#remus angst

Remus smiles softly, reaching up a hand to brush some hair back from your face and then trailing his fingers gently down your cheek. "Sweetheart…" he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. He doesn't want to wake you up, not when you look so peaceful, but he knows both of you be late for class if you don't.

He sighs quietly, thumbing your cheek again. "Love? Wake up, please."

You let out a quiet noise of displeasure, clutching your stuffed animal closer - the only you can never sleep without, the one Remus is very much aware of. He has to stifle a laugh at the sleepy protests that leave you, watching the way you bury your face against the pink fluffy dragon's body.

He's not sure whether to find it adorable or mildly offensive that you seem to enjoy the thing more than him.

He runs his fingers gently through the hair at the crown of your head, leaning over slightly to press a soft kiss to the top. "Come on, sleepyhead," he teases, quietly amused. "Time to wake up. Can't have you missing class."

"Rem," you whine tiredly, half-asleep and shifting in his hold. "Five minutes."

Remus laughs this time, soft. He would love nothing more than to keep you here all day - warm in his arms, tucked just below his chin, where he thinks you belong - and skip the whole day. But as much as he wishes otherwise...

He pokes your shoulder, gentle. "Come on, sweetheart. McGonagall will have our heads if we skip Transfiguration, you know that."

You, of course, know this, but you make absolutely no move to leave the warmth of his bed or his hold. Instead, you snuggle closer, let out a content hum.

Meanwhile, Remus is trying very hard not to laugh again at how grumpy you are in the mornings. You're not usually much of a morning person, that much he knows, but it seems exponentially worse today. Still, it's almost endearing how grumpy you are when you're sleepy.

He pokes you again, a bit more firmly this time. "Sweetheart," he chides gently. "Stop being so stubborn and wake up. We have a whole day of classes."

Letting out a tiny huff, you blink your eyes open, clearing the haze of sleep from them as you glare at him - but it holds no real malice.

Remus grins, that quiet, lopsided one he only wears for you. "There you are," he murmurs, brushing a thumb under your eye where a smudge of sleep still lingers. "Good morning, sleepyhead."

"Dragon survived the night?" he teases softly against your skin. "He’s looking slightly rumpled."

"'s a she," you murmur grumpily. "And she is fine, thank you very much."

He smiles at your grumpy reply. You're utterly adorable when you're grumpy. And especially when you're being so defensive of that ridiculous pink dragon.

"Is that so?" he teases, shifting you a little so that you're tucked firmly in his lap. He reaches over to give said dragon a slight pat. "My apologies."

You huff again, but lift your dragon to press its paw on his face, for no apparent reason, just to tease.

Remus laughs, a soft, breathy chuckle. You're grumpiness is too endearing for him to take seriously. "Did you just have your dragon attack me?" he teases, still keeping his voice low as to not wake anyone else. "That's quite rude, sweetheart."

"She wants to sleep more," you grumble, resting your head back against his chest. "She is tired."

He lets out a quiet, indulgent sigh and rolls his eyes, but his arms wrap around your waist anyway, pulling you closer. "Of course she is," he says, voice still full of a fond sort of sarcasm.

"How about her owner?" he asks, shifting to brush his lips against your hair. "Is her owner tired, too?"

You nod, pressing your face against the soft fabric of his sweater - the one you'd knitted for him for Christmas, until your hands were sore, with the little crooked heart on the blouse pocket.

He's still watching you with that fond amusement, but he can't help but soften at the way you bury yourself in his chest. Remus knows you'll probably be completely different once you're awake and coherent, but he wants to savour this rare, vulnerable side of you as long as he can.

"Poor thing," he murmurs, one hand coming up on instinct to cradle the back of your head. "I guess I'll have to take care of both of you then, won't I?"

“Finally realised she’s not the devil incarnate, have you, Moony?”

Its as though Sirius just physically couldn’t stop himself, everyone else had been ignoring it for weeks—the skeptically raised eyebrows changing into almost knowing looks. They’d all been silently watching.

Him and you, you and him.

How essentially overnight, Remus had become one of the people he used to openly scoff at, roll his eyes as if they’d fallen into some sort of trap that was only obvious to him. To his friends shock and relief, their dear old Moony, was not as immune to you as he’d made out to be.

Now, if anything, it seemed that he was more affected than anyone else, walking you from the slytherin common room, to the great hall, and back again—visiting you multiple times a day when you were working in the hospital wing. The complete 180 in the way he reacts to you, a sigh of relief when he sees you enter the room, rather than the erking gut reaction he had before.

And even as discrete as Remus has tried to be, he was unable to escape Lily’s watchful eye—having caught glimpses of a few Bloodsuckers rolling a round in the bottom of his bag.

It literally wasn’t even as secret as this point.

But, apparently unbeknownst to Sirius and Sirius alone, there had been an unspoken agreement: do not acknowledge it. Which explained why, the moment the words left his mouth, the entire table fell into a stunned silence.

A silence Sirius was still exactly one beat behind.

The ghost of a smirk still playing on his lips, Sirius barely had time to register James’ foot swinging under the table before—

“Ow! Bloody—fuck—” He doubled over, forehead colliding with the hard wood of the table.

By the time he pried his eyes open from the sharp sting of pain, everyone was staring at him with identical looks of disbelief, as if he were the idiot in the situation.

Raising his hands in surrender, he huffed, utterly perplexed by the turn of events.

“What?! So we’re all just supposed to act like it’s normal that one minute he hates her and the next he’s so far up her arse he could whisper in her ear?!”

At the very least, Sirius expected someone to back him up. James, maybe, because he was always on about Remus being a hypocrite. Or Marlene , who at least had the good sense to find humor in all of this.

But no.

Instead, James pinched the bridge of his nose like he was battling a migraine, Marlene muttered something that sounded suspiciously like for Merlin’s sake, Black, and Lily was just avoiding eye contact altogether, suddenly very interested in buttering her toast.

And Remus—Remus just sighed. That slow, patient sigh that meant he was this close to losing his temper, but he was doing that thing where he convinced himself he was above it.

“Pads,” he said, voice clipped, “I swear to God—”

“No, no, sorry,” Sirius cut in, straightening up despite the throbbing ache in his shin. “Am I the only one who remembers how you used to look at her like she’d burst into flames if you kept staring? How you’d turn green when she walked in the room?”

Across from him, James let out a sharp, incredulous breath. “Are you actually daft?”

Sirius just ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

He looked to Lily, hoping for a shred of backup, but the traitor was still focused on her toast. He turned to Marlene, but she just gave him a wide-eyed look that screamed drop it, Black.

He turned back to Remus, who was now very pointedly stirring his tea, as though pretending he wasn’t the center of attention would make Sirius forget the absolute insanity happening right in front of him.

“I hated her?” Remus repeated blandly, finally looking up. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

Sirius let out a laugh. Loud, disbelieving, scandalized.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he mocked. “What would you call it, then? Casual disdain? Deep-rooted, undiagnosed allergic reaction? Because I distinctly remember you not being able to stand within a three-foot radius of her without looking like you were about to be sick.”

At that, Remus’ jaw ticked. It was barely there, the kind of reaction only someone who knew him well would notice. But Sirius did notice, and so did James, and it was definitely why James suddenly went stiff beside him.

A beat of silence.

Before he could go off—before the tightness in his jaw and the twitch in his fingers could escalate into something actual. Just as the inevitable explosion was about to happen, Sirius bracing himself for the verbal annihilation that was surely coming—there was a sudden shift in the room.

You walked into the Great Hall, oblivious to the absolute war zone you were unknowingly interrupting.

Just barely brushing past him as you made your way to your seat, as always, Pandora on one arm, lolly in your mouth—as normal as ever.

It was nothing. Just a fleeting moment. The soft whoosh of your robes as you passed behind Remus, your fingers lightly skimming the back of his chair in a casual, absentminded way. Barely even a touch.

But it was immediate.

Remus’ shoulders relaxed. His hand, which had been clenched into a tight fist against his thigh, uncurled. The sharpness in his jaw eased, the tension around his mouth smoothing into something effortless.

He didn’t even turn his head. Didn’t watch as you crossed the hall to your usual table, settling in without a second thought.

But Sirius saw it all.

He saw the way Remus exhaled, slow and steady. Saw the way his fingers twitched slightly—like maybe they wanted to follow where you’d been. Saw the way, without even realizing it, Remus tracked your presence out of the corner of his eye before returning to his tea like nothing had happened.

Sirius gawked.

“You have got to be kidding me.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but the disbelief in it was palpable.

James cleared his throat, poorly disguising a smirk as he reached for the pumpkin juice.

“Pads,” he said, in a tone that was dangerously close to condescending, “I’d drop it if I were you.”

Sirius snapped his head toward him, scandalized.

“Did you see that?” Voice whispered, eyes gesturing wildly at Remus, who was now painfully composed, stirring his tea with the patience of a saint. “She brushed past him, and suddenly he’s a bloody monk! He was about to rip my head off, and now look at him—he’s practically floating.”

James just shrugged, taking a sip from his goblet. “Yeah, mate,” he whispered still, far too amused. Only mouthing his next words, in hopes to not break the peace—“We know.”

Remus quite literally looked as though he’d reached enlightenment, comfortable in letting himself ignore everything else around him.

He didn’t think it was weird how, as of late, his mind often wondered to you.

It seemed only natural really, you were more affected by him because of his condition, and he was more affected by you. Guessing that this was how everyone felt this whole time, drawn to you all the time—presence undeniably addicting.

Yeah. It made sense to him. A perfectly reasonable explanation.

That’s why he felt absolutely no way about having found himself in the hospital wing, yet again. Clearly once he’d been sucked into your orbit, there was no escaping—completely unavoidable, not that Remus was complaining.

You could smell him from a mile away, not even turning away from your station—

"Hello, Remus," you mused, setting down a tray of fresh bandages. "What is it this time?"

Remus hummed, glancing down at his hands like he needed to double-check. "Not sure yet. Give me a moment, I'll think of something."

Even during the hustle and bustle of the hospital wing, multitasking as he perched on the edge of an empty bed, silently observing your movements.

You were good company.

That was all the reason he needed.

All that mattered was the way the steady hum of your presence started to settled something deep in his bones, the way the corners of your mouth twitched in quiet amusement whenever your eyes caught his—half-exasperated, half-knowing.

Rolling your eyes, but there was no real bite to it. "You do know this isn’t a common room, right?"

Remus exhaled a slow breath, something curling warm and weightless in his chest. "Strange," he said, tilting his head. "Feels like one."

You gave him a look, but he could tell from the slight twitch of your lips that you were trying not to smile. "Unbelievable," you muttered, shaking your head. "Well, since you're so comfortable, you might as well make yourself useful."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

You turned away, reaching for the large pile of freshly folded bedding, before handing it to him. “Put these on top of the cabinet in the corner, since you’re clearly in no rush to leave."

He took the pile without hesitation, fingers brushing against yours in a way that sent something sharp and fleeting through him—odd, but not unpleasant. Not anything worth thinking about.

"Mm. Of course." Using his height to his advantage, placing them with ease. As much as he wanted to trail after you as you moved around the ward, he’d already been told—several times—that if he wished to stay, he needed to stay out of the way.

Even if he wanted to help it, he couldn’t. There was a pull to you, a presence that drew in attention in ways both subtle and impossible to ignore.

As much as it was special—it’s not something unique to him, at least. You had that effect on everyone.

Rather unfortunately actually.

Not everyone who was drawn to you, was quite as pleasant as Remus. You had a feeling he would come, saunter in—unbelievable high and mighty, friends trailing behind him.

Remus was still sitting on the empty bed, reading, as you packed up the last few things—only fifteen minutes left before the end of your shift. That’s why he was waiting, having fallen into the habit of walking you back to the common room—supposedly because ‘company wouldn’t hurt’.

The sharp inhale that left your lips had him sitting up straight immediately—alert.

“You okay?” Already walking over to where you stood, face twisted into an expression of concern, you simply shook your head—mumbling “Yes”.

Still training your gaze downwards, eyes almost twitching and lips pressed into a thin line. Then he heard them, not too far from the entrance—obnoxiously loud, howling laughter accompanying.

A clear grimance was stuck on your face now, placing a hand on his chest as you finally raised your eyes from the tray of empty vials you’d been sorting.

“Let me handle this, okay?” Voice suddenly hushed, hand lightly pushing him to sit in the far corner, out of sight. He didn’t protest, walking backwards in the direction you motioned him, despite the look of confusion, only asking—

“What? What’s the matter—“

You cut him off completely, practically pleading while you backed away to close him into the bay, brows knit high.

“Just promise you’ll stay here? Please?”

When he finally nodded, you shut the curtains behind you, taking in a final deep breath before plastering the most polite smile you could muster on your face.

It made you want to physically shrink into yourself, the arrogant, smug smirk his lips curled into when he saw you—as jarring as ever.

Avery.

Closely followed by Malfoy and Mulciber. Pathetic really, the lot of them. Walking around as if they were Heaven’s gift to earth, like they graced the presence of everyone they’d met. Fragile, weak men, who so clearly took pleasure in the discomfort they caused others.

So self-important and big headed that they can’t fathom the idea of rejection.

Because you had, in fact, rejected him.

But Avery was relentless—so used to being the one doing the discarding, so accustomed to having others scramble for his approval—he’d not taken it well.

You had tried patience. You had tried politeness. But it was becoming increasingly clear that neither would get you very far.

He leaned against the nearest bedframe, all mock ease and arrogance, his lips twisting into a grin that sent a fresh wave of repulsion through your stomach, setting uncomfortably beneath your ribs.

"Merlin, love," he drawled, letting his gaze drag down your figure, lingering far too long in places that made the surface of your skin crawl. "You really shouldn't be wasting your time in a place like this." He tutted, shaking his head in exaggerated pity. "What a shame—a pretty thing like you, running around cleaning up after other people's messes. Bet you could be doing something much more...suitable for a girl like you."

Malfoy and Mulciber chuckled under their breath, the former nudging Avery's shoulder as if egging him on.

"Shame she's not taking any applicants," Mulciber added with a grin. "Not officially, anyway."

Spine becoming taut, you didn’t even try hide the way your expression visibly distorted into disgusted frown.

Avery’s grin widened, his tone dropping into something lower, more vile. "Come on, sweetheart. I know you’ve got better things to do than play nursemaid to a bunch of useless sods," he said, stepping forward. "That uniform—" He whistled, dragging his eyes over you like you were something to be had. "Merlin—makes a man wonder, doesn't it?"

Roughly dropping the empty vial he’d been fiddling with back into the tray—"Bet you'd be a real treat with a bit less of it on."

The pressure in your jaw from the clench sent sharp pangs through your skull, stomach twisting.

"Shame, though," Avery continued, completely ignoring your stiffened posture, "a bird like you, wasting away in a place like this when you could be spending your time with someone who can show you a good one, a real man."

"Yeah?" you deadpanned. "Where would I find one of those?"

Mulciber let out an obnoxious bark of laughter, while Avery's smirk wavered for the briefest moment before he recovered.

"Feisty," he mused, tilting his head, eyes glinting with something nasty and superior. "I like that."

Knuckles white, fingers numb—you were sure your nails had drawn blood from their harsh digging into your palms.

"But let’s be honest, love," Avery continued, stepping even closer, his voice taking a somewhat conspiratorial cadance. "A girl like you—" He clicked his tongue. "I know what you really are. You act all high and mighty, like you’re better than us. But I reckon if I just—" He reached out toward you, fingers brushing against the fabric of your sleeve. "Pushed a little, you’d fold like the rest of them."

That was it.

"Right," you said, voice cold and even. "If you haven't got anything wrong with you, feel free to leave. I've already given you my answer." Snatching your arm away from him as though he was something filthy—purposefully dusting off where his fingers had been with a loud, “ugh,”

It was painfully silent, and for a moment Avery didn’t move.

His smirk vanished.

Its replacing expression, something ugly, almost unhinged—filled with malice, his nostrils flared as your words, your viseral reaction set in.

"Right," he sneered, stepping even closer, until there was barely a breath between you. "Of course. Because you think you're too good for me, don’t you?"

You stood your ground, not moving an inch—but the fury radiating from him was palpable.

"Don’t you?" he repeated, louder this time, his chest rising and falling in quick succession, puffed out as if to make you cower before him.

A dramatic sigh passed your lips, head rolling over your shoulders—when you looked back at him, an almost devious smirk played on your lips and with a condescending, feigned sympathetic coo, you responded.

“Yeah…I do.”

And that’s what really did it.

Avery’s lips curled into something vicious, eyes narrowing.

"It would be real unfortunate if something happened to that pretty little face of yours," he murmured, voice mockingly sweet but dripping with spite, his finger suddenly reaching up—so light, so deceptively gentle as he brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. You began physically recoling away from his touch, but his fingers gripped the bottom of your jaw—holding you in place, "Seeing as that’s all you really have."

A hand clamped down over his wrist.

It happened so fast—one moment, Avery was inches from you, the next, he was yanked back, spun around so fast that his head barely caught up before he was staring at the broad chest of someone towering over him.

Remus.

He wasn’t angry.

No—anger was too simple, too small.

He was seething.

His grip on Avery’s wrist was bruising, his knuckles white with the pressure. His expression, usually so composed, so calm, was something terrifyingly unreadable.

"You’re a sick bastard, you know that?" Remus finally said, voice eerily smooth—so quiet it sent a shiver of something primal down everyone’s spine.

“Pestering a girl who’s already rejected you, and when that doesn’t work, you threaten her? Because your fragile ego couldn’t stomach the idea of her not wanting you?”

Avery sneered, yanking his arm, but Remus didn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightened.

“You’re a sick little boy with nothing to offer,” Remus continued, slow and deliberate, his voice dripping with disgust.

“I mean, it’s no wonder no one wants you—you’re a pathetic excuse for a human being.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Avery’s face turned red—not just with fury, but humiliation. His eyes flickered to Malfoy and Mulciber, both of whom had stepped back ever so slightly, watching with careful amusement, not stepping in. The muscles in Avery’s jaw ticked. His free hand twitched, curling into a fist.

Remus didn’t so much as blink.

The cracking, whining sound of the hospital wing doors is all that was heard.

“What on earth is all this commotion?!”

Madam Pomfrey’s sharp voice cut through the ward, almost bouncing—echoing violently off the walls, her stern expression making even Malfoy stand a little straighter. She narrowed her eyes, gaze flicking between each of you before they landed on Avery.

Yanking his arm from Remus’ grasp, stepping back with a sneer.

"If you’re not sick, you’ve got no business being here," she snapped. "Out—the lot of you!"

Avery was still enraged, but he knew better than to argue.

"Disgraceful," Madam Pomfrey muttered under her breath as she turned to you, her hand coming onto you shoulder with a soft pat. "You’re dismissed for the evening, dear. Go on and get some rest."

You exhaled slowly through your nose, lips still pursed into a thin line, nodding.

But just as you turned to leave, Avery leaned in just close enough for only you to hear, voice low and dark.

"You’ll regret this," he murmured.

Then, with one last glare at Remus, he turned on his heel and stalked out, Malfoy and Mulciber following close behind.

You still hadn’t moved from behind your station, lost in deep thought, goosebumps still raised on your neck from Avery’s vile touch—the blood beneath your skin felt warm, too warm and buzzing with something you’d only describe as fury.

Gaze still fixed on an unimportant spot of the floor, the agitation seemed to only swell, invasive—inevitable, its just that you couldn’t believe it.

The audacity, the nerve, and on top of that; you let him get to you, knowing he relishes in the rise, knowing—

Warmth and a gentle hand, ghosting over your spine is what broke your chain of thought, you could still feel the skin of your cheeks internally burning. If it was anyone else, you would have flinched away, but, it was Remus.

He didn’t say anything at first, just let his hand settle lightly against the small of your back, grounding. You finally took the steps to remove your dressings, hanging them by the doors—still warmed by the heat radiating from his palm.

A silent question, a quiet offering of comfort.

You exhaled, long and slow, willing away the leftover tension still coiled in your muscles. It didn’t work. Barely having made it half way through the walk to the common room, almost trudging to a stop—footsteps getting heavier the further you walked.

“That was—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head as a humorless huff left your lips. “Unbelievable.”

Remus’ fingers twitched against your back, the only sign of the anger still simmering beneath his composed exterior.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that, you didn’t deserve it,” His voice was even, comforting but still slightly strained, turning the last corner before reaching the dungeon, he pressed further—“You know that, right?”

Pausing outside the common room door, you nodded, rolling your shoulders as if that would shake off the lingering filth Avery had left in his wake.

“I know,” you muttered. “Doesn’t make it feel any less disgusting.”

Remus didn’t respond right away, and when he did, it wasn’t with words. Instead, his hand slipped from its place on your back, pulling you in lightly by your wrists towards him. Engulfing you completely, arms firmly wrapped out you, anchoring—when you lifted your head to look at him, he was already looking down at you. Eyes swimming with sympathy and unspoken words of compassion that just escaped him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured, searching his face. “Step in like that.”

The way his brows furrowed made it seem as though the thought had never even occurred to him.

“Of course, I did.” The answer was simple, final, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And to him, it was.

You studied his face for a little while longer, the look in his eyes so unbareably fond, it had the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end—you forced yourself to look away shaking your head, the ghost of a smile twitching at the corners of your lips.

Just the glimpse of your smile had a small twinge of pride blooming in Remus’ chest—unable to avoid the way his lips mirrored yours, forming a crooked one. Having felt the tension in your shoulders melt away, the way you comfortably tilted your head up at him again—a soft, sincere “Thank you,” resting in the air between you, he allowed himself to relax.

Ever so slowly, reluctantly, you were putting space between you, arm trailing down his as you walked backwards towards to door, drawing out the seconds so you could absorb his warmth just that bit longer.

“You don’t have to thank me,”

Still basking in the lasting grip of his hand on yours, arms stretching out and away from both your bodies, inching painstakingly back—”I know,”—the words were soft, airy—fingertips just barely connecting now, eyes locked with his.

The heavy sound and creeking of the door, is all that hung between you for a few long moments, both still savouring the last whisps of skin on skin—until your back was pressed against the door, a lazy smile spread across you lips, breathing out—”Goodnight, Remus,” before finally disappearing behind the cold metal.

Not even moments after you were out of his sight, he sighed, almost dreamily—fingertips still buzzing from your touch, he ran a hand through his already messy hair, letting it drag down the side of his face. Settling on his lips, still stretched into a cheesy grin as he started his walk back to his common room.

After that day, Remus somehow found a way to make sure you were rarely alone, always with you on your shifts, putting imperative effort into essentially escorting you around the castle—its not that he thought you couldn’t handle yourself.

It was that Avery was notoriously cruel and twisted on his own, but with the added encouragement of his entourage, and the burning desire Remus knew he had to defend his bruised ego.

It felt necessary to him.

He’d been so thorough, that even as the full moon came and went—Lily had coincidentally taken the time to join you before the end of your shift, grabbing dinner in the great hall every night that Remus was away. You were almost never alone.

Almost.

To and from classes, it became a bit harder to ensure you had company. But quite frankly you weren’t convinced it was necessary at all. It’s not just that you weren’t particularly fond of people taking time out of their day to get you from point A to point B.

It’s that you didn’t even believe Avery was actually going to do anything, it had been almost two weeks and he still had yet to utter a single word to you. Apart from the occassional glare from across the great hall—Avery’s little threat had been relatively harmless.

You didn’t even grant him the satisfaction of acknowledgement as you walked by him and his friends while they sat on a bench in the courtyard. And even as another snide and vulgar remark reached your ears, you continued to where you needed to—completely unfazed.

Though, it did make the grip you had on your textbooks, that tad bit tighter. Taking in a deep breath, you told yourself—you’re above it, you’re better than them.

It seemed that Avery was a bit of an opportunist, waiting for the right time to jab at you, waiting until you were alone.

One after the other, they hopped off the bench—trailing after you, the scuff of boots against the dry ground, the low murmurs of laughter that sent a wave of irritation down your spine. It was calculated—deliberate, the sun was low, casting long shadows across the courtyard—students milled about in the distance, not too many, just enough.

“Going somewhere, sweetheart?” Avery’s voice was deceptively light, laced with the same condescension that it dripped the last time. “You’ve been awfully rude, you know. Ignoring me like that.”

You sighed through your nose, forcing your steps to remain even—you’re above it, you’re better than them.

A presence at your side. Another just behind. You were surrounded, their shadows stretching long under the fading sunlight.

“I’m busy, Avery—don’t you have a stone to kick or something.”

His smirk twitched, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw his fingers flex like he was resisting the urge to grab you. “You know,” he said, voice all mock thoughtfulness, “I wasn’t going to let you get away with what happened in the hospital wing.”

That made you stop.

The words dug under your skin, prickling, burning, unrelenting—you turned sharply, finally looking him in the eye.

Avery smiled, slow and victorious, relishing in the reaction.

“That’s more like it,” he murmured, taking a deliberate step closer.

The urge to wipe that smug, entitled look off his face clawed at your insides.

“Oh, so that’s what this is about?” you said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You think you’re being gracious, do you? Letting me ‘get away with it’? What, so I’m supposed to thank you for your mercy?”

Avery’s smirk twisted.

“Wouldn’t kill you to show a little gratitude,” he mused, eyes flicking down your body with a slow, assessing gaze had you fighting every urge to not simply swing at him. “You’ve been walking around here like you’re above people. You ought to be taught a lesson.”

He took a step closer, a sick, dread beginning to pool in the pits of your stomach, fingers twitching for your wand—you’re above it, you’re better than them.

“That uniform of yours,” he murmured, tilting his head like he was considering something. “You have to know what it does, don’t you? Little skirt, all dolled up like you’re just begging for attention.”

Eyes darkened with something vile.

“Though I suppose you’re already getting plenty of attention, aren’t you?” he sneered. “Flitting around in that little thing, acting all innocent, when we both know what you are.”

He leaned in slightly, just enough to make it invasive.

“Lupin have you playing nurse, is that it? Bet he just loves having you at his bedside, don’t you, sweetheart?” His voice dropped lower. “Bet you wouldn’t even have to ask to get on your knees for him.”

You’d finally had enough, completely disgarding your textbooks to the floor as your shoved him back aggressively. The heated argument erupting in no time—vexed and roaring, “All this bitching because one girl doesn’t want you—pathetic!” You almost didn’t recognise your own voice, shrill, abrupt, nasty.

Words violent and clashing against his, boiling and sharp, insults spewing, slicing through the once peaceful air of the courtyard. A few heads turned, a few onlookers slowing their steps as the tension grew thick, simmering with something electric, something dangerous.

It was the principle, you refused to back down.

Refused to let him win.

And when the venom on your tongue reached its peak, when you could no longer stand the sight of his smug, entitled face—taking a step back, face twisted and scrunched into a look a revolt, while you surveyed him. Eyes scanning from head to toe, you let out a loud, bellowing incredulous laugh before spitting, “You’re not even worth it, Avery. Infact, you’re a waste of time and good air,”

Then you turned away.

Disregarding—dismissed him like he was nothing.

The sharp crack of an insult, a curse from Avery’s lips, venomous and unchecked.

And that was when it happened.

You heard the whisper of fabric, the flick of a wrist—the fizzling hiss of magic.

The moment was barely a fraction of a second, having put just enough space between you, there was time—you’d be quick enough to deflect it—the hex. Every instinct, every reflex kicking and screaming to do so, to move, fight back before it hit you.

But—there were just too many people.

Too many bodies standing in your proximity, too many possible targets, too much risk of having someone else caught in the crossfire. Enough time to deflect, not enough to redirect—you’d have no control over where it would go, you didn’t even hear the curse he muttered, no chance of knowing what it could do, no control of who it could hit.

So you made a choice, bracing yourself, every muscle of your being constricting, becoming taut.

You took it—biting into your lip as the awful, searing burn of the spell made contact with your back, the impact making you seize up even further, hurtling forwards, upwards.

The world around you blurred, spun—then—

Stone.

A sickening crack as the side of your body collided with the hard stone of the courtyard walls, ribs taking the brunt of the impact, before you bounced off it, gravity pulling you down. Slamming against the firm ground with a dull thud.

At some point, Regulus has caught sight of the commotion and was already running to the great hall in search for his brother—who would without a doubt be with Remus.

Pain exploded through your side, agonising, blooming mercilessly with every breath, every slight movement. The sharp stinging throb of your ribs, your lungs burning as the weight of every inhale pressed against the bones—each one more of a struggle than the last.

Curling in to yourself, hand desperately clutching at your side—eyes squeezed shut, the world sounded so distant, muffled, the first thing you register was the silence—all you could feel was the small shards of grass brushing against the side of your cheek with each shaking tremble of your body.

Then, a second later—murmurs. A ripple of shocked voices.

A small crowd had formed, hesitant, concerned, a voice was so close but so far away you wouldn’t make it out over the gurgling, rushing sound that floated between your ears—instictively raising a hand, a signal—stay away.

Barely hearing the sharp gasp from somewhere in the distance—the sound of loud panicked footsteps—running. Unsure of how much time you’d spent laying there—only disturbed by the way the footsteps made your body shake as they got closer, you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge the desperate calls of what you thought might have been your name.

Hand coming into contact with something hard and hot—trying to push it away, it was all too much and you were still—the pain of movement so overbearing. Pushing through the crowd, his heart rested firmly in the pits of his stomach at the sight of you—fragile, just a small mass of robes, folded into yourself.

Eerily similar to that morning two moons ago.

He scooped you up quickly, despite the weak and pitiful protest that left your lips, the heartbeat that was now pressed close to your ear was mildly soothing—familiar.

Remus.

Each one of his rushed jolting strides made the stabbing pain in your side more noticeable, and though the voices blurred and blended into eachother, you could make out three, maybe four other sets of rushed footsteps behind you.

A mild, faintly sweet smell of anti-bacterial filled your nostrils, the hospital wing. Even in his panic, you could recognise the overly catious, gentle way Remus set you down on bed—still pained whimpers spilled from your lips, once again curling in on yourself.

Pomfrey’s voice was sharp and alarmed, bringing you ever so slighty back into the room, she was telling, no asking something, and Regulus’ voice chimed in.

“It was Avery, he hexed her while her back was turned—coward.”

You could feel the heat of Remus’ hand on your back, trying to sooth you, calm the injured groans that you couldn’t hold in. And as Pomfrey’s gentle hand came to move yours from their desperate grasp on your side, you squirmed away—cracking an eye open as another wave a pain radiated through your body.

She shushed you, voiced becoming more tender and quiet—”You have to let me see, dear,”

Slowly, reluctantly, you withdrew your hands, breaths becoming more shallow with each moment, and as she lifted the hem of your shirt, revealing your skin, a chorus of horrified gasps sounded around you.

Your side adorned with dark splotches of red and black and blue surrounding the area, streaking up your side in cruel, uneven smears. The skin was swollen, raised in places where the bone had set wrong—a clear distorted, raised bump peaking at the side. Flinching sharply at the prodding touch Pomfrey pressed into you, hands gripping the sides of the bed in restraint.

“Oh dear,” The grave tone in which she spoke did not give Remus the sense of comfort he was looking for, brows knit high on his forehead, and like the others, gaze transfixed on the huge blossoming mark on your side.

She turned in a flurry of motion, disappearing behind the curtain only to reappear moments later, her expression unreadable but urgent.

They waited anxiously to be in the know. Barely minutes had passes since your arrival, and a sobering silence had already hung in the ward, the only audible sound was you.

The laboured, heaves and cries you struggled to contain.

No one spoke.

Lily and James stood stiffly at the foot of the bed, their worried eyes darting between you and Pomfrey. Regulus was deathly still, his lips pressed into a tight line.

Finally, after multiple rounds to and from the cabinet Pomfrey, took the first of three vials and put a few drops of the cloudy white liquid under your tongue, doing the same with a few more drops from a vial with green liquid—it must have been foul tasting from the way your body stiffened with a small retch. With a deep breath, she announced to them—

"This is nasty business," she said, voice low, steady. "I’ll need you to hold her down."

Remus’ head snapped up.

"What?"

His hand had come up to your head, stoking the hair that had stuck to your face away—sweat prickling at your hairline.

Pomfrey didn’t hesitate.

“She has a broke rib, it’s healing in the wrong position,” her hands her already moving to press against the swelling at your side, even as you twisted in agony, she continued,

“I need to re-break the bone.”

Eyes nearly popped out of his head, heartbeat ringing loud in his ears—though still not loud enough to drown out the constant shallowed, wheezes that left you, littered with moans of distress that got weaker as the seconds passed—your lungs struggled to fill with enough air to support your voice.

Re-break the bone.

It sounded so clinical, so matter-of-fact, so detached from the reality of what it actually meant.

Your breaths were coming too shallow, too fast, your vision slightly spotting at the edges. The sharp, stabbing ache in your ribs with each inhale made it impossible to breathe properly. Every tiny movement sent daggers through your body, the weight of it all crushing.

“But she’s still awake,” James whispered mostly to himself, soft, quiet—but everyone still heard.

The words rattled around in your skull, sinking past layers of pain and exhaustion, now, you were panicking, hand frantically clawing up Remus’ forearm.

“We don’t have time to wait for a sleeping potion to work, it’s already healing as we speak.”

Your vision was blurry, but you could feel Remus’ hand against your forehead, could hear the barely restrained emotion in his voice.

“Shhh, it’ll be over soon,” What else could he have said?

There was nothing he could do.

Nothing anyone could do but hold you down and watch.

It needed to be done, you understood that, but it didn’t make your next words any easier to say, every syllable a struggle against your fractured ribs, “Do it now—,”

Pomfrey nodded.

James and Regulus hesitated for only a second before stepping forward, grim-faced, exchanging silent glances before reaching for you.

James’ hands found your shoulders, firm but careful, his grip like iron. Regulus settled by your legs, a single hand pressed against your thigh, his face etched with a deep frown—your pain so clear, so raw he couldn’t look at you. Lily hovered just beside him, her fingers twitching at her sides, as if resisting the urge to reach for you herself.

And then there was Remus.

His hands were steady, one gripping yours tightly, the other resting against your head, his thumb brushing against your temple in slow, comforting strokes, feeling truly tormented—harsh wrinkles between his brows as he winced with you. Dreading the idea that you will now know of a pain so awful and familiar to him.

Pomfrey took a deep breath—"On three."

Your own breath caught by the lump in your throat.

"One.”

Gripping on Remus tighter, gaze fearful as it fell on him.

"Two."

Your body tensed, finally screwing your eyes shut, forcing the brewing tears out the corners, instinctively bracing—

"Three."

The crack was sickening.

But the sound that followed was much much worse.

Your jaw slacked releasing a truly blood-curdling, tortured, harrowing, an ear-splitting scream—it ripped through your throat, hoarse and choked, resonating through the ward with an echo.

A pain unlike anything you’d ever known exploded through your side, hot and sharp, rattling up your spine and everywhere. It felt like being torn in half, deep and intense. Your body tried to arch away, escape the splittering agony that set every nerve on fire, but James held you down, gritting his teeth as you thrashed weakly against him.

Only able to focus on the reorganising of bones at your side, the low grinding and shifting sound you heard from within yourself.

A fresh wave of agony struck—white-hot and blinding—and suddenly, you weren’t sure how much longer you could stay awake, head lolling in clear delirium, vision blurring, blackening at the edges, sob ridden whimpers and hiccups still tumbling out between wheezes, your grasp on Remus faltering.

Your vision tunneled, black at the edges, fading—

"Stay with me, y/n,” he whispered, voice raw—wrecked, laced with something aching. "You’re okay."

You didn’t believe him.

The slow and gentle soothing, lulling stroke of his palms over your hair matched the pattern his fingertips ghosted over your hand, fingers intertwined—he held your hand close, pressed to his chest as if letting you go would mean losing you completely.

Still reeling from the pain, nerve endings on fire, all you could muster the strength to produce was one word, weak and unsteady—”Remus?”

Pomfrey worked quickly again, pressing another vial to your lips, the taste barely registering past the burning in your chest—applying a large bandage coated in medicinal ointment to your side. Remus took the small towel by the bedside, softly dabbing off the beads of sweat that remained on your forehead—

"Breathe, love," he murmured, voice soft as silk, but no less urgent. "In through your nose, out through your mouth."

Your lungs shuddered—staggering at the effort, the air thick, heavy, impossible to take in. But you tried. The worst of it dwindled away, not gone, not by a long shot—but enough for the unbearable pressure to settle into something dull, something that no longer consumed everything.

Your body went slack.

Regulus let out a long, slow breath.

James loosened his grip, rubbing a hand over his face.

And Remus—His legs almost gave out beneath him, barely able to swallow the lump in his throat as he took a deep breath for the first time in what felt like forever, and he leaned in closer—the idea of continued space between you was basphemous.

No one spoke.

For a long moment, the only sound in the ward was the shallow, uneven rhythm of your breaths.

"It will heal properly now," she said, her voice more gentle than before, but edged with a small tinge of relief, “I slowed her healing, so the pain will linger for a few days. She’ll need rest.”

Then she was gone, disappearing behind the curtain, leaving the rest of them standing around your bed, and Remus—he only stared at you, his thumb still absentmindedly tracing the back of your hand, eyes running over your exhausted figure, eyes clearly heavy with the grueling after effects of your ordeal.

A long silence stretched between you.

Letting out a slow, jagged, painful inhale, tongue darting out to wet your dry lips to no avail—it was hushed and raw, “Water,”

Remus all but scrambled to get the small metal cup by the bedside, gently slipping a hand under your neck to tilt your head forward—helping you take a few sips. The others all just watch the scene unfolding infront of them, the comfortable way you leaned into Remus’ touch, the unnecessarily fond and tender look in his eyes as he instinctively dotes on you. How his hand trailed back to yours, drawn in to it like a magnet.

Lily couldn’t help the small knowing smile that twitched onto her lips.

Then, the heavy wooden doors of the hospital wing slammed open abrupty with a force that rattled the glass vials on Pomfrey’s shelves.

Everyone’s heads snapped up.

Sirius stood in the entrance, his chest rising and falling with sharp, heavy breaths, his knuckles raw and split. His robes were disheveled, streaked with dirt and something darker, something red. And in his grasp, dragged by the scruff of his collar, was none other than Avery.

Or, at least, what was left of him.

Avery was battered—face swollen, a deep gash running from his cheekbone down to his jaw, lip split so severely that blood had seeped into his teeth. His robes were torn, dirt and grime smeared across the fabric, and his wand—his precious, useless wand—was nowhere to be seen.

Sirius took a few steps forward, his grip tight on Avery’s collar, until they were just a few paces away from your cot.

And with a sharp jerk, he threw Avery to the floor.

The Slytherin crumpled like a ragdoll, landing in a heap at the foot of your bed, groaning as his battered body hit the stone.

Pomfrey gasped, hand flying to her chest.

"What on earth—"

But Sirius wasn’t listening.

He stood over Avery, hands curling into fists at his sides, his entire body still taut with adrenaline. For a long, stretched-out moment, he simply stared at the boy on the ground, nostrils flaring with every furious breath, as if daring him to move. Then, voice low and seething, Sirius asked,

"Haven’t you have something to say?"

The room was silent.

Avery coughed, his body shuddering with the effort.

Straining yourself to move further up the bed—you watched with everyone, every breath rattling in your lungs, eyes dark and cold.

Avery hesitated for a second too long, and Sirius moved—a single, sharp step forward, hands twitching, still ready to rip him apart.

"Alright!" Avery wheezed, flinching back. "Alright!"

The silence stretched thick.

"I did it—I hexed her!"

The words came out weak, broken, almost panicked—pathetic.

Sirius said nothing, only raised a brow, unimpressed.

Avery swallowed hard, shifting painfully on the floor.

"I’m sorry."

There it was.

Sirius still didn’t speak, just watched him, waiting—the digust dripping off of the scrowl that sat on his face.

"He—" Avery’s voice cracked, shaking violently as he forced himself to continue, "—he didn’t do anything to me. I just…" His throat bobbed, his entire face twisted in humiliation. "I just walked into the Whomping Willow."

James was grinning now, shaking his head in mock pity. "Wow. That’s just—" he let out a low whistle, "—real unlucky, mate."

Sirius smirked, slow and dangerous.

But Remus wasn’t smiling.

He was staring at Avery, his face unreadable, his grip on your hand still firm but not tight. He hadn’t said a single word since Sirius arrived, hadn’t moved a muscle—just watching.

Sirius took a deep breath, exhaling sharply as he rolled out his shoulders, like he was only just calming down from whatever happened before he’d stormed into the ward.

Then, crouching down so he was eye level with Avery, he grinned.

"You should consider yourself lucky," he mused, voice dangerously casual, "because if it were up to him?" He tilted his head, nodding over to Remus, smile sharp and positively wolfish. "You wouldn’t be conscious right now."

Avery’s entire body shuddered.

Sirius only chuckled darkly, clapping him on the shoulder—hard enough to make him flinch.

“Off with you now, before Remus decides to be less forgiving,”

Avery swallowed thickly, glancing toward the matron—who, while still clearly appalled, had her arms rigidly crossed but was making no move to defend him. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself off the floor, every movement making him wince. And then—without another word—he turned and limped toward the exit, humiliated beyond belief.

The moment the doors shut behind him, a collective breath was released.

Remus turned his attention back to you, the anger that previously blazed in his eyes melting away in seconds, another smaller, more comfortable silence lulled over the ward. Sirius turning, and as he took the last few steps toward your bed, looking you up and down, taking in the way you were still clutching weakly at your ribs, holding onto Remus, he let out a breath, asking—

"You alright?"

The very corners of your lips curled, twitching up every so slightly as you huffed out a choked snicker, and though it was cut off by a sharp hiss—you were clearly amused. Letting your head fall back tiredly with—”I’m alright, much better now,”

Pomfrey slipped through the curtains again, and while she changed the small now sweat ridden towel by your bed, refilling the water, she said—

"I assume I don’t need to tell any of you to let her sleep."

She eyed the group pointedly.

James had the decency to look sheepish. Lily nodded. Regulus said nothing, but his arms were crossed, as Sirius rested his elbow on his shoulder—the usual indifference returning.

But Remus, he couldn’t bring himself to tear his hand away—you looked so tired, probably wanted some rest, but he was frozen in place, stuck by your side.

Pomfrey sighed.

"Fine," she muttered, almost to herself, "just don’t let me catch you keeping her awake."

He let out a sigh of relief as she left, the others slowly filtering out, Lily giving your hand a comforting tight squeeze as she left. Remus pulled his chair up closer, allowing his body to lean slightly on the bed, just watching you eyes full of worry.

It was slowly and shaky, but you brought your free hand up to him—he stayed still, watching expectantly for your next movements. Your fingertips threading slightly through his hair in a gentle stroke, pushing it away from his face—mirroring his from before.

But yours slipped down and settled at the base of his neck, fingers still curling around the strands—touch too tender. Eyes scanning his face just as much as his were scanning yours.

“You don’t need to stay here—I’ll be fine for the night,” It came out heavy and mumbled, less convincing than you’d hoped. His face flashed slightly with an almost offended expression, the idea clearly never having crossed his mind.

“I want to stay,”

His words were plain, honest—left little room for protest on your end, but you still tried. And even as your eyes got heavier, sleep weighing heavy on your body—”But you can’t sleep on that chair all night, you’ll break your back,”

A huffed laugh came through his nose, typical crooked smile playing on his lips—”I’ll be fine—”

“Come up here,”

Yours words cut him off, light and simple, and you shuffled over onto your side—lips pursed to hold in a wince, making space for him before he could protest. His eyes just darted between you and the now open space, trying and failing miserably to stutter out an excuse—but the sleepy bored look in your eyes, accompanied with the light pats on the bed made him relent.

Slipping into the bed, careful not to knock you and keeping a safe, meticulous distance from you, you couldn’t help yourself, eyes rolling with a dramatic sigh—”I’m not made of glass, y’know,”

Watching as his form relaxed a bit, taking up more space, you slowly curled into the gap he’d left, drapping the thin cover over you both, humming as you finally closed your eyes. He watched you settle carefully, hesitating before bring an arm around to softly pull you in slightly closer to him, the smile twitched onto his face, when you unconsciously burrowed into him—allowing sleep to over come him too.

The change between you wasn’t instantaneous, nor was it something either of you consciously acknowledged. It was slow, creeping, like ink bleeding through parchment—gradual, yet utterly inescapable.

Because it wasn’t just that night you spent in each other’s comfortable and content company, and though it started with the nights, this was the first of many.

Somewhere along the way, your post-shift routine had shifted. You never really meant to end up in Remus’ dorm every night—it had just happened. One moment, you were finishing up in the library, the next, you were in his bed, limbs tangled lazily, a book forgotten between you as you talked in hushed voices about anything and everything. His sheets smelled faintly of parchment and something woodsy, and without fail, your shoulders, your knees, your arms would brush, a constant, grounding touch that neither of you ever pulled away from.

At some point, you both stopped pretending this was something normal friends did.

Maybe it was the way his fingers always lingered on your wrist when he passed you something, or the way he never failed to have a Bloodsucker rolling around at the bottom of his bag.

It had started as a small thing—insignificant, really. You hadn’t even noticed it at first, not until the third or fourth time it happened.

The first time, it was after a particularly long shift, your legs aching from standing too long, your mind buzzing with exhaustion. You’d barely slumped into your usual seat beside Remus in his common room when he wordlessly reached into his pocket and pulled something out. A small, wrapped sweet.

You had blinked at it, then at him.

“What’s this?”

He shrugged, as if it was nothing. “Thought you could use one.”

Then again between classes, during late-night study sessions, in the middle of a quiet walk back to the dorms—whenever you reached for one absentmindedly, he had one ready, handing it to you without a second thought. He never even looked like he thought about it, just pulled it from his pocket like it was as natural as breathing.

The realization hit one afternoon, sitting across from him in the library, books scattered between you. He passed you a piece of parchment, and along with it, he slid a familiar, wrapped sweet across the table.

You narrowed your eyes at him, picking it up. “Okay, you definitely don’t carry these around for yourself.”

He barely looked up from his book, but the ghost of a smirk played on his lips. “Maybe I just like being prepared.”

“For what?”

Remus finally glanced up, a single brow raised. “For you, obviously.”

Maybe it was the projects—you always ended up partners. Whether it was a conscious decision or just something unspoken between you, you gravitated toward one another like it was inevitable. Like it was meant to be. The others barely batted an eye anymore, rolling their eyes as you took your usual seats together, heads ducked in close as you whispered back and forth, scribbling notes in the margins of each other’s parchment.

Or maybe it was the bookstore.

That trip to Hogsmeade was different. You’d both walked through the cobbled streets, the wind crisp but pleasant, your arms brushing as you made your way toward the small, tucked-away shop Remus had offhandedly mentioned once before. It was his place—somewhere quiet, somewhere his. And yet, he’d brought you.

He watched as your fingers trailed the spines, his own hand brushing over yours as he pointed out his favorites. There was a certain weight in the air, a quiet understanding you both wordlessly acknowledge—both so easily able to find solace in each other, a unspoken harmony—solidarity.

And then there were his nights.

Pomfrey was very understanding when you began to ask to have the days after the full moon off.

You had entered his dorm without knocking—because, by now, you never had to. You expected him to be curled up in bed, exhausted and aching, maybe reading, maybe just resting. Instead, the moment you sat down beside him, he shifted—eyes heavy-lidded, body sluggish, but his arm curled loosely around your waist, his face nudging into the fabric of your jumper.

You barely even hesitated before your fingers found his hair, carding through it with a softness you didn’t even have to think about.

You were there every morning after, pulling the duvet up over his shoulders, murmuring softly as he pressed closer, his fingers grazing the fabric of your sleeve like he needed to feel you near.

And somehow, somehow, the nights you stayed over became less about exhaustion and more about something else.

You weren’t sure when you stopped leaving.

There was no more, “I should go,” no more, “It’s getting late.”

One day, you simply didn’t.

It just took one moment—you were dozing beside him, your legs tucked between his, your cheek pressed into his pillow. The next, you were waking up, his arm draped heavily over your waist, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. His scent clung to you, warm and familiar, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the soft warmth of him against your back.

It was inevitable.

The stolen glances, the lingering touches—each one more obvious than the last. The shift had been slow, careful, but now it felt like a rope being pulled taut, a thread stretched thin between the two of you, waiting to snap.

The day it did, was so ordinary.

Nothing out of the daily routine for you and Remus—you’d made your way over to his dorm, to keep him company, of course—James and Sirius were off at quidditch practise, leaving just the two of you. Both lying on your backs, sprawled across the bed.

The light music of one of Remus’ records droning on in the back as you listened to the low and steady melody of his voice—reading outloud, you’d have to admit, you weren’t paying as much attention to what he was saying as you were to the light vibrations his words sent through the matress beneath you.

Taking a few moments of near silence for you to realise he’d stopped reading, mumbling out quietly, “Why’d you stop?”, as you turned to look at him—but he was already looking at you. The sudden intensity of his gaze made your breath catch in your throat, but his voice as casual as ever in your ears—”You were falling asleep, that’s why,”

The ghost of a pout reached your lips, lightly defending yourself in feigned offence, “No I wasn’t.”

He huffed out a light scoff, shifting onto his stomach, somehow impossibly closer to you—the breath of his words brushing over the curve of your cheek. One of those crooked smiles that made your chest bloom with an undeniably fuzzy feeling etched onto his face, “If you weren’t falling asleep what did I just say?”

Your lips parted, sucking an inhale as if you were about to answer, but all that came out were stammered stutters of half started words, before you huffed out in defeat—he was already laughing at you. And it shook the bed, making you bounce slightly up and and down in sync with him, it made you giggle—joining and mixing in with his as it echoed off the walls of his dorm.

When it finally quieten down, lazy grins still stretch out on both of your faces, he couldn’t help it—it was second nature at this point, he leaned in closer, fingertips rushing the hair lightly away from your face with a low content hum.

It didn’t make sense, the familiarness of his touch was the same as always, and yet today, it made your mouth so incredibly dry—swallowing thickly as he inched closer and closer. The space between you barely a fingers width.

The sun shone in lightly through the window behind him, giving a small spotlight to the golden brown whisps of curls that framed his face—his eyes were scanning your face, for reluctance, hesitation—anything.

But your expression was calm, matching his movement—eyes darting around his, catalogueing his features, the way his eyelashes became slightly straighter towards the ends of his eyes, and the extra freckles by the edges of his eyebrows. Involuntarily, you sucked in a small sharp breath as he closed in, when there was just a slither of space left between you.

He paused, eyes flicking between yours and your lips, words so shockingly tender, barely above a whisper—”Do you want me to stop?”

You couldn’t trust your voice to not break under the pressure of his gaze—so warm, so fond. Instead you just shook your head, fingers twitching up to his arm, he was so close—but hesitant still. Catious.

Even as he leaned down towards you, he paused again, just as the tips of your nose brushed against each other—eyes still searching for even a drop of doubt in yours. Shifting to hover over you lightly, fingertips coming to just lightly trace along the line from the bottom of his jaw, to the drip in his neck.

His lips brushed against yours.

It was soft at first, testing, but the moment your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, he pressed closer, Remus abandoned all his reserved. Melting against your touch with a low sigh, dropping the weight he held on his forearms and pressing into you, deepening the kiss. Something that was once gentle and timid, bloomed into more feverish, wanting touches and grasps.

His hands gripping almost roughly at the curve of your hips, rolling you over and onto him—erupting in giggles against his lips—the sound muffled between the spaces where your mouths met, soft and breathless.

His laughter mixed with yours, a quiet, husky sound that sent warmth curling deep in your stomach. His hands slid over your waist, fingers splayed against the thin fabric of your shirt, his touch firm, but reserved—like he wasn’t sure if he should be holding you like this but couldn’t bring himself to stop.

You didn’t want him to.

Both hands sliding to his neck, exploring, travelling up and down—carding through his hair one moment, holding desperately onto his jaw the next, pulling him closer as if to fall into him—become one. His touch leaving the surface beneath your skin, warm and craving.

Muffled groans and whimpers sounded through the room, the pads of his fingers pressing slightly harder into the rounds of your hips—leaning up into you, into the kiss, breathless and greedy. Sitting himself up straight—allowing his hands to wander, trailing down your spine—spending jolting shivers through you, pawing at your thighs.

Indulging in the first taste of you, the pent up desire set free in the form of unrestrained, frenzied kisses. Relishing in the contact, the cooling sensation of your cold body against his—touches becoming rushed and eager as he drank in every gasp of his name that passed from your lips onto his.

It wasn’t until his hands, once again, found purchase on your hips—grasp almost bruising, causing your to rock helplessly against him, did you pull away suddenly with a sharp gasp. Burying your face into the curve of his neck, chest heaving. A string of apologies immediately tumbled from his mouth, “fuck m’ sorry, I didn’t mean to—y/n,”

He leaned back, trying to catch a glimpse of your face, but you’d brought your hands up to cover it, barely loud enough to hear, squeaking out, “It’s fine—just don’t look at me,” It was a bit late for that, he could already see them—the small dark veins that pulsed and protuded from the base of your neck stretching further up.

“Y/N,”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not yet, not like this—hands still stuck firmly to your face—chest still rising and falling in quick succession, just as breathless as him. He pressed again, voice low and soft, comforting—”Lemme see,”

“Just gimme a minute,” Voice panicked and muffled by your palms.

He didn’t wait, just taking your wrists lightly, and pulling them away—your head hung low in shame, avoiding his gaze, still trying to catch your breath. Letting go of your wrists, they fell to your sides, and his hands came up to your face, compelling your gaze to meet his.

“Why are you hiding from me?”

Eyes as warm and sincere as ever, he let his hands trail down your neck, ghosting over you shoulders—gently tracing the curve of your spine, forcing a soft gasp from your lips as a shiver ran through you.

His touch was delicate, reverent, as though he feared you might break beneath his fingers. His thumbs brushed just beneath your jaw, tracing slow, featherlight circles against your skin—where the veins pulsed dark and traitorous against the curve of your throat.

“Y/N,” he murmured again, softer this time, like he was afraid to startle you. “It’s alright.”

Leaning down, peppering slow, calming kisses to the exposed skin of your collarbones, the goosebumps raising in their wake impossible to ignore—hands finding their way to grasp at the fabric of his jumper.

His hands now rested low on your waist, making your breath hitch as he nipped lightly at the skin of your neck, trailing his soft pecks up and down from your neck to your jaw. Humming as you leaned into them, melting.

Becoming putty in his hands, once again.

Light gasps slipping through your lips when he brought the thin skin behind your ear in between his teeth—the lightest of bites and bruises littered between his words; “Did you have your potion last week?”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, just barely tugging at the soft brown tufts, panting out, breathless; “Forgot,”

He only hummed back again in acknowledgment, bringing his lips back to yours, swallowing the whines of his name the your couldn’t contain. “So pretty,” he mumbled against your lips. Touch worshipping each piece of skin it passed, fingertips inching up the underside of your shirt—leaving light feathering touches across your skin before residing in the dip of your waist.

Kisses slipping away from your lips as you shuddered against him—lips pressing firm against the curve of your jaw he whispered, “Want a bite?”

The drag of your fingertips against the skin at the nape of his neck forced a groan from his lips, as he continued his assault on the sensitive skin by the dip in your neck. You almost didn’t notice what he said, brain warm and fuzzy from the hot kisses—eventually mumbling out, “Not funny, Rem,”

Your words came out breathy and distracted, less convicted than you’d like, sighing dreamily against his touch. You could feel the way he smiled against your skin—“Mmm not laughing,” so close you could feel each rumbling vibration of his words in your chest the warmth radiating off him mind numbing.

A gasps catching in your throat as he tightened his grip on you, anchoring—punctuating his words with the small nibbles and pecks, “Been thinking about it…for a while,” it was so hard to focus on what he was saying with the way the pads of his fingers dug into flesh at your side—as if it were possible to pull you any closer than you already were, “—trust you,”

He leaned back slightly, taking a look at your hazy expression—lips swollen and glistening, half lidded and breathless. Absolutely bewitching. He looked just as tempting, tops of his cheekbones reddened matching the deep red of his parted lips. Just barely brushing his nose against yours, sighing almost dreamily at the contact—his thumbs stroking slowly back and forth over the flesh of your hips.

Whispering so softly, “Only if you want to,” a pressure-less offer.

Instead of responding, you just leaned into him further, reconnecting your lips making him sigh contently. Eventually, trailing cautiously light, ghosting kisses down his jaw, mirroring his own nipping and sucking pattern. Fingers twiddling and intertwining with the small curls at the base of his scalp.

Testing, contemplating his offer when you found yourself hovering over the junction by his neck, his heartbeat joining yours in its loud thumping rhythm that rung in your ears. Ever so slightly craning his neck, baring the skin to you—soothing your hesitation with simple words, “It’s okay,”

The air almost stilling, his voice so delicate even as he felt the small sharp, piercing of your teeth into his skin. He’d thought it would hurt more, be more uncomfortable—unpleasant. But he just felt a rush in his head, jaw slacking slightly permitting the prettiest groan you’d ever heard. Hips stuttering against yours, eyes almost rolling as he flooded all your senses, unconsciously grasping onto him tighter.

A hot buzzing filling him entirely—surprisingly euphoric, intoxicating. Your body shuddered against his, muffled delicate whimpers passing through you, licking lightly at the broken skin as you withdrew—it was short, barely ten seconds of connection. All nerve endings in your body set alight, looking back at pupils blown.

Drunk on him.

Exhaling with almost a honeyed purr, he lifted his thumb wiping gently at the corners of your mouth. Planting a kiss just by where is thumbs had been, letting them trail again down your jaw—slower than before, less fevered, more lax. Smirking against you when he bit over a mark he’d already made—earning a sweet gasp from your lips.

“Better?”

His voice took an almost smug cadence, and when you hummed back shy and lazy, lips still parted, satisfied sighs spilling for you. Remus couldn’t help the bubble of light laughter that rumbled in his chest—shaking you on his lap. Messily kissing back up to your lips, smiling against you. Savouring each and second of your moment.

When lunch struck and you strolled into the great hall, hand in hand—you shrunk slightly at the quiet murmurs that sounded as you walked between the benches. It wasn’t that you were together, no, that was normal.

It was the trail of red and pink bruises and hickeys that adorned both your necks—failing miserably to cover it with the collar of your shirt. Remus on the other hand, walked in as confident as ever—squeezing your intertwined fingers reassurance. Wearing his marks like a badge of honour—leaning down to your ear, whispering in a teasing tone,

“At least we’re matching,”

The rain hit the window desperately. It banged the outside of the big house begging to come in. The weight of the mist creeped into the walls with ease, like a snake crawling through a dense field, almost invisible. The Black House was dark and moist, the majority of its habitants in deep, twitchy slumber.

A girl held herself up on her elbows, semi-asleep still. Some hair stuck to her temple, product of the sweat. The heat under her duvet contrasted uncomfortably with the cold atmosphere. She managed to sit on her bed to recognize the figure standing past her door. A small breeze sneaked through the gap between the creaky floors; a shiver walked across her.

“Remus?” A set of manicured fingers raised to rub her sleepy eyes.

The man remained still. Remus was counting in his head: one, two three, four… Hoping to go unnoticed around twenty. It wasn’t the first night he had entered her room to watch her sleep or something more. But it was the first time he felt embarrassed that he got caught. Twenty came around and she remained focused on the subject in her room.

The silhouette’s shoulders were moving up and down patiently and a few drops fell from his fingers to the floor: he was soaking wet, the rain caught him on the way back to the house. She knew it was Remus and not an illusion. In her dreams, he would have come to her already and he would have been dry, smelling like books and whisky, like he normally did. In her dreams, he loved her unafraid, he was certain of his feelings for her.

“So this is what you do, treat me horribly and come back to watch me sleep and wet my floors?”

“Sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you,” he replied with a hoarse voice. “It’s the moon.”

The girl looked down, a silver, thick stripe on the floor marked the distance between the bodies. It was always the moon the one coming between them. Nature’s round princess was an animated object, playing with Remus’ head and emotions. The witch constantly asked herself how something so beautiful could do him so much harm –and to her, consequently.

She removed the comforter from her body, sitting at the edge of the bed. The moon’s pale light bathed her naked legs. She wiggled her toes against the cold wood, getting ready to stand up. Remus’ breathing quickened, her actions meant I forgive you, clearly. He tried to ignore the inevitable worry of when he would no longer be forgiven.

She moved like an angel towards him: messy curls framing her face, tired eyes shaping the world around her. Remus could have kneeled to her feet and kissed them as an act of gratitude. She was merciful like a virgin.

She first pushed the heavy leather jacket off his shoulders. The garment hit the floor with a hard thud, splashing cold water on her feet. His hands were immediately on her hips, his achy knuckles relaxed at the touch of her cotton shirt. She surrounded his neck and came so close to his face she could feel his warm breath on her forehead. He smelled like pines and smog.

“I’m truly sorry, you’re so important to me,” he whispered against her hairline. His hands trespassed the fabric and caressed her lower back, occasionally playing with the edge of her underwear.

Her hands massaged his nape, helping it get rid of the tension the incoming full moon had induced. She looked up into his tired eyes, the stripe of light reflected in his pupils. He truly couldn’t escape the moon.

“It’s okay, just take what you need,” she responded while pulling his lips closer to hers.

He wanted to correct her, he wasn’t there to take anything –even if it seemed like it–, but it was too late. She immediately kissed him and he forgot about anything that had ever happened in the world before that moment.

The rain suddenly stopped, the clouds took deep a breath.

Like a siren she pushed him slowly into her waters, discarding his clothes on the way. The first buttons of his shirt were undone slowly by her slippery hands; the lethargy of her movements heated Remus’ head. He interrupted the unhurried pace yanking the shirt open, fours buttons flew across the room. Her nails scratched the hair on his torso, fondling the scars with dedication; it made Remus moan.

At the halfway point, Y/n lost her shirt. A soft breeze hardened her nipples, right before the werewolf’s hand grazed them. Her lips, already red and bitten, opened to emit a small groan of satisfaction. She was desperate for him, but so mad at his ways. She brought her bare chest closer to his in a unbridled outburst; fuck you, she thought.

Y/n kept her backward walk until she was stopped by the feel of the mattress hitting her thighs. The girl palmed him over his wet jeans: he was rock hard under the rough material. She guessed he had been hard for a while now by the way his hips stuttered. Remus separated from her kiss to observe her moving hand; in a swift move he removed it holding her by the wrist and trapping her arm behind her back.

“My turn,” he announced lowly against her cheek. He let his words linger in the air; he wanted time to slow her breaths.

With the back of his scarred hand he caressed the curve of her face relaxing the frown that had settled between her brows. His stroke kept going down her neck, the pulse of her veins made his fingers slightly jump. Like on a mountain, his hand raised following the outline of her breast; he pinched the nipple maliciously, stealing a whimper from the girl. His hand slipped down until it sneaked below the only piece of fabric that covered her. Past the mound of hair he wet his digits on her pussy, going up and down, ignoring the crying bead on purpose.

“Pl- please,” she breathed out.

“Uh?”

“I- I said please,” their eyes met. His were determined and playful, hers were pleading.

With a devious smile Remus decided to put her out of her misery and roll measured circles on her clit. Remus knew Y/n was close when the hand held hostage behind her back started to twitch; she also tried to keep her thighs relaxed, but he knew that subtle trembling too well.

The werewolf kissed her neck while diverted his fingers inside of her. First one, then another. He pumped his long fingers into her enough times to open her up, ease his way between her legs. First shallow, then deep. She swore she could feel the protruding scars caress her inner walls.

Once again, in the verge of the orgasm, he let her go. Putting his wet hand on her hip and freeing her arm from his hold. Her hands flew to his belt to unbuckle it. He held her thin hands between his and grabbed his erect member, guiding her through the up-and-down movements. She looked down, embarrassed to be so enraptured in the action.

“Look at me.”

She held her head up, looking shy beyond his shoulder, disobeying his request deliberately. He knew, then: she still resented him. Before he could say anything to defend his case, Y/n turned around and pulled down her underwear. As the small fabric fell to the floor, she straightened up and grabbed the nearest bedpost with her ass perked up.

Remus put a firm hand on her shoulder and pushed her head to side with his, trying to make space to kiss. She could feel his wet tip hitting against her butt cheeks. His hips were rutting against her while his mouth was devouring her soft neck.

“Are you sure?” He whispered in her ear. Goosebumps traveled through her sides; she nodded.

“No, use your words. Come on”

The smallest “yes” came out of her lips. Remus knew he wouldn’t get anything clearer nor louder than that. Anchoring on her hips, he pushed her close to him and grabbed his cock to position it on her entrance.

Neither could keep a sigh of pleasure in at the first stretch. Remus thanked the Gods for her existence and her acknowledgment of his; never in his craziest dreams he thought he could be with someone like her. A long list was the one to enumerate all the ways she was perfect, far more noble and good than Remus; her pussy was in the top five.

He bottomed out and stayed still for a minute, letting her accommodate to his size. He inhaled the scent of her loose curls: fig and honey, his favorite. With a tortuous kiss on her cheek he started rocking inside of her. He held her between his hands like the fourth leaf of a clover, raising a hand to fondle her tits.

The witch could feel his love being poured in the swing of his hips. He was truly sorry (–or very drunk–), she knew, because this is what she had always asked of him and rarely received: to be a little vulnerable, to show her something more than a need to release. The way his breathing fell on her jaw, his arms surrounded her torso, his inhibited grunts matched the thumps… it was perfect, just not what she wanted now.

He treated her horribly hours before, denying her help with the upcoming full moon and talking to her like she was an ignorant idiot. He was so confusing: then, he wanted her far from his life, now, he was holding onto her with all the love and need. He was so mindful and delicate, his cock hit her spot over and over again and it felt so nice that she got mad. She wanted him to unload his frustrations on her, not protect her from already inflicted pain.

“Remus,” she used a hand to halt his movements behind her, “don’t be kind.”

Remus, who was drunk in pleasure, let go of wariness and the fear of hurting her and took a firm hold of the woman in front of him. His hips pounded in and out of Y/n taking the air out of her; he looked down and delighted himself with the view of her arched back and plump ass. Quickly, the slapping sound between the flesh was accompanied by a squelching one; Remus rolled his eyes and kissed the back of her head as she got wetter. The girl moaned his name like a prayer and stammered out scoldings and praises in an hushed erotic whisper.

He paused for a second to turn and lay down his witch on the edge of the mattress. He folded over her, keeping a steady, hard pace. His eyes looked for her, he was missing the connection, a glance to say there’s so many things that I feel that I can’t put words to, but she closed her eyes in feigned focus.

“Look at me,” he framed her face with his big hand. She turned a deaf ear and kept panting, concentrating on the pleasurable new angle.

“Come on,” nothing still. “You know, I–,” she squeezed him hard interrupting his sentence; the corners of her lips raised lightly. “I won’t let you come if you don’t look at me.”

Remus decreased his tempo, rolling his hips heavily against hers. Her eyebrows met and he knew he put her in trouble. A senseless murmur spilled from her throat in the sweetest tone, the werewolf almost melted. He rolled his pelvis closer knowing it would graze her clit and she immediately dug her red nails into his biceps; he smiled triumphant. Her moans increased and he watched her struggle to keep the composure, she needed permission to come.

Just like minutes before, her eyes opened painfully slow. This time, she was greeted by Remus’ glowing face, looking at her with serious devotion and the ghost of a grin. Behind him, an almost round, luminous circle peaked behind the window: the moon.

“Hey there–”

“Harder, please, I- I wanna come,” she begged breathless, dazed by his ministrations and the beautiful light behind his strong frame.

“Shh, don’t worry. I’ll let you come, sweetheart”

Remus increased the rhythm without taking his gaze off off her. She held his face between her hands and drew him closer to conceal her moans between his lips. Surrounding her legs against his torso Y/n asked if she could come and Remus replied with a simple “Yes, love, I’ve got you”. Immediately after, he came inside her with a groan, hiding his face in the gap between her shoulder and neck, her sweetest spot.

The clouds started weeping again, never covering the silver balloon, the protagonist of the night.

Remus’s lips pressed into a thin line resembling a smile. You knew it meant he was itching to leave. But you didn’t move. You sat, and stared, at him, at James, at Lily. At nothing at all. You laughed when they did, and put your hand on his forearm as to remind yourself of the spark between you. To remind yourself that he was here, with you and that he loved you.

That you loved him too.

You wondered if he had always been this way. Had you just been too in love to notice the apathy? The way he seemed to not even try to reciprocate any energy? Were you just being too needy? 

Was James not bothered by his friend’s lack of emotion? 

You and Remus had too much history. You could not remember what life was like without being with him. It had been years. Years of running up and down behind your twin brother and his friends, years of hands intertwined with Remus’s, kisses first shared in the dark— Merlin forbid your brother found out at the time. You had been happy. For years. Even with the ups and downs and the mercurial nature of his moods. Maybe lunar is a better word for it.

The waning and waxing phases of the way he felt about the world. You thought that might be the hardest part of it all. 

The way he’d be enthusiastic about the future one week, talking about job postings that had piqued his interest, talking about a future. But other weeks, the dark side of the moon reared its ugly head. He’d be riddled with doubts and fears. Days and weeks were he simply wallowed, days where he haunted your room or your kitchen, for hours. He’d reluctantly go to his muggle job, the monotony of it all bringing his mood down even more.

Weeks like those it was hard. The talks of aspirations went up in a cloud of smoke and you were once again left with nothing.

 He always did say that even though he wasn't sure what he wanted to do, he was sure about you. That you were the one constant in his future. No matter what, it was you. It wasn’t as reassuring as he believed it to be.

You tried not to think about it.

You eventually bid goodbye to your brother and his darling wife. The picture of a perfect family, with a baby on the way, in a small flowering cottage. You itched to ask Remus if he ever wanted that. Did he ever think about it at all?

But, you loved him. That was all that mattered.

Besides, you had real history. Too many years invested. If it wasn’t with him, you were probably just going to end up alone.

You were in love with him for Godric’s sake. Maybe that was the reason you could never choose yourself. 

“Have you given what we talked about some thought?” your words were barely above a whisper, unsure, scared about what his answer could be. You could see him look around uncomfortably. Maybe you should’ve waited until you actually got home not walking through the streets. 

“Y-yeah, I did…” his hand gripped yours tighter as you walked, like you might slip from his fingers “I think I should maybe wait a few weeks…” his shoulders tensed when the sigh inevitably left your lips. “I’m sorry I know it isn't what you wanted to hear but- I don't know if the Ministry would even take me… I did see a new posting for an entry-level in the department of magical creatures maybe I could apply”

“Apply soon yeah”

He nodded silently and you kissed his shoulder to wordlessly tell him thank you, as you walked home from James and Lily’s. Maybe he’d actually do it this time. Maybe one day, he’d see his own potential, he’d see how much farther he could go. 

Maybe someday he’d be brave enough to take a leap and fulfill his promises to you and himself. Maybe one day you’d finally be in a spot to build a family together. Or at least plan for it.

After all, you and Remus had real history. And he promised. Many moons ago.

Your love for him was why it was always so hard to do the right thing. 

Because as soon there was some disagreement, you knew, as much as he did, that no matter how upset you might be with him he could sweep you into his arms and all worry would melt away. 

In the small flat, you and Remus shared, under the warm light of the stray table lamp you’d dance. He’d take you in his arms and move along the soft rhythm of the music he’d put on. He’d kiss your temple and swear and promise.

Shallow words that at this point went in one ear and out the other. Promises of a future together, of applications that would never get done, of steps that would never even be attempted. 

But nevertheless, you forgave. 

You forgave four years of broken promises. You forgave the lack of a ring on your finger. You forgave the lack of planning for the future. You forgave his indifference.

You made yourself think you forgave him.

You tried to forget too.

Tried to forget his lack of ambition because why try when they would never want to hire someone like me? Tried to forget the way your mother had warned you about this a year back. Tried to forget the way Sirius called your phone last month from France, telling you you’d love it there, telling you it was a shame Remus didn’t want to go. How much of a shame it was that you had to miss out on life-changing experiences because Remus couldn't. 

Wouldn’t. 

Same thing.

Sirius called again a few days after you visited your brother.

“Is it raining there? The weather’s shit here at the moment” You ask, staring at the window, the raging storm outside banging against the glass and drowning the usual sight of the street bellow. 

“Meh- could be worse, I reckon it’s starting to warm up soon, so m’pretty excited about that,” He said, you hummed in acknowledgment “Have you talked to Moony again about coming? It really is beautiful in the summer doll— besides you can stay with me for free obviously”

You sighed

“No Sirius, I honestly don't even want to ask I already know how that one will go”

“So what? you’re not vacationing at all?”

“The only place I’m vacationing is in rock bottom Black-” you said, staring at the closed bedroom door. No doubt Remus was taking a small nap. The full moon was approaching.

Sirius tskd’d.

“You know you can always come… by yourself I mean, stay with me for a while”

“Sirius…”

“I know I know… I’m sorry-” Sirius tried laughing it off, the chuckle not lasting long as he asked, “Are you happy at least? With him.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that” You tried fighting the way your eyes seemed to immediately water.

“I fear it’s a pretty straight-up question- yes or no?”

“I don’t know if this is what happy is anymore” you whispered, afraid to state it fully aloud

“Then it isn't. When you’re happy, you know” Sirius sounded somber “You have to do the right thing, whatever is right for you not for him”

“It is never that easy”

“Yes, it is doll. It is always that easy”

You bid him goodbye soon after.

You chalked it off as Sirius not knowing what it was like to be with someone for years. You couldn’t just throw away the past four years of your life just because what? He was tired? He wasn’t putting as much effort as you wanted?

It could be fixed.

You were convinced you’d fix it as Remus trudged out of the room, hair disheveled as he rested his head on your shoulder. A kiss to the crook of your neck.

“Was it Pads?” he mumbled against your skin, you ignored the way you felt caught

“Yes”

“Is he okay?”

“Yes, better than okay”

“I wish we could go to Paris” you tried not breaking down in tears right there and there. 

It was never about money. You could go on brooms for fucks sake. You could portkey right into Sirius’s little French apartment. 

You didn't ask him why not. Why not go? You drowned the question in the tea he eventually handed you. You had always been more of a coffee person, but much like everything else, you sacrificed it for his preference for tea and its calming effects.

You tried your best to fix it, for months. You’d lay down with him after work, card your fingers through his light brown locks, trace his scars while he fought off sleep, press a chaste kiss to his lips before he fell asleep. 

You started calling Sirius more often than not, in hushed whispers. Tears were often spilled. You stopped feeling bad eventually. It was just calling a friend in a time of need. Draining the disappointment you didn't dare throw in Remus’s face. 

He was going through enough.

You continued to hold on to hope.

You’d nudge him along. Try for new jobs, call friends to see if anyone, anyone at all, could find him an in with the ministry.

“He just needs to apply sweetie- this is stupid” Marlene rolled her eyes, her auror uniform casually unbuttoned after her day of work, she twirled the spoon in her tea with a small wave of her finger. “They’re starting these werewolf allocation programs, they make sure they’re given jobs and such…”

“I don't know if he’d like that” You groaned, dropping your face into your hands. You could imagine him already, turning his nose away from any sort of Ministry help.

“Can I ask why he isn’t the one asking me these things?” Marlene said a glint in her eye that let you know she knew the answer already. You looked away.

“Sometimes it's hard to do the right thing Marls”

“You need to do the right thing for yourself”

“Marlene-” you scoffed “Me and Remus just have too much history- how can I ever just choose me? It’s us”

“Maybe it’s time it’s just you” 

You stared at Remus that night, the soft music that played from his muggle radio filling the air between you. You stared at him silently, the curve of his lips, the soft of the apples of his cheeks. The silvery scars that ran across his face. 

You loved him, you did.

But you also did feel the very worst you could feel. No dancing in the kitchen could fix it anymore. No kisses and fake promises could fix it. Not anymore.

As soft as he made you feel, as much history as you had together. You couldn't help the overwhelming need to cry every time you looked at him. 

What the hell was he even doing? What were you doing?

Any plans you had dreamed of with him were now very quickly crumbling in front of your eyes. He continued to silently make tea. You hoped he wouldn't notice the stray tears that managed to escape your eyes.

You and Remus had what your brother always called real history. He just meant it was deeply engrained, in your bones, in your heart. He said it poignantly last time you popped in for a visit. His tone didn’t fail to chip at your heart.

Your years together weren’t something you could erase. Not that you wanted to. 

You were happy with him. Right? You loved him.

Maybe if you just gave him more time. You had graduated Hogwarts a mere two years ago. 

He had always been more than good to you. Even at your lowest. Even at his lowest. He was nothing but gentle and loving.

Maybe. Sometimes, love wasn't enough.

You didn’t say anything as he finished cleaning up the kitchen. He kissed your temple goodnight. You stayed up, staring at the phone line debating on calling Sirius, again. 

“I just don’t know what I should do…” you leaned against the wet metal railing of your balcony, the drops seeping into your pajama pants. You grabbed the base of the phone with one hand, the other holding the receiver up to your ear

“I don’t know why you’re asking me angel, you already know what my answer is going to be”

“Don’t be mean Sirius” he could hear the pout in your voice, and he laughed

“I’m not- you know I love Moony, we’ve been friends for ages but…”

“But?”

“I love you more” You didn’t respond. “And I think you need to love yourself more than you love him too” You could hear him inhale what you guessed was a cigarette

You hummed in acknowledgment, not daring to open your mouth at the fear that sobs would break your words.

“Don’t wear yourself out for someone that isn’t doing the same for you…”

“That’s unfair… he does”

“He forgot a card for your anniversary”

“It was a few days after the full moon…”

“Okay, what about your birthday? Or Christmas for that matter? What? D’you think I’d forget how you called crying? Every single one of those times” He said, you could feel your lip wobbling. “Come to Paris with me-”

“Sirius-”

“Just think about it okay? Promise me you’ll at least do that…”

“Okay, I will—”

“Right… ‘night love,” he said, you muttered a small goodnight “and for the record…” He hesitated for a second, almost as if he shouldn’t say it. Sirius was never one to stay quiet, he did this time. “Nevermind, I love you”

“Love you too Sirius” you answered, head hanging in defeat. The phone call clicked off.

It really wasn’t about Sirius you thought, as you guiltily crawled into bed with your boyfriend. Not about France either. You stared at his sleeping form.

It wasn’t about your and Remus’s history. It didn’t matter how long you had been together if there was no future.

It wasn’t about what your brother or Marlene, or even your mother thought. 

It was about choosing you. 

Right?

“Remus” you padded over and stood next to the small dining table that morning. 

“Yes?” He didn’t look up from his book, a bad habit he had picked up. He was never truly listening when he did that

“Remus have you applied to the job at the Ministry?”

“Mhm? Ministry…” he still didn’t look up, he took a sip of his tea “No I haven't yet, I’ll get around to it though, I just want to take my time with it you know?”

“Its an application how long can it take?” you could feel yourself start getting angry, and you looked away from him. Not that he had looked up to look you in the eyes anyway.

“I just want to give myself the best chance to get in.” he finally looked up from his book, an exasperated look on his face. You refused to meet his eyes “What's wrong with that?”

“You’ve been saying the same thing for ages Remus”

“We’ll I have other things going on— just because you have different ideas about what my progress should look like doesn't mean I’m not doing anything you know? Because I do, I do a lot actually” He said, staring at you as if daring you to deny that he did anything. 

Of course, he worked hard. You could never refute tthat. He moved his eyes down to his book.

You bit your tongue for a second, but the words slipped out nevertheless.

“Remus I don't think we can be together anymore”

“What?” the tone in his voice was nothing short of heartbroken. He searched your face for anything. Any hint that you weren't serious. “No”

Godric it was so hard to do the right thing.

“I don’t think we are on the same page anymore, you say things, you promise but…” you rubbed your temple, you could feel a headache coming “None of those promises ever come true” you sighed, finally looking at him

His eyes were rimmed red.

“You’re right,” he said, defeated, breathless.

“If you know I’m right why didn’t you just do it? I have never asked you for anything else, just for you to apply for yourself Remus, because you had said it was what you wanted”

You and Remus stared at each other. A blank look on his face as he looked at you, his nose red and tears threatening to streak down his cheeks. 

“Can you say something? Anything? Why didn’t you just do it?”

“I don’t know”

“You never know Remus, but I do and I refuse to wait for you to figure it out anymore”

permanent tag ; @laufeysvalentine @heyyyloverr

The full moon shone a bright light through the open window. The breeze was chilly, biting your exposed skin. With a shiver and a quick chatter of your teeth, you ran a hand through your loose hair. 

He should be back now. He’s alright, I know he is, you thought repeatedly in your head.

You shifted your body a little, brushing your hand against a lump of medical supplies hidden beneath a thick blanket. With a sigh, you lifted the fabric to see cloth, alcohol disinfectant, and bandages.

Where are you, Moony? You squeezed your eyes shut, then heard the common room door open.

You snapped your head behind you to see a tall figure, slightly slouching and slowly walking. 

“Remus,” You whispered. After picking up a cloth, you carefully stepped toward him. His hand was grabbing the side of his waist, dripping with blood; his face was contorted with such pain that you couldn’t bear to even look at him. “Remus, let me help you-”

“No.”

A beat of silence. 

You raised your eyebrows. “What?”

“Get away from me, y/n.” His voice trembled, eyes watery and sunken.

“Remus, you’re hurt.” You forced your feet to move closer to him, placing the grey cloth on his cheekbone.

Flinching, he stumbled backward with a limp. “Stop, y/n!” 

You froze, almost dropping the alcohol-pungent cloth. With knitted brows, you asked, “Stop what? Helping you?” 

He looked down, guilt lacing his face. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. I don’t need your help.”

“Yes, you do! Look at you–” You frowned. “Limping. Blood-stained clothes. Merlin, the scratches on your face!” Your hands balled into fists, your nails digging into your palms.

 He would never turn down your help. Why was he so…avoidant?

“You shouldn’t…help me anymore. You’re risking everything.”

“Risking everything? Remus, I’m not afraid of you hurting me. I know you won’t-”

“Who knows that, y/n?” Remus took a deep breath, attempting to compose himself, but failing to rid his contorted face of frustration. “I’ve been getting more agitated every passing day. My loss of control–it’s catching up to me.” 

You stood there, eyes wide and thoughts racing through your mind. 

“You’re always staying awake for me. I notice every single time when you put those medical supplies under the blanket before I leave. Lying to Sirius when he asks when you last got sleep. Telling James you’re simply just ‘catching up on reading.’” Remus ranted, his voice quavering, looking at you pleadingly.

“You know I do this because I care,” You breathed.

“I know you care.”

“Then why are you doing this to me? Pushing me away–this isn’t fair!”

Remus looked lost for words, mouth parted as if he tried to grasp onto any words he could find. But his eyes reflected something. 

Conflict.

“Tell me, Remus. Please,” You begged, tears swelling in your eyes that you forcefully pushed back. 

He wouldn’t move. It was like he was frozen.

After a few beats of silence, he spoke words you wish you’d never heard.

“I don’t want you to lose yourself to me.”

Your heart dropped; your knees weakened underneath you.

“I’m a monster.” Remus’ voice cracked. “I don’t deserve you—any of this.”

A singular tear rolled down your cheek. How could he say such a thing about himself?

“No…no, no, you aren’t, Remus! You’re just as human as I am! Merlin, as human as anyone in this damn school!” You gasped, trying hard not to break. “Remus, I need you just as much as you need me.”

Something flickered across Remus’ hollow face. He bit the inside of his cheek.

“I won’t need you anymore, y/n.” He shook his head, looking down. His hand tightened on his injured side. “If I depend on you, you will be the one thing I will destroy.”

“I won’t let that happen! You won’t either. You’re strong enough to do that.” You insisted, stopping yourself from moving any closer to him. 

“You need to let go. Forget me. Accept that…I can’t be loved.” 

Remus hesitantly glanced at your face one more time before staggering away. With every step he took on the staircase, you could sense his weakness. 

You watched him through glassy eyes, not blinking once.

“Forget me.”

How will I ever forget you, Moony?

Is this really the end of…us?

Without a second look, he entered his quiet dorm.

Like you never even existed.

Once you heard the door slam shut, your legs gave up. You crumbled to the ground, bursting with tears. You tried to breathe, but they came in ragged, sharp inhales that you forced. The world was crumbling on you every second you sobbed on the ground.

You knew he despised this just as much as you did.

Your Moony–the gentle, empathetic boy–would never want this for you.

—

Walking through the empty corridors, Remus huffed, out of breath. He gripped the side of his arm in pain, his clothes soaked in blood. Making his way back to the common room, he muttered the password to the painting and shuffled inside. 

His legs were numb; breathing heavy, his chest was pounding in pain. Heart beating harshly, he glanced around the cold, open space.

You were nowhere to be seen. 

Not a single sign of firelight, a sound of a breath, nor someone walking up to him with a cloth in their hand.

It was empty.

He was empty.

What did he expect? After snapping at you, did he truly think you would stay?

He pushed away the only person who was devoted to him. The one person who would risk their life just to try and save him.

Stumbling up the stairs to the boy’s dormitory, he looked back one more time at the isolated couch where you would’ve been with a book in your lap.

Now, it was all memory. 

You were a living memory, and he grieved you like a loss.