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Lunaticus Book One: Half Moon	By : JBankai89 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Remus Views: 18458 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, I gain nothing from this but a way to pass the time.

Chapter List
- 16
- 17
- 18
Chapter 17 – Baby Steps

Over his first week back at the office, Harry's home life seemed to fluctuate between almost normal and something akin to ye Gods. At the same time, Caldwell's task she'd set him hovered at the back of his mind, but he struggled to find a good opening to actually ask Remus. There never seemed to be a right time, what with everything else that seemed to be going on, and it was no secret how Remus felt about his werewolf side. The last thing he wanted to do was make things more strained, when things were already so tense between them.

Harry was extremely frustrated with himself as he tried to work at feeling comfortable with Remus again. He could hold the man's hand, it was a start, but Harry was so deeply angry at himself and his own weakness, and more than once he wished that he could just force himself to get better faster.

The first Saturday after returning to work, Harry was sitting up in bed at mid-morning, fiddling with the slightly frayed edge of the duvet, lost in thought. It was a far cry from the depression he'd suffered following everything that had happened with Ron and Hermione, and as a result it seemed that Remus was quite content to let him get up in his own time, rather than put Kreacher up to dragging him out of bed again.

I just want to be better, Harry thought miserably while he stared at the blanket, and clenched his eyes shut as a wave of misery washed over him. The repetitive thought passed through his mind for what felt like the hundredth time in as many weeks, but he still felt no closer to actually feeling better. His fingers tensed around the fabric, Why is this so bloody hard?

With no solutions coming to him, he rolled out of bed and prepared to face the day ahead.

The day passed in a haze for Harry, no activity holding his attention for more than a few minutes at a time. When dinnertime rolled around, Harry felt as though the day had flown past him, and he couldn't recall the last time he'd felt so unproductive. At the same time, Caldwell's request had been festering in his mind as he tried to come up with a tactful way to speak to Remus about it. In the end, he decided that simply blurting it out would be his best option.

“I forgot to mention,” Harry said, breaking the dinnertime quiet, “my supervisor wanted me to ask you about getting your—er, werewolf expertise on the Red Moon case.” Harry chewed the inside of his cheek nervously as Remus glanced up, his eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline in surprise.

“What sort of expertise?” There was a defensive edge to his words, and Harry frowned a little, swallowing thickly in an effort to keep himself calm as he ploughed forward.

“The death toll is up to twenty-one—ten double murders and one werewolf murdered under the full moon. We're pretty sure we know what Red Moon is up to, and we need to find werewolves romantically involved with a human. If we're right, Red Moon are planning to seek out at least two more couples. My supervisor wanted to know if you're able to track other werewolves, so that we can warn them and offer protection...that is, if they'll let us.”

Following Harry's speech, Remus was quiet. He brought his wineglass to his lips, and swirled the dark red liquid. He stared at it for a long moment before he took a sip. Harry waited quietly, and after a long pause, Remus responded.

“It's highly unlikely that any werewolf—solitary or in a pack—will accept help from the Ministry. The Ministry has spent too much time persecuting werewolves, and the pro-werewolf legislation is still too new for many to change their view of the Ministry so soon,” Remus said with a small frown. He set aside the wineglass and steepled his fingers, lost in thought.

“I'm not as in tune with my abilities as others of my kind,” Remus continued, a bitter edge to his words. The sound of it made Harry wonder if Remus regretted fighting so hard against what he was, or if the negative feelings stemmed from something else. “As far as I know, only Alpha wolves are able to track others of our kind the way you want to,” he said, pausing and regarding Harry curiously before he spoke again. “If I may ask, what do you suspect Red Moon is up to?”

“We believe they're trying to construct a Nexbolus geared towards werewolves,” Harry said in a rush, hoping the words would have less impact if he spoke quickly, and he watched as Remus went very white.

“I—I see...” Harry watched the older man's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly, and he cradled his chin against the heel of his hand. “And I thought I saw the pinnacle of madness with the Lestranges...” Harry smiled weakly, and watched Remus worriedly. No matter how level-headed Remus was compared to how the other Marauders had been, Harry felt as though assuming he wouldn't do anything rash was something of a fool's hope.

“I want you to promise me to not leave the house alone, at least not until this is resolved,” Harry said firmly, Remus's eyes widening a little in surprise at Harry's tone. It was similar to the no arguments voice he'd used on Harry barely two weeks earlier, and the sound of it seemed to shock Remus into silence.

“I can't—I don't want anything to happen to you,” Harry continued, and Remus smiled, that familiar, hopeful look sparkling in his eyes. Harry felt the familiar warmth pool in the pit of his stomach, that longing for the relationship they'd hand—the one they were trying to rebuild. Remus reached across the table and gave Harry's hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“I promise, Harry.”

The couple retired to the sitting room following dinner, Harry reaching for Remus's hand and allowed their fingers to tangle together as they walked. Like every other time over the last couple of days, Harry felt a surge of joy envelop him when his first reaction was not to run from the contact.

They separated as they reached the sofa, and Harry helped himself to a cuppa, while Remus did the same. They sat at the opposite ends, Harry curled up with the warm mug balanced on his knee and held in place by his hands on either side of it.

Harry looked up from his mug and over to Remus. He wasn't watching Harry for a change, but was focused almost meditatively on the fire in the grate, crackling merrily in the grate while rain misted against the window. Harry suspected Remus's thoughts were on what he'd told him over dinner, and Harry felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and fear. Guilt because he hated that he had to be the bearer of such bad news, and fear because the idea of losing Remus was not something he was able to wrap his head around without feeling like he might be sick.

They sat in silence for a while, both drinking their tea and lost in their own minds. Harry's thoughts had strayed back to his burning desire to prove to Remus that he was better—that he wasn't broken, and he drained his cup before he took the plunge.

“Remus?” Harry winced at how small his voice sounded. He reached forward to set his mug on the table as the older man turned to look at him.

“What is it Harry?” Harry winced at the guarded tone to Remus's voice, and he wondered if the werewolf part of him could sense his uncertainty.

“Will you...um,” Harry felt a flush creep up his neck; why was this so hard? “Will you kiss me?”

Whatever Remus had been expecting, it wasn't that. His teacup slipped from his fingers, and he hissed as the hot liquid spread across the thigh of his trousers, and the cup tumbled to the ground, shattering on impact. Harry winced, and watched Remus clean up the mess and repair the cup with a few quick waves of his wand, then he looked at Harry with a frown. Harry didn't understand the expression; didn't Remus want this, want him? Harry thought he'd be thrilled.

“No, Harry,” Remus said firmly after he'd recovered from his shock at the request. The negation caught Harry off guard, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in shock.

“But...why? I thought this is what you wanted,” Harry grimaced as his voice cracked; why was Remus rejecting him now? Remus edged forward cautiously, as if a sudden movement would cause Harry to bolt, and he carefully took both of Harry's hands in his own.

“I do Harry, more than anything,” Remus murmured, squeezing Harry's hands gently. “But you aren't ready for that, I can see it. I don't want to push you—”

“How can you be pushing me if I'm the one who asked for it?” Harry asked desperately, his hands tightening in Remus's. “Please Remus, I need to get over this...Please, help me,” Harry's voice softened to just above a whisper, but the older man still looked doubtful. Harry went quiet, but his hands were still clutching onto Remus, eyes wide as he silently begged him.

Ever so slowly, Remus caved to Harry's request. He still looked reluctant to do as Harry had asked as he slipped his left hand from Harry's and moved it to cradle the back of Harry's neck with featherlight touches. Each movement was so slow and cautious, Remus's eyes watching him carefully—watching for what, Harry didn't know.

Remus inched forward, and at long last Harry felt lips lightly brush against his own.

Before Harry knew what was happening, his world went black.

~*~

It was dark, but a peaceful dark, and not a frightening, oppressive dark. It could very well be the middle of the night, and Harry was safe in his own bed. The black was broken by a pinprick of white light, and it quivered, before it began to slowly grow in size.

Harry reached for the little light, blinked, and it suddenly became blinding. Harry winced, and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light, and he was suddenly aware of a hand carding through his hair, his throat felt raw, and Remus was hovering over him, face lined with worry.

“What...what happened?” Harry croaked, and he hand in his hair stilled. It was at that moment that Harry realized his hair was damp with sweat. What happened? Harry groaned, panic and confusion churning in his stomach as he tried to work out what had happened, but it was as though there was a chunk cut from his memory. One moment he and Remus were kissing, and the next he was on his back.

“You had a panic attack,” Remus murmured softly, “after I—you collapsed and started screaming,” Remus's voice trembled as he spoke, eyes wide with horror as he recounted to Harry what happened. Harry frowned as he listened, deeply unsettled by the fact that he could remember none of it. “Then you went still...I moved you to the sofa and...You've been out for almost three hours.”

The disjointed, trembling voice that accompanied the explanation made Harry feel sick. He felt tears prick his eyes and he turned his head away, feeling utterly pathetic. How was he supposed to function, how was he supposed to go forward with his life if he fell apart so easily? It wasn't like a Patronus Charm could fix this, it wasn't a Dementor making Harry lose it this time—it was his own mind working against him.

“I'm sorry,” Harry said hoarsely, still unable to look at Remus, crouched next to the sofa and watching him with that same wide-eyed, terrified stare. “I—I want to be better, I'm just so tired of feeling like this...”

“You won't always feel like this Harry,” Remus murmured soothingly, but the reassurance felt empty to him; if he couldn't handle something as simple as a kiss, how would he ever manage to be everything he wanted to be for Remus? “This is...it's a moment in time. Whether it takes you a week, a month, or a year, you will one day feel like yourself again. Until then, you need to be patient with you. You can't force yourself to recover, you need to do it at a pace that feels right for you.”

“I wish I knew what that was,” Harry mumbled miserably, rolling on his side to look up at the older man. He was still very pale, clearly shaken by Harry's violent reaction to the gentle kiss. Harry could still feel him on his lips, so starkly different from the last time they'd kissed. That had been bruising force and mad dominance, this had been delicate and reluctant. Even with such a huge difference, it wasn't enough to quell the anxiety and misery that all but consumed him.

“Fuck,” Harry hissed, pressing his fingertips into the corners of his eyes, struggling to stave off the tears. He didn't even know why he was crying exactly. When had he gotten so weak?

“Harry,” Remus's gentle voice broke through his haze of self-loathing, and he stilled. “Harry,” Remus said again, a callused thumb brushing lightly against Harry's cheekbone, and when he did not start to panic, Remus very gently extricated Harry's hands away from his face, and tilted his chin up so that Harry was forced to look at him. He was certain he looked awful, eyelashes clinging together and the skin around his bottom eyelids wet with his tears. Harry could not remember the last time he felt so vulnerable, so exposed.

“You don't need to force yourself to feel better,” he said in a firm but gentle tone of voice, “you need to take a step back and let things happen naturally. Do things you want to, not what you think you're ready for, or what you think you need to force yourself to experience. A push like that won't help you, only hinder you. Do you understand?” Remus released Harry's jaw and his head slumped forward a little, and he could still feel the imprint of the older man's hands on his face.

“I understand,” he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper, though he did not feel reassured by Remus's sentiment. He wanted to be better now. He was so tired of being patient.

“Come on,” Remus said suddenly, gripping Harry's bicep gently and easing him into a sitting position. “You should sleep, we can discuss this more in the morning, if you like.”

Too tired to argue, Harry stood with Remus's help and ambled up the stairs, the older man pausing outside Harry's bedroom door, and he made it the rest of the way to his bed on his own. Still fully dressed, he collapsed onto the soft mattress and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Harry woke the following morning feeling groggy and grimy, and he fumbled through his morning rituals in a half-asleep daze. Harry had not even realized he'd made it downstairs until he felt hot ceramic being pressed into his hands. He looked up blinking bemusedly, and found Remus standing before him with a small smile on his face.

“Come on, coffee first, then we can talk. I have an idea for you,” without any further explanation he turned and led Harry to the table, Harry nursing the strong coffee as he went.

“Books for breakfast?” Harry asked as he sat down, staring across the table at the stack of thick tomes next to Remus's empty plate. Harry set down the cup and grabbed some toast and the marmalade.

“Very funny,” Remus smirked, and pulled his own coffee cup towards him, the stained rings inside the partially drunk cup gave Harry the impression that it had been refilled multiple times. Did Remus sleep at all last night?

“I've been doing some reading,” he said, “after what you said last night, I've been trying to figure out a way to help you, er—move forward, so to speak. I know you want to, but I don't want to do anything that might make things worse.”

Harry couldn't help but smile a little as he listened. So far, most people had been dismissive of everything that had happened, leaving Harry to heal in his own time. In contrast, Remus had taken Harry's desire to heal in a more proactive way to heart, and had done something for Harry. It was technically for him too, but if Remus really wanted he didn't have to do any of what he had been doing, and it warmed Harry's heart.

“What have you come up with, then?” Harry nibbled at his toast in an effort to mask his apprehension at what Remus's answer may be. He trusted him, but at the same time he couldn't help but be a little nervous. The point was for them to reach a level of comfortable intimacy again, but after the previous evening, Harry had his doubts that he would ever get there.

“There's no need to look so nervous Harry, I'm not proposing we play Master of Pain this evening or anything like that,” Remus said, chuckling when Harry went bright red. “There are particular...er, triggers, I believe is the term that will hinder your recovery, based around the specific details of what happened,” he continued, his voice dropping a little, and his perfectly academic tone of voice wavering as guilt flashed across his face.

“You mean like...kissing, touching my wrists, things like that?” Harry asked hesitantly, while Remus nodded. Harry grimaced; he hated this, he just wanted to jump ahead to things being normal again.

“What do you suggest, then?” Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek as he watched Remus, unease beginning to pool in his stomach.

“I propose we move things forward, but with contact you don't associate with the...incident,” Harry smirked a little at Remus's choice of word, somewhat amused by the fact that he'd been referring to it the same way. “I think it might be a good idea to have an—er, safe word. If you get overwhelmed and need to stop, just say it, and I will.”

“But will you?” Harry had blurted out the words before he was able to completely think them through, and he watched Remus lower his gaze, his neutral expression crumbling. “Oh, damn it, Remus, I—”

“No, that was fair,” he said softly, still not meeting Harry's eyes. Harry didn't feel like it was very fair, but didn't say anything as Remus continued. “We'll only do this if you feel completely ready for it. I won't push you into anything, not again.”

Before Harry had the chance to formulate a response, Remus was on his feet and he stepped out of the room.

Harry spent the better part of the day alone and lost in thought. He'd said many times he wanted things to return to normal, but now that he was faced with a partial solution, Harry found himself faltering. What if he couldn't do it? What if he blacked out again? What if he was completely incapable of being close with anyone ever again? What if? What if? He shook his head in an effort to dispel the long string of worries, but they refused to leave his mind so easily.

A shout of frustration escaped him before he could stop it, and Harry buried his fingers in his hair. He was so sick of being scared all the time.

Harry looked up, but Remus hadn't come running at his cry. The crackle of the dying fire was the only other sound in the room and for a brief moment, Harry felt almost suffocated by a sudden flash of loneliness. The one time in recent memory he wanted—needed Remus close by, and it happened to be the one time he'd made himself scarce. Harry laughed bitterly at the irony.

~*~

“I've come to a decision,” Harry said over dinner that evening, setting down his knife and fork in the bloody juices left on his plate by the rare steak.

“Oh?” Remus met his gaze, and Harry did not miss the hopeful look he saw there.

“I want to try,” he said, wincing when his voice trembled. “I'm scared shitless, but I need to try, if I can't...you'll stop, right?”

“I will Harry,” he replied gently, smiling as he spoke. “That time...I was half mad by the moon. This time, my mind is my own.”

“I don't...” Harry trailed off, thinking of how to best phrase what he wanted to say. “I think we should cool it near to the full moon,” he said, and relaxed when he saw no hint of hurt on Remus's face.

“I agree,” Remus replied with a nod, “until the bond is fully settled my state of mind leading up to the moon is...unpredictable.”

Harry felt himself flush before he could stop it; he knew exactly what would settle the bond more quickly, but there was no way he was even remotely ready for that.

His appetite was completely gone by the time Kreacher cleared the dinner dishes and served them shortcake with strawberries and fresh cream. The out of season berries were bitter, and after a few bites Harry had to push it away, his stomach tied up in knots.

“Harry,” Remus's soft voice made Harry's head snap up sharply as though the older man had shouted. “We don't have to do this. If you feel you're not ready...”

“—No,” Harry said, cutting across Remus's reassurances. “Remus, I have to do this,” he said, his tone forceful and earnest. “It's a step towards how things used to be, and I miss that...that closeness,” and he did, despite his reservations, his unconscious and conscious fears, in spite of everything, he desperately missed what they'd had.

It was only after Harry had said it that he realized he hadn't told Remus any of this. At least, not in so many words. He'd come close, but this was the first time he'd admitted how much he'd missed being close to someone. There was an intimacy in it that had little to do with sex, and he longed to be okay enough to have it again—whatever the cost.

The reaction to his words was instantaneous, and a small, hopeful smile spread across Remus's face. It was such a small expression that most might dismiss it, but after all they'd gone through over the last few months, it was the same as if Remus was beaming at him.

“All right Harry,” he said with a small nod, “but first, as silly as it sounds, pick your safe word.”

Remus's Master of Pain remark from earlier came back to him and he felt himself go a little red. It seemed strange to need one when they weren't going to be doing anything naughty, but he understood why Remus wanted Harry to pick one.

“Quidditch,” Harry said, and Remus laughed.

“I should have seen that one coming,” he said, standing up from the table, still chuckling. Harry stood at the same time, and Remus extended his hand, Harry taking it almost at once. “Ready?” he asked, and it took all of Harry's self-control to keep the hysterical giggle lodged in his throat.

“No,” Harry said, though he was smiling. Remus seemed to understand the sentiment and led Harry towards the sitting room. Never before had it felt like Harry was stepping into a hungry tiger's den, and not his sitting room. Harry felt another flare of frustration at himself, but more than anything at that moment, his fear of the unknown—of whatever Remus was planning—was more scary to him than the actual act of any form of intimacy itself.

Remus led him to the sofa and sat down. A tea tray appeared on the table, but Remus's focus was entirely on Harry. He gave Harry's hand a small tug, “sit with me?” he asked, his tone of voice making it quite clear that if Harry wanted to, he could say no.

Harry sat. The outside of their thighs brushed together, and Harry tensed involuntarily, but Remus did nothing. He slipped his hand from Harry's and leaned forward to serve the tea, leaving Harry's straight, and drowning his own in an obscene amount of milk. He accepted the cup that Remus handed him, and he then coiled an arm around Harry's shoulders.

The embrace was loose, and Harry could feel the arm muscles that pressed into the back of his neck and shoulders were completely relaxed. Harry could get out of the hold quite easily if he wanted to. Despite the gentle hold, Harry's heart was pounding so hard and fast in his chest it almost felt as though he was vibrating.

They drank their tea in silence. Remus's arm remained still, warm against Harry's skin, and ever so slowly Harry began to relax.

“I wasn't expecting, well...this, when you suggested what you did this morning,” Harry said, breaking the silence as he rested his empty cup on the table.

“What did you think, I'd throw you down and snog you into oblivion?” Harry felt himself go red with embarrassment at the remark, but was relieved when Remus did not laugh at him.

“Baby steps, Harry,” he said after a moment, smiling at the younger man with that familiar look of cautious adoration. It was clear Remus wanted to do more than this, but he was being patient with Harry, for Harry. He never realized how much he appreciated it before now. “Because I suggested this doesn't mean we'll do anything you aren't ready for. We're back at the beginning, further back, in fact. I don't want you to be afraid of me, not again.”

Harry sat with Remus for a long time, until he admitted defeat against his drowsiness, lest he fall asleep on Remus. He offered the older man's hand a gentle squeeze, the appendage lingering for a moment longer before he headed upstairs.
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Lunaticus Book One: Half Moon