Pairing: poly!Moonkiller x vamp!Reader
Summary: An apology, a stunt in the Great Hall and academic stress are your final closing notes before you get to enjoy three long weeks at home with your familyâsans Barty, for once. Just when you think this Yule break couldn't possibly get any worse, you find out your parents are buddying up to the Lupins, and now you're stuck with their sonâwho happens to have never quite left your mind, especially those lips of his. Maybe you'll do something about that, huh?
Warnings: violence, mentions of blood (if you don't know this by know idk what to tell you bro she's a vampire), makeout session (from 'What happens next is a blur to you' to 'Just when you feel your instincts' if you wanna skip)
Content: BartyFangs make up yay! The Valkyries and Barty get along, some ranomd NPC dude slanders werewolves, you do not stand for that bcs only you get to discriminate another minority, RemusBat enemies to maybe friends to oh shit we kissed, so much tension between you and Remus it's ridiculous, your parents are low-key besties, also your parents are great and powerful and I low-key wanna marry the mum, vampire things, near full moon shenanigans, Hope Lupin is cockblocking you bcs the universe (me) said so, Remus Lupin low-key proposes to you
WC: 11.1k (I'm so sorry this one's long)
AN: this took me nearly half a year to write...I hope the wait was worth it and with this I officially welcome you back to another installment of Bloody Hell! Shout-out to my wife @revesephemeres for beta reading this <33
Disclaimer: English is not my first language, all mistakes you see are my own! I never have and never will use AI for my writing, this work is entirely of my own creative doing.
Taglist: @starrystormwritings @whimsical-mistakes @hellokitty-girl666 @lettertovera @bubblegumcat229 @daydreamandforget @justyesbecauseyeswhynot @loonyladystardust @majesticallyzo @curtain-crawlerr @dakotali @rubyinthebooks @usedrosaries
s.masterlist | Act i | Act ii | Act iii | Act iv | Act v
The infirmary is almost peaceful in the morning. Almost.
The only thing keeping it from being a truly picturesque example of calmness is the repeated slamming of the poor doorâhoards of students rushing in and out even at these early hours. Somehow, the experience brings you new found appreciation for the ward matronâs work.
After her initial check up on you once you roused from sleepâand a friendly reminder that you really only need some blood in measures to make a swift and full recoveryâ she busies herself with the incoming students, dedicating time to hear each of them out and help them with their aches. From migraines to broken bones, colds and period cramps, she takes the time to make sure everyone is well taken care of before they leave the ward or stay to rest.
It keeps you from going back to sleep, and instead of dozing off or busying yourself with something to cure your boredom, you find yourself trapped replaying the events of the night. Now that it's over, the realisation sticks to you like grime after a house fire. It haunts you, deep and aching, much like the image of the corpse you left behind. Youâve taken a lifeâa man now on your consciousness for the rest of your undead life. You donât know whatâs scarierâthe fact that heâs your first kill, or that small voice that whispers he wonât be your last.
Even though you blacked out throughout the ordeal, the feeling of bones cracking and shattering beneath your touch echoes in the hollows of your mind. Like a shadow at the edge of your visionâonly barely perceived, flickering into nothing when you try to grasp it.
The realisation sits heavy in your gut, makes bile rise to your throat and within seconds you find yourself retching your soul out into the bucket Madam Pomfrey had the foresight to give you when you awoke this morning. When the last bit of blood-tinged broth leaves your mouth, you wipe it off your mouth with the sleeve of your sweater and curl into the bed with a whimper. The lights are too bright, your brain is a jumble of thoughts and all you really want right now is a hugâpreferably from your parents, but you wouldnât complain about a friend coming in to help you. For a moment, your mind flashes to Lupinâs appearance in the ward yesterday, and a part of you wonders if heâd feel enough pity in his too tall body to give you a hug if he were to see you like this.
The thought isnât even granted enough time to disintegrate from your mindâthe door to the infirmary is slammed open with such force youâre sure the sound resounds all the way into Hogsmeade. A small groan escapes your lips at how the loudness worsens your headache, especially with your already heightened senses so hypersensitive and in recovery from the blood overconsumption last night. You assume that whoever entered so dramatically might have a real emergency, like a bleeding beheaded student or something of similar calibre. Instead of hearing someone call out to Madam Pomfrey, youâre surprised with the frantic shouts of your name and thundering steps that rush to your side. In an instant, Barty materialises at the foot of your bed, his face etched with worry and fear.
You blink, trying to figure out if hallucinating is a normal side effect of whatever the hell you got going on at the moment, but you find theâadmittedly very real lookingâBarty hallucination to blink back at you. Your name is uttered with tenderness that makes your entire being ache, hallucination be damned. His eyes examine every inch of you, from the state of your face to the sweater you wear with the bloody sleeves. You can hear his heartbeat, irregular and jumpy like he can't quite decide whether to relax upon seeing you or feel anxious about your state.
âI heard from Lily,â he mutters, eyes stuck on the blood staining your sleeves.
Deafening silence fills the room, static whirring around you that pushes everything else into the background. For a moment, you are back to being the only people in the worldâin your own little bubble where nothing else matters. Yet the tension prevails, his hands twitching by his side like he's trying to stop himself from reaching out to you.
âFangs,â he whispers softly, oh so reverently. The name comes out a little clumsy, a little rough at the edges because it hasn't been said in a while, yet with the same fiery passion and affection solely reserved to be yours. It's all that you need to break, your eyes filling with tears when you open your arms in an invitation for a hug. It takes him all but a second to register the cueâbut as soon as he does, he's rounding the bed to be by your side and sinking onto the mattress to embrace you.
His arms wrap around you with the sort of tightness that one reserves for reunions between war-torn lovers perhaps, or the force with which you try to keep someone who's falling apart together. He's half kneeling on the bed, half standing and bending at the hip in a way that couldn't possibly be comfortable at all, but you reckon he doesn't care right now. Not if the way his face dives into the juncture of your neck is something to go by, or the shuddering inhale of your scentâlike he's finally home and can't believe it.
The strain of half sitting, half laying while your arms encircle his neck is tortureâat least with your aches and pain right now, so you don't waste time in pulling him into the limited space of your infirmary bed. It's a tight fit, but you manage to make it work because that seems to be the motto of your friendship of sorts: make it work no matter the circumstances, events and odds.
His weight atop yours is comforting, steady and heavy in all the ways that anchor you into reality, keeping your mind from drifting into the murky darkness of the maze that is your own thoughts. And his scent? A mixture of half faded cigarette smoke, the moisture clinging to the air of the Slytherin common room mixed with the cologne you gifted him two years ago for his birthday. It's familiar, yet strangely different from what you're used to. Perhaps it's the time spent apartâor the distance that claws itself between youâbut you find yourself relearning the ways he fits against you, the way his hair tickles the expanse of your neck when he's all nuzzled against you. It's a little nostalgic, a little bit like a knife gutting you from the inside, but more than anythingâit's exciting to know there's always space for you to get to know Barty all over again no matter how bad things get between you.
You don't know how long you spend wrapped in each other like thatâminutes, hours or an eternity feel all the same with Barty. Still, tension hangs heavy over you, all the words still unspoken filtering through the way you both keep silent. Perhaps it'll fester, you briefly think to yourself, and you both will never talk about this to preserve what little peace you've restored between you. Really, you'd prefer ignoring what happened all together, go back to being best friends and act like the last few weeks were just a really bad dream.
Very clearly however, Barty is allergic to leaving things as they are. He props himself up, twisting limbs and moving blankets out of the way until he's sat on the bed, one leg dangling down the edge while he picks at the frayed ends of his trousers. You manage to sit up and lean against the wallâwith minimal pain mind you, a hurray to vampire insta-healing geneticsâto face him.
Everything in you screams to avoid this conversation, and honestly? You can come up with excuses for daysâmonths evenâto avoid this. But deep down, you know you canât avoid this foreverânot if you want your best friend and other half back.
So, instead of running away like you actually want, you pull the sleeves of yourâtechnically Bartyâs, but who's counting?âsweater and fumble with them before making eye contact with Barty.
He's already staring at you, lips parted like he wants to say something but can't quite get the words to make sense yet. For a fraction of a second, he flinches when you look at him, almost like he's expecting you to yell at him or turn your face up in disgust at the sight of him. You take a deep breath, deciding that this couldn't get much more awkward and try to break the silence.
You stare at each other for a moment, blinking surprised. Perhaps it's the absurdity of the moment, or the fact that you're still oh so in sync despite the distance between you. You don't know what exactly makes this moment funny, but the both of you burst into laughter at the same time without meaning to. That of course only further fuels your laughing fit, rendering you unable to breathe for an entire five minutes before you finally get your act together.
You watch Barty wipe the remnants of his tears before his eyes settle on you, this time with a lot less guilt and anxiety in them. It suits him, you think to yourselfâpools of hazel gleaming in the serene sunlight that filters through the windows, no longer burdened by blame and what ifs. You reckon your eyes are the same now, a weight silently lifted off both of your shoulders after you realized you can still laugh together like before.
He looks like he's about to say something, but you finally gather enough courage to beat him to it.
âLook B, Iâm sorry for freaking out and ignoring you for so long,â the words are a little shaky, a little clumsy like you haven't really thought about what to say yet. It's not rehearsed, unlike your usual demeanor, but full of error and all that awkwardness that Barty has come to dearly love about you.
With almost an incredulous offense, Barty prepares to launch into a counter argument. His attempts however are silenced, no thanks to the pillow in the next cot over you quickly hex to throw at his face. Pointedly, you glare at him and continue with your words.
âSure, I was hurt and I honestly still kind of am upset about the whole thing,â you admit, âbut I think I probably should've given you a chance after I cooled off so you could explain yourself. I'm sincerely sorry for being this petty and not hearing you out.â
You force yourself to look Barty in the face, despite everything in you screaming at you to run straight out of the infirmary and continue ignoring him. Itâs almost comical to see Bartyâs face distort at a rapid speedâlikely mirroring only a fraction of whatâs going on in his head.
Still, despite seeing his face and watching as it settles from guilt and pain into something calmer, it nearly knocks the air out of your lungs when his hand reaches to hold yours. The world stops and spins at high speed at the same moment his fingers intertwine with yours, his thumb drawing soothing patterns across your knuckles that youâve missed far too much in the last few weeks.
All at once, the warmth of his human body seeps into your cold one. It brings back colors into your vision in wavesâcolors that had previously dulled into lifeless grays and monotonous chromes.
âFangs I-â, his voice is raspy, a little hoarse and broken in a way that was never meant to be because of you. It had that distinct lilt, the one that carried nights worth of tears and exhaustion engraved so deeply into his bones he could barely tell where the grief started and where he ended.
But that had always been because someone or something else dragged him downâhis father, teachers at school, his own insecuritiesâbut never once were you the cause for that bone deep aching grief he carried like a secret.
The guilt you tried to bury beneath layers of repression and ignorance flared up, setting your entire being aflame within mere seconds. You wanted to apologise and make his grief go awayâbut how do you fix someone elseâs grief when youâre still hurt by what they did?
Instinctively, you squeeze Bartyâs hand tighter. His eyes lock into yours, gold and green swirling into a mixture youâve memorised by heart at this point. Your touch is reassuring rather than forgivingânot quite a âItâs okayâ but more of a âI got youâ, because thatâs the one thing that never changes between you, isn't it? No matter what happens, youâll always have his back, even in moments like these.
Filled by renewed confidence, Barty gathers his bearings and speaks again, this time with much less wavering and only echoes of the previous trembling in his voice.
âWhat I did was absolutely fucking shit, and for that I owe you so many apologies. It wasnât just betraying you and hurting you, but keeping secrets from you and hurting you out of my own stupidity and fear? Thatâs not what our friendship is supposed to be.â
You can see actual tears forming at the corners of his eyes, glistening liquid that threatens to spill over with the way his breath hitches and his voice breaks. Without meaning to, you lean forward and wipe his tears with your free hand gently, giving him an encouraging smile in the process.
A dry laugh bubbles out of his chest, so unlike the laughter you shared only minutes prior. Before you can pull away, he presses his hand over yours, nuzzling his face into your open palm.
âMerlin, I missed this,â he murmurs. Subtly, or at least in an attempt of what he probably thinks is subtlety, he inhales your scent and relaxes beneath your touch.
His eyes flutter shut with relief when he sees that you aren't opposed to the affection and proximity, almost like a man starved and parched finally tasting the sweet taste of salvation.
Silence blankets the both of you, but this time it isnât tension that weighs heavily on your shoulder. Rather, itâs the weight of all the things left unsaid because thereâs a mutual understanding for them, without you needing to actually voice them out loud.
âIâm sorry for everything,â he mutters against your pulse, eyes cracking open to give you a look into the turmoil he usually hides skilfully under armour and walls of detachment.
Anything you mightâve wanted to say dies in your throat, instead you press your wrist closer to his lips, basking in the way his warm breath ghosts over your veins.
âIâm sorry too,â you reply, the I forgive you nonetheless you both think but donât say out loud hanging in the air.
Itâs not what it used to be, not quite yet.
But it is enough to let the tight wound coil in your stomach unravel just a bit.
And perhaps, itâs the perfect start for something excitingly new in all the ways you know matter.
The weeks that follow are a flurry of stress, assignments and trying to stay afloat in the raging storm that is adult life creeping up on your horizons of childhood. Barty and you fall into rhythm again, finding your footing into the dynamic you used to have. Itâs a bit strange, you must admit, because the shadows of your fight still cling to the corners and haunt you when you arenât looking. That doesn't change the fact that youâre actually somewhat happy about it, because this experience showed you the extent of what you and Barty could survive together.
It goesâwithout saying of courseâthat your reconciliation caused equal parts relief among your friends and more gossip material among the general student body. And well, if Rita Skita was mysteriously found to break everything she touches and therefore sentenced to endless months of detention, whoâs to prove that Barty had any hand in play?
Neither of you mention anything in relation to the preparator of the fight, the one and only Remus Lupin. In fact, it almost seems like you both subconsciously make the effort to avoid him. It isnât like you don't want to talk about what happenedâat the party and the night Remus saved youâbut youâd much rather treasure the fragile peace youâve barely just regained instead of shattering it all over again.
Barty for his part seems to agree with you and goes out of his way to avoid Lupin even in the hallways. No longer do you fight and argue publicly, and no longer does B growl and hex him out of spite. Instead, thereâs a different type of tension brewing beneath the surface, threatening to go up in flames should you bring even the tiniest spark near it.
Remus Lupin though? Oh the bastard seems now all too keen on following you, especially when youâre trying to see less of him. All of a sudden, heâs everywhere, following you like a ghost driven by vengeance. You bump into him in hallways, in the library, whenever you leave or enter classrooms and hell, even outside in the courtyard! Itâs maddening to be unable to get rid of him, because as soon as the events of that night slip your mind, heâs there again, standing in your line of vision with an infuriating smirk and a condescending remark to go with.
Seeing that stupid handsome face of his brings back memories of the night he saved you in floods. So many questions pop in your mind when you remember the concern he had for you, the panic you could feel in his entire being. Why would he save you, the girl heâs hated since day one? How had he even known you were out there, alone and injured?
So many goddamn questions, yet not a single opportunity for answers in sight.
Youâd love to march up right to his face and yell at him. Ask him why he brought you clothes, why he bothered to sit by you and make conversation, answering all your questions when he had no obligation to. Maybe heâd tell you what he was thinking of when he sat on the infirmary bed, why he hasnât picked a real fight since then.
Unfortunately though, you canât do that. By doing so, youâll actually have to admit that he hasnât left your mind since that nightânot really at least. And come on, what is more embarrassing than telling the guy youâve been feuding with for the past six years that you canât stop thinking about the way his lips looked?
Yeah, you are definitely not about to do that.
What you do instead is focus on your school work and drag Barty to the library and Great Hall just about every day. It isnât much of a choice actuallyâif you donât throw yourself into your academic work you wonât be able to keep up with the sheer amount of material and assignments your professors throw at you.
More often than not, youâre spending your afternoons at the Great Hall for study hall, either with your Slytherin friendsâthough Evanâs presence has been more and more scarce as of late, no one knows whyâor joining your Gryffindor girls while they lament the woes of being in their final year.
Bartyâbless his heartâis all too happy to let you drag him to either table, making quick friends with Marlene and Mary. Though friends might not be the appropriate term to use, you think âcriminal allies that discuss morbid ways to escape responsibilitiesâ might actually be more fittingâmuch to your and Lilyâs dismay.
Your evenings and nights are spent at the library, pouring over tomes and scribbling notes, memorising ingredients and spellwork until the words blur together and your hands cramp from writing.
Your day often ends with Barty half dragging you back to his or your own dormâhis is the far better choice honestlyâonly to crash into the bed together for measly five hours of sleep before you have to wake up again. You curl into his side, enjoying the warmth he offers while he attempts to fuse himself into you even when asleep.
Is it an exhausting routine to keep up with? Absolutely.
Does it help you ignore your little Lupin problem? Oh without a sliver of doubtâhence why you will be continuing it, thank you very much.
On a very particular Friday afternoon however, you find yourself catching the attention of Lupin in ways youâd never done beforeâwhether you know it or not.
That particular day, your Study Hall period had started out just like any other one. Youâd dragged Barty by the wrist into the Great Hall, half listening to him as he babbled on about the newest piercing and metamorphosis spells he wanted to try as soon as he was in his dorm, half looking for the girls at the Gryffindor table. When you spot Lilyâs bright red hair and Marlene waving from across the room, your face splits into a grin and you weave through the throngs of students entering and leaving.
âHello there, fellow inmates,â you greet them, plopping down onto the bench. Barty follows suit, taking up the spot next to you and throwing a solemn look into the round.
âEvans,â he quips, his face schooled into an indifferent expression.
Lily meets his stare with a levelled one of her own, replying in the same smooth cadence.
Anyone else might have thought the both of them at war with the glacial cold in their tones, but the barely there upturn of Lilyâs lips and the twinkle in Bartyâs eyes tells an entirely different story. They are cut from the same cloth, those two, and naturally butt heads at every turn.
Simple questions and discussions turn into philosophical debates with the kind of fiery passion people only reserve for treason accusations, and at every opportunity presented they compete with each other to an almost childish degree. It partly warms your heart because they're some of the most important people in your life, and seeing them get along? Priceless.
Sensing that Barty might start some sort of debate with Lily again, you proceed to elbow him in the ribs and begin to spread your materials out on the table, silently threatening him into compliance.
And of course because Barty loves you, he only drastically huffs and does the same, muttering something about bodily harm and tattling to your parents about this treatment.
With a satisfied smile, you turn to your studies and let the noise around you fade into the background.
Thereâs a lot for you to do, particularly in DADA, and the better part of your first hour in the Great Hall is spent combing through your book to find any kind of information about the topic of your essay. Though you reckon you might actually be able to do it all without source text to go by, considering youâre supposed to write about dark creatures of the night. A little too on the nose? Most definitely, but it isn't like you can actually complain about the topic, or the things that your school book says about your kind and your fellow dark creatures.
In order to avoid suspicion, youâd chosen to write about werewolves. Even if they were the number one natural enemy of vampiresâfollowed closely by human magic folkâyou can appreciate the shared struggle between your kinds. Persecution, prejudice and dealing with unnatural changes that you had zero say in. Merlin knows you wouldnât be able to handle turning into a big, furry monster that mindlessly craved violence every month, so there's a speck of respect somewhere in the crevices of your heart for them.
Which is exactly what leads to you verbally abusing a fellow sixth year who had the misfortune of sitting within earshot of you and Barty while he mouthed off werewolves and their supposed âdisgustingâ nature.
âSeriosuly, I donât get why we don't just put these rabid monsters down,â he snarked to his pathetic group of friends whoâd mindlessly muttered their agreements. âI mean no one wants to be around werewolves, theyâre disgusting and dangerous and should be exterminated once and for all.â
You turn your head slowly into the direction of his voice, eyes narrower with sheer disgust at what youâre hearing. Before anyone can question you, youâre already pushing yourself up from your seat and stalking down the table to pinpoint the idiot who just said that.
When you do find himâa scrawny looking blonde with buglike eyes that stare at you with fear and recognitionâyou yank him by the collar of his stupid vest.
âMind saying that again, Mister Know-It-All?â You spit out, anger coursing through your veins. You can hear his heart stuttering his chest, all his blood pumping at high speed to supply his panicking body.
He reeks of fear and helplessness, just like the prey you chase during the full moon. For a moment, youâre back at the clearing, your fangs tearing through the flesh of a grown man twice your size while panic seizes him until the last remnants of life bleed out of him.
The boyâsomething something Heatherstone, you somewhat recallâsqueaks in fear, thrashing against the firm grip you have on his clothes in an attempt to look somewhat in control of the situation.
âItâs true though,â he protests, âWerewolves are a danger to everyone! If we got rid of them then we wouldnât have to deal with the trouble they bring.â
Something inside of you snaps at his sheer audacity, and before you know it, youâre leaning in dangerously close, eyes no doubt gleaming red by now.
âListen here you arrogant little shit,â you whisper with so much venom, itâs really no wonder Heatherstone is shaking in your hold.
âBefore you decide to open that useless trap of yours to cosplay as pure blooded magic fanatic, I recommend you pick up a book that isn't written by one of your inbred ancestors and actually use that lump inside of your skull thatâs supposed to be a brain and think.â
âDo you really believe that anyone out there wants to turn into a monster once a month and be out of control of their body? If there were less wizarding extremists like yourself, perhaps werewolves wouldnât have to live in recluse and be violent and suspicious to literally everything out of fear they might be killed.â
By now, more than a few people had paused their activities to crane their necks and get a better look at theâalbeit one-sidedâfight happening. Barty of course had long joined your side, standing at full menacing height with a snarl so horrid it scared off even most professors.
He leans down to join you, an arm casually slung over your shoulder when his lips slowly widen into a grin that reveals his sharp teeth.
âMaybe we should hex him, Fangs,â he chirps, âI know a few spells thatâll have him writhing in unbearable pain every month, see how he likes walking in the shoes he wants to get rid off.â
If Heatherstone wasn't afraid before, he certainly was now, especially at the sight of the cold smile that made its way on your face. Your grip loosens, just a fraction, and your free hand reaches for your wand.
âI quite like that idea Barty,â you reply smoothly, now tilting Greenwoodâs chin up with your wand. He lets out a pathetic whimper, his eyes clamped shut in fear and remorse. With controlled force, you push him into the table, revelling in the pained hiss he lets out when he collides against the wooden edge. You straighten up, spine rigid as you tower above him with an air of calculated arrogance.
âNext time I hear you talking like that about anyoneânot just werewolvesâIâll make you realize why mere humans donât have the right to decide who gets to live and die.â
Your voice is firm, the words echoing through the hall with a finality that has everyone holding their breaths for a few beats too long, watching your next move intently.
But there is no next moveâjust a quiet exit that is dramatic in its own right. Barty follows you, one step behind with squared shoulders and an expression that dares anyone to retaliate against what just happened. No one does, all of them too spellbound by your sudden display of cool rage.
Slowly, chatters revives in the Hall and everyone returns to whatever they were doing, their gazes no longer following you. By the time you return to your place and pack your things to leave, no one is looking your way and watching you and Barty exit through the doors.
No one but a certain starstruck boy, who heard every word you whispered underneath your breath.
A boy whose eyes were glued to the doors long after you left, taking his ability to form any thoughts and words without you.
Time flies, as it always does, and before long youâre back at Platform Nine and Three Quarters, exiting the Hogwarts Express with your luggage and fighting to find your parents in the masses of students and families reunited for the start of the three weeks long Yule Break. The cold air bites through your layers of clothes, though it isnât actually unpleasant for you as someone whoâs undead. With ease, you shoulder your luggage and try to slip through the gaps in the crowds, desperate to find your father or mother amidst the chaos. It proves to be an arduous task, especially with the noise clouding your senses. Spying out to your motherâs faint heartbeat is a challenge, but with intense focus you can approximate her location and follow the noise until you hear someone shout your name.
You donât even have time to look around for the source of the shoutâsomeone rushes towards you and lifts you into a tight embrace. The smell of parchment and blood surrounds you, coaxing your muscles into relaxing all at once.
âDad!â Your arms lock around your fatherâs neck, your feet dangling a few centimetres off the ground.
âOh, my sweet Blood Drop,â he sighs into the crown of your head, finally relenting and dropping you onto the ground.
âMissed you too, dad,â you reply, still nuzzled into your father's embrace.
In his arms, the rest of the world ceases to exist. There's only warmth and safety seeping into you, shielding you from the noise and chatter of the platform.
It's a challenge to not sink into that warmth, let it lull you to sleep right there and then with the way it eases all of your muscles and tension.
A familiar scent joins soon after, the only motivator for you to break away from your father. Your mother promptly takes his place, pulling you into her chest and beaming brightly at you.
âMy darling girl,â she murmurs, her hands on your face to tilt it and inspect it from every angle. You indulge her, because the poor woman has been worried sick about you and her fussing will only worsen if you donât let her. Once she deems her inspection successful, she pushes you awayâonly for her to fuss over your clothes, straightening and fixing things that donât particularly need fixing.
She takes your hand into hersâyour father already doing you the favour of taking your luggage from youâand looks around in confusion. âWhereâs Barty?â She asks, her eyes scanning over the crowd in hopes of finding the boy.
You shift your weight from one leg to the other awkwardly, pulling both of your parents along to the exit as you try to break the news to them.
âHis father wants him home for Christmas,â you mutter bitterly, not without cursing the wretched man out under your breath.
Your father looks unimpressed, a small frown on his face as he shakes his head. âSurprised he remembers he has a son at all,â he joins your muttering, making sure that he speaks quietly enough so only you can hear itâyour mother would surely disapprove of his vocal hatred for Crouch Senior.
With that, the topic was closedâthe two of them focusing on you instead. With your fatherâs massive height and your motherâs commanding presence, the crowds part like the Red Sea. People feel them before they see them, the pressure of their mere existence alone enough to make people bend to their will. It takes you no longer than five minutes to find your way to the Floo network with your father ushering your mother to go first.
You watched the green flames swallow her up, transporting her somewhere across the country back to your home. Without needing to look at your father you step in after her, spine rigid in an attempt to imitate her composure. With practiced ease, you go through the motions of flooingâgrabbing the powder, calling out the name of your destination clearly and tossing said powder.
Green fills your vision, a pleasant tingling sensation licking at your skin. The world tilts behind your closed eyelids, wobbling and spinning until the ground steadies beneath your feet. When your eyes flutter open, the interior of your homeâs living room greets you in that same nostalgic unchanged way it does every time you come home from school. The same pictures decorate the walls and surfaces, the same furniture youâve grown up with. Plants, candles and different souvenirs from fairies and outings are scattered tastefully across the roomâthe very same way you left it four months ago.
Your mother is already somewhere inside the cottage youâve had the pleasure of calling home for the last 16 years. You move through the room with familiarity, the homesickness that's been festering inside you for weeks now finally quelling. Behind you, the sound of the Floo port goes off again, indicating that your father has also joined you. You pick up on his muttering, dragging your bags with him when he takes the stairs to put them in your room. You make a mental note to smother him in affection later for thanks and head straight to the kitchen where your mother has beat you to. She glances up in your direction, a knowing smile on her face when she pushes a tray with a filled wine glass and a bowl filled with dark red spheres. The pleasant smell of blood immediately fills your senses, your body moving before you can realize it.
The blood-filled glass is the first to go in big, greedy gulps. Next are the frozen bloody treatsâa mixture between herbs, blood and potions all serve to replenish your energy and health. Your mother watches you devour the snacksâall made and developed by her, mind youâwith a fond smile.
âSomeoneâs been hungry it seems,â she teases, moving on and about through the kitchen while various ingredients and utensils float behind her. The air is thick with magic, but not the industrial kind you know from Hogwartsâno, this one is warm and flows freely through the air, unrestrained and unbound by rules and the clinical precision you study.
âHungry is an understatement,â a huff comes from the door, where your father leans against the door frame watching the two of you intently. âMore like ravenous, eh?â
A sputtered noise of indignation tries to escape your mouth, but itâs barely an attempt considering your mouth is full.
âSee? Point for my case,â he says with a pointed look, ducking when your mother sends a hex in his direction.
He has the decency to look guilty when she stares him into the ground, choosing to mutter something about it being a joke before joining her to help with lunch. âQuit bullying you daughter,â she scolds, shoving his side with a spatula.
The entire exchange is of great amusement for you, thereâs no denying that. When your mother turns her back, you stare at your father and stick your tongue out at him in mock victory. You can tell heâs about to retaliate when your mother says his nameâa single syllable that has him freezing on spot.
âYes my sweetest darling?â
âCease bullying a childâour child no lessâand make yourself useful this instant.â
You take that as your cue to retreat to your room, giving both of them a quick hug before exiting the kitchen with a promise to set the table later.
You take the stairs two at a time, driven by the blazing urge to finally be in your own space again. When you push the door to your room openâthe third floor, on the side that faces the riverâyou can finally feel the tension bleed out of you.
Everything is just as you left it when you departed for Hogwartsâplushies and trinkets in the same place, throw pillows and blankets arranged neatly on the bed.
For a few moments, you stand in the middle of the roomâmuch larger without Barty to fill it with you. You can see traces of him, even in his absence. One of his leather jackets, still draped across your desk chair, post-its on your dresser filled with hisâsurprisinglyâneat handwriting. Your eyes wander to the pinboard above your deskâthe collection of memories you always come back to. A few photographs from childhoodâbaby pictures Barty liked to coo and swoon over, some from your first village fair and other various precious moments you immortalised in the form of a images. Then there are ones from your time at Hogwartsâmainly with Barty in just about every picture. The first snow, the first time in Hogsmeade, you and your girls at the Black Lake while Barty hangs upside from a tree in the background.
Your favourite pictures though? The family onesâand not just the ones with you and your parents. In more than just a few, your parents, you and Barty are depicted doing various things. Hiking, swimming, going for an outing in some nearby town. It makes you miss him even more than before, the empty space he left aching like a wound that cannot be healed.
With far too much flair and theatrics, you throw yourself onto your bedânot unlike the tragic heroine of a doomed play.
The break may be long, and Barty isn't by your side which sucksâbut it wonât be too bad, right?
âNot so badâ turns out to be an impossible to reach standard, you lament while you sit in the dining room of the Lupins. Your parents sit beside you at the table, across from them Hope and Lyal Lupin. Across from you? Their wretched, wretched bastard of a sonânone other than Remus Lupin.
Heâs avoiding your gaze, staring into his plate like Cordon Bleu and salad are the most interesting things heâs ever seen. Your families are getting along like a house on fire, cracking jokes you both arenât privy of, recalling memories they made during the duration of their short friendship.
Merlin, you shouldâve trusted your gut feeling when your father casually mentioned an invitation by this couple across the village.
New friends they made after you left for Hogwarts, your mother had added. Something about them having a son around your age who also happens to be a wizard. Come on, that shouldâve been the incriminating piece of evidence that supported the uneasy feeling the mention of those friends brought on.
But what were you supposed to do? You know how hard it is for your parents to make friends in this communityâthe burden of their identity as vampires posing too much of a risk. And with your mother being a witch turned vampire? She might as well just hand herself over to the Ministry without a fuss.
So them making friends? Close enough for them to be casually invited over for dinner? That was a huge deal you didn't want to ruin for themâeven if you could think of a million better ways to spend your evening, none of them including being in the same room as Remus.
Silently, the both of you come to an agreemenâdonât talk, don't look at each other and pretend like everything is fine. And hey, it works greatâuntil Hope Lupin turns her attention to you with that quiet and warm smile you swear you've seen her son give terrified first years during duels.
âSo, you also go to Hogwarts dear?â Your heart sinks to your ass when she asks, and if Remusâ heartbeat is anything to go by, he too is absolutely shocked and terrified at the sudden turn of events. The food in your mouth suddenly feels like stones, taking immense effort to actually be swallowed before you nod timidly.
âUh, yeah I do, though I'm a sixth year,â subtly you try to direct her away from the subject of school, but if she noticed she ignored you completely.
Her eyes light upâpart excitement, part delightâand she leans forward to give you more of her attention. âOh how wonderful, Remus here is a Seventh Year actually!â She sounds so incredibly proud, it takes everything in you to not cringe at the way you nod along like you haven't plotted his death multiple times.
âOh that's great, I don't think I've ever really seen him around,â from the corner of your eye, you can see him sputtering and downing some water to ease his coughing at the lie that you smoothly dish out.
Lyalâbless his heartâis more concerned about the choking, patting his back and making sure he isn't actually dying.
When he does recover, the adults at the table stare at him expectantlyâan unspoken demand for the question that lingers. His gaze lingers on you for a moment too long, the air between you shifting into something filled with tension and boiling bitterness. If he outs your lie now, you'd have to tell your parents the entire truth. And then what? Watch them lose the only friends they made in the last Merlin knows how many years? Deal with them potentially killing someone?
Your heart hammers in your chest, a silent plea in your eyes as you hold his gaze.
âCan't say I've really seen her either,â he finally replies with a shrug, his attention back to his food.
Your relief is instant, allowing you to sag into your chair a little more comfortably. âMaybe we just run in different circles,â you add on, half surprised by the sheer smoothness of your lies.
That is how the rest of the dinner goesâboth your parents ask questions regarding school and your personal life, Remus and you evade them skilfully by building off each other's lies.
âYou mentioned a duelling club Remus, is it perhaps the same youâre in?â Your father asks at some point.
Though it pains you to lie to him, you pretend to mull it over. âThe one with Professor Northwood? I think we are in different groups for that.â
Remus hums noncommittally, a small smile on his scarred face.
âYeah, I usually hang around the Gryffindors in that courseâ
You know, you know so well you could bring up the time he nearly killed you during a duelâbut you donât. You like your parents free and not in Azkaban, thank you very much.
Before long, the dinner finally ends and itâs high time for your family to leave. An urgent meeting at the Highland Castle looms on the agenda of the nightâas highly esteemed governors, your parents cannot afford to miss out on it.
âCareful Bat,â he remarks, his hand coming up to poke your cheek, âalmost sounded like you want me too.â
You want to say something in rebuttal, but the words die on your tongue. The entire situation is all too familiar, except this time heâs close enough for you to drink in all the details of his face.
The scarred tissue around his mouth.
The three large gashes that run diagonally across his face.
The golden swirls in his amber eyes.
The plumpness of his lips.
The way his hair falls in gentle curls over his face.
It knocks the air out of your lungs so hard, you barely notice the shift in his sceneânow sweet and floral with want.
All it would take is for him to lean down just a fraction and he could kiss you. His eyes roam your face, memorising and committing every line to memory the same way youâve done to him. You can tell heâs thinking about itâkissing you right here and thenâfrom the way his eyes drift from your eyes down to your lips and back up.
Is it ridiculous to be in this absurd situation with none other than Remus Lupin? Perhaps.
Is it still thrilling to have his entire attention focused on you like he wouldnât want anyone else there? Absolutely.
A loud call of your name snaps the two of you back into reality, whatever magic tethering you two into a world of your own suddenly broken.
Your mother and father stand ahead at ny the gate that leads into exit of the Lupins farmlandâboth impatiently waiting for you to join them With an awkward clearing of your throat you reluctantly step away from your heat source, briskly walking to join your parents and bid the Lupin couple goodbye without once turning to their son.
Youâre curled up on the armchair by the fireplace while your parents get ready for their meeting. Itâs a bit of a longstanding tradition now, born from the times you used to toddle down the stairs and watch them don their governor attire in a mixture between awe and longing.
Your mother is wearing that black velvet dress youâve come to adoreâdeep midnight fabric clinging to her body like shadows, flared wide sleeves that swish and ripple softly with her every move. On her neck is a pretty choker necklace made of pearls and one singular, gorgeous ruby stone that glows softly under the dim lights. From where you sit, it nearly looks like it pulses faintly with a heart beatâalive and heavy with duty and power. She stands in front of the floor length mirrorâthat has been specifically added to the living room for this very occasionâtrying to put on her earrings that match the necklace she wears. Soft magic thrums in the roomâraw and powerful, just like your parents.
Your father steps out the shadows, his three piece suit with the various insignia and rubies tailored within an inch of its life to match your motherâs attire. He stands behind her, hands gently prying the earrings out of her grasp to attach them himself while she leans into him.
âYou look ravishing, my dear,â he murmurs into her neck, a smile visible on his face where you sit.
âDonât twaddle,â you warn them in mock disgust at their display of blatant sweetness.
Through the mirror your mother bites back a smile, turning around to fix your fatherâs kravatte. âSheâs right, save the reverence for later and restrain yourself,â she scolds him with affection, letting out a satisfied hum when her work is done.
You follow them out to the balcony where they stand side by side. For a moment, you allow yourself to feel the age old awe at their appearanceâdark power and authority wrapped in velvet and steel. Theyâre all sharp edges and predatory dominance with glinting fangs, sharp nails and red eyes that glow dangerously in the dark of the night. You can imagine them sitting in that meeting room, commanding the masses to silence with their presence alone. Itâs surreal to remember in these moments that your parents arenât just your parentsâfun-loving people who fill your every moment with patience and careâbut also semi-nobility in the vampiristic society. High governors in the Welsh Highlands with so much power at the tips of their fingers. It gives you a glimpse into a future you could have tooâshould you choose to abandon the wizarding world and step into your heritage as a vampire.
âYou got along quite well with Lupin's boy,â your motherâs voice pulls you out of your musings, her steady smile a familiar sight. Your father hums in agreement, his arm wrapped around her waist in preparation for their departure.
It takes a lot for you to not cry out in defenseâyour carefully crafted ruse in the back of your mindâand opt to shrug instead. ââSuppose he ainât too bad.â
âGood, perhaps you two will also become friends.â
The grimace on your face is thankfully taken as some sort of aversion to people in general, not Lupin specifically.
âSure,â you add with too much enthusiasm, âwe can try if we have the chance!â
With that, your parents bid you their good nights and disappear into a flurry of shadows and smokeâbut not before catching your eye with that glint that has your spine tingling with a foreboding sense of doom.
Said doom arrives quickly at your very doorstep the next morning. Thereâs knocking at your door, which youâin your still sleep-addled stateâthink may be your parents. Never mind the fact that they can freely enter and exit the house without the need for keys, you still walk all the way down in your sleep-wearâa shirt Barty left at your place forever ago and Batman pyjama bottoms of his that half make you trip in their length.
When you open the door, still messy and rumpled from having just left the comfort of your bed, youâre surprised to see none other than Remus Lupin at your door.
You blinkâonce, twiceâjust to make sure you arenât having a nightmare.
âHmm, no Iâm not doing this,â you mumble, quietly step away and close the door in his very face.
More knocks, this time harsher and insistent, stop you from turning around and going back to sleep.
âOpen the bloody door you noodleheaded twat,â he barks through the doorâvoice torn between disbelief and exasperation.
the door nearly flies off its hinges when you open it again. âWhat did you just say to me?â
Heâs quietâa surprise really, you didnât know heâs capable of shutting upâbefore his face morphs into a shiteating grin.
âBatman, huh? Didnât peg you as a comic fan.â
Itâs only then that you become aware of what youâre wearingâand how shabby you look in comparison to his slacks and dark sweater. Your face flushes with indignity, your choice of response being a pointed glare. âWhat do you want?â You ask through gritted teeth.
He shoves a basket into your hands, one filled with various itemsâsome of them warm enough for you to feel it.
âMy parents said to give that to you,â he says with a roll of his eyes. âApparently yours mentioned they wonât be âround till noon todayâitâs breakfast and lunch.â
Itâs a sweet gestureâreally, and it wouldâve moved you if it didnât mean his parents were so close to yours they were making their son send you food.
Merlin help you, you might actually see him more often than youâd like this break.
Merlin is clearly a treacherous arse because he does not help you. In fact, his lack of help is so evident you actually see Lupin for nearly every blood day of your break. The Lupins come and go to your home like they nearly live thereâmuch like your family does with theirs. Shared meals, helping out with Yule, Winter and Christmas decorations and even running errands together become part of your daily routine.
Through it all you have to bear Remus and his annoying presence, while also pretending like you havenât been in a longstanding feud with the boy since your second year.
The two of you fall into some sort of awkward rhythm where you pretend to get to know each other, smiling and wrapping yourself in conversation when your parents are nearby. As soon as they're out of the picture? The sarcasm immediately becomes the language you converse in.
But somewhere between thinly veiled insults and half hearted lies, the tension between you bled into something a little softer. Not friendship, but perhaps a less jagged version of your feud?
Maybe itâs all the time spent togetherâone runs out of things to insult when you see someone on a daily basisâthat has led to you breaching open new topics of conversation. From books to actual discussions about shared literary interests that somehow wandered off into petty school gossip and the few recounted childhood memoriesâthere was a little bit of everything present.
No longer did you fill every moment of silence with venom and anger, but a rather frankensteinâd sense of peace. He allowed you to lounge around his bedroomâa tiny space filled with books, the silliest mugs youâve ever seen, photographs, sweaters and more booksâwhile you both read in silence. In turn, you allowed him into the library of your home. His face was honestly a comical sightâas soon as you opened the small dark mahogany door at the east side of the second floor, his jaw dropped to the ground.
The roomâexpanded with the help of intricate magicânearly put the Hogwarts Library to shame. Tall shelvesâfloor to ceiling in heightâlined every possible bit, filled to the brim with tomes of all kinds. From the entrance, you couldnât see the end of the room, but you knew by heart it would take at least 15 minutes to walk from one end to the other without magic or getting sidetracked in the various hallways and nooks.
A few lamps and different seating arrangements were elegantly incorporated to give the entire room a polished yet timeless feeling.
âThis,â Remus whispered as he spun around to take the entire place in, âis bloody insane. Who has a library like that just casually in their house? Where on earth is the ceiling?â
You couldnât help but laugh at his positive confusion, simply choosing to take the lead and give him a brief tour of your favorite sections.
âMy mother is a genius in practical magic,â you remarked while pointing to yet another hallway that branched off the main room and led somewhere you didnât concern yourself with. âShe built this place for my father for their fifth wedding anniversaryâit took her nearly three years to collect all the books and we all have been adding our own over time.â
âDoes this genius streak run in the family? Should I start planning a proposal?â His jokeâthough clearly casual in natureâalmost immediately makes heat crawl up your neck. For one terrible moment you pictured itâbeing married to Remus Lupin and sharing a life with him.
Nope, absolutely not. You will not be going there thank you very much.
After that day, Remus seemed to be drawn to your home library like a moth is to light. He would knock at the door first thing in the morning, smiling sheepishly whenever your parents opened the door and ushered him inside. Most of the time you were still fast asleep then, rudely awakened by him shaking you. Most of the time heâd join you for breakfast, never quite questioning the packets of âcranberry juiceâ you seemed to consume every morningâblood enchanted to look and smell like juice to anyone who isnât a nocturnal creature.
Half of your day would be spent in the library, the other half helping his parents with the winter work on their little farmland. It wasnât much of a farm in the literal senseâa few chickens, three goats to be milked and far too many plants growing everywhere. The task you both were often left with was unfortunately weeding and cleaning the vast yard grounds, despite the icy temperatures.
What little fragile routine youâve built shatters spectacularly just a few days before Christmasâin the bloody shed out back where his parents kept the gardening tools.
With the full moon approaching rapidly, your temper flared and soured consistentlyâa little less than usual considering you're keeping up with your body's blood demand, but still noticeable enough for it to be a conscious effort to tame on your end.
And really, you were doing so goddamn well around the Lupin couple tooâeven if your parents told you you were free to stay home and not interact with people until the full moon passed. But by Merlin, their son was one hell of an infuriating twat. For three days now he's been snapping and jabbing at yours, irritation oozing from him as soon as you enter any room. You'd be lying if you said you didn't nag and fight with him too, but hey, you were just returning what you were given!
So there you stood in the tool shed after three entire days of waging cold war, silence and tension so thick in the air you could've cut it with the garden shears. You're trying to not say anythingâsomething along the lines of if you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all. Clearly, Remus does not share that sentiment because he glares at you from the other side of the shed.
âCan you like, not breathe so loud? It's annoying.â
âAlright then, guess I'll just fucking die or something,â you mutter in response, not even bothering to turn around to acknowledge him.
The hairs on your arms suddenly raise, all alarms and instincts going off out of nowhere. Before you know it, somethingâin this instance, a someone named Remusâis behind you, herding you against the nearest wall.
His eyes are narrowed, fury radiating off of him in waves. The smell of metallic anger is nauseatingâbut somehow, it doesn't bother you. In fact, it makes something inside you twist and coil. He's all up in your face, his framâeasily over two meters in heightâblocks what little light came from the cracked door, shrouding you in a sort of muffled darkness.
âWhat the fuck is your problem with me?â He barks out, his breath hot against your face. âYou've been nothing but a nasty bitch to me since third year and just when I thought you might be somewhat okay, you start acting like an asshole again.â
Many emotions course through you at this very momemtâdisbelief the most prominent of them.
âMe? What's wrong with me?â you ask with wide eyes and a laugh that nearly borders on manic. âHow about you start explaining why the fuck you'd try to kill a girl half your height and younger than you,â you spit out, finger jabbing him square in the chest.
He hisses at the contact, immediately grabbing your hand and pinning it over your head with strength you didn't assume him capable of.
âDon't pin this on me now, you're the one always picking fights with me and glaring across the room like some obsessed stalker.â
âLike you're any better, why do you always rile me up when you're supposed to be all calm and mature?â Your quip is as fiery as the rage blazing inside of you, dripping in venom and hate.
You try to writhe against his vice-like gripâhe matches you in both supernaturally enhanced strength and anger. It should make you suspicious actuallyâhave you question how a boy as lanky and sickly as him could possible completely with pure vampire strength. But you can't focusânot when he's all up in your personal space, snarling and ready to maul as soon as you show your own claws. Definitely not when he's invading all your senses like a parasiteâsmell, touch, sight, and sound. All that's lacking is for you to taste himâand you think you can from how close he's breathing you in.
âYou could also just not engage with me.â
âAnd deny you the privilege of my attention that you very clearly seek?â A smile, sharp and dangerous curls on your lips. You lean to his face, able to murmur directly into his ear with the way heâs leaning down to your level. âI think not, Remus.â
The sound of his name rolling off your lips is perhaps exactly the thing that undoes his fragile self restraintâthe metallic anger now blending with something deep and rich youâre not familiar with.
His mouth is agape, eyes roaming your face like he canât believe the situation heâs in. It makes you squirmâfrom what, you donât want to know yet.
He doesn't say anything for several beats, so you bite the bullet and question him, with much less bravado than youâd want.
âWhy are you looking at me like that?â Your voice breaksâmuch to your embarrassmentâand is quieter than before. The air shifts around you, thickening with unspoken tension of the kind that has been lingering at the edges of your interactions for far longer than you could count.
âLike what?â A low response that vibrates against your entire body.
The words are at the tip of your tongue, but a part of you knows if you say it out loudâthings will change in a way you cannot predict.
âLike you can't decide between fighting me or kissing me senseless.â
Silence stretches, thinning with every second until it snaps.
âMaybe I canât decide,â he replies quietly, âand maybe I want both.â
Thatâs all you really need to cross the lineâthe one youâve been dancing around ever since that night in the infirmary.
What happens next is a blur to youâsuddenly your hands are on his shoulders while his arms keep you upright against the storm of fervent kisses and bites.
His lips crash against yoursânot soft or hesitant, but with the force of a man starved gazing upon his last meal. It dizzies you on spot, turning off the rational side of you that screams to let go and stop this nonsense.
You try to gain the upper handâteeth clashing and tongues entwining so hard you canât tell where you stop and he starts, but heâs clearly desperate to do the same. With each passing moment, you grow bolderâyour hands wander from his shoulders to his neck, tracing along faint scars and bumps you commit to memory.
When he pulls away to regain his breath, you chase his lips desperate.
âDonât stop now,â you warn, âdonât you dare stop when itâs your fault.â
âWouldnât dream of it,â his lips are on you again, this time however on your neck in a way you hadnât expected. Itâs a pleasant sensationâdespite the noveltyâand you only grow to crave it more when he nibs and suckles on that particularly sensitive spot behind your ear.
A strange sound escapes your throatâhalf whine, half breathy sigh that spurs the urgency in his move.
âDo that again,â he mumbles against your skin, littering soothing kisses across the skin he just bit.
âMake that noise again fâme.â A small, far too soft kiss that contrasts to what youâve been doing so far, is placed at the corner of your mouth.
Well, if the Remus Lupin asks you so nicely, who are you to refuse? Especially when he slots his knee between your legs, allowing you to sink your entire weight on him and stop worrying about your wobbly knees.
Just when you feel your instinctsâthe restraint youâve trained yourself to display at all tinesâbegins to slip, the universe decides interference is of need.
A particularly loud noiseâat least loud to your keen sensesâmakes both you and Remus jump apart like deers in headlight.
âRemus darling? Where are you?â His motherâs voice comes from outside the shedâprobably somewhere by the front gardenâbut itâs just as startling as if someone had poured a bucket of ice on top of your head.
The realisation of what you just didâstill itched to doâdawns upon you. One look at Remusâ flushed and wide eyed expression tells you heâs having the very same realisation.
âRemus?â Her voice is closer this time, somewhere actually within the backyard and it adds fuel to the fire of your panic.
âI- I should go,â you stammer, eyes wildly searching for an exit that wonât let anyone see you in your disarrayed state. Clothes rumbled, face warm and multiple blooming bruises across the side of your neck.
Anyone with half a brain cell would know what you two were up to in here.
Remus takes a step into your direction, fuelling your panic into something akin to terrorâyou canât be here, with him doing anything. You fear his touch, the same touch that got you into this unbelievable mess.
With hurried strides, you nearly trip over your own feet when you beeline towards the back door. Heâs planted to the spot, watching dumbfounded as you disappear into the bushes.
You race back home, hiding your supernatural speed be damned.
You just made out with Remus Lupin in the bloody shed of his parentsâand worst of all?
Merlin, now you totally get what Barty meant back then.
