Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Lunaticus Book One: Half Moon	By : JBankai89 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Remus Views: 18455 -:- 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
- 5
- 6
- 7
A/N: Thank you guys so, so, so much for all the lovely comments you have left thus far. It really brightens my day, and it's so flattering to find that people actually enjoy my work. Here is the next chapter, again another long one. Enjoy!

Chapter 6 – Needs

Harry reached the top landing and veered away from his bedroom to stop first and check on Remus. Inside Regulus's old room, Hermione had arranged him comfortably on his back on top of the checkered duvet. His chest was rising and falling in a soft, rhythmic pattern, and his head was tilted to the side and partially burrowed into the pillow he lay on.

In this state, it amazed Harry how peaceful he looked, and nothing like the rabid animal he'd resembled not half an hour earlier. Harry was certain that beyond the reprieve his drugged sleep offered to Harry from whatever was to come of this bond, Remus likely needed the rest. As quietly as he could, Harry shut the door and padded down the hall to the master bedroom, which he'd converted into his own room.

Harry wandered into the bedroom with his head drooped forward sadly, and he made a beeline for the wardrobe. Harry pulled it open, his robes and muggle clothes were all jumbled together in a mess at the bottom of the wardrobe, with only a handful of garments actually on the hangers. Harry pushed the hangers and clothing aside and flicked his wand, a tiny compartment appearing at the back of the wardrobe. He pulled it open and extracted a small box covered in red velvet.

Harry cracked the box open to display a thin gold ring, embedded with a single diamond in the centre. The sight of it pulled at his heartstrings painfully as he murmured to it, “what am I going to do with you?” His voice cracked slightly while he stared at the piece of jewellery. He glanced at the bin next to his writing desk, but though it was useless to him now, he couldn't bring himself to part with it. He sighed heavily and snapped the box shut and tucked away the ring in the drawer of his night table, vowing to deal with it later.

The more pressing problem was Ginny's things. Scattered about the room Harry could see her clothes, books, mementos, and cosmetics all over the place. Harry had a feeling Remus might not act favourably to the sight of them, and so with a heavy heart he transfigured a few sheets of blank parchment into a thick cardboard box. He then proceeded to summon her things from around the bedroom with lazy flicks of his wand. Harry repeated the process in the bathroom, and with each item he banished to The Box, the more hollow he felt.

Harry sealed the lot with spellotape and a fireproofing charm, then drafted a quick letter detailing the contents and the box, as well as fervent apologies to Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys for returning her things in such a cold, impersonal matter. Harry sealed the letter and added it to the top of the box, then used a hover charm to bring it down to the main level. He spent a minute unblocking the Floo connection, and set down the box in the fire.

“The Burrow,” Harry said it as clearly as he could in his shattered emotional state, and tossed in a handful of glittering powder. With a flash of green, it was gone.

With nothing else pressing for the moment, Harry was at a loss for what to do with himself. He glanced to the staircase, but there was no sound to indicate whether or not his house guest had woken up. He fell onto the sofa with another heavy sigh and pulled Hermione's tome of notes towards him.

Most of it was rubbish that only Hermione would deem important—History, Human/Werewolf vs Werewolf/Werewolf Claims, Werewolf Hierarchies...But he found himself stopping over a certain passage that gave him pause.

The presence of possessiveness, jealousy, and the need to dominate are the main focus of many case studies concerning the Werewolf Mate Claims. Perhaps this is due to the fact that initially, they are the most commonly seen reactions following the claim. However, the devotion bordering on reverence that many werewolves feel for their potential is almost never discussed. The reaction is near-instantaneous, and similar to the concept of Love At First Sight, but much more powerful.

The idea of Remus being in love with him was a very difficult concept for Harry to wrap his mind around. The thought made Harry feel uneasy, and he shivered a little while he stared sadly into the glowing embers of the fire. It wasn't real love, but the magic of the bond forcing Remus to feel that way. The realization made Harry feel, if possible, even more depressed. He tossed Hermione's notes back onto the table, leant back, and closed his eyes. The excitement of the day had utterly exhausted him, and he quickly fell into a light doze.

When Harry woke the thunderstorm had officially blown itself out, and he could see the moon shining high in the sky amongst the scattered pinpricks of the stars. The fire had been built back up, and his hazy waking shifted to alarm almost at once, as he did not recall falling asleep with his head on a pillow—a pillow that was uncharacteristically warm...and moving. Harry blinked a few times, and realized that someone was stroking his hair. His muddled, half-asleep brain could not put two and two together at first, but after a moment he lurched up from Remus's lap with an exaggerated gasp, his hand clutching the fabric of his T-shirt over his heart, the organ itself beating out a vicious rhythm from his shock at waking up with his head in a grown man's lap.

“JesusfuckingChrist,” Harry breathed, sitting up and bowing forward a little. “You scared me to death,” Harry took a few deep breaths, while Remus bowed his head a little in shame, looking very much in that moment like a dog that had been scolded.

“I'm sorry, Harry,” Remus spoke to his lap, his fingers twisted together and fidgety, as though sitting still was a real chore. Having a feeling that he knew why the older man was so agitated, Harry took a breath to steady himself, and reached over to take one of his hands. Remus's gaze shot up to meet Harry's at once, his eyes wide with surprise, but Harry did not miss how his entire body relaxed the moment their hands touched. Remus shifted his grip to thread their fingers together, and squeezed Harry's hand gently. It still felt incredibly strange to be holding hands with the older man, but he was determined to not make this harder than it had to be.

“It's all right Remus, I just...I wasn't expecting you.” Remus gave him a significant look, and Harry realized at once that the werewolf did not mean the apology to be just for Harry's scare. “You mean...oh.” Harry blushed a little and looked away to stare into the crackling fire. “It's...it's all right. I mean, It's...” Harry shook his head and heaved a sigh while he raked the fingers of his free hand through his hair, mussing it up much more than usual. “I don't know what it is, Remus.”

Harry turned back to him, the older man looking no different than he had in his third year, in the same tatty brown cardigan and brown slacks a few shades darker, his face lined and scarred but not wholly unattractive, and the streaks of grey intermingled with the light brown more pronounced than they had been in earlier years. Harry felt so confused by the whole situation, and once more the idea that he was expected to become intimate with him crossed his mind again and he felt himself go red.

“I understand, Harry. I know you meant well, however, now we have...” He trailed off, looking away from Harry with such an intense look on his face that Harry had a feeling that Remus was trying to not look at him. “...Something of a problem.”

“That'd be an understatement,” Harry muttered, his mouth twitching into a small smirk. Remus chuckled a little to his response and eased back against the sofa. His thumb brushed across the back of Harry's hand that he still held, but he made no move to close the distance between them, for which Harry was grateful. “You seem...calmer,” he observed, and Remus looked up, refocusing his honeyed gaze on the younger man. “Than before, I mean,” Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek nervously, feeling strangely exposed under the man's stare.

“You are the only other person here. I have no one to protect you from, and so for the moment that side of the claim is placated. There are other elements we will need to discuss, when you are ready.” Harry swallowed thickly at the words and pulled his knees into his chest, untangling his hand from Remus's hold to close his arms around them a little more tightly than was necessary. Harry nodded stiffly, and tried to ignore the pained look of longing that Remus regarded him with while he stared into the crackling fire.

“I don't...” Harry swallowed thickly, but he couldn't bring himself to look at Remus. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the older man shift, but he made no move to approach Harry. “I mean, in some ways this could've been a lot worse, but...” he closed his eyes for a long moment, trying to clear his thoughts, though it didn't seem to help as much as he'd hoped. “I don't want to hurt you with this thing. I want to do what I can to help you through it, but I'm...scared, too.”

“I would be amazed if you weren't. I am very grateful to you, Harry. I am not ignorant to what you had to sacrifice for this.” His voice was even, almost emotionless, but the sentiment was clear. Harry shifted his gaze and readjusted his position so that he was sitting cross-legged on the sofa and stared back at Remus, who was regarding him with a look Harry couldn't place.

“I just want to know,” Harry was relieved that he managed to keep the tremor from his voice, “what do you expect, or maybe need from this...this...thing? I mean, I've read up on the claim, but it's a lot to take in.” Remus smiled a little, while Harry chewed nervously at the side of his lower lip. The older man reached out with slow, deliberate movements, and took both of Harry's hands in his own. His callused thumbs ghosted across the backs of Harry's hands, making him shiver.

“As of right now, it is difficult to say how I will be with you until things progress and the bond between us calms. That will only come with...” he trailed off when Harry's face burned, though he didn't comment on the reaction. “At the moment, my instincts are demanding I be close to you, physically. That doesn't mean contact you feel that you are not ready for,” Remus locked his gaze with Harry's. Harry felt almost as though he had been caught by the amber eyes, like the proverbial deer in headlights. “Know this, Harry: I will never force myself on you. My instincts push me to be dominant of my partner, but that is not a euphemism for force.”

Harry looked down at their intertwined hands, his face still rather red. It looked so strange to Harry, and though he could feel the warm, rough hands holding his, it almost felt as though he was disconnected from it, like he was watching it happen to someone else.

He looked up reluctantly and met Remus's eyes as he spoke, “what about during the waxing moon and the day of the full moon, before moonrise I mean? Hermione's research covered a lot of things around that time period that I don't think I'd be ready to...participate in.” Harry felt his face burn again, silently kicking himself for his inability to mask his feelings more effectively.

“It is true that my, er, desires will be heightened at that time, but I am not a mindless creature enslaved to passion.” Remus smiled weakly at Harry, though this time he was unable to return it. “I can wait, Harry.”

Harry sighed heavily and leaned back against the cushions, his gaze again shifting to the crackling fire. He pulled back his hands, Remus's hands tensing over his for a half-second, as though he wasn't going to let Harry go. He relented however, and Harry crossed his arms across his chest while he tried to process everything that had happened over the last few days. More than anything, he felt incredibly guilty about how his reluctance to be close with the man might be perceived.

“I'm sorry Remus,” Harry said at last, “you're not...unappealing, and I don't mean to make this sound like I've been bonded—claimed, whatever you want to call it—to a grindylow or something. I just...” Harry trailed off, biting the inside of his cheek in an attempt to quell the comment perched on the tip of his tongue. I just thought I'd always be with Ginny. God, I miss her. Harry shook his head and tried to banish the thought, with little success. There was nothing he could do about that now, and he needed to move forward, as difficult as that was. Harry tilted his head back and pressed it into the upholstery of the sofa while he stared at the ceiling. He tried again to organize his thoughts, but it was still a jumbled mess of emotions.

Harry heard the leather creak, and he felt Remus's hand slip into his own for the third time that evening, squeezing it reassuringly. Harry lifted his head, and though Remus had shifted so close to him that he could feel the werewolf's body heat, he was being careful to give Harry his space. Harry returned the hand squeeze weakly, but he was at a loss for what he should do next. “How come you're not as...touchy-feely as before?” Harry recalled how the man had embraced him earlier, and the stark contrast struck Harry as rather odd. “I mean, when things first...happened, you couldn't stop touching me.” Harry felt himself go red again, but he forced himself to continue, “but now you seem more, I dunno, under control.”

“At the time I was half out of my mind. My instincts were in overdrive, and the need to find you was the only thing I could focus on.” Remus shifted his hand so that his fingers twined with Harry's; while it still felt very strange, Harry did not resist the contact. “When I did find you, my instincts shifted to Claim. I needed you, and I needed to express that claim. I would not have been able to control that desire completely, no matter how strongly I fought it.” His thumb brushed once over the back of Harry's hand, and he could not help but notice how different the callused skin of the digit felt from Ginny's.

“I thought it might be something like that,” Harry said, his voice barely above a nervous mumble. “I'm not upset about it, exactly, it was just very strange.” Harry grimaced, staring down at their intertwined fingers as he tried to push away thoughts of his girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend, he reminded himself bitterly, wishing he had had the nerve to ask Hermione to place a Memory Charm on him. Maybe this whole thing would be easier if he couldn't remember her.

Harry felt the corners of his eyes burn, and he hissed a curse. Harry lurched away from Remus, and yanked off his glasses with his left hand, while he pressed the thumb and forefinger of his right hand against his tear ducts. He would not cry in front of the man. “Sorry,” he mumbled, not bothering to look up to see if Remus was still there, “I just...it's been a stressful couple of days.” He looked up and put his glasses back on, and Remus was giving him The Stare again—intense longing, conflicting self-restraint and guilt rolled into one confusing look that made Harry feel hot all over. “I—er—I should go to bed.” He stood up quickly, “er, if it's easier on the bond, you're welcome to stay in the guest room.” Remus smiled at him, and nodded once. Harry turned and began to head for the hall.

“Harry,” he turned at the sound of his name, arching a brow at the werewolf questioningly, “it would be advisable that you lock your door tonight. Sleep well.”

With that unsettling piece of advice, Harry hastened to the safety of his bedroom.

~*~

Harry woke the next morning feeling like he hadn't slept at all. He was groggy and felt grimy, as though he'd been covered in a thin layer of dust. Harry sat up with a groan, his back cracking in several spots in protest to the sudden movement. He grabbed his glasses off the nightstand and crammed them onto his face as he stumbled toward the door.

In Harry's half-asleep haze, it took him a moment to remember why his door had been locked and warded. Shaking his head in an effort to clear it, he cast the necessary spells to cancel them out, and he staggered out into the hall. Harry ambled towards the loo, stifling a cavernous yawn as he went.

He did what he needed to do, splashed cold water onto his face to aid in his waking, but the groggy feeling refused to leave him. Resigning himself to the fact that it would likely just be one of those off days, he turned and headed back towards his bedroom. He stopped short however when his eyes fell upon the most peculiar sight just outside his bedroom door, and he was amazed that he hadn't noticed it earlier.

Remus was in a deep sleep and curled up just outside his bedroom door, with his back pressed against the wall. There were more than a few distinctive crescent nail marks gouged into the wood of the door and its frame. Harry was deeply unsettled by the sight and he was uncertain what to make of it—had the claim compelled him to sleep there, or was it some sort of protection thing? Harry felt renewed guilt pool in the pit of his stomach at the sight. The werewolf stirred, and his bleary gaze found Harry, and it was immediately drawn to his half-naked form, and Harry felt the heat rise in his face.

Harry had given no thought to wandering to the loo at the crack of dawn in only a pair of low-hanging pyjama bottoms, a pair that were slightly too large and hung precariously off his hips. Clearly, he should have, if the hungry look in Remus's eyes was anything to go by. Crossing one arm over his chest, he mumbled a hurried apology and rushed into his room, closing the door sharply behind him.

Harry had not heard Remus leave, but when he stepped out of his room twenty minutes later—now more appropriately dressed—Remus was nowhere to be seen. Harry padded down to the main level, and found Remus hiding behind the morning edition of the Prophet, and—most strangely—a steaming pot of lamb stew and day-old bread was on the breakfast table. Harry shot a questioning look to the elf, who was laying out dishes for himself and Remus. “Master Harry did not have dinner last night. The Black line is proud, but we does not waste food.” Snorting with amusement, he fell heavily into the chair across from the werewolf. Kreacher served Harry, and after shooting a scathing look towards Remus, he disappeared with a crack.

“I get the impression Kreacher likes me less now than he did when Grimmauld Place was being used as Order Headquarters,” Remus mused. By his tone, Harry guessed that he was intent on avoiding the subject of their awkward start to the day.

“It might have something to do with you accosting his master, he'll get over it.” Harry spoke conversationally with laughter in his tone while he ripped a chunk of bread off from the whole and dunked it into the broth of the stew, then crammed it into his mouth. He saw the guilty look on the older man's face and Harry frowned, swallowing the mouthful quickly before he spoke again “damn, Remus, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way, I just—” he cut himself off with a small shake of his head while he cursed his apparent foot-in-mouth disease.

Silence fell between them, and while Harry tried multiple times to engage Remus in conversation, they frequently tapered off, leaving a heavy awkward silence between them. It was clear that the accidental bond had utterly shattered their previous relationship, and Harry felt as though he was getting to know the man for the first time. It left Harry with his head feeling uncomfortably full, and he had no idea how to even begin to address the situation before him.

Following breakfast, Harry gathered up the paperwork the Auror Office had sent along, and moved to the sitting room in an effort to work. It was overcast and miserable out, but somehow seeing the outside world at all made Harry feel marginally better. Rubbing his tired eyes a little, he tore off the brown paper and opened the folder and began the arduous task of going over the dry reports that had come with his work for the day.

Much to Harry's surprise, Remus left him alone. He wondered if the older man was attempting to be considerate in trying not to pester him while he worked despite what the bond was likely trying to compel him to do, but Harry could still hear him puttering about nearby. Harry's awareness of Remus's presence made it very difficult to focus on Mr Palmer's case file, and his mind kept drifting over to the thick sheaf of notes that had been left on the coffee table from the night before.

Even though Harry's work as an Auror was important to him and always would be, he felt as though the claim-bond-thing was the more pressing matter at the moment. He'd skimmed Hermione's notes, but he felt very much as though his understanding of the bond was sketchy at best. It unsettled Harry how little he felt he understood about the bond, yet how seriously its presence in his life would affect his future.

Coming to a decision, Harry tossed his paid work aside and pulled the notes into his lap. Starting at the beginning this time, he began to read.

~*~

Harry could not remember the last time he'd felt so awkward. The day had passed him by, and now he sat across from his unnervingly silent house guest who was determinedly avoiding his eye. Kreacher had served them, grumbling and shooting nasty glares in Remus's direction the entire time, and after eating in dead, tense silence for nearly ten minutes, Harry had had enough.

“Remus, we need to discuss this,” Remus looked up, his expression riddled with guilt. Harry frowned, and tried to not let the wounded puppy look get to him. Harry was as keen to discuss the bond as Remus seemed to be, but they needed to stop skirting around the topic. “I've been doing some reading,” Harry began, after a long moment of silence, “and I want to...I need to know what you need from me, what will help you with this claim...bond...thing.” The werewolf looked away again, putting off answering by cramming a chunk of roast beef into his mouth.

“I need...contact,” he said at last, not looking at Harry as he spoke. “Physical touch and emotional closeness,” Remus stared at him, the guilty expression never leaving his face. “I can go forward with this as slowly as you need, Harry. There is no need to push yourself in order to help me.” He spoke in a monotone, and his eyes darted down to the plate before him. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat, doing his best to mask his nervousness. He'd agreed to go forward with this, after all, and they needed to start somewhere.

“Emotional closeness...would perhaps moving in here help that at all?” Remus's gaze shot back up, eyes wide with surprise. “I mean, since this...thing is in a lot of ways like a...” Harry felt himself go red again, “...like a marriage, it would make sense for you to bring your belongings here, right?”

“It may help, I'm not certain, but...thank you, Harry.” He smiled, and Harry felt as though he looked a good ten years younger with that expression. Harry mirrored his smile.

“You should do that more often, you know.”

“Thank you?”

“Smile.”

They passed the rest of the meal in silence, though the atmosphere was less tense and more comfortable. Harry stood and stretched, the dirty dishes disappearing as they were transported back to the kitchen, and a platter with a pot of tea and two mugs replaced them. Harry flicked his wand, and the platter levitated off the table. “D'you want to join me for a nightcap?” Harry didn't wait for a response, and instead conducted the platter out into the sitting room.

Harry eased back onto the sofa, cradling a steaming mug in his hands, while Remus wandered in a few minutes later. He served himself and added so much milk to his own cup that the brew turned almost completely white, and he eased down next to Harry. The sensation of being physically close with Remus was still bizarre to him, but it was not as terrifying as it had been the day before. Remus hesitated for half a moment, then shifted and wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders, pulling him close. His movements froze, as though he had only just realized what he'd done, and looked down to Harry who could feel that his face was warm from the familiar contact. “Is this all right?”

“Yeah...er, yes. It's all right.” Harry wasn't entirely certain he believed his own words, and he sipped his tea while his gaze shifted to the crackling flames in the grate. The experience of being held in this manner was not wholly uncomfortable, and Harry felt deeply ashamed at that realization. He'd broke it off with Ginny barely twenty-four hours earlier, and now he was enjoying the touch of another, and not just any other, but a man twice his age? Harry didn't know what to make of it.

Remus's thumb brushed lightly over Harry's shoulder, and he felt his shoulders slump as he began to relax. Harry sipped his tea and cast furtive glances to the man next to him, and he did seem better than he had at dinner, though Harry couldn't explain how he knew. Was this all because of the physical contact? Was this claim-thing that easily sated? Harry eased further into the embrace, and he felt Remus tense momentarily in surprise. His arm curled more securely around Harry, and he did not fail to notice the possessive edge to the embrace. It was not unexpected, but Harry couldn't work out how he felt about it.

Harry sat with Remus long after their tea had gone cold. Harry had no anxieties about his attraction to men, but he'd never actually been with one. He hadn't really considered the mechanics of it, but finding himself thrown into a submissive role had been unexpected, to put it mildly. It was not wholly uncomfortable, and Harry was quickly finding that he was enjoying the concept of letting someone else take charge, even if it was something as simple as a casual embrace. He had allowed his mind to drift, but soon it came back to Ginny, and how he'd broken up with her yesterday.

He felt suddenly as though he'd swallowed something wiggly, and Harry delicately extricated himself from Remus's hold, not wanting to move in a way that would make it seem as though he found the contact distasteful. He liked it, he more than liked it; his guilt at that realization made him feel physically ill. “I—I better go to bed, I'm tired,” Remus blinked once, amber eyes shot with gold boring into him so intently that Harry felt himself blush for the umpteenth time that day.

“All right Harry, sleep well.”

“You too.” Harry turned and hurried up to his room.

~*~

Harry had a strange feeling that he had forgotten to do something before he'd gone to bed. In his haze of waking, he couldn't remember what exactly it was, but something told him it was important—this thing that he had forgotten. The arm that embraced him curled against his abdomen, and Harry decided to address the forgotten thing later; he felt warm, comfortable, and safe.

Wait...Arm?

Harry spun around to find Remus fast asleep, holding him close. Harry's abrupt movement was enough to wake him, and he blinked several times before he stared up at Harry in confusion. “Harry? What are you doing here?” Harry sputtered indignantly at the question.

“What am I—try again, Remus.” Harry sat up and watched him, his arms crossed and his face flaming. Remus looked around bemusedly, blinking his eyes several times as though his brain refused to process his immediate situation. After a solid minute, his eyes widened in understanding.

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. What are you doing in my bed?” Remus sat up with a small groan, dressed only in a pair of the same trousers from yesterday. Harry's eyes flitted momentarily to the scars that littered his surprisingly fit upper body, before flicking his gaze back to the werewolf's face, who was looking appropriately guilty. Harry refused to admire the older man's physique when he was supposed to be angry with him.

“Well, did you remember to lock your door like I had suggested on the first night, Harry?” Harry opened his mouth to argue, but instead he felt his jaw sag into a look of shock. Suddenly Remus outside his door yesterday morning made much more sense.

“So...this is part of it?” Harry felt like his voice sounded very small. He folded his legs under him, his duvet pooled around his hips as he shifted. Harry felt nervous, but he tried to hide it—with little success. Remus nodded once to his question.

“The bond compels me to be close to you, and part of it is the need to protect you in slumber, when you would theoretically be most vulnerable.” Remus's face tinted a faint shade of pink, and Harry had a sneaking suspicion that there was more to it than just a need to protect. “I'm sorry Harry,” he bowed his head, “I didn't even realize that I had come in here.”

“We'll discuss it later,” Harry said with a sigh, while he rolled out of the bed. He grabbed a wad of clothes from his wardrobe and headed for the door, pausing when he reached the threshold, his hand resting on the wooden frame. “I'll, er, see you downstairs,” without another word, he went to shower.

By the time Harry had reached the main level breakfast had been laid out, though there was far more selection than Harry recalled Kreacher usually putting together in the mornings. He could see creamy scrambled eggs, caramelized cherry tomatoes, oatcakes, sausages, sourdough toast, pumpkin juice, coffee, tea, pumpkin juice, and three types of jam. Kreacher wandered past him, muttering darkly to himself. Harry blinked once in confusion, certain that he'd heard the elf say something about 'nasty werewolves' in passing.

Harry ventured into the adjoined kitchen and dining room to see Remus looking rather harassed as he flicked his wand here and there, adding still more dishes to the table. Harry pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. “Are you planning on feeding the entire city of London, or do you think I've cast an Undetectable Extension Charm on my stomach?” Remus jumped and wheeled around, while Harry leaned against the frame of the door, his arms crossed. An amused smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and the werewolf seemed to relax at Harry's calm demeanour.

“Consider this my apology for...this morning,” his cheeks tinted pink slightly, “though I don't think Kreacher was too pleased by my commandeering his kitchen.”

“How did you manage all this in twenty minutes?” Harry stared down at the platters of food, while he straightened up and moved to the table. It smelled amazing, and he was only just realizing how hungry he was.

“I'm quite handy in the kitchen, and I know more than a few Quick-Cooking Charms that don't ruin the food,” he smiled as he joined Harry at the table. Something about the expression told Harry that Remus was probably relieved that he was not raging at him. Harry helped himself to some eggs and sausages, while he tried to work through his jumble of thoughts and how to best verbalize them.

“It looks great,” Harry replied, for once meaning what he said to Remus, and not having to force his words. Remus was watching him rather intently, giving Harry the distinct impression of someone suddenly shining a spotlight on him. He began to eat, and nearly doubled over in shock. The food was beyond good, it was practically gourmand. “Oh my God. This is amazing Remus, where on earth did you learn to cook like this?” He'd spent years practically being the Dursleys' personal chef, and his cooking wasn't even half as good. Remus chuckled and began to serve himself.

“In my youth my mother worked at a restaurant called The Silver Goblet in Diagon Alley. She would often take me along when she couldn't find someone to mind me for an afternoon or evening. The chef there taught me a lot, and I think he was pleased to have such an enthusiastic student.” He chuckled a little, though Harry thought he could note an edge of bitterness to the way he laughed. Harry stuffed another forkful of egg into his mouth, and he wondered if his mother struggled to find a sitter because of Remus's little furry problem. His anger flared at the injustice of it, and he struggled to keep his face neutral as he sat there. Harry was no stranger to being hated for what he was at the hands of his blood relatives, but to be subject to that at the hands of total strangers for something that wasn't his fault was a concept Harry couldn't completely wrap his mind around.

“Harry? Are you all right?” Remus's sudden voice jerked Harry from his thoughts, and he stared at Remus for a moment before it registered what the older man had asked.

“I—yeah. Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“You seemed...angry,” Remus frowned, while Harry shrugged, taking a sip from is Chudley Cannons coffee mug.

“It's nothing,” Harry shrugged nonchalantly, and for a moment it seemed as though Remus was going to press the matter, though after staring Harry down for a few seconds he relented and returned to his own meal.

They ate in silence, the quiet punctuated by the soft clinking of their cutlery, and the mutinous grumblings of Kreacher as he tidied up nearby. Both Harry and Remus bit back their laughter at how completely infuriated the elf was at someone else preparing breakfast for his master. “I suppose we need to discuss...this morning,” Harry said finally, trying for a casual tone of voice while he leant back in his chair and nursed a second cup of coffee. Kreacher collected the dirty dishes with several clicks of his fingers, while he glared daggers at the werewolf across from Harry. Remus's expression darkened a little at Harry's words, but he nodded.

“Harry, I—I am trying to go forward with this bond slowly, I don't want you to feel compelled to rush into something you are uncomfortable with, but I sometimes am unaware of my own actions—” Harry held up a hand, and Remus's rambling explanations came to a halt as his mouth snapped shut.

“I know Remus, and I don't blame you for what happened. It's this bond-thing, and I know you're not always in control. I won't lie, it scares me, and while I'm...er...” Harry felt his face heat, “attracted to men as well as women, we were thrown into this rather suddenly, and I need time to adjust. D'you think moving a second bed into my room would help, or would you still feel compelled to—er, crawl in with me?”

“I think the latter is far more likely, though I am not entirely certain.” Remus spoke to his knees, his voice laced with shame. Harry sighed softly and pressed his face into his free hand. While he knew that the most ideal solution was to just give in and let Remus share his bed, but Harry wasn't certain he was ready for that. Sharing with Ginny had been one thing; he'd been seeing her for a year before they'd progressed to sleepovers—much to Mrs Weasley's horror—but with Remus, the situation was entirely different.

“Maybe we should think on this and discuss it later?” Harry thought his voice sounded rather small and meek in his own ears. He took another fortifying sip of his coffee and pushed forward, not waiting for Remus's response one way or the other. “I know you said you'd go slow with, er, me but how would you suggest we, er, go forward with this?” Harry bit back the comments regarding his own fears—he didn't want Remus to feel even more guilty about the situation than he already did. Remus lifted his gaze to Harry and studied him in silence for several moments. The intensity of his stare reawakened Harry's flush, and he had to look away.

“Perhaps similarly to our evening activities yesterday,” he said, lifting his teacup to his mouth and taking a long sip before he continued. “Casual contact,” he paused, his own face tinting a faint pink. Harry chewed the inside of his cheek to keep himself from grinning. Despite the seriousness of the situation, it was rather funny to see a fully grown man flushing like a teenager.

“We can move forward with something more, erm, intimate when you feel ready...” Harry whipped his face away, fairly certain that he was bright red, and any amusement he'd felt mere moments before died at once. “I don't mean anything sexual Harry,” Remus added quickly, though there was a choking start in his voice and Harry was fairly certain the man was trying to keep from laughing. “I mean hand-holding, kisses, casual embraces, that sort of thing.”

Harry turned back to Remus, eyeing him apprehensively. He'd never been with someone older—except Cho, though she barely counted—and Harry had heard horror stories of the older person in the relationship taking advantage of the younger one. His thoughts flip-flopped between This is Remus, he'd never do something like that, to knowing that the wolf in him might push him to it. Was Remus genuine in his sentiments, or would he eventually grow impatient and take what he wanted? Harry struggled to hide his fear.

“Harry,” Remus reached across the small table, and closed both his hands over Harry's free one. His skin felt very hot against Harry's clammy hand. “I would never force you into anything. No matter what happens between us, I would never force myself on you in any capacity.” Harry swallowed thickly, and he opened his hand to lace his fingers with Remus's. The contact was both alien and comforting at the same time.

“I—I know, Remus. I just—some of the notes I read...sort of, made me wonder. I don't know how to be...you know.” Harry felt the colour rise in his face again, but he was unable to bring himself to say submissive. He had always been in control in the bedroom, and the idea of being the reverse made him very nervous.

“That's not something we'll need to worry about, at least not yet. It does not mean you lose your masculinity, or you must submit to my every whim—this isn't one of those kinds of relationships. It is mutual understanding, and trust. When we're both ready, we'll discuss it at length Harry, I promise.” Harry nodded a little, but he still couldn't meet the man's eyes. He felt the warm hands let go of his, and he curled his hand into a fist to hide his trembling. He couldn't even imagine bottoming with a man his own age, how was he supposed to manage it with someone like Remus?
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Lunaticus Book One: Half Moon