a stomach ache turned into a full blown hollow feeling that consumed you whole. Calista reached to pat your shoulder consolingly, and it seemed that’s all you needed to shake you off your shock. 

“How could they—” 

“Well, isn’t this our lovely star,” Came a voice you recognized well, you turned to find Partridge herself walking over to you with a smirk on her face. “Is your furry little fella alright? Heard last night was quite the moon.”

“He’s not– What the fuck, Partridge?” You managed to say, your blood slowly boiled to the point of seeing red. It seemed that was the reaction your problematic teammate had been aiming for. “You did this?” You lifted the page to her eyes, by the look of her eyes you immediately knew she recognized it before you could present it to her. 

“I owed Skeeter a favor,” She shrugged, taking her gloves off nonchalantly. You did the same, but with completely different intentions. “What? Was it supposed to be a secret?”

“You knew damn well,” You spat, angrily throwing your gloves and the page away. Partridge’s facade changed as she studied your stance, but she recovered quickly. 

“Well, I thought you had stopped worrying about it, seeing that you so thoroughly enjoy associating yourself with the likes of your people and half-breed monsters in broad daylight.” 

You reeled back, as if she had actually punched you in the face but you schooled your face almost immediately. “Well, of course, I see you nearly everyday, don’t I?”

She marched to you in anger, but you stayed still in your place. “You little bitch, don’t think for a second you will keep your spot in the league after this. Why, you stupid mudblood.”

You laughed bitterly, “You think I’m scared of you, Partridge? Or losing my spot? Unlike you, I’m a bloody good player, any team will scout me as soon as I drop the Harpies.” With a sudden feeling of satisfaction, you noticed her clenching her fists. You added, “Also… Mudblood? Really? Wait– Is this why you’re so miffed with me? Because a muggleborn is a better Quidditch player than you? Well, you got another thing coming–”

You felt the sting before your eyes could even follow the movement of her hand, slapping you across the face with a strong hand. Calista gasped loud enough to catch the coach’s attention, she stepped forward to push Partridge away from you but you raised a hand. 

“You show me every day how pathetic you truly are. That’s all you got? Cause I’d really like to give you a real demonstration.” You smiled, a wicked thing that had your teammate leaning back with surprise and Calista swallowing anxiously. 

“Now let’s not–”

Well, you truly would’ve loved to say that had been the end of it, that the coach had reached you both in time to end the upcoming brawl. But none of that had happened, all thanks to your quick seeker reflexes and pent-up anger, you had Partridge on the floor in a quick second. She screamed but managed to throw punches as you, despite your ire-charged reaction, decided to only give her a scare. You had to give it to her, she had a rather appropriate right hook that you had the misfortune of intercepting while you were pulled away. Calista and the rest of the team paused as they studied you, you brought your hand to your left eye, feeling suddenly rather dizzy and a little nauseous. 

“What the devil is happening here?!” Yelled the coach as he inspected the outcome, grateful that you weren’t visibly injured, or well– “Partridge, did you just hit your teammate square in the bloody eye?! What’s the matter with you?” 

“She–She jumped at me! She’s mad!” Partridge pointed at you, you looked up to find her properly rumpled but not hurt at all. “She said she would give me a demonstration, then– then attacked me!” 

“Attacked you?! You hit me first!”

“That’s enough out of you,” The coach spat, turning to you to inspect your eye, he clicked his tongue pensively. “Need you to go to the healer to get this checked.”

“But–” 

“I’ll handle your teammate. Surely there’s an explanation to this circus.” He turned to Calista, who straightened her posture in very captain fashion. She nodded at you, a silent promise that she would make sure Partridge wouldn’t get out of it unscathed. “Go.”

You exhaled abruptly and grabbed your gloves from the floor, making way to the healer’s tiny cubicle to get your eye checked. As you walked out the pitch, you caught a glimpse of the page you sent flying mid brawl, a candid photo of you and Remus kissing one late night after the meeting, a few days ago. An uneasy feeling settled in your stomach but now for completely different reasons. 

—

“And I still hear it, minutes before the transformation, sometimes I can feel him lingering close, even though he’s locked away!” Exclaimed McDougall, a thin man that had been a victim of the Imperius curse by Riddle himself. You frowned as you listened to his heart-felt rant, your eyes very pointedly trying to look everywhere but at Remus. “It’s driving me mad!” 

You watched in curiosity as Remus raised his hand. 

“Is there something you’d like to say, Mr. Lupin?” Asked the healer kindly, Remus nodded, then cleared his throat. “Go on, then.”

“Uh, this happens to me too.” He spoke out, voice scratchy like it hurt him to speak. You bit your lip anxiously. “What I do, uh, I like to play music, I’ve found that the wolf likes it during the transformation. It helps, sometimes, with the voices.” 

You studied him meticulously, taking inventory of his scars and the new ones he acquired the night before. His hand shook slightly where he rested it over his knee, the previous scars in his hands a faint red as if they had been reopened again, a bandage peeked out from his sleeve. His hair disheveled a little like he tried to comb it but gave up mid action, but other than that, he looked like the same Remus you had grown to adore. His amber eyes met yours as Healer Figg continued talking to the rest of the group, and he sent you a soft, tentative smile. You felt a tug at your heartstrings as you waved shyly at him, a tentative tiny thing. 

As soon as you left the healer’s office at the pitch and after you met with the coach, you made your way to your flat to assess the damage before it was time for the meeting. You had desperately tried multiple beautying spells and make up products to make the black bruise taking up most of your eye and temple so faint that it would pass right through Remus. Your efforts were to no avail, so you decided to get there a bit later than usual in order to avoid him questioning you about what had happened, or worse, you telling him about the article on the Daily Prophet. You weren’t sure which one you dreaded the most. 

“Thank you everyone for coming, again, it has been delightful to see the outcomes of the group, you all have progressed very much.” Healer Figgs said, pulling you out of your own head as she turned to you. “Let’s all extend our applause and say goodbye to our companion, y/n, who has successfully finished her time with us.” You looked away from Remus, who you felt staring right through your soul as you shyly smiled at the rest of the group. 

“Thank you.” You mumbled, laying back on your chair as if you wished to disappear against the wall. Everyone stood up, and you took that as your queue to finally leave. 

Your hand shook slightly as you opened the door of St. Mungo’s and caught a breath of fresh air. You dug inside your purse and brought a cigarette to your lips, somewhere behind you the door opened again and quick steps followed you. 

“What was that? Back there?” Remus breathed out, catching up to you. You looked down in order to hide your face from him with your hair, he frowned. “You’re done?” 

“Yeah, um, I was told today I filled my quota for the league.” You said quietly, Remus had to lean closer to hear you. “I was going to tell you–”

“When? Today? When you barely said hi to me the moment you got here?” 

You sighed dejectedly and brought the lighter to your lips. To your rotten luck, the flame lightened your face and gave Remus a very clear glimpse of your pathetic attempt at covering your marred skin. 

He inhaled sharply and gently grabbed your face in his hands, “What happened to you?” Your lips parted in surprise around the cigarette and met his worried gaze. His thumb swept over the skin and you hissed. “Sorry, sorry… Dove, who did this to you?”

“It’s nothing.” You said under your breath, shaky fingers plucking the cig out of your lips. “Really, Remus, it was just an accident.” 

“It certainly doesn’t look like nothing.” His eyes studied you, and you suddenly felt very insecure about your face. Stupid Partridge, you thought. “Are we keeping secrets now?”

“What? Remus, no.” You reached to grab his wrist with your free hand, your hold earnest and desperate as you looked into his eyes. “I just… I just didn’t want you to worry. That’s all.”

“Well, I ought to be worried,” He frowned, bringing your temple to his lips, where they lingered a beat too long as you both savored your hold on each other. 

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply, “It was one of my teammates.” You finally said after a moment, Remus pulled back with a frown. “Did you read the Daily Prophet today?” 

“Ah,” He nodded, and grabbed the cigarette from your hand. You watched in awe as he pensively studied you, then, “I had an inkling it was about that.”

“You saw it?” 

“Of course I did, James dumped about 7 copies on me this morning, full moon be damned.” He said, you smiled despite your anxiety. Remus mirrored your tiny smile, happy that his efforts worked. “It doesn’t bother me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“But, she… she aired your condition to everyone.” You supplied quietly, a slight frown in your eyebrows that Remus wished to kiss away. “She called you a–” You seemed to work yourself up again, and he wondered what exactly went down to bring this kind of reaction out of you. 

“I don’t care, she doesn’t know a damn thing about me.” He said, and put out the cigarette in favor of holding your face again. “There was a time I would’ve cared, and would’ve tortured myself about that, but now it all slides right off. Dove, please don’t go around picking fights for me. Especially with people like her.”

You looked down, eyes fixated on a spot in his chest. Remus suddenly thought you looked very beautiful, a slight vulnerability to your demeanor that made you look angelic. He kissed your temple again, very softly to not hurt you, then searched for your gaze. 

“But that’s not everything, isn’t it?”

You met his gaze, and his heart ached at the glossiness in your eyes. His eyebrows pinched slightly, and watched as you curled your arms around his middle, your hold desperate for comfort. Remus sighed as you hid your face in the safety of the crock of his neck. 

“I tried really hard to protect them from… from people commenting on their story, how they died. I didn’t want them to become another fatality of the war, and–” To your horror, a tiny sob left your lips and you closed your eyes. Remus thumbed the tears in your cheeks away with very gentle movements, careful of your tender skin. “I couldn’t even do that. I keep just failing them day after day, the league pulling me back, getting into fights and proving everyone right all along. I… I don’t know what to do, the least I could do is be someone worthy for them and to honor them after they died because of me and–”

“Wait, no. They didn’t die because of you.” He frowned, and you seemed to have a hard time meeting his gaze, he curled a hand under your chin to look into your sad, teary eyes. “How could it be your fault? Dove, that man is at fault, he’s the one that killed them, he sent the order. There’s no way you would’ve known.”

“But… but I could’ve tried harder at protecting them. I should’ve done something.” You finally let out the thought that had been consuming you for months and kept you up at night. “How can people call me bright and promising in that stupid magazine… If they only knew how useless I was during the war.” You chuckled humorlessly. Remus decided he had enough of it.

“Listen to me, y/n. You being this incredible, promising witch and your parents’ deaths aren’t mutually exclusive. Voldemort targeted all the muggles and wizards that didn’t follow along his insane ideology, there was nothing you could do to stop that from happening, I know you don’t want to call it that but it truly was a tragedy… because no matter what you had tried to do, he sent his best men to kill you and your family knowing it would be one against four. It was meant to be a tragedy whatever the outcome. And your parents? They would've been so bloody proud of you for fighting the death eaters off, for surviving and fighting tooth and nail for your future that was almost ripped away from you. Don’t… don’t count yourself out just because of this, it might feel like it sometimes… but you’re not alone.”

You bit your lip, finally meeting his gaze. Remus exhaled deeply as he finished off his desperate rant, some fight still lingering inside of him to make you see his perspective. 

“I’m sorry.” You finally said, your finger sweeping back and forth where your hand held his wrist. Remus watched as you inhaled, channeling all your strength to compose yourself. “I… Thank you, Remus.” 

He smiled softly, “No need to be sorry, or to thank me. I would do this every day, pretty much like you would, too.” You blushed, and he found himself ignoring his self-control and leaned forward to kiss your lips. They tasted a tad salty, but not any less sweet. 

“They would’ve really liked you,” You said as you broke away, Remus’ smile got impossibly wider and grabbed the sides of your face to kiss you again. “Ouch.”

He gasped, “Oh, I’m so sorry.” He leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss just shy of your bruise. “Let’s go get you fixed up, hm?” He placed his arm around your shoulders, and you trailed next to him in a daze. Still slightly shaken up, Remus noticed; he tried another angle. “So, proved myself worthy to the in-laws already?”

You smiled sheepishly, “Don’t let it get to your head, though.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head as you rounded the corner, his flat building in view. 

Remus sighed happily as he dug inside the pocket of his jacket for his keys, his other arm head-set in holding you close to his side. You, for your part, seemed to enjoy his hold around you and walked next to him with a tiny, shy smile, your hand picking at the skin of your lips distractedly. 

“Here,” He helped you out your coat as you both walked in. You immediately took notice of the homely ambience to it, Remus’ taste all over the flat as your eyes rovered the room with curiosity. Remus’ heart did a little flip as he studied you, “Wait here, I’ll go check what potions I have for your eye.” 

You nodded then made a beeline to his couch, a worn out, lived in thing that matched with the decor in the walls. Just like the Potters’, he had countless photographs hung up on all the walls, evidence of his happiness despite the numerous trials he had suffered in the past. The biggest one, you noticed, was one of him holding Harry as a newborn, his amber eyes red and with some tears welling up, you felt a tug in your heart as you scanned it. 

“Why am I not surprised?” Said Remus with a breathy chuckle as he walked to you, a container and wet cloth in his hands. You laughed as you walked to him, “What is it with you and photographs?” 

You shrugged as you sat in front of him on the couch, Remus placed the container on his knee before gently pressing the warm cloth to your face, to remove your flakey concealer no doubt.

“I’m used to still images back home, seeing them move is something I don’t think I can get used to–Ow!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Remus placated, a slight frown to his eyebrows, he made his movements extra gentle to not hurt you again. “A very valid point.” He added, then placed the cloth down. “Ow, dovey, that was a hard punch, it seems.”

“You should’ve seen Partridge.” 

“You hit her?”

“Nah, just gave her a scare. Also gave her a proper demonstration on how it’s done, real muggle style.” He barked a laugh, and opened the container next. You scrunched up your nose at the smell. “That’s foul. Is the smell alone a punishment for getting into a fight?”

“Probably,” He hummed, eyes fixated on your bruise as he gently patted the cream potion on your skin. You felt your insides mushy and soft with gratefulness and something akin to love for him. “I stole this from Madam Pomfrey so I wouldn’t put it past her.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Using your Pomfrey privileges to steal supplies? Oh, Moony, you’re incorrigible.” Remus paused his ministrations to meet your eyes, you smirked playfully at him.

“You will have your kiss after I finish this, dove, do not fret.” He commented breezily, thoroughly enjoying the way you flushed. Remus chuckled as he finished putting the rest of the potion on your eye and kissed it softly, he grimaced, “Shit, that really is foul. Terribly sorry, dovey.”

You laughed. “It’s okay.” Remus placed the container and cloth away to fully face you, you smiled up at him with something giddy and excited in your chest. “So, where’s my–”

Remus smiled, a wide, bright smile that almost blinded you as he grabbed the nape of your neck and pressed his lips against yours. You laughed against his lips, your mood suddenly lifted now that you had what you wanted, Remus kissing you silly and holding onto you like you were about to fly away, and by the happy sigh that left your lips when you momentarily broke away, he wasn’t so far off. You shyly reached over and placed your hands tentatively around his middle, Remus, without breaking away, grabbed your arms and circled them around him, a permission to hold onto him as much as you wanted. You readily accepted the invitation, fisting his jumper with longing and deepened the kiss. 

“Not here,” Mumbled Remus between kisses, he helped you up and immediately pressed his lips against yours again, as if stopping kissing you could physically harm him. “Dove,” He said breathlessly as he pulled you to your feet, you let him manhandle you, a wicked smile on your lips as you pulled him back down to you. “Come on,” He held your hand and guided you down the hall, no doubt to his room, your insides suddenly recoiled with anxiety. 

You sighed as he kissed you again, his fingers toying with the hem of your jumper, you sucked in a breath and deepened the kiss again, hoping it would distract him from his intentioned hands in your middle, but to no avail, he unconsciously lifted the hem and placed his hands over the scarred skin around your waist, if what he found troubled him, he didn’t show, but you stilled and Remus pulled away slowly at your reaction.

“Dove?” He frowned slightly, and you willed your lungs to accept air as you breathed quietly, “Was I too harsh with you? I’m sorry,” His hands found your face again, and you met his gaze, his lips parted in surprise as he noticed the troubled look in your eyes. “What is it?”

“I just..” You sighed, biting your lip nervously. Your fingers grabbed the hem of your jumper, Remus’ eyes flashed with realization. “I haven’t been with anyone… after… you know.” 

“Oh,” He breathed out, scanning your face for regret, but you seemed mortified enough to even meet his eyes. “They don’t bother me, but if they do to you, I won’t touch them. I’m sorry.” 

“I’m sorry,” You said under your breath, suddenly feeling like you wanted to cry. Why was your past so adamant to ruin your present? You thought bitterly. “I don’t know why I… I’m sorry,”

“Hey, it’s quite alright.” Remus leaned down to search for your eyes, he cupped your cheek. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for, dove. It truly doesn’t bother me, as long as you’re comfortable.”

“I didn’t mean to lead you on,” You said, holding onto him in the desperate selfish way he was starting to adore. “I just, I keep forgetting they’re… there and it always feels like a rude wake up call when I notice them.”

“I get it,” He nodded, and kissed your eyebrow. “Believe me, I do. Mine used to bother me too, not so long ago, but they’re part of me, of my story. Though they hurt like hell, I’ve eventually learned to accept them. It’s okay if you’re not ready to accept yours, lovely girl.”

You looked up at him, very overwhelmed with gratitude and love for him, you were sure your heart could explode soon. Remus seemed to notice it as he lifted an eyebrow in question, and kissed the corner of your lips after you gave him a short nod. When he pulled away and walked a few steps back from his bed to give you space, you were only mildly disappointed at the distance. 

“We don’t have to do anything, but you can stay over if you want. Have a cwtch, maybe?” He asked, offering a tiny olive branch that felt gigantic to you. You smiled and nodded eagerly, he mirrored your giddy reaction and brought your hand to his lips. 

Remus nodded and laughed when none of you made to move, “I don’t have…” You trailed off, and his face brightened. 

“Oh, no need to worry about that,” He smiled and walked to his drawers, excitedly shuffling some things inside, then lifted a black shirt out. “You like Bowie, don’t you?” 

You laughed and accepted the clothes he presented you, he placed a kiss to the crown of your head as you followed him to his bathroom. Your limbs suddenly felt rather heavy and exhausted as you changed your clothes into his, a ratty Bowie shirt and some boxers that looked awfully big on you. You tried to not stare at your reflection in the mirror as you changed, but had enough courage to inspect his healing work on your bruise. Small steps, you supposed. 

Remus felt his own heart falling out of his arse when he stepped out of his own bathroom, to find you sitting prettily on the edge of his bed, looking around his room and fighting against a yawn that tried to escape your lips. He was overwhelmed with tons of feelings as he walked to the bed and threw himself over it, pulling you down with him. The sound of your surprised giggles echoed around the room as he propped himself over his elbow, eyes full of love as he looked at you. 

“What are you thinking about?” You asked quietly then, your finger tracing the letters of his own shirt. Remus held your hand captive and kissed your palm, then reached over and kissed you. “Remus,” You giggled as he placed sloppy kisses on your face, cautious of your eye. 

“Just happy, ‘s all.” He mumbled as he pulled you close to him, you happily accepted his hug. “I still can’t believe I went to that support group just to get signed off for a job, and not only left with a job but with the prettiest, smartest witch as my girlfriend.” Your chuckle came in a sleepy breath, eyes closed as you drowned in the sound of his voice. Remus didn’t mind, telling you all that was his own private indulgence. He placed a kiss on your forehead, “And she fights for my honor unprovoked, too.” He added. 

“Of course that’s the part you fixate on,” You mumbled, words quiet and slurred like you fought against sleep to speak out. 

Remus fought against his own drowsiness, “Oi, you think someone there caught a photo of that?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“It would be a very lovely addition to the wall.”

“Remus,”

“Well, I was just thinking, since you love photographs.”

“Goodnight, Remus.” 

—

Champagne flutes sat empty over the tables as the record on the turntable echoed faintly around the room, one of the records Lily picked halfway over. James and Sirius busied themselves picking up the trash and cleaning the remaining dishes respectively as Lily climbed down the stairs after putting Harry down to sleep in his nursery. She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight before her, Remus and you passed out on her couch, clinging to each other. You still wore your Quidditch gear from the match earlier and Remus didn’t deign to change his Holyhead Harpies neither, even after the match had been won and long over. 

“They’re asleep?“ Asked Sirius, and both his spouses shushed him immediately. 

“Yeah,” Lily nodded, then walked back to the kitchen to continue helping with the tidying. Her green eyes fell on the polaroids she left out to develop. “Oh, isn’t this adorable.” She gasped with a smile as she picked them up.

She walked back to the sitting room and stood in front of the wall, eyes searching for an empty spot for the new additions. James stood behind her, a frown to his eyebrows as he helped her out. 

“What about moving these, lovie? So they can fit here.” He pointed, Lily followed his eyes and nodded excitedly. “I hardly think ickle Harry would mind.” 

Lily lifted her wand and whispered a sticking charm to the new additions, a warm, happy feeling in her chest as she admired the final product. 

It is an ill-kept secret that Remus John Lupin struggles with romantic public displays of affection.

It was something his best friends had teased him relentlessly for since the first time he was given a Valentine Day’s card in year two by a boy that he didn’t even have a crush on mind you, and became a stuttering, spluttering mess. He could still hear James and Sirius’ barks of laughter the second that Hufflepuff was out of view and could still feel the bench shake from when Peter fell off it, clutching his stomach. Remus had been sure his cheeks would be permanently dyed red from the shame.

His one friend who did not betray him in such a manner was his oldest, namely you. Remus’ sweetheart, as Sirius called you, his childhood best friend from back home who he broke the statute of secrecy for when he was too young to realise what that meant, but who thankfully turned out to be a witch too. Something you both wept tears of joy for, as you did not have to be separated when he went off to Hogwarts.

On that horrid day, you only pinched his darkening cheeks and laughed quietly – still teasing, but in a way that felt more like admiring and less like humiliating. He faintly remembers scrunching his nose at you in response, a look you immediately mirrored before you went to hide him in the crook of your neck and gave the others a faux scolding for “embarrassing poor Rem when he is wholly capable of doing so himself”. 

His makeshift pack of friends kept that routine up for the rest of his school years, consisting of James and Sirius poking constant fun, Peter enjoying it all a tad bit too much, and you “protecting” him while laughing all the same. His affliction only worsened throughout his time at Hogwarts, but if one of his afflictions were to be the butt of a joke, he supposed he was grateful it was this one.

In moments like these, it was a tad bit difficult to keep that sentiment up, though.

“You should have seen the look on his face, doll!” Sirius made out through a laugh as the group made their way back from Hogsmeade. 

He was recounting Remus’ dance on the Three Broomsticks dancefloor with one slightly-more-rowdy-than-normal Emmeline Vance who all but dragged him out there despite his quiet sputters. You had been off on some endless errands that Remus had passionately attempted to join you for before Sirius all but bolted him to the bench because “you owe me a round, you mangy wolf”.

“I believe I have seen it many a time, Siri,” you laughed out, yelping slightly when Remus pinched your side from where he had his arm around you. “Hey!” you scolded him half-heartedly, point diminished by your grin.

“Cheeky minx, don’t side with the devil!” Remus conspired with you through a stage-whisper while glaring at Sirius, whose laughter only doubled in intensity.

“You can’t ask me to lie for you, del,” you replied in the same tone of voice, leaning up to kiss his cheek as if to apologise for your treachery. An apology that was wholly accepted as Remus tugged you closer into his side and allowed for the laughter around him to continue with a sigh.

Because therein lies the one exception – Remus Lupin was pathetically incapable of public displays of affection, unless they were with you.

His problem with these displayals was the insinuation behind them and the attention that was brought to him because of it. If Emmeline dances with him, leaving a scandalously little amount of room between them, he knows what she wants from him and everyone else does, too. If his current romantic partner kisses him in the hallway, it is a glimpse into something that otherwise occurs behind closed doors, a reveal of his private life that he does not enjoy. He wants that part hidden, and embarrassment flares through him like a rocket at the thought that others bear witness to it – and then the flames are stoked when they notice that he knows and has enough dignity to be embarrassed, which just fuels an eternal evil cycle.

You, however – your wonderful self he has known all his life, you who refused to ever leave his side despite his lycanthropy and subsequent grumpy, isolationist persona, you who are his absolute better half and light of his life – there was no reason that affection should be hidden. There was nothing secretive nor fragile in your relationship, it was the purest thing he had ever had the pleasure of having.

There was nothing insinuative or blasphemous about it, there was nothing to be held against him. He would hold you, hug you, even kiss your shoulder, cheek and forehead, because he and all else around knew that it meant nothing more. It was nothing out of the norm, nothing for others to point out and bring attention to. There was no glance into something hidden away, there was no line being overstepped. It was just two best friends, aware and proud of how much they meant to one another.

So Remus never had any hesitations about leaning into your touch, about seeking yours out, about lips identifying exposed skin and staying there for a moment or two. It was something he began doing before he truly knew what embarrassment entailed, it was muscle memory as much as instinct these days.

And if others did not understand it fully, that was an issue Remus for once felt no confinement to public opinion on. If people made assumptions or threw glances, it held no importance to him. Even his Marauders, Sirius especially, raised their eyebrows at your proximity when you all first met, but they understood the routine of it all quickly. That these two first years before them were a package deal in every form of the word. It was quickly accepted within your little pack, albeit fondly commented on every now and again. James had Sirius in that same unrestrained way, bodies strewn across each other at any given opportunity, so why couldn’t Remus have you? Why wouldn’t he?

Never mind that Sirius was officially brought into James and Lily's relationship at the end of last term.

“Well, James would hug anything that moved and seemed like it might need it.” Sirius had argued one night many years ago, not needing to add the and I need it.

“And isn’t that lovely for Prongs,” Remus had drawled in return. “But I need a few years to get there, and Y/N happened to be more strategic than you lot.”

“By knowing you first?”

“Precisely. Also, she’s lovelier than you.” 

It had earned him a snort and a pillow to the face, but it was accepted without further questioning. With the exceptions only occurring in a drunken babble here and there from Sirius, alone in their dorm after a party. Remus is quite certain he couldn’t string together a coherent sentence if his life depended on it in those states, and so he never took it to heart.

Remus revelled in having something of his own, someone only he understood on that level, and his heart always warmed when he thought about how lucky he was that that someone was you.

He subconsciously pulled you even closer at that thought, content and comfortable to do so whether that be around his marauders or in front of the whole Great Hall; there was nothing more to it to be embarrassed of. It was just you; just Y/N and Remus. Like always.

“You occluding yourself away from your menace of a dorm mate?” you whispered to him then, and he angled his chin down slightly with a smile to find you looking at him curiously.

“Oh, yeah,” Remus agreed with a solemn nod. “Must prepare for being locked up in a room with him all night. It’s tedious work, you know?”

“Most certainly.” You attempted to match his faux severity, but a giggle escaped you nonetheless – a beautiful one that Remus decided to mentally save for the night, should Sirius become unbearable.

Speaking of; “I take great offence to that,” Sirius proclaimed from the few strides ahead he was, pointing his finger in Remus’ direction without turning around. “Dog-like hearing, Moony, don’t think you can get away with badmouthing me here!”

“Dog-like he says,” Remus whispered to you, earning him an indignant “oi!” as Sirius finally turned around.

“Gorgeous, would you tell your worse half to knock it off?”

“I sure will,” you declared, turning your body more towards Sirius in Remus’ grasp. “Siri, sweetheart, would you knock it off?”

Within the second, Sirius’ offended expression transformed into one of giddiness. “Awe, princess, you think of me as your other half?”

“Worse half, Pads,” James interjected, looking over his shoulder bemusedly.

“Do keep up,” Remus added with a half-hearted glare.

“Irrelevant!” Sirius threw his hands up and spun around in celebration. “I have won the title of her other half, you can get lost Moons.”

Remus used his arm around your shoulders to angle you back away from Sirius. “I think not. I’ve been keeping this friendship for so long, she’ll need a lawyer to get rid of me,” he stated matter-of-factly, looking down at you at the last bit. “Capiche?” He tilted his head at you.

You hummed through a poorly-withheld smile, as if you were considering it. “Sure thing, cariad. Meet with our lawyers tomorrow after lunch?”

Remus gasped as you ripped out of his grasp and stuck your tongue out at him. Flashbacks of your younger days chasing each other down dirt roads came to his mind and widened his grin as he saw you back away from him, eyes trained on his expression. 

“Minx,” he breathed out through a laugh just before you sat off running away from him; Remus hot on your heels, laughter escaping him freely. Sirius began running with you, though he was slowed as he twirled around and hollered, surely waking the entirety of the mountaintops surrounding the castle.

James had been minding his own business for once as he engaged in quiet conversation with Lily and Pandora, but his eyes twinkled as he eyed his three running friends, exchanging a knowing look with the redhead.

“Young love,” Pandora sighed dreamily, though James could never be certain if she was looking at the loud, carefree forms before them or at something entirely different.

Remus saw you stopped running while still some dozens of metres away from the castle, still facing away from him, but arms opening to accommodate for the impending crash of his body against yours. It does something funny to his heart to think about, but he just lets it widen his smile as he did exactly as expected – let his arms loop around your waist and twirl you around as he caught up to you. 

Your out-of-breath giggles permeated into his ears as his face was tucked in between your neck and shoulder as he slowed down, laughter calming in his own chest.

“Caught you,” he whispered through his own breathlessness. “Happy now?”

You turned in his grasp, squeezing at his shoulders both to show affection and seemingly to steady yourself as your chest still heaved; Remus held you tighter to help you in the latter endeavour. “Shook off Sirius for a bit, so yeah, I am. As should you be.”

He dropped his head laughing at that, glancing behind him through his hair to see Sirius bent over, hands on his knees as James had already caught up to him and was patting his back in sympathy. Any other time of the month, Remus would likely have been right there with him, but this was a good week and you always seemed to be able to find some semblance of energy within him, even if he thought he had none.

“I take back my calling you minx, then.” He looked at you with a smile. “That was strategic.”

“Are you saying minxes can’t be strategic, Loopy?” You raised your eyebrows at him teasingly, pulling slightly out of his grasp to breathe better.

“I’m saying– don’t call me Loopy.”

Your smile became almost taunting at that, and Remus knew his comment likely only worsened the likelihood of you using that nickname now. “I just remembered how I used to call you that the other day actually,” you mused, putting on an innocent smile. “I don’t remember why I stopped, I just forgot about it. I think it might be time for a renaissance.” 

“I think I’m too out of breath for you to say things like that. I can’t chase you any further, but that deserves to be chased.”

You shoved lightly at his shoulder at that. “You’re getting too old, you’re no fun.”

“I’m super fun. Textbook definition,” Remus harrumphed, gleaning when you rolled your eyes through a burst of laughter.

“No one who references textbook definitions is fun, Moons!” James called from where the group was catching up to you two, finally within earshot. 

Sirius was practically draped across James’ shoulder, breath still coming heavy. He pointed yet another accusatory finger, this time at you. “You’ll be the death of me, dollface. Merlin’s tits.”

“Don’t blame me for your own inadequacy, gorgeous,” you quipped back. It made Remus rather proud, especially when Sirius groaned dramatically in response.

“Time to get some beauty sleep then, yeah?” James coaxed, giving Sirius’ cheek a peck as he continued effortlessly dragging him in through the entrance of the castle.

Lily hummed in agreement, poking one of her boyfriends in the side. “Yeah, Sirius seems to need it.”

“You think I’m so sexy, Red, don’t lie to yourself,” Sirius mumbled, petulantly remaining worn out over James’ shoulders.

Remus smiled at his friends, hand reaching out behind him blindly, knowing you’d find it. Surely enough, your fingers intertwined with his own and gave him a little tug to hasten his gait down the hallways.

Moving up the staircases with surprisingly little trouble, the group finally found themselves outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, ready to split up with you and Pandora heading to Ravenclaw and the rest clambering inside. 

You made your goodbyes, quick hugs and kisses on cheeks with Lily and James and a kiss to the hand from Sirius who had decided to lay down dramatically on the floor. When you turned to Remus at last, just a tad bit away from the others, he enveloped you in a warm hug, breathing you in as he settled his chin on your shoulder.

“Let me walk you?” he asked, already knowing you would say no.

“Nice try Loopy, but I’d rather you go inside to the warmth and head to bed,” you murmured into his neck. “Thank you, though.”

You always said no. He always asked, anyway. Sometimes, if he was feeling particularly protective or otherwise missed you too much, he’d go with you anyway. Today he decided to respect your wishes.

“Tell me again why you had to be an independent person and get sorted into your own house?” he grumbled against you, smiling when he felt your chest rumbling beneath him. That same smile softened when your grip on him grew just the slightest bit tighter.

“Something tells me you’ll survive.” 

He tightened his hold on you in turn, one arm around your waist and the other stabilising your neck, before he spun your body around twice, twirling along the hallway. He relished in the laughter that escaped you and ensured to stamp a proper kiss to your hair before he released you back down to the floor.

“Sleep well, dove.”

“Goodnight, cariad,” you said through a soft smile, giving him and the others a small wave before turning around to where Pandora was waiting, grabbing her hand as you two all but skipped down the hallway together.

With his eyes still glued on your disappearing form, Remus nearly yelped as James’ hands came up to settle roughly on his shoulders – albeit somewhat careful of his joints – steering him through the now-opened portrait, who was rambling on with complaints about students taking up the space in front of her for too long.

“Funny that,” James started. 

Remus gave him a puzzled look. “What, Prongs?”

“Just that you danced with one Ravenclaw at the Three Broomsticks for two minutes and gained the colour and conversational skills of a tomato; but when you twirl and kiss this Ravenclaw, all you’re left with is that goofy grin of yours.” James’ comment seemed off-handed, said over his shoulder as they walked through the empty common room.

“First of all, it’s Y/N we’re talking about and not some Ravenclaw,” he started, confusion laced in his voice. In the meantime, James and Sirius kissed Lily goodbye, the latter giving her bum a light tap as she moved up the stairs to the girls’ dorms. “Secondly, it’s Y/N. She’s my best friend, and one of yours, mind you. What’s there to go all tomato for?”

“Some would argue, there is never any reason to go all tomato,” Sirius taunted, ducking the smack Remus aimed towards him.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” James laughed, literally waving it off. “Just pointing out the parallel. Ironic, innit?”

“Don’t see why it would be,” Remus grumbled petulantly in return. Sirius reached up to ruffle his hair somewhat roughly before entering their dorm, where Peter was already waiting for them, tucked into bed.

“What’re we laughing about tonight, fellas?” he questioned without looking up from the magazine he was reading through. Remus was fairly certain he had seen Mary reading through that very same magazine last week.

“Oh just at Remus’ peculiarities with birds.” Sirius felt emboldened with his comment from where he was crouched behind his bed – ample distance to protect him from Remus, he surely gathered.

“So, nothing new? Nice.” Peter returned his attention to the magazine it never really left.

“Yeah, don’t worry Pete – your friends are just as big arseholes as on any other day.” Remus bent down to pat the boy on the shoulder before moving over to his own bed, between Peter and Sirius’. 

“Hey, I don’t mean to be an arsehole,” James complained with almost a full pout across his lips within a second of Remus’ comment. “We’re just having a bit of fun psychoanalysing you, s’all.”

“Which, of course, is a generally accepted polite thing to do.” Remus nodded as if he was gravely understanding, only flipping James off when the other boy didn’t catch his sarcasm.

“No, Remmy, what would be rude is to point out how you are desperately–” Sirius began with taunting mirth plastered all over his face, but he was cut off as James all but jumped on him to cover his mouth. 

The black haired boy looked up at his boyfriend first with some offence and then a look Remus didn’t want to witness.

“How about we leave poor Moony alone for the night, huh baby?” James questioned, moving his hand away from Sirius’ mouth as the other boy nodded almost dumbly, still staring up at him.

“Who’s turning red now?” Remus whispered to himself as he looked through his trunk for his pyjamas. He barely had the reflexes to catch the pillow Sirius hurled at him, tossing it back with a loud laugh that was quickly reciprocated by his best mates.

As if a miracle had been awarded them by some forgiving gods, the boys’ dorm room quieted down fairly quickly after that. Sirius and James settled in Sirius’ bed for the night, barely fitting themselves onto the mattress that was almost too small for one boy, let alone two. Once in each other’s arms, however, it was an easy thing to drift off. Peter was asleep before the other three had even brushed their teeth.

Remus was the only one tossing. Not unusual, but he couldn’t really understand why that was tonight. 

His sleep cycle often closely followed the moon’s, and he was almost two weeks away from the full moon, a perfectly decent time for falling and staying asleep. Tonight, though, his body was once more fighting him. He kept replaying the night, the conversations, the interactions, trying to pin his unrest on something. He supposed that dance with Vance had been unexpected and the adrenaline spike of all the attention following it might still linger and make sleep evade him. 

Despite what his dismay for public romantic displays might indicate, Remus was no prude. As a matter of fact, just as Sirius had before he was locked down, Remus was no stranger to making his rounds at the occasional common room party. Rarer was it that he shagged anyone back home, as he spent most of his time with you, but it had happened here and there too. Vance and him had even spent a night together once at a quidditch afterparty, but he had no significant interest in her apart from a mutually understood night of fun. He never really did, even when his partners were great in all capacities. It just didn’t seem that romance was an object for Remus – and good riddance, if the struggles of dealing with it so far was any sign.

Perhaps that was it then, dancing with Vance had rehashed something for him. Though the idea didn’t settle well in his bones, Remus also knew that he would never settle if he didn’t give his mind an excuse for his sudden restlessness.

After checking the time with a hefty sigh, he decided to throw in the towel and took a small sip of a sleeping draught potion he had at the ready in his bedside table at all times. If sleep would not come to him, he would hunt it down damn it. His friends’ playful mockery and a dance he didn’t even want to partake in would not cause him any more torment.

As Remus slipped into the land of dreams, he may come to regret that sentiment, if but a bit.

There are warm bodies pressed uncomfortably close to him – the warmest of which has her arms around his neck, one hand scraping through his hair. It should feel good, Remus enjoys when his hair is played with, but this feels sharp enough to draw blood. Emmeline’s laugh is all he can make out over the chatter and stomping around him, but it feels wrong, scratchy like a record player. Her fingers on him are cold, unlike anything else in the room.

It is spinning. The room, that is. Remus is unfocused, as if he had been shooting vodka and not butterbeer earlier. He can’t quite make out any of his friends, or anyone really, Emmeline’s features bleeding out into the background.

For some reason his heart is pounding the way it does before his transformation. Everything feels painfully wrong and he is aware of every inch of his body where Emmeline is touching him.

She is still laughing and Remus is sure it would make his ears bleed, which only confuses him further because Emmeline is truly a nice girl. Just not one he wants to feel flush against himself at the moment.

He reaches a hand up to touch his ear – realising only now that his arms are hanging limply by his sides, the only static thing in the otherwise spinning room – and when he retracts his hand to look at it, his fingers are coated with blood.

His breathing grows ragged as he feels the blood running down the side of his neck. He has half a mind to tell Emmeline, to shout for help. He doesn’t. Nothing comes out when he tries to open his mouth, all control of his body ripped from his grasp.

With no warning he realises the wetness on his neck is not blood, but someone’s open mouth smearing kisses down it with reckless abandon. His stomach ties in knots and he wants to push Emmeline off of him, still to no avail.

Her grip on him tightens painfully, and Remus swears he feels a bone break. He would know.

The flurry behind her has just become a swirl of colours and sounds to him and Remus feels himself drowning in a moment he desperately wants away from. He shuts his eyes hard, taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

He feels a warmth in his chest, starkly different from the heat around him, that slowly, like thawing ice, begins to spread throughout him. He hums the melody you sang to him during his first ever panic attack, the sweet one that always lulls him to sleep, and the warmth spreads faster.

With his eyes still screwed shut, Remus begins to regain the feeling in his legs first, noticing them swaying back and forth to some calmer, unknown rhythm.

The feeling in his hand returns too, and it’s clasped around someone else's. Theirs is also warm, light and fits much better in his, though he’s not quite sure what he’s comparing it to.

The front of his body is warmer than the back as he’s pressed up against someone, swaying with them in a slow dance that would never have worked in the middle of Three Broomsticks. It flows with his soul.

At last, Remus can hear again, as if coming up from water. He hears that it was not him humming, but rather a soft figure tucked under his chin, humming the vibrations of the melody against the side of his neck.

When he tightens his arms instinctively, he does not need to open his eyes to know it is you.

He does anyway, looking down at you, standing in his arms, swaying together in an empty Gryffindor common room. There is a lazy smile on your lips as you look up at him, cheek against his chest, eyes twinkling like the starlight.

Remus feels right. Remus feels good. His thoughts are honey, sweet but slow, coating over any coherent reactions he might have to standing here with you like this. He escaped and he is with you and all is right once more.

Have you danced like this before? Did it feel like this then?

You seem unpuzzled, relaxed. The warmth settles in Remus for good.

“Hey handsome,” you whispered, as if you were sharing a secret with him before angling your face more up towards his.

Remus is not in charge of his body when his neck dips down and lets his lips meet yours halfway, casual and expectantly, a habit as much as a wish. You taste like yourself. You smell like yourself. Remus is surrounded by you, cornered by your smile against his lips.

You pull back all too quickly, furrowing your brows at him. Dream-Remus has no hesitation of removing the hand from around your back to thumb at the furrow, brushing away any negative thoughts from you. He kisses the spot between your eyebrows.

Everything is right.

When his eyes meet yours again, the concerned look in them has not changed. You reach a tentative hand up to his cheek, thumb swiping over his cheekbone as you hold him with what he irrevocably knows to be love. 

“It’s time to wake up, cariad,” you said with a small sad smile.

The last thing Remus remembers is the feeling of the floor disappearing beneath him.

Remus sat up with a gasp, and for a rare moment in time he was speechless.

He was not a stranger to invasive, questionable or downright spiritual dreams, a side effect of both his connection with the moon and the tons of potions he has taken over the years. Usually, he is present in his dreams and acts as his own little commentator during and after them, narrating what happens and what he thinks of it.

It was not uncommon for him to think “I think I will remember this one” as the final thought in a dream. Or when he wakes up in tears, his first thought was often “that was a bit dramatic of you, calm down”.

Now, he had nothing. Now, he was speechless.

Worse yet, usually when he wakes up with a jolt, it is in the middle of the night – but now, as his senses began to trickle back in, he could hear the commotion around him that only could mean the boys are at various stages in the process of getting ready.

Remus Lupin had just had a life-altering, earth-shattering dream, and James Fleamont Potter was repeatedly knocking his knee into his nightstand as he jumped around while tying his shoes on, instead of sitting down to do it like a normal person would.

He thought James was saying something, and maybe even to Remus specifically, but he could still hear the blood rushing through his head. Beneath that again, he could hear your humming. 

With a groan, Remus let himself topple over from his sitting position to land face-first into his duvet.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck?

“Oi!” Remus finally heard, as what felt like a rolled up pair of socks hit his head. “What in Godrick’s name has gotten into you, mate? You good?” It was Sirius voice calling, seemingly from across the room.

Remus just groaned in reply. His eyes were wide open as he stared directly into his sheets, feeling both freezing cold and like his brain was slowed by a fever.

“You okay, Moons?” Peter’s voice came gentler from beside him. Remus thought his hand might be hovering near him, as if he was considering consolingly patting him but was unsure if he should.

Another groan.

“Okay, what about this: groan once if this is Moony mooning over something and twice if you’re in actual crisis,” James suggested, not unkindly.

A singular groan, though it sure did feel like two.

“Groan once if you’re a prick and twice if you’re insufferable,” Sirius felt the need to comment.

Instead of making any further sounds, Remus wrangled his arm from beneath the blanket to show Sirius how he felt about him in the moment with a gesture.

“Fantastic!” James exclaimed. “You have class in 35 minutes, Moons, and breakfast now, so best get a move on.” Remus heard the telltale sound of James leaving – as in, James’ heavy footsteps moving across the floor and Sirius scrambling like a dog to follow after him. At the complete lack of sounds in the rooms after that, he assumed Peter moused after them as well.

At last Remus sat up with a sigh and stared emptily in front of him, mind moving too fast for him to catch a thought but too slow for him to properly process anything.

What does this mean? 

Except Remus could no longer deny that he knew what it meant. That the instant your humming caressed his ears, he knew what it meant. That his subconsciousness wanted to replace a girl who saw him as a romantic prospect in a place Remus felt queasy in with you in a place he considered home. That is no coincidence.

And that when you kissed him–

Except you did not kiss him. Remus shook his head at that, as if the thoughts could just tumble out of his ears. You did not kiss him and he did not kiss you. Because this was a dream, it was not real and Remus must just be really, really unwell.

He felt unwell, but not in the way he was trying to convince himself.

Taking one deep breath, Remus looked to the awning of their little dormitory and shot out a silent prayer for any higher power to listen.

Put me back together, I cannot fall apart like this.

Bury this back down deep, I cannot feel like this.

It was going to be a long day.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

By the time Remus had made it to the entryway to the Great Hall, feeling frazzled and less put together than he had an excuse to, he saw his group of friends making their way out.

“Rem!” It was you who caught sight of him first, and immediately beelined towards him, the others following closely behind, wearing varying degrees of concern and confusion as they looked him up and down.

Your face was by far the most concerned, as you immediately brought your left hand up to cup his cheek. “Are you alright, cariad?”

For the first time in your almost two decades of friendship, Remus was painfully aware of your physical proximity.

He always knew, of course, but it never really registered with him – it was completely natural. Right now, nothing about him felt natural. You stood flush with him and he felt you against him like a fire, skin singeing beneath his clothes. Your eyes seemed so big looking into his that he could get lost in them, his only internal monologue being a dreamy sigh and a long string of curse words at the absolute madhouse chaos that his mind was becoming. As he looked at you, it was like he could see his version of you from his dream as well, how you looked at him with so much love and admiration, how your lips inched closer to his.

“Mate?” Remus realised then, that he had been staring at you for far too long, not answering your question, to the point where James had to try to catch his attention.

“I– uh,” Remus sputtered, eyes flickering wildly all over your face, panic rising in his chest as he realised he could not think clearly with you so close.

He took a step back without thinking, just barely out of your grasp but still close, and shook his head. “Sorry, yeah, no, yes, I just feel a bit… off today.”

The furrow between your brows deepend, and once more his mind flashed back to his dream. His hand twitched. It seemed like you weren’t even aware of it when you took a step closer, to be back by his side, reaching your wrist up to place it on his forehead to feel his temperature. “You’re feeling poorly?” you whispered so quietly and so lovingly Remus thought he might faint.

Was it always like this? It was always like this. Why was he freaking out about it then? He was freaking out. What the fuck was wrong with him?

With horror, Remus realised that a slight blush was creeping up his neck, and he fought hell to keep it down as he cleared his throat. “Just a little, uh, dove, it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Do you want to go lay down?” You began what he knew would be a string of suggestions for things to do to make him feel better, and he could not stand watching you be so concerned when he was lying to you.

Almost like a flinch, he pulled back out of your arms – properly this time, taking several strides backwards away from the group. It barely registered with him that James and Sirius were looking at him with some confused amusement while Lily looked sympathetic.

“I, erm, will be fine, yeah? Nothing to worry about.” Without properly looking, he reached an arm out to grab Peter by the shoulder and all but manhandled him to his side. “Peter and I have Herbology now, but uh, I’ll catch you later?”

Remus hated how everything he said sounded like a question, like he was running a lie by you for you to confirm if it was believable. Remus hated that he couldn’t tear his gaze away from your face for more than a few seconds and most of all he hated that he was spiraling under the weight of your gaze in turn. A horrible combination.

“Take care, Rem,” you whispered as he all but ran away from you, hauling Peter along.

You stood looking after him for a moment, only turning your head when you felt Lily’s reassuring hand on your shoulder to find a small smile on her face.

“What in the buggering hell was that?” Sirius questioned, looking mostly at you for an answer.

“I don’t know,” you said, honestly. Had you known, you might still not have told him, though, if you thought Remus wouldn’t want you to. “I usually always know about his moods before they come, but this has me stumped,” you murmured, mostly to yourself.

“He woke up weirdly,” James mused, rubbing his hand across his chin. “I guess we’ll just see where the day goes, yeah?”

The four of you nodded at each other, but you still gnawed on your lip in concern, glancing over your shoulder to where he disappeared. 

Whatever it was, you hoped he would come talk with you about it when he was ready.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Remus only had one hour to compose himself during Herbology before he had Charms with you. Sharing most of his classes with you was something he had always considered a blessing, and while that sentiment would likely never fade, it was also causing him some distress as he almost toppled the work desk with his jittering.

Peter didn’t question him, but Remus’ obvious nerves were apparently contagious for the anxious boy who jittered right along with him, casting him the occasional glance.

Letting his elbows fall heavily on the desk, Remus put his head in his hands and ignored the instructions Professor Sprout was walking them through – he would let Peter pick up the slack for once and then subsequently accept the lower marks. Right now, Remus had to think and get his shit together.

He breathed his way through some panic exercises and pictured you in his mind. It almost brought a smile to his lips in an instant and for the first time, he let the realisation of how irrevocably wrecked for you he was.

Has it always been like this? Why have I never put this into words before? How can I revert back?

In that moment, Remus decided two things. Firstly, there was no possibility of you returning his feelings nor would he ever expect you to. It was true that you accepted and loved him in a way he never could quite believe himself deserving of, but that in itself is testament that it couldn’t be any more. What you gave him was already too much, it would be unthinkable for you to harbour even deeper feelings for him.

Second, and most importantly, he could not lose you. Remus has made many mistakes in his time, but he could not live with himself if he lost you. It would be too much. Because regardless of the fact that he now knew he was– that he now knew what he knew, the friendship between you was the most important thing. It was Remus and Y/N, right?

He could not be weird and sputtering, he could not make you uncomfortable. Meaning, he could not withdraw from you despite his instinct to run and hide. Shame burned within him at the thought that even if he could withdraw he didn’t know if he could fight his want not to. You were muscle memory.

Remus opened his eyes and slowly dragged his palms down his face in resolution. He would have to act as if nothing was wrong, and he would have to lie through his bloody teeth to explain away whatever bodily reactions he has.

If he starts stammering, he will have to shut up and lie that he is tired. If he becomes an embarrassing shade of auburn, he will have to cough and lie that he might be coming down with a fever. If he shakes, it is because of lack of sleep. If he, Merlin forbids, cries, he will have to claim he must be coming down with some odd moonsickness. You will surely follow him to Madam Pomfrey and maybe it will be easier when you’re alone.

Or maybe it will be worse.

No matter which it was, Remus would have to soldier it, for your sake. You did not deserve his imposing infatuation, but you also did not deserve to lose what you thought to be a loyal friend.

When him and Peter packed up the barely-used desk and mumbled a goodbye to a disapproving Sprout in the door, Remus made it his mission to focus on his breathing again as he almost ran down the hallways to where your friend group always met up outside the Charms classroom.

Be normal, be normal, be normal.

Your eyes found him the second he rounded the final corner, almost as if you had been watching it, waiting for him. A beautiful smile lit up on your face as soon as you saw him, albeit a bit dampened by the worry in your eyes – he simultaneously wanted desperately to soothe you while also berating himself for it being there. His fault.

“Hey dovey.” He forced his words to be casual, his smile to be measured as he strode up beside you. 

This is where he is supposed to drag you into a sideways hug, squeezing your hips while dropping a kiss on the top of your head, causing Sirius to make some quip about “you were literally just gone an hour. He stood beside you perhaps a beat too long before he began to do so with shaking hands, and he felt your burning look as you studied him. Remus made it all the way up to where he would kiss your head before he chickened out due to the tornado screaming in his stomach.

“Hi, Rem,” you all but whispered, your words just for him. You opened your mouth to say more, but he was afraid of what it would be.

“Waited long?” he asked to distract you from it.

“Nah,” you said and leaned further into his side. “But I’m glad you’re here now. How’re you feeling?”

At that, he saw Peter, Sirius, James and Lily – who had been stuck in their own little world – look up and try to hear what he has to say. Remus crumbled under their watchful gazes, knowing they knew him well enough to pick apart his every little reaction. He cleared his throat.

“I don’t really know,” he settled for. “My head’s murky, didn’t sleep well.”

You made a soft cooing sound and started rubbing circles on the side of his hip from where your arms were circled around him. It knocked a wave of dizziness into him that made him want to take a step back to lean against the cold stone wall behind you. In replacement he settled for holding onto you tighter; it only made it worse.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go lay down? Merlin knows we won’t be missing out on anything with the way Flitwick rambles away any sense he might have.”

This is where Remus would laugh heartily at your obvious disdain for the professor that he never truly understood. Instead, his mind zeroed in on one word you said.

We. We, we, we, we.

Circe’s tits, did he want to take you up on that.

He swallowed, acutely aware that you must have heard the sound when stood so close to him, though you didn’t give away any reaction. To buy himself a moment to collect his thoughts, Remus finally dared tilt his chin downwards to kiss the top of your head. It might have been too slow, too tentative, but his heart was beating so fast the rest of his body felt too slowed down in comparison. He hoped you thought the kiss was a thank you for caring and not the nervous stall it was. He hoped he wouldn’t be eternally damned for breathing in the scent of you.

“I’m quite alright, dove,” he murmured instead, furiously avoiding the surely questioning gazes of his other friends. “Thank you, though.”

You grumbled some but didn’t push him on it. He silently thanked you for that, too.

His throat was too parched to partake in the silent banter amongst his friends as you walked into Charms, too focused on where your bodies brushed as you walked, too deafened by the sound of your laughter.

You sat down in your regular spots, you and Remus side by side in the front, with Sirius and James behind you and Lily and Mary to your right. This was normal, this was alright. Flitwick droned on about the theoretics and debates around the charms you learned last lesson, it went in one ear and out the other.

Absentmindedly, you had grabbed Remus’ hand lightly between yours and were tracing soothing circles along his wrist and palm. You meant so well, and this would have cured likely any other ailment Remus struggled with, but right now there were fireworks going off in his head.

Taking advantage of the notice Dumbledore had given all of his professors to not call Remus out on sleeping in class, he folded his arms and laid his head down on them, carefully not to take his hand away from you. If he could shield his face, he could probably talk himself down before class ended.

In the solitude of his arms, he could picture it was just the two of you, sitting in the treehouse you built between your houses as children. If he focused enough, he could smell the apples that grew around him and feel the rough wood beneath his stomach. There, your hand would still be in his, maybe even your cheek on his chest, and it would be alright. It would all be alright because it was just you, and Remus could play dumb and he would never have to realise his feelings and fuck himself over.

It almost worked. Until he was interrupted.

“Psst! L/N?” The whisper was laced with a laughter Remus knew too well and did not care for.

You clearly ignored it – Remus could practically see the eye roll you surely threw his way – but that wasn’t enough to stop his theatrics.

“L/N!” Barty called once more from a couple seats behind you to your right, voice threatening to alert Flitwick to your inattention. “What’s wrong with your dog?”

“What?” you whispered back in equal parts confusion and irritation.

“Your puppy, Lupin,” Barty said, as if it was obvious. Unfortunately, Remus could picture his eye roll too, though his stomach was turning for a wholly different reason. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Remus is quite alright, Junior,” you hissed back, hand tightening on Remus’ at the same time as he loosened it. “And don’t call him a dog.”

Remus slowly lifted his head from his arms and took back his hands to wipe harshly at his face, still not looking towards Junior who barked a low laugh.

“Follows you around like one. Wouldn’t surprise me if you had some invisible leash going on–” Barty quipped, cutting himself off before you could respond and turning to Evan Rosier sitting beside him. “Oooooh, an invisible leash is a marvellous idea, Rosie.”

It was clear you had lost his attention, but Remus’ face still burned painfully as he shifted in his seat. With a harrumphing sound, you turned to look at him. He didn’t meet your eye, couldn’t.

“Ignore him.” Remus always marvelled at how you manage to convey your frustration and care at the same time.

He just hummed in the affirmative, still wiping a bit harshly at his face. If he treated it harshly enough, could he blame his violent flush on it?

“Cariad,” you mumbled, gently taking his hands away from his face, clearly spotting his efforts.

He saw your furrowed eyebrows looking at him, and that was the end of what he could take for the lesson. As you opened your mouth, surely to inquire about how he is, like the beautifully kind person he knows you to be, he pushed his chair backwards.

“I think I should probably listen to you and go lay down, dove,” he murmured, avoiding your gaze. Before you could shoot in and say you would come with him, he continued. “Can you please take notes for me in Transfiguration after this?” 

An indirect rejection, a plea for isolation. He didn’t look at your face as he gathered his things, waiting for you to respond instead.

“Sure, if that’s what you want,” you said carefully.

What I want is you.

“Yes, please.” Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward and pressed a parting goodbye kiss to your cheek, tradition. “Thank you, love.”

Then he was sneaking his way out around the desks, barely catching a murmured voice he knew to be Sirius’, likely leaning forward to ask you about him. His lips singed.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Remus hid away in his room for two hours, actually being truthful and trying to get a nap in. The dorm room felt serendipitous, being swept up in rare silence and a grace of darkness as he trickled in and out of consciousness. If he dreamed more of you, he would not admit it.

Any semblance of reprieve he might have chased down was ripped away from him by the creaking of the door and the wall of sound that followed his three favourite boys who always got on his last three nerves.

“Oi, Moons!” Sirius exclaimed, far too cheerily. “You know the rules!”

Remus propped his head up on his elbow from where he was sprawled on his stomach, looking blearily at the three figures as they situated themselves within the dorm. “The rule to not wake a sleeping sod? Yes, I’m the only one who knows that rule it seems.”

Sirius took off his sweater as he discarded his uniform and used it to swat at Remus. “Nope! No wallowing on your own. Sharing is caring.”

“‘M not wallowing,” Remus grumbled as he let his head fall back into his pillow.

Letting his guard down was undoubtedly a mistake because the second Sirius was out of sight, he had the audacity to jump into Remus’ bed, nearly flinging him off from the impact. Both Sirius and James were laughing boisterously as Sirius collapsed on top of Remus and ruffled his hair when he tried to shove him off. “Not anymore, no, we won’t let you.” 

Remus hated that he loved them.

“Precisely,” James added as he pointed at Remus from where he was changing into his non-uniform clothes as well. “So either speak your mind or perk up, buttercup.”

Remus groaned but let Sirius drag him up into a sitting position. “Can a poor lycanthrope not have one off day without you lot getting your knickers in a twist?” Despite his best efforts, there was no ire in his voice.

“Nope!” James said, popping the p. “Not on our watch.”

“Life is simply miserable without our Moony,” Sirius said, clutching his chest as if he was ailing. “And do you have any idea how weird it is to see your sweetheart without you by her side? It’s like watching a cut up picture.”

All humour that had been creeping into Remus’ expression was washed away in and instant as he swallowed harshly, suddenly averting his gaze from Sirius. Instead, James caught it, who looked at him with big eyes behind his glasses, cocking his head to the side. He looked far too much like the stag he is, before his mouth opened in a small gasp. “Oh,” he whispered softly.

Remus’ heart was beating painfully hard at the look of realisation that crossed his face, turning back to Sirius who had a similar knowing, almost pitying look in his eyes. No, no, no, no.

“I’ll be fine, you, erm, won’t have to live without me much longer,” Remus tried to volley back, just a few seconds too late, tongue feeling heavy at being found out.

If his best mates could see through him that quickly, then you probably already had. He had half a mind to take you up to the Astronomy Tower like old times, so he could apologise and then jump off as an act of redemption.

Sirius gave his shoulder a rough squeeze, shaking him a little as if he knew what was going through his mind. “Fantastic. Then you’ll join us for our free periods, yeah? And the party later tonight?”

Still somewhat sputtering, Remus’ eyes widened to an extent he was sure was comedic. “The pa– the party?”

James smiled at him. “Yeah, Moons. Gryffindor half-term party? That we have talked about all week?”

“Merlin, maybe Pomfrey needs to go easy on the potions she gives you,” Sirius teased, getting up to finish changing.

“Or she could give me more,” Remus whispered hopefully, earning him a round of chuckles. 

“You’ll be fine, Rem,” James said, with an undertone Remus did not care for. “If you’re still feeling… off throughout the day and night, you can always snuggle up with a book and ignore us hooligans.” Then, almost as if he was testing the waters. “I’m sure Y/N would love to join you.”

Remus didn’t deign any of that with a response, but he suddenly thought he should get out of his bed so his face didn’t seem so red in contrast with the white sheets.

“I have some essays to knock out, so yeah, I’ll join you to study,” Remus relented. He opened his own trunk to get changed, but decided to half-ass it and just take off his tie and replace his uniform wool with one of his own patterned jumpers.

“And for the party later!” Sirius corrected, ensuring Remus didn’t think he could back out.

“Sure, sure.” He ruffled his own hair so it was Remus-messy and not Sirius-messed-up-my-hair-messy. “Let’s just go.”

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Considering the extent to which he could fuck this up for himself, Remus reckoned he had been doing fairly good keeping his shit together throughout the day.

If he mentally cursed more than normal, contemplated the murder of each one of his friends including himself and generally couldn’t breathe, well, that was merely part of it.

The whole lot had shacked up in the library for the triple free periods you had back to back on Fridays. While you doted concernedly over him for the first thirty minutes, you eased up once you seemed to decide that this wasn’t Remus shoving down some lycanthropy-struggles and avoiding support and help. 

As always, the two of you sat in the love seat, your legs sprawled over his lap as you read through your textbooks in the oddest positions. This was usually something he might chide you for – “your neck will hurt if you hang over the edge like that, love” – but today he buried his face into his textbooks with all his might to not seem like he was aware of your body. He was, of course, you burned over his skin and lit up his heart, and Circe’s tits was he the stupidest sod in the whole castle.

Nonetheless, he made it through all three hours, engaging in comforting banter and low laughs with his best mates. When you teamed up with him to mess with Sirius, he at least knew that you weren’t upset with him in any way, even though he was being a lunatic today, even though he most definitely would have deserved it.

What Remus knew would be his breaking point was the Gryffindor party.

It was a laid back event, a party thrown for all of Gryffindor, though it was mostly the upper years who were encouraged to attend. They arranged it halfway through every term to celebrate making it through and engaging with each other. Meaning, most people didn’t get shitfaced but there was some good bubbling energy maintained throughout the whole night.

You and Remus had a tradition for how you dealt with parties – just as you had a tradition for pretty much everything, he had come to notice. Gods, he lov– Stop it.

Neither one of you were necessarily fond of large crowds, but you both were incredibly loyal and fond of your friends and wanted to spend time with them. Thus, you attended the parties, but you always did so together. The more uncomfortable you got, the closer you would get to each other, and if one ever needed a break, they would tap the other three times and they would make up an excuse to usher them out of there.

It had never felt so unnerving to be so known.

Throughout the whole party he had been jittery, head rushing with thoughts. He desperately tried not to take in your outfit and then he desperately tried not to read into it when you seemed disappointed he didn’t compliment you for it like he usually did. Why did he have to be such a sweet best friend normally? Remus can’t keep up with himself.

It did not help him in the slightest that others around the party seemed to focus on your outfit much more openly than he could dare. It made him gravitate even closer to you, tighten his hand on his hip, momentarily rest his chin on the top of your head – and then his actions made him want to kick himself. Possessiveness was the last thing he could be engaging with when he was already betraying you in such a manner. 

Leave it to Remus to fuck up something beautiful.

To say you didn’t seem to notice that he was troubled would be taking it too far, but at least you didn’t seem to notice why. You kept him close to your side and would at random points stroke his back soothingly. He wondered if you just thought he was uncomfortable with the party.

You were chatting with Pandora by the drinks table when Barty and Evan strolled up to you both with cheshire cat grins.

“There he is, back on his leash,” Junior said through a menacing laugh, ignoring Evan’s slight elbow to his side. “Feeling better, darling?”

“What brings you to the lions' den, Junior?” Remus asked carefully to divert the topic.

“Well. Y/N’s going so Pandora’s going so Evan’s going, and thus–” he did a small flourishing spin “– I’m going.”

“You’re impossible,” Evan murmured, while Pandora just smiled happily. 

“Is he feeling better, then?” Barty asked once more, this time looking at you.

“No, actually,” you said with a small smile Remus knew not to be genuine. “He is absolutely devastated you’re not in the Slytherin common room right now. He had big plans for you there, you know.”

Remus tried to choke down his laugh as Barty looked torn between glee and irritation. Somehow he made both work. “Sorry to soil your plans then, Lupin. Better luck next time.”

Then he stalked off in almost a hurry and Remus couldn’t help but hope he was going to Slytherin to check if you were telling the truth. 

He looked down at where you were standing beside him and squeezed your shoulder lightly. “You really are a minx,” he whispered conspiratorially.

That turned out to be his undoing. You turned your head to the side to look up at him with mirth playing around in your enamouring eyes, a soft tilt to the corner of your mouth. And your face was oh so painfully close to his.

Remus became acutely aware that he could easily lean in and catch your smile with his. That the air he was breathing had been close to you in some of the only ways he had not yet. That he must look like your boyfriend when you’re standing essentially pressed up against each other like this.

That he most certainly has been looking at your lips for far too long.

When he flicks his gaze back up, he sees a slight furrow between your brows again as you seem to take in his reaction, and suddenly he goes from having butterflies in his stomach to needing to throw them all up. He took a sudden staggering step backwards, almost crashing into James who was engaging in some animated discussion with Marlene.

“I, uh,” Remus said and dear Godrick he was stammering. “I’ll get us some drinks and we can sit down, yeah?” He didn’t wait for you to respond, instead spinning his back to you and hoping you pick up conversation with Pandora again.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t be a bloody arse.

He hoped he had steadied himself enough by the time he plopped down in his favourite grandfather chair near the fire. He placed both of your drinks on the table in front of him, vowing to touch his as minimally as possible to make sure he keeps whatever wits he has left with him.

A dumb smile takes over his face as his breathing quickens when he sees you make your way over to the seating area, after having listened to his desperate silent plea and finished your conversation with Pandora. Pushing his luck, he shoots another silent prayer that it will be smooth sailing from here, which is apparently promptly ignored as you happily sit down in his lap.

Fuck.

This, he reminds himself, is also normal for the two of you. Especially at parties, especially if you have reason to believe he is unsteady in any sense of the word, which he most certainly has given you plenty of reason to believe. 

You give him some form of greeting he can’t quite catch and isn’t sure if he reciprocated as you settle down, putting majority of your weight on his right thigh as you lean your body sideways against his. One of your arms snuck around his shoulders, fingers winding up playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, while the other is stabilising yourself on his knee. Majority of your close friends had followed your lead by sitting down in the small gathering, chattering amongst themselves. He was half-aware that you were rambling on about something to him, something he probably really wanted to listen to, but it felt like his head was underwater.

Unsure of what else to do, he lowered his face into your shoulder and took deep breaths there.

You seemed wholly unbothered, fingers continuing in his hair as your soothing voice carried him through what he feared might become a panic attack. He was almost there, when the cocoon you two had in your chair was burst by the presence of your other friends.

“You alright there, Moons? You’re not going to go all vampire on poor Y/N?” Sirius’ tone was lighthearted and teasing, but Remus felt as if he might actually die.

“Oh, he’s quite alright,” you answered for him with a smile before he could embarrass himself, immediately switching over to engage in conversation with the friends sitting closest to you. Your hand on his knee squeezed reassuringly.

Fuck, how could he not love you?

He loved you.

Remus almost had to fight crying as he hid in the crook of his neck, overwhelmed by his own emotions and the surely watchful gazes of those around him – the latter of which was why he couldn’t. 

With a deep breath he let his desire win for just one second and pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder before emerging from his hiding place. He shifted you carefully to be more comfortable, so that your back was against him and he could rest his head on the shoulder he just kissed.

He did fairly good, partaking in conversation, engaging with the others, albeit more quietly and less than usual. He laughed and he smiled and you were so soft against him, as if you had melted. Remus was in heaven while being tortured.

Marlene wolf whistled quietly from where she was sat on the floor, eyeing Remus with mirth. Though he still did not know why, he was already turning red, the tips of his ears burning.

“Hi, Remmy.” He heard the soft voice say beside him and he turned his head to see Emmeline giving him a somewhat sly smile. “The dance floor’s picking up. Want to go for another round?”

Remus’ stomach churned. Emmeline was such a sweet girl and he never could say no to her, the only thing that felt worse than the embarrassment from his friends’ teasing was the thought of embarrassing her – though Remus was sure even thinking like that made him into an even bigger arse.

Sirius and James had told him multiple times that he could say no. As had you, reminding him how important it was to have boundaries, even while you were sitting practically on top of him at the time. He just could never bring himself to.

Yet his mouth seemed to move on its own accord before he could think, arms tightening around you. “No, not tonight Emmeline, sorry. Knock yourself out, though.” He tried to give her a warm smile, but his movements seemed to be outside of his control at the moment, breath sucked from his lungs.

He realised with a sting that he should have given her more credit all along when she beams back at him. “No worries, enjoy your night!” she cheered before twirling towards the dance floor herself.

Remus let out a shaky breath and turned to his friends who were almost staring him down. James’ mouth was even open in shock, which he thought was a bit dramatic.

“Hold on, what just happened?” Sirius guffawed. “Has our little Moony learned to say no?”

Remus flushed even further. “Shut up, Pads.”

“Don’t think I will,” his mate replied with a wolfish grin turning to look to the others for support. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“What’s inspired this change in you?” Mary asked thoughtfully, propping her head into her hands as if she was settling in for a lengthy response.

All eyes were back on Remus and he felt like the mask he had been clinging to all day was crumbling. The nerves that shot through him like lightning now was not his usual humiliation from being in a charged spotlight – no, this was fear. Genuine fear that if he didn’t get his head screwed back on within two seconds, he might say something too revealing, or his face would do it without him having to open his mouth. That his fiery ears would somehow spell out I am in love with my very best friend and I realised it too late and am making it everybody else’s problem. He had no idea what to do.

In his time of despair, with Mary’s big eyes staring up at him, Marlene and Lily already snickering between them and Sirius raising an expecting brow, his instincts knew of only one way out.

His finger on your hip lifted. Tap, tap, tap.

Almost as if a switch had gone off, you made a soft gasp and turned to look at him in his lap. “Gods, Rem, speaking of Emmeline, I totally forgot our gift for Sirius in my dorm room in Ravenclaw!” you exclaimed, putting your all into the act. Your excuse seemed to be a good one as Sirius’ head immediately picked up, not unlike that of a dog’s if you said the word ‘treat’ around them. “We have to go get it before the party’s over.”

You elegantly hopped up and out of his lap, dragging him behind him with a grip on his elbow. Remus stumbled and scrambled behind you, tossing a sorry don’t know what that’s about look to the others over his shoulder. He barely caught sight of what he could only classify as a knowing exchange of smiles between James and Lily.

Before he could truly process your rescue mission, he was standing outside in the cool hallway breathing heavily, portrait closed behind him. 

Before him, you stood with your hands on your hips, scanning his face thoroughly, making him almost cower beneath your gaze. You seemed to make up your mind about something as you took his hand once more and walked with him down the hall in silence, rounding the corners until you reached one of the deep windowsills, the kind the two of you would always sit in and read. 

You jumped to lift yourself into it and once you were sat with one hand on each side of your body, you levelled him with a look.

“Okay, spill,” you said, directly but not unkindly. “What is going on with you?”

Remus did not think this through. He needed help and so he called upon you for it like he always does, not thinking to consider that that might very well make this worse for him.

“It’s…” he began, picking at straws in his mind for an excuse. “It’s nothing, dove. Really.” 

“When’s my birthday?” you asked then, to his surprise. He furrowed his brows at you and told you the date. You smiled a bit smugly. “Exactly. So you know I wasn’t born yesterday.”

He genuinely laughed at that, even if it was at his expense. He let his body do as it wished and took a small step closer to you. Not enough for your bodies to touch, but enough to feel like he was in your space. Safe, even in his panic.

“Remus,” you said softly, painfully gently. You rarely used his first name, and now when you did, it was laced with an undertone he couldn’t stomach. It was beginning to sound a bit like hurt. “What is going on with you? Why… why are you acting this way towards me?”

Because you are the one thing I have never had to question and now I’m questioning everything. Because I’m a bloody prick who has one dream and ruins his life over it. Because my mind is running a mile a minute and your lips feel like magnets and I swear I am losing control in a way I only do during full moons.

“I don’t know what to do,” he ended up whimpering quietly, cowardly.

You looked around the hallway as if the answer would be written on any of the walls and moved your arms slightly to gesture around you. “About what? I can’t help you unless I know what it is, cariad.”

He scrunched his face for a moment, looking away from you. “Can we not do this? It’s nothing you can fix, dove.”

You seemed to grow even more confused at that, almost frustrated. “Why not?” He realised then that the two of you had always helped each other through everything. Being locked out must hurt. He wanted to kick himself, but he didn't know what else to do. “What’s wrong, Remus, please I just–”

Remus is besieged by the power of someone much more reckless, driven by desire to alleviate you of your confusion and him of his pain.

He cut you off with a kiss.

He took a large stride forward to slot himself in between your thighs, eliminating the space between you within a second, bringing both hands up to cup the sides of your face and bring it towards him. His eyes were shut tightly, furrow in his brows as his lips all but smashed against yours in a kiss that felt sacrificially sacred. Your lips are just as soft as in his dream, as is the small gasp that escapes you as you tense in his grasp.

Remus has never felt better and he has never felt worse.

The kiss lasts for about 10 seconds before he pulls away in even more of a flurry. His hands lost their grip on you first, hovering over your cheeks briefly, as if considering going back in before thinking better of it. He still had you captured in the kiss, hanging on to it for as long as he could deign himself, knowing it was his last opportunity to do so, all the while kicking himself over it.

Backing away, he put double the distance between you. He felt drunk, stumbling slightly as he all but scrambled away, a stinging sensation behind his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, I don't know why I did that. I didn’t mean to,” he breathed out, reeling at his own impulsivity. “That,” he said through a shaking voice as he looked anywhere but your face, “is my problem, and Y/N, I am so, so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

For the shortest second, he lets his eyes flicker quickly over your face before rushing back to stare at a statue on the wall beside you. Your face was blank, eyes wide. Your fingers were barely touching the lips he had just enclosed in his own.

You must be disgusted. You must be horrified. You must feel violated and Remus wanted nothing more than to disappear from the face of the earth and rid you of this undying problem.

He was every bit the beast you had tried to convince him he wasn’t.

“Why…” you began, voice but a whisper, before you trailed off.

Remus had to shut his eyes at that, tilting his head slightly to the side. If he breathed through his nose, he might not cry. He was sitting before the highest court he knew, and you were about to ask him to explain himself.

“Why are you sorry?”

The words floored him a little, enough to make his eyes snap open and land back on your face. You looked deeply concerned, brows tilted upwards as you seemed to take his face in. “Remus,” you whispered now that you finally had his eyes on you. “Why are you sorry?”

He shook his head in confusion, feeling every bit like the boy he was. “I shouldn’t have done that.” It was all he could get out through his hoarse voice. He also had no idea how to answer that question in a satisfactory way.

You took in a short sharp breath and then lowered yourself onto the ground to stand before him. With your hands held out in front of you, almost as if you were ready to lunge out and catch him if he was to run – an idea that was becoming increasingly enticing to him – you took a small step towards him. “Why?” There was a growing spark in your eye, dimmed only by your worried frown.

“Y/N.” He didn’t know what else to say, eyes trained on you.

“Cariad,” you replied in the same tone, and a tear slipped down his left cheek. You took another measured step towards him, enough to reach out for him if you wanted to – but of course, you wouldn’t want to, not anymore. “It’s alright.”

He felt dizzy at the lack of the scolding or disgust he had braced himself for, realising how stupid he was for even fearing that from you. No, you would reject him sweetly and kindly, and his heart would never be mended from it. That felt worse, somehow.

“It’s not,” he whispered. “Please don’t say it is.”

You smiled ruefully and took another small step towards him. He could feel the warmth eminating from you. Tentatively, you reached up a hand to wipe at the tear still sitting on his left cheek. He held his breath and fought the urge to lean into your touch, but when you pressed your palm more firmly against his cheek, he couldn’t anymore. A soft sigh escaped him and he let his eyes fall shut as your touch supported him. “It is, my sweet boy,” you whispered with an urgency that almost convinced him. “Remus, can you answer me honestly?”

His body tensed once more as his eyes fluttered open to find yours, reverent. Most parts of him were still screaming at him to run away, to shut up, to do anything but this. His heart seemed to be in charge for the moment, though, and he nodded slowly. Trusting you with his world even as he felt like a traitor in yours.

“All this, today… has it been because you have realised you’re… in love with me?” You seemed to be piecing it together as you said the words out loud, eyes carefully searching his face for his reaction.

Another tear slipped down his cheek, and you quickly caught it with your other thumb, both hands now cradling his face. “I’m so sorry,” he said once more.

“You’re not allowed to be,” you whispered, giving him a half-smile, almost as if you were indulging him in a secret of yours. “Please answer the question?”

It was now or never. “Yes.”

To his utter surprise and deep-seated confusion, the smile on your face grew genuine, settling into the one he always searched for. He almost opened his mouth to question it before he was cut off.

No words can describe the sensations that bloomed in his chest, the butterflies that flitted in his stomach, when you used your hands on his face as leverage to pull him towards you for another kiss.

You kissed him. You kissed him. You were kissing.

His mind was threatening to take off like a rocket and captiulate, but his hands had never been more steady as they circled around your waist, splaying out over the small of your back as he dragged you closer. You sighed against him, smile still evident over your lips, and Remus dared – like the bastard he was – to mirror it. 

You were warm against him, but wholly different than you had been in his dream. This felt distinctly real. And just as right.

When you pulled away, your hands had migrated to the back of his neck and you kept your forehead leaned against his. “Good,” you murmured with your eyes still closed. “Because the feeling is mutual.”

He almost reared his head away from you, but managed to only pull back a few centimetres to stare at you in awe. Remus opened his mouth, but no words came out; he could find none intelligent enough to verbalise how utterly gobsmacked he felt.

You seemed to understand him just as well, going by your breathy laugh. There was still that spark in your eye, now shining brightly in the absence of your worry. Had the worry been for him?

“I know I don’t say this enough, but you really are quite an idiot, aren’t you?” you laughed and he slowly felt his heart start beating again.

“Spent too much time with Sirius and James, clearly,” he muttered, half expecting the joke to land flat and you to remember how disgusting he was. Instead, your laugh intensified and you leaned your body further against his. It emboldened him to ask, “What do you mean the feeling is mutual, dove?”

You let your arms glide further up, crossing behind his neck and over his shoulder, bringing him impossibly closer. “Remus John Lupin,” you whispered sincerely. “I am madly in love with you. Romantically. Genuinely. Any thoughts you have that explain that away are false and you mustn't listen to them. I thought you knew by now that I’m always right.”

Even as the grin involuntarily established itself on his face, his eyes were shining with unshed tears. He looked at your face, truly studied it, and he could feel his mind ever so slowly calm down. “You are.”

“What am I?” You were testing him, and he allowed it wholeheartedly.

“Right,” he confirmed. Albeit a bit more hesitantly, he knew better than not to add, “and… in love with me?”

“Two points to Gryffindor.” You reached up to give his lips a soft peck. It felt so natural, like it was already habit for you. He desperately wanted it to be.

“I’m sorry, I’m still reeling from this, dovey,” he confessed, trying to process everything.

There had never been any judgement to be found in your face. “Which parts are you struggling with the most?” 

Your eyes were full of understanding, your face scrunched up in concentration. Remus indulged himself in an old habit by reaching up with one hand to thumb the furrows away. It made you smile just like he wanted it to, and gave him a minute to think. “I don’t understand how I didn’t get it before now. I don’t understand how or why you put up with me. I don’t understand how to keep all these feelings inside such a small heart.”

Your hands were stroking his back carefully as you considered his words. “Well, firstly I would argue your heart isn’t small at all, though I get what you mean. You’re not meant to keep all the feelings inside, you know? That’s when you get all sputtery and jittery and start avoiding your best friends.” You gave him a pointed look and he almost shied under your glance. “Sharing them before you bubble over is always a good thing. We’ll work on it together. As for why I put up with you; I don’t. There’s nothing to put up with, I just enjoy you like we always have.”

Your eyes had trailed off into the distance as you thought, but you brought them back to him with a small smile as you added the final part. “I don’t know what did make you realise, so I can’t help you much there. All I can say is, sometimes we don’t see what is right in front of us.”

Remus nodded along to your words, feeling peace spreading within in that manner only you could inspire in him. He truly was an idiot, wasn’t he? “How long have you known?” he asked then, curiously.

“About you or me?”

“Both?” His smile was becoming closer to his standard sheepish one, and you seemed to preen at the sight.

You bobbed your head side to side as you considered. “It’s hard to pinpoint an exact date – it wasn’t an overnight discovery you know?” Remus did in fact not know nor relate. “But I realised we were in love, not either one’s feelings. It just sat calmly within me.”

“You mean you didn’t freak out to the extent where all students and professors alike were worried about you?”

He grinned at the small giggle that drew from you as you decidedly said, “No. Definitely not.” You studied him for a minute more. “I think I realised about five months ago, but I didn’t feel any real need to rush anything. It felt less like being given a to-do list and more like being revealed the plot twist in a movie before it happens, if you understand? The two best friends get together in the end, don’t tell anyone.”

He ducked his head at that. While he could not relate, your explanation and experience was so wholeheartedly you that it endeared him to no end. “Does that mean we should just ignore it for five more months or…?” His grin turned cheeky as you lightly swatted his shoulder.

“Nah,” you chuckled. “I reckon we’ve waited long enough, yeah?”

He sighed with a smile. “Yeah.”

You both leaned forward at the same time, as if to seal the deal with a kiss. Remus could feel it like electricity in the tips of his fingers, and he understood what you meant about knowing. Now that he was no longer in a constant state of panic, he felt incredibly calm about the whole ordeal.

Or maybe that’s just how he feels around you.

“Should I ask you formally to be my girlfriend, or are we just skipping straight to marriage?” he whispered against your lips.

Remus felt almost wolfish when you barked a loud laugh, throwing your head back and tightening your hold on him instinctively. “I think girlfriend’s enough for now, yeah cariad?”

“If you insist.” He kissed you through his grin, realising that this was all he wanted to do now.

Like he had so many times before, he tightened his arms around your waist and twirled you around in a few circles, legs flying out behind you. Except this time, your giggles were not hidden in his neck but pressed against his lips, and he tried to capture as many kisses as possible while he spun you.

When you landed with a breathless giggle, he kept one arm firmly around your waist as the two of you slowly made your way back to the Gryffindor common room. He wondered if maybe he could grab some blankets and bring you up to the Astronomy Tower so you could be alone without his friends’ meddling. Yet, he wanted to see them as well, ready to volley back any quips about “took you long enough” and “I fucking called it”. Plus, you argued that you should prove that he was in fact alive and sane.

When he walked the halls back to the Gryffindor common room with your body against his, everything felt right. When you entered together, and everyone read what had happened written clearly across your faces, resorting to their usual hoots and hollers, arguably louder than ever before, it never stopped feeling right. 

Remus being Remus, flushed deeply and averted his gaze, as he would continue doing under any uncalled for attention – but your arms squeezing him around the middle brought him right back down and your kiss to his shoulder soothed the burn of their gazes.

“What’s my gift then?” Sirius later asked salaciously as he eyed you two up and down where you cuddled together right back in the same chair, as if nothing changed. Maybe nothing really did.

You grinned widely and cleared your throat. “I honourably present to you,” you said and opened your arms towards Remus with a flourish. “A Moony who is no longer mooning.”

The little group erupted in even more cheers, celebrating the massive feat of taming their brooding boy. Remus couldn’t help but laugh along, even at his own expense. His cheeks were red but it was equally due to the exertion of laughing as it was a tinge of embarrassment. When he hid his face into the crook of your neck again, he didn’t feel nearly as guilty when he pressed a few kisses to the bare skin he found there – even less so when you melted against him with a sigh.

It felt as if a permanent smile had been sown onto his face where he sat, more content than he believed he had been while inside this castle.

Despite Remus Lupin’s disdain for public displays of affection, he had held you publicly many times before this. They all paled in comparison to the feeling of you in his arms now. 

It had always been significant to him in its casualty, just as you have always been significant to him long before he had the mind to put the feeling into words. He will always treasure every moment of your existence in his orbit. Yet the way you melted into his skin now, growing roots in each one of his aching bones – no, nothing could compare to it.

You think there's patting, a hug, "I'm brilliant! You smell really nice, Remus, like a garden." 

"Lovely."

"In a good way! Come and meet my Y/N, you remember I told you about her nice gel pens?" 

James leads the smooth-voiced Remus into the living room. You hurriedly put down your drink and stand, wiping your wet hands in your shirt. You cringe at the darkening fabric but hide your grimace as they stop in front of you. 

"Remus, Y/N. Y/N, Remus," James introduces you both. 

Remus has a scar across his nose that seems cruelly cut. There's another beside it that starts in his upper lip, both of which end in his eyebrow. You know how self-conscious it feels to be looked at, so you manage to smile and offer your hand without too much of it. He's handsome with his scars, a nice nose with a ridge and brown eyes the colour of caramelised sugar.

"Hello," Remus says, shaking your hand. His is big enough to make yours feel small. 

"I invited her early because she's more fun than the rest of our lot," James says, throwing himself down on the sofa and kicking his legs out on the coffee table. 

Remus taps your elbow very gently as if to usher you to sit and sits down beside you, enough space to be casual but too little to stop the rampant nerves that blossom in your stomach. 

Remus asks about your life. What you're studying, where you're from, if James is being nice to you. While James is touchy in the rough older brother way, scrunching your shoulder and shaking you when you're not expecting it. Remus is touchy in a different way, you find, almost as if he doesn't know he's doing it. His shoe bumps your shoe, his hand falls down between his outer thigh and your own, his knuckles touching your jeans very lightly. He spins in his seat to talk to you. 

You don't notice other people arriving, nor the scratchy-voiced friends return. All you can do is look up at Remus with wide eyes. Your nerves meld to something warmer. 

"And what do you do?" you ask him. 

He smiles like you've wandered into a secret. "I'm trying to write a book." 

"He's being a bit much," Sirius says to James, the two now loitering in the doorway with matching beers. You and Remus chatter on, unaware of their running commentary.

"It's a very strong reaction. I knew she'd like him, but I didn't think she'd like him like that." James takes a sip of his drink. Remus asks you a quiet question. You duck your head, playing with your sleeves, and Remus, the bastard, ducks his head to follow your gaze, smiling at you all the while. 

James almost chokes, pointing his bottle toward you both as though Sirius isn't already looking. "He's eating it up. I forgot how flirty he is."

"She'll be nice to him, won't she?" Sirius asks, like it's a done deal. To be fair, Remus seems enthralled with you. 

"Definitely. She's very nice. Oh, look, that's sick, she's gonna pass out." James winces as Remus takes your arm into his hand. 

Remus wouldn't do anything cruel, but James wasn't joking when he told Remus that you were exceedingly, achingly shy. He's about to step in and rescue you, but you turn into Remus' touch and pull your leg up on the sofa to make yourself comfortable. Your voice is animated, if quieter than the average person's.

"Woah," James says, beaming.  

Remus flirts almost as a defence, like he wants to get the rejection over and done with so he can move on. You've yet to reject; you're looking up at him in moderate awe, your lips quirked into an easy smile. 

"How long has she been like this?"

Sirius was eyeing Regulus funnily, seemingly drawn between wanting to laugh at him and wondering if maybe he should comfort him. Remus felt none of the latter sentiments and all of the former.

"Since our last class on Friday," Regulus replied miserably from where his face was buried in his hands, resting atop his knees. "She shifted immediately after."

"So... for over 24 hours," Sirius surmised.

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, based on how Regulus lifted his head from where he was practically bent in half, just to glare at his older brother. "Thanks for doing the maths, Sirius. Not the problem I needed solving, though." Throughout his sentence, his eyes increasingly narrowed at his brother as if his irritation grew with every word.

"No, your problem," Remus volleyed. "Is whatever the hell you've done."

Regulus groaned and buried his face once more.

Across the common room from the trio, a white and grey cat was pettily walking back and forth along whatever furniture it could reach. Its tail was standing up straight, whipping about in annoyance.

Remus poked Regulus in the ribs to get a response. "What'd you do, Baby Black?"

"I may or may not have corrected her in Potions in front of Slughorn, even though she may have been working on gaining his respect all term," Regulus murmured.

The chuckle that escaped Remus was finally one of understanding. "Ah," he said through a smile. "I believe that is what we in the business call a rookie mistake."

Regulus sat up with a jerk, hands moving emotively as he made his case to his brother and brother-in-law, where they were sat on top of each other in a plush chair. "But I've apologised! Profusely, and several times! I don't know what else to do?" The last sentence was voiced as a question, though it was not formulated as one. Perhaps the closest the younger Black brother could get to asking for help.

"Maybe you should give Slughorn a speech about how great she is."

Regulus quirked up at that, eyes zeroing in on Sirius. "You really think that would work?" Remus could have burst out laughing at the lack of sarcasm in the younger boy's voice.

"No," Remus said softly, while chidingly patting Sirius' knee. "Don't listen to him, you lot have the same amount of people skills. Do you know your girlfriend, Regulus?"

"Yes?" Regulus' voice was uncertain, looking between the boys with furrowed brows.

"What usually motivates her to hold a grudge?" Remus prompted then, ever patient.

He was quiet for a minute as he thought. "When she feels wronged. Like when Evan apologised for her 'interpretaion' of what he said instead of for him hurting her feelings, and she disliked him for three years."

Remus nodded solemnly. "And is there a reason she might still feel wronged by you now?"

Regulus' gaze finally fixated on the cat across the room, nodding too as the puzzle pieces slowly assembled in his mind. "I apologised for correcting her... but not embarrassing her. She probably feels like I was lording over her or something."

"Meaning..?" Gods, Remus was really laying it on thick here. The curse of the Black family.

"I should go tell her as much." Regulus nodded and moved to hurry over towards you, swinging around at the last minute to give the two boys an almost-smile. "Uh, thanks Sirius. Remus."

Then he was off.

Sirius turned his face into Remus' cheek. "No idea what he's thanking me for; you did all the talking."

Remus sighed, melting further into his boyfriend. "That's what I've been saying."

Regulus tenderly approached you, sitting down somewhat gingerly in a chair beside the table you were currently parading around. "Hi, amour," he said softly. "Can we talk?"

You just wagged your tail in response, in a fashion Regulus has come to learn means displeasure.

"Please love, I want to give you a proper apology. It would be best to do so face-to-face, no?" He reached his hand out towards you, an open invitation. You stopped for a moment to regard him, but then lightly slapped at his hand to get it out of your face. Regulus decided to take it as a victory that your claws were retracted at the very least – you weren't out for blood.

“Okay,” he said through a breath. “I guess I’ll just… talk to a kitten and look crazy.” Upon your quiet hiss, he amended, “Talk to a cat, sorry. Gods, I’m sputtering today, aren’t I?” That final part you seemed to agree upon at least.

“Amour, I am truly deeply sorry for embarrassing you like that. It was such a little thing, and Slughorn has been so unfair towards you this year. I didn't mean to set you back in your progression with him, though frankly, he is in the wrong there, not you. As am I. For someone who feels like he can go around correcting people, that was quite air-headed of me, yeah? The one person keeping me grounded is you, amour, please would you come back to me? You can give me a proper scolding if you’d like, I can take it.”

Regulus was pouring his heart out, and if he dared to hope, he thought your feline face might have softened. You walked closer to him, seemingly studying his face.

Then, you jumped off the table and ran away.

He sighed heavily, letting his forehead fall down to the table with a light thump. If you were going to keep giving him the furred shoulder, he might just stay here. It was hard work being a tosser who’s missing his girlfriend.

Before he could wallow further in his sorrows, he felt a soft hand be placed on his shoulder. A touch he would recognise anywhere.

His head flew up from the table to look up at you – standing above him, smiling softly and somewhat sheepishly. The hand on his shoulder grew bolder, squeezing, while the other came up to cup the side of his face. Regulus ignored any instinct to cower away and instead happily melted into your touch.

“Hi, baby,” you whispered, and he knew he was mostly forgiven.

Emboldened by this new development, he turned in his seat so that his body faced you, slotting you in between his thighs and letting his hands come to rest heavily at the top of your hip. “Hi amour,” he breathed out, reverent. “Thank you.”

“For what?” you laughed, and he knew you knew what. He indulged you anyway.

“Coming back to me.” His voice was murmured, eyes hooded as he stared up at you. “I miss you when you remain as Whiskers, you know?”

“I do know,” you teased. “That’s kind of the whole point, yeah? Make you think.”

He shook his head and leaned his forehead tentatively against your stomach. “A cruel punishment, but an understandable one. I truly am sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Regulus sighed when your hand migrated to scratch through his hair. “I know, baby. I just wanted to hear you say it. And–” at this point he could hear the blush in your voice “– at some point it just became principle. Too late to back out.”

Laughing against the fabric of your shirt, he moved to rest his chin against you, gazing up at you at an angle that was slightly uncomfortable but definitely worth it. He let a small grin slip. “Stubborn minx,” he whispered.

“Oi!” you chided gently. “You’re in no position to levy such accusations, mister.”

“I can’t imagine loving you more,” he said through a sigh, not even thinking over the words. They were just right, and demanded to be brought up.

If the way your body melted against his was anything to go by, you didn’t mind.

A booming voice cut the moment short. “You two are painfully dramatic,” Sirius yelled from across the room, clearly having paid attention to the whole make-up conversation. “Please never fight again.”

“And that’s coming from Sirius Black,” Remus added solemnly, earning himself an indignant swat from his partner.

“He’s right,” Regulus whispered conspiratorially to you. “I cannot be the most dramatic Black brother, that would be blasphemy.”

“Then I suggest,” you said before giving him a light peck, “you be on your best behaviour from now on.