#prongsmoon

Fleamont talked to him about his potion making, asking his son for ideas about why things went wrong and becoming quite frustrated when James, who just wanted to play with the muggle kids down the block, couldn’t think of an answer.

Euphemia complained to him about all the work she had to do around the house. At 82 years old, she reasoned, she shouldn’t have to do a thing! She should be retired by now. James, who Euphemia had to feed and clothe and care for, couldn’t help but feel responsible for her burden. Late at night, the nine year old boy would sneak out of his room and sweep and dust set everything straight. Euphemia never seemed to notice.

When his parents would argue, the massive family home would be oppressively silent, and things never seemed to get resolved until James went and listened to both of their sides and, sometimes over the course of a few weeks, convinced them to make up.

In the summer before James’s third year at Hogwarts, Remus moved in with the Potters. It was around this time that Euphemia taught James how to use a stove, handed him a recipe book, and wiped her elderly hands of mealtime responsibility (she and Fleamont had begun their retirement and started to eat out much more, leaving James responsible only for his and Remus’s meals.)

The summer before James’s fifth year, Sirius turned up, beaten and bruised, on James’s doorstep. With Sirius’s parent trauma and Remus’s parent trauma, James was playing family therapist again but he didn’t mind so much this time (it’s different with peers), though mealtimes were getting harder to handle.

At Hogwarts, he had Quidditch practice (that he had to organise!) Quidditch games, loads of homework, essays, class projects, two traumatized friends who were also swamped with work but with less coping strategies to deal with it. Kids in younger years needed help with homework, help finding classes, help, help, help, and James was approachable enough that they always seemed to find him out of the thousand other kids in the school. He had tryouts to hold for Quidditch, tryouts to hold for the underground theatre club (which met at night!) of which he was the main writer of the plays. He had a musical in the works he had to write the score for, and a scooby-doo animation he was working on for the first years. He made sure his friends ate, kept Remus company on the full moon, covered their assignments when they missed a day for personal reasons, and on top of All Of That, he was supposed to be organizing pranks to keep his title of Mischief Lord out of contention.

James was stretched thin heading into the winter holidays. His parents were off vacationing somewhere warm, so he, Sirius, and Remus would have the house to themselves.

The students were gathering outside of the Hogwarts Express, huddling together and waiting to be let in out of the cold. While Sirius and Remus were debating some silly anthropological question (“What human ancestors would be ethical to bang?”), and James tried to figure out what he was going to make for Christmas dinner that wouldn’t psychologically break him (pork roulade? roast goose? Surely he could get his friends to help with that, though he hated to ask)- When Lily Evans came up and asked to stay the holidays because Snape was stalking her and she couldn't go home and she couldn't stay there.

He said yes, of course, and mentally recalculated how much food he'd need for Christmas dinner.

---

The four of them arrived at the Potter mansion hungry and a bit sleepy from the long ride. James made dinner (he threw together a pizza) while Sirius got Lily set up in a guest room.

The next night was the full moon, so no sleep for him, and then he made breakfast and after that he had to work on a script and some transfiguration homework-

When Christmas rolled around, everyone was having tons of fun goofing around- except for James. James was working on dinner.

As he was scouring the goose (more surface area means more crispy skin) he was trying to come up with a novel spell for charms (the current project was to make a spell of your own), and he should really start on the potatoes soon, and-

James blinked uncomprehendingly as the goose, dead and just unthawed, started to bleed red blood. Was it, like, did the company not drain it?

With James’s brain a-fuzz from 6 hours of sleep across the last few days, it took until Remus walked into the kitchen and went “Merlin, mate, you okay?” for him to realize that the reason the goose was bleeding was because james had sliced his finger open.

“Uh-” James stammered, as Remus pulled several tissues from his pocket and wrapped them around James’s finger, pulling him away from the goose.

“You okay?” Remus asked again, looking concerned.

“Uh,” James stared at the tissues, which were starting to turn red.

Remus dragged James over to the sink and replaced the tissues with a damp cloth, “You’ve been… off, lately-” James wouldn’t normally have cut himself. His eyes wandered over to the table. There was blood on the goose. He’d have to get a new one, or- oh, but there was no time, dinner was ruined and it was his fault and he had 4 people to feed and no dinner and it was all his fault-

Remus reached up and cupped James’s cheek in his hand as James suddenly started crying.

“James, tell me what’s wrong,” He said, his voice soft but firm. When James took a shaky breath but didn’t respond, Remus continued, “You haven’t been sleeping. You’ve been eating less. Homeworks been piling up on your desk. Something’s wrong. What is it?” A pause, “You can talk to me.”

James leaned his face into Remus’s palm, tears streaming down his face.

“James. Come on.”

James inhaled shakily, “I messed up dinner.”

“Y-” Remus began.

“I’m cooking for everyone all the time always, and today, when it matters most, I messed it up,” He wiped his face with his hand, “And i don’t have any idea what i’m going to do for charms- I don’t- and the script is rubbish- and- and like you said, the homework’s piling up because i d- I don’t have time for it all!” He squeezed his eyes shut and bonked his head against Remus’s, “And I ruined dinner.”

Remus pulled out his wand and vanished the blood, “There’s that fixed-”

“Diseases, Remus-”

“You’re not diseased, James. Dinner’s fine.” Remus’s green eyes were kind, “C’mere.”

James allowed himself to be pulled into a hug. Remus smelled like cinnamon.

“Let me take a few things off your plate, mmkay?” Remus muttered into James’s ear.

James was about to protest, when Remus said, “I’ll get the script. You focus on classwork, kay? Flitwick will give me leeway. And I’ll help with dinner tonight, too, alright?”

“Mm,” James closed his eyes as Remus gently traced circles onto his back.

“Alright?” Remus asked.

Harry pulled it out of his mouth just long enough to say, “I do it! Dad, I do it!” In a rather annoyed tone.

“Of course you can, sweetie, keep trying,” James let out a small chuckle, desperately looking around for the camera.

Remus smiled fondly, watching his son repeatedly attempt to break the tough skin on the mango, to no avail.

“Lovey?” He said kindly, “What exactly are you trying to do with that mango?”

Harry’s face crinkled up in a scowl, which was adorable rather than intimidating, “Ea eh,” He said, which Remus took to mean ‘Eat it’, muffled because Harry’s mouth was very much still wrapped around the mango.

They viewed their child for about 30 seconds more before Harry abruptly gave up, slamming the mango onto the table and putting on his ‘I am going to cry’ face, complete with the crossed arms and the whine building in his throat.

“Oh, baby,” He and James said basically at once.

Remus got there first. He turned Harry’s chair to face him (Harry didn’t like being picked up without permission (which James thought was brilliant (boundaries and all) but it made Remus a little sad (he wanted to cuddle his baby, always.))).

“Do you want help with the mango?”

“No!”

“Baby, I-”

“No!”

Over the next several minutes, they figured out that 1) Harry had gotten the mango from Sirius, 2) In an attempt to use words Harry could understand, Sirius had described it as a ‘special apple’, and 3) Harry was very upset because, if this was an apple, why the hell couldn’t he eat it like one?

Which gave them pause-

James whispered to Remus, “Wait, has Sirius been giving our child whole apples?”

“Apparently?” Remus said.

“That’s not good.”

“Well, he hasn’t choked yet-” he turned to Harry and said, in a normal voice, “Harry, love, do you want me to show you how to eat a mango? It’s a grown-up fruit, you need help to eat it.”

“Yeah, it’s more like an orange, actually.” James chimed in, pulling the mango towards him and starting to cut it up for Harry with his pocket knife.

Later, it was time to lay Harry down for his nap, and after his Fruit Tears had tired him out, he went down fairly easily. They were going to take him to the park later, not that Harry knew that (he’d never get to sleep if he knew they were going somewhere fun)- but with Harry asleep, James and Remus had about an hour to themselves. And with moments like this so few and far between, they knew exactly what they needed to do.

Rain lashed the roof and walls last night

Sounding like bullets

And making you jump

And you

Bisclavret

Touched my shoulder

And said my name

And i pretended to be asleep

Because you

Bisclavret

Are not something i’m ready to face.

Thunder shook the house again

And a rush of cold hit my back

As you folded back the blankets

And i felt like i was falling

As your weight shifted the mattress.

And there you were

Bisclavret

Your back pressing into mine

Making my heart pound

Like the raindrops outside

We lie there

For hours

Both of us awake

And both afraid

You of the thunder

And me of myself.

Remus stared at the handwriting on the yellowing paper inside the leatherbound book he was holding. James’s, no doubt.

His heart ached, it had been 12 years since he’d seen that handwriting.

He leaned against the mantel in his office.

The things you find when you go through your trunk.

Remus got the distinct feeling that he was not supposed to be reading this, but he couldn’t stop himself.

The name ‘Bisclavret’ seemed strangely familiar, but he couldn’t exactly place it.as far as he knew, neither he nor James knew of anyone named Bisclavret, so it had to be some sort of metaphor, right? James liked metaphors.

Sinking down into a chair by the fire, he let himself turn the page.

He read for hours.

…

By the time he came to the last poem in the book, his back ached. But he couldn’t stop now, could he?

Besides, this was another Bisclavret one (there were many within the pages) and while he still had no idea who the hell James was talking about, he seemed to be pining hard.

Lines like

“The light hit your hair

And turned it gold

In a way that would humble even the stars.

Bisclavret

You put the sun to shame”

Peppered the pages, even turning up in poems that seemed to be about other things, like James had suddenly got distracted and decided to write about this mystery bloke.

Which was a surprise in and of itself- he’d always figured James was something along the lines of aromantic, he never really showed any interest in anyone as far as Remus could tell- and Remus had spent a lot of time with him, you’d think he’d’ve known if James ever felt like that…

The last poem- not on the last page, it had obviously- the book, that was- had obviously been cut short. The handwriting was a mess, like it’d been written sideways while he was lying in bed.

October 30, 1981

It rained tonight,

Bisclavret

But you didn’t open my door

Like you used to.

There was no hand on my shoulder

Or rush of cold

When the thunder shook the house

And the lightning lit up the walls.

The pressure on my back

Is not you

Bisclavret

And i’m aching

And not just from the chill

I wish

That you were here

That you would climb the stairs

And open my door

And take my hand

And pull me from bed

That you’d look me in the eye

While the lighting turned you golden

And you’d echo my heart

And we’d leave.

And i’d kiss her goodbye

(not like i’d kiss you)

(i’d never stop kissing you)

I’m not afraid anymore

But too little, too late

Because Bisclavret

Bisclavret

I’ve a bad feeling about tomorrow.

The next morning was Monday, so Remus was teaching class. He was pretty certain that this ‘Bisclavret’ was some reference to something (who would name their kid Bisclavret? No one, that’s who.) and it was really eating at Remus- he had to know! He had to know who the hell this guy was! Some mystery-ass person that enamoured James for 8 years straight- that he was thinking of literally the day before his death, and Remus had never even met him! He felt betrayed, honestly, and sure, it was really none of his business, but last night left him aching with grief and curiosity alike. He had to know.

On the board, before class, he wrote:

Extra credit: Who is Bisclavret? Bonus points for detail.

The question went unanswered for most of the day until, perhaps unsurprisingly, the gryffindor third years filed in.

Midway through class (they were covering hinkypunks), Hermione Granger’s hand went up.

“Yes, Hermione?” He paused, the hinkypunk (a foggy-looking creature) he was holding by the leg wriggling in his grasp.

“I’d like to answer the extra credit question.”

“Okay?”

She looked a bit nervous, like she wasn’t sure if Remus actually wanted it answered, but he nodded for her to continue.

“Bisclavret, or Bisclaveret, is a character from a short story from the 1100’s by Marie de France.”

He nodded for her to continue- that definitely seemed like the kind of reference James would sprinkle into his poetry-

“Basically,” She said, “He was a knight married to this girl, and every week he’d disappear for a few days- she asks him where he’s going- a lot of her stories are about love, so the girl says that if he doesn’t tell her she’ll die of a broken heart, and he believes her, so he tells her where he’s going- Bisclavret is a werewolf-”

WHAT?

“But he’s not violent or anything, because he’s a knight, he’s actually quite gentle-”

HUH????

“But she betrays him and- in the story, werewolves can’t turn back without their clothes- so she steals his clothes and then marries this other knight- Bisclavret lives in the woods for like a year until he’d found and rescued by the king, who brings him to live with him-”

Remus was sharply reminded of being rescued by James in second year.

“Still as a wolf, he doesn’t know it’s Bisclavret- eventually they get the clothes back but he doesn’t put them on, and the king figured it’s because he’s embarrassed, so he takes him into his bedroom and leaves him alone for a few hours, and when he comes back, Bisclavret is human again, and it turns out that the king missed him so much that they kiss.”

Remus was reeling. Werewolf? Gentle Werewolf? Bisclavret? Remus? James never seemed to like anyone? Werewolf? Bisclavret? Remus?

Apparently, he was silent for quite a while, because the next thing he noticed was that the hinkypunk had gone still in his grasp and Hermione was clearing her throat.

“Was that good enough?” She asked.

Remus stared at her blankly. What was she talking about…?

Oh. The extra credit.

“Y- yes, that was very- yes. Thank you, I’ll add that onto your grade-”

With Remus left reeling and unable to concentrate, he was forced to do something he’d never done before: end the class early.

Remus found his way back to his office with 45 minutes left in the period and sank into his chair by the fire, staring in astonishment at the final poem scrawled into the leather bound book.

Bisclavret.

The werewolf.

James was writing love poems using the name of a werewolf.

James had never seemed to pay attention to anyone romantically.

Bisclavret was a werewolf.

James had spent his last night on earth longing to run away with Bisclavret.

The werewolf.

Remus.

The werewolf.

His stomach turned and his vision blurred with tears as he stared up at the ceiling.

He felt like he needed to be taken to the seaside for his health.

This was something he could have died without knowing. He would have been happier not knowing. The idea that- and it was too late for Remus to-

Too little, too late was right, James, but it wasn’t your fault. It was never-

Remus squeezed his eyes closed and tears began to fall down his face.

Miles away, a shaky, starving hand strained against the weight of the iron shackle chaining it to the ground.

A finger, thin and practically skeletal, began to trace letters onto the loose dirt of the unfinished basement’s floor.

It began,

B

I

“Yeah, Moony, it’s me. You okay?” James’s voice was concerned, and Remus felt butterflies as the hands slid down, off of his face, settling at his waist. It was James, and Remus was safe in his bed at the Potter family home. Remus was 15, not 5, and his parents couldn’t get him here.

“M’I okay?”

“You were crying. I could hear it from the other room.” James crawled over to his other side, laying down next to him. Two tugs on his shirt, and Remus laid back down as well.

“Just a nightmare,” Remus said dismissively, resting his head on James’s chest and his friend’s arm slid under his neck and rested on his shoulder.

It was James.

Remus closed his eyes.

“The basement one again?” James traced gentle circles on Remus’s shoulder.

“Mmm.” Remus didn’t want to talk about it.

His curls shifted as James planted a kiss on the top of his head, making Remus’s stomach all fluttery. Or maybe that was anxiety from the dream. He wrapped his arm around James’s chest, snuggling closer.

“It’s okay,” James murmured into his hair, “I’m here.”

Remus knew that people couldn’t just Get Over trauma, but he still found it stupid that, even though he hadn’t been with his parents since he was 12, the nightmares still hadn’t ceased.

Not that life here was all rainbows (that was one thing Fleamont and Euphemia didn’t want in their house. Rainbows, that is. They wouldn’t be happy if they caught Remus in bed with their only son.) (Not that that was stopping them.) (Nor had it in the past.) (Shh.)

“You know you can talk to me?” James said.

“What’s there to talk about? You know it all.”

“Talking can help,” James paused, waiting for a response, and when he didn’t get one, he said, “I’ll go first. When i was younger, I had this recurring nightmare where these demons would break into my house-”

Remus opened his eyes.

“And they’d say that Father Christmas sent them to collect the bad kids-”

“Mate, what?”

“Shh, i’m not done-” he said, “and then, they’d fly me to a volcano and put me in line with some other children that they were shoving into the lava-”

“Are you, like, okay?”

“But when they pushed me off, i landed on a rock and jumped over to a shelf, and there’d be a bunch of… ah, what’s the word?” Remus felt James turn his head to look at him, “They’re not carousels, they… uh, shit, when you’re little, you climb on and rock on them like a horse?”

“Rocking horses?” Remus frowned slightly, imagining a rock shelf full of creepy rocking horses in the middle of a volcano.

“Nah, mate, they’re at playgrounds. All springy-like.”

“Oh,” Remus felt James’s foot slip between his legs, “uh, spring riders? I think?”

“Alright, those- the shelf was full of those, and i’d be trying to escape, but the demons threw fireballs at me, and besides, I couldn't run far because I'd lost my bracelet.”

Remus slowly blinked, looking up at James in the dark. And then, because he was invested now, “And then what?”

“Oh, no idea. Maybe that wasn’t the best one to lead with. Hm.”

“Hm.”

“Wanna hear the one where a giant cannibalized me and the scooby gang?”

Remus laughed, “What?”

“Made us into deserts and everything, it was crazy,” He smiled. A moment passed. “Come on, Moony, it’s your turn.”

Remus heaved a sigh into James’s chest, the fear from the dream having been long replaced with unease as James’s story brought Remus’s heart rate back down to resting. “Alright, fine. M’in the basement. It’s after the full moon and I’m hurt.”

James wrapped his other arm around Remus, holding him gently.

“I call for my mum, but she doesn’t come, and I can’t really move properly, and it sounds like they’re having a dinner party or something? I’m bleeding out and they don’t care. And also I’m, like, seven.”

James nodded.

“Room starts shaking,” Remus felt watched from the corners of the room, so he pulled the heavy blanket right up to his chin, “Mum starts storming towards the door, because my yelling has ruined the party- I- I wake up before she gets to me, but.” He sighed.

“But.” James said, not a question but more of an agreement with the fucked-up-ed-ness of the nightmare.

Remus closed his eyes again as James started caressing circles on his cheek.

“You’re safe now, you know that?” James said softly.

“‘Course.” Remus yawned.

A moment of silence.

“I love you, you know that?”

Remus smiled, looking up to where James’s face would be if he could see him, “Love you, too.”

James wrote. And wrote. And wrote. And after a month of not getting any response, he was officially worried. He didn’t want to leap to any conclusions- even though not writing was So unlike the Remus he had come to know- so he headed to the local library and went straight to the hidden section on wizarding families.

And found out that Lyall, Remus’s father, had a history of calling for the extermination of werewolves as a whole.

He had to do something. There was no way Remus was okay. There was no way-

He had to be careful about this. His parents had always taught him to be diplomatic in dicey situations (not that James had listened. Ever.) So he sat for a while and thought about what he could do. Would they let James in the door to check on Remus? He didn’t think so. But he needed to get in- if he was able to check on Remus, and he was fine, then there wasn’t a problem. But if he wasn’t… and he probably wasn’t……

He wrote a few more letters.

And was met with more silence.

James was in the front seat of his family car. His parents were both too old to drive, and James wanted to make sure no one would get arrested if things went south, so behind the wheel was Maisie- seeing as she was Not A Person and instead the combined magical talent of hundreds of generations of Potters all shoved into carved and painted ivory (that was then shoved into an Edwardian walking dress), she couldn’t be held accountable for her action but could, in fact, drive a car. James thought she was perfect for the job.

“Turn here, love?” Today she spoke with the voice of James’s grandmother, who he’d never met.

James consulted his map, on which he’d marked Remus’s house with an X (because he liked to feel like a pirate), and said, “Yeah, Maisie, here.”

They turned onto a residential street, lined with cookie-cutter houses and cookie-cutter lawns. It didn’t look like the sort of place you could hide a werewolf.

“I think it’s so nice you’re bringing your friend a basket!” Maisie smiled over at him, her painted-on eyes fond. James felt a pang of guilt, he hadn’t told her the plan.

“Yeah,” He muttered.

About halfway down the street, she leaned over and glanced at his map, “Here, dear?”

James looked out the window, then down at his map, double-checking the address, “Yeah, looks like it.” He was feeling nervous now.

“Alright, dear,” Maisie pulled over and put the car in park, “I’ll just wait here while you give your friend your present.”

James opened the door, stepping out onto the blinding-white sidewalk. This whole place was too perfect, it gave him shivers. He picked up the gift basket he and Maisie had put together, shut the door- then changed his mind, opening the back door a crack (better to be ready)- and started up the walk.

He passed a mailbox right out of a movie- in cursive font it said Lupin, with a large, medium, and tiny handprint on the sides. The house was a lovely yellow, and the living room and kitchen lights were on. The upstairs window, where the kids’ bedroom would be, was dark.

His skin crawled.

Trying his best to look innocent and well-intentioned, he knocked three times on the door.

After about thirty seconds, right when James was about to knock again, it opened.

A lady with Remus’s green eyes and curls opened the door, looking confused and a bit like she was looking at someone who shouldn’t be there.

“Hi! I’m James, I’m Remus’s friend from school!” He said, heart racing, “I brought him a basket, can I come in and see him?”

“Oh, that’s so nice of you,” She smiled, reaching for the basket, “But Remus is sick right now, so I’ll just give him this for you.”

James pulled the basket away, trying to look casual, “I really want to see him though, it’ll only be for a moment-”

“He’s highly contagious-”

“I’m vaccinated!” James looked behind her, trying to see into the house- Remus wasn’t in the living room, and not up the stairs-

“For what?”

“Uh, Everything!” He jerked the basket away as she grabbed it, sending a few apples from the Potter orchard rolling down the Lupin’s front steps. She wasn’t gonna let him in, this was exactly what he feared would happen, and-

Ah, fuck it-

He spilled the entire basket onto Hope Lupin’s feet and used her moment of shock to push past her into their entryway.

“Remus!” He shouted, sprinting further into the house and looking around wildly.

“You can’t come in!” Hope sounded angry now, “Get out!”

“Remus!” He ran into their hall, seeing a door with a silver doorknob and a large lock. He banged his hands on the door, “Remus?!”

To his relief and to his horror, he heard a faint voice call, “James?”

That was enough for him! He went to open it but found- duh!- that it was locked, and James couldn’t use magic-

He slammed against it, trying to get it open, but the door was solid oak, and he was 12.

“Uh, um,” He was starting to panic, “There’s gotta- uh,”

“Get out or I’m calling the police!”

James focused as much as he could on the door, willing it open, willing it to just explode-

With a loud crack, the hinges fell to pieces.

He rammed into the door again, and this time it fell open, sliding down the stairs.

“Remus!” He shouted, going down the stairs- the door led to a basement- as fast as possible.

“James! I’m down here!”

“I know!” He tripped on the door, tumbling onto the unfinished dirt floor. Remus grabbed his arm, and when James looked up, his heart dropped to the center of the earth.

Remus looked frightened, more than a little hungry, and fastened securely around his mouth and nose was a steel muzzle.

He stood quickly, trying to pull Remus to his feet, but his friend stumbled- James looked down to see that Remus’s foot was hurt, would he have to carry him? Could he?

Hope’s silhouette appeared at the top of the stairs, and James had a horrible vision of being trapped down here forever.

He grabbed Remus’s arm, pulled him to his feet, hurt foot be damned, and started dragging him up the stairs.

“MOVE,” He shouted at Hope, trying to force his magic into his voice- and sent Hope sprawling into the hall.

He ran, half-carrying Remus, through the living room, out the door, down the lawn, to the car, and then flung open the back door, pushing Remus into the car with a thunk before hurriedly climbing in himself, slamming the door behind them.

“Dear, is that your friend?” Maisie looked at them through the rearview mirror, clearly concerned.

“GO!”

“What, dear?”

“Maisie we gotta go she’s gonna-”

Maisie turned to look at them-

“Maisie we’ve gotta-”

“James, we can’t just-”

“They’re gonna hurt us!”

And that was enough for Maisie. She floored it.

They tore out of the lovely little neighborhood, leaving skid marks at corners and blowing past stop signs. James struggled to help Remus into his seatbelt as they were practically thrown around the cabin. Once they were both secured, he helped Remus out of the muzzle.

“Remus, what happened?” James cried out.

A few new scars decorated Remus’s face, claw marks on his cheeks and near his ears.

“They- they put it on so I can’t bite-”

“The full moon was two weeks ago! Why were you still down there?!”

Remus looked ashamed, turning his gaze away from James and out the window. The landscape went by in a blur.

For the rest of the ride to the Potter mansion, Remus wouldn’t answer any questions.

James’s mum and dad were away on a trip, so Maisie set Remus up in the bedroom adjoining James’s and tended to his wounds. When she was done, she left to make the two boys dinner (manifestations of family homes didn’t need to eat), and so James and Remus were alone.

James shut the door before crossing over to the intricately carved ebony bed that was now Remus’s. He climbed in, laying next to his friend on top of the velvet bed covers.

Remus looked over at him, green eyes weary and tired, “How long until the police get here to take you away for kidnapping?”

“They’re not coming. The ministry and my family have an agreement, and muggle police can’t find the house.” James scooted a bit closer to Remus so that they were sharing a pillow.

A few moments of silence ensued.

“You… wanna talk about what happened?” James asked.

Remus turned his head and stared at the ceiling. His brow furrowed, “Why do you have a chandelier in your bedroom?”

“Your bedroom.” James corrected.

“Why is there a chandelier in my bedroom?”

“Maisie thought it looked nice. We can take it down if you want,” he said softly.

Remus shook his head, but said nothing.

“... You wanna talk about what happened?”

Silence.

“My… my dad doesn’t like werewolves very much.” Remus said carefully, “And my mum’s afraid of them. They don’t… quite know what to do with me.”

James reached out and gently held Remus’s hand.

Silence.

“You didn’t think through bringing me here, did you,” Remus sounded tired, “It’s not safe.”

“We’ll accommodate,” James said, “Don’t worry about it.”

Remus closed his eyes, clearly exhausted, “Can I take a nap?”

“It’s your bedroom,” James said, sitting up to leave him to rest.

“Can you stay?”

James paused, before slowly laying back down, “Of course.”