Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Harry stands tentatively at the open door. Without looking up from his newspaper, Professor Lupin calls out calmly, and with tenderness apparent in his tone. “Yes Harry, is there something I can help you with?” Harry considers his words, weighs his thoughts, and almost turns to leave. The other man seems to sense his hesitation and speaks again. “Come in, and sit down. My office hours end in 10 minutes. I’ll order up some tea and biscuits. I think I might even have a box of good chocolates around here somewhere.” Lupin’s eyes are assessing him over the top of the paper, words gentle yet commanding.

Harry has never been good at following orders, even a softly spoken command to sit down for tea. He’s so tired though, tired of fighting all the time. His feet lead him across the small room, to the old floral settee. He glances around the room, taking in the worn leather armchair that Remus is settled in, the threadbare rug beneath his feet, and the scuffed wooden table in the centre of the lounge area. His gaze lights upon each of these things in order, coming to rest on the tops of his shoes where they scrape along the carpet.

“You don’t have to talk, you know?” Lupin rises and firecalls the kitchen, requests tea service, and moves to his desk to shuffle through the largest drawer there. After a moment he raises a golden box triumphantly. “I knew I had something special tucked away.” Harry’s lips lift in an unexpected grin. He feels a weight lift slightly from his chest, just being in Remus’ calming presence.

“I’m not sure what to say.” Harry’s response is delayed, leading the older man to look at him more intently. He notices dark circles that are almost concealed by the younger man’s glasses. The hair that is not only unruly, but also a bit oily as if he hasn’t showered recently enough.

“Harry, are you taking care of yourself?” Lupin moves towards him, laying the chocolates on the coffee table, and sitting beside him. The mirthless laugh that escapes Harry’s lips, gives him pause. His hand reaches out to the younger man’s shoulder and gently turns him until they are facing each other more fully. This close he can see the tension in Harry, from the furrow between his brows to the set of his jaw and shoulders. He leaves his hand on Harry’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “I take that as a no.”

“You would be correct.” The stilted words, and Harry’s inability to meet his gaze is starting to worry Remus. He grips the shoulder beneath his hand more firmly.

“Harry, I’m here. We’re going to get some tea and sweets into you. Then I’m going to help, okay?” Harry nods on autopilot, and Remus is relieved when a house elf shows up, a tray loaded with sandwiches, biscuits, and tea in hand. He makes Harry a plate, adding a bit of everything, and a cup of tea with an extra sugar cube for good measure. He lifts his wand and wordlessly closes and wards the door.

“Eat, please.” Remus feels a protective snarl in the back of his mind. They are nearly three months into the term, and most of the 8th years are doing modified course loads. Each has been assigned a professor that is overseeing their work, and although he requested to be Harry’s advisor, Minerva had taken that role. Remus takes a few centering breaths, determined not to pick a fight with Minerva. She has a lot on her plate, and it’s obvious Harry has been pretending that everything is fine. Lupin himself sees Harry at least once a week at duelling club, and he’s not noticed anything troubling until now.

Harry lifts a biscuit to his mouth, chewing automatically, chasing it with a swallow of tea. His own thoughts are all over the place. He’s worried he’s become addicted to the potions he’s been taking to manage his sleep, and then to combat drowsiness in the morning. He feels adrift and lonely. Ron and Hermione are both too busy for him, and he hates feeling like a third wheel. The loss of so many people weighs on him every day as he walks through the half empty hallways. He continues eating, forcing the food down for Remus’ sake.

Harry knows he could have come here sooner, probably should have, if he’s being honest. He isn’t sure what will help him, if anything can help him that is. Remus’ hand on his shoulder is warm and comforting. He sags slightly under the feel of it, his shoulder drooping slowly as the muscles relax. Finally he is ready to speak. “I’m not doing well, Remus.” The words are hard to get out, he has never been good at admitting that things are wrong. Hell, he had kept the Dursley’s secrets until Snape pulled them from his brain during his Occlumency lessons, and still refuses to talk about that time in his life.

“I can see that, my boy. You’ve had a hard go of it, and it seems things may finally be catching up to you. Do you want to talk, or would you rather take care of your physical needs first? I can see from here that you need a shower.” Remus offers him a choice. A limited choice to be sure. He can either talk, or take care of his body.

“I’m not sure I can talk about it yet, but I’m willing to shower.” He answers truthfully, and continues eating from the plate in his lap.

“I understand, and I will help you in whatever ways are necessary.” Remus stands, and moves to a tapestry hanging on the wall behind his desk. He lifts it to reveal a doorway, hesitates and then says. “I’m just going to set the bathroom up for you. Are you okay by yourself?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Well, I’m not fine, but I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you get back.” The answer seems to satisfy him and he dips out of sight. Harry breathes out a shaky breath, and finishes the last biscuit on his plate. Halfway through eating he had realised just how hungry he was, and he is so thankful that Remus asked him to eat.

— — — — —

“I’m glad to see you’ve finished your food, that’s a good boy.” The words send a spark of pride through Harry. Remus is beside him, ruffles his hair in an affectionate manner. “I’ve got the bathroom ready, come with me and I’ll show you where everything is.” If Remus has any misgivings or impatience over Harry showing up unannounced like a stray animal needing food and a bath, he is doing an admirable job of hiding them. Harry stands, feels a warm touch against his lower back guiding him through the hallway.

“We have to walk through my sleeping quarters, I’m afraid. I just thought you might rather have some privacy for this, Harry.” Remus says by way of apology, as they enter a small circular room. Harry’s eyes take in the large four poster bed in the centre, a fireplace with a warm blaze roaring, a large armoire, and the various rugs and decorative pillows giving the place a homey charm.

“Thank you for this, for making me eat, and take a shower, for not making me talk.” Harry mumbles the words, knowing that they need to be said, knowing that he owes Remus an explanation. 

“I’d do anything for you. You can trust me, Harry.” The words are like a punch to his gut. The list of people who he can trust to take care of him is so small, the list of people he feels responsible for is so much larger.  He has people who care about him, friends and adopted family that worry about him, but very few actually step up and offer tangible support when he needs it. 

He doesn’t blame them, how can they help when he acts like everything is okay. It’s always been about getting through the next class, next day, next battle. Now that Voldemort is dead, along with so many others, he feels helpless. 

He realises he has stopped moving, and hasn’t responded to Remus. “I trust you, it’s why I came to you. I knew you would help me make sense of things. You’ve always listened to me, and treated me well.” He looks up at the older man, welcomes the kind smile and dancing eyes.

“It makes me happy to hear that, and I’m glad you came to me, even if you aren’t ready to talk about it. Let’s move along now, before the bath gets too full.” His hand is pressing more firmly, and Harry allows himself to be led to the doorway on his right.

“I thought I was going to take a shower,” Harry sounds puzzled until he looks into the bathroom. “This is your private bathroom?” The awe is evident, as he looks at the deep tub. It has four nozzles flowing full force, and the tub is half filled with foamy, fragrant water.

“The castle provides what is needed. Many of the professors have larger bedrooms, or additional lounge areas. My bedroom is small, and my sitting area is in my public office. The bathroom is the real magic. During the full moon, my body is sore from transformation. Being able to soak helps my muscles recover and eases the mental stress for me.” The explanation sits well with Harry, he knows first hand that the castle does its best to provide what it believes will help its inhabitants.

“This is better than I could’ve imagined when you said I needed to take a shower…um, would it be weird if I asked you to stay?” Harry is looking at his feet once again, and Lupin feels a lurch in his chest. Wants to scoop the boy up, and hold him tightly in his arms until he’s ready to tell him exactly what is going on.

“I can stay, it’s strong of you to ask for help when you need it. I’ll just stand outside the door for a minute while you get in, call out once you are under the water.” Again Lupin’s words stir something in Harry. Makes him smile, desire to bask in the soft encouragement of the older man.

— — — — —

“I’m in the water!” The words are slightly louder than necessary, however the taps are still running and Remus reaches to turn them off, so that they can speak at a reasonable level.

“How does that feel?” His eyes are steady on Harry’s face, and is pleased to see that Harry is meeting his eyes for the first time this evening.

“It feels really nice, my muscles already feel more relaxed, and the minty tingle is good.” A shy smile crosses the younger man’s face as he looks up to where Remus is standing, and only then does he realise the poor boy is craning his neck to look at him.

“I’ll just sit here, if that’s okay with you?” Remus falls into a cross legged position a foot from the edge of the bath.

“That’s great, I actually need to take off my glasses, and you’ll just be a fuzzy shape here soon anyway.” The self-deprecating humour is a familiar blanket that Lupin recognizes all too well, and he plays along

“It’s like free plastic surgery, that. Once you remove your glasses, my scars won’t be visible, and my wrinkles disappear.” Remus pulls a funny face, and is rewarded with a genuine laugh from Harry. He smiles and holds his hand out. Harry is still laughing as he carefully folds his glasses and kneels on the bench to pass them to Remus.

“If only you also wore glasses, then this” he gestures toward his chest “could disappear.” Remus shifts his gaze to Harry’s chest, barely holding in the gasp that threatens to overtake him. The scar there, looks as though Harry has been hit by a baseball that happened to be on fire at the time of impact. The skin is the mottled, thick skin he’s seen on burn patients. A nearly perfect circle with tendrils that snake out from it.

“Our scars do not define us, Harry. They only showcase what we have survived. You more than most, have survived the unimaginable. You are here for a reason. Take this life and make it what you want. Don’t seek permission, or apologise for doing what makes you happy.” The words pour from him without any thought. He’s speaking from his own experience, and hopes Harry heeds his advice.

“That seems to be easier said than done, if the world at large is to be believed.” Harry’s unfocused eyes are looking in his direction.

“You’re young yet, and I have faith in your ability to figure out your own mind.” His words are a balm to Harry’s hurting heart, and the younger man is silent in the face of them.

Harry ducks under the water, and pops up running his hands through soaked hair. He reaches his hand to the edge of the bath, where Remus has laid out shampoo and a bar of soap, groping blindly for a moment before his fingers brush the bottle.

Remus watches his movements only briefly before looking down at his own hands, where they toy with a small hole in his pant leg. The intimacy of the situation is suddenly stifling, and he feels as though he can’t quite catch a full breath. The only sound besides his slightly too fast breathing is the splashing of the water.

— — — — —

“I’m all washed up.” Harry calls his attention back to the present.

“Let me just get the towel off the counter. It’s been under a warming spell, so it should keep you from getting chilled.” Remus stands with an ease that draws Harry’s unfocused eyes, following the fluid movements of the older man.

“I’ve never thought to do that. That’s damn smart." Harry seems inordinately pleased about something that Remus has been doing for years.

“I sometimes forget that you haven’t learned some of the daily spells that can make your life easier. You’re old enough now that you can do magic any time. If you ever have any questions or just want to go over some of those, I would be happy to assist.” Remus bends slightly to pass the warmed towel to Harry, and as their fingertips whisper against each other he feels a spark of something long dormant flare in his chest.

“Yeah, of course. I mean, I’ve been using a refreshing spell on my hair and body between showers, but there’s loads of stuff I don’t know. Or stuff I wouldn’t even think about, like warming my towel while I bathe. What a brilliant idea.” It warms Lupin to see the excitement in Harry’s eyes, as he scrubs the towel over his head  still standing in the bath. Once his hair is no longer dripping water he speaks again. “Do you still have my glasses?”

“Ah, yes. Here you are.” He extracts them from his shirt pocket and gives them to Harry, careful not to touch him this time. “I’m just going to step into the other room, while you get ready. Take your time Harry, there is no rush.”

“Thank you again. Thanks for everything.”

“It is my pleasure, Harry. No need to thank me.” Inside he feels a flush of warmth at the younger man’s words. He is so rarely noticed for his actions, and it feels good to have someone appreciate him. The past 18 years have been hard for Remus in ways he can’t fully articulate.

He doesn’t often think about the days surrounding the attack on Harry’s parents, but there is no denying the way they changed his life. Remus had always been well liked and looked up to by his friends. He’d been responsible for gently nudging them away from their more idiotic ideas. Always good at helping revise for exams, he was often sought out for help, and advice.

Sirius had jokingly called him the “dad” of their group. Sometimes accusing him of being a spoilsport when he shot down pranks. Truthfully he loved the feeling of being needed, loved when the guys would tease him publicly, but come to him later and thank him for his help.

It’s been too long since he’s allowed anyone close enough to need him for anything. The idea that Harry has come to him, even if he’s unable to voice his needs right now, amazes him. Leaves him feeling slightly breathless. He wants more of this warm, protective feeling flooding his veins.

Remus slips out of the room and leans heavily against the doorjamb. He rolls his head slowly from side to side, thinking through the unexpected events of the evening. Finally he steps forward from the wall and moves to a shelf that holds his small collection of alcohol. He rarely drinks, but the full moon is a week away, and he decides a shot of firewhiskey will settle his sudden nerves.

— — — — —

Harry finds Remus settled back into his arm chair a few minutes later, and Remus is grateful to see that the boy looks much better than when he entered his room earlier.

“You look as though you feel better, Harry. Do you want to talk, or would you like to get back to your dorm? I know you don’t strictly have a curfew, but it is getting late.”

“I do feel a lot better, amazing what a soak will do for you. Can I take a rain-check on talking tonight? I think I’d like to go get some sleep, while I’m feeling nice and relaxed.”

“Anytime Harry. My door is always open to you. If you find yourself needing someone to talk to, or even just someone to prod you into taking care of yourself, come find me.” The words are spoken with ease but they cause something to twist in Harry’s gut. He takes a steadying breath before speaking.

“Yes sir, I'll do that.” Harry waves and is moving through the portrait before Lupin can respond.

Lupin feels the loss of Harry’s presence, and wishes he’d been able to figure out exactly what is going on with him. There is an ache in his chest, he can’t quite name, that he doesn’t want to investigate. He pens a letter to Minerva, despite not having answers, he needs to at least inform her that a situation has arisen and he is monitoring it.

Chapter Text

Three days later a sweaty, red faced Harry is pacing down the hallway near Lupin’s rooms. The portraits have taken to whispering and following his path as he walks almost up to the office portrait and then turns back around. It’s on his fourth round of turning back down the passage, that he is stopped.

“Harry, you’re making the portraits nervous, come into my office and have a seat.” The voice rings out clearly, but without any malice. He halts his forward progress, and slowly pivots to face Remus.

“I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. I should just head back to my room.” Harry doesn’t move any closer.

“You haven’t caused any trouble, join me for supper. I didn’t make it to the great hall tonight, and I’m about to order some food.” Remus makes the offer a statement, and Harry looks up with a calculating look. 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to eat, I’ve just spent almost 2 hours flying, and doing drills.” His feet move before he has time to talk himself out of it.

“I did wonder at the state of you, I should have figured.” Remus shrugs and falls into place beside Harry as they walk the few feet to this office.

“I look like a right mess, I’ve sweat through my jumper, and feel vile.” Harry can’t keep the negative thoughts inside his head tonight, and they fall from his mouth like curses.

“You look like a person trying to outrun something. Were you successful?” Remus ponders, stopping to face Harry once they’re fully in his rooms.

“Only at running myself into the ground. It’s my mind that I can’t seem to whip into shape.” The answer is honest, yet vague. It’s the most he’s been able to pull from Harry about whatever is troubling him, and he decides not to push the boy any further.

“You’re right about that. The mind is a much trickier beast to tame. Have you come to me for something else?” The question is gentle, and probing.

“I was wondering if I could bathe here again? I’m still not ready to talk, but I…” Harry trails off, seeming to have run out of steam after the way his question came out in a rush.

“Clever boy, I didn’t have to prod you this time. You’ve asked for my help, I’m very proud of you Harry.” Harry’s face tilts up in pleasure, the smile on Remus’ face like sunshine on a cool day, and he wants to soak up the warmth. “Of course you can bathe here. I’ve already told you my door is open to you any time. Did you bring a change of clothes?” He eyes the athletic clothes and muddy trainers. 

“Yeah, I’ve shrunk down my gym bag. That’s part of what made me so nervous. It felt like maybe I was making assumptions that it’s okay for me to come here like this.” He scuffs his foot against the floor lightly, then grimaces at the mark he’s made. “Sorry, let me just take these off.” He toes off his shoes, and looks back up. 

“Let me attempt to ease your mind a bit, Harry. I’ve told the portrait to let you in without question. You may come here, for any reason, whenever you need to. If I am not in the sitting area or at my desk, and you need to see me, you may press against the wards to my rooms. I will be alerted and will be with you as soon as possible. If you simply need a private place to relax, you are welcome to use my office without me.” Lupin reaches his hand up to give an encouraging squeeze to his upper arm, and Harry sways into the touch. He's exhausted, sore, and desperately craves this reassurance.

"Thank you. I don't know how else to say it, but I promise not to take advantage of your generosity."

"There is nothing to take advantage of, I care for you, and I enjoy your company. Promise me you will make use of my office, without guilt." Remus is looking very serious and Harry wants nothing more than to wipe that expression off of his face.

Swallowing roughly, he speaks. "I promise."

"Good, let me draw a bath for you, and order some food to be sent up in a bit. You may find that after you cool down, you are hungry." His hand tightens around Harry's arm briefly and then drops.

— — — — —

“Do you…Do you have something else you need to be doing?” Harry asks hesitantly, as Remus twists a handle on the tap.

“No, I’ve already marked all of my papers for the evening. It’s why I missed supper, engrossed in 7th year papers on theory. Now I’m free to relax, enjoy a warm meal, and read a book by the fire.” Remus doesn’t look up from what he is doing and Harry takes the opportunity to study the older man.

“I’m sorry for intruding on your solitude.” 

Remus stands, and faces Harry, the water rushing loudly in the space. “You have nothing to apologise for, I’m glad of the company. The line between alone and lonely is a thin one, and I find myself on the wrong side of it often.” The words are soft, and the undercurrent of sorrow is strong enough to tug Harry closer to Remus.

“I understand the feeling.” Harry reaches a tentative hand out to press to the older man’s shoulder, wanting to offer the same comfort Remus has given to him. Remus’ eyebrows raise slightly at the contact, but he doesn’t comment.

“When I was a young man, at this school myself, I was always surrounded by my friends. They were loud and obnoxious sometimes, sure, but I never felt lonely when they were around. We made mistakes, we were selfish broken boys, trying to figure out the world. As an adult, I miss the camaraderie. I wouldn’t want to be out running amok, but I miss always having someone to talk to. I live a much quieter life now, but I sometimes wonder if that is by choice or necessity.” Remus opens up to Harry, and in doing so, strengthens the bridge between them.

“Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me that. I know it must be difficult to talk about, considering how everything played out.” Harry’s words are wise and his hand is warm against Remus’ shoulder, and he cannot remember the last time he was on the receiving end of an intentional touch.

“All of that to say, please don’t apologise or worry that you are putting me out. I want you here, I hope you feel safe and welcome here.” The temptation to pull Harry into a hug is strong and he gives in, opening his arms wide and stepping forward.

Harry’s sharp intake of breath is the only response he receives, and then Harry relaxes in his arms. Turns his head to lay his ear against the older man’s ribs, and wraps his arms around his middle. Remus rests his chin lightly on the crown of Harry’s head and sighs at the feeling of peace that passes through him.

“Mmm” Harry lets out a small hum of appreciation and flexes his arms against Remus’s back. The height difference is obvious and he feels a bit like a child, safe against the reality of death and destruction he has witnessed. He is reluctant to let go, and keeps a firm grip on Remus for well over a minute before releasing, and leaning back.

Remus breathes deeply, his heart hammering in his chest. Harry had fit perfectly in his arms, and held onto him for longer than he expected. Remus looks down at Harry, waiting for him to speak.

“I do feel safe here, and I will try not to apologise or bring it up again. Just promise you will tell me, if I’m ever bothering you, or there is something you need to get done?” His voice lifts at the end as if posing a question rather than a statement, causing Remus to chuckle.

“I will tell you if I ever have work to do, or need some space. I find I often have more space than I like though, and I look forward to having you around more often.” Remus’ face softens and Harry feels a twist in his stomach, but ignores it. “Go on into the bath, I’ve got to call for some food.” He steps towards the exit.

“You’ll come back?” Harry asked, hesitant, but spoken loudly enough for him to hear.

“Sure, I’ll just be gone a minute.” Remus contines walking, so his face doesn’t betray him. He feels a warmth snaking its way through him, happy to be needed, proud to be caring for Harry.

— — — — —

As he approaches the bathroom the sound of singing tickles his ears. He doesn't recognize the tune, but the melody and haunting lyrics threaten to mesmerise him.

"I didn't know you had a gift for singing."

"Gift may be a bit of a stretch, but I do enjoy a nice chorus, and the acoustics in here are great." Harry grins and does a partial bow extending his arm outward as he lowers himself.

"Ah, well, I'm honoured to have been the audience at this show." Remus chuckles softly and claps.

"Ha ha, we can just call this the Harry Potter variety show. 'Watch the Chosen One, have a breakdown, take a bath, and sing’ I'm sure we'd make a killing selling tickets." The self-deprecating is back, but it's slightly less surprising this time.

"Why do you do that?" Remus sits softly in the same place he had last time.

"Do what?" Harry's apprehension is apparent.

"Let me in a little bit, and then push me away."

"I dunno, call it poor coping skills, self sabotage, blame it on my shite past. Take your pick." Harry is quickly spiralling again. Remus can see it in the boy's face, watches the warring emotions and thoughts pass over his features.

"I'm not going to do any of those things. It was just a question, one I don't expect an answer to. Just think about it okay?” Harry resumes bathing in silence for a few minutes before Remus speaks again. "I'm not upset with you, and I hope you aren't upset with me. I just don't enjoy seeing you down on yourself. Even when you do it in a joking way."

"Yeah, you aren't the first person to say something about it. I'm not upset with you either." The words are short but the tone isn't unkind.

Remus feels a spark of possessiveness flash in him, and tries to sound nonchalant when he speaks. "Anyone I know?"

Harry bites his lip as he thinks, "Hermione told me that I use humour as a mask. That I struggle to let people get to know the real me, and that I keep things surface level to protect myself from heart ache. Something to do with a pattern of abandonment and attachment issues." He huffs out a breath.

“Miss Granger is very observant, and obviously cares about you a great deal. Trauma alters the brain, it changes the way we respond to everything around us. It takes a lot of hard work and courage to heal from it, and not prevent us from having healthy and fulfilling relationships.” The words soothe against the chaffing of the previous moments. 

Harry laps them up, and promises to himself that he will think about everything Remus has said to him. Later , he thinks.

“You’re right obviously, and I believe that the people in my life are worth putting in the hard work. I know that creating walls and keeping people out isn’t healthy, but I’m just human. I’m fucked up, and have just been trying to survive. How about we make a deal?” 

Harry wants to bargain? “I’ll bite, what deal do you want to make?”

“You continue gently pointing out when I’m trying to guard myself, and I try not to get defensive,” Harry reasons.

“I accept that, and I’ll do you one better. If you have a need to just let the pain, anger, or fears out, tell me before you start venting. Just say something like ‘I’m looking for sympathy not solutions’ and I will keep my mouth shut. I typically want to look for a fix for problems, and that might not be what you need.” Remus is thoughtful, he recognizes that his protective urge to help Harry could also push him away.

“You weren’t wrong, and you were very gentle about it. I’m just on edge and it has nothing to do with you.” Or everything. Harry dunks his entire body underwater and stays down for half a minute, long enough that Remus begins to wonder what he is doing, and then emerges to continue. “I’ve got to get out, I’m starting to shrivel.”

The abrupt change in conversation leaves Remus feeling out of sorts.

Remus shakes his head as if trying to dislodge a thought. “Yeah.” He stands and spots a neatly stacked change of clothes, with a towel folded on top of it. “Here’s your towel. I’ll go check on the food.”

“Hey, Remus, I think you were right about me being able to eat once I cooled down.” The corners of Harry’s lips lift into a grin and the world falls back into sync for Remus.

— — — — —

“I took the warming stasis one step further, and put one over my clothes, and it’s like wearing them straight out of the dryer again.” The words come to him from the hallway between his bedroom and office, and he turns to see Harry rubbing a towel briskly back and forth on his head. He’s dressed in grey socks, black joggers, and a white shirt emblazoned with the words “Don’t be Riddikulus” on the front.

The laugh that bubbles up from his throat is loud, and unexpected. “Where did you get that shirt?” 

Harry looks down, practically giggles, and says, “It’s a test run for some apparel for Weaselys’ Wizard Wheezes. I called dibs on it, and when they go to market I plan to buy other shirts they’ve come up with.” 

“I do love a good play on words,” Remus quips. He wonders at the fact that he himself was the one to teach Harry how to cast Riddikulus .

The rest of the evening is filled with light-hearted conversation, good food, and lots of laughter. Remus feels light and is pleased beyond measure to have come back from the tense exchange in the bathroom.

There is a stillness to the castle as the night goes on. It’s almost imperceptible as it’s happening, the way the building seems to settle into itself, the echoing voices fade as people go to sleep for the night. Remus has a growing awareness of the late hour, along with the fact that he is having the best time he’s had since before the final battle. He catches his eyes drooping as he listens to Harry explaining some flying manoeuvre he is trying to learn, and his head snaps back up.

“Harry, I believe I must retire for the night. It’s nearing midnight and I’ve got an early class in the morning.”

“I might be able to go to sleep myself. Thank you for the late supper, and for listening to me go on about Quidditch.” Harry seems surprised, and Remus tries not to question him further. Resisting the urge to push the boy too far.

Harry leaves and Remus calls for a house elf to come remove the remnants of their meal, walks to his room and falls into bed. Exhaustion overtakes him, and he drops into sleep still wearing the outfit he's been in all day.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, Harry had spent more days than not in the professor's office; he came by after classes were out for the day. He’d only skipped a few days, telling himself that Remus needed his own space to recover during the full moon. Harry always made it a point to come over after physical exertion, for an excuse to soak in the professor's bath. They’ve enjoyed good conversation, and nights spent sitting in silence, each working on his own materials. It’s been nice, having somewhere in the castle, where he feels safe and protected, insulated from the memories of the past. Still, Harry hasn’t told the professor what is bothering him, hasn’t shared how he is working himself into the ground, and still not sleeping without the aid of potions.

“You’ve got the movement and incantation right, but I don’t think you are visualising what you are trying to achieve.” Remus is patiently working him through an advanced charms assignment. He normally finds charms easy, but tonight his focus is in the rubbish bin, and he’s starting to get angry.

“That’s because I don’t know what I’m trying to achieve.” The frustration is right there on the surface, and he paces like a caged animal.

“Hey, take a break. Do we need to go over it again before practising?” The furrow between his brows is prominent as his eyes take in Harry’s frantic movements.

“I don’t want to! I don’t want to worry about stupid charms. I don’t fucking care about it. None of it matters!” Harry practically roars the last part, and turns to Remus with wild eyes. It calls to a part of him that wants to snarl and snap. He’s thankful they are well away from the full moon, but still he feels an answering restlessness within him.

“Get angry. Go on. You want to raise your voice and puff up your chest? I can take it. Let it out Harry, quit running from it. Quit pretending.” The words are quiet, but Remus goads Harry, spurs him on with his taunting tone.

“What if I don’t know how?” The panic rising through his voice is sharp and tangible.

“You need me to push you? Do you need a target?” Remus is stalking toward Harry, his shoulders rolled back easily, and his gait languid and unrushed.

“Maybe I do, I need…something.” The words seem ripped from the younger man, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides. One hand still wrapped tightly around his wand. Remus can feel the thrum of magic in a thick cloud around Harry. It seems to shimmer and distort the airwaves, like the heat rising from asphalt on a mid August day.

“Drop your wand.” Remus enters the younger man’s orbit, and begins circling. Harry tosses his wand to the sitting area, aiming for and hitting the settee cushion. His eyes are following Remus’ arc, his head and body moving to keep him in his line of sight. He begins to feel dizzy, unsteady on his feet, and doesn't know what has come over him.

Remus however, is moving with purpose, he lunges forward as if to attack, but pulls back at the last moment without touching Harry. Harry suddenly has an image of the wolf looking out at him through those eyes. The hair at the nape of his neck bristles with the adrenaline and excitement this instils in him. His response is immediate and he drops into a slight crouch. He’s used to using his wand in duels, but they’ve also all taken self defence classes and worked on hand to hand combat.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, eyes once again following the back and forth of the man in front of him.

“You don’t want to tell me what’s going on, you snap at me that nothing matters. Why can’t you be angry, just yell and scream?” Remus is back to taunting him, pushing buttons until he finds the one that causes the avalanche he knows is coming.

“I can’t. I can’t get angry. You don’t understand.” His breathing is ragged.

“I don’t understand, Harry? Do you remember who you’re talking to? Why can’t you get angry? Why aren’t you allowed to feel anger? Who told you that your feelings don’t matter?” The questions just keep coming, steady and pounding like a drum. Beating against Harry, rocking him more surely than any punch ever could.

“Because, when I get angry, people get hurt. When I was a kid, I got hurt…locked in a closet, or denied food. When I came to school, my friends got hurt, or people I thought I hated, like when I sliced up Malfoy. My anger didn’t keep people from dying, it didn’t keep the school from getting attacked, anger doesn’t solve anything!” His body is shaking with the fervour of his despair. His voice rises as he lets the words wash over him. Saying them, hearing them, he feels the weight like a wave that keeps rolling him under every time he tries to stand. Harry sags against the admission.

Remus feels his heart twist painfully in his chest at Harry’s confession, for that is exactly what it is. The confession of a man that was never safe to share his emotions, wasn’t protected and cherished growing up, was forced into the role of a soldier before he was old enough to legally practise magic outside of Hogwarts. He hates himself for having to push Harry, goading him into speaking thoughts he hasn’t been able to articulate before now. Every instinct in his body cries out to mould himself into a shield around Harry. To do whatever it takes to help him reclaim the life that was taken from him.

“You should never have had to carry the weight of the wizarding world on your shoulders, Harry. You were abused, neglected, and mistreated by the people who were supposed to protect you. You deserve love, unconditionally. You deserve a space where you are free to express your emotions. No one gave you a safety net. I cannot undo the hurt you experienced, but I can promise that you are allowed to show me everything. None of your thoughts and feelings are inconsequential, and none of them frighten me.” The words come from his heart, the very bottom of his soul, they feel inadequate and unsubstantial, but they are all he has to offer.

Silence rings loudly in Harry’s ears. The depletion of the moment climbing up his muscles, and dragging him to his knees on the floor. His thoughts catch up and he whispers just loud enough for Remus to hear. “I can’t sleep without potions.” Tears begin rolling slowly down his face.

The space between them is closed quickly, Remus squats down to lift Harry from the floor. He slides one arm into the crook behind his bent knees, the other behind his shoulder, standing easily and moving to his leather arm chair. He sits slowly, shifting until Harry is curled into his chest. As the young man weeps softly, Remus uses his long wingspan to his advantage. He keeps one arm wrapped under Harry’s legs, his other supports his back, both hands clasped together tightly to hold the man securely.

Harry’s head fits into the hollow between his collar and jaw, forehead turned into the skin there. He cannot recall a single time in his life when someone has held him like this. Refuses to think back to his childhood, knowing there is no comfort to be found in any of the memories he has of his Aunt and Uncle. He inhales deeply against the warmth of Remus, the scent of peppermint and tea tree a soothing reminder of who's arms he is in.

Remus is breathing deeply, his chin resting on wild, dark hair. He keeps his mouth shut, and allows his arms to provide reassurance. Prays desperately, that his arms are providing solace. 

One of Harry’s hands is wrapped snug against his neck, the other curled into his stomach. Soon, Remus is rocking slowly. The balls of his feet pressing against the floor, to move in the slowest of dances. The small motion shifts Harry closer, and he lets out a soft sigh.

Harry nuzzles further into Remus’ embrace, allowing himself to pretend for a moment that he is a small child. He imagines that he’s fallen off his bike, and hurt his knee. His father has scooped him up, and is now rocking him softly.

He is unsure where the idea comes from, feels a frisson of something pass through his midsection, tries desperately not to react in a way that is noticeable. The thought sends Harry seeking the warmth of the chest beside him, dipping his head lower, rubbing his ear along the ribs and flesh there. As time passes his tears slow, breath deepening, and his hand moves to curl around Remus’ waist.

They stay in that position for an indeterminate amount of time, Remus kicking against the floor to propel the chair. Sometimes they rock so slowly, it’s almost as if they aren’t moving. Sometimes he’s tilting the chair back as far as it can go, and using his hands to hold Harry tightly as it tips forward. The silence doesn’t feel heavy, or pulled taut like a rubber band that is going to snap. He is able to re-learn how to breathe, and melt into the larger man, allowing the tension to flow out through his fingers and toes. 

When they’ve slowed to a gentle bounce, Remus moves his hand against Harry’s back. Dragging his fingers up and down his spine in a soothing caress. They come to a stop, and Harry tenses. Waiting for the inevitable questions, but they don’t come.

“I’m here for you, Harry,” Remus murmurs into his hair, chin tucked down, lips assaulted by errant strands.

“Thank you.” He feels the hand from his back moving again, sliding up, ruffling his hair.

Chapter Text

--------------------------

Minerva

Would you like to take morning tea with me tomorrow to discuss our dear friend? The one I mentioned needed some additional monitoring?

Remus

— — — — —

“What is with all the secrecy, Remus?” Minerva questions urgently as she enters Remus’ office.

“It isn’t secrecy I’m after. Harry has been in the spotlight his entire life, he has earned a bit of privacy.” Remus hedges, and ushers her over to the table where tea is waiting.

“You’re right of course. I forget how often Harry has been denied even the smallest shred of respect, I’m sorry for my frustration. I’ve been up to my neck in administrative work, and over-seeing the continued repair work in the east tower. Our much reduced capacity has allowed us to move classes around, but I’m ready for the castle to be whole again.” Her tangent irks Remus, and he taps his foot impatiently against the stone.

“Mhm hm….Back to the topic at hand. I know you wanted to keep a close eye on Harry, Ron, and Hermione this year; however, I am asking that Harry’s oversight be transferred to me.” The words are direct, and the tone implies no room for argument.

Minerva appears to ponder his request. “Do you care to explain what is going on with Harry? Or at least give me some idea of what led to this?” Minerva chooses her words carefully. She trusts Remus implicitly, but she worries about Harry, and wants to ensure that he is being taken care of.

“Harry showed up at my door a little over two weeks ago, the night I first notified you, looking unkempt and his eyes were bloodshot with lack of sleep. I offered the use of my office to him, and he has been spending a few hours here most days.” Remus pauses to take a sip of tea, and assess Minerva’s reaction to this bit of information. A flash of curiosity, perhaps, crosses her face but is gone quickly.

“Last night he admitted he has been unable to sleep without the use of potions. The temporary use of potions after a traumatic event is understandable, but long term use is advised against. I believe he needs more support than you are able to provide with your responsibilities. Since he sought me out, I feel he has made his own mind clear on the matter.” His eyes haven’t left her face, doing his best to speak respectfully, while still ensuring she understands that he isn’t going to drop this lightly.

“If you wish to discuss this with him, please do. I just ask that you tread carefully. I’ve left out information to protect Harry’s confidence, and I don’t want him to think I have betrayed his trust.” Remus offers the explanation calmly, feeling a small sense of unease at the amount of details he’s kept to himself. Thinking back to the soothing weight of Harry curled into him, he shakes his head trying to clear the thought.

“I understand. I trust you will let me know if anything changes. Perhaps you should reach out to Pomfrey, or Severus about devising a course of action. I am sure either will be happy to help, and there is no need to give them the name of the student involved. You may even have them reach out to me if they offer any objections.” Minerva’s answer is thoughtful, and Remus appreciates his friend and colleague for her acceptance of the situation.

They relax and ease into other topics of conversation, but Remus’ mind keeps circling back to Harry time and time again, leading his attention elsewhere. His thoughts linger on the past two weeks, of nights spent in Harry’s presence, captivated by the intelligence and self-awareness the young man possesses.

He is reminded of the way the wolf seems to want to protect Harry, and worries over the implications of that. His eyes have glazed over, no longer seeing the room as it is now. Instead he is transported back to that first night, with Harry needing to be told what to do. His own instincts taking over and doing exactly that.

Minerva snaps her fingers sharply, calling his attention back to the discussion they are having about next year's new students, for the third time, and speaks candidly.

“Remus, you seem preoccupied, is there more I should know?” Her concern is evident in the gentle way she asks the question, and he doesn’t know how to answer honestly. Remus has never been one to shy away from bending the rules in the best interest of those he cherishes, but he feels morally grey as to whether his recent actions extend beyond his role as a mentor to the young man.

“Nothing I’m inclined to share at this time, Minerva. I do promise to keep you informed if there is any other issue that I feel needs your attention. Otherwise, I’m prepared to protect Harry’s privacy at all costs.” The words turn sour in his mouth as he thinks about the lengths he is willing to go to protect Harry, that growl inside of him louder with each passing day.

“I find myself inclined to believe you, Remus.” Minerva gives him an appraising look, as if she can see more than she lets on. She continues speaking, “That young man deserves someone as fierce and loyal as you watching out for him. I’m only sorry that I didn’t agree to your request before the term started. I…I let my guilt guide my actions, and I apologise for that.” Remus feels a softening inside of him, a release of the tension buzzing closer to the surface. He lets out the breath he’s been holding.

Harry

Meet me in my office tonight directly following supper, we have pressing matters to address.

RJL

Harry arrives, a breathless mess. He’s practically run to meet Remus, and is suddenly nervous beyond belief. Wonders if Remus wants to talk about what happened yesterday, worries that he isn’t welcome here anymore, every worst case scenario racing through his head.

He takes one gulping breath in and pushes the portrait open. Looks up to find Remus seated in that damn armchair, long legs spread as wide as the armrests allow. He feels his pulse quicken at the sight, and his mind searches for a reason why it’s affecting him so strongly. Remus has just been looking out for him, and holding him together as he falls apart. It’s nothing .

“You wanted to talk?”

“Yes, have a seat please.” Harry debates bolting, running from whatever conversation they are about to have. His indecision must show on his face, because Remus is standing, and halfway across the room before he has a chance to do anything. “You’re not in trouble, Harry.” Voice soft and gentle against his frayed nerves.

His exhale is rushed, heart hammering in his chest, and his feet find their way to his spot on the settee. His fingers drum nervously against his thighs, and he looks anywhere but Remus’ face. The silence settles over him and he wonders if it’s his turn to speak. “What’s this about?” Shyness and discomfort colour the words, and Remus takes pity on him.

“I hope you won’t be upset, but I’ve asked Minerva to assign me to oversee your progress for the rest of the year. I didn’t go into the details of the time we’ve spent together, but I had to give her some reason as to why I felt it necessary.” The words blur in his brain as he processes what Remus has said.

“Oh.” A significant pause. “What did she say? What did you tell her?” His last question has a note of panic, and Remus once again wishes that magic could solve all of their problems. Sometimes, to heal, the only way through is to do the work.

“She agreed, and gave me her blessing to ensure that you are taken care of. I had to tell her about the sleeping potions Harry, but I didn’t tell her anything else. You deserve privacy. I told her that I won’t betray the trust you’ve given me.” Remus looks as though there is a great deal more he wants to say, but he stops speaking.

“Oh.” His brows scrunch down as close to his eyes as the muscles can manage. Remus can see the emotions flitting across his face, shock, fear, and finally relief. “I guess it’s good that other people know. I came to you because I want to stop using them, I want to be able to sleep without them. I’m a fucking wreck without them though.” He shrugs with the confession, a weight falling off of him now that he doesn't carry the secret alone.

“Only myself and Minerva know, Harry. She suggested seeking help to devise a schedule for tapering them, but I won’t be identifying you. I want to involve you in all of those decisions. I’ll do everything in my power to help you through this, safely.”

“What if I don’t want to be involved in the decisions? What if I’d rather just have someone tell me the next steps?” The questions are thoughtful and articulate, and Remus looks at Harry. His hands are folded neatly in his lap, back straight, head bowed to look at them.

“Is that what you want, Harry? For me to create a plan, and tell you what is going to happen?” The words are slow and deliberate.

“I’d like that, I don’t want to be in charge.” His shoulders slump a bit as he speaks, and Remus understands. The young man needs to have the weight lifted off. He’s been pushing Harry to ask for what he wants, but Harry needs to be told. A curl of something low and heady twists in his gut, and Remus curses himself for his weakness.

“I will sort this out, and let you know once I have a grip on how to proceed.”

“Thank you.” Harry doesn’t move, or say anything else for a moment, and the air around him seems thick with tension. “I’m still allowed to come here?” His voice is soft, and at least an octave higher than normal.

Remus feels his stomach drop, his eyes tracing over the features of the man in front of him. He takes a breath in, wanting to say that everything is going to be okay, aching to do something. Settling for reassuring him that nothing has changed.

“Nothing has changed about our arrangement, Harry. My office, and I, are available to you whenever you need. We will simply add a once weekly, or bi-weekly meeting to go over your studies, and discuss if there are areas where you need revision before your N.E.W.Ts. Do you have any questions that you need to ask me? Did I overstep?" Remus realises belatedly that he did all of this without asking Harry's opinion.

"No. No, you didn't overstep. I want to be with you for the rest of the year.” Harry insists in a way that is absolutely pure, and yet Remus feels a flutter in his stomach. He thinks of the feeling of Harry in his arms, embracing him in the bathroom, and rocking him in his recliner. Get yourself together.

“That’s all I needed to talk to you about.” He changes the subject quickly, feeling out of his depth and not knowing how to bring things back into an arena he feels comfortable in.

“I’ve got some reading I need to do, I’ll just settle in here, if that’s okay?” Harry’s lips lift in a half smile, and he pulls his satchel onto the spot beside him.

“I’ll send a note to Severus and get started on that.”

Severus

I’ve got a student that has been using sleeping potions consistently since the final battle. They are concerned, and have come to me for assistance tapering off. Minerva suggested reaching out to you or Poppy for advice. I thought you would be the wiser choice.

Remus 

— — — — —

Remus

I take your lack of information to mean that you don’t intend to be helpful during this process. I need specifics. How much has the student been taking? How frequently? Are other potions involved? What is the quality of the potions, and how did the student procure them? What is the student's age? I’ve had a few students with similar issues. The process can be quite tedious, but it can be done.

Severus

— — — — —

“Harry, Severus has a few questions I need answered,” Remus calls out from where he sits at his desk, reading the note.

“Sure, what’s he need to know?”

Remus reads off the list of questions and asks follow ups until he is satisfied that he will be able to provide the details Severus requires.

— — — — —

Severus

The student has been mail ordering from a shop on Diagon alley. “Natural Choice Apothecary” They are 18, and have been taking a half or full vial at least five nights a week. Unable to sleep at all without the potion, lately they have also been taking pepper up potion a few times a week, to combat drowsiness in the morning. Thank you for your assistance.

Remus

— — — — —

Remus

The age of the student limits the suspects drastically, however as you have not offered the information, I will not ask any further questions as to the identity. 

The combination of potions does not surprise me, given the length of use. Although sleeping potions (no matter which variety is used) do not have addictive qualities, the herbs themselves build up in the system over time. The cumulative effect can lead to secondary symptoms, and thus lead to the use of other potions. Fortunately I have a detoxifying tonic on hand that can be administered during the process, to help flush the herbs out of the system, returning the student to a baseline.  Based on the information you’ve given me, this is going to take close to a month to complete safely. I suggest beginning right after the next full moon, if you are the person who will be personally overseeing it.

Severus

— — — — —

Severus

Personally overseeing it? How involved is this process? I’m committed to helping this student, but I am unaware of what I will need to do. Severus, do I need to enlist further help? This student is extremely distrustful.

Remus

— — — — —

Remus

The process takes almost a month. During the first two weeks, you will reduce the amount of sleeping draught, until none is used. The following two weeks is when the detox tonic will be administered, and is arguably the hardest part. If the student is unable to sleep, or get adequate nutrition, additional help is required. I can meet over Christmas break to discuss all of this in depth with you, as well as offer you tips for success. The next full moon is still three weeks away, which gives me time to gather some helpful resources. Tell the student to stop the pepper up potions now. It will make the process easier if those have already been cleared from their system before beginning.

Severus

— — — — —

Remus reads over the letter in his hands, again. He looks up to the couch where Harry is sprawled, lying on his stomach, text book open in front of him. The young man has been marking, writing in the margins, and occasionally asking him  questions. Nights like this are quickly becoming some of his favourites, the room is quiet except for the soft crackling of the logs as the fire eats away at them.

He hates to break the spell, but knows he has to tell Harry what he has learned. Instead of calling out through the space, he stands and stretches with the movement. He comes to the end of the settee where Harry’s shins kick softly against the arm. His hand snakes out and grabs hold of an ankle lightly, Harry’s shocked gasp causing him to smile fondly.

“Shit, you scared me.” Harry flips onto his back, gripping his chest in surprise.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, I just didn’t want to yell across the room. Severus let me know what weaning you off the sleeping draught is going to look like, and I wanted to go over it with you.”

“Okay, shoot.” His expression is light, but guarded, and he moves into a sitting position as Remus drops his ankle.

Remus sits beside him and explains everything exactly as Severus described it. He makes sure to emphasise the importance of discontinuing the use of the pepper up potions immediately. He shares the timeline, and the importance of waiting until after the next full moon which coincides with Christmas. Harry asks a few questions, and Remus does his best to answer. He jots down a few questions they come up with, so that he is prepared when he talks to Severus.

“I think I’m ready. I wish we could start now, but I do understand why we need to wait. Do you think we will be able to get through those last two weeks without needing to go to the hospital wing?” Harry voices his own biggest fear, and Remus pushes back against the worry.

“I promise to listen to Severus, and get all of his input on how best to navigate that. He said he’s had experience with this, and I trust his ability to teach me what to do.” Remus tries his best to be reassuring, and he gives Harry’s hand a quick squeeze.

Chapter Text

“Harry, to what do we owe the honour of your presence?” Hermione has one eyebrow raised all the way into her hairline. A smirk on her lips. Harry is only just passing through the portrait, and doesn’t look up at his friend’s voice.

“Hmm?” Harry mumbles in response, raking a hand through his hair. He finally glances up, and is surprised to find a large group of people still down in the common room. He spots Hermione, Ron, Draco, Luna, Neville, Pansy, and a few others nestled around the fire. He realises with shock that the people sitting with each other aren’t the pairs he’s expecting. In fact Luna is curled against Ron, and Hermione is looking cosier next to Draco than he is used to. It appears he is out of the loop with his friends and he feels a moment of shame pass over him as he processes this information.

“Yeah, we’ve seen Nearly Headless Nick more than you this past month.” Ron shouts loudly, and Harry realises that his friends have been drinking. He grins at the thought that everyone has been having fun, thankful they are enjoying themselves. Even if it is currently at his expense.

“Are you lot drunk?” He asks as he makes his way further into the room. The warm fire draws him to a spot on one of the large cushions in the semi-circle of 8th year students.

“I’m feeling pleasantly warm.” Luna’s cheeks are the same shade as the Gryfindor banner, and her head tilts precariously toward Ron’s chest. He glances from face to face and realises that everyone has their own cup.

“Oi, I know I haven’t been around lately, but where is my cup?” Harry grins broadly at his friends, thinking that he has successfully avoided the insinuations about his recent absence.

It’s Malfoy who offers him a mug of something that smells of cinnamon, but it comes with a question. “Where, or should I say who, have you been spending all your time with?” His grey eyes are dancing with mirth and Harry realises he’s not going to get out of accounting for the lack of his presence recently.

“I’ve just been dealing with some stuff.” He pauses dramatically, before continuing. “Dying and coming back to life takes a toll on a person, ya know.” He can almost hear groans from the people surrounding him, but he is hoping to evade these questions, and if he has to remind them of his sacrifice, he isn’t above it. He takes a tentative sip of the proffered drink and feels a burn as he swallows. He barely holds in the choking fit that threatens to overtake him, before speaking again. “Fuck. What is this?”

“It’s firewhiskey, and don’t think we can’t see that you’re trying to avoid the question.” It’s Ron again, and damn if he doesn’t feel like he’s being ganged up on. He might as well give the group the answer they seek.

“I’ve been hanging out with Remus. I’m well and truly fucked up, and I’ve been trying to sort myself out. He’s helping me with something. You can expect things to get worse before they get better.” He throws back his cup, wincing at the burn in his throat. He doesn’t bother looking up, afraid at what he might see on his friends’ faces.

“Harry, in case you haven't noticed, now is definitely the time to go a little barmy. Forget what everyone expects you to do, and do what you want." Ron's words are soft and blurry around the edges, sliding against each other, as his hand wraps tighter around Luna's waist.

“Really? No one here has anything negative to say?” His eyes shift around the group.

“About you? Or about how you’re spending your free time? I’d like to see anyone try. They’ll have to face the lot of us. As far as I’m concerned no one has the right to say anything to you except Thanks for saving our asses,’’ Neville chimes in. The words are firmly spoken and Harry looks up to find only support on his friend’s face.

“We don’t care what you do, or who you do it with, as long as you’re taking care of yourself mate. We were all getting pretty worried about you.” Ron speaks up again, and Harry’s eyes seek out his best friend.

“Here, here.” Draco reaches over to add more alcohol to his cup, lifting his own in a salute once he has finished pouring.

“To be honest, I was concerned about myself. I’m not the best at asking for help.” Harry is glad to be unburdening himself, thankful for the unlikely camaraderie of the group surrounding him. “So how’d I miss out on all of this?” He gestures vaguely to the pairs of people who are obviously cuddled together. There is some shifting, and then Hermione speaks up.

“You really haven’t been paying attention, have you? It’s been happening slowly since the beginning of term. We all realised without houses to separate us, we actually have a lot in common and we don’t have to do what is expected of us. We’re in uncharted territory.” Hermione smirks in a way that reminds Harry of Draco, and he feels a chuckle bubbling up from within. Of course those two would find common ground, they’ve had more chemistry in their relationship than she and Ron ever had.

“I’ve been so focused on my own shit, I’m afraid I haven’t been present even when I’ve been physically around. Sorry for being a shitty friend lately.” He’s speaking directly to Hermione and Ron, and the others seem to sense this. There is shuffling, and lots of quiet words as the others head to the dorms for the night. After a short while, only the trio remains.

“Harry, we have to take some of the responsibility too. We could see that things weren’t right, but we knew that if we asked about it you might shut down or freak out. So we ignored it, and acted like everything was fine.” Hermione reaches over to grasp his hand.

“You’re right, of course you are, but I hate that I’ve been walking around like a zombie for so long. Putting all my energy into making it through each day, and barely paying attention to the most important people in my life.”

“Hey, we aren’t gonna let you do that. You can’t let this be another thing you guilt yourself over. We aren’t mad. We have always been and will always be here for you. No matter what happens, we love you.” Ron’s words surprise him. His friend has never been the best at communicating, but he supposes everything that’s happened has changed them. They’re all growing up, they’ve had to.

“Okay. You’re right. Thanks for shaking me out of my pity party. I love both of you, and I’m happy you’re happy. I’ll try to do better.” Harry tries his best to shake off the lingering shame he feels about everything.

“So, you’ve been spending time with Remus, huh?” Hermione has waited patiently for the opportunity to ask Harry the question that has been burning in her mind.

“Yeah, I’m sure everyone knows I haven’t been sleeping well. Remus has been letting me hang out in his office, and it took a while for me to admit what was really bothering me.” His fingers tighten on Hermione’s.

“Do you want to share with us, or would you rather keep it to yourself?” Hermione asks gently.

“I’ve been using potions to sleep for months now. I’m starting to have some side effects, and knew I needed help to get off them. It’s going to take a while, and I can’t start right away, but Remus and Severus are working on it. I’m going to stay here over Christmas break and begin tapering right after the next full moon.” Harry is glad to let his best friends in on what is going on. After the show of support he received from the other 8th years, he knows he can trust them with his secret.

“Oh Harry, I’m so sorry you’ve been dealing with this on your own. Is there anything you need from us?” Hermione looks at his face, and smiles encouragingly.

“Yeah, what she said.” Ron has been listening, and offers his input.

“I don’t need anything except your support, which I know I have.” Harry shrugs.

“So you’ve just been hanging out in his office?” Hermione is like a dog with a bone, asking again about the situation with a slight gleam in her eye.

“Mmm, uh…I mean. It’s a bit, uh, more complicated than that.” Harry stutters and trips over his words, unsure why he suddenly feels embarrassed about his time with Remus. He’s not been hiding this from his friends, he’s just not gone out of his way to tell them where he slips off to every night after dinner. At least that is what he’s been telling himself these past few weeks. Now he isn’t sure how he feels, and he doesn’t want to look too closely at it.

“You don’t have to tell us, it’s no one’s business. Just know that we’re here if you need to talk about anything.” Ron slaps a hand to his back and pulls him into a side hug. He holds that position for a while waiting for Harry to relax against him before continuing. “Just don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively and begins laughing hysterically as though he’s told the world’s greatest joke.

Harry feels his heart thudding rapidly against his chest. Why would Ron say that? No one thinks he and Remus are doing anything inappropriate, do they? “What?” His voice cracks on the one syllable word.

“I’m just saying, Hermione is messing around with Malfoy. Weirder things have happened.” He laughs again, and Harry realises his friend is joking. Or is he? He can’t tell, and suddenly his ears feel hot and he’s sure his cheeks are red.

“Ron, quit teasing. Harry, we shouldn’t have pried, please forgive us. We both got a little carried away with our questions, or insinuations.” She pats his hand, and pushes up to stand in front of him. He sees a slight wobble as she straightens her knees, and worries for a second that she is going to topple over.

“Yeah mate, sorry for teasing. Only I wasn’t joking all the way. Remus isn’t a bad looking bloke, and Luna keeps telling me I should be more open in my thinking. So if that’s something that interests you, go for it.” Ron hiccoughs softly. Harry wonders, not for the first time, just how much his friends have had to drink.

“Thanks for giving me permission to go after Remus, I guess, and for being cool about everything else. I’m really lucky to have such good friends.” Harry laughs uncomfortably, and leans in for a giant hug from his friends. They lean heavily against him and each other, and he mentally adds a few more drinks to each one’s tally.

He watches both turn toward the staircases to the dorms, and he collapses against the couch behind him. He downs another glass of firewhiskey and tries his best not to think about anything at all.

— — — — —

The next morning, he’s woken up by the sound of voices coming from somewhere nearby. He rubs his eyes, and stretches against the sleepiness in his body. The movement causes a twinge of pain, and Harry blinks against the blurriness of his vision. He reaches a hand out for his side table where he puts his glasses, and recognizes that he is still on the couch in the common room.

“Ugggh,” the groan escapes him, and he begins patting, searching for wherever his glasses have fallen.

“Here, Harry.” Hermione’s voice floats to him from much closer than he is expecting, and his head whips around to see his fuzzy friend standing behind him with her hand stretched out.

“Thanks, I can’t believe I fell asleep down here.” He adjusts his frames and looks at her.

“No problem. You want to come down to breakfast?”

“I’m going to go up and get changed. I’ll meet you down there.” He shakes off the last remnant of sleep and makes his way up to his bed. There is a niggling in the back of his brain, a half-formed thought just out of reach. He tries to remember if he had a dream last night, or if there is something he’s forgetting, but it’s like chasing a cloud. Instead of dwelling on it, Harry dresses and joins his friends in the great hall.

— — — — —

It’s Saturday, and all of the 8th years are barely conscious at the breakfast table. He looks around, noting who seems to be in the worst condition, putting Ron firmly in that category. His plate is piled high with food, but he’s eating at a much slower pace than his usual gusto. Harry grins to himself, and gathers food for his own plate, thankful that he hadn’t been around for the heavy drinking portion of the evening.

The great hall is set up differently than it has been in years past, and he takes a moment to appreciate the changes. Instead of 4 long tables, each belonging to a house, there are smaller tables spread throughout the hall. The only time it is set up into houses is for special feasts. It had taken some getting used to, but truthfully everyone seems to prefer the ability to group up by other interests.

Sometimes it seems as though the class years stick together, or jocks huddle to go over the latest in quidditch, while others gather to gossip. The groups are always changing based on who is available. 

The staff have even taken to sitting at a circular table in the middle of the room. Harry’s gaze passes over the staff table and finds Remus talking with Poppy.

His eyes linger, and he finds himself watching the older man butter his toast. Those elegant hands, one lightly holding the bread as the other uses the knife to apply the butter. Harry’s lower lip tucks into his mouth, his upper teeth biting down on the corner in thought. He forgets momentarily what he is doing, watching those same hands bring the piece of bread to Remus’ mouth. His breath hitches in his chest, eyes tracing the lines of the scars on the back of his hand and wrist.

Someone beside him drops a piece of silverware, and he snaps out of his intense focus. The lip he had been chewing on is replaced by a forkful of food, and he drops his head back to the table in front of him. That gnawing sensation is back, and he tries to push it down, pretending instead that Ron’s comments last night haven’t left him off balance.

“We’re going to do a pick up game of Quidditch after lunch if you want to join?” Draco is looking at him with a wicked smile.

“Uh, yeah. That sounds great.” His answer is distracted at best, and he can feel his cheeks warm at the knowing look in Malfoy’s eyes.

Chapter Text

Harry is losing it, he’s going round the bend, he’s sure of it. A week later he’s barely holding on due to the lack of pepper up potions. He’s exhausted beyond the pale every single morning, and by the time evening rolls around he’s fidgety and anxious and unable to go to sleep without the damn sleeping draughts. His friends have been cheering him on, making sure he knows he isn’t alone. Which is reassuring, but also exhausting.

Each morning he finds himself in the company of a rotating group of classmates. They seem to have an unspoken rule to make sure he is up and dressed in time to eat breakfast. Afterwards they shuffle him back to the common room, and silently work on their studies.

In the afternoon, a group of 8th years have taken to spending time outside every day. Somehow he finds himself included in this group. They practice their warming charms while laying on blankets by the lake, or flying around the grounds playing tag, their breaths puffy clouds in the winter air.

Those afternoon hours are the second best part of his days. That stretch of time between the exhaustion of the mornings, and the nervous energy that plagues his nights.

The best part of each day finds him ensconced in Remus’ rooms. Talking through theory of defence spells, reading quietly, or taking long hot baths in minty water. Nights in Remus’ company are relaxing and also tense in ways he can’t explain. There is an urge in him to push against the other man. Some intangible desire to get riled up, and act out a bit. 

Tonight his knee bounces while sitting across from Remus, watching him mark papers, and slowly turn pages. His eyes drift to those scarred fingers as they pluck a biscuit from the tray on the coffee table. He’s pretending to read, but he can’t concentrate on anything other than the man in front of him.

It’s all Ron’s fault. Things had been chill, Remus was just helping him work through some shit, until Ron had to go and make those drunk comments. Now they run on repeat in his head. Remus isn’t a bad looking bloke…go for it . A broken record egging him on.

“Fuck.” He stands and paces behind the couch, attempting to exercise these thoughts from his head through sheer willpower.

“A knut for your thoughts Harry?” Remus folds the paper he’s currently holding down to his lap, and follows Harry’s movements with interest.

“They aren’t worth that much.” He continues his trek across the floor, turning sharply, retracing his steps.

“Anything I can do to help? I know the lack of pepper ups is taking a toll on you. We’re only a week from holiday, and two weeks from starting your detox.” Remus is speaking softly, as if approaching a caged animal. Sitting in his chair, balls of his feet poised against the floor, tipping it backwards a bit.

“I think I should just go back to my dorm.” Harry drags a hand through his hair, tugging sharply as he reaches the ends of the strands. Hoping that little bit of sensation will calm him a bit.

“That would be unwise, Harry. You’re wearing a groove in the floor, you obviously need something…” His words trail off, as if he’s thinking. “Would you like to duel?”

The question catches him off guard, and he comes to a standstill. His eyes move to Remus, the man appears relaxed and loose, but his fingers are spread wide across his thighs.

“How would that help?”

“You’ve got all this nervous energy, and it needs to go somewhere. Channelling it into your magic is a great way to wear yourself out. You don’t have to, it’s just a thought.” Something flickers through Remus’ eyes too quickly for Harry to decipher.

“I’ll give it a try. Where are we going to duel?” He looks around, knowing there isn’t room here.

“We’ll go next door to my class room. Come along.” He’s up and almost to the door in the blink of an eye, and Harry follows without a second thought.

— — — — —

Remus takes off his vest, and undoes the buttons holding his sleeves tight around his wrists. Harry watches him slowly roll each sleeve up to just past his elbow, his mouth going drier with each careful fold. Remus looks up, as if aware he’s being watched, and Harry’s eyes snap to the ground. His skin flushes in embarrassment.

“Are you ready, Harry?” The tone holds a hint of danger, or maybe Harry is reading into it. His emotions are all over the place, his thoughts careening into uncharted territory, at the simple words.

“Just a second.” He places his hands on his hips and twists left and then right, stretching his back, attempting to chase away the panic bubbling up within him. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

The room is clear, Remus had made quick work of pushing the desks into one corner of his class. They are standing in the large area left behind. Both men have taken similar stances, wands gripped loosely in their hands, legs spread shoulder width apart. Harry forces himself to exhale slowly, inhaling a deep breath immediately after. He is awful at Occlumency, but just before a duel he is able to wash his thoughts away without any trouble.

It’s just Harry, and his magic. He draws it around himself like a cloak, imagining it easily in his mind. He feels Remus’ magic pulsing quietly along the edges of the space. Flowing and filling the area between them like water. Remus is the picture of calm power, standing there with his forearms bared, the top two buttons at his collar left undone.

Remus makes a motion with his hand, signalling the start of the duel. He bows deeply, and Harry follows suit. When both men stand back up, the air crackles with electricity. Harry throws up a basic shield, and feints to the right.

Remus raises his wand and casts a spell meant to slow Harry. It bounces off his shield, and he takes the distraction as an opportunity to cast a freezing hex toward Remus. The older man doesn’t even bother with a shield, rolling easily out of the way, flipping his hair out of his face in the process.

They cast back and forth, slowly at first. A slightly too high bat bogey hex. Harry’s shield absorbing a stinging hex that still manages to cause a slight vibration in his left leg. There are moments between the spells, where the men pace, each watching the other for signs of attack.

Suddenly Harry draws up his power, and casts 3 spells back to back. Each one aimed directly at his professor. Remus throws up a glowing shield just in time to block the first spell, using the seconds it affords him to drop to a knee making himself a smaller target. He funnels more power into his shield, angling it up slightly to deflect the next 2 spells.

His breathing is coming harder now, and he moves forward to put Harry on defence. As he stalks closer he casts a binding spell, the rope finding purchase around Harry’s shoulder and immobilising his arm briefly before he frees himself.

Vollying hexes back and forth is wearing them both out, and finally Remus goes in for the kill. He makes a large target of himself, moving slowly with his shield dropped, arms spread wide. Harry is panting with the exertion of the past few near misses. He telegraphs his movement just before casting, and as the Expelliarmus is leaving his lips, Remus moves forward and tackles the younger man to the ground. His hand cradles Harry’s head as they fall.

“Argh…” the garbled cry tumbles out of Harry’s open mouth. His eyes wide with shock. “That’s cheating.” He practically pouts, and Remus cannot help the hearty chuckle that escapes him.

“House rules, I’m afraid. Sirius taught me that particular trick.” His face looks younger, split wide by the grin overtaking it.

“That checks out. He was a sucker for winning.” Harry feels his own face breaking into a smile. The concrete is cool through his clothes, Remus warm against his chest, and he shivers slightly with the contrast of sensations.

“He was extremely competitive, and quick to wrestle when things weren't going his way.” Remus is pulling away, and Harry just barely keeps himself from reaching out to pull him back. The weight and warmth of the older man is nice, and he misses it as soon as it is gone.

Remus leans back on his knees, holding a hand out to pull Harry into a sitting position and speaks again, "you should have seen the look on your face. It was worth making a fool of myself.”

“It was clever, I’ll give you that. I didn’t see it coming, but now I’m onto your tricks old man. You won’t be able to get away with that in the future.” Harry teases.

“Old, eh? I’m wounded.” Remus feigns hurt, drawing his hands against his collarbone, tilting his head back dramatically. Harry can feel the smirk pulling at his lips.

“Old enough to be my dad.” As the words cross his lips, Harry feels a sharp tug in his gut. Things have gone from light and teasing to charged with energy in just a matter of seconds. At least they have for Harry. He’s peeking up at Remus from under long lashes and a slightly lower position on the ground.

His thoughts go back to when Remus held him in the chair. How he imagined Remus as a daddy caring for him. The way he had felt little, and safe in his lap. The pull in his stomach is growing with each moment that passes, although in reality it hasn’t been long at all since he’s spoken.

“I am, at that. You feeling a bit less worked up, son?” The casual way the words slide off his tongue, has Harry reeling. He dips his head trying to hide the prominent blush blooming across his face and neck.

“Yeah. Much better.” He mutters the lie towards the concrete of the floor.

Remus leans forward onto his knees moving his feet from under him, and stands easily. Once he is upright he bends down to offer Harry his hand, breathing deeply in an attempt to cover his racing heart. His thoughts are tangled and he tries to pinpoint one train of thought, dropping Harry’s hand once the boy is standing.

It seems his protective instinct toward Harry has merged with other desires. It’s been so long since Remus was interested in anyone, he thought he would spend the rest of his life alone. He was content to live his life with friends, and a job that fulfils him. Had honestly been so shocked to make it out of the war alive, that wanting anything else seemed like greed on his part.

Judging by the burn in his chest, his body happens to have other ideas. Ideas about Harry that both arouse and terrify him. He shakes his head gently, and realises that the silence is uncomfortable. He searches for something to say, seeking to shake off whatever it is that has him feeling restless. Ultimately, Harry breaks the silence, saving him from trying to find the right words.

“It’s getting late, I should head out for the night. Thanks for duelling, it was great fun. Until you cheated to keep from losing, that is.” Harry says this in an overly exaggerated way. Lifts his head, lips quirked in a half-smile, and shrugs his shoulders.

“You’re just mad you didn’t think of it. Next time it’ll be an even playing field.” Remus banters back.

— — — — —

Remus doesn’t believe in Hell, at least not in the afterlife. Hell is outliving every childhood friend before reaching 40. Hell is going through a body breaking transformation each month. Hell is watching the people you love suffer, and not being able to help them. 

But if Hell is real, he’s definitely earned his ticket. He’s lying in bed, unable to fall back asleep, unable to move. Woken up from a dream panting and hard, reaching down to take his erection in his hand before the dream comes crashing back to him.

Green eyes haunt him, thick dark lashes almost obscuring them from the vantage point of his arm chair. In the dream, Harry had crawled from the couch to where he was seated, and laid his head on Remus’ thigh. That was all that he had seen before he woke up startled, and unable to calm back down.

His dream feels like a betrayal. It’s wrong to dream about Harry. He knows this, but his body doesn’t agree. His erection is straining, insistent for attention, but he refuses to give into the temptation. The knowledge of what he might think about, while tugging at himself, keeps his hand fisted in the sheet.

He continues to lay there, taking deep calming breaths. Closing his eyes against the night, he begins naming defence spells in alphabetical order. When he has exhausted that list, he thinks through the list of offensive spells he knows. Unfortunately, this only brings his thoughts back to his duel with Harry.

After an internal struggle, his hand lifts from the bed. He lays it flat on his chest, fingers splayed across his ribs, feeling the pounding of his heart. Those same fingers move down, tracing slick scars and protruding bones. The sensation of flesh against his fingertips calms his overworked nervous system. He focuses on the soft hair that tickles him as he glides across his abdomen.

This body has carried him through every single day of his life. At times he has hated it, only focusing on the ways it brings him pain, at times he has appreciated it, knowing everything it has protected him from. It has never felt like home. On his best days, he treats it like a rented apartment, never painting the walls, or hanging pictures. He has put his own needs last for so long that he cannot imagine seeking something he desires.

His mind flickers back to a few one night stands, all men he met at pubs, and none more recently than five or six years ago. Isn't that sad? He hasn't felt another's touch in so long, and yet it has taken this experience to make him realise what he has been missing. The thrill of spending time with Harry, is nudging him out of his own self imposed monk-hood.

His hand falters at the waistband of his sleep pants, but he pushes past the hesitation, and dips his fingers below the elastic and into the valley between his thigh and groin. Fingers follow the thicker hair until they meet hot flesh, and he jolts at the contact. Giving in, he pushes the clothing down and over his hips, freeing his cock to the cool air.

He grips himself firmly, close to the thatch of wiry hair between his legs. Fingers squeezing tight as they close around his shaft. He rocks up into his fist in pleasure, and sighs in relief. He's been hard since before he woke up, and is straining against the urge to tug himself off quickly. Instead he moves his fingers up and down slowly, pulling his foreskin over the crown before retracting it to spread precum down his length.

His hand moves more freely now, the lubrication gathered at the slit allowing his hand to pass over sensitive skin with more speed. His mind is focused on his hand, his breath is soft and panting, the sound of his movements loud in the silence. His hand is warm, and with each upward pull, he twists his wrist while moving over the tip.

Before long he is thrusting his hips off the bed into his grip, breathy groans escaping him as he nears climax.  Remus presses his head back into his pillow against the sizzling coil of heat at the base of his spine. His eyes are clenched tightly closed in ecstasy, and a flash of emerald eyes passes behind his own just as he begins pulsing in his hand. The orgasm overtakes him, and he gasps in surprise at the force behind it, spend landing on his stomach and chest as the pulsing slows.

Remus takes a few shaky breaths, and casts a cleansing charm. Yanking his pants up, and pulling the corner of his duvet over himself; sleep claims him before he has time to berate himself for his weakness.

Chapter Text

Remus is reclining in his chair on Sunday, reading the biography of an unnamed Auror. It’s a fascinating tale of corruption and nepotism within the department from an anonymous inside source. The book just came out and he’s devouring it voraciously. The weather is dreary and the howl of the wind and rain is pervasive throughout the castle. This is one of his favourite ways to spend a rainy day, and he’s thoroughly enjoying himself, when Harry enters the room quietly.

Remus looks up at the soft click of the portrait shutting, to see a shy smile spread across Harry’s face. The younger man lifts his hand in a timid wave, but doesn’t speak, instead kicking his shoes off just inside the entrance, and padding softly to the couch in his socks. 

When Harry enters quietly like this Remus never pushes for conversation. There are days when Harry bursts in, talking excitedly about something important to him, and there are days like today—where Harry is quiet and pensive. Both types of interactions with Harry are equally enjoyable, his presence is a welcome break to Remus’ solitude.

He settles down onto the cushion, tucks his feet up, pulling the throw over his lap in the process. He opens a book without a word, and Remus goes back to his own. The storm rages on in the background, but a blanket of peace settles over both men.

“Holy shit.” The soft exclamation pierces the air, causing Remus to look up at Harry in question. The younger man hasn’t looked up from his book, and flips the page quickly, seemingly unaware of speaking out loud. Remus can’t help the grin on his face as he tries to bring his focus back to the book in his hands. However a moment later he finds his eyes seeking out Harry, watching in fascination as his lips move with his finger sliding across the page.

His heart lurches gently in his chest and he looks away. Standing to stretch, his hands twist, and push their way into the air above his head, back arching as the muscles tighten and pull him up to the balls of his feet. The movement causes his shoulders to shiver in relief, and he turns to order some fresh tea.

Unknown to him, Harry’s eyes follow the movement with hunger. His lip instinctively dips between his teeth and he toys with it, as he appraises the subtle display of muscles.

“Can you see if they’ve got any of those chocolate biscuits with the orange jam in the centre?” The words float over to where he is near the fire, catching him just before he orders up food and tea. He wonders for a moment how Harry knew what he was about to do without him saying anything.

“Absolutely, does anything else sound good?” Harry has a few things he seems to gravitate to, and when he’s willing to eat Remus always indulges asking for them specifically.

“Some of that blueberry loaf? I’m craving something sweet.” Harry glances over, a slight blush and sheepish look on his face. It takes more willpower than Remus cares to admit, not to groan at the innocent expression there.

“I’ll make sure to ask them to go light on the sandwiches, and heavy on the cake and biscuits, even if they don’t have your preferred flavours, clever boy.” Remus doesn’t even think before speaking, but as the final words leave his mouth Harry’s blush intensifies and spreads to his ears.

Why is that ? He thinks over what he’s said and can feel his brows drop slightly in confusion. Shrugging, he walks back over to his chair not getting a reply. Harry hunches into himself, face buried in his book.

Harry’s blush begins to fade and he wishes he had been able to keep it from happening in the first place. Between Ron’s comments, and his own experiences with the professor he isn’t sure how long he can stop himself from doing something truly embarrassing.

— — — — —

Harry shows up Monday after dinner, face flushed, hair mussed, a light sheen of sweat beading on his forehead. Remus looks at him with a questioning gaze, and Harry responds before he can ask. “I got roped into a game of hacky sack, it’s wicked fun.”

“Hacky sack?” Remus can feel his eyebrows climbing into his hairline.

“It’s a little bag filled with beans that you kick between people in a circle, and the goal is to keep it from touching the ground.” Harry grins broadly.

“I know the game. It was still called a footbag, when I was in school.” The crinkles around his eyes are distracting, and Harry looks away.

“Um, anyway, uh…I was thinking I need to wash.” Harry feels a familiar heat rising in his cheeks, and hates stumbling over his words.

“Of course. I’ve got some marking to do, but I can go start the taps for you.” The lie slips out of Remus without conscious thought. Suddenly the thought of sharing space with Harry while he bathes is overwhelming. 

Nothing has changed between them, yet suddenly everything is perceptibly different. His eyes are drawn to the boy, watching his movements, seeking him out in a way he hadn’t before their duel. He recalls with startling clarity his own middle of the night wank session, and realises that it might be better if he isn’t in the same room as Harry while he bathes. His current state of mind is too precarious.

“I can do it myself, if you need to get back to work.” Harry offers.

“It’s no trouble. Come on.” Remus pushes aside the tapestry and waves the door open. 

Entering the hallway, the scent of Remus’ room washes over him. Mint and cedar warring for dominance, along with something indescribably warm. Stepping out into the bedroom Harry’s eyes search out the bed, widening in surprise to find it unmade. Remus always has his bed made, every other time he has passed through here the comforter is smooth, decorative pillows propped artfully in the middle.

He thinks about teasing Remus, but stops himself. Knows that if he does, he’s kicking the door wide open for other thoughts and feelings to come flooding in. Remus will put a stop to him spending time here if he becomes aware of Harry’s growing desire, and honestly, Harry knows better than to lust after Remus. 

Despite Ron’s comments and Hermione’s badgering, most people would have something to say about an 18 year old and a 38 year old getting together. That doesn’t even bring into consideration the fact that Harry is sort of a student.

He groans inwardly realising he’s stalled in Remus’ room, just like he had on the first night he was in this spot. The reasons are totally different, but here he is, staring. He shuffles into the bathroom, where Remus is already filling the bath.

“Thank you. I know you have work to do, and here you are taking care of me.” Harry gets close, so he doesn’t have to raise his voice. His voice is a fragile thing currently, and speaking too loudly might cause it to crack.

“Taking care of you brings me joy, Harry.” Remus does his best to keep his tone light, watching as Harry’s face brightens at his words. His fingers itch to reach out and fluff the younger man’s hair, instead he balls them into the fabric of his pants.

The feeling that blooms in Harry’s chest is one that he doesn’t have a name for. An inexorable longing, or wave of pride, fragile hope perhaps. Whatever it is, it wells up as Remus speaks. Seeing the honesty and vulnerability painted on his features, only further solidifies the sensation of breathing through cotton. He gulps, attempting to force the lump from his throat.

He’s thankful that Remus has work to do, the steam swirling around them is thick and for the first time Harry is nervous at the thought of being undressed in front of him. He recognizes the sound of the water pressing against his ears. Realises that he should have said something by now, but can’t for the life of him think of a response.

“I’ll let you get back to your marking.” The words are inadequate, and he curses himself for the sudden distance between them. They’ve never had trouble talking, Remus has been forthcoming and treated him with respect in all of their previous conversations.

“See you soon.” His eyes linger over Harry for just a moment longer than necessary. He turns and walks out, and Harry lets out the breath he has been holding.

The bath is wonderful, truly it is. The water is the perfect temperature, the aroma from the foam drifting across the surface is heavenly. Yet, Harry cannot relax. His body is as tense as when he entered the water, and his mind is a muddled mess. He misses the companionship that he and Remus have shared for the past few weeks.

He dunks under the water aggressively. Holding his breath and staying down until his lungs burn with the need for oxygen. He surfaces, gasping, and then drops below the surface again. He opens his eyes under the water, a slight burn from the diluted mint, and attempts to stay down longer this time.

He does this a few more times, until his body is begging for a break. Finally, he rushes through lathering and rinsing off.

He readies himself and looks in the mirror above the sink, giving his reflection a stern glare, he runs his fingers through his hair and turns to leave.

— — — — —

“Harry, you look like shite.” Ron’s voice calls across the common room later that evening when he’s coming back from Remus’.

“I feel like shite.” He’s got no further words, and Ron elbows him as he sits down beside him.

“Want to talk?” He turns his head to look at Harry, blue eyes catching his gaze.

“No, last time we talked you said some stuff that has been causing me all sorts of trouble. I do not want to hear your opinion on anything right now.” His voice comes out louder than he plans, and he sees a few heads pop up to glance at them. “Sorry, the last few days have been rough.”

“What did I say?” Ron looks genuinely perplexed as he leans into Harry’s personal bubble.

“You know what you said.” Harry doesn’t want to say the words that have been haunting him the past week out loud.

“I really don’t. You’ve got to help me out here, man. What did I say that has got you so upset? I can’t fix it, if I don’t know.” He’s pleading with Harry now, and those blue eyes are wide, and sorrowful. Harry caves.

“Last week, when everyone had been drinking. You told me to go after Remus.” His eyebrows are raised and he’s trying to get Ron to remember the conversation that has plagued him for over a week now.

“Oh man. Harry, I was super drunk. I didn’t mean to give you a hard time. Luna’s got me thinking about things way differently than I used to. I used to be so judgemental, but how has that been giving you problems?” His sincerity is palpable, and Harry just wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

“Because, you idiot, everything was fine before you planted that idea in my head.” He’s whispering angrily now.

“You didn’t have a thing for him before I said something?” Ron asks softly.

“No.” The answer is hesitant, unsure if he’s telling the truth.

“I’m sorry if I misread the situation. You know, when you ended things with Ginny, I was kind of confused. Then I thought back to your relationship with Cho, and you have seemed so happy lately. Way better off than you were before you started disappearing each night after supper. It just seemed like maybe there was something there.” Ron continues in the same quiet voice.

“There can’t be though. Can there?” Harry isn’t sure who he is asking.

“Why not Harry?”

“How could I even…what about…people might…he doesn’t feel…” Not a single complete thought passes Harry’s lips, and Ron just sits there. He doesn’t speak up, or try to get him to explain what he’s thinking. Eventually he speaks, the words barely louder than a breath.  “I don’t think I’m ready for anything like that.”

“If you aren’t ready for anything, just keep building that friendship, Harry. Remus obviously cares about you. Try to forget what I said, and focus on getting off the potions. If you change your mind and need someone to talk to about anything, come to me. I’ll always be here. I’m sorry again for teasing you.” Ron wraps an arm around his shoulders and he melts into the hug. Sliding one hand across his chest and pulling him into a tight embrace. They stay like that for a minute before breaking apart easily.

“Thanks Ron, I’m not sure it’s going to be that easy, but I appreciate you always being here for me.” Harry stands and goes up to his bed and hopes against all odds that tonight he gets a good night's sleep.

— — — — —

The rest of the week, Harry finds himself slipping back into his shell a bit. He spends his evenings with Remus, but he’s quieter, choosing to work on papers, or reading the book he’s been making progress on. 

Remus seems content to fall back into more familiar territory as well, and he joins Harry in the bathroom again, trying to goad Harry into talking. Keeping a close eye on how much he’s eating, and ordering extra sweets whenever he gets tea brought up.

That Friday night, before everyone leaves for the holidays, he makes his way to the common room earlier than usual. He’s been invited to join in on a small party with the other 8th years, and as much as he’d rather be anywhere else, he wants to see his friends one last time before they are gone for two weeks.

By the time he walks through the portrait, the party is in full swing. The music is playing loudly, someone has charmed decorations to float above the room, and his friends are jovial. There is a small table with assorted bottles and flasks tucked away in one corner. His eyebrows lift at the expansive collection as he rummages through them. The former Slytherins have probably contributed the majority, and he sniffs a few unlabeled bottles warily.

Hermione finds him, and wraps an arm around his shoulder. “Don’t drink that one. I’m fairly certain it’s muggle moonshine. Let me make something you’ll like.” He looks up at her rosy cheeks, and spreads his hand in a gesture for her to go on.

“By all means, I trust your judgement. Just don’t make anything too strong. You know I’m a lightweight.”

She picks up a bottle filled with an amber liquor, and mixes it with orange juice, and a splash of sweetened cherry juice. His eyebrow raises, he’d been expecting something simple, but this looks delicious.

“It’s a spiced rum punch. Sip on it, don’t drink it too quickly.” She warns before pressing the cup into his outstretched hand.

“Mmm, that is good.” His eyes light up as he takes a tentative taste. “What are your plans for the holiday?”

“I’m going to spend the first week at home with my parents, then I’m going to the burrow for the second week. Draco invited me over to dinner on boxing day with his Mom.” Her expression changes as she says the last part, and he can’t tell if she’s nervous about the dinner or his reaction to the news.

“That’s great ‘Mione, Draco must really care for you. Are you nervous about it?”

“Yeah. I tried to refuse, actually, but he was quite persistent. I like him a lot, but we’re young, who knows if this is going to become anything serious.” She’s rambling and Harry reaches his free hand out to touch her arm.

“It’s not like he’s asked you to marry him ‘Mione. Try not to stress yourself out.” He knows it is an impossible task, Hermione makes plans for her plans, and dinner with Narcissa is something she cannot make plans for.

“Yeah, thanks for the advice. Go have some fun. Tomorrow morning before breakfast I want to give you your present. So remember what I said about sipping tonight.” She gives him a big grin and turns back out to the party, threading her way through the small crowd.

Harry is left with his thoughts and his drink. He disregards her warning and drinks the first one quickly, preparing himself another before moving away from the table.

He almost steps into a group of girls on the makeshift dance floor, they are in a tight circle, but he is caught when they suddenly spread out, moving in rhythm to a song he doesn’t recognize. He sidesteps eagerly, and finds himself near the fire, and Ron.

His eyes follow Ron’s gaze to see Luna in the group of dancing girls and he chuckles quietly to himself, bumping the redhead’s shoulder with his own. “Having fun?”

“Yeah, I really am. I can’t dance to save my life, but watching her makes me wish I could.” His eyes never leave the wispy blonde. Her hands are waving freely above her head, and she moves in a sort of boneless shimmy that some people are capable of naturally.

“Good for you! I bet if you asked, she’d give you some ‘private’ lessons, mate.” The tone is lecherous, but his smile is wide as he says it. He’s truly happy to see all of his friends exploring new relationships, happy that they’ve been given this chance to come back to school and attempt to regain some of what they lost.

The rest of the night goes by in a haze of thumping bass, putting their silencing charms to the test. At some point, someone creates a strobe light effect, causing Harry to feel like he’s in a proper night club. That, coupled with the third or is it fourth drink, leaves him feeling light headed and hazy around the edges.

The professors either aren’t aware of the raging party in the 8th year common room, or more likely, they decide to look the other way for the night. Tomorrow will come soon enough and most of these students will be gone for the break, and what will one party hurt? They are all legal to drink, they haven’t snuck in any underage students, and they all survived an actual war.

It isn’t long before Harry knows he needs to get in bed, or he won’t be able to make it up the stairs. He doesn’t want a repeat of his night spent on the couch, so he waves to his friends and settles into his own bed, passing out easily from exhaustion and alcohol.

— — — — —

The morning comes too soon, and Harry squints against the watery light streaming through the window. He’d been so exhausted last night that he hadn’t bothered with drawing his curtains closed and now he is suffering from the decision. His pleasant buzz the night before had not been the peak of his drunkenness.

He remembers waking up in the middle of the night feeling as if he had been kidnapped, and transported to a boat. The bed seemed to sway, and rock in the early morning hours. Or perhaps it was a dream? His thoughts are fuzzy, but he has a vague recollection of waking with desire burning in his stomach. The alcohol had overwhelmed him and he had rolled over, pulling his pillow down tightly around his head.

The only thing he feels now is queasy. His mouth glued shut, tongue dry and rough like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth. His eyes are bleary and the lack of his glasses is only one contributing factor.

He closes his eyes, screwing them shut to fight off the pounding in his head. “Ughh.” The sound is pitiful and he thinks back to Hermione’s warning about the strength of the drink she had concocted for him.

His pride is a little pinched, but he knows he needs to roll out of bed, or run the risk of not being able to say his ‘see you laters’ to his friends. He twists toward the bedside table and reaches for his glasses. His fingers deftly tracing the edge of the wood until they light upon the frames.

He perches them on his nose, and blinks a few times. The sight of a glass of water, and 2 small tablets confusing him. There is a small note, and he lifts it.

Given your situation, I thought muggle means might help with your hangover. They don’t work as well, but it’s better than nothing.

HJG

Harry rolls his eyes, which causes a new burst of throbbing in his temples. Decides that it isn’t worth feeling like shit, takes the two tablets and downs the entire glass of water in one go.

Stepping into his slippers, he makes his way to the common room. He’s greeted by his friends curled up on one of the couches. Each already holding a mug of tea.

“Morning,” he mumbles.

“You didn’t listen to me. Sorry Harry, but those pills will take a while to kick in.” She looks sheepish as she speaks.

“I know, I know. It just tasted so nice, and I was having fun.” He shrugs, and moves to wedge himself into the space between them. The press of warmth makes him feel significantly better.

“I’m proud of you Harry, staying here to take care of yourself. It takes a lot of bravery to ask for help.” Hermione wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him against her more firmly.

“Me too mate. I love you, man.” Ron’s arm is already draped over his shoulders, and his hand gently wraps around his shoulder and presses softly.

“Stop, you’re going to make me weepy. I’ll see you again in just a couple of weeks.” His chin touches his chest almost as if unable to accept the words of support and affection. He loves these two people more than the family that raised him, and is thankful for their support and encouragement.

“Then let’s open presents and go get breakfast.” Ron suggests, reaching down for a stack of boxes at his feet.

He passes two presents to each of them. Harry and Hermione open their obligatory Weasley sweater and pull the warm material over their heads. “Mom sent them early when I explained that Harry was staying at school.” He smiles at his friends, and then gestures to the boxes still in their laps. “I picked these ones out myself though.”

Both of them are left with a small box. They glance at each other and begin opening them at the same time. Harry is surprised to find a necklace, with a silver pendant. Engraved on one side is the outline of the trio, arms wrapped around each other smiling. On the back is the quote, “A friend is someone who makes it easy to believe in yourself.”

“Ron, where did you get these?” Hermione speaks up with a catch in her voice, and suspiciously wet eyes.

“Oh don’t cry ‘Mione. I ordered them through a jewellery store in Diagon alley. I wanted something we could all have.” He reaches into his shirt collar and pulls a matching pendant out.

“It’s perfect. Thanks Ron.” Harry looks over at his friend, surprised at the thoughtfulness of the gift.

“I will treasure it always. It’s beautiful.” She slips the chain around her neck and tucks it into her sweater.

Hermione sniffles a little too loudly to ignore, but they do anyway, allowing her the chance to gather herself. Harry uses the opportunity to pull his own presents out from inside his pocket, returning them to their normal size with a wave of his wand.

Harry hands a thin envelope to Ron, and a matching envelope to Hermione. They each look puzzled, and hesitant to open them. “Go on, open it.” He urges them.

Ron tears neatly into his, sliding his finger into the flap, and lifting it. His face screws up in concentration as his eyes follow the words printed on the parchment inside. As he reaches the end his face lifts to Harry’s with delight written across every feature before speaking.

“Tickets and accommodations to the next quidditch cup? It’s all the way in America!” His eyebrows have disappeared under the long fringe covering his forehead, and his voice is a few octaves higher than usual.

“Yeah, it’s actually quite the package deal I was able to snag. The trip is for up to 8 people, which is what the portkey, lodgings, and box seats can accommodate. I think I got a bargain because of my name, but I wasn’t going to turn it down. Originally I was just looking at seats to a few games for the two of us.” Harry brushes off the cost, worried that Ron will try to turn it down as costing too much. Instead he wraps his arms fully around Harry and pulls him into a bear hug.

“I can’t wait to go to the world cup with you! We’ll figure out the other people as it comes closer, I am so excited to see America for the first time! It’s going to be such an adventure.” Ron is off and running with thoughts and ideas about the trip and Harry is overcome with happiness at being able to give his friend a gift that means so much to him.

“I just know whatever is in my envelope is going to make me cry like a baby. I don’t want to open it.” Hermione huffs and crosses her arms, petulantly.

“It’s not going anywhere, so you might as well open it.” Harry says in a no nonsense tone. He smiles indulgently and watches as she moves to slowly open her own envelope.

Her fingers are shaking slightly, and Harry isn’t sure if it’s fear or excitement causing them to tremble. She opts for shaking the envelope and tearing one side off, pulling the parchment out between her thumb and index finger.

Her eyes move across the first few lines, and tears begin rolling down her cheeks. Slowly at first, they gain speed as she reads further along. By the time she has gotten to the end of it, she is sobbing openly, and Harry wraps an arm around her shoulder.

“Ha…Harry. It’s too much. I…I, can’t.” She doesn’t continue, just cries against him for a few moments.

“What is it, ‘Mione?” Ron’s curiosity is getting the better of him, and he wonders what has made their friend so overwhelmed.

“You tell him Harry.” She nudges Harry, not trusting herself to speak.

“It’s a scholarship that will cover future training, schooling, internships, whatever she needs. I know that Hermione is going to change the world, and I don’t want her worrying about money until she figures out what that looks like.”

“Brilliant.” That one word hangs over them as Hermione calms her breathing and settles.

“It’s so thoughtful, Thank you Harry, Thank you Ron. I’m the luckiest girl in the world.” Hermione smiles a watery smile at the young men beside her.

“Here are your gifts.” She hands them each a heavy package. Harry’s has a second smaller box on top. “This one is not to be opened until Christmas day. Do you understand? I don’t want to be harassed before then.” Harry nods and places the smaller box onto the table in front of him.

He finds an opening in the paper and begins pulling it away from the book in his lap. “Lycanthropy: A practical guide.” Harry looks up at her, one eyebrow quirked up. Hesitating before saying something that might betray his feelings, he speaks. “Thank you Hermione. I appreciate the thoughtfulness.” The sardonic tone is heavy, and he hopes she will rise to the bait.

“I know it seems like I’m teasing you, but you’ve been spending lots of time with Remus. I thought you might like to learn more about what he goes through.” Her words are soft and her face is pleading with him to understand something. “I’ve marked the chapter about ways to help the body recover from the transformation.” This statement causes her eyes to go wider and her head to tilt toward him, an attempt to convey some hidden message, he thinks.

“I’ll start on it today. I’ve just finished my most recent read, so I needed something new.” He cannot for the life of him figure out why Hermione picked this book as his Christmas present. The smaller package is now taunting him from where it sits on the table in front of him. Thoughts swirling at what the innocuous looking present might contain, he looks to where Ron is opening his own.

Ron peels off the paper, revealing a leather bound journal, and a box of coloured pencils. The journal itself is about the size of Ron’s hand, the leather is supple and soft, allowing for it to bend and move as if alive. He flips it open casually, the pages totally blank, devoid of lines or quotes written within. Lifting the cover from the front page, there is a short note in Hermione’s neat handwriting.

His eyes sift over the words, and he lifts his eyes to Hermione. “Thanks for encouraging me to keep doodling.” His lips lift in a shy smile.

The three friends press close to share embraces, lips meeting cheeks and foreheads in easy affection. They stand collectively, and prepare for the day. Calling greetings to their dorm mates that are lugging bags through the common room in preparation for leaving after breakfast.

Chapter Text

The castle is silent, the space between a giant heaving breath out and the next inhale. It’s one of Harry’s favourite feelings. The sense that he has the castle almost entirely to himself is exhilarating.

Until it’s not.

The feeling lasts only briefly, before doubt starts to creep in. His mind stretches ahead to a week from now, Christmas and the full moon looming large. 

Then I begin my taper. School starts back. I start the detox, which sounds painful.

His mind is spinning out of control. Thoughts circling around and around the hard work of the next month.

His feet carry him to Remus’ office, pushing the portrait open with too much force. He winces at the clatter of it against stone, and looks up wildly to find Remus. The man isn’t in his normal spot, and Harry’s gaze sweeps the room.

It’s early still, less than an hour ago the train left sharply at 8. He goes to the tapestry covering the hallway to Remus’ private quarters, pressing against the wards.

They tingle against his palms, buzzing up through his forearms like a gentle vibration. They recognize him, and he has the fleeting thought that he could push past them. Flimsy, and willing to part for him. Tasting Remus’ personal magic with the tips of his fingers is alluring, and he stands there caressing the magic for a long moment.

He jumps back, startled when the wooden door opens inward on a tousled looking Remus.

Remus shuts one eye against the light, scrunching his face up as his brain attempts a coherent thought. He stayed late at the staff party last night, and planned to sleep in until at least noon.

His hands scrub across his face roughly, a deep yawn overtaking him. What is Harry doing here? The realisation that Harry is behind the chiming that called him out of bed has taken longer than it should.

He speaks once his hands have returned to his sides. “Harry, what’s wrong?” The intensity of his question belies his concern over the younger man’s safety.

“Everyone is gone, and I don’t want to be alone.” Harry huffs out a breath, not meeting Remus’ gaze.  He realises belatedly that Remus isn’t wearing a shirt, he’s face to chest with the older man, and his cheeks warm at the sight.

Remus is thin, but soft around the edges, a thin layer of fat insulating the muscles of his core. Harry's eyes hungrily follow the smattering of hair from the ‘T’ of his upper chest, down to his navel. His eyes are stopped in their journey, by Remus speaking.

"Settle in, clever boy, I'll be just a minute." The warmth in his voice and the gentle smile reassures Harry. The gnawing feeling of being a burden ebbs away as he retreats to the lounge. He’s already sitting before the pet name registers, and the flush that had been fading, flares back to life.

Harry tries not to think too hard about the heat pooling in his stomach, and about the way Remus looked rumpled from sleep in nothing but a pair of pyjama pants.

His mind fights back against his attempt to repress the thoughts,  reminding him of other things he’s noticed about Remus during the past month. Helpfully supplying him with an image of Remus, just before their duel, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling his sleeves up and over his elbows.

His arms are toned and strong. The scars that criss cross them only add to their appeal.  Harry has an urge to trace each of those scars, search them out and learn them intimately.

Harry groans softly, and tugs against his trousers, attempting to dislodge the fabric from his half-hard cock. Fuck . The curse stays inside his head thankfully, as Remus  approaches him.

“You alright Harry?” The concern carries through his words, and Harry looks up to his face.

“As alright as anyone I suppose.” Evading the question comes naturally to Harry, but he squirms under the intense look that crosses Remus’ face.

“What’s the matter? Do you want me to arrange for you to floo to The Burrow, until after the full moon?” Trying to find a solution to Harry’s current distress, he guesses at what might be bothering the younger man.

“Oh, no. That’s not it. I, uh… Um, I’m glad to be here. I’ve just been stressing about the next few weeks. My mind keeps jumping ahead to the detox phase and I’m worried about having to be seen by Madam Pomfrey.” Harry admits to the worries that brought him here this morning, without sharing his recent treacherous thoughts.

“Severus is coming here this afternoon to go over the list of questions and concerns we’ve come up with. Do you want to join us?” Remus is still standing, between his chair and the fireplace.

“Maybe? Can I think about it?”

“Of course.” Remus moves to the fireplace, calling down for tea and breakfast.

Harry watches him, tracing the shape of his legs as he crouches into a squat. The bend of his knee drawing his attention down to his bare feet. Harry’s never seen Remus without shoes, and he finds himself transfixed by the veins, and elegant curves of his feet.

He’s still staring at them, when Remus turns and pads across the floor. His eyes snap down to his hands where they are twined together in his lap. Sucks his upper lip into his mouth, and bites down firmly on it.

I'm losing my mind, I'm sure of it.

Remus takes a deep breath, falling into his chair and pulling his feet up. He’d been worried about Harry, had only taken the time to tug a shirt on before returning, and sleep is still pulling at his muscles. He rests his chin to his knees, and closes his eyes softly.

The silence is comfortable to Remus. He tugs on the sleeves of his sweater, pulling them down to cover his palms,  wrapping his arms around his legs. His blanket is balled up beside Harry, and he doesn’t want to get up so soon after sitting.

He must have dozed, because he’s woken by the ‘pop’ of an elf appearing next to the coffee table. He releases his legs, stretching his arms over his head. “Thank you, it looks wonderful.” He says as the elf places the tray on the table, and dips back out.

“Sorry I fell asleep, Harry. You should’ve woken me.” He looks over to where Harry is laying back against the armrest, one arm propped behind his head.

“I already did that once today. I figured I should leave you be.” Harry grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m glad you came to me.” His expression and voice are tender.

Harry stands unexpectedly, moving to the tray, and looks at Remus. He lifts the teapot, pours a cup, adding sugar and cream. He carries it to Remus, and presses it into his grasp. “Where else would I go?” The question slips out without thought, and Remus responds with a raised eyebrow.

“Any number of places. I’m glad you chose to be here.” I’m glad you chose me. The thought crosses his mind, and a protective growl almost rumbles through his chest. He blinks away the surge of emotions that threatens to spill out at the sight of Harry standing in front of him.

Remus takes a few calming breaths and reminds himself not to scare Harry. He pulls the cup to his lips, and takes a small sip, the warmth of the liquid settling him incrementally.

The morning passes by quietly, each man curled up in their respective spots, sipping tea and speaking in quiet tones about their plans for the break. Harry mentions starting a new book, which leads the discussion to the book he’s just finished.

“We’ve been reading the same book?” Harry asks in disbelief.

“It was so good, right? Incredible to think what has been happening behind closed doors in the ministry, but not surprising considering everything.”

“I imagine the Auror office is just one of many that has been well and truly corrupt. I’m glad I’ve decided not to join. They are going to have their work cut out for them if they want to change public opinion.” The response is so nonchalant that Remus almost doesn’t catch the greater meaning behind the words.

“You aren’t going to become an Auror? I thought that was what you wanted to do.” His voice is quiet, and his eyes are focused on Harry’s face.

“That’s what everyone expected me to do, so I thought it would make me happy. I’ve had some time to think about the future, and I’m going to take a gap year. I’m not sure where I’ll end up, but now that everything is out of probate, I don’t have any reason to rush into a career.” Harry seems sheepish, discussing his financial situation, and Remus rushes to reassure him.

“If anyone deserves the breathing room of taking a year off, it’s you. Any ideas on how you want to spend your gap year?” He prods the younger man gently.

“Ron and I are going to the world cup in America over the summer, and I think I might do some other travelling. I don’t want to see the world alone, so I’ll have to see who I can talk into joining me for some adventures.” His tone is casual, but the words are carefully chosen. He holds his breath, wondering how Remus will react.

“Travel is good for the soul, I’m sure you will have no trouble finding companions.” He smiles widely, trying to convey his support. The pride he feels for Harry swelling in his chest. The young man surprises him once again with his introspective thoughts about his future.

Truthfully Remus is finding it harder and harder to ignore the growing awareness he has of Harry. The way he thrills, when Harry seeks him out. The familiarity of spending time in each other’s company.

He tries to keep his thoughts to himself as much as possible, hoping that Harry isn’t aware of his internal struggle. He worries that if the boy realises how depraved he is, he’ll run screaming. Remus isn’t sure that he could handle the loss. Instead, choosing to bury his feelings and thoughts as deep as possible and pretend that everything is normal.

— — — — —

Later that day, after lunch shared at his small table and some quiet reading, Harry clears his throat. “Uh, Remus?” His voice is hoarse with whatever he’s about to say.

“Yes?” Remus sets his book in his lap, kicking the footrest down to look at Harry better.

“I don’t think I want to be here when you talk with Professor Snape. If that’s alright?”

“That is perfectly fine. I have our list of questions, is there anything else you can think of?”

“No, I’m confident that you and Snape will be able to handle all of it, and being there will probably just make me more nervous. I’ll just go to the library, and come back after dinner if that’s okay?” Harry is always surprised when these fits of nerves sneak up on him. He’s been spending time with Remus for over a month now, and the man has never once told him not to come.

“We’ll go over what I learn, and have some dessert if you’re amenable.” Remus nods thoughtfully, and checks his watch. Noting that it’s later than he realised. 

Harry must have been keeping an eye on the time, because he is gathering his things into the neat pile that appeared a couple of weeks ago on his coffee table. The books rotate, the parchment gets written on and then replaced, but the pile stays. He tries not to smile at the thought, but fails.

— — — — —

“Remus, here are the materials I promised to bring.” Severus strides into the room, in his post war manner. It’s far less menacing, but no less impressive. Remus smiles at the theatrics.

“Thorough as ever, I’m sure. Thank you Severus. I do appreciate you taking the time to help me with this endeavour. Would you care for tea, or something harder perhaps?” Remus gestures to the tea service on the coffee table, and a nice bottle of scotch he’s selected.

“I could be persuaded.” Severus moves to the couch, sitting primly with his hands folded into his lap, ankles crossed neatly.

Remus joins him and sits in the spot Harry occupies most often these days. Reaching out to fix Severus a glass with a couple fingers of scotch, he passes the cup to the dark haired man.

Severus’ eyes are locked onto the small stack of books on the coffee table. He pauses for a long moment before speaking again. “It’s Potter, who will be going through this process.” It’s less of a question and more of a statement, so Remus doesn’t hedge.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I loaned him that book a week ago, he’s made remarkable progress in potions and sought additional tomes to read in his spare time. It’s the only copy in the castle as far as I’m aware.” Severus answers without any hint as to his thoughts or feelings on the matter.

Remus thinks over how to respond. He and Severus have developed a relationship of respect and possibly even friendship since the war. The loss of so many of their former classmates had made it impossible to avoid the wrong doings in their own relationship.

Remus fears that their tentative truce hangs in the balance, and he is silent for a moment too long. Severus speaks again before he has a chance to explain. “You don’t owe me an explanation Remus. Harry is not the person I believed him to be for so long. He’s loyal, foolhardy, and yet, wiser than he seems. He’s also fought tooth and nail to overcome everything and still seems to have come out the other side softer than he has any right to be. I trust that you will not take advantage of the situation.”

“You bastard, you’ve used Legilimency on me.” Indignation is a welcome distraction, but it’s dashed quickly by Snape’s words.

“I did no such thing, my friend, you are projecting so loudly I would have to be guarding myself very tightly not to hear your concerns. As I’ve said, you won’t hear a lecture from me, and I assure you I won’t breathe a word to anyone on the subject.” Severus doesn’t smile, so much as the corner of his lips flicker a small amount. It’s likely the only reassurance he’s going to get on the topic, so he needs to move on to the reason for today’s visit.

“Now that you know who we are discussing, hopefully you understand his desire to stay out of the hospital wing.” Remus offers up as a way of changing course.

“Honestly it makes a great deal of sense why Harry in particular has been able to avoid detection for so long. I’m sometimes convinced the boy has survived through willpower alone. Any other student would have likely ended up there before now.” Severus' respect for the young man is evident in his tone and words, and Remus is thankful once again that he chose to seek the potion master’s advice.

“He’s stopped taking any potions other than the sleeping draught and is anxious about the upcoming process. What is going to be the hardest part during this time?” Remus runs headlong into what has been worrying Harry the most.

“Here is the tapering schedule. The first three days he gets three quarters of a vial, followed by half of a vial for three days, one quarter of a vial for three days, and then every other day for the final five days.” Severus hands him a parchment which has been labelled with each of the 14 days and the appropriate amount of draught for Harry to take on each.

“On day 14 you begin administering the detox tonic. This is to be drunk with breakfast each morning. The first five days will be the hardest and when Harry is most likely to experience ill effects. These range from vomiting, lack of appetite, full body sweats, inability to sleep, and hallucinations. The severity of these can be reduced through warm baths, protein intake, and sleep whenever the body allows it. During this period you will need to be available to Potter at all times. He cannot be left alone, because he could injure himself.” Severus points to a parchment labelled with detailed instructions about this phase of the treatment.

“After day five, Harry will likely hit a sort of ‘wall’. He will begin sleeping much more than normal as his body recovers from the detox. Again, protein intake is key to a full recovery during this stage. Do you understand everything so far? Do you have any questions?” Severus looks at him closely, allowing the information time to settle over Remus.

“This is very detailed and I don’t think I’ll have any issues with following this plan, how best do I get Harry to eat protein if he is feeling sick?” The first concern comes easily to his mind.

“In this bag, I’ve got all of the vials of potions labelled with a number. Each one needs to be taken as directed in my schedule. I also have powdered protein. It’s something I discovered during my time as a spy. The muggles use it to help build muscle, but I found it was an easy way to eat when I didn’t have time or couldn’t stomach much due to Cruciatus. I find it is especially tasty mixed into cold butterbeer or pumpkin juice.” Severus gets a serious look on his face as though he has shared a state secret.

“What a useful item! Has this helped you with students in the past?” Remus’ curiosity dispels Severus’ distrust.

“Obviously…It is vanilla flavoured and quite inoffensive when properly blended into a beverage.”

“You said Harry should sleep whenever his body allows it during those two weeks of detox. How does that work?” Remus is on to the next thing quickly, wanting to have all of the information he needs.

“Precisely that. If he falls asleep on the couch, or at the table, just leave him be. During those first five days in particular, sleep will be fragmented, and there will not be enough of it. That is the cause of any hallucinations that occur. I find it best to ignore, or even play into any delusions during this time. Arguing will only run the risk of flooding him with more endorphins, keeping him from getting sleep.” Remus nods his head as he listens to this answer, his own thoughts clouded with worry.

The rest of the conversation goes well, with Severus offering multiple assurances that Remus is capable of tending to Harry through the process, and Remus asking as many questions as possible, notes lining parchment paper. Severus empties the satchel and goes over everything, item by item.

Remus transfigures a cupboard to hold all of the potions and tonics, feeling moderately confident by the end of the discussion.

“Remember that I’m available by firecall at any time if you have concerns or questions once you start the process. I am also available to help cover classes during any stage.”

Severus shakes Remus’ hand in a formal departure, and Remus sits down with his own glass of scotch. He tilts the glass back and empties his cup in one go, a new fear itching the back of his mind.

— — — — —

Later, after dinner, Remus is anxiously awaiting Harry’s arrival. While he is busy re-reading the detailed instructions Severus gave him, Harry slips quietly into his place on the settee.

“How’d it go?” Harry looks up at him with a hopeful smile. Remus feels the urge to wrap his arms around the younger man more intensely than he has in days. It’s been a week since their duel, and just as long since he’s had any physical contact with Harry. He hasn’t trusted himself to offer even a casual touch, afraid his body might betray him if he were to do so.

Going against every warning bell in his head, Remus situates himself beside Harry on the couch. Sits so close that their thighs touch, and each inhale brings their shoulders together.

Deciding that he’s already come this far, Remus lifts one arm to wrap around the back of the settee, careful to avoid accidentally brushing Harry. He’s brought the stack of instructions and his own notes and begins explaining everything to Harry, barely breathing as Harry asks questions and leans in closer to look at the schedule.

“So it’s going to suck, but it’s probably survivable?” Harry concludes after a couple more questions that Remus answers to the best of his ability. Those vivid green eyes, darker than normal, are so close that Remus finds himself seeking out each shape and shade within them.

He is transfixed by the tiny ring of copper surrounding Harry’s pupils. His own gaze riveted to the unique feature he’s never noticed before. “Survivable?” Harry repeats through the haze in his head, and Remus snaps out of his intense focus on the younger man.

“I have no doubt you will live to see the other side of this process. Sorry for being so distracted, it’s been a long day.” Remus shakes his head, laughs halfheartedly, and looks back up at Harry.

“I feel the need to apologise for my part in that. I woke you up this morning.” Harry responds carefully, but inside his heart pounds frantically.

He’s been breathing through his mouth since Remus sat beside him, the first inhale through his nose had stirred things he was trying his best to ignore.

Remus is invading his space, crowding him on the small seat, and overwhelming his senses. 

His mind is hardly able to focus on the conversation they’re having due to the heat radiating where their legs touch. He’s leaning toward Remus to avoid pushing back into the hand that is curled so carelessly near the nape of his neck.

Every instinct in him is fighting against what his body wants. Doused by the knowledge that he will get burned if he acts on any of these impulses. Instead Harry offers the apology, hoping Remus will accept it, and move out of arm’s reach.

Or close the distance between us. His mind offers a tempting alternative.

“I’ve already told you, I’m glad you came to me. Now go on, try to get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Remus’ hand snakes into Harry’s hair without conscious thought, brushing back and forth in a familiar way. His large hand spreads out through the untamed locks and grips Harry’s scalp briefly, fingertips massaging into his head.

“Mmhmm.” Harry’s eyes snap open in shock, mouth dropping slightly in fear. He wishes he could fall into a sinkhole at this very moment and disappear forever. The moan may have been soft, but Remus is right there. It isn’t possible he missed Harry closing his eyes and letting out the needy little noise of pleasure.

A war rages inside Remus, the fire he’s been battling, ripping through every nerve ending when Harry moans. His primitive instinct is to pull Harry into his lap, and sink human teeth into the tender flesh where his neck and shoulder connect. Laying claim to him, like some wild beast.

Instead, he continues gently dragging his fingers through Harry’s tresses, breathing to a count of four, desperate to maintain his composure. Settling into an even and steady movement with his hand, he loses himself in the gentle pleasure of touching Harry. 

“Does that feel good Harry?” The words are hushed, his voice just a whisper, but he doesn’t look upset. In fact his features haven’t changed at all. He seems curious, and unoffended by Harry’s reaction. Harry wills himself to play it cool.

“Yeah, I never realised how good it feels to have someone run their fingers through your hair.” He answers in what he hopes is a normal voice. Heart racing, breathing slightly too fast, those fingers still touching him. He’s dizzy with excitement.

“I like having my head rubbed, too.” Remus’ fingers tighten slowly, moving upwards and back down around the curve of his head in an intoxicating way. Harry’s head drops backwards, involuntarily leaning into the touch, eyes closed against the sensation.

“Never had anyone do this before.” The words are soft, an admission of something Harry can’t fully explain. His head buzzes softly with contentment, white noise enveloping his thoughts.

Remus’ hand continues moving through his hair, combing through it, lifting and returning to his skin. His fingers dig gently into sore spots, erasing tension and causing him to relax further into the couch. His eyes rove over Harry’s face, watching it go slack.

They stay like that for a while, Remus gently massaging, and carding long fingers through his tousled hair. Harry’s breathing deepens and he’s on the precipice of slumber. He speaks in a low rumble. “Could fall asleep like this.” Barely registering the fact that he’s said the words out loud.

True to his word, Harry is asleep in minutes, head fully lax against Remus’ hand, and the settee. His fingers continue to rake through hair that is both unruly and  soft as down, Memorising the play of the strands between his knuckles.

Slowly, so as not to wake the younger man, he stills the movement of his hand, Slides it away, and inches his arm out from behind him. He hesitates to stand, knowing that the shifting of his weight will cause the cushion to move.

He leaves in degrees, lifting his body away from Harry, pulling a blanket down onto him.

Making his way into his own room, he leaves the door to the hallway open, hoping Harry doesn’t wake frightened.

Chapter Text

Wakefulness comes in fits and starts. An awareness that there is light filtering into his room from the hallway. His body shifts into a better position in an attempt to sleep a bit longer.

Remus must’ve dozed off again, the next thing he is aware of is the soft snick of the bathroom door closing, and his eyes open. Takes a moment for his brain to remember that Harry had fallen asleep on his couch the night before. He rolls onto his back, staring up at the darkness above him, and debates the need to get out of his warm bed.

Harry splashes water on his face at the sink basin, dragging sleep from his eyes with his index fingers. He runs a wet hand through his hair, attempting to pull it down and to one side, before abandoning the cause. He dries his hands and quietly exits the bathroom. Tiptoeing through the doorway and into Remus’ nearly pitch black room. Weak light from the hallway the only guide back out into the lounge.

He’s only a few steps into the room when he hears Remus clearing his throat, looks up and over to the four poster bed. Barely able to distinguish the outline of Remus under the quilt.

“Oh, hey. Sorry for waking you. I needed to use the loo.” Harry can feel the blush running from his chest all the way up to the tips of his ears. His face is burning with warmth.

“I actually woke up a while ago, but must have dozed back off. To tell the truth, I’m a bit lazy in the mornings. I only wake early when necessary.” Remus speaks in a conspiratorial whisper as though he’s divulging top secret information. Harry chuckles in response, feeling the smile split his face.

“I like to have a bit of a lie in as well, when I’m not passing out on couches in my spare time.” Harry laughs again, thinking of the fact that he’s now done that twice in the past month.

“You make it a habit to sleep on couches?” Remus moves into a sitting position, and Harry’s eyes widen. He needs to get out of here before Remus stands up.

“I haven’t done so, until recently.” Harry aims for a casual tone, while also angling towards the hall.

“Soon, you’ll be sorted out, and back to sleeping in your bed.” Remus speaks and instantly regrets the line of conversation. His mind racing to images of Harry in this bed, with him. He bites back a groan, shaking his head to dislodge the thoughts now firmly seated in his mind.

“One can dream. Speaking of which, I need to go to my room and get dressed for the day. See you later.” Harry turns sharply towards the hallway, giving Remus his back. Suddenly he’s imagining those long fingers touching other parts of his body, and he’s half hard in his pants. Needs to get out of this room, with no light, watching Remus tucked up into his bed.

“See you later Harry.” Remus calls after him, sinking back into his pillow with a groan after he’s sure Harry is gone.

Remus lies there for longer than he should, the weight between his legs begging for his hand. He sighs and pushes himself out of bed, opting for a hot bath to soak away his troubles.

— — — — —

The light in his office area has gotten brighter, now a moderate glow at the end of the hallway. Remus walks the familiar path, steps faltering halfway down the corridor. He looks to his left, at the unexpected doorway.

What is this?  

He glances around momentarily, wary of the appearance of a new door in his quarters. It doesn’t happen often, but the castle has been known to play tricks on people from time to time.

Hallways turning to dead ends, a staircase mysteriously depositing a person to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, occasionally working with Peeves to create chaos. As often as he himself had played tricks in the castle, he wouldn’t be shocked to find himself on the receiving end of a serving of his own medicine.

Casting a few simple detection spells, he heaves a deep sigh, and tries the handle.

The door opens into a bedroom, a mirror of his. It’s a small round room, with a bed, armoire, and fireplace. There is a dark leather recliner near the fireplace. It is similar to the one in his lounge area, although it is larger and in better repair. Another door is off to the left, which he discovers connects to his bathroom.

Remus walks the room, studying every detail, as his mind tries to piece together why the castle has added onto his living quarters. He has suspicions, but baulks at the implications. He’s not going to leap to conclusions, instead he’s going to pen a note to Severus and Minerva. Severus first .

— — — — —

Severus

I woke this morning to find an additional bedroom attached to my living quarters. Do you have any insight into the reasons behind this?

Remus

— — — — —

Remus

I am not privy to the workings of the castle. However, I surmise it has deemed it necessary for additional sleeping quarters for Harry during the taper. I’m sure you have already come to the same conclusion.

Severus

— — — — —

Severus

Astute as ever. I was simply inquiring as to your personal experience in this matter.

Remus

— — — — —

Remus

My rooms are attached via passageway to the Slytherin common room, so I have always had access to students who needed me. Perhaps that is why you have been accommodated in such a manner.

Severus

— — — — —

Remus re-reads the letter, not feeling any better about the current situation. His heart is in his throat, and he knows now he has to communicate with Minerva. He’s promised to keep her updated about anything she should be aware of, and this certainly qualifies. Brow furrowed, he lifts his quill to write to the headmaster.

— — — — —

Minerva

The castle has done some redecorating in my quarters to make the taper easier for Harry. It has added a temporary room so that I can be available to him during the process.

Remus

— — — — —

Remus

How lovely to hear from you! I was beginning to worry that things had stalled, since I had not spoken to you since our tea. I take this to mean that things went well devising a plan? Perhaps another visit would not be remiss?

Minerva

— — — — —

Remus groans out loud. He had known that Minerva was going to have more questions. He scrubs his hand against his face, and sends another missive.

— — — — —

Minerva

What time works for you?

Remus

— — — — —

Remus leans back in his small wooden chair, takes aim at the fireplace and begins lobbing the crumpled start of a dozen rejected letters toward the blaze. When he’d put pen to paper he found that he couldn’t seem to contain his frustration at having to involve Minerva in Harry’s private matters. Or perhaps you’re worried she’s going to see through you.

He doesn’t want to linger on those thoughts, knowing there is some greater implication in his hesitation. Instead he throws scrap after scrap into the fire, watching as the fire flares with each accurate shot.

Remus

Does after lunch work for you? Around 2?

Minerva

— — — — —

Minerva

I will see you then.

Remus

— — — — —

The desire to avoid the conversation is almost as strong as his desire to have it over with, so that he can move on from it. Remus doesn’t enjoy confrontation, seeks peace in his own life to the highest degree, but he also doesn’t run from difficult topics. True peace doesn’t come without facing challenges head on, and if that means talking to Minerva about Harry, then Remus will do that.

— — — — —

“Remus, it is so good to see you!” Minerva offers him a box of sweets as she enters the room. The label on the box tells him that she went into Hogsmeade to purchase them, and he feels his anxious energy dropping.

“Thank you for the sweets Minerva, you know the way to my heart.” He wraps one arm around her back and draws her into a hug. His peevishness feels like a memory.

“How are you doing? I saw you at the end of term party, but I was occupied and didn’t get a chance to catch up with you.” She looks at him with curiosity evident in her eyes.

“I’m doing well, the castle has always felt like home, and I’m glad to be here. Doing what I love is the best gift I’ve ever been given.”

“You have no idea how it warms my heart to hear you say that. Now would you like to tell me what is going on with Harry, and what the plan is?” Minerva’s tone is gentle and calm, a soft breeze on a spring day. There is no prying or judgement, and Remus wonders again at his hesitancy at including her in the process.

“Sure, come in and I’ll show you everything Severus has done to help me prepare, and then we can enjoy tea and these treats.” Remus walks her over to the cupboard where he has all of the potions and tonics set up and begins explaining everything.

— — — — —

“It looks to me like you are as prepared as you can possibly be. If it doesn’t bother you, I’m hoping you will allow me to cover your classes during the week you begin the tonic?” She offers with a light hand on the back of his, forcing his eyes to hers.

“That would be great. I appreciate the offer and I accept.” Remus turns his hand to hold Minerva’s with a gentle squeeze.

As the words leave his lips, the portrait opens and Harry strolls into the room. He takes in the sight of Remus and Minerva sitting at the table holding hands and freezes. His eyes are wide and emotions flit across his face too quickly for Remus to decipher. Before either of the men can speak, Minerva stands.

“Harry, we were just discussing you.” Remus hears Minerva’s words and flinches. He hasn’t had a chance to tell Harry about the room that’s appeared. Hasn’t even had time to fully process it himself, and can tell by the look on Harry’s face that the younger man is close to freaking out. Desperately wants to stop that from happening.

“Harry, before you get upset, let me explain.” He tries to calm Harry’s fight or flight response by standing and taking a few steps toward him. Before he can get close enough to lay a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder, the younger man turns and bolts out of the room.

“I’m sorry Remus, did I say something wrong?” Minerva asks, concern and confusion etched in the lines of her face.

“You couldn’t have known. I’ll talk to him later.” Remus’ shoulders slump with the guilt and sadness washing over him. He wants to chase after Harry, but also wants to give him space. Hates that Minerva was here to witness this, and even more that Harry thinks he was being talked about. If he could just talk to Harry, he could explain everything, make him understand.

“Remus…” Minerva starts, and then stops. “Is…do you…should I…” She tries to get out the question in a way that doesn’t offend her friend, tries one more time. “Remus, do you have feelings for Harry? Does Harry have feelings for you? Is there something going on that I should be aware of?”

Remus sighs in resignation, faces Minerva and tries to compose himself before speaking. "Minerva…" He doesn't have the words to answer her, so he pauses, takes a deep breath. "Nothing has happened. I assure you that I would never cross that line with a student, and my feelings are irrelevant, because I won't act on them." Speaking these words out loud is one of the hardest things Remus has ever done. Being honest is in his nature, but having to admit his failures to a dear friend is hard.

"I think we should sit down and talk." There is a quiet determination in her tone, but she reaches out and places her hand on his arm in a comforting gesture and guides them to the couch. "When did this happen?" She starts with an easy question, but it's one he can't answer.

"I don't know exactly, in the last month, after spending time with him." Remus doesn't look at Minerva, focusing on his hands instead.

"So these feelings are new?" She speaks slowly as if having a hard time understanding.

"Yes Minerva, I've never thought about Harry in that way before now. You have to believe me." Remus feels panic rising in his throat, terror clawing at him.

"I've known you since you were a student and I was your head of house, of course I believe you. I'm only trying to protect two people I care about very much." She pauses and allows him to sit with his discomfort for a long moment. "Harry is an adult, but you know as well as I do, that this could cause a scandal you wouldn't be able to come back from. You might be seen as a predator by people who do not know you as I do." Her words sting, but they are the same ones he has repeated to himself.

"I know, and Harry has not said or done anything to indicate that he feels the same about me. So please trust me when I say I feel confident in my ability to offer him comfort and compassion without doing anything that is inappropriate. I would quit my job rather than do something that could reflect badly on you or the school.” The words pour out of him. Hopelessness and grief welling up as tears in the corners of his eyes.

“Remus, Harry isn’t a student. 8th year was created to allow these young adults the opportunity to do well on their N.E.W.T.S. It’s why they don’t have a curfew, and are allowed to go to hogsmeade whenever they like. Harry is not your student and the board of governors would not get involved if the two of you embark on a relationship. We both know couples where the age gap is the same or greater. Remus, this has nothing to do with any of those things. I worry how it would be perceived by the public. Harry will never be able to live a life away from prying eyes, and I don’t want either of you to have to face the criticism.”  Minerva’s eyes are bright with indignation, she hates the thought of her friend hurting.

“What?” Dumbfounded, and believing he may have just imagined her speech he looks at her with wide eyes.

“All I’m saying is that if you have feelings for Harry, and it turns out that he shares those feelings, make sure you think long and hard before acting on it. I would hate to see you ripped to shreds by the prophet, and I think Harry would blame himself.” Remus is more confused than ever. His head can’t quite grasp what she’s said, and he sits in stunned silence as he waits to comprehend.

“Excuse me, are you implying that I could have a relationship with Harry?” His voice raises a full octave by the end of his question.

“I’m telling my dear friend that should the opportunity present itself, to weigh the potential risks against the reward. I’ve never seen you in love, perhaps you’ve guarded your heart too well. If these feelings develop into something more, I will stand beside you. I will defend your character. Please, do not think you have to keep things from me.”

“Nothing is going to happen between Harry and I, but thank you for your concern. I am so sorry that I’ve put you in this position in the first place.” Remus shakes his head ruefully, kicking himself once again for his foolish emotions.

“The heart wants, what the heart wants. Don’t apologise for wanting someone to share your life with, no matter how other people might feel about it.” Minerva’s eyes shine with unshed tears, and Remus knows of her own lost love. He knows that she is speaking from a place of understanding.

“Thank you for not dragging me out of here by my ear. I’ve been nervous for weeks about my growing feelings, and was terrified to tell anyone. I still am, if I’m being honest.” Remus grins in a decidedly self-deprecating way. Looks down at his lap, and feels an arm sliding over his shoulders.

“Feelings generally make me nervous. I do my best to avoid them.” Minerva chuckles at her own statement, and Remus can’t help but join in.

“If only it worked that way. I certainly did my best to avoid them for the better part of my life, and they still snuck up on me when I least expected them.” Remus looks over at Minerva and he sees a spark of recognition there.

“You’ve got it bad then?” She asks wisely.

“Only time will tell.” Remus answers, unsure how much his friend actually wants to know about this.

— — — — —

Remus lifts the blank parchment, tapping it with his wand. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” He scans the castle grounds for one name, sighing in relief when he finds Harry’s in the astronomy tower.

— — — — —

“Harry,” he calls out softly. Harry is seated with his arms wrapped around his bent legs, head tucked into his knees. The railing near his back, blocking the wind. His heart lurches at the sight of the younger man curled up as small as possible. “Can I come over?” He asks when Harry doesn't acknowledge his first greeting.

“Mmhmm." He mumbles an affirmative into his knees, not bothering to lift his face. Harry is exhausted from sobbing, has worn himself out, head throbbing from the violence of his tears.

He sits still, breathing through his mouth because his nose is too congested. The sound of soft footfalls comes to him from his left, and suddenly he feels Remus' presence close but not touching.

"Can I put an arm around you?" Cautiously Remus asks his permission.

"Course." Muted by the fabric pressed to his lips. And then Remus' arm is wrapping itself over his back, and Harry's leaning into his chest without overthinking. His own arms falling away from his legs as he twists his body into Remus' larger frame.

Once he is fully pressed against Remus, the older man wraps his other arm around him and holds him securely.

Harry sighs, feeling himself calming almost immediately. The sound of Remus' heart beating against his ear is a soothing melody to his jangled nerves. He begins taking deep calming breaths, wishing he could breathe through his nose to capture the scent of mint and tea tree he associates with the man.

Remus' hands move in unpredictable swirls against his spine and shoulder blades. His face pressed close to Harry's head.

Home.

The thought is so solid and real that Harry doesn't attempt to dismiss it. Whatever his feelings for Remus are, they aren't going anywhere. He can't outrun them, or pretend they don't exist. His only hope is to keep them inside, instead of letting them spill out and damage their relationship.

"Harry, you ran out before I could explain." There is no anger in his voice, just a softness that helps Harry respond.

"I'm sorry. I couldn’t stop myself.” Talking is hard, his brain feels like mush and he doesn’t want to speak. He is forcing the words out because this is Remus, the only person he wants to have around when he feels like this.

“I am the one who should be apologising. After you left this morning I found a new room attached to mine, and I had to tell Minerva what was happening in regards to your treatment plan. That is all we were discussing, I just didn’t think before reaching out to her. Honestly it all happened so fast, it’s not an excuse, I just wish I had found you first to share that with you.” Remus speaks the words into the night air, the cold finally seeping into his consciousness.

Harry must be feeling the chill too, because he’s slowly migrating closer, although Remus hadn’t thought it possible. His body twists, attempting to press their chests and stomachs together. Arms wrapping tightly under Remus’ own.

“What?” Harry asks absentmindedly as though he isn’t listening. His mind is fuzzy from crying, and suddenly being held by Remus. He can only focus on the feel of the man’s warm chest under his cheek.

“Let’s go inside, we can talk there.” Shakily, he gets the words out past the lump in his throat. Harry is moving against him, trying to burrow closer, and Remus needs to stand up or run the risk of gathering Harry into his arms and carrying him back to his rooms like a child.

“Don’t want to move.” Harry rubs his face into Remus’ chest. Nose tickling the sensitive skin over his collar bone.

“Come on Harry.” Remus tries to keep his voice low and gentle, but feels that growl in the back of his mind like an ever present urge pushing him to give into his baser instincts. Remus moves his hands from around Harry’s back, dropping them to the small waist pressed against his hip. Trying to push Harry away slightly.

“Please…need you to hold me.” Harry’s voice has taken on a whiny pitch, head moving in a more frantic ‘no’, his fingers digging up into Remus’ shoulder blades. But it’s the words that break his resolve. Harry begging Remus to hold him. It’s more than his heart can take. He cannot ignore Harry’s request any more than he can stop himself from breathing.

Remus closes his eyes, takes a deep centering breath, and pushes to standing with Harry still wrapped around him. Once standing, he hooks his arms around the smaller man, lifting his legs and forcing them around his waist. His hands under Harry’s thighs lift him up and Harry moves his arms over his shoulders instinctively, wrapping himself around Remus’ neck. His head curves into the older man’s neck, and he purrs in contentment.

Remus strides with purpose to his rooms, carrying a clinging Harry as his mind and body thrum with possibilities.

Once in his room he hesitates, Harry hasn’t relaxed his grip in the slightest, and he doesn’t know where to take the distraught man. He thinks through his options and moves to the couch. “Drop your feet Harry, I’m going to sit.”

It takes Harry a moment to understand what is being asked of him, and he panics that he is being put down. Remus’ grip on his thighs remains strong, and finally his mind grasps that he needs to unlock his ankles from behind the older man’s waist.

In a movement that can only be described as clumsy, he untangles his feet and lets them hang limply at Remus’ sides. Remus says nothing, but moves them into a sitting position with Harry straddling him.

Harry melts into this new position, body moulding around Remus quickly, soft breaths puffing against his neck. Remus drops his head back against the couch, willing himself to stay in control of his thoughts and body. His hands lazily stroking Harry’s back, as his mind races to figure out how to help Harry come out of this.

Remus has seen this before, he had watched Sirius sink into himself and regress after his time in Azkaban. Had struggled to find the words to help his friend snap out of that dark place. Instead he found that curling around him, and holding him was the only thing that worked to bring him back.

His desire to take care of Harry overwhelms any other thoughts or wants and suddenly he can breathe a little easier. That growling voice encourages him to wrap himself around Harry like a blanket, in a warm dark place, like wolves in a den.

The image gives him conflicting emotions. He has always hated that part of himself, wishing he could stamp it out, despising the monster within. Holding Harry like this, he suddenly feels a different side to the beast than he has experienced before.

He feels a growing connection to that part of himself, because for once both parts are in agreement. Harry is precious, and his overriding need is to protect him and care for him. The revelation slams into him, but he isn’t afraid of these feelings anymore, only hopes he can channel them into appropriate avenues.

His long fingers trace the outline of muscles and bone beneath Harry’s thin jumper. Harry’s body is collapsed against his chest, touching him from shoulders to thigh.

“I’ve got you Harry, not going anywhere. I’m right here. You’re safe.” He speaks softly, arms holding Harry firmly, as his hands caress over his back. The younger man’s body settles more heavily against him after a few minutes of soothing words. He almost asks Harry what is going on inside his head, but thinks better of it.

A voice in the back of his own mind telling him to be patient, and continue to hold the boy. 

Time passes slowly, his hands never ceasing in their quest to provide comfort to Harry. Eventually his arms start to tire, and he allows them to rest on Harry’s legs, his hands wrapped more comfortably around the younger man’s waist. The movement brings his attention to the body in his arms and lap. His grip tests the width and strength of the core held within it.

Harry’s always been small, and based on his comments about having food withheld when his Aunt and Uncle deemed him naughty, that makes sense. He’s been able to eat well the past month it seems, and Remus is happy to find that Harry doesn’t feel underweight as he had feared.

It’s something he will continue to watch out for and talk with Harry about, but now is not the time. Now, Harry simply needs to be held, cared for in a way that makes him feel safe. Remus swallows thickly against the rising emotions.

The weight of Harry’s trust in him is almost overwhelming. He feels that obligation, is happy to be the one carrying it, and wants to honour it. He lifts his head from the back of the couch, chin dipping to find Harry’s shoulder. Straddling his lap, Harry is raised enough that their cheeks are almost pressed against each other. Both men’s eyes are closed, breath coming in soft huffs.

Remus lifts his right hand and brings it into the windblown hair at the base of Harry’s neck. His fingers climb upwards, threading and combing through the velvety soft locks there.

Harry’s head shifts, turning to face Remus, eyelids never lifting from his cheeks. 

Remus opens his eyes at that movement, turning his face toward the younger man. He inspects the golden brown skin, tracing over the full dark lashes where they rest against delicate cheekbones.

Beautiful.

Remus isn’t surprised at the turn his mind has taken, Harry is gorgeous. He’s a combination of golden brown skin, crystal green eyes, and unruly black hair. He doesn’t know the exact moment he had begun to think of Harry in terms of attractiveness, but sometimes when he smiles at Remus it makes things tighten painfully in his chest. He’s been aware of Harry since their duel, and the dream that followed that night.

Harry’s floating, his body is warm and safe, his mind untroubled by anything. His nose has cleared and he’s able to breathe in the scent of Remus. The scents of mint and tea tree are faint this far away from his skin, and he seeks out the heat of Remus’ neck instinctively. His mouth and nose nuzzle into the exposed skin below his ear. The first inhale is deep, and a contented noise rumbles through his chest as he draws the fragrant air into his lungs.

His body wiggles involuntarily against the movement of Remus’ hand in his hair. He’s becoming more aware of Remus under him, and gripping onto him. Before now his mind had only been focused on needing to be held, now he is able to appreciate it.

Solid. Safe.

His mind reassures him that Remus is safe. He leans into that knowledge and presses his nose more firmly into the sweet smelling skin, his lips grazing the curve of his neck in a desire to be as close to Remus as possible. The sensation sparks something in him, a sudden pooling of liquid in his gut.

Not now.

Remus feels a flush cross his cheeks, Harry is unintentionally rubbing his nose and lips into the sensitive skin under his jaw. It feels too good, for such a small amount of contact. Remus wants to comfort Harry, but he’s terrified of doing something that he will regret, if he doesn’t figure a way out of this situation.

“Harry. Do you think…” The words trail off, because he has no idea how to finish the question. He doesn’t want Harry to think he’s pushing him away. Doesn’t want the young man to feel rejected. 

Harry’s head doesn’t lift from where it’s at when he speaks.

“Yeah?” The voice is soft and uncertain. Remus almost groans at the vibrations from the word, spoken against his skin, and the feeling of Harry’s warm breath puffing across his flesh.

“I need to go to the loo.” Remus thinks quickly, coming up with an excuse to get Harry off his lap, those spread legs holding him to the couch like shackles.

“Merlin, I’m sorry.” Harry’s head and arms are working swiftly to remove themselves from where they are wrapped around Remus’ neck.

“Don’t be sorry.” There is an awkward shuffle where Harry attempts lifting his leg up and over. Remus’ hands feel useless at his sides, until he places them on Harry’s waist, helping to set him on the cushion beside him. “Curl up under the blanket and I’ll be back before you know it.” He’s placing the blanket over Harry’s lap and gone from the room before he can think about it too much.

— — — — —

Once Remus is gone from the room, Harry is left with his thoughts. There is something that his brain tries desperately to remember. Something about this evening is burrowing under his skin. He thinks over the entire chain of events, and finds a blank. There’s something just out of his reach that he missed in his heightened emotional state.

He pulls the blanket higher, his knees following the movement as he wraps them up against his chest. The compression of the position works to help calm him down. He misses Remus’ presence. Everything about the man brings Harry peace, and he finds himself craving that security and attention.

When Remus is focused on Harry, he feels like the only person in the world. Like the pain and pressure of his past fade into the recesses of his mind. He is able to be totally immersed in the present. Sometimes that just means that he’s able to study better, or write without distraction. But when those strong, solid arms are around Harry it heals a part of himself that he cannot put a name to.

It also arouses Harry, and that’s a growing problem.

— — — — —

Remus takes his time in the bathroom, he uses the toilet, and then washes his face and hands with the speed of a tortoise. He catalogues his thoughts, figuring out where to start once he returns to the sitting area.

The sight that greets him when he walks into the sitting area makes his heart sing. Harry is curled up under his blanket, with only the top half of his head peeking out. His eyes are closed, and he looks peaceful. For a moment Remus debates leaving the younger man alone, thinking he’s fallen asleep, and then Harry’s eyes open.

“Harry, how are you feeling?” Remus crosses the space, and is sitting next to Harry before his mind can stop the action. He’s already had the younger man fully draped across himself, and managed to keep his composure.

Just barely. His thoughts taunt him.

“Better.” Is the only thing Harry is able to supply. He does feel better, calmer and able to think more rationally, at least. He just doesn’t want to talk, instead he wants to fold himself into Remus’ sturdy arms, get lost in the feeling of being held and comforted.

Remus acknowledges the one word answer, and feels Harry’s reluctance to speak. “You don’t have to talk if you aren’t up to it. Can I explain what happened earlier?” Remus watches Harry closely, hoping to see agreement in the younger man.

Harry nods, eyes focused on Remus, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth in that distracting and adorable way he so often does when he's concentrating.

"This morning after you left, I realised that a new room had appeared off my hallway. I reached out to Severus and he reminded me that during the taper you will need constant supervision. I had to let Minerva know what was going on, and she decided to stop in to check on the preparations for the process. We weren't discussing you, so much as I was informing her about the new developments." Remus is rambling, dragging out the information because he can't tell what is going on in Harry's mind, and doesn't want him to feel pressured to speak before he's ready.

“You said something about that when we were in the astronomy tower.” A lightbulb goes off inside his head and Harry remembers the words vaguely from earlier. Remus had tried to explain it to him before, but his mind wasn’t able to process them at that time. Instead it had been stored, waiting for him to have the ability to come to terms with it.

“Wait…what does that mean?” Harry speaks again before Remus can respond to his first statement, shifting himself into more of a sitting position. The blanket peels away from his face as he moves. Remus watches as curiosity takes over his features.

“Maybe I should just show you.” 

Chapter Text

Remus stands and holds his hand out to where Harry looks at him from the couch. After a moment's hesitation he offers up his hand and pushes the blanket off his lap, stretching his feet down to the floor, and allowing himself to be pulled into a standing position.

Remus tugs gently on the warm hand in his. He’s thankful that the heat and awkwardness of the previous encounter on the couch seems to have passed easily enough. He and Harry have a good camaraderie, and it hurts him when it feels strained, especially when it is due to his own weakness.

Harry lets Remus lead him toward the hallway, surprised when the older man enters and points to the right hand side. Once they are a few steps in however, he sees what Remus is pointing out. There is a new door in the hallway. Remus doesn’t hesitate, pushing the door open easily, and stopping just inside the threshold.

Harry enters just behind him, and looks into the room curiously. He is a little shocked by just how ordinary the room appears to be, and it prompts him to speak. “It’s just a bedroom, Remus.”

“Yes, it’s just a bedroom–for you–during your taper.” Remus says the words slowly, as if waiting for Harry to understand some huge drawback or downside to the situation.

Harry gives the room a quick once over, noting the sparse furnishings, and the large recliner by the fireplace. Then spots the second door and asks, “where does that lead?” A hand casually points to the door in question.

“That leads to the bathroom.” Remus is suddenly very interested in the pattern of the hangings around the bed, rubbing the heavy fabric between his thumb and forefinger, as though in thought.

“Oh.” Harry pauses after the statement. He glances around the room once more, before walking over and testing the door as if to verify the statement. Finding that the door leads into the same bathroom he’s been taking baths in for over a month seems to throw him a little off balance. “Oh,” he says again, more quietly this time.

“I reached out to Severus and his students have always been members of his house, which he has access to through a tunnel. Since I’m not your head of house, it seems this was the best option for me to monitor you during the process.” Remus explains the unexplainable. A magic castle, adding a bedroom to his private quarters.

“It does make sense. You mentioned all of the possible side effects, such as nausea and even hallucinations, so I’m not surprised that I need to be close at hand, should things escalate. I’m just processing the information. I still feel a little fuzzy from my freak out earlier, if I’m being honest.” Harry lifts his face to look at Remus.

The man has quickly become a source of strength for him. He’s someone who pushes Harry to open up, and is there to hold him when he feels like he is breaking apart. So soon after the emotional roller coaster of the afternoon, Harry is shaky and unsure. He craves the reassurance of the other man’s embrace, but is afraid he is trading one addiction for another.

Only a moment passes and then Remus is crossing the space to stand in front of Harry. His hand reaches up and lands on Harry’s shoulder in a gesture of affection. “Take as long as you like to sort through your thoughts and feelings. Okay, Harry? Would you like a little time to yourself?” He offers helpfully, only it’s the last thing Harry wants.

“No. Please…I can’t. You told me to tell you if I was looking for solutions or comfort. Right now I just need comfort. I still feel shaken.” Harry’s hand latches onto Remus’ wrist, holding it in place against his shoulder. His eyes burn with the strength and knowledge of his own needs.

Brave boy. The thought flickers to life in his mind. The growl in the back of his skull agreeing with the sentiment, even if the words are slightly different. Mine. The deeper voice echoes.

Remus chokes back the urge to repeat wolf’s statement out loud. His body thrumming with the desire to let Harry know just how much he wants to protect him and keep him safe.

“You have no idea how proud I am of you, Harry. What can I do to help you, little one?” Remus' voice grows husky with fondness for the young man standing in front of him.

Without a word, Harry steps forward, closing the small distance between them. He leans his forehead against Remus’ chest so that the other man doesn’t see the tears that are collecting in the corners of his eyes. Harry’s heart is thumping rhythmically in his rib cage, and an overwhelming warmth floods him with Remus’s softly spoken words of affection.

He chokes back a quiet sob, not understanding why those words are having such a profound effect on him. He wants to chalk it up to the leftover emotions from the past few days, all crashing into him at once. Or perhaps it’s the fact that he’s not sleeping well.

Whatever the cause, hearing that Remus is proud of him, feels like every good thing all at one time.

He believes Remus when he says those words, and they cause an answering sense of pride to rise up within himself. Someone important is proud of him, not for defying death, or tempting fate. Someone he cares about deeply, is proud of him for admitting his own weakness.

Harry wraps his arms loosely around Remus’ midsection, feels the moment that the older man closes his own biceps over his upper back, and lets out a deep sigh of relief. He hadn’t been ready to give up the comfort of being held by Remus earlier on the couch, and now he finds himself standing in his embrace breathing deeply.

The tears don’t fall, instead his breathing slows, and his mind clears enough to draw back and look up into the slightly concerned face there. “I think maybe I should lie down for a bit. I’m a bit of a mess, emotionally, and I could use some rest.” Harry offers the words up with a half lifted smile. His eyes are watery, but his cheeks are dry.

“Go on, and have a lie down, there’s no reason to go back to an empty dorm. I’ll be at my desk if you need me.” Remus puts on his authoritative tone, and Harry finds that to be very reassuring.

He doesn’t have to think at all as he turns and makes his way toward the large bed in the middle of the room. Pulling back the coverlet, he kicks off his shoes, sets his glasses on the night table, and climbs into bed fully clothed.

— — — — —

Remus wanders slowly around his office. His thoughts and that possessive snarl in his brain threaten to overwhelm him. He’s less than a week away from the full moon, and his own emotions naturally run a little hotter than normal during this week. He’s quicker to anger, and any other strong emotion. The wolf is restless, leading him to pace in an effort to settle the beast.

He’s moving in a predictable circuit, one he’s walked many times over the past few months as the full moon has approached. The window is calling to him, and he finds his way to it, hoping the cold draft that seeps through the edges might tame his racing thoughts.

The biting air gives him a momentary reprieve from the noise inside his head.

The past few days have been sensory overload for his already stressed mind and body. It had only been two days ago–on Friday–that the school was still bustling with students rushing to their last classes for the term.

The last 48 hours had included more physical touch, and openness from Harry than he can safely handle. He feels as though he is emotionally raw–too exposed–like a live wire that could spark, hurting the person he cares about the most. All of his instincts are on high alert, and it’s only adding fuel to the fire.

How did this happen?

Things had been manageable, until suddenly they weren’t.

What the fuck am I going to do?

Remus feels a momentary tug in his gut to howl. The broken, painful sound clawing up to escape his human mouth and convey the distress he’s feeling. The thought startles him out of his panic. He takes one deep breath in, counting as he inhales. The exhale is even longer, forcing every last bit of air from his lungs as slowly as possible. He repeats this process a fistful of times, until he feels a small amount of calm creeping back into his subconscious.

He moves to his desk, and settles into his chair to centre himself. He drums his fingers on the desk and pulls out a journal, gathers a quill, and an ink pot.

Writing sometimes helps him to sort through his thoughts, prioritising and naming them works to help him figure out how to respond to them in a more productive manner.

Half an hour later, Remus looks at what he has written. It’s a bullet point list of emotions, with short paragraphs explaining why/what he attributes them to.

He’s also created a short list of possible ways to avoid compromising situations with Harry in the future. He’s listed ways he can offer Harry physical touch and comfort without potentially putting himself at risk of letting his urges take over into dangerous territory.

There are big bold exclamations after the last line on the paper.

No more holding Harry in my lap!!!

He’s not sure he can survive another round of having Harry pressed against him so intimately. Especially in the coming days leading up to the full moon. It’s going to be hard enough, with the young man sharing living quarters with him.

Having to see him at all hours of the day is going to be brutal. The smell of Harry already lingers in his spot on the couch, taunting his heightened senses anytime he passes by. It amazes Remus sometimes that despite using his soap, and scented bath water for the past month Harry still retains his own unique scent.

There is a woodsy smell, similar to Pine trees, and fresh turned earth that Harry carries with him. He smells like summer days, and playing outside until dusk. The very thought of it, has Remus smiling fondly.

Minerva was right. He does have it bad.

He is pulled from his musings, by the grumble in his stomach. He eyes the clock across the room, and realises it’s time for supper. He can’t bring himself to leave Harry alone, so he calls down for a meal to be brought up.

— — — — —

Harry comes back to consciousness abruptly. Waking with the urgency of someone who has overslept for an important test, he is groggy and confused, but feels like he needs to get up right this moment. He bolts upright, breathing harshly in the darkness. The window, which had been lit by the sun when he fell asleep, is now completely dark.

His heart is hammering in his chest as he gathers his bearings. The events of the day slowly come to him as he regulates his breathing. After just a minute, he reaches down to the small bedside table, pulling his glasses onto his face. He sets out to find Remus.

“Remus?” He calls out quietly from the hallway, unsure if it is late enough for the other man to be in his own bed, or if he is still in the sitting area.

“In here, sleepyhead. It’s not gone eight yet. It’s just black as pitch outside.” Remus’ voice floats to him from the lighted area to his left.

“That hallway is a nuisance. It’s bloody dark in there.” Harry comments once he steps through the doorway into the softly lit room.

“Too true, I can fix that shortly. The darkness doesn’t bother me, but I’ll get the torches into the holders for your ease.” Remus is reclined in his chair, the blanket from the settee draped over his legs.

“Thanks. Speaking of that, would it be okay if I asked for my stuff to be brought up here? I could do with a bath and change of clothes. I’ve also got a new book I’d like to start on.” Harry doesn’t hesitate over the words. Remus has now seen him break down on more than one occasion and hasn’t yet asked him to leave. The older man is surely committed to the task of getting him through this god-awful process.

“I didn’t want to make assumptions, but I’m glad you are amenable to the temporary room change. I’ll get that sorted while you eat.” Remus points to the table where a plate is waiting for Harry and suddenly he finds he’s ravenous.

“You take such good care of me.” The words slide easily from Harry, and he doesn’t pay them any more attention because he is too focused on sitting down to eat. His mind is like a soft custard, he can’t seem to hold too tightly to anything currently.

Remus however takes great notice of the words. He feels his chest puff out slightly in pleasure. The easy appreciation and affection wash over him. He doesn’t respond, choosing to keep silent for once. He waits until Harry is eating, before calling for his belongings to be brought to the new bedroom.

Remus makes himself useful, finding the torches and fitting them into the sconces in the hallways. He also takes the opportunity to re-key the wards to allow Harry access to the rooms, and when he goes to do so he finds that the wards seem eager to accept Harry. That subtle press of magic flares and flows out to include Harry’s presence quicker than he’s seen in the past.

Remus turns to Harry, whose eyes are already lifted to watch him.

“What was that?”

“I added you to the wards. This is your home for now, you need to be able to come and go as you please,” Remus answers offhandedly.

“Does it always feel like that?” Harry’s brows are furrowed slightly in confusion or something similar.

“I suppose this is the first time you’ve ever been added to a personal ward. How did it feel?” Remus walks over to the small table, and sits down across from Harry.

“It felt warm and a little tingly. I dunno how else to describe it. It’s a very pleasant sensation.” Harry pushes the next bite of food into his mouth, chewing and swallowing quickly.

“It can feel that way. Sometimes you can’t really feel anything at all. Just depends, I suppose. You’ve been let in enough times that it may have felt more familiar.” Remus considers the words before saying them, not adding that intention always plays a role into the way magic feels, and that magic has a mind of its own. Witches and Wizards are able to tap into magic, and tame it to an extent, but there is a give and take to the relationship.

Harry wisely keeps his comments to himself, almost replying with his own feeling that the wards would have let him in yesterday if he had only pushed against them with the tiniest bit of pressure. Not wanting to let Remus know that he had been tempted by that very thought.

“Hmmm, that’s interesting,” is what comes out instead.

— — — — —

A little while later, Harry’s room is filled with his personal belongings. It doesn’t amount to much, a small pile of clothes, a trunk filled with books and other school supplies, and a few pictures of his friends.

The same melancholy feeling that always threatens when he is faced with his possessions tries to break through his happiness at having his own room. He’s never had much in the way of things, but his joy about this room is what he chooses to cling to.

He gathers up his clothes, and goes to let Remus know he’s going to take a bath. Still feeling a moment's hesitation about the fact that he’s now sharing a bathroom with Remus, but that doesn’t make sense, because he’s been using the man’s bathroom for over a month already.

“I’m going to take a bath, did you need to use the bathroom before I go in?” Harry does his best not to overthink the question as he’s asking it.

“I’m good, thanks for checking. Do you want me to stay up?” Remus needs to be sure Harry doesn’t need him for anything before he retires to his own room.

“No, I’ve got some reading I want to do afterwards anyways, and I’ll probably be up late. I’ll see you tomorrow.” His hand lifts in a dismissive wave, and he turns to wash the day's events from his body.

— — — — —

As he sinks into water that is just this side of too hot, Harry lets his body go limp. Laying backwards in the tub, he floats facing the ceiling, letting his mind wander through the forest of his mind.

The names of emotions have always been boiled down to the simplest of terms for Harry. Sadness, Anger, and Confusion being the ones he most regularly points to as waypoints in his journey of self-discovery. Isn’t that true for everyone? He thinks as his mind grasps onto his own experiences and responses to the past.

He narrows his search to the last few days, trying to identify the cause of his sudden neediness. Just being able to label the feeling is a win, and he recognises the yearning within himself to be consumed by someone else.

He wishes his own mind would go on vacation, floating away like a toy boat in the tide of the ocean. Still existing, but insignificant compared to the vastness of the sea.

Harry’s mind has always existed in between words and images. An amalgamation of swirling visuals overlaid with his own inner monologue.

Sometimes it’s too loud inside his head.

He doesn’t know how to stop the thoughts that spiral and threaten to drown him most of the time. His flight or fight response has been engaged for so long, somewhat helping to keep the chatter to a minimum.

Without the threat of evil and death over him he is unable to function as a person.

These are the fears that haunt Harry Potter. This endless stream of self doubt and overanalysis is a plague keeping him from progressing.

He trains his thoughts back to the one idea his brain had offered up. Needy, it seems like a bad thing. The more he dwells on the word, the less concrete the idea feels. The more he tries to pin down a root cause, the more it fights against being understood.

Touch starved.

The word association seems to come to him out of nowhere. A term he’s heard before but without a frame of reference.

Hermione likely mentioned it when she had gone through her psychology phase during 5th year. She had devoured book after book written by men long dead, and more recent tomes written by both men and women in an eager search to explain life’s mysteries. The topics hadn’t interested Harry at the time, but it’s obvious that parts of her rants and explanations had seeped into his consciousness.

The term seems to fit Harry well enough. If the meaning of the words match their implication, he’s sure his childhood contributed to some sort of affection deficit.

But why do I suddenly crave physical touch?

He asks himself the question, knowing that either an answer will come to him or it won’t. The seemingly obvious answers being that he’s attracted to Remus, or that he’s a horny teenager don’t seem to fully convey what his body is seeking in his interactions with the older man.

His mind touches on a few possibilities, a need for comfort, feeling safe with Remus, and lastly the inkling of something larger that he doesn’t want to probe too intensely.

He is back in Remus’ arms in the recliner, his mind conjuring up a scenario that made him feel small and secure.

Daddy.

It’s the barest whisper through his head, but he feels a blush warming his already flush face. His stomach tightens and the tensing of his muscles makes his body fold at the waist, and start to dip under the water. He lets himself sink to a standing position. He wants to stop this line of thought, wishing desperately that he was better at emptying his mind.

It’s not like Harry is naive. He may be a virgin, but he’s read books. Hermione had supplied both him and Ron with a collection on human sexuality. She had been unwilling to drop the subject until they agreed to read them. In fact it had been around the same time she had taken up psychology as an interest. Harry now wonders if it is because the two fields of study are so closely related.

He recognizes after a moment that he isn’t averse to this line of thinking. It is slightly embarrassing only because Remus has no idea where Harry’s mind has taken things, and that makes him feel shy, but it isn’t off putting. If anything, his body makes it clear that particular kink works for him. He realises with some surprise that he’s half hard under the surface of the water. He cups the growing bulge and presses against himself briefly, a small groan falling from his mouth. It’s been too long since he jerked off, at least a few days, and his cock is aching for relief.

“Fuck,” he exhales softly as he grinds himself into his palm, seeking friction.

His eyes lift to the door, not the one that is new to the space, but the familiar one. In his mind he can picture Remus clearly, decorative pillows scattered on the floor, body half tucked under the duvet. Remus sitting up, sleep etched into his creamy complexion. His mind supplies all of the details from this morning's encounter in hazy half-lit detail.

He falters in his movements, trying to recall the feeling of straddling the older man. His lips tingle with the memory of brushing against Remus’ neck. The skin there was as soft as anything he’s ever felt, and the recollection burns through him stronger than any of his kisses with Cho or Ginny.

His cock is fully hard, and his hand moves back and forth in an easy roll against the firm flesh beneath it. He feels exposed. Standing in the other man’s private bath feels like a violation, and yet, he cannot stop his fingers from curling around the length of his dick. He strokes himself once from root to tip, squeezing as he reaches the crown.

Harry groans in pleasure, belatedly trying to stifle the sound by biting down on his lip. He realises mid noise that the acoustics of the room —which he previously appreciated for singing— allow any sound to amplify and carry.

He sends up a silent hope that Remus has already fallen asleep and is unaware of what his bathroom is currently being used for.

After the momentary shock to his system has passed Harry debates going to his own room to finish, but he hasn’t properly washed his body yet. His mind made up, he moves his hand over his slightly diminished erection, committing to stay silent for the rest of his wank.

Harry’s eyes close as his palm glides over his cock. He begins a soft and slow rhythm knowing that it isn’t going to take much for him to cum. He already feels a growing wet heat in the space between his legs. His mind is focused on one thing, or rather one man. He pictures the older man in all of the tantalising poses he has catalogued through the past few weeks. They scroll through his mind like a movie.

Remus deliberately rolling his sleeves up before their duel.

Shirtless, his eyes half closed against the morning light.

Barefoot and squatting next to the fireplace to order food.

Each thought causes his movements to speed up. His hips move in time with the motion of his hand and it isn’t long before he’s breathing harshly, panting in an attempt to stave off his impending orgasm. The final thought is of himself straddling Remus on the couch earlier in the evening. He remembers vividly the feel of Remus against his entire body, the weight of his arms and hands on his back, the smell of him. But the thought that has him bucking violently into his grip once more before he spills himself, is the feeling of his own nose and lips pressed to the warm skin of Remus’ neck. He comes so hard that his vision goes black and he sees stars.

He waits as the pulsing ebbs and fades, and his breathing returns to normal. It takes his heart longer to ease back into its regular cadence. Deep breaths and sighs crossing his lips as he wills himself back to the present.

It’s harder to convince his mind to change trajectory, he finds himself lingering on thoughts of Remus even as his body calms and a feeling of relaxation passes through his muscles.

Is this the way it’s going to be from now on?

He questions himself sharply, worried about his own tendency toward hyperfixation. Maybe more of Hermione’s droning on about psychology has infiltrated his subconscious than he previously thought, but it’s true that he has always felt the need to have something to put all of his love and energy into.

His heart is something he desperately desires to give over to someone else for safekeeping. The idea of an all consuming passion paired with safety and stability has burrowed itself deep inside his mind and won’t let go.

Harry barks out a laugh. Gods, I’m pathetic. He shakes his head from side to side, bemused at his own maudlin thoughts.

He drains the bath, and refills it to finish washing up. His mind settles into static while the bath is refilling, the sound of rushing water clearing out the clutter of his thoughts.

— — — — —

“Honestly…what was Hermione thinking?” Harry mutters quietly to himself. He’s curled up in his new bed, dressed comfortably in a pair of sleep pants and an oversized shirt. He’s opened “Lycanthropy: A Practical Guide”, flipping to the page Hermione has marked with a note.

You might find this information useful.
Hermione

He looks over the title of the chapter and frowns. It appears to be about ways to reduce the muscle pain and fatigue after the transformation. Why did she mark this portion? He considers writing her a letter, but decides to read it and make a decision in the morning.

A half hour later he has more questions than answers. Chief among them is what precisely is wrapped in the small box she told him to wait until Christmas to open. He tumbles possibilities around for a while, before he flips back to the beginning of the chapter. He’d skimmed over it the first time, searching for clues as to the purpose of his ‘assigned’ reading.

Now he’s invested and intrigued and wants to do his best to absorb the information offered within the pages of the heavy instructional manual. He turns each page slowly, eyes lingering over diagrams and photos of bodies with muscle groups labelled and outlined for better understanding.

He’s so focused that a couple of hours pass without him realising. It’s only when exhaustion overcomes him naturally that he thinks to check the time. It’s after midnight, and he can barely keep his eyes open. He finds himself dipping his head and catching it before his chin hits his chest.

Closing the book, Harry slides down the bed and tucks the covers up under his chin tightly. He draws his knees up, wrapping his arms around one pillow, as his head shifts slightly in an attempt to get comfortable. It doesn’t take long at all, and his eyes have lost the fight against remaining open. His last thought before he drifts off is that he didn’t even take his sleep draught.

Chapter Text

The following days pass by in moments of normalcy, and tension for both men. Each is constantly aware of the other, but doing his best to pretend otherwise. On Thursday Remus asks Harry if he wants to play a game.

“Would you like to play Dominoes Harry?” He asks, after a morning spent laying around doing next to nothing.

“I’ve never played Dominoes.” Harry answers offhandedly.

“I could teach you if you’re interested.” Remus seems eager to do something other than sit and read in silence.

“I’ll try, but I don’t have much experience with games and Ron still kicks my arse every time we play Wizard’s chess.” Harry begrudgingly shuts the book in his lap and goes to set it on top of his pile on the coffee table. Remus glances over as he does.

“You’re reading up on Lycanthropy? I didn’t know you had any interest in my ‘condition’.” His eyebrow is quirked and he’s looking at Harry with a quizzical expression.

Harry feels blood rushing to his cheeks and deliberates how to answer without giving away more information that he needs to. “Hermione got me this for Christmas. Said that since I’ve been spending so much time with you it was only right for me to understand what you go through each month.” Harry leaves out the part about the designated chapter, and his growing suspicions about her not so subtle gift.

“Seems like an odd gift though. Although that is the very best book available on the subject. She has impeccable taste in reference materials as always.” His eyes sparkle with mirth and that gaze focuses on the red diffusing across Harry’s face. The younger man would be terrible at poker, Remus thinks to himself as he watches the expression on Harry’s face.

“There is another gift, but she said I couldn’t open it until Christmas day.” Harry almost leaves that information off, and isn’t sure why he offers it up. “It worked out well anyways. I’m actually quite enjoying it. It is nice to have a better idea of how it all works, and it covers a lot of topics I wouldn’t have considered before.” Harry doesn’t mention the diagrams and images he’s poured over as he tries to gather every shred of information on caring for someone after the full moon.

“Speaking of the transformation. I’ve been taking my Wolfsbane every day after lunch. I normally transform here, and just curl up by the fireplace all night. I have my wits about me and I’m not a danger or anything. Would you like me to go someplace else on Saturday?” Remus keeps his voice even, not wanting to put any pressure on Harry.

“I hadn’t even thought about it to be honest. Moving into your rooms happened so unexpectedly, I hadn’t even considered what it might mean for your routine.” Harry pauses to think about what Remus has brought up. He’s made good headway in his book the past few days –so he feels like he has a good grasp on what to expect– and he’s not afraid of Remus.

“I’d like to stay here, if that’s okay with you. I’ve already seen you change once, although under very different circumstances, it doesn’t frighten me. Maybe I can just hang out in my room until you’re settled. Or even stay there all night if you want privacy. I don’t know how you feel about it.” Harry shrugs, totally at ease with discussing the upcoming full moon as if unconcerned about sharing space with a werewolf.

Remus’ heart constricts, his lungs clamping down on the breath he’s holding. His friends had been through hell and back to protect his secret and to support him however they could during his time at Hogwarts. Talking about this openly as an adult with access to Wolfsbane is arguably the most mind bending experience he’s had in a long time.

“Are you sure Harry? Whatever you decide is perfectly acceptable. There is nothing wrong with not wanting to be here when I turn into Moony.” His tone is sardonic, and the smirk on his face is a mask to hide whatever is really going on in his head.

Harry feels rage brewing in him. Rage at every person who has ever made Remus Lupin feel like a monster. Rage at every time he was made to feel less than or different because of something he had no control over. Mostly Harry feels a desire to wipe away all of those memories and help Remus to feel worthy of the care and attention he so freely gives to others.

“I want to be with you. Just tell me when and where. I’ll be there.” Harry smiles wide, trying to reassure Remus. The older man has done so much to support Harry through the past month, and Harry wishes he was more confident in how to do the same.

Remus decides not to push the issue. His throat is scratchy with emotion, and if he starts talking he is going to give voice to something better left unsaid. The low rumble at the base of his skull grows stronger with each comment Harry makes. His mind races ahead to read into the innocent words ‘I want to be with you’.

He needs the younger man to stop looking at him with that brilliant smile, and those practically iridescent eyes.

His heart still seems to be beating erratically, and for the first time in his adult life he wonders what he’s done to deserve the look of faith and admiration written on the face in front of him. Harry doesn’t pull any punches. When he cares about someone, he is unapologetically loyal.

It’s a fucking miracle he’s still able to give that trust to someone after all he’s endured.

Remus takes a centering breath, exhaling gently before speaking. “You can watch, or stay in your room until it’s over. It would just be really nice to have your company, maybe you could read a book to me or sing?” Remus’ voice lifts with a hopeful hint. Harry serves a put upon look and rolls his eyes while sighing heavily.

“I suppose I could be persuaded…you’ve already witnessed the Boy Wonder’s variety show. Perhaps it’s time to stage a comeback.” Harry lifts the back of his hand to his forehead and rolls his head dramatically backwards and to one side.

The action is funnier than it has any right to be, or perhaps Remus is looking for a reason to laugh, and he descends into a fit of giggles that cause him to double over clutching at his midsection while shaking violently. Harry joins in, and soon both of them are gasping for air, with tears rolling down their reddened cheeks.

Every time one of the men begins to regain his composure it only takes a glance at the other for the laughter to begin anew. This goes on for a long while, until finally Remus is slapping his thigh and making a choked noise in the back of his throat. “Oh, fuck. I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time.” Harry settles down immediately when he hears the curse fall from Remus’ lips. The word does something to him, causing his body to snap to attention.

His eyes seek out Remus, noting how deep the crinkles around his eyes are, and how lovely his face looks after laughing freely. He looks young and carefree and Harry is overjoyed to have been the catalyst. “I’m thrilled to add stand-up comedy to my routine. Watch out world. Harry potter might just become an entertainer.” He raises his fists in a cheering motion.

“If the NEWTS don’t go in your favour, it’s good to have a backup plan.” Remus’ face hurts from smiling. His cheeks have been drawn tight for a while now, and he cannot seem to wipe the expression off his face.

“Cultivating a back up plan is second nature to me at this point. Not once has my original plan worked out as intended.” Harry drops back into self defence, feeling exposed and uneven when he feels too happy. His thoughts shift to his friends, and how often they’ve pointed the reaction out. “Sorry, you know how I like to put up a shield when things are going well.” His eyes flick up to meet Remus’ gaze shyly.

“Hey, it’s okay Harry. We all have patterns and behaviours we’re working on. It takes time to recognize the things that make us reactive.” Remus lifts his hand to Harry’s shoulder. Approved contact. He thinks to himself as he grips Harry steadily. “Dominoes? Or would you care to go on a walk?”

“A walk sounds like a great idea.” Harry’s face lifts again, pleased for the suggestion to get their bodies moving and out of the castle.

— — — — —

Christmas Eve finds the remaining occupants of Hogwarts, eating a festive meal in the great hall. They’ve all sung a few carols, and toasted more than a few times. Harry looks up to find Remus watching him with a gentle look on his face, and smiles back brightly over his plate of food.

Two sets of watchful eyes witness the exchange, each thinking their own thoughts about the occurrence.

After dinner is over, Harry lingers in the hallway outside, waiting for Remus to finish a conversation. They had both stood to leave, but Minerva caught Remus on his way to the exit. She signalled that it would be brief, but that was almost 10 minutes ago and Harry is getting antsy.

He tells himself that if the other man doesn’t appear through the doors in just another couple of minutes he will make his way back to their rooms. That thought makes his spine tingle, and he starts to let his mind wander when the door opens.

“Mister Potter.” The words cause his stomach to drop for a moment, he’d been expecting Remus, and he hopes the disappointment isn’t noticeable when he speaks.

“Professor Snape. How are you this evening?”

“I’m well, thanks for asking. Is there something you need? You appear to be loitering in the corridor for some unknown reason.” His eyebrow raises and there is a definite smirk on his normally closed off face. Harry’s thoughts war with each other about the meaning of his expression.

“I’m just waiting for Remus. He said he’d be right out. Thanks by the way for all of your help in the preparations for my detox, I know you’ve figured out that I’m the person being treated.” Harry decides to face discomfort head on, and is surprised by the change in the potions master’s demeanour.

“It’s the least I could do. You did save the bloody world after all.” His voice shows a level of restraint that his face cannot maintain, and the other side of his lip curls up in a minor smile. The unexpected joke from his previously dour professor causes Harry to grin.

“I had help, as you know…” Harry’s words trail off, as the door opens again and Harry can’t keep his eyes from following the movement. He is rewarded with the sight of Remus walking through the door.

“Now that your companion has made it out of Minerva’s clutches, I’ll take my leave. Happy Christmas, Remus, Mister Potter.” He nods his head the barest dip, and turns toward the dungeons.

“Happy Christmas.” Remus and Harry call out in tandem. They glance at each other and fall into step.

“Is everything alright? Did McGonagall have something important to discuss?” Harry looks at the ground, watching his feet as they move over the concrete.

“That’s Headmistress McGonagall to you, Harry, and…uh, yes. Everything is quite alright. Um, she just…she wanted to ask me about some lesson plans.” Remus is distracted and stumbles over his words, Harry wants to ask him about it further but chooses to stay silent. That little voice in the back of his mind urges him to reach out his hand, hoping that Remus might grab ahold of it, and twine their fingers together. The thought joins a growing pile of thoughts he ignores as he spends time with Remus.

“Okay.” The one word answer seems a safe response and he vows to walk the rest of the way in silence.

Remus is lost in thought as they climb the stairs to the room, Minerva had caught him off guard as he was leaving the great hall, and he is still consumed by her words. His brain refuses to make sense of what she meant when she said, “forget what I said. Don’t allow that to slip through your fingers Remus.”

She had spoken the sentiment, and then moved onto lesson plans for his upcoming classes so quickly that he’s still suffering mental whiplash. His heart is beating erratically, his pulse pounding in his ears as he bounces back and forth between knowing exactly what she was talking about and denial that she could possibly be encouraging him to pursue a relationship with Harry.

He is so focused on the thoughts swimming in his head that he takes no notice of the fact that they’ve reached the portrait until Harry tugs on his wrist. “Oh, sorry. I’ve just spaced out the entire journey. Please tell me you weren’t talking.” Remus rushes to apologise.

“No, not at all. Hey, are you okay? You don’t look so good.” Harry turns him until they are facing each other.

“I’m just tired, I’ll probably call it an early night, so that I can hopefully have a good night’s sleep before tomorrow.” Remus hedges, feeling the intense scrutiny Harry is levelling him with.

“If you’re sure.” Harry opens the portrait and Remus follows.

— — — — —

Christmas dawns bright and early. Remus had set a waking charm to rouse him from sleep at a reasonable hour, and now he’s up and pulling on his dressing gown. Excitement and nerves bubble through him in equal measure as he makes his way quietly to the sitting room. The fire is blazing, and the tray of pastries and tea he requested yesterday are sitting on the coffee table. Now he just has to wait for Harry, and do his best not to feel terribly silly about the gifts he’s chosen for the younger man.

He slipped away to Diagon alley earlier in the week, telling Harry he had an appointment. He spent a few hours searching for the perfect present for Harry and ended up with more than one. He hopes desperately that Harry likes what he has picked out, but fears he’s made a mistake. His nerves swell as the minutes tick by, and soon it feels as though a swarm of Grindylows is bouncing around in his stomach.

Just as he’s about to shrink the largest of the presents down, Harry walks into the sitting area. Remus looks up to him with a fond smile, and watches as he uses the fingers from one hand to carefully rub the sleep out of his eye. His fingers reach under the frames of his glasses, and each movement causes them to wobble a bit precariously.

“Happy Christmas, Harry.”

“Happy Christmas, Remus.” Harry pauses, turning and disappearing back into his room, before returning holding a brightly coloured package. “I almost forgot this.” He lifts it by way of explanation.

“Would you like to eat first, or are you impatient to open your presents?” Remus gestures at the three presents stacked neatly next to Harry’s spot, one eyebrow lifted in amusement.

“I’m more interested in watching you open your present.” Harry returns the look, and hands over the gift as he passes by Remus on his way to sit. Remus does his best to contain his curiosity. He is surprised that Harry thought to get him something and he almost comments on it, but recognizes that it’s in Harry’s nature to be thoughtful.

Remus waits for Harry to settle in, and opens the package in his lap. Inside the box is an assortment of chocolates. There are bars and truffles, dark and milk. He laughs as he sifts through the box in an attempt to make sense of the amount of delicacies inside. “Did you leave any for other patrons?” He asks with bemusement.

“I did, although the real gift is hidden underneath all of that.” Harry looks pointedly back to the box in his hands, and Remus begins the process of slowly pulling everything out. Underneath he finds a certificate, which entitles him to a private course, and to make his own chocolate bars with a master chocolatier.

“Oh.” Remus pauses as he reads the words, surprised at the additional gift.

“I know your affinity for sweets, and thought it seemed to be a fun way to explore something you enjoy.” Harry speaks quietly.

“It’s one of the most thoughtful gifts I’ve received, Harry. Now, go on and open your presents. I hate to be the centre of attention.”

Harry pulls the first box to his lap, the corners of his mouth lifting at the hasty wrapping job. The first present he opens is a heavy terry cloth dressing gown. He lifts the thick material up, admiring the weight of it. “It’s lovely Remus. You must be tired of me commenting on how much I like yours.” Harry’s smile is shy and sweet, and Remus feels that low rumble beginning.

Today, it’s going to be harder than most days to keep that possessive voice to a manageable level. The wolf is already right on the forefront of his mind, growling and demanding.

“You’ve mentioned once or twice how comfortable it looks. I thought you’d do well to have your own for cold mornings, or after your baths.”

“Thank you. I look forward to using it.” Harry stands and shrugs the robe onto his shoulders, tying the sash around his waist, and doing a small curtsy. After a round of applause and a chuckle from Remus, Harry moves onto the next package.

The next box opens to reveal a warm, weighted quilt. The quilt is a patchwork of things that are important to Harry. Some are Hogwarts related, and some are quidditch related. He hefts it up and over his forearms, surprised by the feel of something holding his arms down. “Remus? Why is it so heavy?” The look of confusion on his face almost causes Remus to laugh out loud, but he had been expecting this reaction and is prepared to answer.

“It’s a magically weighted quilt. It has charms on it to help provide a sense of peace when you lay under it.” His response is spoken with a quiet seriousness and Harry holds his eyes open wider, so as to not be overcome by emotion. The blanket is beautiful, but more importantly it’s his own. It isn’t the standard issue duvet on all of the dorm beds, it isn’t an itchy–hot blanket passed down from Dudley. It’s warm, and heavy, and it was picked out for Harry by someone who cares about him.

“I’m honestly speechless right now.” Harry murmurs, while his hands caress and stroke the material of the top portion of the quilt. It’s as soft as pyjamas that have been washed within an inch of their life. Well worn and loved feeling, but obviously brand new and far more expensive than Remus should have gotten him. “It’s too much Remus. You shouldn’t have done this for me.” The words slip out of his mouth, but he is already working one corner of the blanket up and over his shoulder, trying to nuzzle his face against the fabric.

Remus watches Harry’s movements with unbridled joy. Harry is ecstatic over the first two gifts and his reactions have made the entire excursion worth the effort. He waits with slightly baited breath as Harry lifts the largest box onto his lap. Remus knows that although it is the largest, it is also the lightest and he enjoys the play of suspicion across Harry’s face.

“Is this last one empty? You’ve already done too much, and I now know you aren’t above a prank.” Harry looks at Remus with barely veiled suspicion. A wariness clouds those emerald eyes, and Remus takes pity on him.

“Even a marauder such as I, would not besmirch the good name of Christmas. I promise it’s not a prank, although it is the gift that gave me the most pause. If you don’t like it, it won’t hurt my feelings. I happened to see it, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t seem to keep myself from getting it for you.” Remus rambles on a bit, seeming more flustered as he talks. Each word only working to increase Harry’s curiosity, he rips the paper off, and tears open the box.

Inside, he comes face to face with a large stuffed Elephant. The elephant is the size of Harry’s torso, with a shaggy coat his fingers itch to rub against repeatedly. Its colour is a stone grey, and its trunk is loose and wobbly. Harry presses his face into the body of it, without stopping to think beforehand.

The stuffed animal is soft and inviting. It feels lovely and pleasing to the touch. He’s so wrapped up in his exploration of his gift, that he forgets the man sitting across from him. Harry sighs, and pulls the animal to his chest, wrapping his arms around it tightly and squeezing with all of his might.

Remus watches with excitement. This is the gift he had been most worried about giving to Harry, and Harry seems to enjoy it very much. He feels a sort of solemnity wrapping around the moment, and knows that there is still a chance for this to go poorly. He reigns in his own happiness at Harry’s joy and waits for the younger man to return to the present.

“I love it, Remus…” Harry speaks finally, but his voice is barely louder than the crackling fire. He is suddenly sheepish, and Remus vows to do his best not to spook Harry. “But, why did you get it for me?” His brow is furrowed with the question and Remus knows he has to tread lightly.

“The blanket I got you was directly adjacent to the stuffed animal section and the elephant kept catching my eye. I went over and looked through a huge bin of animals, and there were more than you could imagine. I tried to walk away from all of them, but that one kept calling to me. I couldn’t just leave it there, lonely.” Remus imbues the words with just the right amount of melancholy and Harry can picture the older man trying to walk away from a display of stuffed animals only to end up buying Harry a large fluffy elephant.

“I’ve never gotten a stuffed animal before.” Harry speaks the words like they are a confession, and Remus finds his eyes going a bit misty. He isn’t just imagining the wistfulness in Harry’s voice, and he doesn’t know how to handle the situation without causing distress to Harry.

“I’m so glad you like it.”

“This might be my best Christmas yet. Even excluding the fact that there is no looming threat on the horizon.” Harry forces out a false laugh, before getting sombre. “All of your gifts mean a lot to me…I, uh. I feel. I feel spoiled. Like I… like, I don’t deserve them.” He stutters quite a bit over the last portion, but Remus understands the sentiment clearly.

It is wonderful to be perceived, and also terrifying.

“You deserve every bit of it, and more. You are precious to me, sweet boy.” It slips from him without his permission, but he can’t be bothered to worry too much. Not when Harry looks at him with that tender expression, causing Remus to feel larger than life.

Harry stands and walks the few steps around the coffee table, standing expectantly in front of Remus’ recliner. Remus stands and opens his arms wide to Harry, allowing the younger man to fall against him in a crushing hug. “Thank you, for everything. It means more to me than you understand.”

Remus may not be privy to Harry’s private emotions, but his own heart feels fit to burst inside of him. The moment is sweet, and sincere, and everything he had never dared to dream of. Having Harry folded into his chest, like it’s the only place he wants to be, feels like redemption.

Harry is lost to the sensations as well. His head and heart are both in agreement about what they want, but hesitation covers him like a wet blanket. That niggling feeling that he’s going to lose the relationship they have now, for want of something more, a constant fear in the back of his mind.

— — — — —

The day passes with food and festivities. After breakfast, Harry had lovingly carried his blanket and elephant into his room, and re-made the bed with the newest additions. He spent longer in there admiring them than he meant to, but Remus didn’t comment on his extended absence when he returned to the sitting area.

Remus thought it quite sweet how enamoured Harry seemed to be with his presents and was chuffed that he’d done a decent job in choosing gifts for the younger man. He’d never admit it to Harry, but he quite liked being able to give gifts to someone. Living in the castle, and having Wolfsbane brewed for him by Severus means that for the first time in his life, he has more than adequate funds to spend on luxury goods.

The sense of accomplishment and contentment he’s been feeling of late continues, as they spend the rest of the morning chatting and reading. Remus eats a light lunch, his stomach already getting antsy as evening approaches. He’s prone to pacing the day of the full moon, and even Harry’s company is not enough to soothe his restlessness.

He would have imagined that his own nerves might cause a similar response in the young man, however the opposite is true. Harry takes note of his pacing and calmly calls out to him. “Does that help?”

“I’m not sure, but I know that it doesn’t hurt.”

“It may work to tire your body before the transformation though. Have you considered other means of settling yourself?” The question stops Remus next to the window he’s passing on one of many circuits around the room.

“Not consciously, no. Now that I have access to Wolfsbane, I am actually able to be quite still during the night of the full moon, so I guess the energy has to go somewhere.” The thought unfurls as he’s speaking it, an unusual occurrence for the older man who normally processes his thoughts via quill and parchment. He looks at Harry in surprise, wondering if this line of thinking could potentially help him feel less tired after the full moon each month.

“It was just a thought, not something I have a solution for, but something I’ve been thinking about now that I’m almost finished with the book Hermione gave me.” Harry’s brow dips in concentration, and a flicker of something crosses his face too quickly for Remus to catch.

It isn’t rare for Harry’s mind to jump from topic to topic in a way that Remus struggles to understand, but he finds the attempt worthwhile. The man in front of him is sharp witted, and his ways of thinking through things are both insightful and also sometimes quite whimsical. His perspective is untainted by growing up in the magical world, and therefore his approach is untethered by the old ways of thinking that many witches and wizards are hampered by.

“Do you mind if I play a bit of music?” Harry asks, without waiting for Remus’ response to his previous statement.

“Please, I could do with a bit of a tune. And I so enjoy watching your attempts at dancing…” Remus trails off with a slight smirk in Harry’s direction.

“No need to get snarky Remus. It isn’t a good look on you.” The flippant tone, and quick comeback are one of Remus’ favourite ways in which he and Harry communicate.

“I’m shattered, truly.” Remus levels a faux cold gaze at the younger man from across the room. Harry looks back with an equally serious expression, before his face splits into a wide, toothy grin.

He quickly turns and flips through the albums in Remus’ collection and picks one with acoustic guitar as the only accompanying instrument. It’s an old record he found at a second hand shop years ago, Bert Jansch. Harry often gravitates towards it, and Remus is thankful that the younger man doesn’t seem to mind the limited selection.

— — — — —

As darkness seeps across the horizon, Remus’ pacing grows more relentless. Harry watches, wishing he could ease the man’s suffering. He recalls Remus’ request that he read a book, and speaks out. “Do you have a preference on what you would like me to read tonight?”

Remus walks over to where Harry is sitting, and crouches down in front of him. “I did think perhaps you could start The Hobbit, if you’re up for the challenge. I’ve never read the book, but it’s been on my list of books to read for quite some time.” His mouth lifts in a hopeful half smile, and Harry acquiesces without pause.

“Lovely. I’ve not read it myself, but I’ve heard good things about it. An adventure sounds like just the ticket to pass the time. Now, would you like me to make myself scarce until after the transformation?” Harry worries the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth, wondering again how best to support Remus.

“I won’t lie. It isn’t pleasant to watch, so perhaps that would be in your best interest.” Remus considers the words carefully before speaking, Harry has already seen what is about to happen once, under terrible circumstances. The fact that he has offered to keep him company during the full moon is more than Remus can comprehend. He appreciates the young man for so many reasons, and Harry’s acceptance of his other self is almost more than he can understand.

“Remus, I’ve told you this before but it bears repeating, you don’t frighten me. I hate that you have to go through this painful experience every month for the rest of your life. I would take that pain from you if I were able.” Harry looks at him with sad eyes, but Remus is convinced there is no pity there.

“It is in your very nature to want to make a noble sacrifice, I’m afraid. However, I would not trade places with anyone. I will share a secret though…” Remus’ face lights up with his customary mischievous smile before he continues, “This burden becomes a little easier to bear with each passing day, and you are a leading cause of that. Now go on, you’ll know once it’s over, because things will get quiet again after the howling.”

“I’ll see you soon.” Harry turns towards the tapestry but after a brief hesitation he crosses to where Remus is standing, and wraps his arms around him. “Doesn’t seem right to leave you without a hug.” He speaks in a shy murmur as though unsure of his welcome.

“I echo the sentiment Harry.” Remus returns the embrace heartily, his mind truly distracted by the warmth and contentment he feels with Harry so close.

That deep rumbling voice, so close to the surface of his mind, encourages the contact, seeking to push his nose into Harry’s hair and inhale deeply. Remus tries to resist the temptation, but fails, and dips his head down to do exactly that. His senses are heightened, and the scent of Harry is even more enticing than usual. His arms tighten around Harry in response to the sensation, and he feels an answering groan from the shorter man— passing through his chest.

Remus snaps his head up and wills himself to drop his arms. “Sorry about that Harry, it’s best if you leave now, time is running out.”

Harry looks up at him with a tenderness in his expression, that Remus is sure he isn’t worthy of, and he speaks with conviction. “No need to apologise. I liked it.” Then he is gone, walking to his room without glancing back to see how Remus feels about the words he had spoken so casually.

Internally Harry is having a lively debate. One side of his brain is accusing him of vaguely admitting to something inappropriate with Remus, and the other is convinced it isn’t as serious as all that. Every part of him is freaking out over his own breathy little noise being the reason that Remus dropped his grip so quickly and essentially pushed him away.

Once he’s in the privacy of his own room, he spots his new blanket and elephant on his bed. They bring a smile to his face and his mind quiets considerably. He gathers both of them up, and carries them to the recliner, wrapping himself in the comfort the two items bring him.

Harry reaches to the table beside the chair and as his hand clasps around the book Hermione gave him, his brain reminds him of her other present. He reluctantly sheds the cosiness of his perch, and hunts for its location, finding the small present tucked in his armoire. He returns to his chair, and takes a deep breath before carefully removing the paper from the small box.

Inside, Harry finds a glass jar with a metal lid. The jar is labelled with an unbleached paper label. “The Natural Choice Apothecary” is the name of the maker, and underneath that it proclaims the jar contains “Sore Muscle Rub Salve”. There is a small insert which includes the ingredients and recommended use. Harry’s eyes focus on the instructions, and his mind is churning with ideas of why Hermione had gifted him this particular salve.

She thinks she’s so clever.

He has half a mind to write her a strongly worded letter about meddling into other people’s personal lives when he hears the first groan coming from the other side of his door.

— — — — —

Remus’ back cracks painfully with the first breaking bone of his transformation. No matter how many times he has lived through this experience, each time is as painful as the first. The strangled cries escape his still human throat without his permission, and he is helpless against the torrent of endorphins flooding his body.

The next wave of muscles snapping and lengthening brings him to his knees and he is only aware of the high pitched keen coming from him as he writhes on the cold floor.

He is still recovering from the process when he becomes aware of his surroundings again, and Harry is joining him, a hand pressing steadily against a shoulder that is no longer human. He blinks and pants for a moment to catch his breath, his eyes no longer see the world in the same way, and he lifts his jaw from the cement to look at Harry.

There is a common misconception that wolfsbane removes the wolf’s mind, or prevents it from having any control during the full moon. The truth is more complicated than that. Remus likes to think of it more like a horse and a rider. The wolf is the horse, and Remus is the rider. Remus is able to exert some form of control over the situation, telling it where to go and what to do, but ultimately it is a partnership and he is never truly free of the wolf’s desires.

Right now the wolf wants nothing more than to press its snout into Harry’s skin and breathe in the scent of the man he’s been caring for the past month and a half. It wants to rub its head back and forth over Harry’s neck to mark him. The possessive growl is louder now that the beast is inhabiting the body they share. Remus pulls tightly on the reins, reminding himself that he is the one in control.

He takes a deep breath and looks at Harry with the wolf as a barrier between them. Harry’s face is relaxed, and his hand is gently carding through the fur over Remus’ spine. He waits expectantly for Harry to speak, or something, given his own inability to initiate conversation.

Harry watches with genuine curiosity as his hand passes through the coarse fur covering Remus. He had rushed out to find Remus before the man had stopped whining, and stood quietly waiting for him to settle down enough to approach. He has no sense of how to help Remus, but rubbing the other man’s back feels nice and soothing.

After a moment of looking into the eyes of the wolf, Harry remembers that Remus is limited by his current form and speaks. “Is it okay to scratch you like this?”

The wolf shakes his head in a quick affirmative nod.

“Would you like to move to the hearth?”

Another nod. Slowly, as if it is still painful, the wolf comes to a standing position, and Harry realises that the wolf is quite large. He follows and they make their way carefully to the fireplace. Remus must have prepared after Harry left, because there are a few blankets in a pile on the floor near the fire, and he settles on them after a moment of pacing.

Harry spots the book on the mantle and lifts it before sitting on the floor beside Remus. He opens it and begins reading.

— — — — —

At some point Harry falls asleep, leaning up against the big shaggy wolf, book open in his lap. He barely rouses to the movement of the wolf standing and walking behind the desk in the early morning hours, but wakes fully when Remus groans in agony from across the room. His eyes are blurry with the lack of adequate sleep but he calls out as the soft light of dawn washes over the room. “Remus? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, be right there.” His voice is hoarse, and he barely sounds like himself, but Harry is thankful to hear it.

“Would you like me to get you anything? Some water, or I could go start the bath?” Harry’s voice is soft and uncertain, but he wants to be helpful and to make this easier on Remus.

“Both, actually. If you don’t mind? Normally, I just pass out wherever I’m at until later in the day. It would be so nice to bathe and make it to my bed.” The older man is finally standing, although he is leaning quite heavily against his desk for support. He’s pulled on his robe, which he must have stashed there before he transformed.

Harry springs into action, first fetching a glass of water and bringing it to Remus. Once he’s polished it off, Harry offers himself as support to get Remus to the bathroom. “Lean on me, and we’ll get you taken care of.” Harry is thankful to be able to return the care and attention Remus has given to him so freely.

“Thank you Harry. I don’t have adequate words to express how much I appreciate you helping me.”

“How many times have you reminded me that you enjoy taking care of me? Trust me when I say that I’m happy to be the one here with you right now.” Harry reaches around Remus’ waist and the taller man rests his arm over Harry’s shoulder allowing himself to be led to the bathroom by way of Harry’s room.

The bath is quick and practical. Harry fills the basin while Remus sits with his feet hanging into the tub. Once it is filled Harry turns his back and has Remus get into the water. When Remus suggests he leaves while he bathes, Harry lets him know in no uncertain terms that he doesn’t trust the exhausted man not to drown without a chaperone.

Harry does allow him the privacy of a turned back when it’s time for him to step out of the bath and into a waiting towel, held delicately between a thumb and forefinger behind Harry’s back at a painful looking angle. Remus ties the towel around his waist, smiles broadly at Harry’s caretaking abilities and his determination to see Remus safely into his bed.

“I’m covered now. No need to shield your eyes.” He can’t help the tired teasing, the way his mouth needs to give voice to the sarcasm and darkness inside his own mind.

“You don’t scare me, you know.” Harry turns and levels him with a glare that he assumes is meant to be threatening, but falls short when Remus recalls the sound of his voice reading the words of Tolkien, and the weight of his body relaxed against the wolf as if he were resting on a living, breathing pillow.

“You’ve proven yourself to be unaffected by even the most nightmarish parts of me tonight. Sorry for teasing you. I feel exposed, and you aren’t the only one who likes to put up shields on occasion.” His voice drops and his eyes haven’t lifted from the stone floor. He’s afraid to see whatever is written on Harry’s expressive features.

Harry’s hand is cupping his jaw, and he only has to lift Remus’ face the barest amount to meet his gaze. “I’m not going to let you go down whatever path this is. You’re a good man, Remus. You mean too much to me, for me to let you wallow in whatever this is.” Harry’s eyes are intense, and close. The entire situation is overwhelming. Remus hurts from the roots of his hair, all the way down to his toes.

The pain and exhaustion are affecting his judgement. They must be, because why else would it look like Harry is about to close the distance between them? That burning touch on his jaw feels like a branding iron, and Remus can’t pull away. He is held there by the barest grip and a gaze he cannot break free from.

Too late he realises that Harry is the one who spoke last. The younger man is simply waiting for him to formulate a response, but he is unable to do so. He swallows thickly, his mouth dry, around the lump in his throat.

Harry never breaks eye contact, searching for something. His hand eventually drops, sliding down Remus’ shoulder to where his fingers lay forgotten at his sides. He grabs ahold of Remus’ hand, and pulls on it firmly, yanking Remus out of his musings and toward his own bed chambers.

Harry’s heart is pounding, blood is rushing loudly through his ears, and his entire face is aflame with every repressed desire coursing through his veins. He’d come within an inch of kissing Remus! His brain is screaming at him as he passes through the door into Remus’ bed chamber. He knows he shouldn’t be here right now, and that he is tempting fate by crossing the threshold.

I’m not a quitter. He thinks as he leads the shell of Remus to his chest of drawers.

The other man is shuffling along behind him, his feet dragging gently across the floor as he moves. Harry turns and asks. “Where are your pyjamas? You look like you’re barely hanging on.”

Remus steps forward and manages to take hold of the correct pull, reaching into the drawer and pulling out a pair of sleep pants. “I’ve got it from here. Thanks Harry.” The words come out slurred and maybe there’s a reason Remus usually sleeps curled up by the fire, instead of attempting the journey back to his bed.

“Oh no you don’t, you’re leaning worse than the tower of Pisa. I’m not leaving until you are safely in bed.” Harry gets stern and turns his back to Remus before continuing. “Get those on, and get under the covers.”

Remus only just manages the task at hand, bending over to step into his pants without removing his towel. Once he is standing and his pyjamas are firmly around his waist he removes the towel and tosses it onto the floor. “Dressed.” He calls out carelessly and then falls back onto his bed. Harry turns and gives him a sceptical eye roll.

“Goodnight, or rather, good morning. Sleep as late as you can, and find me when you wake up.” Harry is almost to the door before Remus is able to speak again.

“Thanks Harry, you did wonderful tonight. Such a sweet boy…so good to me.” The words are mumbled into his pillow as he curls onto his side. He’s already half-asleep before he finishes speaking and there is no way to see Harry’s eyes go wide and his mouth fall open as his words become more familiar.

Chapter Text

Harry wanders down the hall in a fuzzy state of mind. His brain is swimming with visions of Remus, looking vulnerable and sad after his bath. His brain tempts him with images of what might have happened if he had leaned up on tip toes and pressed his mouth against the older man’s.

As soon as the thought enters, he feels his stomach twist in a scary way. His face burns with Remus’ final words, they settle over him and into him as he makes his way closer to his room.

Opening the door he is reminded of Hermione’s second gift, and an inkling of an idea begins to form. He readies himself for bed, only bothering to change into a fresh set of loungewear, before crawling into his cosy bed. As he tugs the warm and weighted blanket up under his chin, those words repeat themselves in his mind once more. Such a sweet boy, so good to me. Concentrating with his eyes closed, his arms wrapped around his stuffed animal, he pictures himself curled up against Remus’ chest and drifts off to sleep.

— — — — —

Harry wakes slowly, his eyes adjusting to the bright sun shining across his room in stages. He shrugs off the weight of his quilt, his bladder demanding relief quite insistently. After he uses the restroom, he pens a quick letter to Hermione thanking her for her thoughtful gift, and telling her that he plans to make good use of it. He checks the time and finds that it’s nearly noon.

He sets his plan into motion, his half-hatched idea developing into something more solid after some pastries and a few cups of tea. He tidies the office and sitting area, folding and putting away the blankets Remus had laid out the night before. After he is satisfied with the work he’s done, he transfigures Remus’ arm chair into a flat padded leather table with a hole at one end, and then he settles himself on the settee with a book to read while he waits for Remus to wake up.

— — — — —

Harry is surprised when less than an hour later Remus pads quietly into the room, looking drained, but better than he expected.

“Harry?” Remus’ voice is gruff, and his eyebrow lifts in a half hearted question.

“Sit down here, are you hungry or thirsty?” Harry pats the spot beside him without answering the other man’s questioning gaze.

“Positively ravenous.” Remus smirks half-heartedly as shuffles over and falls onto the couch without pausing to stop his descent. Harry looks over at him with a soft expression.

“Stay here.” Harry is up and preparing a plate, before Remus has the opportunity to protest, although truthfully he’s exhausted and it’s nice to have someone offering to do these things for him while he’s in this state.

Normally Remus survives on whatever he can eat and drink easily in the days after the full moon. Sometimes he stashes granola bars, and bottles of water nearby so that he doesn’t have to exert much energy.

Harry returns with an overflowing plate in one hand and a cup of tea balanced carefully atop a saucer in the other. His smile is wide, and he’s crowding Remus on the couch in a way that is warm and comforting. Remus rushes through his first cup of tea, and scarfs down half of his plate of food with a speed that he might normally be embarrassed by, but Harry swiftly refills his tea and encourages him to eat the rest of his meal. “Go on, your body needs the calories and the fuel to recover.”

“Isn’t that usually my line?” Remus accepts the warm cup, and lifts the rim to his mouth.

“There is enough room for both of us to look after one another, isn’t there?” Harry’s voice lifts as he speaks and his fingers drum nervously against his knee. Remus takes a closer look at Harry, trying to figure out what is going on behind those brilliant eyes of his.

“Of course, you’re right. I was only teasing. I haven’t properly thanked you for everything you did last night and this morning. Yet here you are caring for me again, I’m not used to the attention.” His voice is raspy, and soft, but the emotion behind the words is clear. Harry’s hand crosses the slight space between them, and inches closer to Remus’ knee, trembling slightly as he makes contact.

He smooths his hand over the soft material of Remus’ sleep pants, aiming for a reassuring pressure against his leg. “Looking after you comes naturally. I can’t imagine looking the other way, when I’d rather be right here beside you.”

Remus has a sudden sense of the world tilting, leaving him off-balance and dizzy. Harry’s hand is a distracting heat, his words a sincere acknowledgement of their growing importance in each other’s lives, and he feels as though he can’t catch a full breath in the wake of the moment.

“I echo those sentiments. Thank you, Harry.” Remus has to choke back the emotion rising in his throat, threatening to cause tears to well up in his eyes. He tries to switch gears, drawing his attention back to the glaring change in the seating options in the room. “What have you done to my chair? Is this some sort of prank?” He tries to put some energy and teasing into the question, but his voice is tired.

Harry smiles fondly, and speaks with excitement evident. “Hermione’s gift to me was the inspiration behind that.” He waves his hand toward the weird looking table that takes up the space where his chair typically resides. “It’s a massage table! She gifted me a salve for sore muscles. It’s got Arnica, Peppermint, Cayenne Pepper, Rosemary, and Lavender. Apparently it helps soothe aches and pains, without any magic at all.” Harry’s eyes light up as he describes the cream.

“I’m still confused…” Remus thinks he understands what Harry is saying, but he needs clarification because his mind is running a marathon trying to figure out a way to avoid what Harry is proposing.

“The book she gave me has diagrams on pressure points that are especially effective for easing the suffering your body goes through during the transformation. I thought it might be nice to see if it actually helps?” Harry is so hopeful and optimistic that Remus can’t find it in himself to argue the point, or try to dissuade him from his plan.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Is Remus’ feeble attempt at turning Harry away from this undertaking.

“Of course, I’ve been reading about the techniques every night before bed. I just want to help you hurt less, and heal faster.” Harry’s hand squeezes his knee, drawing his attention back to the warmth where they are connected and Remus curses himself internally.

Fuck.

“What do I need to do?” Remus gives in, and immediately his heart thumps harder in his chest. He shouldn’t be so thrilled at the prospect of having Harry’s hands on his body, but he’s too weak to stop this.

“Oh good! Do you have any soft shorts? I need access to as much of you as possible, so I can rub the ointment into your bare skin.”

“Oh, um…yeah. Maybe?” Remus falters over the words, his mind backpedalling at the thought.

“Go on then, get changed. The sooner we start the sooner you can get some relief. Hopefully, that is. If I’m any good at this, and don’t somehow manage to make things worse.” Harry chuckles light heartedly, and despite the self deprecation–or perhaps because of it, Remus is less apprehensive and more intrigued.

— — — — —

Remus is laying on his stomach, his face planted firmly inside the ring Harry directed him to rest his head in. Harry’s put on some soft music, the fire has been fed well, and the air is warm even to his bare skin.

“Are you comfortable?” Harry asks from somewhere near his shoulder.

“Yeah, it’s a bit weird, but not uncomfortable.” Remus relays his thoughts to the man he’s grown to trust with almost every part of himself.

“I’m going to start with your feet, and work my way up your legs.” Harry is further away, and Remus has a strong urge to lift his head so that he can be prepared for what is about to happen. He focuses his attention to the stone floor, and his eyes search for any interesting patterns or shapes he might discern.

Harry’s hand grabs hold of him. The touch is strong and sure, and two thumbs begin following along the arch of his foot, working in a steady motion over some invisible line in the muscles there. Remus almost groans in pleasure, he’s never had anyone touch his feet– let alone massage them with intent.

Harry is in his own world, thinking through every motion he’s worked so hard to memorise over the past week. He plots each swipe of his hands in his mind before he moves, the focus helping him to ignore the rest of the body on display below him. He takes his time, pressing firmly into several spots and holding until he feels the muscles release.

Remus is groaning out loud now. Whatever Harry is doing hurts, creating burning pain with slow compression into tender spots, and then soothing the ache with gentle strokes over the afflicted areas. He feels twitchy underneath the careful ministrations, his body attempting to pull away from the pain, but relaxing with each effective release.

Harry’s hands move up to calf muscles that are tense and well defined. One muscle is sitting on top of the other, and he can clearly follow the curve of each through the layer of skin, and light brown hair. His mind is no longer sufficiently distracted by the steps he needs to complete, and his eyes are drawn to the ring of fabric around Remus’ knees. His fingers itch to travel underneath the material and seek out the soft skin hidden from view. As he digs into the tendons at the back of Remus’ knee the urge to place his lips where his fingers are nearly overtakes him.

Harry licks his lips in anticipation of what it would feel like to press his mouth to the tender flesh. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, and between his teeth, imagining he is sucking kisses into the pale, rosy skin.

Remus’ shoulders relax into the table, his body melting under Harry’s methodical movements. His eyes drift closed and he’s less aware of the noises he’s making. He’s given himself over to Harry’s touch. Every caress breaks down a piece of the wall he’s built around himself. Harry is systematically tearing away his resistance to the tension blooming between them. He cannot deny it any longer, he wants Harry.

Harry lifts his hands to skip over Remus’ arse. There are some pressure points located there. He is sure it would feel good to have someone dig into and knead them out, but he doesn’t want to push his luck. His hands touch back down at the base of Remus’ spine and his mouth is salivating at the large expanse of skin available for him to roam over. He moves so that he can use his forearms to roll out the larger muscles over the shoulder blades and ribs.

The sound that escapes Remus when Harry uses his knuckles down his neck and into shoulders is sinfully low and rough like a growl. Warmth tickles through Harry’s abdomen and his breathing becomes laboured in an effort to calm himself. He finds the opening in Remus’ collar bone and he presses in with both thumbs on either side, holding the position for over a minute.

Remus is in agony, his breath is coming in short pants, and his hands are tensed into fists at his sides.

“Relax. Try to breathe through the pain and it will be over soon.” Harry’s voice is right there by his ear, low and calm.

“Easy for you to say. It. Burns.” Remus is gritting his teeth as he speaks.

“I’ve seen you handle worse, you’ve got this.” Harry soothes with his words and his fingers, finally releasing the death grip he has on the bundle of nerves in Remus’ shoulders. He strokes downward over the sore spot, adding additional salve as he continues, easing the burning sensation.

Remus breathes in through his nose slowly inflating his lungs as much as possible, before exhaling even more slowly in an effort to ease the pain. After a few more moments Harry’s hands disappear from his body.

“I need you to turn over for the last little bit.”

Remus pushes up onto his elbows, and flips onto his back. Using the opportunity to seek out Harry, and he’s never been happier to lay eyes on the young man. “I already feel so much better, it hurts, but then it feels nice and relaxed.” Remus watches as Harry’s face lights up at his comments, a satisfied smile coming to rest on his face.

“Only a few more spots left. Try not to tighten your muscles.” Harry gives him a stern look, and is dipping his fingers into the glass jar, and moves to press his hands to Remus’ biceps.

Being able to watch is a double edged sword, and Remus closes his eyes against the sight of the beautiful young man concentrating so hard that his tongue is peeking out from between his lips. Doing so allows him to fully focus on each slide of the hands on his arm.

When Harry reaches down to his right hand and presses their palms together, interlocking their fingers, Remus’ heart skips a beat. His hand is sparking with electricity, each slide of skin against skin feels bigger and more intimate than it should. The sensitive nerve endings in his fingers are attuned to every press and glide, it’s causing heat to pool between his legs–and he’s worrying about blood rushing there as well. Harry rocks his hand, fingers tightened so that Remus’ own don’t slide out and he tugs and shakes until his hand is loose and limp.

Harry blinks down at where his hand is intertwined with Remus’. He slides their palms back and forth again before loosening his grip and moving to the other side of the table and repeating the process.

He allows his eyes to fixate on Remus’ belly, and the line of hair trailing up from his shorts to his navel. He reaches out to touch the softness there, letting his fingers explore that line, up over his belly button, continuing up to the gentle curve of his ribs and chest. There are no points to massage here, but he can’t keep his hands to himself. Remus still has his eyes closed, his breathing is shallow and Harry is fascinated at the minute reactions the other man has to his touch.

Remus fights to remain still, Harry veered off track a few moments ago, and his body is alive with sensation. The tentative touch of Harry stroking across his stomach and chest is so light that he can almost tell himself he’s imagining it. He wants it to be real though, wishes desperately for it to continue, so he breathes shakily and keeps his eyes screwed shut.

Harry doesn’t know what’s come over him, but he cannot bring himself to pull away and tell Remus he’s done. His eyes are glued to the man laying in front of him, his fingers seeking out all of the faded–slick scars that crisscross Remus’ chest. His fingers graze over a scar on his bottom rib, as long and wide as his pinky, and without thought he bends to press a soft kiss there.

His lips burn at the contact, the difference in texture is more than he could have imagined, and he wants to repeat the feeling. His fingers find another scar a little higher up and he presses his lips to the flesh, this time allowing them to linger for a second longer as he absorbs the shock of his own actions.

His fingers have skated up to a crease in the skin near the base of Remus' neck, and he hesitates for a moment. His eyes flicker up to Remus’ face, the older man’s eyes are closed, and his mouth is parted slightly. Harry licks his lips in anticipation and presses an open mouth kiss there, he’s strongly tempted to suck the flesh into his mouth, but he pulls away when Remus inhales sharply.

Harry’s eyes are wide and he is held captive by Remus’ amber stare. The other man is looking at him with a burning intensity and Harry dips his gaze down to pouty, pink lips. Time freezes as he stares at Remus, wanting to kiss the other man more than he wants to take his next breath, yet terrified of actually taking the risk. His brain feeds into his fear, providing him with the image of Remus pushing him away in disgust.

Remus’ heart is pounding painfully in his rib cage, and he can hardly think over the blood rushing in his ears. He wants to leap off the table and back the younger man against a wall. He can picture the ensuing kisses with clarity, and it short circuits his brain temporarily.

Remus won’t make the first move. He refuses to put any untoward pressure on the younger man. That had been his reason for remaining silent as Harry kissed his way up his chest. However, the final touch of lips to the base of his neck had caused him to suck in the oxygen he’d deprived himself of during the other two.

Harry is looking at him with hungry eyes, and it’s more than he can take. He’s gotta break the tension somehow. He pushes up to a sitting position, swinging his legs over the edge of the table as he does so. Harry shifts in tandem with him, mirroring his movement to stand in front of him. Both men remain quiet, eyes locked on one another, the sound of their breathing the only thing between them until Remus speaks.

“Where’s that famous bravery, little lion?” Remus taunts lightly, waiting to see Harry’s reaction.

He doesn’t have to wait long, because in the blink of an eye Harry is stepping forward, and their eyes close in sync just before their lips slide together.

The kiss is more than Harry could have imagined. Remus’ lips are hot–literally warmer than his own, and it’s an exquisite torture. Harry’s hands grip Remus’ hair and pull his face closer as their lips slip and part in a tantalising dance that has Harry wanting to close the distance between their bodies.

Remus moans into the contact, his hands reaching out to hold onto Harry’s waist and he delights when Harry takes advantage of the opportunity to tease his tongue into his mouth. Perfect. The younger man greedily sucks and nibbles his way into a deeper kiss and Remus acquiesces readily, opening his mouth wider to allow him greater access.

Harry is a man starved, the tension of the past few weeks has finally led to this and he’s pressing between Remus’ knees, and kissing him for all he’s worth. Their lips move in a frantic back and forth, and one of his hands drops to touch the bare skin of Remus’ back without conscious thought.

Remus tastes of strawberry preserves, and spiced biscuits, and Harry wants to savour every last drop. Harry’s making soft noises in the back of his throat with each slide of their lips, and he has to break free to catch his breath. Panting, he continues moving his hand in gentle circles over Remus’ back. His eyes open, searching for a response from the older man.

Remus is dazed and blissed out from the kiss, and it’s all the reassurance Harry needs. Harry moves his hand from the hair at the nape of Remus’ neck and cups his jaw sweetly, allowing his thumb to trace over his jaw bone. His brain works to memorise the moment, etching the heat and tenderness of it into the recesses of his mind to pull out and examine later.

“Was that brave enough for you?” Harry smirks into the words, and Remus cannot help the bark of laughter that bursts forth from his chest.

“You’ve always excelled at that particular house trait, and that was no exception.” Remus’ hands are still resting lightly on his hips, not gripping or applying pressure, and yet the touch is compelling and intimate.

Harry angles his head and leans in to slot their lips together again, this time leisurely moving his hands and lips in a slow dance with Remus. His desire is no less throbbing, but he is focused on the feel of Remus’ lips as they spread and part for him. The depth and softness beneath his own is tantalising and he allows his movements to slow even more, his nerve endings light up with every graze of their damp, sensitive skin against each other.

Harry’s head feels swimmy, like he could do this for the rest of time. Pressing and sliding, advancing and retreating. His hands stroking slowly over the body he’s explored and held, and been held by, in every way that matters except for this. Remus is surprisingly pliant, letting Harry set the pace, and it pulls him back to Earth a bit as soon as the thought strikes him.

He breaks the kiss, panting softer this time, but no less needy. He just wants, wants to experience everything, wants Remus to take charge and teach him everything he needs to know. He’s desperate for guidance, and touch, and a way to quench the fire burning through him after the hottest fucking kisses he’s ever experienced. Every other kiss he’s been a part of has been unpleasant. They’ve been too wet, or too much like kissing a family member, and never have they caused heat to build to a fever pitch until he feels ready to combust. Harry is practically shaking with the desire to beg Remus to help take care of his swollen cock.

— — — — —

For once in his life Remus is thankful that it’s the day after the full moon. His body is exhausted and sore. Slightly more relaxed from the thoughtful and well executed massage Harry had just given him, but he’s incapable of doing all the things that have been running through his dreams lately. If Harry had kissed him yesterday, they would have been halfway to bed already, with the wolf leading the way. And that is not how he wants his first time with Harry to happen.

He lifts his head to the stone ceiling, eyes unseeing, trying to collect his thoughts. He hasn’t ever let them stray to anything quite so scandalous as having Harry nude beneath him, but now that the possibility is there he finds he is unable to prevent himself from pausing to consider it. He would like nothing more than to give Harry every bit of pleasure available to him, and to have Harry explore and seek out things that he finds exciting, but he cannot rush into that–for both their sakes.

After a short time, he brings his eyes back to Harry’s face, making note of the look of arousal in his eyes. His own face reflects the feeling, he’s sure of it. He musters the strength to wrap both of his hands around Harry’s face, holding him steady as he speaks. “Harry, that was wonderful. It was more than that. And, I’d really like to do that again, often…” Here he falters, at a loss for words.

“Ditto.” Harry mumbles the word, then continues with slightly more volume. “Been wanting to do that for a while now.” Remus feels Harry hum softly, as if he has more to say, but instead he stops.

Harry’s hands are still on him, smoothing over his skin in a steady movement. The touch is comforting, and Remus leans forward to rest his forehead against Harry’s, exhaustion slipping down his spine without warning. Remus’ mind is blurry with bliss, and a strong sense of everything being right in the world. He doesn’t have the energy to have the conversation they need to have, but he’s not concerned about that right now. He is simply enjoying the reassuring touch of Harry’s hands on his back.

Their eyes are locked together, the brightest green meeting golden amber, both intense in their own way. Their breathing slows until both men have regained a normal cadence, unhurried and mingling in soft puffs across each other's cheeks. The intimacy of the moment is welcoming, holding them fast together in a world of their own making.

They stay like that for an unknown time, letting the newness wash over them in waves, each man lost in his own thoughts until Remus recognizes his own drooping eyelids. “Let’s move this to the couch?” He makes it a question, but Harry is already increasing the space between them.

Remus allows Harry to take hold of his wrists, releasing his grip on Harry’s face in the process, and is pulled gently to a standing position. They settle into the couch, Remus pressed into the corner where the armrest and the backrest meet. Harry is curled against his chest, wedged neatly between his legs.

They fall into each other with soft caresses, steadying hands, and fingers brushed through wayward locks. This isn’t the torrential flood of a damn burst open, it’s the cuddling of a rainy Sunday morning. It’s sweet and tender, and nothing more intense than the press of lips against foreheads and cheeks. It is kisses brushed across knuckles and palms. Remus dozes after just a few minutes, and Harry is content to rest in the embrace of his arms and legs.

When Remus wakes a few hours later, he’s groggy and it takes him a moment to remember where he is and with who. When it comes back to him he smiles widely, and speaks. “Harry?”

“Yes?”

“You distracted me, before I could tell you how absolutely brilliant that massage was.” The words are spoken against the younger man’s untamed hair.

“I distracted you?” The tone is overly innocent and teasing.

Cheeky brat. Remus huffs out a laugh. “In the best possible way.”

“It was at that.” Harry speaks and Remus can feel the self-satisfaction rolling off him, and he chuckles in response.

“Do you have any interest in ordering up some food? I could do with a bit of a stretch and some nourishment.”  Remus shifts in the limited confines of the couch, wrapping his arms more firmly around Harry’s waist and squeezing him tightly.

Harry groans at the increased pressure and yelps. “I’ve had to use the loo for over an hour, but I didn’t want to wake you.”

The response is immediate, Remus drops his arms and pushes Harry to standing. “Go on, I can manage a firecall while you sort that out.”

The rest of the day is lazy and passes by in the blink of an eye. They eat a late lunch, quietly discussing the recent change to their relationship. Remus is relieved when Harry accepts that they need to move slowly, that Remus isn’t ready to jump in full steam ahead, and that for the next few weeks they need to focus on Harry’s recovery.

Remus is shocked by a question near the end of their meal. Harry stops eating and levels him with a serious gaze. “Is it okay if my friends know about us?” The words are slow and shy, despite the intense eye contact.

“Of course! This is not some illicit affair…you are welcome to share our relationship with whomever you want. Did you think this was a secret?” Remus asks with a soft sincerity, eyes beseeching Harry.

“I dunno, I thought maybe you’d prefer to keep it private.” Harry’s fork pushes his food around on his plate.

“I’m only interested in protecting your privacy to whatever degree you want it protected. It is your life that is unduly scrutinised. I support your decision fully, no matter what.” Remus reaches tentative fingers across the table to trace a small line across the back of Harry’s knuckles. Thankful to see the slight smile playing on his lips in response to the answer, or the touch.

“I’m not ashamed of my feelings for you. In fact….”Harry’s voice trails off and a small blush spreads over the bridge of his nose and over his cheek bones.

“In fact, what?” Remus cannot help the urge to pry into the meaning behind the younger man’s half finished statement.

“All of my friends have been cheering this on. Encouraging me to explore our relationship. At my own pace, and without any real pressure, but matchmaking nonetheless. Hermione and Ron in particular.” At this Harry smiles broadly, looking carefree and unencumbered by his past.

Remus’ chest clenches in a way that feels significant, and yet he fears giving too much weight to such a new and fragile thing. Instead he smiles, and lifts his voice in answer. “Mine too if I’m being honest. It seems I’ve worn my heart on my sleeve in front of one too many people.”

Harry’s eyes go comically wide, enhanced by his spectacles, and Remus laughs briefly at the expression on his face. He feels more joyful than he can remember, and he wishes he could wrap this happiness around himself like a cloak.

“Who?” Is Harry’s only verbal acknowledgement of his statement, and Remus takes pity on him.

“Minerva and Severus. The only two who are aware of our unique circumstances. Minerva in particular has been vocal about her approval, surprising as that may be.” Remus lifts his eyebrow in a show of his own disbelief, and he delights when Harry grins back freely.

They finish eating, and Harry returns the leather armchair to its original shape. In spite of the newly returned seating option, Remus and Harry find themselves curled up on the settee. They spend the rest of the day reading and relaxing. Stealing chaste kisses, and holding hands with all of the fervour of a couple finally sure of their welcome in such a gesture.

— — — — —

Before either one is ready for the day to be over, it’s time for Harry to take his allocated dose of dreamless sleeping draught.

They both do their best to pretend as though the moment is not significant, however Harry’s nerves are evident, and Remus cannot help but to wrap his arms around the younger man. His grip is tight, without being suffocating, and he speaks reassuringly. “I’m here, Harry.” A pause, and a deep inhale of the sweet fragrance of Harry. “You’re not alone, my brave little lion.” 

The possessive growl that has been growing in intensity over the past month is shockingly quiet in light of the recent changes in their relationship. Remus dwells on the thought for a fleeting moment, then recognizes that the wolf is content in a way he’s never experienced in his life.

Harry’s body melts into him at the words, and Remus feels a swell of pride at being the one comforting Harry. He feels the buzz of holding Harry close and breathing him in, the knowledge of their shared kisses only increasing the wobbly feeling that threatens to overtake him.

Harry beams under the affection. He takes in Remus’ familiar and stirring timbre, before he recognizes the use of the newest pet name. It causes him to tilt his head back so that he can see Remus’ face. He has an overwhelming urge to see for himself if Remus is being serious, or if he is speaking without thought to the effect his words have on Harry.

When Harry moves enough to see Remus face, he is sure that Remus isn’t using the words lightly, the older man is looking down at him as though he is precious. He looks protective, and fond, and Harry cannot keep his mouth from making Remus aware of his feelings. “I like when you call me yours.” The words tumble from his mouth without his brain having time to pick them apart and prevent him from admitting to them.

“Mmm” The sound is a low rumble as it passes through Remus, and his eyes take on a predatory gleam as they narrow onto Harry’s face. “Is that so?” Remus purrs the question and Harry’s insides quickly liquify and twist violently.

Harry nods, unable to form an answer. His tongue is useless inside of his mouth at the sudden shift in Remus. The man is practically vibrating with an intensity that makes Harry feel small, cherished, and incredibly wanted.

“You’re mine. Do you understand that, little lion?” Remus leans down, centimetres away from Harry’s face, a feral air about him. Harry fights to swallow around the lump in his throat, every nerve ending is on edge, as he anxiously waits to see if Remus is going to close the distance between them.

A moment later Remus presses a searing kiss to his lips, teeth nipping and biting at his bottom lip with practised precision. This isn’t frantic or frenzied, instead it feels like a calculated attack, and Harry’s arching up into the kiss with abandon. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’s aware that he is making soft noises, grunting and moaning with each movement of their lips against each other.

Remus’ arms are wrapped firmly around his shoulders and mid back, and with a swift tightening of his grip and a backwards lean, he is pulling Harry flush against him while also lifting him slightly until only the tips of his toes are touching the floor.

Fuck, if that isn’t hot.

Harry is overwhelmed by how quickly Remus has resumed the heat of their earlier kisses, and he gives himself over to the experience without any reservations, his body responding by rocking and grinding up into the touch of Remus’ body against his. Dimly he feels a flicker of embarrassment at his neediness, but it’s quashed by Remus gripping him tighter and then releasing him as quickly as it all started.

“Fuck…” Remus curses with a soft exhalation. His mouth is a shiny red invitation to re-initiate the kiss he’d just ended, and Harry wants to– more than anything else. He is leaning up to do just that when Remus places his outstretched hand flat against Harry’s chest.

“I want to. Merlin, I want to, Harry…but now isn’t the time.” Remus keeps a steady pressure on his chest, and his face says more than his words can. Written on his features is the flush of arousal, regret over having to halt their physical closeness, and a remnant of that same untamed energy from before.

Harry groans inwardly at the gentle dismissal, his head understanding the reasoning behind it, his body yearning for release. “I might need to slip off to my room.” Harry breathes the statement, shame pooling in him as the words slip from him without his permission.

Remus inhales sharply, his expression changing as the comment registers. He leans down, close to Harry’s ear and speaks in an urgent and authoritative tone. “Yes…go to your room…be a good boy, and think of me while you take care of yourself.”

A thrill shoots down Harry’s neck, raising the hair along his arm as it continues to burn down to the base of his spine. He shudders and takes a shaky breath in an attempt to control his reaction to the salacious command. For that is exactly what it is, a command he is desperate to obey.

Remus hasn’t pulled away, his warm breath still moves across Harry’s ear–and lower, over the sensitive skin of his neck. Time stands still. Harry is throbbing, his heart beating wildly in his chest, his breathing shallow and faster than normal. He can feel the heat where their cheeks are almost touching. His brain is scrambled, but he responds anyway. “Yes, sir.”

Remus pulls away, an absolutely wicked smile lighting up his face. This time when he speaks, his eyes are locked onto Harry’s face. “Sleep well, I will see you in the morning.” He pulls Harry in for the briefest embrace before he’s turning on his heel and crossing the room.

— — — — —

Remus stalks his way to his room, berating himself for his lack of self-control. The image of Harry breathing heavily is still fresh in his mind, and the desire to turn around and act on his base impulses is strong. He manages to make it to his room, and shuts the door with a soft thud.

Harry’s eyes follow the path of the other man’s retreating figure, his hand slipping down to press firmly against his erection in an attempt to stave off his need for release. It’s only partially effective, and Harry waits just a beat before trailing behind to his own room–the vial of potion in hand to take before bed.

Chapter Text

The next week passes by in the pleasant haze of a newly developing relationship. Harry spends as much time as possible soaking up the warmth and easy affection Remus offers him so readily. He absorbs physical touch like a man being fed chocolate for the first time after a life spent without. They continue on in their teasing, reading, playing dominoes, and listening to music. The conversations are still lively at times, quiet and thoughtful at others.

Harry doesn’t pressure Remus for more than the arm wrapped around his shoulders while they are seated on the couch beside each other. The forehead kisses before he takes his potion each night become something he looks forward to with growing fondness.

Less than a handful of times, Remus pulls him into a languid kiss, allowing his mouth to open and his tongue and teeth to become involved. All of these instances happen when they are standing, well away from the temptation of the settee. Remus understands that the tangle of limbs and easy access to a horizontal surface is a recipe for disaster. Somehow he manages to make these moments feel like perfect interludes, instead of poor substitutes for what they both want.

All too soon, they are a week into the taper, and Harry is struggling to get more than five hours of sleep per night. The rest of the students are due back tomorrow, and Harry looks forward to seeing his friends. Letters are great, but certain things need to be shared face to face.

Harry is curled into Remus, head pressed to the other man’s chest, listening to his heartbeat thump regularly in a soothing beat. This is Harry’s favourite spot to be, apart from more heated embraces. “Hey…” He starts speaking, and waits for Remus to acknowledge him.

“Yes?” A soft lilt in his voice and his hands dropping the book he’s holding to the armrest let Harry know he’s got the man’s full attention.

“Everyone comes back tomorrow.”

“They do. What of it, my lion?” His voice remains gentle as he questions the importance of the statement.

“Am I allowed to invite my friends up?” Harry is hesitant, unsure of the protocol now that his room is within Remus’ private quarters.

“Is that what you’re worried about? Oh Harry, of course you can invite your friends, within reason of course…8th years only please, as it wouldn’t be appropriate for students to be in my private rooms. Otherwise, you may come and go as you please until we begin the next stage in the detox process.” Here he pauses and brushes his fingers through Harry’s hair in a calming gesture. “Speaking of which, how are you holding up?”

Harry takes a moment to really assess how he’s doing with his sub-optimal sleep habits the past few days. Previously, he would have answered without thinking, offering up a perfunctory ‘fine’ instead of giving an honest answer.

“I’m still getting at least a half night of sleep… One week like this isn’t enough to affect me. I still feel like myself for the time being. Although, the extra cuddles and affection might also be helping.” Harry tilts his head to grin up at Remus with the last part of his response, and is met with an answering smirk and raised eyebrow from the older man.

“Is that a fact?”

“I’d have to do more extensive testing to confirm my theory, but anecdotally it appears to be true…” Harry can’t hold the semi-serious face he has, and devolves into a fit of laughter. Remus encourages the action by tickling gently around Harry’s ribs, until Harry calls for a cease fire. “Stop, stop…I surrender!” Harry laughs heartily, twisting in Remus’ lap once his hands still and smooth over his back.

“Mmm, I have so enjoyed these past couple of weeks, while the castle has been quiet. Have I told you just how much you mean to me?” Remus’ eyes are dancing, and Harry feels himself falling into the depth of the gold intensity within.

“You show me. Every day with the gentle way you hold me, and the tender way you treat me.” Harry responds with breathtaking honesty. “You, Remus Lupin, would be a terrible poker player.” He finishes, teasing as a way of keeping the mood from getting too sappy.

Harry is the kind of person prone to making sweeping statements, committing to the cause with his whole heart and refusing to back down. If he isn’t careful he’ll say or do something that puts both of them into the awkward position of having to face things that are better left for another time, after he is fully recovered.

Remus’ heart expands in his chest, grateful that Harry feels his love. He has only ever wanted to care for Harry, and although the hows and whys have changed recently, he’s glad to know that Harry is receiving it well. It’s happened so naturally, so unexpectedly, that at times Remus worries Harry is going to wake up one day and realise the mistake he’s made.

Remus does his best to push those thoughts away, trying to draw on the feel of Harry leaning halfway into his lap. The weight of Harry’s upper body pressed against his chest is grounding, bringing him back into the present, drawing him down into the reality of his life. He is reassured by the continued stare from the young man as his own thoughts have strayed.

“Looks like you got lost there for a bit…everything okay?” Harry questions him, reaching a hand up to cup his cheek and stroke a thumb across his face in a caress.

“Better than okay. I was just thinking about how lucky I am.” Remus turns his face to press his lips against Harry’s palm. Inhaling deeply, drawing in the scent of Harry’s warmth mingling with his own. He keeps his lips pressed to the skin there, allowing them to linger for a long moment before closing the kiss with an overly drawn out wet smacking noise. “I’ll have you know I’m an excellent poker player, by the way. I’m sure you remember my bluff during our dual. However, in matters of the heart I have no need to hide my true intentions.”

As he says the words, Remus grips Harry around the waist and pulls him more fully into him. Harry slides into place with an exhale and a wriggle, moving in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. Remus slides his arm under Harry’s legs, and one around his back–cradling him in his lap so that he can better see Harry’s face.

“Does it ever bother you?” Harry asks the question with no other context, and no clues as to what he is referring to.

“What’s this now?” Remus watches Harry, knowing the young man will soon get to the heart of the matter, even if it does take him some time to get around to whatever is bothering him.

“Holding me like this? My constant need to be touched?”

“We haven’t talked much about what you need from me. I’ve simply been holding you and touching you because I am glad to finally be free to do so. Harry, you are allowed to ask me for anything that you need, and if it is within my power I will gladly do it.”

“I need this. I never knew how desperately I needed to have someone hold me and care for me, until you began doing so. Before I ever knew I wanted more than friendship from you, I knew I enjoyed being wrapped in your arms.” Harry’s hands dance over the collar of Remus’ shirt, fidgeting nervously with the admission.

“That’s very brave of you to admit, and I agree wholeheartedly Harry. Back when I was still fighting my growing feelings for you I constantly wanted to scoop you up, just like this. You can always tell me what you want.”

“Even if it’s weird?” Harry’s eyes have dropped to where his fingers play with the fabric.

“Especially if it’s weird.” Remus jokes easily, to lighten the mood, but continues on more seriously. “There’s no rush of course, but I hope you feel safe talking to me about anything.”

“Of course I feel safe talking to you. There is no one else I could possibly talk to about this, I’m just not ready to go into the particulars.” Harry’s cheeks have taken on a sweet blush, his lip is pulled between his teeth as he is wont to do when he’s lost in thought or worry, and Remus’ heart thumps painfully in his chest at the entirety of the moment.

If someone told me I would end up here a year ago, I would have called them a liar.

“I’ll be here when you find the words to tell me whatever it is. Chances are fairly good that it’s no weirder than some of the things I enjoy.” Remus hedges around the heart of the matter, knowing that if things work out well between them that he has more than enough time to worry about these sorts of talks in the future. That cliche about not running before you walk comes to mind, and it seems to apply to the current situation better than any he’s experienced in his life up to now.

— — — — —

“Harry!” Hermione yells out from across the dining hall waving her arms frantically as if he can’t see her. Harry moves quickly through the crowded room, and makes his way to the table where all of his friends are about to sit down for dinner.

“Hey! How was the break?” Harry asks the group gathered, and then sits silently as they all jump in with their own tales and comments about their holiday.

It doesn’t take long for Harry to notice that the pairs his friends had grouped themselves into had survived two weeks away from the castle and it made him happy to see the shared glances and completed sentences between them. 

He settles in at the table in an empty spot between Neville and Hermione.

Ron and Luna went ice-skating on the pond near the Burrow, and Ron had fallen in after failing to ensure the ice was thick enough in one spot. Ron regaled them with the story of his recovery and Harry laughed along with the group at the dramatic re-telling.

Hermione and Draco had enjoyed time with his mom, and Hermione was thrilled to share all about some books she’d been allowed to borrow from the Malfoy library. Draco smiled and nodded indulgently as he answered her prompts for him to tell their friends obscure details of the history of several of the ancient tomes.

Pansy and Neville had been the last couple Harry finally took notice of, but that was due to a blatant lack of PDA between the rather shy couple. It was only after Neville told the story of his grandmother finally having something kind to say about his choices that Harry put the pieces together. His eyes had gone a little wide and he elbowed his friend by way of acknowledging the moment.

“Now it’s your turn to tell us all about how you survived two weeks holed up in the castle. Did anything interesting happen?” Hermione’s face can barely contain her need to know every detail, and she leans towards Harry with an intense look.

“Nothing much to tell…” Harry attempts to brush off the request, knowing already it is a losing battle.

“Harry James Potter! I don’t believe for one second that you don’t have anything at all to tell us. Don’t hold out now, we’ll just wheedle you in the common room until we find out.” Hermione affects her most stern tone of voice and crosses her arms over her chest in a huff.

Harry can’t help the laugh that escapes him, some things never change, and Hermione’s face settles into a scowl. “Okay, okay.” Harry casts a quick privacy bubble around the small table and still speaks quietly as though he might be overheard. “I might as well tell you, since I won’t be coming back to the 8th year dorms tonight.”

“What?” The exclamation comes from Ron who is looking at him with a look of worry and uncertainty. “Why not?”

“The castle did some redecorating while you were away. It seems I’ll need close supervision during the detox and a room was added to Remus’ private quarters. I’ve been staying there already.” Harry answers the question he’s been asked without offering any further information, but Draco is already looking at him with a knowing smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“Been enjoying the close proximity there, Potter?” Draco uses his last name in a ribbing manner, and Harry shoots him a pointed look. He’s starting to wonder if Hermione has encouraged or even told Draco to help her drag information out of Harry.

“Not that it’s anyone’s business, but yes, I’ve been enjoying the opportunity to spend more time with Remus.” Harry still can’t bring himself to spell it all out for his friends, but they are laughing and nudging him, and he’s happy that they are taking it so well. Neville offers a final comment on the situation.

“If that blush is anything to go by, you’re enjoying it quite well.” His face splits into a wide grin and his eyes slide surreptitiously to where Pansy is sitting beside him, a slight flush on his own cheeks.

“Okay, Okay. Enough about me… Back to dinner everyone.” Harry attempts to settle the rowdy crew by waving his hands, and dropping the charm. His eyes catch Remus across the room and Harry feels his cheeks flame even brighter at the knowing smile on the older man’s face.

His attempt at crowd control is readily dismissed and his friends start firing questions at him faster than he can keep up. Finally he holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "I will not discuss this in the great hall where anyone can overhear. If you want to receive an answer to your burning questions you will just have to be patient."

That gets a few boos from the group, but Luna interjects in her insubstantial and lyrical voice, and the table quiets to hear her words. “Your auras appear to be mingling quite well, I foresee a happy future for the two of you.” Her smile is ethereal and her eyes are focused on a spot slightly above his shoulders.

That only gets the table riled up again and the laughter resumes, but it is quieter and more celebratory. After everyone finishes eating and is gathering things to leave, Harry stops Ron and Hermione with a hand on their shoulders. “Want to come up and visit?” He asks hopefully, even though he’s a bit embarrassed at the prospect of the conversation he wants to have with his closest friends.

“With you? Always.” Ron answers quickly and Hermione nods in agreement.

The walk up to Remus’ quarters is filled with more discussion about presents, and Harry uses the opportunity to let his friends in on the gifts Remus had given him, not wanting them to be surprised when they enter his bedroom.

“That’s lovely, Harry. Everybody needs a stuffy! I’ve got a teddy that I sleep with every night.” Hermione smoothes over any nerves he has about the topic of stuffed animals, in the no nonsense way she reserves for issues that might otherwise be uncomfortable or shameful. Harry is grateful as always for her matter of fact tone, but is surprised when Ron pipes up.

“I’ve got a small lovey mum knitted for me when I was just a tot.” The admission is a bit more surprising to Harry, who has shared a room with Ron for years.

“How have I never seen it then?”

“I keep it tucked in my pillow case, until it’s time to go to sleep.” Ron’s cheeks only warm slightly, and Harry is once again surprised by the honesty and vulnerability of his friends.

“You don’t know how much I appreciate the fact that you both shared that with me. I invited you, without thinking about the literal Elephant in my room.” Harry chuckles at his own joke as he pushes open the portrait to the sitting area.

“Hello, so good to see the three of you!” Remus declares with obvious fondness as they enter the room to find him already seated at his desk working on a lesson plan.

“Hey professor.” Ron calls back in response.

“How was your holiday?” Hermione asks, despite hearing Harry’s version of it just minutes before.

“It was wonderful, better than I ever could have expected.” Remus’ eyes follow Harry as he answers and Hermione watches with interest.

“I can’t imagine why…” She trails off with a wry grin, and an elbow to Harry’s side.

“Hey Remus, I’m going to show off my room, then we’ll be out of here.” Harry feels shy around Remus suddenly, desperately wanting to have the other man wrap him in a hug to reassure him, but not sure if Remus would appreciate the gesture. They’ve not discussed anything like that before and Harry hesitates, warring against his own desires and wanting to respect Remus’ personal space.

“There’s no rush, remember that this is your room now too. You are welcome to have friends over.” Remus senses Harry’s discomfort and without thinking he stands and is walking towards Harry.

Harry doesn’t pause in stepping into Remus’ open arms once the other man makes his intent clear. Remus wraps him in a comforting embrace, and folds his head down to press a kiss to the top of Harry’s head.

“Thanks. I needed this.” Harry mumbles into Remus’ chest, squeezing him tightly before allowing his arms to fall to his waist. Ron and Hermione look on with soft gazes at the tenderness between the two men.

“If you need me, I’ll be here working.” Remus offers as they make their way as a group to Harry’s room.

“Although that wasn’t exactly proof positive that things have changed between the two of you, I take that hug to mean that you and Remus have become something ‘more’ than before.” Hermione states as soon as they enter Harry’s bed chamber.

“Observant as ever…” Harry grumbles without any malice, before turning to look at his closest friends with a blush blooming across his face. “That’s what I wanted to talk to both of you about. In private.” He emphasises the final statement.

“Mum’s the word, Harry.” Ron speaks up quickly.

“Yeah, anything you tell us will stay between the three of us.” Hermione inserts a meaningful look, as though she’s hoping for juicy details.

“Does that extend to your new boyfriend, and your new girlfriend?” Harry raises an eyebrow at the two looking at him closely, and watches as their eyes dart to each other as though they’ve been caught. “I’ll take that as confirmation you’ve both shared your thoughts on this with them…” Harry can’t help the small laugh that escapes him. Draco had been entirely too obvious with a few of his looks and statements, and Luna had all but outed him at dinner.

“It was more like sharing what I hoped…”

“She said that without any help from me…”

Both Ron and Hermione speak at the same time and Harry laughs harder at their denials. Nothing is a secret in Hogwarts it seems, although the number of people in on a secret does vary widely. The 8th years as a group are a pretty trustworthy lot, and Harry isn’t concerned about it leaking to the castle at large.

“I’m only teasing. Don’t freak out. I know things like this don’t stay quiet long, I’m just trying to limit the damage for a bit, give it time to see how things go before it becomes cannon fodder for the Daily Prophet.” Harry becomes more serious as he speaks and his friends listen intently, both answering in turn.

“Oh Harry, of course. Draco has even mentioned less than legal ways to ensure the Prophet keeps you off the front pages, and a few legal ways as well.” Hermione looks at Harry with a glint in her eye, and Harry can only imagine the ways Draco might persuade the Prophet to leave him alone. At best he might purchase the newspaper. At worst…well, best not to think too hard about that.

“Luna spotted that all on her own, and she values her friends too much to spread rumours. You’re safe, mate.” Ron responds succinctly, and then offers a quick pat on his shoulder, before he takes in the room. “Whoa, this is a pretty great setup! You’ve got a chair and everything. Not fair, man.” Ron tosses him a look from where he has taken a few steps to run his hand over the backrest of the recliner.

Hermione takes the comment as an opportunity to walk through the room, fingertips touching the bed, and upon finding the book she’d gifted him on the nightstand she exclaims, “You read it!”

“Yeah, uh…I actually owe you a heartfelt thank you for that gift.” Harry looks at Hermione with a shy smile, continuing in a rush, “The section on massage is what gave me the courage to take the next step with Remus.” His cheeks are hot, and he feels the moment both of his friends snap their full attention to him.

“Tell us everything!” Hermione squeaks in her excitement, while Ron simply makes the international hand gesture for Harry to continue.

“Well, um… There isn’t a whole lot to tell.” He kicks his foot against the lip of the rug, curling it up and smoothing it back out in a nervous gesture. He’s always been a bit more private than either of his friends about matters of the heart, and this in particular feels bigger than he knows how to articulate. “After the full moon, I gave him a massage as you not so subtly hinted at with your gifts, Hermione.” Harry rolls his eyes at this, giving Hermione a strong side eye. “When I was done, I just took the leap, and kissed him… He kissed me back, and that’s all we’ve done. He doesn’t want to move too fast, especially with everything going on. So, not much to tell, but I did want my best friends to know.”

In the blink of an eye, Harry is being wrapped up in congratulatory embraces from both sides. Their joy for him is contagious and Harry allows himself to marvel at the blessings in his life. Each day he feels a little bit less haunted by the ghosts of the past, or maybe he’s just better at focusing on the good instead of dwelling in the heartache.

Chapter Text

Classes start back up the following day, and Remus is gone from their rooms during his regularly scheduled class times, leaving Harry with more than enough time to complete his own revisions and reading for his upcoming N.E.W.T.S.

The weekdays pass. Harry is completely off the Sleeping Draughts, and looking and feeling a little more addled by the growing lack of sleep. Friday evening after dinner, Harry finds himself laid out across the couch—with his head resting in Remus’ lap.

Long fingers, comb through Harry’s hair in a repetitive and soothing gesture. Harry’s eyes are locked on the face of the man who continues to take such excellent and tender care of him, despite his own workload, until his lids can no longer fight the weight of staying open. It starts with a slow blink and progresses into his eyes staying closed for long moments– occasionally popping open as if jolted by the fear of missing something important. Finally, he settles into a restless sleep with his face turned into Remus’ soft stomach as a pillow.

Remus keeps his eyes on the sleeping man resting on him, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. After some time, Harry twists violently onto his side, his knees drawing up into his chest as his face presses more firmly into Remus’ midsection. Those strong arms lift up behind Remus’ back and grip tightly to him as though he’s a pillow that can be moulded into a shield for Harry’s face.

Remus’ heart constricts painfully in his chest at the sight. He’s worried about Harry’s ability to breathe far more than the vicious grip on his jumper, but he recalls Severus warning that the next five days are going to be even worse for Harry’s sleep and he tries to relax into the hold so as not to startle the young man awake. He moves one hand to Harry’s back and resumes the movement of his other as a means to further offer a calming touch for him.

The tension seems to fade in stages, first in Harry’s hands flattening across Remus’ spine, then deeper breaths–warm and damp through the fabric of his sweater. Harry’s core takes longer to release the rigid and protective position it has assumed, never fully returning to the lax pre-nightmare sprawl, before consciousness filters into his movements.

The first indication that Harry is dreaming comes a couple of hours after his nap began. Harry starts rubbing his face back and forth into Remus, nuzzling aggressively enough that he pushes Remus’ jumper up– pressing his nose and lips to the bare skin of his navel. Remus freezes in response, hoping that if he doesn’t encourage Harry, the other man might doze back off for a bit longer.

“Mmm” Harry’s moan is quiet, and his lips are mouthing at the soft flesh of Remus’ abdomen, in an uncoordinated movement that still manages to excite Remus more than it should.

Fuck me. Remus thinks, his cock filling with blood as Harry continues his sleepy attack.

The hands at his spine, which were slack with sleep, begin clenching and digging into the muscles of his lower back. Remus groans quietly, attempting to determine the best course of action. He’s just about decided to shake Harry’s shoulder until he wakes when Harry latches a warm, damp mouth to him, and sucks eagerly.

That settles things for him and Remus reaches down to push firmly against Harry until his mouth is dislodged from his stomach. “Harry.” Remus speaks firmly but without any malice.

“Hmm.” The hum is accompanied by another attempt to burrow back against Remus, and Harry's eyes never open.

Remus switches tactics, and scoops Harry up into his arms. He stands and makes his way to Harry’s room, trying to work out how to set him down as he approaches the bed. Still asleep, Harry turns his head into Remus’ neck as he walks and those tantalising lips seek out his skin with growing insistence.

Remus is not so unaffected as he’d like to be, and the sloppy wet kisses are causing him to fully harden beneath his pants. Remus’ grip under Harry’s legs and across his back tightens involuntarily, and the action gives Harry greater access to his throat.

He is in agony. The sensation of Harry’s lips kissing and sucking on the highly erogenous area is incredible, but Harry is asleep and also halfway through his detox. Which makes Remus feel like he is taking advantage of Harry just by allowing it to continue.

Once he is in position to lay Harry down he hesitates, unable to peel back the covers with both hands full of Harry. He lays the sleeping man down on top of the blanket and moves to retrieve a blanket from his own room, but Harry’s arms are wrapped around his neck and they aren’t relaxing.

Remus tries to gently pry those hands from around him, and is met with resistance. “No, don’t go, Daddy.” Harry whines the words against his collarbone, and something twists in his gut. Warmth and liquid flood through him until his neck feels hot, and he’s swallowing instinctively around the spit pooling in his mouth.

Damnit. Remus’ thoughts go into overdrive, first rushing towards the excitement his body is responding with. Followed immediately by a sense that he is intruding on Harry’s private thoughts without permission.

It may not even mean anything. His brain urgently tries to reason. Just because he’s dreaming, and kissing Remus’ neck, and moaning daddy…okay, well, it’s pretty easy to infer what Harry’s thinking. Remus breathes in through his nose, and exhales as slowly as he can manage through his mouth.

He leans down until his chest is applying steady pressure to Harry, pinning his upper body to the bed lightly. Once Harry’s shoulders relax into the mattress he reaches up, once again, to remove Harry’s arms from where they are locked around him. Slowly, holding his breath as he does, he is able to disentangle the younger man.

Remus steps away silently, walking on the balls of his feet towards the door that connects Harry’s to the bathroom.

He returns moments later and carefully lays one of his own blankets overtop Harry and watches him sleep for a long moment, before slipping out.

— — — — —

The hot water pelts down his back with an intensity he reserves for days when he wants to escape his own thoughts. It’s not helping though. His brain is singularly focused on the scene that had just played out.

His cock hangs hard and heavy between his legs, and despite his inner turmoil he grips it firmly at the base. Thoughts of the past week filter through him and he allows himself to focus on their kisses and gentle cuddles— as he strokes himself with lazy pumps.

He and Harry have entered into a relationship, and he no longer feels regret wanking to thoughts of the younger man. He does, however, have some qualms about the most recent turn of events and the level of arousal it's incited within him. He'd nearly fallen upon Harry like a starved man just moments ago, and he's thankful that he managed to make it out of the room without acting on his desires.

His speed picks up, hand twisting on the up stroke and his hips thrust into his fist with purpose now. He’s not going to last long, this week has been a master class in sexual tension, and he’s masturbated more during these past six days than he has in months.

Remus stretches out his other hand for support against the wall in front of him. He hunches over, body curling in on itself as the pleasure builds low in his abdomen, his chin resting on his chest. His pace becomes erratic, the water hitting his neck drawing his mind to the sucking kisses Harry had placed there, and he comes violently with a soft "daddy" echoing in his mind.

— — — — —

Remus wakes early, the sound of rushing water coming from the bathroom signalling that Harry is in the bath. He groans quietly and rolls over, unease taking hold of his emotions. He sighs and decides to face the day head on. Even if he has absolutely no intention of facing the events of the previous night in any capacity.

Remus plods down the dim hallway, ordering up the now familiar breakfast for Harry and himself to enjoy. While waiting, he reads over his notes from Severus about the next stage, pausing and re-reading several times, as though that might make it easier to manage.

With exceeding care, he gathers the vial that Harry is to take with his meal and brings it to the table. The sight of the detox tonic washes away the previous night’s encounter and leaves him feeling queasy in solidarity for what promises to be a difficult few days ahead.

The thought occurs to Remus not for the first time, that he wishes desperately he could take on this burden for Harry. The idea that if there were any other way to get through this without having to be sick and miserable for nearly a week, he would move heaven and Earth to find it.

Instead he stands, eyes glazed over, thoughts swirling over the preparations and support he has lined up.

That’s how Harry finds him, still lost to his own worries – next to a table filled with breakfast and fresh tea. “Remus?” Harry asks lightly from a few steps away and watches as Remus shakes himself back into focus.

“Sorry, Harry. I was thinking so hard it’s a wonder I don’t have steam coming out of my ears.” Remus chuckles lightly, stepping forward to embrace Harry in a hug. Predictably, both men soften as soon as they are wrapped around one another. Harry sighs into his chest.

“I fell asleep in your lap last night, huh?” Remus can barely make out the words, but before he can answer, Harry speaks. “I don’t remember moving to my room.”

Remus tenses up, thinking of how to put Harry’s mind at ease. “You did, and it’s obvious your body was exhausted, because you didn’t wake up when I carried you to your room.” Remus doesn’t mention anything else, not wanting to embarrass Harry.

“I guessed that might be the case… It was nice to wake up with your blanket keeping me warm.”

“You are welcome to keep it for as long as you like. We can add to your collection until your bed has as many blankets and pillows as mine.” Remus smiles brightly, and the words give way to thoughts of sharing a bed with Harry. The idea makes him long for that to be reality. “Did you sleep through the night? From here on out, I need you to come get me if you aren’t feeling well, or you can’t sleep. Do you understand?” Remus says the words with the same conviction and compassion as he did when Harry had first shown up, in desperate need of someone to take charge, and Harry practically purrs under the care.

“Yes, sir!” The words are out of Harry’s mouth without a thought, and he feels heat diffuse across his face at the way the words make him feel. Harry wonders not for the first time, if he will ever be brave enough to discuss these things with Remus.

Remus holds back a groan that threatens to escape. The moment is charged with an electricity that hadn’t been there just a moment before, and his head swims again with his own recollection of the previous night. He pauses and forces himself to step back into the role of caregiver, ignoring his carnal desires in favour of putting Harry’s needs first.

“Are you ready to get this out of the way?” Remus brings his hand up to cup the base of Harry’s head, fingers threading through the sleep mussed hair in mindless movements.

“No, but when has that ever stopped me?” Harry teases as a way of avoiding his own fears about the upcoming days. Harry’s grip tightens briefly, and then he is pulling away and Remus looks down to take in his features.

“And look how that’s turned out for you so far. It’s going to suck, and I wish that weren’t the case, but I’ll be right here. Okay?” Remus leans down to look squarely in those brilliant green eyes. He sees trepidation there, but he also sees the strength Harry possesses in spades and that gives him hope.

“Yeah, I actually am okay. I’m ready to be on the other side, and that means going through it. I’ve got this.” Harry may be putting a bit more cheer than he feels into his voice, but Remus chooses not to comment on it.

“You absolutely do. Just remember to come to me with anything, okay. I don’t want you going through the wringer without me there to help. You took care of me during the full moon, and I want to be there for you.” Remus breathes sincerity into the words, his heart pounding hard against his rib cage. “Let’s dig in.”

Remus waits until Harry is sitting, to go over everything. “Severus told me that a lot of people make the mistake of thinking ‘with food’ means after they eat, but he said to eat a little bit, take the tonic, and then continue eating a normal amount. It should take several hours before the worst of it hits, and will hopefully have settled a bit by the time you would normally be going to bed.”

With that final bit of instruction, both men tuck into their breakfasts gingerly. Harry looks at the food on his plate as if he has a personal grudge against it, and Remus takes the plate loaded with eggs and potatoes, and swaps it for a pan au chocolat. He makes Harry an extra sweet cup of tea, and mixes some of the protein powder into a cup of pumpkin juice.

Harry looks up at him with a guarded expression on his face. “Thanks. I just don’t think I can eat anything too heavy.” He doesn’t seem inclined to speak about anything more serious and Remus doesn’t push him. Today is going to be difficult enough as it is without Harry feeling forced to examine every thought and feeling he has throughout the entire process.

After breakfast, Harry radiates nervous energy. He’s pacing the room for the second time when Remus steps in to intervene, moving his body to intercept Harry with a gentle hand on his chest. “Can I trouble you for some cuddles?” Remus makes the words teasing and light, not wanting Harry to feel self-conscious.

“As if cuddles could ever be a bother.” Harry huffs back, but his shoulders slump and he steps closer into Remus’ space. “Sofa?” He makes the word a question and Remus’ eyebrows raise in confusion.

“Is there somewhere else you’d like to cuddle?” He asks the question cautiously. He heard once that a solicitor never asks a question that they don’t already know the answer to during a trial, but in this case he has no clue where Harry might want to curl up together.

“The chair in my room? It’s close to the fireplace, and closer to the bathroom if I get sick.” Remus doesn’t know why he’s surprised by Harry’s talent to look at the situation in a unique way, and come up with a solution.

“That makes a great deal of sense, lead the way.” Remus does a sweeping bow, and waves his arm in a gesture for Harry to walk ahead of him.

Once in the room, Remus pauses at the sight of Harry standing between the chair and the fireplace. The younger man has his hands clasped together tightly and he’s looking down at his bare toes. Remus’ eyes catch on the blanket he’d laid over Harry the night before, and he gathers it on his way to the large leather armchair.

Remus sits down, spreading himself out in the newer – yet slightly less comfortable chair. A good chair takes time to wear in, it needs to mould and shape itself through use, similar to breaking in a new pair of shoes. Remus glances up at Harry, from his seated position and indicates his open lap. “Is this what you wanted?” His voice has a hint of worry, that he can’t keep out.

“Yeah, just like that.” Harry stands in front of him, hands fluttering uselessly at his sides, as though he’d just realised he now has to climb up into Remus’ lap. “Um… can I? Mmm…” Harry hums after faltering over his words, and Remus smiles at the flustered look on his face.

“What are you thinking? How can I make you more comfortable?” Remus spreads his hands wide over his thighs, smoothing them down over the fabric of his joggers.

“Is it okay for me to…” Harry can’t screw up the courage to say what he wants, and he’s starting to feel awkward. Like he should be able to simply ask without having to work up to it.

“Come on Harry, use your words.” Remus pats his leg with a gentle tap, saying, “however you want to sit is fine.”

Harry exhales in relief at the blanket permission Remus has extended to him, and he scrambles onto the older man’s lap. He had originally intended to have Remus cradle him in his arms in the way that has brought him so much comfort, but at the last minute he remembered how nice it had felt to straddle the other man.

Harry sheepishly slides one knee to either side of Remus’ hips, and leans down and back until he’s comfortable with his position. He lifts his eyes without lifting his chin, to assess Remus’ reaction. “Is this still okay?” Harry’s tone is low and gravely, surprising Remus, and sending a shiver down his spine.

Remus swallows thickly, licks his lips to wet them, then confirms. “Yeah, absolutely.” He skates his hands, along the outside of Harry’s legs, up to rest on his narrow waist. His breathing deepens, and he waits patiently for Harry to say or do something.

“Sorry for making it weird.” Harry laughs without any warning and crumples against Remus’ chest. He nuzzles over Remus’ collar bone, sighing contentedly. Remus moves his hands to Harry’s back, rubbing up and down in a rhythmic glide.

“You didn’t make it weird. In fact, this feels just right to me.”

Harry hums in answer, wiggling his body for a split second before he stills. “Can you read to me? We’ve got plenty left on The Hobbit.”

Remus’ Accio is silent, and without delay the book lands against his palm with a pleasant thump. “Where were we? Hmmm, oh yes…” Remus’ voice changes to a slightly more animated tone as he begins reading where they left off.

Harry listens, enthralled by the story and the comfort of being as close to Remus as he is able.

It doesn’t take long for his stomach to begin protesting, queasiness takes over with a vengeance, too rapidly for him to do anything more than twist his body and empty the contents of his stomach on the floor beside the chair.

The retching wracks through him, painfully ripping through his abdomen as he clutches the arm rest for balance. Remus drops the book to the side table and runs his hand over Harry’s shoulders feeling useless. After a moment Harry stops, and without a word he crawls pitifully off Remus’ lap and begins cleaning up the mess.

“Oh Harry, come here, let me take care of that.” Remus is out of the chair, and taking charge of the situation in the blink of an eye. He’d been stunned into inaction when Harry got up, but quickly realised that Harry wasn’t moving to the bathroom, like he’d expected.

Remus grips Harry’s shoulder lightly and turns the younger man to face him, saddened to see that Harry won’t meet his gaze. He inhales deeply, releasing it slowly, then gently lifts Harry’s chin with a soft touch. “Let me take care of you, okay?”

Brilliant green eyes, watery with unshed tears, meet Remus’ gaze. Remus holds his breath as he waits for a response, and Harry dips his head once in acknowledgement. Remus rushes into action. He starts by leading Harry into the bathroom, turning the taps on to fill the bath.

“I’ll be right back. Climb in, try to relax and conserve energy.” Remus plants a solid kiss on Harry’s forehead and rushes out of the room to remove the mess, and find a clean set of pyjamas for Harry. While he’s at it, he calls for an elf to remove breakfast and bring up some fresh fruit, and a variety of cold beverages.

He’s only away from Harry for a scant few minutes, and he’s unprepared to find Harry kneeling on the bench in the tub with his face resting against the cold stone floor. There is another small spot of sick, and Remus vanishes it without a word. He hesitates for a millisecond, and then he’s stripped down to his boxers, with his legs hanging over the side into the water. He sits close enough to run his fingers through the younger man’s hair, the sweat beaded on his forehead and scalp testifying to how unwell Harry is.

“I’m here, brave boy. You’re not alone. I won’t leave you like that again.” Remus doesn’t know how, but he will do whatever is necessary to be with Harry until he is through this part. His fingers card through the wild strands, drawing Harry’s hair back and away from his face with each stroke of his hand. He watches Harry lift his head just enough to turn the other cheek down onto the cool surface.

Harry’s skin has taken on an ashen appearance, and already he looks drained from being sick. His eyes are closed and his breathing is shallow, causing Remus to worry that something else is wrong. “Harry, besides being sick, are you okay? Are you having any other symptoms?”

Remus is prepared for vomiting and hallucinations. He’s read the laundry list of expected side effects multiple times, but he hadn’t expected for Harry to look so despondent only a few hours into the process, and he’s concerned that he might need help.

“M’ fine. Just dizzy, feels like the castle’s spinning.” Harry’s words are soft and slurred, as though it took a lot of effort to speak. Remus settles in quietly, and Harry occasionally lifts his head to shift from one side to the other. A soft moan escapes him each time he replaces his head on the floor.

Remus considers the options. Harry’s torso is out of the water, and his arms are hanging onto the ledge of the bath as though it is the only thing keeping him from slipping. Remus shakes his head, and he condemns himself for hesitating, before climbing down onto the bench and supporting Harry more firmly. He grips his wand and casts a cooling charm at the nape of Harry’s neck. He’s glad of the idea when Harry murmurs a quiet, “Thank you.”

Chapter Text

Things only get worse from there for Harry, the day passes in rounds of getting sick, forcing himself to eat, and then getting sick again. By the time darkness has settled heavily around the castle grounds, Harry refuses to eat anything else. He’s laying prostrate on the floor in the bathroom, and clings to the cold stone as though it is the only thing that makes sense to his fevered body.

Remus’ hands move in tireless, comforting, caresses over his back. Although Harry hasn’t moved in a while, Remus continues his attempts to soothe, and ease the tension in his body. He’s been trying to coax Harry into drinking a protein shake he’s blended.

Harry finally responds with a pitifully soft, heart-rending statement. “I don’t deserve to eat. I’ve thrown it all up, and I keep making a mess. Only good boys deserve to eat.” His head is turned away from Remus, which gives the older man a moment to hide the despair and anger that surely flash over his own features.

“Oh Harry, you are beyond good. You are clever, brave, and loyal. I need you to eat something for me, do you think you can do that?” Remus moves into Harry’s line of sight, and folds down until he can make eye contact with him. He rests one hand lightly on a cheek slick with sweat, and pushes Harry’s damp locks out of his face.

The fog in Harry’s mind lifts at the praise Remus offers him, and he presses into the touch on his face with the barest movement. “I dunno if I can. What if I just keep getting sick?” Harry’s throat aches with every word, raw from the amount of retching he’s done throughout the last several hours. His eyes are watery, his throat dry and scratchy, and his head pounds with every beat of his heart.

“Let’s get you into a lukewarm bath, and see how you’re feeling after a minute or two.” Remus watches Harry nod his head in the smallest movement of agreement. After setting the water, he rolls Harry onto his back, and scoops him up.

Remus had the foresight after the first round of Harry getting sick, to have both men change into bathing suits. It offers a degree of modesty, and allows Remus to help Harry in whatever way he needs. Remus treads slowly into the tub and Harry curls listlessly against his chest.

Harry’s still got enough strength to lock his fingers together around Remus’ neck which is moderately encouraging, but Remus knows that if he isn’t able to get some liquid and protein into him tonight, that tomorrow he will fare even worse when he takes the tonic.

Harry’s body goes limp once he is almost fully submerged, and Remus keeps the cradle hold on him tight and supportive. He moves in a soft swaying motion, not totally sure if that makes things better or worse for Harry. “Does that feel better?”

“Yeah, actually it does. Moving makes it feel less like I’m on a carnival ride.” Harry’s words are soft against the sound of the water flowing into the tub, but Remus is able to make them out.

“Good boy, in a minute do you think you can be extra brave and drink some of this protein drink?” Remus continues rocking and walking in a slow circuit around the bath. The buoyancy of the water makes it so that he could do this all day long if necessary. If he added a featherlight charm, it would be even less taxing. Remus allows the thoughts to flit through his head in an effort to figure out how to get Harry through the next few days with as little pain as possible.

“I’ll try.” Harry rubs his cheek along Remus’ collarbone as he speaks.

“The worst of the tonic’s effects should be wearing off soon. Maybe tomorrow we can try to ride out the worst of it, and then recharge in the evenings? I don’t have proof it will be any easier, but it’s a thought.” Remus’ thoughts had taken him down a line of thinking and he wanted to offer the suggestion up. Remus steps toward the ledge where the drink is waiting, and he manoeuvres it into his grasp. He angles the straw to Harry’s mouth and waits for the other man to slowly take a few small sips from it.

“Tastes good.” Harry swallows before speaking, and then leans his head solidly back into Remus’ chest.

“That’s plenty for now. If you keep that down, you can have more in a bit.” Remus sets the cup back down and continues pacing. The water is exactly the temperature of their bodies, and seems to be keeping Harry from overheating.

This dance progresses through the evening. Harry manages to drink a total of two protein enhanced pumpkin juices, and keeps them down. Remus bounces and rocks Harry to keep the motion-sickness at bay and after a couple of hours, both men are starting to feel the toll the day has taken on them. Harry is the one to speak up first.

“Could we get out and try rocking in the chair again?” The question is hesitant, Harry’s head never lifting from its spot on his chest, and Remus looks down with all of the fondness he feels for Harry.

“Absolutely, do you want to walk, or would you rather I carry you?” Remus doesn’t feel fatigued, driven by his sense of concern for the man in his arms.

“I don’t want to walk.”

Remus simply hums in understanding, and climbs out of the bath with sure, steady steps. He grabs his wand from the counter and with a simple wave, they are both relatively dry and able to transfer to the bedroom. Once they are seated and wrapped in a blanket, Remus propels them in a soft rocking motion, before setting the chair to continue rocking with a simple spell. The hour is late, and despite Severus’ warnings, Harry falls to sleep after just a few moments. A short time later Remus is snoring lightly from the exhaustion of everything.

— — — — —

Remus wakes to a spasm in his neck and he blinks blearily against a room much brighter than he’d left behind the night before. His natural instinct is to stretch, but he huffs a soft breath and waits, desperate to let Harry get as much sleep as possible. His discomfort is no greater than that after a night spent sleeping in an uncomfortable position.

“Ugh” The sound is less than enthusiastic, but it does make Remus aware that Harry is in fact awake, and clearly unhappy about the prospect.

“Sleep well?” Remus can’t help but tease lightly, Harry wouldn’t appreciate him falling away from their typical banter, despite the circumstances.

“Undecided.” Harry murmurs with enough cheek that Remus finds himself smiling at the tone.

“Undecided about what? Was it the position, the length of time, or the company that leaves something to be desired?” Remus presses his lips to the crown of Harry’s head after he finishes the question.

“Fishing for compliments?” Harry chuckles in a way that reassures something inside Remus’ chest.

“I wasn’t, but now that you mention it…” Remus nuzzles down into Harry’s riotous hair, chasing the curve of his face until he finds the sensitive skin just under Harry’s ear. “I liked waking up with you, even if it wasn’t the ideal situation.” Remus offers Harry the very reassurances he has been accused of seeking.

“Really?” The hope in that one word makes Remus glad he had spoken up.

“Yeah, maybe soon we can try again. Without the armchair perhaps.” Remus withdraws from where he’s nestled his mouth close to Harry’s ear, and looks down at the younger man’s face. There are signs that he’s not his usual exuberant self, but apart from a few minor bits of evidence to the contrary, Harry is holding up better than he’d expected.

“Oh.” The word is a soft exhale, surprise widening Harry’s eyes. He seems to hesitate and Remus can almost see the gears turning in his head as he opens his mouth to speak several times before anything comes out. “That would be wonderful. I think a big part of why I turned to sleeping potions is the nightmares, and not wanting to be alone to face them.” Harry’s voice is quiet, but Remus is so damn proud of him for having the courage to admit his fears.

“Harry, no one should have to face nightmares alone. Especially when the nightmares aren’t fictional, but lived experiences. You’ve never needed to face them alone, and I’m sad that you didn’t feel you had anyone to go to before now.”

“But everyone has nightmares from the war. Why should I bother someone else, with mine?” The question is genuine.

“We all need support, and I’ve often found that to be especially true when something is plaguing you. The ability to help someone else, even in the midst of your own struggle, can be very empowering.” Remus is reminded of the many times he’d thrown himself a pity party, only to find a fellow werewolf in much more dire straits.

Harry sits in silence for a short time, as though rolling Remus’ words around in his mind. “That actually makes a lot of sense, thanks for always helping me see a problem from a different angle.” Harry slowly stretches his legs over the armrest, twisting his feet in slow circles as though testing them for pins and needles.

“Are you ready to face another round?” Remus asks cautiously.

“Yeah, let’s get it out of the way.” Harry answers, pushing himself up to standing.

— — — — —

Armed with the knowledge they had gained on day one, Harry ate a very light breakfast with the tonic, and Remus used the time afterwards to make some preparations for the coming day.

The day was no less difficult on Harry’s body and mind, but Remus was a steady presence through everything. As night set Harry was fighting against the pounding in his head, but he’d stopped retching some time before.

“I know you hurt, little lion, but now is the time to get you hydrated for tomorrow.” Remus strokes his fingers over Harry’s forehead and backwards through his hair. Harry is propped against the shower stall as the warm water beats down on his torso. Remus stands close, without crowding him. Harry had made it obvious that he was feeling a bit too coddled and in need of whatever little independence he could muster.

The nickname and gentle tone of voice is a balm to Harry, but he’s bone tired. “I know, I know…I do. I just… everything sounds terrible, and I hate being sick, and I feel like my body is burning up from the inside, and my head feels like a marching band is playing violently against my skull.” It’s the most complaining Remus has heard from Harry during the entire process and while he’s thankful that Harry feels safe enough to express his displeasure, he hates that he has to push Harry to do what is necessary.

“I hear what you’re saying, and those are valid feelings.” Remus reverts momentarily to a more formal method of affirming Harry, before softening. “If I could do this for you I would. I really think the headache is from dehydration, and even if nothing sounds good, we’ve got to get your fluid levels up.” Remus steps into the spray of water, cupping Harry’s cheek and looking at him more closely. “Please.”

Harry’s mouth lifts in an approximation of a smile, he leans fully into the hold on his face, and he speaks over the sound of the water falling against Remus’ back. “Could I have a kiss? I feel gross and weak. I just want your lips on mine, for a moment.” Harry’s eyes are darker than usual. A mixture of exhaustion and dehydration dull their normal shine, but they are still one of the most beautiful sights Remus has ever had the opportunity to gaze at.

Remus doesn’t speak, he simply leans closer to Harry, until there is a hairsbreadth of space between their mouths. Harry sighs audibly, and slides his lips over Remus’ with a surety born of knowing exactly what he wants, and being willing to ask for it. The kiss is not demanding or urgent. It is a gentle dance. Harry’s lips work open and closed, dragging and gliding against Remus’ as though reminding him of their connection.

Harry moans after a few leisurely passes of their mouths together, and his tongue skates over Remus’ bottom lip seeking entry. Remus’ heart thuds in his chest. The kiss is a ghost of the heated longing that resides within both of them, but it stirs him all the same. Harry is determined to deepen the kiss, and Remus allows his mouth to fall open under the attention. Harry’s hands find Remus’ waist and hold as tightly as his diminished strength allows. Their tongues probe and parry, warmth and heat spreading through them along with the intimacy of the moment.

After a few minutes of the electrifying taste of each other, Harry pulls back reluctantly. He takes in a harsh inhale, then exhales a quiet, “fuck.” His forehead comes to rest on Remus’ collar bone, as he pants to catch his breath. Another moment passes with Remus caressing his spine in slow movements. “I really needed that.” There’s more he could say, so many thoughts and feelings brewing in him, that he can’t discuss now.

Harry knows that he has to eventually tell Remus about his twisted desire. He understands from his previous research that it’s not an uncommon fetish, but he worries that Remus will look at him differently once he reveals the things he imagines when he touches himself. Now isn’t the time to go into all of that, not when he’s in the middle of this detox, especially since he believes that it will be the thing to push Remus away for good.

“Yeah, me too.” Remus needs Harry to understand that he isn’t withholding himself due to a lack of desire. He wars with himself for a brief time, not knowing how to express how he is feeling without making a mess of it. “Can we get out of here, and then maybe talk for a while?”

Harry nods and reaches behind Remus blindly to turn off the water. “Yeah, I’ll drink a few shakes while we’re at it.” He doesn’t sound pleased by the prospect, but the fact that he’s willing is a huge relief to Remus.

— — — — —

Dressed in pyjamas, and curled up on the couch under Remus’ arm, Harry feels drained but wired. “What did you want to talk about?” Harry asks, lifting the chocolate shake to his lips.

Remus falters, the time between leaving the shower and now has not given him any more clarity in how to approach this topic of conversation. At the last moment his mind goes totally blank, and his mouth opens to speak. “Going through this detox by your side has not changed my feelings about you Harry.”

Harry’s heart skips a beat at the words, he hadn’t realised how much doubt had crept in since their initial kiss and conversation. He swallows. “I would understand if it had.” The air between them is tense, and Harry’s heart clenches as the weight of the statement lands.

“I find myself at a loss for what to say.” Remus drags a few calming breaths over lips that still burn from the kiss in the shower. “Every single day, I learn something about you that makes me care for you more. I had no idea how badly I needed this, or rather, how badly I needed you. I don’t often express myself quite so clearly, but I fully intend to fulfil the promise that hangs between us. Do you understand?” Remus’ voice is soft and soothing but the words cause Harry to feel flush.

“What promise?” Harry whispers the word, and takes a long drink from the straw stretched to his lips.

Remus laughs darkly, a deep rumble emanating from his chest. “The promise of more.” He presses a kiss to Harry’s head. A sudden blush running rampant over his fair complexion as he worries that Harry might push him to spell it out.

His fears are realised when Harry tuts quietly. Harry’s courage returns to spur him into questioning Remus in a soft hush. “Will you teach me?”

Merlin’s balls… Remus thinks the thought in the privacy of his mind, but outwardly he groans. He shifts his arm, in an attempt to buy himself a moment to consider the many different ways he can answer the question.

Should he play dumb? Or perhaps attempt to bring them back to safer topics? Does he pivot and try to steer this line of thinking back to the less physical part of their relationship?

In the end Remus decides to face the conversations head on. He’s not going to let a moment of discomfort derail the progress between them. With those thoughts in mind he says, “Harry, as soon as you are ready, I will teach you anything you want to know. You have only to ask, and I will do everything within my power to make you happy.”

Harry finishes his shake, continuing to suck the straw until it makes a loud slurping sound. He leans forward slowly, setting the empty cup on the coffee table and twisting to face Remus with a solemn look. “Knowing that has given me all the courage I need to get through the rest of this detox.”

A mischievous glint sparkles briefly in Harry’s eyes, and Remus nearly groans again. Surely the younger man is going to be the death of him, but at least it will be a happy death he thinks.

Remus sits in a contemplative silence, allowing Harry to move through the tray of beverages at his own pace.

After Harry has finished a few of the offered selections, and sometime before the clock chimes three, Remus closes his eyes and does not open them again until the sun’s rays are slicing through the room.

He wakes up groggily, confusion and coldness both clamouring to the surface before any rational thought forms. As suddenly as he’s aware of these two problems, he recognises that Harry is not curled up against him on the settee. This realisation is the catalyst for him opening his eyes and blinking rapidly.

“Harry?” Remus calls out and at the same time he pushes up to stand on legs that protest the quick movement. His body is weary from lack of sound sleep, and the poor positions he’s slept in the past two nights, but he’s far more concerned about Harry.

When he receives no answer, Remus continues his search, until he finds Harry reading in his own bed.

“Have you slept at all?”

Harry looks up at the question, and smiles softly at Remus. His shoulders lift in a half hearted attempt at a laissez faire attitude. “Not a wink, but you’ll be happy to know I’ve drunk my weight in protein shakes and tea.” He dips his chin and smirks, despite the dark circles under his eyes. “I’ve even been able to use the loo, and it was quite light and hydrated looking, if I do say so myself.” Harry breaks into a short giggle at his statement, and Remus feels that they are on the cusp of delirium setting in. Harry’s been awake for more than 24 hours, and the next few days are expected to be the worst.

“I’m so proud of you, Harry.” Remus hesitates, wanting to cross the space and wrap his arms around Harry, but not wanting to make him feel like an invalid. “You’re doing a smashing job at this.” His desire to comfort Harry is directly at odds with his desire to give the other man some space. “I’m just going to order up some food, if you’d like to join me?”

Without a word Harry climbs down from his bed, pulling Remus’ blanket around his shoulders and stepping close to where he stands in the doorway. “I only left you sleeping on the couch, because I needed the loo, and you needed the sleep.”

Remus opens his arms, and Harry leans in with a gentle exhale. “I appreciate you doing that for me, but please wake me if you ever need the company. I’m happy to lose sleep if it makes this process easier for you in any way.” 

With that, they began day three of the detox.

Chapter Text

Without any solid food in his stomach, the retching had been much shorter lived and Harry had sought out a more normal day. They’d spent the majority of it in the living area with Remus marking papers and Harry reading quietly.

Late in the afternoon, Remus sits in his armchair occasionally stealing glances at Harry. The young man appears to be dozing, but Remus can’t tell for certain because of the angle and the way his hair curtains his eyes. Remus takes the opportunity to rest his head heavily against the chair, closing his eyes, and without warning falls asleep.

Remus wakes to a soft thump, and he opens his eyes rapidly, seeking the cause of the commotion. Harry lies in a tangled heap between the settee and the coffee table, the blanket wrapped tightly around his legs and torso.

Before Remus can get up, Harry groans loudly and lifts his body onto all fours. “Harry?” He asks tentatively.

“Mhm.” Harry mumbles in response, and begins crawling toward Remus, shedding the blanket like a second skin as he advances slowly.

Remus’ heart lurches in his chest, concern for Harry’s safety and wellbeing at the forefront of his mind. Harry hasn’t looked up from the rug, but is continuing his slow journey on hands and knees closer to Remus.

Is he sleep walking? Or rather crawling?

Remus hesitates, knowing only that he’s heard never to interfere with someone who is sleepwalking.

His silent musings are cut short when Harry nudges his shin with the top of his head. The contact seems to ignite something in the young man, and he rolls his head back to look up at Remus with a dazed expression.

“Daddy? I don’t feel good.”

Remus feels his eyes going wide as Harry’s words and clumsy movements register. Harry begins climbing Remus, and only stops when he’s draped himself over Remus’ legs, his head turned neatly to one side in his lap, and his arms wrapped loosely around Remus’ waist.

The moment he settles into position, Harry’s body goes lax.

Remus hesitates for only a moment before curling his fingers into Harry’s wild hair. His hands don’t need instructions, or permission, to offer Harry comfort. He drags one hand over Harry’s scalp in a soothing dance, and he settles his other in a gentle curl over Harry’s bicep.

He breathes rather erratically and waits to see if there is going to be any further commentary from the delirious man. His thoughts race through all of Severus’ instructions and he recalls that the potion master had warned him to play along with whatever scenarios Harry’s addled mind comes up with.

A few long minutes pass, and Remus has nearly relaxed into the warm weight of Harry kneeling at his feet and resting in his lap, when Harry speaks again.

“Ugh, just want this to be over…” The words are quiet, and don’t seem to be directed at Remus, until he speaks again. “Mhm, that feels nice. Please don’t stop.”

Remus forces himself to continue the movements, but his heart pounds painfully in his ribcage, and he feels the wolf stirring within him. That deep voice has been mostly silent through this process – but it’s tied to his stronger emotions – and Remus is filled to the brim with conflicting feelings. Helplessness and compassion both surge in equal measure inside his chest, and the wolf hates feeling helpless when it comes to Harry. 

“Am I in trouble, Daddy?” Harry’s voice wavers and suddenly Remus can no longer remain silent. If Harry remembers any of this when this is over, he’ll have to face the consequences, but he knows what he has to do.

“No, my brave little lion, you aren’t in trouble. Daddy’s here now. You’re doing so well, love. I’m proud of you.” The words roll out of him easily, as though he’d been waiting for a chance to speak them. Remus refuses to look too closely at the realisation, stuffing it into the same box as the memory of Harry moaning the name in his sleep.

“I got sick all over the settee. I’m sorry.” Harry’s voice breaks and he chokes back a sob, attempting to stem the flow of tears down his cheeks. He folds himself smaller, hugging Remus’ legs and waist desperately tight. He is lost in his own world, until Remus’ voice pulls him to the surface.

“That’s perfectly fine, little one. I’ll clean it up later. Why don’t you get off the floor?” He makes the suggestion lightly, still unsure if Harry is aware of his surroundings.

Harry remains silent for a moment, then sniffles, “You don’t want me laying on you like this?” He feels the sharp sting of rejection, and attempts to pull away, but his body won’t cooperate.

Remus rushes to change tactics. “I only want you to be comfortable, would you rather I pick you up?”

“Hmm.” Harry makes a non committal noise in the back of his throat, unable to process what Remus is saying. His thoughts move slowly and he’s having trouble staying in the moment.

Remus decides for Harry, bending carefully, hooking his hands under Harry’s arms and lifting him into the chair. The movement isn’t graceful, or coordinated, but he twists and shifts until Harry is curled into his lap with his face pressed into Remus’ chest. “Does that feel better?”

“Much better.” Harry musters the words, through his fog filled mind. His body goes limp, but not without a quick shifting of his hips. He’s going through a detox, not immune to the temptation of Remus’ body surrounding him. His thoughts flit to the memory of kissing Remus in the shower, the passion still simmers in equal portions to the side effects of his tonic, and he yearns for so much more. His fantasy world has a well stocked playlist of things he’d like to do with Remus.

Did I just moan?  

The thought comes to mind, unbidden. Harry becomes suddenly alert to the fact that his thoughts have been somewhere else for lengths of time. He worries that he may be losing touch with reality. The thought doesn’t frighten him nearly as much as it should.

He knows that Remus has him, safe and sound. Just thinking about it, he can feel the weight of his arms. The places where those strong, calloused fingers dig protectively into his skin burn with a searing heat that has him moving again.

His thoughts narrow down to the scent of Remus, and the feel of his chest against his face. He realises that Remus hasn’t responded in a while, and notes that the burden of speaking might fall to him if he wants to acknowledge and move past whatever his traitorous body had done while he was lost to imagined scenarios.

Harry exhales sharply, prolonging the moment by a few seconds, and then he inhales and begins speaking. “Remus?” He pauses, trying to pin down a tactic for approaching the conversation. “I think my mind might be playing tricks on me. I’ve been having dreams, only now I think I might’ve been talking out loud, and I’m not sure what I’ve said or done.” Harry rambles, but does his best to convey his confusion and fear of impropriety.

“You haven’t said or done anything that you need to apologise for.” Remus has no idea if the words are the reassurance he means them to be. Only that he doesn’t want Harry trying to atone for things that aren’t problematic to begin with. “Severus warned us that you might hallucinate.” He tries to offer Harry a reasonable alternative to anything he is concerned may have happened.

Harry rushes on, seizing the moment of clarity and deciding he’s put it off long enough. He has a sneaking suspicion he’s already revealed more than he’s aware of, and he’d rather just face the facts now than continue to dread the conversation and Remus’ reaction. “No. That isn’t it.” Here he pauses, taking a breath. “I realised a while ago that I might be interested in using a specific term of endearment for you. You know? Like, um. Like maybe I enjoy the idea of… something.” Harry talks such circles around the situation that even he’s confused by the point he’s trying to make.

None of this is how he’d imagined it. Harry brings his hands up to cover his face in a moment of shyness, and he murmurs against the skin of his palm. “I want to call you Daddy. Not like all the time, or like you’re him, or anything weird like that. I just… You take such good care of me. And I like it.” Harry doesn’t remove his hands, the burn of embarrassment making his face feel like it’s on fire.

Remus finds himself holding his breath as he strains to make out Harry’s admission. After a moment of processing the statement, he smiles a private smile that Harry cannot possibly see from behind his cupped hands. He hesitates just a moment to gather his own scrambled thoughts and emotions, trying to piece together a coherent thought in the wake of the unexpected confession from the man he loves. 

I’m in love with Harry . The thought doesn’t terrify him like it would have just a couple of short months ago. This messy, complicated, unexpected love that he never thought he’d experience. Instead of fear, he feels a sense of belonging. With Harry, he never has to be someone he isn’t. He can be broken and vulnerable, Harry sees all of the darkest parts of him, and faces them head on. Harry gives himself over to Remus easily, without holding anything back. How could I not love him? Remus had known this revelation was coming. He’d done his best to keep the door holding his feelings shut and locked tight, because of their circumstances. Now that he is aware of it, he can’t keep it to himself, he has to tell Harry.

“Harry.” Remus says in a gentle tone, and lifts his hands to carefully pry Harry’s fingers off his face one by one. He cups the now familiar jaw, reverently stroking his thumb over Harry’s cheek. “I love you.” Before Harry can speak, Remus places his thumb over Harry’s lips, needing to finish his declaration. “I love every bit of you, and nothing you’ve just said changes how I feel. As I already suspected, it seems our desires are well aligned and you continue to surprise me with your ability to face difficult topics head on.” Remus’ lips move close to Harry’s ear, and his voice drops to a husky growl. “You have no idea, just how much I want to ravish you here and now.”

Harry’s eyes go wide, his brain shifts into overdrive and all of those fluttering sensations in his stomach cannot distract him from the words Remus has just spoken. I love you. He analyses the statement as if looking for clues that he misheard Remus. I. Love. You.

Harry’s never heard those words from someone he’s dated. He never imagined he’d live long enough to hear those words from anyone other than his friends and the Weasleys. Any time he did allow himself to fantasise about a future, he figured he’d settle down with someone easy, someone who loved the idea of Harry Potter. He never let himself hope that he’d find someone he could be himself with.

With Remus things have been anything but easy. He’s challenged Harry to be honest in a way that exhilarates him. Remus doesn’t care about who he is or what he’s done. Remus holds him when he falls apart and looks at Harry like he’s precious. Harry has known for a little while that he loves Remus, and despite it going against all logic and sense, he’d almost said as much to Remus days ago, but managed to keep it inside at the last minute.

He’s pretty sure he’s gone from lucid to hallucinating in the matter of a few moments, and he shares that concern with Remus. “Did I hear you right?”

Remus watches the disbelief cross Harry’s features, and smiles brightly at the question. “I love you. I know it might be a lot to take in. You don’t have to respond. I didn’t-”

Harry interrupts his nervous rambling. “I love you, Remus.” His mouth forms the words that his heart has been screaming silently since the moment they kissed. He’d nearly said them at least once before now, but had managed to clamp down on them, terrified that it was too soon and that they wouldn’t be well received. Now that he’s shared the only other thing he has been holding inside, he cannot find a good reason not to tell Remus his feelings. He repeats himself more calmly, shifting to look fully into Remus’ golden eyes. “I am in love with you. The timing is awful, and I didn’t want the conversation to happen like this, while I’m sick and somewhat out of it, but that doesn’t change the truth of how I feel about you.”

Harry thinks back to the rest of what Remus had said to him, and his body feels warm and tingly at the easy acceptance of Harry’s wants. He speaks again, in a softer voice. “Does you wanting to ravish me, mean that you are okay with me calling you that?”

Remus groans and rolls his head back to look at the stone ceiling above him. “Fuck.” The expletive falls from his mouth without thought. He inhales deeply, convinced once again that Harry is going to be the death of him. Only teenage hormones would have someone going through such a miserable experience and still concerned with thoughts such as these. 

“Harry, I’m more than okay with it. I wasn’t going to bring either of the situations up until after you were through with your detox, and I hadn’t quite figured out how to broach the subject, but you had already let it slip once during the detox.” Remus weighs his next statement and decides if Harry can be honest about his needs, then he can do the same. Remus brings his head up to look back at Harry. “It has an effect on me.” He lifts one eyebrow, and bites his lip in an effort to convey his meaning without totally derailing the line of conversation into dangerous territory.

Harry’s eyes take on a slightly manic gleam, and his face lights up in a way that makes Remus wish he could act on whatever thought has infiltrated Harry’s mind. “Oh.” Harry presses his face into Remus’ chest, doing his best to absorb the moment and commit it to memory. “Well isn’t this lovely?” Harry asks rhetorically before pulling back to look at Remus again. “Terrible timing, the two of us. Just absolutely unable to do anything by halves. I expect to be well shagged at your earliest convenience.” The earnest tone Harry takes on is the only thing that keeps Remus from losing all control, and either laughing at the absurdity of the entire evening, or kissing Harry senseless.

Remus feels joy bubbling through him in wave after wave as he considers how best to respond to Harry’s demand, and finally he puts on his most beleaguered tone, “If you insist.” He softens the statement with a kiss to Harry’s forehead, and follows up with, “What am I to do with you?” His eyes dance over Harry’s beautiful face, tracing the outline of his features with fondness.

Harry laughs, slightly too loud, and leans against Remus more firmly. “Keep doing what you’ve been doing, it’s worked out swimmingly so far.” The words are soft and slurred. They fade into deep even breaths, and Remus is amazed at the speed with which Harry has gone from awake and laying himself bare to snoring soundly. Nothing about the past three days has gone to plan, and Remus can’t find it in himself to regret any of it.

— — — — —

Remus quickly makes the decision that he is absolutely not going to sleep in his recliner with Harry gripped carefully in his lap. As much as he loves holding Harry, his back cannot take another night spent in that position for an extended period of time.

After checking the depth of Harry’s relaxation by gently lifting one hand and watching it fall limply to his shoulder, Remus curls his arms more firmly around the smaller man and lifts in one swift movement. He doesn’t hesitate once he finds his footing, and moves down the familiar hallway to his own room. He and Harry have already discussed the possibility of sleeping in the same bed, and he can’t imagine Harry will mind the more comfortable setting.

Remus’ bed calls out like a siren, he’s bone tired and it’s finally becoming apparent just how badly he needs a somewhat decent night sleep. The weight of Harry’s sleeping form, urges him to move quickly and silently, and soon Harry is propped against a small mountain of pillows.

Remus takes the opportunity to tend to some basic hygiene and uses the loo as his mind processes the day. It had all happened so suddenly and without time for him to overthink, and strategize. Perhaps that is for the better, he thinks to himself as he considers his own tendency to stress over declarations. He’s been known to utilise pro/con lists and to rehearse deep conversations before having them. However, Harry has a knack for inspiring him to leap without looking, or rather, leap without worrying about the consequences.

As he crosses the threshold back into his bedroom, the sight of Harry causes his heart to soar within his chest. He’s moved in Remus’ absence, pushing several of the decorative pillows off the bed and burrowing himself deep beneath the heavy comforter. Remus wishes he had the ability to capture the moment, but he crosses the room and climbs the bed in an agonisingly slow movement. He pries back the covers and lays resolutely flat on his back. The third day had been surprisingly less brutal than expected and he fears that day four is going to bring a whirlwind of misery for Harry.

His mind catalogues the expected timeline, and continues to bump up against the severity of the first two days, and then the slightly easier third day. He worries over the same thought for longer than he should, and finally he allows himself to slowly stretch one hand across the small distance between their bodies. His fingers stop only when they brush gently against Harry’s spine and the touch brings a sense of peace over him.

The wolf growls softly that he’s not nearly close enough to his mate, and Remus fights his instincts, holding himself back from pressing his chest close to Harry’s back and wrapping around him.

His fingers worry the hem of Harry’s shirt with slow, restless movements and eventually sleep claims him. He drifts off in the space of a heartbeat, unexpected and without warning, thoughts of holding Harry close dancing behind his eyelids.

Chapter Text

Harry’s dream is electric, and solid.

He is bound loosely by muscular arms, and that same hold presses his back flush to an overwhelmingly warm weight. An answering firmness nestles itself between his cheeks and he rocks in a rhythmic frenzy chasing more friction.

He’s dreamed of Remus more times than he can count, ever since he’d first noticed Remus as more than a mentor and friend. Harry’s mind goes back to their duel. The sight of Remus rolling his sleeves up with effortless precision, had been the beginning of the end for Harry. Although, in all honesty, his thoughts had been out of hand before then.

In his dreams there’s always a sort of hazy quality, as though experiencing everything through a fog. None of them compare to the heat curling low in his abdomen when he reaches to take hold of the elegant fingers resting on his stomach. Never before has it felt like fire burning through him. Harry pushes impossibly real hands down to cup his own erection without hesitation.

Harry’s mouth opens on an unexpected exhale, “oh!”

Those fingers he’s imagined more times than he can count, have never spasmed in such an uncoordinated, yet thrilling way.

Harry’s eyes snap open. The room is dim. Much darker than his own room, it takes his eyes a long moment to adjust to the dim light filtering through the space. The barely smouldering coals offer only vague outlines, and it takes his brain far too long to process his surroundings.

His hips continue the mindless movement they’d begun while he was still asleep, and Harry instinctively presses backward against the tempting heat of the hard body behind him. His fingers curl tighter, holding those familiar, yet foreign, hands between his legs.

“Harry?” His name is a tentative gasp on Remus' lips.

Those same lips are close enough to his ear to send damp warmth sliding through his hair to tickle over his skin.

His heart hammers in his ribcage, and his body hesitates while his mind races to stop this madness.

I’ve been grinding back against Remus in my sleep .

Harry’s cheeks flame red, hidden by his position and the low light. Fuck. He’s got to answer, can’t pretend this didn’t happen. The same way he hadn’t been able to pretend that he was similarly compromised yesterday, in the heat of his delirium.

“Yes?” He makes the word a question, half-hoping that Remus will spare him the mortification of the entire ordeal. Perhaps Remus will pretend he hasn’t noticed Harry’s vice grip on his hand, or his arse shimmying as close as possible to that tantalising bulge behind him. Or maybe he’ll finally give me everything I’ve dreamed of. That thought is even more exciting than the idea of Remus tactfully ignoring the heated moment.

— — — — —

Remus clenches the inside of his cheek firmly between his molars, biting down until it causes pain. At some point in the night, his and Harry’s bodies have found one another. Their legs are twined together, and his front is wedged as close to Harry’s back as their clothes allow.

Mine. Remus closes his eyes against the low rumble at the back of his mind. The wolf’s voice tickles and purrs in his thoughts. Its paws knead at his consciousness, urging him to take what is being offered so innocently.

Remus groans out loud. His hands are trapped in Harry’s smaller grip. The unmistakable line of Harry’s cock burns into his palm, and he is only a man. A man in possession of far less fortitude than is required to diffuse the tension.

His body freezes. His morning erection presses happily against Harry’s tempting arse, and he itches to stroke the swell of Harry’s cock. His breath has been punched from his lungs, and suddenly it takes every bit of strength within him to keep his lips from dipping just a millimetre closer and sealing over the sweat dotted skin of Harry’s neck.

Remus draws a dangerous breath in through his nose, and the scent of Harry is the final nail in his coffin, because his tongue slips from his mouth without permission and he licks one slow line into the hollow behind Harry’s ear.

“Fuck me.” Remus damns himself by giving voice to his inner thoughts. The words are shaky, and Remus remains locked in place, desperate to maintain control in the face of Harry’s warm, welcoming body.

— — — — —

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do.” Harry’s filter fails, and he is almost shocked at his own neediness. Surviving the Dursley’s had required Harry to walk a fine line when it came to speaking his mind, and not losing his temper. Despite his outward disregard for rules, he has rarely been free to speak his mind, and push boundaries without fear of retribution. He finally feels a sense of security stronger than any he’s ever known before, and it’s been slowly leading him to drop that last layer of protection between himself and Remus.

Harry has lost all sense of propriety, and he cannot bring himself to mind his own boldness.

The last three days have been hell on his mind and body, but not even two and half weeks of sleepless nights have put a dent into his longing for Remus. He isn’t sure what time it is, but he can tell by how rested his muscles are that he’s had his first proper night’s sleep in ages.

A night in Remus’ bed, wrapped up in the comforting weight of his duvet, with the man he loves holding him, has reinvigorated him in a way that has Harry ready to beg if necessary.

There’s a soft huff of laughter against his neck, “Harry, do you know what you’re asking?”

Harry waits, allowing himself the chance to truly search through his emotions and weigh his motives. He takes one centering breath and speaks firmly. “I want you to touch me, Remus. I want to explore your body, kiss until we’re breathless, and feel you inside of me.” Here, he pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice has dropped lower. Harry speaks in a soft, shy tone. He says two words that have plagued his fantasies for weeks. The two words he only feels safe enough to share with this man. “Please, Daddy?”

— — — — —

Remus is not a strong man. If he were, he’d remove himself from Harry’s grasp, and escape his quiet plea. A better man would wait until Harry was fully recovered from his current tribulation before allowing himself to be tempted beyond his self-control. Harry deserves a proper night out, and some romance, before they close this distance between them. Remus should turn and run away from the situation at full speed.

Instead, all of his best intentions melt under Harry’s requests.

Remus presses a closed mouth kiss to the same salty-sweet skin he’d just tasted. Pulling back just barely enough to allow his mouth room to surrender, he speaks. “I would never deny you, my little lion.”

Remus feels rather than hears Harry’s moan. Whether it's in response to the kiss or his answer, he doesn’t know, but blunt nails dig slightly deeper into the skin on the back of his hands and he’s lost in Harry.

The air around them vibrates with the change in energy. Harry’s magic, which has been dim the past few days, is suddenly a living, breathing, entity in the space surrounding them. Remus’ whole body aches with the pressure of it, enveloping every molecule and setting him alight.

He can barely form words, and he struggles to alert the younger man. “Harry…” For the second time in only a matter of moments, Remus gasps the name, then sucks in a ragged breath to continue, “your magic!” The exclamation is breathy and weak. 

His own magic responds slower, and only after he loosens the habitual reins which keep it from running unchecked. It mingles with and subdues Harry’s raw power with ease. Much like a bronco and a bull rider, Harry’s power is unrivalled in strength, but Remus’s magic is well accustomed to taming a beast.

Harry’s hips slither in a tempting figure eight in response and Remus chokes on an inhale. He disentangles his hands from Harry’s hold, to grip his waist tightly, pinning him still. “Ah, ah, ah.” Remus tuts, feeling more in charge now that he’s not being bombarded by Harry’s magic or his movements.

Harry groans in frustration, fighting uselessly against Remus’ strong hands in a desperate bid to press their bodies closer together. “Please. Please. Please.” Harry chants softly, then continues his pleas from earlier. “I need you to touch me, I’ll be good, I promise.” He angles his head back as far as he’s able, seeking more kisses.

Remus feels a familiar sense of control settling over him. One honed through many years of taming his own wilder instincts. He has a deep well of patience within him, and if he and Harry are finally going to explore this need they both have, Remus will be the one setting the pace.

Remus kisses Harry’s temple “You could never be anything but good for me, little one.” Then, Remus carefully pulls his body away from Harry, rolling him onto his back while maintaining a hold on his narrow hips. He wandlessly lights the torches, so that he can see Harry completely, and he looks down at the man who has captivated his heart, needing to verify that Harry wants this. That he’s not taking advantage of the younger man in the midst of his vulnerability.

Harry looks up at Remus with wonder. He’s so close to having his greatest desire, but he can feel Remus’ hesitation. The sleep induced urgency is fading, and leaves behind something far more dangerous. He can feel Remus taking charge, senses that the man kneeling above him is going to leave him a quivering mess.

How could it be anything else, between us? Harry thinks of every small, insignificant touch that has left him buzzing with desire, and knows that Remus is going to ruin him for anyone else. Those amber eyes pin him to the mattress as surely as any Immobulus, and he waits eagerly for direction.

Remus’ eyes rove over Harry’s sleep mussed hair, down to his strong jawline, kissable neck, and finally rests on that biteable Adam's apple. “Harry, I would be remiss if I didn’t check in with you, and make sure you’re in the right place to take our relationship to the next step. That includes having a full understanding of what you are okay with doing, and having done to you.” Remus puts on a softer version of his teacher’s tone, so that Harry understands the weight behind the question.

Harry instinctively wraps his hand lightly around Remus’ wrist, needing to feel the other man’s skin beneath his fingers. “Remus, I’m fairly certain that if this doesn’t happen now, I might combust. I want everything. I want to feel your fingers, lips, and tongue on me. I want to explore you in return. I want you to stretch me open, and slide your cock into me. I want to be yours in truth and action.” Harry has no idea where the courage comes from, to ask so clearly for what he needs, but he doesn’t flinch or shrink away at his own boldness. Instead, he begins trailing his fingers up and down Remus’ taut forearm, and continues. “I want you to teach me.”

Harry’s response holds power over Remus. The other man may be younger and inexperienced, but he’s never wavered from what he wants. Remus would be wrong to treat Harry as though he isn’t capable of knowing his own mind, and so with the final hurdle crossed, Remus commits. “You can stop this at any time with just a word. I don’t want you to regret anything. I love you, Harry, and I’m going to do my best to let you trust that.” Remus prays to gods he doesn’t believe in, and leans down to seal his promise with a kiss.

Harry arches into the contact, all pretence gone as soon as he feels Remus’ lips sliding over and between his own. He opens his mouth, and anchors his hands on Remus’ midsection at the same time, inviting the older man to deepen the kiss with a needy noise.

Remus collapses half-way onto Harry’s chest, using one palm to stop himself from totally smothering the smaller man. His tongue sweeps over Harry’s parted lips and he’s met with an eager reception. Their tongues parry back and forth, tangling and tasting each other for long minutes.

Harry’s hands grip and tug at the loose fabric of Remus’ sleep shirt, seeking skin to skin contact as he draws ragged breaths in through his nose. Remus is everywhere, a comforting weight grounding him into the bed, a devouring heat at his mouth, a thigh wedged surely between his legs. Harry knows he’s making noises, can hear himself gasping and moaning despite Remus not taking further advantage of the situation.

Remus pulls back with a wicked smile, his pupils blown wide with arousal, and his lips red and shiny from their kisses. “I’m going to take off your shirt now, and kiss my way over every inch of exposed skin. I want to hear every sound you make, little lion. Tell me what you like. Do you understand?”

Harry nods, stupid with desire, desperate to do whatever Remus asks of him. “Yes, Daddy.”

The fire raging within Remus’ chest burns brighter and he has to take a deep breath to centre himself. With shaking hands, he takes hold of the hem of Harry’s top and works it up and over Harry’s head and arms. As he bends to press their lips together all over again, Harry stops him with a hand to his chest and a shy smile. “Can I take yours off too?”

“Of course.” Remus rushes to answer in the affirmative, only slightly worried about his ability to continue at a slower pace once their clothes are discarded.

Harry touches tentative fingertips to Remus’ waistband on his shorts, and a mischievous gleam flickers momentarily through his eyes. He bites his lip and moves his hands to Remus' sleep shirt, working the buttons free. He fumbles over the first one before his fingers remember how to work properly. Each bit of exposed skin calls to him, begging for him to trace those scars in the same way as he had during that fateful massage.

Once Harry opens the last button, he spies the patch of skin that had finally tempted him beyond his ability to keep things platonic between them. He ghosts a fingertip over the slightly puckered skin. This spot will always remind Harry of that massage, and of Remus’s sharp intake of breath as he’d pressed his lips to Remus’ body for the first time.

Remus inhales sharply in an echo of the very memory playing inside Harry’s head.

Remus stays stock still, and both men lock their gaze on Harry’s questing fingers. Harry had said he wanted to explore, and Remus will be damned if he’s going to stop him, even if every instinct in his body is urging him to ravish the younger man. The touch is unsure and light, but with each sweeping movement, those fingers probe with less apprehension. Just when Remus has begun to doubt the all consuming need from earlier, Harry stills his hand, and looks up with wide eyes. “I need you to take control. Please.” The quiet confession is somehow thunderous in the nearly silent room.

Remus folds himself over Harry, insinuating his body into the crevices of Harry’s body as though they’ve done this a hundred times. He noses his way into the space between Harry’s jaw and collarbone, and begins pressing closed-mouth kisses over the veins and tendons visible there. He works his way up to Harry’s ear and nips teasingly at the lobe, toying the skin between his teeth for a brief moment and then releasing it to whisper darkly. “Don’t worry. Daddy’s going to take good care of you.” The low growl is closer to the wolf’s timbre than his own.

A shiver wracks Harry’s body from the base of his skull down the entire length of his spine at Remus’ words. Oh yes, that does things to me. His brain shuts down in the immediate aftermath of that revelation, because Remus chooses that moment to suck a kiss into a spot that causes stars to flash in his periphery, and he has no qualms about letting Remus know exactly how good that feels.

Harry is a bundle of exposed nerves, writhing and moaning under the careful ministrations of Remus’ skilled lips, tongue, and teeth. He’s vaguely aware of fisting one hand into Remus’ short curls, while the other digs furrows into his back in a bid to ground himself against the onslaught of sensations storming through him.

Remus licks a path down to one dark pebbled nipple and slowly swirls the tip around the hard flesh, causing Harry to buck violently into the contact, babbling mindlessly. “More, fuck! Feels so good.”

Harry had high hopes about what sex with Remus would feel like. He’d fantasised and dreamed about it for the past month, curating scenario after scenario with obsessive intensity. But nothing had prepared him for what it would actually feel like to have the man’s full attention focused on him.

Remus flicks a careful nail over the nipple he’s not currently laving with his tongue, relishing the reaction it draws from Harry. He opens his lips and sucks the skin into his mouth, biting down firmly but slowly, as he listens for any sign that Harry doesn’t enjoy the more intense sensation. Hearing only encouraging whimpers and wordless moans, he sucks more firmly and then releases the flesh with an audible ‘pop’. Harry’s head thrashes on the pillow, and his fingers clench almost painfully into Remus’ back and scalp. A sense of pride floods him at the way his boy looks so thoroughly debauched already.

“How are you doing, love?” He mouths the words into Harry’s sternum, over the shiny healed skin of his scar. He licks a long flat swipe down to nibble at Harry’s navel as he waits for a response.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Harry barely manages any response at all, and his litany of expletives isn’t an answer to the question asked of him.

Remus teases Harry in a sing-song manner, “that’s not an answer, little lion.” 

Harry’s tongue feels useless in his mouth, “it’s good, it’s great, don’t stop. Please, don’t stop,” but he forms the words and forces them out. He lifts his hips to encourage Remus’ continued descent down his body.

There is a growing need in Remus to hear that one special moniker from Harry’s bitten lips. “Don’t stop, what?”

And Harry understands exactly what he’s being asked, because without faltering or missing a beat, he replies in a pleading tone especially designed to torment Remus. “Don’t stop, Daddy.”

Remus groans in appreciation of the gift he’s been given, and returns to the delicate work of driving Harry wild with want. He hooks reverent fingers into the waistband of Harry’s sleep pants, and rolls his eyes up to watch Harry’s face as he works them down and over his hips. “You’re so gorgeous, so responsive.” Remus marvels at each and every silent ‘oh’ that Harry’s mouth forms, and then at the way he bites his lips as if in concentration. “Such a good boy, just for me.”

He’s so focused on every thought that flits across Harry’s expression that he completely misses the way Harry’s cock bounces free until he’s already tugged his pants down to his knees. Once he spots the thick, uncut, length of Harry just centimetres away from his face however, he rushes to finish the job of undressing his perfect boy, and tosses them to the ground.

Remus’ mouth waters at the sight before him, and it’s a testament to his strength of will that he doesn’t dive right into kissing and licking his way down Harry’s cock. Remus pauses, letting his fingers dance over Harry’s thighs, enjoying the feel of coarse hair against his palms.

Harry is nearly delirious, and it has nothing to do with lack of sleep, and everything to do with his need to have Remus offer him relief for the throbbing ache between his legs. His hands are useless at his sides  –having lost their death grip on Remus as the man removed his pants– twisting and releasing the fabric of the bed linens in a silent plea for more.

Remus watches Harry fight the bedsheet for a long moment before finally taking pity on him. He leans down and begins pressing slow, damp kisses to Harry’s leg, starting at his knee, lapping at the sensitive skin on the inside of Harry’s strong thighs. 

Harry resumes making those delightful noises again, and Remus chases them like an addict chasing their next high. He bites a particularly tempting bit of flesh on Harry’s upper innermost thigh, and Harry pushes himself backwards in an attempt to escape. Remus can’t help the satisfied smirk that spreads over his face. “Something wrong?”

Harry stammers as he tries to form a coherent thought. “Nuh, um, nothing. Just sensitive is all.” His cock is practically begging for some sort of friction, and Harry convulses, clenching his thighs tightly together, rubbing the sole of one foot over the top of his other. He knows just how desperate he must look to Remus’ more experienced eye, and he burns with the knowledge that it would scarcely take more than a stroke or two, to bring him to completion.

The sight of Harry so visibly affected, causes the wolf to purr loudly. Giving pleasure is something Remus loves to do, and the wolf has begun a formal campaign to make Harry his mate. Remus lifts an eyebrow and crawls up to close the new distance between them. He forces his hands into the impossibly tight space between Harry’s muscular thighs, and slowly pries Harry’s legs open. “I can’t do all the things you want me to do, if you’ve got these gorgeous legs locked shut. Let me in, baby boy.”

Harry melts under the touch, but more so, at the term of endearment Remus lets slip so casually. Baby Boy. It’s everything he’d never known he needed. This man, these touches, the weight of their experiences, all of it combines to make the moment more than he ever could have hoped for. If he hadn’t already been aware of the depth of his feelings for Remus, this seals it.

Harry rushes to comply, allowing his knees to fall open and Remus takes the opportunity to drink in the sight. He has the thought to check in with Harry, to gauge where his mind is at, and how he’s feeling. “How are you doing, love?” Remus has the temptation to continue touching Harry as he waits for his answer, but he holds himself back. He needs to assess Harry and make sure he’s doing okay.

The exasperation and sassy comeback are nearly immediate. “Aside from the fact that I’m already throbbing and you haven’t even touched my cock, you mean?”

Remus barks out a laugh, “still as cheeky as ever, I see,” Remus tuts quietly, his tongue sucks and releases the roof of his mouth in a way that captures Harry’s slightly out of focus gaze.

Harry hums in disagreement. “Not cheeky,” he bites his lip and cuts his gaze to the side shyly. His voice drops and his eyebrow lifts in a very telling manner. “I’m not going to last.”

A lightbulb goes off in Remus’ head; Harry is worried about ending things prematurely. He suddenly realises that while he has been grasping his need to effectively communicate and gain Harry's consent, Harry had communicated to him exactly what he wanted: to be taught. In an ideal world, Remus and Harry would have had conversations about all of this, they would have gone into this with more than just their emotions, and carnal desire.

Harry had asked more than once to be shown, and Remus finally understands the gravity of that request. “And what if I said that I don’t want you to last?” Remus asks rhetorically, hardly pausing before he continues. “I’m going to swallow your first orgasm, and then we’ll continue, so you’re better able to focus. Do you understand?” Harry’s eyes go wide, and he nods eagerly. “Consider this your introduction, Harry.”

Harry’s thoughts spin out of control, every neuron firing endlessly in an attempt to process everything Remus has just explained.

Remus is about to suck his cock. Remus, who has systematically touched and tasted nearly every bit of his body, is about to swallow his first orgasm? The implication being that Remus expects to wring more than one from Harry’s body. If this is foreplay, and he’s nearly fit to burst, he’s convinced he’ll never survive Remus fucking him.

Harry’s brain is a Muggle computer giving an error code.

When he’d asked to be taught, he hadn’t expected to skip entry level and jump straight to a mastery level course. He should have known, should have had an inkling that his taunts and teases were going to have unintended consequences. He won’t back down though. “Yes sir.” Harry’s words are breathy and soft between them, lingering and weaving them closer together.

When Remus leans down to capture Harry’s bottom lip in a searing kiss, it’s all teeth and sucking moans. Harry’s fears of inadequacy fade under the sensation of it. Then it’s both of them together, melting into the contact, their hands grappling 

against muscles and skin. Harry pants harshly and pulls Remus further into his embrace, his feet pressing into Remus’ thighs, desperate for more. “Please,” the word is a whispered prayer against Remus’ cheek and then there is nothing holding him back, every reservation finally snaps under the overwhelming evidence that Harry wants this. Harry wants this. Fuck.

Remus leans back, carefully getting his knees under himself to leverage their bodies into a better position for Remus to explore Harry. He traces his fingers down Harry’s chest. His eyes remain on Harry’s face, watching each soft lift of his brow. “You like when I touch you here.” He scrapes a nail over a taut nipple. “And when I kiss here.” Remus’ fingers find the curve of Harry’s hip, where a blooming hickey darkens the skin. Harry’s mouth falls open on a gasp, and he nods almost frantically, humming encouragement.

Remus curls his fingers into the coarse patch of hair between Harry’s hips, slowly moving to wrap around the very base of Harry’s swollen dick. “But, I think where you really want me. Is. Right. Here.” Each of the last few words are punctuated with a slow jacking motion, dragging Harry’s foreskin up and over the leaking crown of his cock.

Harry thrusts up into the firm fist, and throws his head back. “Mhm, yes. Oh merlin, yes. Just like that.” Harry babbles to the canopy, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, and Remus takes pity on him. He presses one last kiss to Harry’s cheek and slides down Harry’s body.

Fireworks explode against Harry’s eyelids from how tightly he has them squeezed closed. Because, fuck, Remus’ breath is hot against his groin, and his fingers dig into Harry’s thighs with just enough pressure to keep him from leaping off the bed. Then his mouth closes around just the tip of Harry, while his hand works the base with a fluid movement. Remus’ eyes roll and catch Harry’s stare and the sight alone leaves him breathless, all the air rushing from him in one long exhale.

Remus hums in excitement at the sounds and jerky movements Harry offers up. Mine. The wolf growls in agreement, and for once in his life, Remus no longer fears that low growl in the back of his mind.

Remus sinks slowly down Harry’s length, sucking lightly as his mouth and throat work to accommodate the intrusion. He’s always enjoyed going down on his partners, he loves the stretch, and having to coordinate his breathing with his movements. However, Harry makes the experience transcendent. His hips practically vibrate under Remus’ hands, erratic and jerky, soundtracked perfectly by his short gasps. Once he bottoms out, and his nose is pressed to skin, Remus inhales Harry’s scent. He draws in the slightly sweaty, sharp musk and imprints it to memory. The wolf growls eagerly, encouraging him to breathe deeper.

Harry’s on the edge. Already his balls feel heavy and tight, moments away from release. His knuckles turn white under the strain of his grip on the bedding, and he might be hyperventilating. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m not going to…Don’t move.” He grinds out the words, fighting to form a coherent thought. He’s just too sensitive, too inexperienced, and he’s going to come in a matter of moments.

Remus ignores Harry's warning and slowly licks his way back up, a firm grip at the base of Harry's cock to stave off his orgasm. He pops off with an obscene noise, and looks up the length of Harry's body with a hungry stare. His voice drops to that deeper register he rarely uses. "You're so good for me, Harry. So beautiful, like this.” Remus presses a featherlight kiss to Harry’s weeping tip. “I want to feel you on my tongue.” A slightly sucking kiss. “I crave your taste.” His tongue darts out to lap up a bead of precum. “I need to hear you say my name as you spill down my throat.” Remus tongues his slit with a wide, slow lick. “Let go for me, little lion.” Remus lifts Harry's hand from where it is fisted in the sheets and brings it to his lips to press a tender kiss to his palm. “Give it up for Daddy." He guides Harry’s hand to rest on his cheek and presses closer to Harry’s aching cock.

Remus’ words and the look in his eyes do more to Harry’s body than every tempting touch combined. Molten lava shifts through Harry’s abdomen, and for a blinding second he’s sure he’s going to erupt in spite of Remus’ unrelenting grip on his cock. “Oh.” He exhales shakily and threads his fingers into Remus’ hair. Then, Remus follows through on all of his promises. He swallows Harry down with one swift motion, his throat and tongue working together to constrict around Harry. “Oh, fuck!” He shouts, curling his toes painfully as his muscles clench and spasm. “Yes!” Remus pulls halfway off, teasing Harry with a swipe of his tongue along the underside. “Mhm” Harry moans wantonly. Then Remus loosens his grip, and begins stroking in time with his mouth, licking and sucking the crown with abandon.

Harry very nearly pulls Remus off with a frantic tug just as he begins the descent into mindless oblivion, but Remus remains steadfast in his movements and Harry falls. “Oh, oh, oh” he pants softly, “fuck me,” a groan, “yes, daddy!” His final plea is nearly silent, a prayer for only Remus’ ears. Remus’ eyes haven’t left Harry’s face, and he’s in awe of the absolute rapture etched across his features, as Harry goes silent, and his face twists with the intensity of his orgasm.

Harry is once again between this world and the next. His body is alight with sensations, Remus’ fist working him through each pulse as his throat constricts to swallow every last drop, his hand tangled in Remus’ hair is an anchor tethering him to reality, and his mind is soaring. Harry’s unaware of the hiccuping breaths, and violent muscle spasms that accompany his extraordinary orgasm. He’s unaware of anything except for the loud rushing of the ocean in his ears, beating in time with his heartbeat. When he returns to his body, he finds Remus curled into his side, slowly tracing his fingers into the divot over his heart. He presses his mouth close to Harry’s cheek, kissing him softly, and speaking between the gentle pecks. “You were perfect.”

Harry inhales air into lungs that burn from the effort, fighting to open his eyes and failing. “I was perfect, what?” He asks in a voice that is surprisingly hoarse, and he has a moment to wonder why his throat feels so scratchy.

Remus lets out the laugh of a man who has left his lover thoroughly satisfied. He knows what Harry is asking for, this man who has lived through the unimaginable, now quick to make his needs known. “You were perfect, baby boy .” Remus answers, gratified by the answering smile that spreads like molasses across Harry’s lax face.

Harry mumbles something that sounds like, “only for you,” and lays there with his eyes closed for such a long time, that Remus is half-worried he’s fallen back to sleep and won’t remember this interlude later. He’s rapidly working himself up into a panic over his lack of self-control when Harry’s arms tighten around his chest. “I can practically hear your mind racing.” Harry murmurs with his eyes still closed.

Remus nuzzles closer, huffing out a sigh. “How do you do that?”

Harry cracks one eye open and cuts his gaze to the side, unable to see Remus from his position. “How do I know when the man I love is beating himself up?” Harry asks, then answers his own question with a teasing smirk. “It’s magic.”

Harry rolls slowly onto his side, facing Remus and sliding his hand down to touch Remus’ waist. His sleep shirt is gone, lost somewhere between Harry asking for him to take the lead and now. He does still have his boxer briefs on, and Harry performs a ballet with his fingers on the exposed skin just above the waistband of them. Harry inhales and holds the breath, seeking the words necessary to encourage Remus. “It wasn’t a mistake.” Harry says finally, and there’s a hint of supplication, a quiet pleading for Remus to agree.

The sound that escapes Remus is unconvinced, so he tries again. “I told you exactly what I needed, and you took care of me. You treated me with the same respect and love you always do.” Harry searches Remus’ face -this close he doesn’t need his glasses to make out every slope and line- looking for proof that he’s made a dent in the self-incriminating thoughts that are surely playing through Remus’ head.

I want you.

I need you.

We deserve this.

Harry doesn’t voice those thoughts, but he thinks them with all of his might. He wishes, not for the first time, that Remus could see himself through Harry’s eyes. “I won’t hold you to continuing this, if you are having second thoughts.” Harry speaks the words softly, his eyes never leaving Remus’ face. He watches Remus’ eyes widen in surprise, his mouth drops open, and he sputters for a second.

“What?” Remus asks in a whisper. “I thought, you…” He trails off, replaying their post-orgasm conversation again inside his head. “I just, I thought you were asleep, I was worried that I’d taken things too far.” Remus does a poor job of laying his thoughts out, but he hopes that Harry understands what he’s trying to convey.

Harry reaches down, pulling Remus’ hand up to cup his jaw, needing the comforting weight of Remus’ hand on his face. “I don’t know if you recall, but I was recovering from the best fucking orgasm of my life, and this conversation is a testament to the fact that I now expect that sort of treatment more regularly. I’m afraid you’re dealing with a monster of your own making.” Harry says all of this quite matter-of-factly, and feels relief and hope swell in his chest when Remus breaks into an unexpected smile, and shifts to press their foreheads together.

“Harry.” His name is the only word Remus says for a moment, then, “what am I going to do with you?”

Harry lets out a surprised laugh, “Remus” he narrows his eyes, “I’ve already answered this question several times. I’ll remind you, though, since you’re getting up there in years.” Harry winks, and pats Remus’ hip in a mocking manner. “I expect to be well shagged at your earliest convenience, and I can’t imagine it getting any more convenient than this.” Harry grips Remus’ waist and tugs him once in a rocking motion. “Please?”

Harry’s teasing, soft request is instrumental in forcing Remus to trust himself. Harry constantly pushes Remus to see himself as worthy, and he can no longer carry his disbelief under the weight of such utter faith. His hand on Harry’s face trembles, and suddenly it's as if the dam breaks yet again. Harry continually breaks through the layers of protection he's erected around his heart. The self imposed rules he’s written there to keep himself and others safe, disappear without a thought. Remus finally sees that and while he thought he’d needed to wait for Harry to be ready to take this step, Harry had actually been waiting for him. “Oh.”

Harry looks at him with a knowing smirk. “I love you, Remus.”

“I love you, Harry.” He rushes to say the words that were already on the tip of his tongue.

Harry slides to close the distance between them, securing their lips together with ease. The kiss is insistent, yet languid. He applies force to those full lips prying Remus’ mouth open, but the speed is utterly sensual. Once their tongues tangle and smooth over each other, he has his first taste of himself on Remus’ tongue. It’s nearly enough to drive him insane, and Harry’s hands tug Remus closer, until their bodies are flush together and their legs intertwine. Harry breaks the kiss to gasp, “so, are you green? Good to go?” He questions lightly.

Incredulity sparks in Remus’ eyes, “what do you know about the stop light system?” His tone is hushed, and his eyes widen.

Harry pretends to ponder the questions for a moment, then puts Remus out of his misery. “Hermione Granger put herself in charge of ensuring all of the eighth year’s were educated on sexual matters .” Harry puts on a poor impression of his friend, and continues. “Of course Ron and I were given extra reading, because she knew we were both hopeless.” Harry rolls his eyes at Hermione’s estimation of his prowess, but a grin splits his face wide. “So, how are you feeling?” Harry asks hopefully.

Remus looks at Harry in continued surprise, “green. I’m green.” He swallows thickly, “and you? How are you feeling?”

Harry captures his mouth in a fierce and demanding kiss, moaning at the first biting tug of Remus pulling his bottom lip into a firm grip between his canines. Harry whimpers, and feels his body melting under the attention. Just as suddenly, Remus pulls away with an arched eyebrow and a pointed look. Harry knows. He knows the importance of communication, and safewords. Even in something as simple as using daddy/little language, it’s important to make sure your partner is in the right headspace. He knows that Remus is waiting for his answer. Knows that if he doesn’t give it, that everything stops, just before they get to the best part. “Green. So fucking green.” He assures Remus.

Remus’ heart pounds against his ribs. 

Time to give my baby what he wants.

Mine.

His own thought, and the wolf’s, come at the same time. Both lift the corners of his lips into a hungry smile.

Chapter Text

Nose On The Grindstone: Live with KEXP

With all of the stop and go over with, and a very brief acknowledgement of safe practices, Harry reaches out to pull Remus down onto himself. “You’re overdressed for what I want.” His hand goes to Remus’ waistband to tug lightly on the elastic, and he looks up at Remus from beneath thick, dark lashes. He’d been frozen earlier by his own lust. However, the distance from his fiery need allows him to explore the side of himself that has never felt safe enough to make demands, or to be snarky. His chest is lighter than it has been in his entire life, and it’s all thanks to Remus, and his friends, and the life that they are building for themselves. 

Remus’ heart does a flip inside his chest, under the intense gaze, and he nods sagely, “and could you remind me exactly what it is that you want? My memory just isn’t what it used to be.” Remus smirks and leans closer to trail kisses down Harry’s jawline. He pauses to lick and nip the spots that Harry responds to best, before working his way to the hollow under Harry’s ear, and sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. His only concern is Harry’s fingers digging into his shoulders and how he softly whimpers for more.

Once he releases the tender flesh, and begins licking soothing stripes over it, Harry finally answers. “I want you to quit teasing and fuck me! Please, I need you.” His voice gets higher pitched with each demand and his fingers traverse Remus’ back to cup his arse, pulling their hips together harshly.

“Mhm… I remember now,” Remus groans and rocks his hips into the firm warmth of Harry’s slowly filling cock. His lips seal over Harry’s collarbone, and he nibbles over to Harry’s shoulder. Something about the muscles and skin there, calls to him constantly. His mouth yearns to go on an expedition of Harry’s body, littering marks across his skin like a secret map. The urge to lay claim to every spot that brings Harry pleasure is strong, but he’s been given his orders, and Harry won’t let him continue his detour for much longer without becoming whiny, and demanding. Cheeky Brat. Remus smiles fondly at the thought that Harry feels safe enough to snark and tease him. The ever-present pride he feels toward Harry swells until it’s hard to breathe through the surge of emotion inside him.

Harry writhes into every touch, eagerly pulling Remus tighter against him in an effort to urge him on. Despite his recent orgasm, he begs for something he has no frame of reference for. He understands the mechanics mentally, but he aches with the need to have it indelibly written into the very fabric of his body. Remus leans back onto his knees, and the loss of his mouth is jarring. Harry stills. The sight of Remus tugging Harry’s hands back to his waistband makes his mouth go dry. He can feel the atmosphere changing between them, like the barometric pressure of a storm growing in the distance causing an unexpected awareness of his bones.

Remus offers only a slight nudge, and Harry’s fingers know what to do. He rolls the last barrier between them down in awe. Each centimetre of exposed skin creates an even bigger desire to explore Remus, in the same way he’d been explored. “I want to taste you.” He tears his gaze away from Remus’ flushed cock -pointing proudly down toward his shockingly strong thighs- and watches the flicker of need in Remus’ eyes at his words.

Remus shifts, kicking his briefs off the bed with a shaky huff of air. “ Mi cuerpo es tu cuerpo .”

Harry blinks once, slowly, confused, “what did you just say?”

Remus’ smile softens his features and the crinkles around his eyes deepen into mischievous creases. He answers, “my body is your body,” rolling down to the mattress beside Harry. He collects a chaste kiss before relaxing into the bed. “Help yourself to me, little lion.” Remus pulls Harry’s hand to his heart, and it’s all the invitation Harry needs to drag himself up to hover over Remus’ prone body.

Harry traces Remus’ scars with delicate fingertips. His hesitancy, fueled by lack of experience, fades with each quiet gasp that escapes Remus’ mouth. He kneels closer, bringing their mouths together in a searching kiss. Harry’s heart beats out a staccato rhythm, like the wings of a snitch, and he's soaring.

Perfect.

He pulls back to find Remus’ eyes closed, and he puts to practise the instruction Remus had so masterfully shown him. He kisses scar decorated skin with the devotion of a scholar studying the ancient texts, deliberate with every caress. He has no idea what turns Remus on, but as he charts a path down his pale, blushing throat, he’s thrilled with the encouragement falling from Remus’ lips. “Oh Harry,” cut off by a moan, “yeah, just there, clever boy.”

Harry finds the knot of muscle that connects Remus’ neck and shoulder, and he sucks hard. The reaction is immediate. Remus’ voice is barely more than the rumble of far off thunder, a gentle growl that causes Harry's insides to quiver. He loosens his hold on the muscle slowly and notices the mottled bruise left behind. He experiences a moment of hesitation, but Remus’ hand threads gently into Harry’s hair, urging him silently to continue.

The press and play of their bodies is new, but Harry’s feelings for Remus have been building through weeks of friendship and caretaking. The setting might be novel, but his desire to see Remus happy and proud of him is not. Harry craves Remus’ praise more than his next breath, and he breaks contact to speak in a murmur against Remus’ collar bone. “How am I doing, Daddy?”

The shy question punches into Remus’ chest, and he fights to inhale through the vice around his lungs. When he speaks, it’s ripped from him, rough and low, "baby boy, you are doing so good." His fingers spasm slightly in Harry's riotous hair, and he continues, "when your mouth is on me, I struggle to-ah!" His voice lifts to a moan when Harry's teeth find his nipple unexpectedly. Harry's lips spread into a smile, but his teeth continue to toy with pebbled flesh, and his tongue grazes over the tip in short flicks. Harry’s head buzzes pleasantly under the evidence of Remus’ pleasure and he continues his ministrations.

Remus fights against the desire sparking through him to continue babbling soft encouragement. “So-, ugh so good for me, love.” He devolves into soft groans and pleased noises the lower Harry moves down his abdomen. Remus fights valiantly to keep his eyes open, but loses the battle under Harry’s thorough inspection.

Without warning, Harry bites down over his hip with enough force to bow Remus’ spine, and tear a choked sob from him. He’s still recovering from the shock when Harry flattens his tongue and applies steady, even pressure to the abused flesh for a heart stoppingly long second. Remus’ body has gone loose and boneless from the flood of endorphins, but Remus lifts his head to look down at Harry with eyes gone golden and feral.

Harry pulls back just enough to lock eyes with Remus, and drags his tongue over the spot in a slow, deliberate stripe. His heart is in his throat. Harry has no idea what drove him to close his teeth over Remus’ hip so sharply, but the searing look Remus levels at him reassures him. Then Remus speaks one word. “Mine,” and a low growl starts in Remus’ chest, prompting Harry to slither one hand up to feel the vibrations through his sternum. After the rumble fades, and the full weight of Remus’s gaze has been settled firmly on him for longer than he can withstand, Harry lifts his head and turns to look at Remus for the first time.

The sight of Remus’ cock stops Harry in his tracks.

It’s huge.

He’d felt Remus through layers of clothing, soft, and pressed against his arse while he was being held. He’d also felt Remus get hard or semi-hard at least a couple of times, although neither of them had ever acknowledged those instances. He’d think of the feeling of Remus half hard against him while wanking, and on the exceedingly rare occasion that he was able to slip one finger into that private place between his legs, he’d imagined what Remus might feel like there.

Now, Harry is face to face with a gorgeous fucking cock, and he is too turned on to think of anything but tasting it. He stares for entirely too long, and his mouth begins filling at the thought of what is to come. He speaks, breaking the spell. “Can I?” He asks softly and motions vaguely to where Remus’ cock jumps with apparent interest.

Remus pushes himself up on his elbows to get a better look at Harry. Harry’s lips are red and swollen from all of the biting and kissing, and he looks sinful. “Absolutely, but, I might have to stop you sooner than you’d like, if you still want me to split you open.” Remus speaks the words in a low, needy tone, and Harry’s mouth purses into a surprised ‘oh’ over the decidedly naughty choice of words.

Remus looks as serious as Harry’s ever seen him, and all of a sudden Harry’s reminded of exactly what he wants– that empty ache inside of him filled by Remus. 

Harry rocks his hips involuntarily where he kneels between Remus’ legs. The movement squeezes his thighs and puts pressure on the sensitive skin under his balls causing him to groan out loud. “Yes. Mhm. Please.” Harry murmurs while his lips close the distance to land in featherlight kisses over Remus’ cock. He starts at the tip, only allowing his lips to land and lift along the delicate texture of the crown. He kisses, and kisses, down over the proud rim, finally teasing his tongue along the seam of it.

Remus is consumed by the sensation of Harry exploring every millimetre of his sensitive prick in tortuous detail. He pants and praises Harry between soft gasps, “So good, that’s right, go on baby,” each thought is barely formed. Then, Harry swallows him halfway down and Remus begins goading Harry in earnest. “I knew you would be good at this. So eager to please me, like you were made for this.” Remus’ mouth is off and running, offering up teasing words until Harry begins moving with purpose. Harry’s no practised professional, but he’s enthusiastic and sloppy, and it’s more than enough to drive Remus wild.

Where Harry lacks skill –he possesses devotion, and the taste of Remus on his tongue is divine. His eyes remain prayerfully down, and he grips and kneads into the muscles of Remus’ thighs in a rhythmic manner. Harry hums and preens under Remus’ exaltation, those words stirring him up to move on to other things.

Harry rocks his head up and down a few times, slurping loudly, partially because of the excess saliva that’s running down the length of Remus’ cock, and partially because he enjoys the sound and feeling of sucking Remus off. Harry’s enjoying himself almost too much, rocking his hips in an effort to create friction. His body warms at the thought of Remus inside him. After a moment he pulls off with a sheepish expression. “I think, I-I’d like to… I’m ready.” Harry bites his lip and lifts his face to Remus. 

Remus reaches down to take hold of Harry’s upper arms, and hauls him up along his body until their chests are solid against each other. “You’re ready?” Remus makes the words a question, but they both know what is being asked and answered.

Harry inhales, and the comforting scent of Remus’ room fills him with an overwhelming sense of unabashed joy. He leans down to kiss Remus deeply, grateful that he’s able to touch and taste to his heart’s content. Harry ends the kiss with a handful of smaller kisses, then he finally pulls back to answer, “Make love to me, Remus,” he presses a soft kiss to Remus’ forehead. “I’m ready.” His cheek. “I want this.” The other. “I need you.” One more searing kiss, and Remus lifts his head up from the mattress, braces his hand over the small of Harry’s spine and rolls until their positions are flipped.

Harry gasps out loud.

Remus continues the kiss, deep and searching, while his hands seek out all of those places that leave Harry shaky and whiny underneath him. He twists, then pinches one of Harry’s nipples causing him to buck delightfully into the touch, a soft groan escaping their fused mouths. Remus takes the opportunity to slide their cocks together with a gentle thrust, and urgency rolls through him unexpectedly. He’s achingly hard and Harry rocks up to keep their hips pressed close together in a tantalising chase that is not nearly enough from his sweet boy.

Remus plants his hands beside Harry’s ribs and pushes himself up in a half push-up position. “You’ll soon have me, I just need to open you up.” Remus declares softly, but his hips shift slightly and Harry’s reaction gives the moment more weight than it had before. A quiet curse leaves Harry’s parted lips, and he scrambles to comply with Remus’ directive. “Ah, ah, let me show you.” Remus takes hold of Harry’s smaller body, and with exceeding care he moves Harry to rest against the centre of the headboard, his head supported by a carefully positioned pillow. His hands skate over Harry’s body reverently before coming to rest on his narrow hips.

Remus spreads his fingers experimentally, curling the four fingers of each hand around to Harry’s back, and anchoring his grip by pinning Harry’s hip bones with his thumbs. Remus finds Harry’s eyes closed and his head sinking deeper into the pillow with each choked breath he takes. “Do you like when I hold you here?” He calls Harry’s attention back to himself with the question, and watches Harry struggle against the hold experimentally.

Harry knew Remus was strong. He’s proven his strength in a number of ways, and yet, each time it takes Harry by surprise. The latest reminder, however, undoes him. Remus’ firm grip on his hips is enough to send every pent up fantasy steamrolling through his mind. “Mhm, I love how strong you are. How safe you make me feel.” Harry answers honestly, knowing better than most that strength is worthless with the wrong intentions behind it. Remus has only ever used his strength to protect and care for Harry, but soon he’ll use it for much more intimate purposes, and Harry wants that very much.

The air catches in Remus’ lungs, and he stills, just long enough to feel the burn of emotion in the back of his throat. He lowers himself to kiss Harry senseless, slowly pressing teasing kisses to Harry’s mouth. Every time Harry tries to deepen the contact, Remus pulls away. He only resumes kissing Harry after he calms his frantic attempts, allowing Remus to set the pace. He takes it excruciatingly slowly, using just his lips and teeth to work biting kisses into Harry’s bruised lips, while he savours the soft hiccuping inhales Harry takes. When he finally slips his tongue into Harry’s mouth, they are both nearly delirious with the want of it, and he uses the distraction to Accio his personal lubricant into his palm.

Remus pulls away from the kiss at the moment of impact, and smiles down at Harry’s glassy-eyed expression. He also notices a distinct lack of back-talk, and snide commentary coming from Harry. “I suppose the only way to shut that pretty little mouth of yours up, is to keep it well occupied.” Remus imagines that knowledge will come in handy in the future, should Harry ever wish to explore any other kinks he might be interested in.

Harry hears Remus’ teasing, as if through a pleasant haze. His smile goes wide and he gives the only words he can offer. “Green… please, daddy.” His mind is fuzzy, but he’s grounded in the moment by the weight of Remus’ body on his.

Remus knows the signs of someone entering subspace and had suspected that might be something Harry would naturally drift to during their encounters. He’s surprised by the ease they’ve seemed to have, switching between different terms of endearment, but Harry has made his decision for what he wants now, and Remus feels an answering tightness in him at the shift.

Remus lifts the bottle up, explaining as he uncorks it and pours some out into his hands. “There are spells I could use, baby boy, but as often as you allow me, I will stretch you open slowly, and watch as you come apart for me. Only when you’re begging, will I finally fit myself into you. Do you understand?” Remus checks in, waiting for a response, and stoppers the bottle while carefully balancing the warm oil in his hand.

Harry moans at the image, practically mewling in response, and begins nodding his head affirmatively. "Yes. Please. Now." He is reduced to one word answers, but he spreads his legs wider, laying himself open to Remus' touch eagerly. Every nerve is a live wire and his body has been crying out for more for so long that he can scarcely think over the torrent of need inside him.

Remus offers up one last gentle caress of his lips against Harry’s mouth, then leans back with a satisfied look to begin prepping Harry for what is to come. He trails his fingers down the length of Harry’s cock and balls, watching the dance it elicits. His fingers sink between Harry’s muscular cheeks, gliding over his hole, carefully spreading the oil between his cheeks. Remus continues teasing over the spot where Harry wants him most and is enraptured by every expression that crosses his gorgeous features.

Harry has never felt so close to someone as he does at this moment. Remus’ finger circles the tight ring of muscle between his legs and tortures him with the promise of it, pressing the pad of his finger against the centre of Harry slowly without actually breaching him.

It’s not enough.

Harry grows increasingly frustrated with the lack of progress and lifts his knees, planting his feet on the bed in an attempt to leverage his hips down onto that tempting finger, but Remus tuts softly at him and pulls his finger away entirely. “Good boys are patient…” Remus’ voice trails off in reprimand.

The breath Harry’s been holding escapes as a shaky groan, and he forces himself to relax his hips under the reproachful look in Remus’ amber eyes. He’s the epitome of calm and collected despite his straining cock, and Harry can barely stand it. He needs more, “please,” he cries out softly, pleading for Remus to touch him again. He’s not ashamed to beg, in fact, at this point, he’s ready and willing to beg if it will earn him what he wants.

Remus finally takes pity on Harry, he’s done such a good job of asking for what he wants, and the wolf’s growl demands he satisfy his mate. Remus bites his own lip to help him focus beneath the heady rush of Harry begging him for more and he returns his lubricated finger to that tempting opening. “Anything for you, my little lion.” He pushes in slowly, working Harry open incrementally, until he’s nearly two knuckles in and Harry’s panting. “You’re doing so good, baby boy,” Remus applauds Harry while he waits for him to adjust to the intrusion. Then Remus slowly withdraws and advances until his finger is fully surrounded by Harry’s warmth. It takes everything within him not to rush through this, the most important step in the whole process. However, he possesses decades of self control, earned through years of warring with the moon and its sway over his primal nature.

“More. More. More.” Harry chants, barely able to keep his eyes on Remus’ hand as it disappears between his thighs. He’s rewarded for his efforts, and Remus begins an easy push and pull, sliding that sturdy finger into him over and over again in a steady movement that has Harry canting his hips into every touch. Remus slides his finger in and out of him until there is no more resistance and Harry rocks faster, hoping to encourage Remus with his body, if not his words. When Remus doesn’t add another finger, Harry speaks again, voice low with desire. “Please, Daddy, I need more- Oh!”

Those pretty pleas are cut short as Remus gives Harry exactly what he’s asking for so beautifully. He adds another well-lubricated finger alongside the first and pushes in with one swift thrust. Harry opens for him –just like Remus knew he would– and he pauses to give Harry time to process the added pressure. Remus uses the opportunity to watch Harry’s face twist with the sensation of being stretched and he has to check in. “How’s that baby? Is that what you needed? You want to feel full?” Remus curls his fingers upwards, seeking the hard gland that will bring Harry even greater pleasure. It only takes a few strokes before Harry’s voice leaves his body in a strangled sound.

Oh gods!

Harry can’t contain the shiver that takes over him when Remus touches that spot, his eyes slam shut and his head bows back against the pillow. His hands fight the sheets, then skate over his own chest as if the touch might calm the blaze burning through him, finally settling back on the bed in a bid to anchor himself. He’d known what the prostate was, he’d even tried to stimulate it himself, but he’d never managed it when he was exploring. It’s sharp, a pleasure so intense it’s almost painful.

Before he can recover from the shock of it, Remus begins thrusting into him faster, twisting his fingers to touch that spot randomly, so that Harry can’t ever prepare himself for the spark of pure electricity it sends shooting up his spine. “Fuck!” He cries out after one particularly sharp press, and Harry would do anything to feel Remus inside of him, he can’t wait another minute. His mouth opens to spill a litany of pleas for Remus to take him. “Please, more. Gods! Please.” His thighs burn already from the strain he exerts as he desperately chases the pleasure Remus offers him. “Daddy,” one of Harry’s hands lifts from the bedding to grasp Remus’ bicep, “please,” his hips rock rhythmically up, “I need you,” his nails bite into Remus’ skin with a sharp sting, “Daddy!” His voice has reached a fever pitch, high and without enough air to support it.

Remus feels his own control slipping. The wolf snarls and snaps with every pained cry of pleasure falling from Harry’s wrecked lips. His cock hangs heavily at the junction of his thighs, weeping precome without any external stimulation.

The urge to claim Harry as his, once and for all, is a mantra in his subconscious. 

Mine. Ours. Mate.

With a last rational thought, Remus wedges one more finger into Harry along with the pair that is scissoring in and out of Harry, he fights to fit all three inside. He manages just a few incomplete passes, and then he withdraws completely. “I’m going to take good care of you, love. I promise.” His own breathing is ragged as he snatches up the bottle of lubricant, and uncorks it with abandon– sending the top flying across the room. He pours a generous amount over his fingers, and reaches down to spread the slippery oil over his cock with one strong sweep of his fist down its length.

Harry aches with the loss of Remus’ fingers, but his eyes are transfixed to the captivating sight of Remus slicking himself up. Daddy’s going to take care of me. “Kiss me?” The words appear out of thin air, summoned by his need to be consumed by Remus. He’s not even sure he’s spoken, his bottom lip is still locked in a death grip between his front teeth, but then Remus is leaning over him and setting the messy bottle of lube down on the nightstand. His face hovers closer, and Harry wonders how anyone could have ever reduced him to Moony when it’s clear that he’s the north star. Harry knows without a doubt that he could navigate anything so long as Remus is there showing him the way.

Harry’s eyes are bright in the light of the torches, brilliant green outlined and emphasised by full, dark lashes. He’s flush with desire, and looks at Remus like he’s hung the moon. The whispered question inside his mind, asking for something Remus would never deny Harry, guides him to seal his mouth tenderly to Harry’s. Both men’s lips are soft and sensitive from their time together, and they kiss with the barest brush of lips against each other.

Harry’s arms come up to wrap solidly around Remus’ neck, and his legs mirror the movement around Remus’ waist. “Take me, I’m yours.” Harry speaks against Remus’ mouth, or he means to. Then Remus grips his thighs, angling his hips, and presses in. At first there is a slight burn, but soon the searing stretch gives way to a feeling of being home. Harry’s suddenly speared open, and so full that he might fall apart under the weight of his joy.

Remus slides into Harry as slowly as he can manage, breathing through the sensation of being held so thoroughly by the man he loves. Harry clings to him, using every bit of his body to confirm how much he cares for Remus, and it’s that swelling sense of love that leads Remus’ first full thrust into Harry. He bottoms out with a groan into Harry’s ear, “You’re doing perfect, Harry.” He kisses the sweat damp skin of Harry’s neck, greedily licking the salty taste of Harry into his mouth. “My clever boy, so fucking good.” Remus partially collapses under the sensation of being buried inside of Harry. They are as close as they are physically able to be, and he never wants to leave.

Yours.

The ache of being stretched open is nothing compared to the feel of Remus’ chest expanding against his own with every breath.

The burn of it could never overtake the feeling of having his legs curled around Remus’ strong hips and thighs.

Harry never thought he’d have something this wonderful in his life. He’d never expected to find this all-encompassing sense of safety and security, paired with passion that ignites him from the inside out. “Move, please…please. I need you to,” Harry’s hands knead into the muscles at Remus’ shoulders, tugging him closer while his hips struggle to move from where they are pinned to the bed.

Remus nods, his face pressed into the pillow supporting Harry’s head and then he lifts up onto his elbows to look down into Harry’s face from centimetres away. “Like this?” The question is timed perfectly with him slowly dragging his cock out of Harry, until only the crown is caught inside that extraordinarily tight ring of muscle, and then he pushes back into Harry with one strong tilt of his hips.

“Ah, mhm, yes.” The words are practically sobs, choked and wet as they tear through Harry. Remus repeats the same slow backwards movement, and thrusts in harder the next time. “Daddy, ah, ahh,” Harry is reduced to soft moans and cries as Remus sets a pace that is somehow teasingly slow, and still powerful beyond his wildest imagination. Each time Remus reaches the deepest part of him, Harry is filled with a growing heat at the base of his cock, and he can’t help but dig his nails deeper into Remus’ back in an effort to hold him there.

Remus is already close, Harry’s noises of encouragement and his body’s response to their love-making spurs him higher and higher. He fights to keep his thrusts smooth and slow, worried about hurting Harry, until Harry begins rocking up to meet him. “Just like that, baby, do what feels good.” Remus’ words have a tangible effect on Harry, because soon Harry’s nails bite into his skin with a sharper sting, and Remus knows he will wear the marks for a while. Remus shifts his knees just a bit, needing better traction to continue fucking into Harry, and Harry screams out during his next forward stroke.

Harry’s eyes have been closed for some time, but when Remus changes his angle and slams into Harry’s prostate, they fly open from the intensity of it. Remus’ stomach drags over his cock with every thrust and the combination of both sensations drives him to the brink unexpectedly fast. Harry’s mouth falls open on a nearly constant moan, and he cries out for Remus to do something, “Close, so close, fuck me harder. Please!” He’s barely aware of his own demand, but Remus’ hips piston into him even faster. The slide and slap of skin against skin is finally louder than the breathy moans and sighs Harry manages to form.

Remus moves on instinct, and with every movement his lungs burn with the need for oxygen. He is compelled by Harry’s euphoria and his own compulsion to give his sweet boy everything he desires. Remus’ eyes never waver from their scrutiny of Harry, he is glued to the sight of his boy tipping closer to ecstasy.

In the time between one exquisite slide of Remus’ cock into him, and the next, Harry’s face screws up with pleasure, and he cries out a warning, “ Fuck, I’m coming. ” Harry’s entire body goes rigid, and then he whispers a soft, needy, “Daddy,” and his cock throbs between them, pulsing and covering their chests with his arousal.

The sight of Harry’s eyes wide and unfocused, his mouth wrenched open in a silent scream, and the feeling of Harry spasming around him is too much, and it drags Remus down directly behind him. He thrusts once, twice, then Remus cries out and closes his mouth over Harry’s shoulder in a primal claim. The possessive bite is as necessary as his next breath. As their orgasms rip through them, and he fills Harry with his spend, Remus marks Harry with his teeth.

Ours.

Mate.

The wolf howls in a gravely timbre inside his mind, the self-satisfaction a palpable thing, but Remus doesn’t have any objections, and Harry writhes and moans his enthusiastic consent as they both sink boneless into the mattress.

— — — — —

Harry returns to his body in stages.

First, he’s aware of the nearly dead weight of Remus sprawled half on top of him, and it’s not claustrophobic, it’s fucking phenomenal.

More slowly, he takes notice of a growing ache where Remus bit him in the heat of the moment.

That too, had been incredible, and Harry turns his head just enough to feel a gentle, tugging pain. He’s interrupted while cataloguing the reminders of their first time together. “Did I hurt you?” Remus’ voice is a hoarse whisper near his ear, and Harry can sense the undercurrent of fear stampeding through those simple words. He rushes to shush Remus.

Harry’s words are simple, but effective. “I loved it. I love you.” Harry grips Remus’ back and welcomes the answering shiver and groan, “I could ask you the same thing…” Harry trails off when Remus finds his shoulder and begins lapping at the aching bruise. Harry whimpers unintentionally at the contact, and his body melts under the attention. He’s sore in more places than one, but his brain is poorly set custard, and his heart sings inside his chest. He tries to stay awake, wanting to bask in the afterglow of his first time with the man he loves, but instead, sleep claims him while he fights to hear Remus murmuring his own declaration of love and that might be his new favourite way to fall asleep.

— — — — —

Harry wakes to Remus wiping his stomach and between his legs with a warm, damp washcloth, and he opens bleary eyes, trying to make sense of what is happening. “No, come back here.” Harry whines, and makes grabby hands at where Remus stands beside the bed, unabashedly naked, wearing only the marks of their lovemaking like trophies.

Remus continues his careful movements, but looks down at Harry with a smile. “The cheek is back. I guess I’ll have to work harder next time.” He leans down to kiss Harry tenderly, and then pulls away to speak against his mouth. “You were wonderful, Harry. I…” Remus stops, thinking hard about how intense everything had been between them. He’s never felt so incredibly vulnerable and safe simultaneously before now. He’s turned himself inside out and bared his innermost thoughts and fears to Harry, and yet, that connection has allowed him to become a better version of himself. He’s never felt at home in his own body, until now.

Remus crawls into the bed and fits his body neatly against Harry’s, wrapping one arm across his stomach and pressing his lips to Harry’s temple. “I…” He starts and stops, unable to form the words to describe the magnitude of the emotions inside of him. Just when he is about to give up, and repeat those three unsubstantial words, Harry interrupts his musings.

Harry’s words are soft and rounded at the edges, blurry from sleep and orgasm. “Does it always feel like that?” There is a tugging sensation just below his sternum, a connection to his magical core that is new and confusing. His instinct is to worry that thread of connection and to send a pulse of magic through that invisible chord.

Remus gasps and lifts his hand to his chest as though he’s been physically hit. “Harry. Do that again.” His voice is quiet with wonder, and a dawning realisation.

Harry turns his head, to face Remus properly, and lifts an eyebrow in question. “Do what again?” Confusion filters over his face, but despite the question, he sends a smaller spark of power into that tether and watches Remus twitch his fingers over the same small spot on his ribcage.

Merlin and Morgana.

Remus closes his eyes, and tests his theory. He searches for his magic, imagining it as a physical form inside his body. Remus has spent so much of his life shielding and protecting himself from the somewhat feral nature of his magic, that he is often unaware of it, unless he’s actively tapping into it for duelling or other intense spells. 

As he isolates and unravels layers of protection meant to insulate him, he finds a newly formed mating bond thrumming within him. In his mind the string is a vibrant thing, bright gold and begging for him to pluck it like a guitar. He sends an answering flare of magic through the bond.

Now that he is aware and open to it, Remus can feel, rather than see Harry’s response to this unexpected outcome. The bond sings, and he’s rewarded with a quick wave of feelings that aren’t his own. They’re gone before he can examine them in detail, but he gets an overwhelming sense of elated shock. He opens his eyes to search Harry’s face, needing to see for himself that Harry isn’t devastated by this turn of events.

Harry’s mind spins wildly. He looks over to Remus, watching the face that’s become so familiar to him crinkle with concern. Harry could trace those lines all day, if he’s given the opportunity. He loves watching the concentration, and attentiveness displayed in each brilliant feature. He makes eye contact, and inhales softly.

Harry’s not upset, simply confused. He tries to reason how, why, and when this could have happened. He thinks over everything that transpired between waking up and now. They’d never made vows, they certainly hadn’t done a handfasting ceremony, soul bonds can happen spontaneously, but it’s exceedingly rare in this day and age. “Are we?” He doesn’t finish the question because there is only one thing he could possibly be alluding to.

Remus exhales slowly, and rolls onto his side so that they can face each other without straining their necks. He reaches out the hand he’d removed from Harry earlier, to touch the downy soft hair on Harry’s stomach. “It would appear so, little lion.” He hesitates, at a loss for how to soothe Harry. He doesn’t know what Harry needs from him right now, and he doesn’t want to make assumptions based on a flicker of emotions through their link. “What do you need from me?” He asks the question around the growing lump of fear in his throat.

Harry’s face transforms, a secret smile spreading his mouth wide, before a light-hearted laugh bubbles out of him. He reaches to take hold of Remus’ hand, and brings it to his lips, where he presses kisses to the tops of their knuckles for a moment, before answering. “You’ve already given me more than I ever dreamed of. You’ve shared every part of yourself, and I’ve done the same in return. The evidence is right here,” Harry presses their clasped hands to his chest, “soulmates… Who would’ve guessed it?”

Remus’ heart speeds faster with each word from Harry, then he’s crying –honest to gods– happy-tears and closing their mouths together in a kiss that’s just a little salty. The bond flickers and flares at the contact, and it sends a shiver through both men. When they pull apart, Remus says, “does that mean you’ll be sleeping in here from now on?” His lips lift in a sly smirk, and Harry swats at his chest playfully.

“As if you could get rid of me now, old man.” Harry laughs –a joyful noise– and Remus joins in, laughing until his sides hurt.

— — — — —

Later, after they’d cuddled, and fucked, and cuddled some more, they eat a late breakfast. Harry drinks his tonic, and they wait.

They wait for the awful sickness to return.

They wait to have their giddiness made a mockery of. 

Hours pass, and nothing changes. Harry doesn't get sick, and everytime he shifts next to Remus on the settee, Remus leaps to attention. After one particularly overzealous reaction to Harry getting up to use the loo, Harry levels Remus with a stern look and says, “I just need to use the loo. Are you worried I’m going to fall in?”

Remus shrugs his shoulders in a half-hearted apology. “Sorry, I’m just on edge. I think I’ll write to Severus for clarification.” His analytical mind needs to know if this is a temporary reprieve, and if they should expect Harry to become worse later.

Remus moves to sit at his desk, and Harry calls across the room, “We’re both on edge, it’s okay.” He smiles softly before turning and leaving the room.

Severus

There has been a significant change in Harry and I’s relationship, and the tonic is not working as it should. Could we meet to discuss the implications?

Remus

Remus paces impatiently after sending the hasty note. He’d tried to be as vague as possible so that its subject wouldn’t be easily known in the rare event someone intercepted the message. The action is a leftover from the war, a paranoia that he’ll likely never fully shake, combined with his desire to protect Harry from rumours.

When he comes to the pinnacle of his path, Remus is blocked by a rumpled-looking Harry, his face angled for a kiss, lips puckered softly. Remus folds himself down and presses their lips together with a fond smile. He will never tire of these soft moments, and the trust between them. The kiss causes the bond connecting them to ignite and tighten, until their arms and hands find each other and they cling together hungrily.

The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts them, and they spring apart to hear Severus say, “I see things have changed quite drastically.” His voice is schooled into his signature bored monotone, but Remus and Harry look at Severus with nearly identical guilty expressions etched onto their features. Severus flicks his eyes up, to the stonework of the ceiling, and speaks again, softer this time. “You’ve bonded… and now Harry is not suffering ill effects from the detox?”

Severus summarises the situation without missing a beat, and Remus questions his friend. “Does that mean you have a theory?” His fingers remain tucked under the back of Harry’s jumper, rubbing soft patterns into the skin there. He can’t bring himself to break contact with Harry, even in spite of Severus' presence, but thankfully Harry’s hands still grip his waist snugly as though the feeling is mutual.

Severus sweeps his arm toward the sitting area and calls for tea service. Without any fuss, Harry and Remus settle onto the settee closer than strictly appropriate. They quietly whisper to each other, and touch casually. Harry’s arm is slung low behind Remus’ back, his fingers under his jumper, tracing languid circles into the skin of his waist. Remus’ hand is secured heavily over Harry’s thigh, a comforting weight and warmth. The bond grows and stretches, alive and settling into place more firmly with each passing moment. It buzzes and thrills through each of them, and the euphoria is clearly evident in their matching awe-filled gazes towards each other.

Severus remains passively stoic until the house elf appears with a tray of delicious treats and sandwiches. There are more cream cheese and cucumber sandwiches than Remus and Harry typically request, but otherwise the offerings are bountiful and diverse.

Harry is surprised to find himself ravenous, but before he can get up to prepare a plate for himself, Remus squeezes his thigh, leaning forward to arrange a hearty meal and a cuppa for him. “They brought that blueberry loaf you like so much,” Remus tells him quietly, placing the plate into his lap with a napkin underneath to catch any errant crumbs. Harry is once again overwhelmed by the love and care Remus offers so freely. His heart pounds with the knowledge, and his mind leaps to thoughts of their future. Harry might as well be totally alone with Remus for all the attention he pays Severus, until he hears the gentle rattle of a cup and saucer which causes him to glance over.

Severus watches the display of easy affection without so much as a hint at what he thinks of the situation, but he speaks fondly when his voice raises just slightly above his normal octave. “It is plain to see what has changed between you, and I have to say that I couldn’t be happier for the both of you. A spontaneous bond is a rare and wonderful thing to experience. I’ve never personally seen one, and I’m honoured to bear witness to yours.” He keeps his eyes between where Harry is shovelling food into his mouth with a surprising speed, and where Remus sits watching the younger man.

Remus takes a breath before answering, “Thank you Severus, that carries a lot of weight coming from you.” He pauses before continuing, “does our bond have something to do with the tonic not working as expected?” Remus gives voice to the only question in his mind, and waits for an answer.

Severus calculates the probable explanations for what’s occurred, and speaks. “There are a lot of possibilities, but I believe that when your cores became bound to one another, there was a tidal wave of magic, magic that could be whatever was most needed. I believe the strength of the magic flushed the rest of the potion from Harry’s system. A sort of bond-induced detox. The bond desires both of you to be healthy and sped the process.” 

The part of Severus that is dedicated to the study and analysis of things, wishes there was a concrete way to have collected data on the entire situation. He mourns the fact that they will never know for certain what occurred, but he’s quietly confident that Harry is healed and no longer in need of added precautions. He does, however, clarify one thing for both men. “We do know through many studies that while the bond settles, you two will need to remain in your rooms for the next several days. It’s of no concern, since you were supposed to be detained for the detox, but the bond will require a fair amount of closeness until it has settled. I promise not to tell anyone outside of this room, and once it has become more solid, only the most attuned to you will be aware of it.” The words roll like water off his tongue, but he has the decency to look ashamed at the thought that they might have to share this sooner than they’d like.

Remus groans internally at the thought that other people would know about their bond without them being able to decide together, when to share that information. Although, there have already been people made aware of the nature of their relationship, and it’s been nice to have that support. He’s thankful for his own friends, and Harry’s, for protecting them from the beginning. “How do you feel about all of this Harry?” He turns his body, so that he’s shielding Harry subconsciously, and reaches out a careful hand to touch Harry’s face.

Harry regains his connection with the moment when Remus tenderly brushes his fingers over his cheek. “I think the people who already know won't be terribly nonplussed. Surprised? Yes, but, I know they’ll be happy for us.” Harry turns his face into Remus’ hand and smiles against his palm. He presses one kiss there and pulls away to look back at Remus’ face. “How are you handling all of this?” Harry’s tone is serious and calm. He wants Remus to feel comfortable sharing his concerns and has never failed to appreciate the way they’ve communicated from that first day.

Remus considers everything for a moment, unwilling to give anything less than a completely honest answer to the sensitive question. He opens his mouth. And starts with “I,” He pauses, thinking of those words that had failed him earlier. Before he’d known about the bond, but after he’d already realised he was an absolute goner. When he’d recognised how badly he wanted to ask Harry for more than this little space of time in-between the war and Harry’s future. He wants more than just the safe cocoon of Hogwarts before Harry leaves to explore the world.

Now, Remus hopes for a lifetime of learning, and growing and falling together. Those words, and emotions bubble to the surface and spill easily and earnestly. “I could not be happier to be yours, to have you as mine. I want to spend my time loving and caring for you, and allowing you to take care of me. If you never want anyone to know, other than those we care about, I will be content. And if you want to tell the world, I will stand beside you.” Remus takes a break to pause for emphasis, and to breathe, before continuing his profession of faith. “Harry, you are it for me, little lion.” His eyes are fond, and his voice only dips a little when he speaks next.  “More than that.” Remus’ expression grows mournful, knowing that things won’t always be easy. “I won’t always do what is best, but I will always give you my best. And when things go wrong, I will be there to help figure out how to make it right. I love you.” Remus pours out his soul, the words flowing like water over a fall. He didn’t mean to get so deep, but he always wants Harry to know where he stands, and to feel heard and respected.

Harry melts against Remus, laying his ear to Remus’ chest in a tender cuddle.

Severus stands and walks toward the exit, speaking over his shoulder as he opens the portrait. “On that note, I shall take my leave.” No one sees the wistful look cross his face as he moves past the threshold and swings the portrait shut quietly.

Harry does his best to absorb the moment, the tender vows Remus made still ringing in his ears and the steady thump of his heart beating against his ribcage, he breathes deeply and centres himself before he speaks. “Yes. To all of that. I want to wake up next to you, and fall asleep to the sound of your voice. You are my safe place, the person who helps me make sense of everything without pushing me to be anything I’m not.” Harry speaks with conviction, his words soft and steady.

The bond flares vividly and Remus can feel the strength of Harry’s affection. His emotions are as wild and stubborn as his magical core, and Remus burns with the intensity of Harry’s trust and unconditional love for him.

“I used to daydream about having my parents back, of living the life that was stolen from me, and while nothing will replace what has been lost, I look forward to our future more than you could know.” Harry’s thoughts wind down, but the chord between them is still alight with their soul's connection.

Remus holds him close, until holding becomes kissing, and kissing leads to soft contented sighs, and Harry is happier than he ever thought possible.

((((((((((( Epilogue )))))))))))))

— World cup, New York, America —

"Harry, are you sure you want to do this?" Remus asks, his hand steady at the base of Harry's spine, as he finds their seats in the private box 

"Yeah, I'm quite sure." Harry surprises Remus, settling onto his lap as easily as he does in private. He even manages his patented wiggle immediately upon contact. The boy is a nymph, and Remus occasionally pretends he doesn’t absolutely adore all of the attention, but it’s only a little more believable than the times Harry pretends he isn’t reduced to a puddle whenever Remus growls low and loud in his ear while taking him from behind. His inappropriate thoughts are interrupted by Draco, and Remus returns to the conversation. He squeezes Harry’s hip just enough to convey the effect he’s having on Remus in a public area.

"Harry, I've offered to buy The Daily Prophet multiple times, we can craft the narrative you want the world to read." Draco drawls without glancing over to where Harry is reclined on Remus' strong thighs.

"Thanks for the offer Draco, but I could buy the paper myself, if I were that concerned. You should see the size of my combined vaults. I've heard they rival yours…" Harry trails off at Draco's shocked gasp and sharp look. He smirks and lifts an eyebrow towards the blonde before devolving into a fit of laughter. Once he's done gasping to catch his breath -a response to the reaction he's elicited-  he continues more reasonably. "Let them speculate. If they knew the half of how well shagged we both are, they'd all be green with envy."

Remus tries and fails to maintain his composure. They’ve been bonded and living together for more than six months, and Harry’s sharp wit still surprises him at times. He wraps his arms more securely around Harry’s waist and draws him back onto his lap until he can rest his cheek against Harry’s shoulder, then he pitches his voice low and speaks only loud enough for Harry to hear. “If you keep taunting like that, I might have to steal you away in the middle of the match for an encore of this morning’s performance.”

Harry chuckles darkly, but it’s swallowed up by the cheers of the stadium as the teams fly onto the pitch one by one. A member of the press trails behind, snapping photos for promotional use, but he stops and loops back to take a photo into their booth. Harry turns to face Remus and plants a lingering kiss on his lips, just as the bulb flashes. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, old man.” Harry pulls back with a wink, and waves boldly to the man behind the camera.

The entire group surrounding them pipes up with their own commentary on Harry’s choice of venue for making their first appearance as a couple. Hermione suggests for the hundredth time on the trip, “honestly, Harry. Why not just set up an interview and get it over with?”

Ron exclaims, “oi! Are you two lovebirds going to actually watch the match, or make out the entire time?”

Luna reminds Harry of something she’d said not long after they’d first gotten together. “They share an aura now.”

Neville offers up a quiet, “it’s kind of cute how in love they are.” His cheeks blush and he looks over to Pansy with a soft smile.’

The group takes turns teasing them until the lights dim, and the players swoop into position.

— — — — —

The headline of The Daily Prophet the next morning isn’t nearly as salacious as expected, but the photo of them kissing front and centre says more than words ever could, just how happy the two men are.

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