#mean!remus

“Hey,” you coo, shuffling onto the worn carpet that looks like it’s seen better days. Rainwater drips down your face and he blinks up at you because for a moment he finds himself worried that you’re a dream he’s about to wake up from.

“You’re soaked, lovie,” he slurs, voice scratchy with sleep, “Told you not to come up here in this weather.” But still, he tugs at the denim that’s stuck to your body like a coat of paint, the damp seeping through the new cracks in his skin that’s bandaged poorly. It hurts to touch you, but he doesn’t falter, not even for a second.

“It was barely a ten minute walk up the hill, Rem. Wanted to see you,” you mutter, caging your legs over him, afraid of being too much for him to hold onto in his moment of respite, “your mum feeling better? She upstairs?”

He pulls you onto his lap in an effort to warm you up. 

“At work. Been too long without you,” he mumbles, nuzzling into your touch when you brush his hair out of his eyes. 

“It was only three days, baby. Care for a cuddle?” 

You press soft kisses along his jaw until his lips chase after yours, lazy but with intention. He mutters against your lips incoherently, half sleep and half desire, “Want more than a cuddle, lovely girl.”

You gasp, pretending to be scandalized, then laughing at the grin that grows on Remus’s face, “But I’m all wet!”

“N’that the point?”

You smack his face lightly and he closes his eyes and massages your hips, trying to memorize every bump and curve. Remus opens them again when you start to stand up.

“Gonna change. I’m stealing your clothes.”

“Gonna take ‘em off anyway, silly thing,” he smiles, throwing an arm over his eyes at the flash of lightning that comes through the window. He hears you scoff, and then you’re on your feet, slinging your bag over your shoulder and walk off. Remus listens to you move through his house like it’s your own. His mind wanders in the short moments that you’re gone—the sound of a jar hitting the kitchen table, soft pads of your feet going up the stairs, and the creak of his bedroom door. The familiarity you have with his home is as close as it gets to the real thing, he thinks.

And without meaning to, he basks in it, just for a short while.

Trying not to doze off, his brain spirals into thoughts of you—how this…thing would be if it were anymore real than this. The idea is fleeting, but like chasing smoke it comes and goes, without his permission. All he can do is lay there and take the blow. Blinking at the shifting weight on the couch, you’ve come back down the steps in a ratty t-shirt of his and not much else. He smiles, looking surprised even though he was already expecting you.

Remus groans as you settle upon his lap and every bone in his body is aching right now---but he won't dare push you away. He'll gladly carry the weight, and he does, his fingers grasping as much skin of yours that he can—thumbing through the softest parts of your thighs and traveling up past the seat of your underwear, squeezing the flesh of your ass and tugging you where he aches most, now hard and filled with the need for you to kiss him better.

“So now you’re awake, huh?”

“S’like being brought back to life. C’mere,” the sound of his voice comes out muffled as he’s plopped his face between your clothed tits and takes a deep breath of you through worn cotton.

“You sure about this?”

A small foil wrapper is dangling between your fingertips like a prize, swinging in his view like a pendulum of pent up desire—he kisses the hand that holds it, and then nods, “Think it might cure me, actually.” There’s a mischievous grin on your boy’s face now—revitalized just by having you here and your heart skips an extra beat.

Looking at him closely, there’s a new scratch on his cheek about the size of your palm. When you graze it, he grimaces.

“What happened here?”

Remus is already pushing down his joggers and shrugs his shoulders like it doesn’t matter to him anymore. His cock is standing upright, a single bead of precum leaking onto the shaft and trailing down the vein that covers it. There’s much more interest in how heavy it feels resting against your stomach and the idea of fitting so snugly within you is on the forefront of his mind.

“Nicked myself with mum’s garden shears. Tried to fix the trellis out back while she was sick,” Remus mutters. His thick lashes hide the green of his eyes that look anywhere other than your face right now, bandaged hands scrunching up the shirt that adorns your body, to focus on now instead of his few days without you.

“And this?”

Your hips are moving slowly over his cock, moisture from your underwear slicking up the sides and he shudders, eyes fluttering back open when you grasp his chin. Your other hand is holding his poorly bandaged one, pressing soft lips against his injured skin.

“Uh…Had a…” he swallows dryly, “duel against a carrot for the stew a few nights ago. Got me good.”

“Who won?” 

The deadpan expression he gives you is your answer, and he reaches around to smack your ass.

“Clumsy boy. Must’ve been a nightmare growing up.”

Remus laughs stiffly, only remembering how to breathe after he feels your fingers roll the condom onto his cock. Your movements are languid like falling sand in an hourglass. Pulling your panties aside, your eyes lock onto his, shifting slowly like you have all the time in the world—everything else doesn’t matter when you’re here. Not the full moon, not the uncertain future; he has you in his hold and Remus doesn’t feel so empty for once. Sinking onto him, neither do you—the friction beckons him to fill you up in the way that only he can, in the way that only he has.

You are his. 

This is a fact that neither of you want to admit, for very different reasons—but as you begin to rock back and forth on his length, bucking your hips to feel all of him, it feels like an unspoken agreement. It doesn’t need words, though if you could find them, they come out in hushed sighs and tender touches. A caress of your breast, and you leaning down to let him cage yourself against his chest. You kiss it through his shirt, damp with sweat as he hugs you close. 

His heartbeat pulses under the touch of your lips. This isn’t lust anymore, this is…

“My love…my lovely girl…” he gasps, finding the strength to plant his feet onto the couch cushion that is swallowing you both the more you move.

“Rem…mmh! Yes!”

He’s thrusting up into your sopping hole, the squelch proving to be music to his ears. You’re gripping onto his biceps, leaving marks of your own on his skin, the ones left by the moon long forgotten.

“So good to me…Want to be with you all the time.”

Remus is needier than usual, more candid in the way the words slip off his tongue. You groan into his neck, hips stuttering over his and the discord of your efforts—the feeling of you both crashing into that crest has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“You like it when I take care of you?” 

The words come out in a whine, sending shockwaves to his brain and he can’t do anything but hang on to the base of your scalp to see your face. He can’t do without looking at you anymore—can’t forget you now that he has you. There’s a white hot sensation that runs through his core the more he buries himself into you, and it almost feels like he could walk to the ends of the earth despite it being a day after the full moon.

Remus would do anything—especially since you feel this good.

“That’s my girl, that’s it…” he huffs, rubbing your back as you convulse. Your pussy tightens dramatically as you come down from the high; watching your pleasure makes him spill into the condom with a final groan.

Life resumes again when you open your eyes and push up on his chest.

“Feel better?”

The both of you start laughing like this is normal—perhaps for the both of you it is. Propping yourself onto your knees, you almost topple back onto him when he doesn’t let go of your waist.

“Wait…” he whispers, closing his eyes. Birds chirp outside the window and you notice the rain finally stopped. “You okay? Too much?”

It’s inexplicable to him how happy he’s been since you came into his life this summer and much more confusing to him that you haven’t left. Here you are, sat on his softening cock, and still looking at him with such care that can’t be labelled. It’d be a dishonor to you if he gets it wrong, he thinks, and this can’t last forever, but for now…

“Stay a bit longer.”

His hands press down on your back so you can lay on his chest, and with it comes a kiss that fills you with something much deeper than how he is now. You want to hold onto this and everything that comes with Remus Lupin for as long as you can.

Later, Mrs. Lupin opens the door to see you both asleep on the couch and tucked under a blanket. The sound of an opening window makes you stir.

“Sorry to wake you dear, want to stay for dinner?”

Nodding sleepily, you get up from the couch with a smile. She recognizes her son’s joggers tied tight around your hips and the t shirt he got from when she dragged him to volunteer at church.

“Glad you’re feeling better! Left some tiger balm on the kitchen table for you to not feel sore,” you say through a yawn. Squeezing you into a hug, she tosses a throw pillow at her son, who groans and rubs at his eyes. When you’re in the bathroom, they speak in hushed tones.

“Remus John, I swear to God if you get her pregnant—”

“Mam! No, not—” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “We’re…safe.” The look of relief on the older woman’s face is her response. Turning to pull ingredients from the fridge, she continues, “Is she your girlfriend now?”

Her son shrugs, taking a seat at the kitchen table, “Something like that. Probably a bad idea,” he mumbles. Hope hits him with a towel, the thwack against his arm making him wince, “And why is that? I like her for you!” The sound of the toilet flushing down the hall makes them pause, and Remus’s fists clench uncomfortably. The reality is that he doesn’t have to say anything for his mother to understand, and there’s a weight in the silence that follows. 

Remus grabs the tin of salve you left on the table and opens it with care. There’s a lot of him that needs healing.

He has to start somewhere.

—

I think the mean in him is more about being cold and contradicting anything you say. It usually is just petty, but when he wants to be mine he really truly is.

In reality Remus has spent sooo much time learning about you to actually hurt you that what he has discovered he has really liked. He enjoys your taste in music, he is enthralled by the books you like. But he can’t tell you that. He enjoys seeing you pout; he doesn’t think since to him it’s not that deep that he is hurting you that bad. But he is.

And one day Lily is wearing this beautiful maroon dress that makes her look so so so good but the dress is yours and Remus can’t quite put his finger on where has he seen it before.

“Wow Evans, look at you. The dress brings out your eyes.”

“Actually Y/N-“

“What about them? I really don’t need to hear it, ew.”

“Rem ew it’s kinda mean, don’t you think?”

“No. No he doesn’t.” You interrupt, fed up with him. “Because I wore the dress last week and it was tacky and it made me look weird, didn’t it Remus?”

“It’s not that deep.”

“But it is! Because I’ve done nothing to you, but you just hate me SO MUCH. And for what? I never want to see you again. Ever. You are the meanest, foulest man ever Remus Lupin. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

It takes you breaking his heart to realize he has broken yours and fucked up big time. And he know you won’t forgive him even if he begs on his knees. He has gone too far. So he starts doing little things, earning your trust back. He doesn’t even start with compliments, it starts with kindness. He starts being warm.

By month three, you won’t budge. The only progress is the fact that you two can coexist in the same room, but it’s driving Remus mad.

Six months later, Remus can’t take it anymore and you don’t expect him to find him obliterated in your doorstep, on his knees begging for forgivness.

“Remus? It’s three am get up off the floor.”

“Not until you forgive me.” He slurs.

“You’re drunk.”

“And you are beautiful.”

You sigh, and you help him inside. He just doesn’t want to let you go. At all. His arms are around you, and when you lay him in your bed in hopes to let him sleep the drunk away. But he just goes on and on about how beautiful you are and how pretty you look and how he needed you to just forgive him because not seeing you smile was like being caught in a rainstorm on your own.

“Listen Moony, I’m good at actual Transfiguration,” the blond groans as Remus passes the poorly straightened parchment back down to him, a pale cheek resting on the wooden foot of the bed, “jus’ dunno why we have to write so much about it. Maybe Minnie hates me and wants me to die.” James snorts at the notion, “Don’t say that Wormy, we’d be much less entertaining without you!”

“And far less entertained as well,” Sirius scoffs against his pillow as he wordlessly turns James’ hair different colors with subtle swishes of his wand—green, then blue, then red, before the bespectacled boy looks up and shrieks. Contrary to popular belief, James Fleamont Potter is much more touchy about his hair than Sirius is—being the heir to the Sleakeazy’s empire does that to you; not a hair out of place growing up in more ways than one. The noise distracts Remus from his earlier task and the furrow in his brow deepens as he taps the bewitched parchment once more with his wand.

Messr Padfoot would like Messr Moony to know that the special missus is still on her way to the Great Hall with Kingsley Shacklebolt, as she was the last time he checked five minutes ago. 

Remus’s eyes flicker toward the actual Padfoot currently lazily flipping through his stack of records for something to play.

Sometimes their charmwork was more perceptive than they were. The guilt eats at Remus whenever he closes his eyes—hiding the secret of you from the boys that have accepted him body, soul, and wolf makes his head hurt when he thinks too much. Which he always does.

And now he’s thinking about how he’s more worried about what their reaction would be—would they think him to be foolish? Unkind, for stringing you along, a forever so forbidden to him that Remus can’t even fathom what a future with you would look like.

He won’t let himself get that far. To do that would be a death worse than the fate he’s been handed for this life. But he’s not alone—and for now, that works completely fine enough.

He hasn’t been listening to the conversation, their chatter going in one ear and out the other, and James notices.

“I dunno, red might be a good look on me,” he chortles, “Whatcha think, Moony?”

The words are almost branded into the back of his brain for how long he’s been staring at this stupid map. 

It’s like it’s mocking him. 

Messr Padfoot thinks Messr Moony should just grow a pair and ask the bird out. 

Messr Wormtail agrees, and thinks that maybe she’d like flowers. Not button mums though, save those for when you go crying to mummy about how you waited too long and missed your chance.

Perish the thought—the magic taking form in the personality of his three best friends—his brothers, if he were ever fortunate to have any, ribbing at Remus’ misfortune of being so protective over a girl he can’t even call his. He’s been hogging the blasted thing since they got back for the start of fall term, and is starting to run out of excuses for why it’s still in his possession whenever he sneaks around Hogwarts. Prefect duty is barely an excuse since James got promoted.

“Remmy boy, are you even listening to a word we’re saying, mate?”

He shakes his head of the reverie he’s put himself in, the sounds of you cooing his name in the dark of night echoing in the blood that rushes through his ears (and other things). But to the boys—that was as much of a response Remus has given them in the past two hours. 

He’s too busy following the trail of tiny footprints with your name floating above it. 

Messr Prongs thinks Messr Moony is a right idiot and can’t believe that he’s gonna let a numpty like Shacklebolt steal his girl?

All of them groan playfully, eyes flickering among the three until suddenly, they dogpile onto the brunet who feels the added weight in the creaking of his bones (and his bed—this thing is about to smash into pieces).

“Blimey. Siblings or dating is what it looks like, is that what you want me to say?” Remus huffs frustratedly, a tangle of dirty socks and elbows in his face as he pushes them off one by one—Sirius somehow still makes a spot for himself, denim-covered arse on Remus’ pillow (which he’ll need to remind himself to change the sheets later).

“Who pissed in your cereal this morning, Moony? There will be ginger Potters running around one day, I’ll make sure of it!”

“Godric forbid, Prongs. Sounds like a threat!” Peter grins.

“Why are you here again? And making so much unnecessary noise? Don’t you have a swanky dormitory that you could be snogging your girlfriend in, Mr. Head Boy?”

“If I had that privilege, I’d take advantage of the amenities—” Sirius waggles his eyebrows to all of them then interjecting, “WE KNOW!”

Sorry, not Messr Moony’s girl. Since he gets so touchy about the specifics.

The parchment is plucked out of Remus’ reach, and with it, his intentions of finding out what exactly your business is with Kingsley Shacklebolt. And Edgar Bones. And Dorcas Meadowes and Pandora Rosier too, for the hell of it. Those girls have been glaring at him since passing the Marauders’ train car on the Hogwarts Express and Remus thinks they know something they’re definitely not supposed to.

Fuck, he’s really got to get his head on straight about what to do with you. A few ideas come to mind, the visage of you swathed in summer so far away from his reach now, when the future was something he could meld with his fingertips and kiss into your skin.

“I just miss the old times,” James says amidst the laughter that fills the cramped dormitory, “This, all of us—when everything was so much easier. Can’t blame a guy for wanting it all back now that the real world is creeping in on us.”

The comment almost evaporates into thin air, a moment of contemplation before Sirius and Peter are whacking him so hard with pillows that the down feathers sprinkle down overhead like freshly fallen snow.

For a moment it feels like back then.

And Remus finds himself missing moments he’ll probably never get again.

With no time for excuses, he snatches the cloak slung across James’ bag and storms out of there as fast he can. 

“Can I borrow this? Thanksmatebebacklater—Got something important to do!”

—

Remus’ pops out from behind a column and you swear there was no possible way he could’ve been there as you walked past seconds prior. 

“Merli—Mmf!”

The cool concrete makes you flinch as you’re backed into it and Remus is kissing you senseless, almost as if he has something to prove.

And laughter bubbles up his throat, spilling into your smile when he realizes you’re kissing him back. You can taste it off his lips, raw from being gnawed on and a smidge of chocolate he nibbled on his sprint here to make himself feel better

Kissing you has done that and more—soothing the aching feeling he’s had in his chest all week. You’re not pushing him away and clearly not stumbling into shadowy corners with anyone else but him. Remus is pressing you against the wall so firmly that if you were a ghost you might phase through it. But it’s delicious to be devoured like this, much more so when he does it like a man starved. He’s propping one of his knees between yours when you break away in a daze, lips swollen and slick that they mirror the candlelight twinkling off your eyes.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what the hell has gotten into you?”

There’s a stupid smile on your face that has his name on it when he sighs so loudly it wracks through his whole body in a wave of desperation.

“Do you know how fucking hard it is to get you alone these days?”

Blinking slowly, your eyes flicker back down to his lips with a smirk, and his index finger pushes your chin up so you look at him again, “Lovely, eyes up here.”

“You’re jealous.”

“I…” Remus shakes his head slowly at first, then rapidly as the insinuation sets in, “Am not!”

“You do know I have a life outside of you right?” You say crossing your arms cooly. The way your eyelashes flutter at him reddens his cheeks, being so easily caught in a lie. He used to be better at that—now he’s letting your fist wrap around his tie and tug him down like a lovesick fool.

Which he is not.

“Of course you do. I’m not at all bothered that I don’t have you to myself anymore,” he mutters through a scrunched face, “Go hang out with Bones some more, bet he’s dying to give you his o—” You squeeze his face in your hands, lips coming into a disgruntled pucker as you grin.

“Dunno, you sound pretty bothered, baby.”

Evil, evil witch. 

The pet names come easier for him but from you they’re a special treat—only used when you’re ruffling some feathers or when you get what you want out of him. Remus glares at you now, knowing he’d eat out of the palm of your hand if he wasn’t careful.

“You could have whomever you want,” he grits, scratching the nape of his neck, “Even the boys think so. I’ve heard them say it.”

“And unfortunately,” you peck his lips, “I want you. Can I please go to dinner now?” You sidle out of his warm grasp, narrowly avoiding the fingers that chase your hips as you swivel towards the other end of the hallway with a playful glance. 

“Besides, I’ve already kissed James,” you reveal with a grin as if nothing of the sort.

“WHAT?”

You were third-years and paired up for a Potions project and a conversation about his crush on Lily led to him spilling his guts about his mortifying fear of being too inexperienced for her. You told him you had never kissed anyone before either. The shared giggles led to an awkward and then very pleasant first kiss and then tentative snog in the Potions cupboard, a vial of powdered unicorn horn raining down iridescent sparkles.

Quite magical, for a bunch of fourteen year olds, but the less Remus knows is better. His jaw is clenched and if you weren’t sure before, he is definitely bothered now. 

“Two down, two to go—HEY!”

—

James sneezes quite unglamorously, like a foghorn, or an avalanche with a landslide rolling off his shoulders as they shake. And then another time, one that echoes straight into his girlfriend’s eardrum and Lily grimaces.

“Blimey, James. Cover your mouth!”

“I dunno, sweetheart! Just came over me,” he sniffs, pushing his glasses back up. Sirius leans over the table, knocking over a goblet of pumpkin juice straight into Peter’s lap, “Pads!”

“This girl I used to see always said if you sneezed twice, someone was talking shit about you.”

“With the record you four have, you’d all be sent to St. Mungo’s,” Marlene drones, flicking a spoonful of peas into Sirius’ hair. 

There’s an empty spot next to Peter, James notices, even if the boy is eating for two. Excusing himself, he steps out into the hall and blows his nose into a napkin from his pocket, pulling out the map as well.

A simple tap of his wand reveals the truth, his hazel eyes widening at the sentence that writes itself with no preamble.

Messr Moony is up to no good with a lovely Miss…

The letters of your name spell themselves out slowly, along with two pairs of footprints sharing a space in the corner of the parchment, and he cannot believe his eyes—but then the distraction leads to Filch confiscating the blasted thing for good.

“Mischief managed!”

Nothing stops his mum from conquering her grocery list. Not even the fact that he’d barely pulled into the parking spot before she hops out of the passenger seat as if all the leeks in town would be bought within the next two minutes.

“Mum, wait a moment, yeah?” he half-yells, and he watches her wave him off with a grin, making her way into Tesco.

“Get a trolley an’ follow me, boy!”

In moments like these, with his hands gripping onto the handle of the shopping cart, Remus can’t name the feeling, but he knows that there is nowhere else he’d want to be—completely normal, and completely Muggle; the half of him he only gets to tap into when he’s home.

No matter if he’s shivering from the subzero temperature they keep the inside of the store.

The cart squeaks underfoot as it rolls across the white linoleum, chilly air from the AC rushing against his sweat-slicked pores. Even in the summertime, he wears long sleeves, pulling them over his wrists as he glances up at the sweets aisle, shuffling past instead. 

But he can’t resist his sweet tooth.

He doubles back, turning 180 at the end of the aisle, his sneakers scrubbing against the worn floors, and Remus scans through the assortment of biscuits before his eyes land on you, teetering on a misplaced wooden crate in an attempt to reach for something on the top shelf. 

For a moment, he thinks he still must be half-awake, or maybe this is one of those weird dreams where one shows up naked to school—he’s only barely been able to regulate his sleep schedule since term ended, after all. But maybe the sensation he feels in his chest is butterflies swarming his ribcage—he’s never actually thought of you as much as he would like to. 

Never would allow himself to at least. 

Always seeing you in passing, acquaintances at best, Lily and Marlene sang praises about you constantly, and you were too pretty for him to ruin, too scary to entangle himself with, because he knew if something happened, you wouldn’t want to stay. Not with him. It’s a miracle in itself that he’s already got the boys with him for life, despite his predicament.

 It’d be easier if he didn’t know you, Remus thinks, because at least talking to a stranger who has no idea who he is outside of this Tesco would be infinitely less complicated. His mum always did say he overthinks too much. Remus looks down to see that he’s still wearing clothes, blinks twice—and comes to the conclusion that you are very much real, and holy shit, you’re gonna break an ankle if you keep doing that. For Cadbury Dairy Milks?

“Need a hand?” he decides to say, clearing his throat behind you. You’re already here, there’s no harm in a brief interaction, and then he can forget this ever happened and see you in the fall. Your body seizes like you’ve been electrocuted—whipping a head full of hair in his direction with an animated squeak, and you fall backwards, straight into Remus’ cart. The Cadbury Dairy Milks you were reaching for come spilling off the shelves like hard-hitting confetti, at least four of the bars smacking against Remus’ head and neck, bouncing off to land onto your misshapen form that’s currently crumpled in front of him.

“Lupin!” you say with a gasp. He can’t tell if you’re scandalizing the situation or creeped out by the fact that he’s there, and then you’re smiling up at him under the harsh white lights as one does when they’re relieved to see an old friend.

“What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you that,” he tentatively grins, offering a hand and helping you down from the trolley, “Didn’t expect to be checking out a pretty girl at Tesco today.”

You feel like a princess, patting down your skirt as your cheeks flush, and you look at him with a sideways glance. He’s different here than he is at school, something more relaxed—his shoulders have descended from their naturally pinched position, and Merlin, he’s not wearing argyle or tartan or anything that resembles business casual attire. Somehow, Remus Lupin has gotten softer in the summer. You think you might like it, seeing him in this new light.

“So you were checking me out?”

Remus Lupin is a walking contradiction—he’s all bark and no bite. He awkwardly idles in front of you, emerald eyes flickering to the hem of your dress that kisses the sheen of your thighs from the summer sun as he sputters out a response, something that sounds like, “Er… I meant, you... like buying… Um that sounds wrong too,” he clears his throat, and you let him off the hook for now, giggling at his embarrassment. He finds it weird that he doesn’t mind it, shaking his head as he lets himself laugh along with you. You’d never seen each other outside of Hogwarts, much less a world away from the one you both frequent. 

Was there ever really a time you both talked about anything other than schoolwork or given more than a wave and nod in greeting? 

“Would’ve been easier if I could just Accio it, huh?”

“But then I wouldn’t have had to see you fall for me,” he says in jest, and he feels a certain satisfaction at catching you off guard again, raising your eyebrows and shoving him with a force that rattles the Jaffa Cakes behind him. Is this flirting? Is Remus Lupin flirting with you?

“You wish, Lupin!”

“Remus,” he mumbles, and the look you give him is searching and curious, signed off with a saccharine smile that he’ll still be thinking about when he closes his eyes tonight. You nod, saying your name like he doesn’t already know—he memorizes the way the letters fall off your lips and wonders if they’d taste just as sweet. There’s something more here, palpable in the way your knuckles brush against the others as you haphazardly fix the mess you’ve made (you just wanted a reason to touch his hands, if we’re being real. He knows this, and lets you. There’s no fucking way you could reach that shelf in the first place).

This was new and uncharted territory, but Remus resigns himself to the realization that this is…nice. You’re here for the summer to help your grandma settle into her new house, which he finds himself thrilled about, although there is absolutely nothing to do in this dreary old town. When he tells you this, you giggle again; somehow the two of you have started pushing his cart together, walking up and down the aisles with no particular direction, and none of the items on his mum’s list have gotten checked off.

“Well, I’m sure you’d make very entertaining company,” you reason, arm brushing against his Henley-covered one, and he shivers again despite the freezer aisles being across the store.

“Hiya—ooh!”

Hope Lupin is stunned by the sight of her darling boy willingly interacting with a girl, a very pretty one at that. She doesn’t even have to say anything before Remus widens his eyes, and within minutes, she’s inviting you to have dinner with them, and oh, you live just down the hill from us, how lovely! Remus, you never told me you had a girlfriend!

“Maaaam!” the tall boy whines, until he sees you stifling a grin at his accent slipping out and how petulant he is stomping about in front of his mother at a towering 6 feet 2 inches.

“I’m just a friend of his, Mrs. Lupin,” you say, locking eyes with the boy in question. 

Friends.

With you.

An interesting, surprising development—even for an overthinker like him, Remus didn’t see this one coming. He nods, scrunching his nose at the idea, and when his mum turns away, long fingers reach out to pinch your side.

Both of you walk out of Tesco with no Cadbury Dairy Milks in tow, neither of you finding yourselves bothered by that whatsoever.

—