#professor luping

The bedroom Remus had claimed was as dark and narrow as the rest of the house. It had that cold, musty smell that so many old homes are plagued with. The dark green wallpaper peeled, the ancient oak bed was warped with age, and there was a perpetual draft he could never seem to find the source of.

He had never asked whose room it had once been. He did not wish to know.

Remus sat at the tiny oak desk, which was pushed up against the room’s only window. A single candle flickered in the darkness, illuminating his gaunt face. To his left lay his journal, the ink barely dry from a new entry within. The soft fluttering of paper filled the cramped space as he thumbed through a stack of Order files.

Again and again, he read the words in front of him, but they simply blurred before his eyes. Tomorrow was the full moon, and he would be traveling up to his cottage in Yorkshire for it. His thoughts wandered, and his body tensed as he imagined landing on the dilapidated doorstep of his property. He thought of the front door creaking open to reveal dusty floorboards and a few broken pieces of furniture. He imagined sitting on the floor, staring out the window as the sky grew darker and the inevitable approached. He remembered the feeling of his bones breaking, his flesh ripping, and the monster emerging…

A soft knock at the door made him start.

“Yes?” he called, too quickly.

There was a pause. 

“Sirius told me to come get you.” He was shocked to hear Y/N’s voice on the other side of the door. Normally, only Sirius or Molly ventured up to retrieve him, if not one of the Hogwarts lot. Remus stood and cleared his throat, his heart racing despite himself. He crossed the room in long strides and opened the door. 

Y/N stood with her arms crossed and her lips pursed as if coming to find him was some form of punishment. She avoided his gaze, staring pointedly over his shoulder into the room beyond. 

“He’s in the kitchen. He said he has something to show–” Her words died, and her brows furrowed. Her gaze landed on something behind him. Remus turned to see what she was looking at and spotted his journal on the desk directly in her line of sight. 

Her journal. 

Remus cleared his throat and moved forward, quickly shutting the door behind him. Y/N’s expression was unreadable. Her face boarded up like an abandoned house. Was she angry? He had asked himself that question so often it felt worn smooth inside his skull. He tried to find something to say, a lie or an excuse that could act as a bandage for this awkward encounter. 

“Of course. I’ll be right–”

Y/N, however, simply turned on her heel and walked back down the long wooden stairs. Remus had no choice but to follow at a respectable distance. 

Their footsteps creaked like a rickety wooden symphony. Remus watched the way Y/N gripped the banister, illuminated by the eerie lamplight. Her shoulders tensed as she tried to ignore his presence behind her. She wore her hair up, exposing the back of her neck. Remus spotted the dark bruises just peaking out from the collar of her jumper, the kind only a pair of lips could have left. He averted his eyes and watched his feet instead.

Life in Grimmauld Place for Y/N looked slightly different these days.

Yes, she still spent plenty of time discussing war tactics with Moody and muggle peculiarities with Arthur and Hermione. She even taught Ginny the Bat Boogey hex (resulting in a rather intense argument with Molly). But when the sun dipped below the rooftops, she often slipped out with it. 

Remus had spent far longer than he would have liked to admit pondering where she went on these nightly outings. At first, he assumed she was simply enjoying the London nightlife. She was a young woman in a major city after all. But logistically, it rang false. Order work required the utmost secrecy; Mad-Eye would never permit such a diligence. 

But there was more… other signs. Deep shadows beneath her eyes, her new tendency to jump when touched, the way her temper flared at a moment's notice, as if her patience was hanging by a single thread. Arthur had even remarked on it after a particularly heated Order meeting where Y/N had called Mundungus a colourful series of names. 

“That girl is running on fire,” He said, peering at Remus over his glasses as the door slammed shut behind them, china rattling in the cabinets. Mundungus protested pitifully to an indifferent crowd. “I’m not sure when,” Aurther muttered, “But she’s either going to explode or burn out, bless her. ”  

Perhaps most worrying of all was the sudden increase in intelligence the Order seemed to have. New names cropped up on Mad-Eye’s list weekly, from sources he would not reveal. New circles of young, prospective Death Eaters. Old pure-blood families making suspicious moves. They had even uncovered a plot to harm a Muggle family, which the Order had been able to intercept in the nick of time. 

No, Remus thought as he watched Y/N reach the ground floor. Something definitely is off. 

Y/N reached the kitchen first, Remus descending the last few steps behind her. She pushed through the peeling black door and let it swing shut behind her. 

Remus entered the long, stuffy room. The reddish walls and roaring fire made the kitchen feel just a bit warmer than the rest of the house. Several tall cabinets lined the walls, displaying all sorts of porcelain plates and cups. Pots and pans dangled from the ceiling over the long table. 

Towards the end of the kitchen sat Sirius. Harry, Ron, and the twins gathered around him, all peering down at something large and worn. Mad-Eye stood opposite them near the hearth, flicking through a stack of letters, his magical eye darting left to right, reading their contents through the envelopes. 

“L/N,” he barked without looking up, thrusting one toward her as she moved toward the kettle.

“Why, thank you,” She said sarcastically as she plucked it from his grasp. “I love my mail freshly rifled through.”

“Anyone could be anyone these days,” Moody grunted. “Lucky for you, it’s just yer mum.”

She froze. 

Remus saw it as he pulled up a chair next to Sirius.

“There you are, mate!” Sirius grinned broadly. “Look what we found cleaning out the attic! I think my dear mother left it her ‘to be destroyed pile’ and croaked before she had a chance to set it ablaze.”

Before them all lay a thick, dust-coated photo album. Remus leaned closer. The beaming young faces of his friends waved up at him from the pages. 

“Goodness,” said Remus, the weariness melting off of him and a smile tugging at his lips. “I did not know most of these existed.” He reached forward and turned the pages gingerly, as if the memories might disintegrate beneath his fingertips. 

There was a picture of first-year James and Sirius sitting on a dormitory bed, a pile of sweets between them as they waved at their observers. He spotted a photo of himself, probably in his third year, sitting in a tree in the courtyard, nose deep in a book. Sirius pointed out a picture of Lilly to Harry. Her photo version seemed to object strenuously to her picture being taken by throwing jelly slugs at the photographer. 

“God, and here’s Snivellus—”

“Sirius,” Remus warned.

Sirius explained each photo to their enraptured audience, Remus jumping in to fill in the blanks. They told tales of their escapades around the castle and adventures in the forest. They made sure to show Harry each photo of his parents in detail.

As Sirius rattled on about a Ravenclaw he had attempted to woo in their sixth year, Remus noticed Moody and Y/N talking by the hearth in low voices. He strained his ears to hear, peering at them as he pretended to scan the album. 

“You’re pushing yourself,” Mad-Eye mumbled. 

“I’m fine,” Y/N said bluntly. She fidgeted with the letter in her hand.

“We can’t afford mistakes–”

“I know that. I’ll report to you–”

“Blimey, and there's the Three Broomsticks!” Sirius said, stealing his attention. Remus looked down at a picture of the four of them outside the pub, probably towards their last year at Hogwarts, glasses raised. 

“Ohh yeah,” said Fred Sagley. “I’ve heard you’ve had a lot of fun there, Professor.” Remus felt himself tense. Surely he wasn't alluding to Remus’s escapade in the early spring? How could word of that possibly have gotten around?

“Well, yes. We all spent a significant amount of time there in our youth.” Remus replied. 

“Oh, in your youth now?” George said from Remus’s right, sharing a look with his twin. Harry looked down at his shoes, the tips of his ears pink. Remus glanced at Sirius for an explanation but spied Y/N instead, her fist clenched deathly tight on her mug, her eyes locked on Moody as if she were trying to block out all other conversation. 

“Right..well, moving on–” 

“Don’t think that barmaid ever did from the sounds of it,” Fred mumbled. 

A sharp crack split the air making everyone jump. One of the porcelain plates shattered. Then another. Then another. The entire row of china exploded where they perched on a cabinet shelf. Bits of glass tinkled as they fell to the floor and stunned silence swept over the room. 

All eyes fell on Y/N. Her eyes were wide and her mouth half-opened, chest heaving. She closed her mouth as she took in all the faces staring back at her. Straightening, she schooled her features into a facade of annoyance and indifference. Turning on her heel, she marched out of the kitchen, the heavy ‘thud’ of the door slamming shut behind her. Remus could have sworn he saw her toss her letter into the hearth as she left.

Sirius sighed, breaking the silence. “Where's Kreature when you need him?”

***

“How much longer are we expected to wait?”

Severus Snape did not raise his voice. He never needed to. As much as Remus hated to admit it, his long, cold draw possessed the power to cut cleanly through any room. It was the kind of voice that made people lean in to hear it despite their unease. 

Snape had made one of his rare appearances at headquarters. He stood near Moody at the head of the long kitchen table, black robes pooling around him, the fire behind him casting his silhouette tall and distorted against the ceiling. As always, he resembled a large, overgrown bat, and a very impatient one at that. 

It was nearly two in the morning. Sirius had long since slumped sideways in his chair, half asleep with his head in his hands. Mundungus was fully asleep, chin to chest, a thin thread of drool stretching obscenely toward the wood grain of the table. Molly sat rigid next to Arthur, lips pursed, knitting abandoned in her lap. The rest of the Order sprawled around the table in various stages of consciousness.

One chair, however, remained empty.

Remus sat very still, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Though Molly had tended to him upon his return, the new scratches on his hands had not yet closed; thin red lines disappeared beneath the cuffs of his shirt. His forearms ached in dull protest with every small movement. Though the moon steadily waned, its memory lingered deep in his bones.

Remus stared at the opposite wall and counted the seconds between the ticks of the crooked kitchen clock. Click, click, click. The sharp tap of heels against tile hit his ears, growing closer and closer.

The kitchen door flew open, and there stood Y/N. She was flushed and breathless, hair slightly dishevelled. She wore her usual going-out clothes, and the lamplight caught on the bare skin of her thighs as she walked in.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, already moving for her chair. “That took longer than I anticipated.” The scrape of wood against stone screamed through the silence. All eyes were on her. She tugged the hem of her dress down as she sat, pretending not to notice the stares. Remus tried hard not to look at her face, but as always, he failed. 

Her chest rose and fell as she caught her breath. Mascara smudged under her eyes, and her lips looked soft and swollen. There was a faint red bloom at the base of her throat that had nothing to do with the cool night air. Molly made a small sound of disapproval and deliberately turned her gaze to the fire.

“I do not suppose,” Said Snape, crossing his arms and glaring down at her. “That you care to elaborate on your tardiness?” Remus noticed the sarcastic snarl in his tone, as if he wasn't just challenging Y/N to admit where she’d been, but that he knew and dared her to say it out loud. 

Everyone watched as Y/N glared at him, flames dancing in her eyes. Remus observed the pair as they stared each other down with pure loathing. He thought back to that fateful Christmas. If he peered past the painful memories, he could just make out the image of Y/N ready to hex Snape as the potion’s master stood by the punch table. There also lingered the vague memory of hearing through the trail of Hogwarts gossip that she had suffered twelve weeks' detention for that act of defiance. 

“There were delays on the tube,” Y/N said sharply. 

“You didn't apparate?” Piped up Strugius from the other end of the table, appalled. 

“I did when I got close enough.” She said with annoyance. “It’s safer that way.” 

“Plus she ain’t very good at it.” Yawned Mundungus, finally awake. 

Y/N whirled on him.

“Shut it, Dung, you–” 

“Enough.” Moody’s gruff voice cracked like a gunshot. He focused on Y/N. “I’ll catch you up later. What have you got?”

Y/N froze, her brows furrowing.

“Here?” She asked. 

He grunted. “No time for a private report.” 

The room hung onto every word, watching the pair, waiting for answers. 

Y/N took a deep breath. She stared directly at Mad-Eye, ignoring the rest of the room. 

“Stan Shunpike is a dead end. He’s all talk. He’ll do anything to show off, but has no actual connections. There are some promising leads, newly graduated Slytherins I’ve seen around Knockturn Alley. I’m going to start engaging with them and see what's happening in those circles. I’ve heard murmurings of some planned Muggle attacks out in the east, but they could have just been drunk ramblings. I think we need to keep an eye out there, though.” 

So this was what she was doing, Remus thought, his heart sinking in horror as he stared at the marks visible on her body. Espionage in its greatest form: seduction. He chose to stare down at his hands on the table rather than look at her as she continued. 

There wasn't shock. It was once again just the simple sadness of a confirmed truth that flooded his veins. Now was not the time to unpack this. Not here, in the middle of an Order meeting, his brain fighting off sleep and his body aching from his injuries. But these emotions would not remain quiet.

His stomach churned with disgust at the thought that it had come to this. Sure, there had been plenty of undercover work in the last war. Even he had spent time among werewolf foes. But this felt different, exploitative. Dirty. 

Remus forced himself to look back at Y/N. She was alive and ablaze despite how tired she must be. The candlelight danced across her face as she spoke surly and intelligently. For a moment, he searched for the shy girl, the one who struggled with spells and held herself back. But he couldn't find her. Her words turned to a faint buzzing in his ears, and all he could hear was the hammering of his heart.

“So, yeah.” Sound returned, and she slumped back into her chair, as if she had used the last of her energy. “That's what I got.” 

Silence stretched as Mad-Eye pondered the news, but it was broken by disapproving tsk. All eyes flicked to Snape. He peered down at Y/N over his long, hooked nose. Y/N straightened once again in her seat, her fire reignited. 

“What?” She challenged. “Got something to say?” Snape regarded her as he did the slimy specimens in his potion jars.

“Is this truly the sum of your… efforts? How disappointing. One would imagine greater yield, given the enthusiasm with which you pursue your assignments.”

Sirius made to rise from his chair, mouth open in protest, but Y/N silenced him with a single raised finger. She glared at Snape, jaw set, and the rest of the table held their breath. 

“It was my efforts that prevented that attack on a Muggle family in Bristol. I don’t see your work bringing in much lately.” 

Something dangerous flashed in Snape’s eyes. 

“Lack of visible progress on my end,” he said softly, leaning forward, palms flattening on the table, “is preferable to parading oneself through Knockturn Ally in exchange for scraps of gossip.”

Moody barked, “That’s enough—”

“Well, we can't all be Dumbledore’s spy, can we?” Y/N said, ignoring the command. Snape rested his palms on the table; he looked like a cobra preparing to strike. Remus found himself rising from his chair, the legs scraping sharply against the stone, ready to intervene. 

But he was a moment too slow.

“I find it much preferable," Snape said, cold and precise, “to being Dumbledore’s whore.” 

The room was still. Not a soul dared to utter a word, not that they could find any.

Y/N froze, then nodded once, as if turning the words over in her head. She rose from her chair slowly. 

She didn't even go for her wand. 

Y/N threw herself at Snape with such ferocity that all most could do was get out of the way. A colourful string of curses flew from her mouth. Sirius and Kingsley lunged forward to hold her back. Chairs toppled, and Molly shrieked from the other side of the room. Remus moved to step in, but he was too late, too hesitant — his body still heavy from the moon. His mind was a storm of guilt and fury and something far, far uglier. Protests erupted from the table, and Moody yelled above them all, demanding decorum.

“That was out of line, Severus!” Sirius snarled as Y/N struggled between his and Kingsley’s grasp. Out of line was an understatement. Remus wanted to break his nose. Y/N yelled insults at the top of her lungs, eyes ablaze.

“Stand down!” Moody thundered. She took deep, shuddering breaths and finally went still, eyes still trained on a smug-looking Snape who had manoeuvred to the opposite corner of the kitchen. Kingsley released Y/N first, Sirius second, and she took a step back. Her eyes were full of the most intense hatred Remus had ever seen. She took deep, ragged breaths, and her gaze flicked towards Remus for the briefest of moments. A chill went down his spine at the ferocity of it. With a final shuddering breath, Y/N turned and walked out of the kitchen, slamming the door shut behind her. 

There was a pause before Remus found himself crossing the kitchen towards Snape himself. No one realised what he was doing until he was face to face with Snape, his wand raised and pointed at the other man's throat. Cries of protest flooded the kitchen once more, but Remus ignored them.

“Do not ever, ever, insult an Order member in such a manner!” He said in a low, measured voice. “That is low, even for a miserable coward such as yourself.” Snape opened his mouth, no doubt ready to hurl more insults, but two large hands on each of their shoulders pulled them apart.

“Sit down, Lupin,” Moody growled in his ear. “That’s enough.” 

Remus did not sit. His chest still rose and fell too quickly, the last remnants of the moon’s violence humming unpleasantly through him. Moody placed himself between Remus and Snape. The other man smoothed down his robes, his face indifferent as if nothing remarkable had just transpired. Mad-Eye berated Snape with words of his own, but Remus didn't hear them.

Around the table, people began shifting in their chairs again. Someone righted one of the toppled seats. Molly muttered something under her breath as she gathered fallen papers from the floor. Sirius and Arthur cast each other grave glances. 

But the only thing Remus could think about was the door behind them. The one that still trembled slightly on its hinges from the force of being slammed. 

The one Y/N had just disappeared through.

***

The house was deathly quiet, most of its inhabitants already sound asleep in their beds. Fresh school robes were draped over the bannister, the kids' trunks littered the entry hall, and an organised mess of textbooks and pranks was strewn about the kitchen table. 

Remus sat up in the parlour, Sirius snoring soundly on the settee by the fire. It was well past midnight. A well-worn novel rested in Remus’s lap, but his gaze stayed fixed on the grandfather clock in front of him. The gentle tick, tick, tick of the minute hand echoed like a rhythmic drum in the stillness. 

He rubbed his own tired eyes. He should be in bed, ready for an early start tomorrow, and the chaos of transporting six Hogwarts students (and one very high-profile one at that) all the way to King's Cross. But rest never seemed to find him. Not when she was out. 

Remus flicked his gaze to the hearth, and images flooded his mind. Y/N walking down busy London streets, cabs and double-deckers zooming past her as her heels clicked against the pavement. Y/N perched at a bar, pulling out secrets from naive men with sultry smiles and a bat of her lashes. Y/N pushed up against a wall in an alley as those men’s hands trailed up her— 

He tore his eyes away from the fire. He wouldn't allow himself to finish the thought. 

He wasn't sure when he had started waiting up for her. He wasn't even sure when he had noticed he was doing it. It must have been sometime after the fateful Order meeting with Snape, when so many truths came spilling out. Nonetheless, it had become a sort of ritual; Sirius and Him sat in the drawing room night after night. Waiting. 

That telltale slam of the door rang through the house now. Remus sat up straighter, and Sirius stirred from his slumber. He waited with bated breath as the sound of footsteps grew closer. Most nights, he was lucky to get a glimpse of her as she climbed up the grand wooden staircase, or to see the dark silhouette of her creep into the kitchen. But tonight, she poked her head into the parlour door. 

“Have either of you seen my cigarettes?” Her hair was frazzled, and she had an exhausted look in her eyes. 

“Top drawer of the entry way dresser, I think,” said Sirius sleepily. “Unless those twins tried to nick them again.” 

“Thanks,” She muttered, running a hand down her face. For a moment, Remus could have sworn her gaze lingered on him, but she turned to leave, and he told himself he’d imagined it. 

Remus watched her retreating figure fade into the darkness of the house. The same questions haunted his mind. Was she angry? Was she ok? Was this all his fault? 

A soft ‘ahem’ from beside him made him turn. Sirius was staring at him imploringly. 

“What?” Remus whispered. 

“Go talk to her.” It was the same four words Sirius had said last night. And the one before that. Remus simply shook his head. 

“I’m quite certain that is the last thing she wants.” 

“Merlin’s beard!” Sirius ran a hand down his face and shook his head. “How can you be so blind?” Remus opened his mouth, ready to make some excuse, but Sirius continued. “You spend so much time looking at her, and you never see the way she looks at you!” 

Remus froze. Could that be true? 

“She waits for you, Remus.” Sirius continued. 

Remus frowned. “That’s ridiculous.”

“No, what’s ridiculous,” Sirius said, “is that every night she comes home, and every night you happen to find a reason to be awake at the same time in this god-forsaken sitting room just to make sure she’s ok.”

Remus said nothing.

“Honestly, Moony, if she hated you as much as you think she does, she’d have hexed you months ago.” 

Remus stared down at his shoes, deep in thought. Sirius’s voice softened slightly. “There's a war on, Remus. We’re not exactly living in a world where people get endless chances to say what they need to.” 

Remus sighed and gave his friend a long, hard look before standing from the couch and walking out of the parlour. 

He crept through the dark halls, careful to step over trunks and tennis shoes. The front door grew closer and closer, and as it did, his heart seemed to beat faster. The handle sat before him like a question, a choice. His hand rose and hesitated over it. He hadn't been filled with this much trepidation since he sent the initial Order letter to Y/N. His own words echoed in his head now.

Out of nothing prior except concern for your own safety, I urge you not to do this.

He turned the handle and opened the door. 

The street outside Grimmauld Place had a quiet tranquility to it. Rain from earlier that evening had left the pavement slick, and the yellow glow of the streetlamps shimmered across the wet asphalt. In the small park at the center of the square, an old man walked his dog, unaware of the figures on the doorstep due to the house’s protection charms. The trees swayed gently in the summer breeze. Somewhere in the distance, a car rolled past, its tires whispering briefly against the damp road before the sound faded. The air carried the faint scent of flowers and cigarette smoke mingled with something softer, the familiar perfume Remus had come to recognize as Y/N’s. 

She sat on the first step of the stoop, a cigarette between her lips as she flicked open the lighter. The small flame flared briefly, illuminating her face while she cupped her hand against the wind. Remus closed the door behind him and cleared his throat awkwardly, but Y/N gave him no mind. The flame caught. Her cigarette glowed, and she exhaled a thin stream of smoke into the quiet night. 

“I wasn't aware that you smoked.” She cast him the briefest of glances. 

“Yep.” She said coolly. 

Steadying his nerves, Remus sat next to her on the top step, his elbows resting on his thighs. He saw bruises on her back from beneath the thin straps of her dress, and he didn't miss the way her body tensed when he sat. He gazed out towards the empty street; it was easier than looking at her. 

“I suppose Sirius has been rubbing off on you?” He said lightly, remembering his friends' own affinity for nicotine in their youth. 

She took a long drag of her cigarette. “Maybe he has.” The words had their desired effect. The monster of jealousy reared inside of him, and he pushed it down with a deep breath. This was not going how he wanted. 

Remus tore his gaze away from the street and let his eyes land on her. The street lamps lit her features with their soft glow, and he was transported back to that night on the bridge. He thought of the fireworks that had flashed over the lake, illuminating her smile and tear streaked face. He remembered the look in her eyes when her gaze met his. Now, all he saw was exhaustion there, and he was filled with the deep, all-consuming need to know if she was ok.

“Are you…faring well?” She scoffed and finally turned to look at him incredulously. 

“Yeah, I’m just fantastic.” Sarcasm dripped from her tongue. 

“I apologize, I simply meant–” 

“I know what you meant. I’m fine.” The silence stretched on like a chasm between them. Remus racked his brain, looking for the right words.

“I’m sorry you are here. It should have never come to this. The Order, the work you’re doing, I cannot help but feel I had a hand in it.” He cast her a sidelong glance, trying to gauge her reaction. “You must be… very angry with me.” She gave him a curious look.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, Remus. I’m fucking furious with you.” She took a long drag of her cigarette, shaking her head incredulously. “But don’t you dare act like I’m here because of you.” She rose, as if disgusted to be seated next to him. “Do you think I threw myself into this cause because of you? I don’t sacrifice myself and my dignity time and time again because of you!” Her voice rose, louder and louder. “But yeah, you are right, I am angry. I’m fucking furious! I burn with anger, Remus. I can’t sleep because I’m so angry, it eats me alive!” She roared.  “I’m angry that the only way I’m useful is by using my body, I’m angry that I let Death Eaters feel me up, and sometimes I like it! I’m angry that Molly won’t let me near her kids anymore, and yes, Remus, I am angry at you!” She paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath as if she had been waiting a lifetime to let these words spill out. “Cause I was stupid and naive, and I’m embarrassed every time I see you, but you, you made me think you fucking cared! You used me, and when you didn't like what you had created, when you couldn't handle it, you threw me away!” 

“Y/N…” He said softly. 

“I moulded myself into something for you!” 

Remus swallowed dryly. “I never intended you to.” 

“You didn't need to.” She said with disgust. “God, what was your plan here? Leave your guilt on the doorstep? Shake hands and call it a day? Well, news flash, you don’t get to do that! You don't get to call me up again and break me down just to clear your conscience! You don’t get to write a little letter telling me not to get involved and call it a day!” 

“No.” He said firmly. “I would never dream of feeling redeemed.” She laughed, once. Sharp, cold, and hard. 

“No, of course you wouldn't! I suppose you just go and fuck the nearest barkeep when you wanna feel something close to it!” Remus winced, and Y/N smiled without mirth, seeing her insult land. “Oh yeah. I know all about that. Play with the affections of a young girl, then run and fuck the nearest real woman! Real classy.” 

It came to him then. The memory of rushing through the castle halls after that unplanned encounter. Nearly running headfirst into Y/N, the way she had looked him up and down as if searching for confirmation she wished not to find, the panic and disgust in her tearful eyes. 

“How did you–” 

“It pays to be friends with portraits.” She said coldly. She wrapped her arms around herself and scoffed, whispering almost to herself. “How was I ever even supposed to compare?” 

Remus stood. That felt the only proper way to do this. He took a deep breath, and surprisingly, the words he needed all along fell from his lips easily. “I have hurt you deeply. Though I wish there were, I know nothing I can say will fix that. What I did, what I let transpire, was deplorable. I never meant to hurt you, but I think I always knew I would. And that, there, is my greatest shame and failure.” She looked at him, eyes still hard and guarded. “You were…a bit of sunshine in my incredibly dark and pathetic life, and I was too much of a coward to let you go. You deserved so much better than that… than me. If I could reach back through time and fix things, I would. Time may forgive what I have done, but trust when I say that I never will. I am deeply, tuly sorry.” Something in her eyes softened, tears welling in them, as if the flames of her anger had burnt themselves out and she was left fragile and exhausted. 

“You can’t tell me it all meant nothing?” She whispered. 

“I would never dream of telling such a lie.” 

Her lip trembled, and she sank to the stoop as though her legs had simply given out beneath her. Remus watched her tentatively, his heart breaking at the sight. 

“I’m so tired.” Her voice broke. Gingerly, Remus resumed his seat next to her. 

“I know.” He said softly. 

Silence settled between them. Leaves rustled overhead. The ember of Y/N's forgotten cigarette glowed faintly beside her shoe before finally burning itself out. Remus focused on the sound of her steady breaths. It felt like a dam had broken open between them, months of anger, hurt, and misunderstandings all spilled out in front of them, and together they sat in the wake of its wreckage. Gently, Y/N rested her head on Remus’s shoulder. He tensed for a moment before relaxing under her touch, allowing his head to rest against hers, his eyes closing shut. It was a silent, somber agreement; a symbol of forgiveness. 

Neither of them spoke, but perhaps they should have.

Perhaps there were still things left unsaid. Feelings that should have been confessed or buried properly instead of being carried around like old wounds.

But neither of them seemed to have the strength for that tonight.

So they sat together on the front step of Grimmauld Place, her head on his shoulder, watching the dark London street and listening to the distant sounds of the city.

For now, it was enough.