Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 6
- 7
- 8
A/N: Warning: This chapter contains a few gory descriptions (they're not scenes in the strictest sense...), if you're the squeamish type, as well as a brief scene pretty much at the beginning of the chapter that people who are triggered by sexual assault may be squicked by, if you'd rather skip it.

Chapter 7 – Living Conditions

Harry sent Remus off early that day to begin bringing his things back to Grimmauld Place. He did not think much of it, given that Remus would be back and forth all day, and neither had thought the bond would be strained by it. However, the moment Harry had turned to head for the sofa, he found himself underneath a trembling, agitated werewolf.

Remus's hot breath ghosted across the back of Harry's neck, and he found that he was not just beneath Remus, but pinned down by him. He was breathing deeply, his voice escaping as a sound close to a whine, while repeated Harry's name over and over against his skin. Harry's forearms were pressed against the stone on either side of his shoulders in a bizarre sort of embrace, while his knees were braced against the stone floor around Harry's hips. In an instant, Harry felt his heart rate triple as he realized that he was trapped.

Harry squirmed in an effort to roll over, but Remus's hands gripped Harry's upper arms and he growled lowly, effectively stilling the younger man's movements as he froze. The reactions of the older man told Harry that his mind had once more been overwhelmed by his werewolf instincts, and any fragile promises he'd made earlier were gone. Harry felt himself flush with fear when an unfamiliar mouth pressed into the back of his neck, and he squirmed experimentally, but the effort was met only with another low, warning growl.

“Remus...” Harry breathed softly while he struggled to keep still, “Remus, please...”

Harry's near-petrified voice seemed to cut through at least part of Remus's base werewolf instinct, and ever so slowly, he came back to himself. “Harry? I...oh, Gods...” He all but threw himself off of the younger man, and Harry sat up on trembling limbs.

“I guess it's safe to say separating isn't an option, then,” Harry laughed nervously, still rather shaky as he got over the shock of being pinned to his own sitting room floor.

“Obviously not,” Remus couldn't quite meet Harry's gaze.

~*~

In tense silence, Harry travelled to and from Remus's safehouse that Kingsley had organized for him, transporting shrunken wooden boxes the size of muggle dice back to Grimmauld place. It took the better part of the day to transport everything over, and in that time Harry estimated that they had jumped through the Floo at least twenty-seven times each. He was still a little jumpy from the morning's unpleasant assault, and he offered Remus an apologetic look when he would reach for him, and Harry would cringe involuntarily. Though Harry knew it wasn't Remus's fault—it was the bond making him act this way, but it was difficult at times to convince himself of that fact.

“This is the last one,” Remus huffed as he dropped a handful of tiny wooden crates beside the ones Harry had extracted from his own pockets before resizing them.

“How on earth do you have so much stuff?” Harry's eyes roved over the stacks and stacks of crates that now cluttered his sitting room, not recalling Remus ever being such a packrat during his tenure at Hogwarts back in Harry's third year.

“It's primarily my private library,” Remus shrugged, though he appeared amused by the question. Harry shook his head, laughing softly as he picked up the case file he'd ignored that morning and flopping back onto the sofa. Red Moon was on the move again, and being stuck doing at-home paperwork for the case instead of being in the field was driving Harry mental. However, he was certain that going off to do field work in tracking down an anti-werewolf group with Remus in his current state would be an incredibly bad idea.

“Well, there's plenty of space in the Library, if you want to organize them there,” Harry turned his attention to his work as he spoke, sifting through parchment and photographs in the fire, “we sorted through everything once things...settled down, and we had all the really Dark books destroyed.” Silence followed his words, and Harry glanced back up, just in time to see the anxious look disappear from Remus's face. “Remus? Are you all right?” Harry felt like it was a stupid question, and cringed a little as it escaped him.

“Fine, Harry,” he replied with a faint smile while he flicked his wand at the boxes with a few sweeping motions, and the clutter disappeared at once. “I'll sort everything tomorrow, no point doing it tonight.”

“Hmm,” Harry nodded in agreement and turned back to his work, glowering at the victim photographs pinned to the reports in his hands—Red Moon had been upping its kills in number and savagery. What was the point, Harry wondered, of castrating the poor werewolf, only to let him bleed out while he was forced to watch his partner be force-fed the appendage, then kill her with a simple Killing Curse? Harry shivered. The children had been spared, though Harry was uncertain whether this was mercy or another vengeful act; they had been forced to watch their parents' murder, and were now under the care of their paternal grandparents. It had been six weeks, and they had yet to speak.

An arm encircling Harry's shoulders caused him to jump, and he lifted his gaze to see Remus looking down at him. His stomach did a strange somersault at the man's close proximity to him and Harry averted his gaze, pressing his thumb and forefinger against the corners of his eyes. “Sorry Remus, I was miles away. This case...it's beyond unpleasant.” The older man's thumb brushed over Harry's shoulder lightly, and he felt some of his tension leave him. Harry felt himself shiver a moment later as he recalled what had happened that morning, but he beat down the urge to slip from the embrace.

“You're part of the team seeking out Red Moon?” Remus asked, leaning forward to look at the paperwork balanced on Harry's knees.

“Yeah, not many Aurors were keen to take it on,” Harry grimaced, and refocused his gaze on the crackling fire in the grate. Remus's hold on him had tightened slightly, and Harry could sense the protective edge to it, which was comforting, in a strange way. “I'd thought we'd seen the worst of it when we rounded up the Death Eaters, but these people...in some respects, they make Voldemort's followers look tame.” Harry jerked his head in a quick shake, forcing back the memories of the various crime scenes he'd visited over the last year; seeing them once was bad enough, he didn't want to get lost in his flashbacks.

“Not much frightens werewolves,” Remus's voice had gone very hard, not meeting Harry's eyes when he'd turned to look at the older man, “but these people do. I hope the Aurors are taking this threat seriously.” Harry leaned against Remus, trying to balance the seriousness of the conversation with the man's need for contact, while he struggled to ignore the way his heart beat violently in his chest.

“We are, or, at least, my team is. After I practically begged to be a part of the investigation people stopped being so dismissive of it. At least my fame's good for something,” Harry smiled bitterly, and replaced the parchment and photographs inside its folder before he tossed it onto the coffee table. His head felt too full; the case, the accidental bond with Remus, Ginny...Harry was rather impressed that he hadn't cracked under the pressure yet. “I'm just so tired of all this death,” Harry rubbed at his eyes again. “I never thought I'd see something worse than what the muggleborns had gone through...” Remus squeezed him gently, reassuringly.

“Lycanthropy isn't like muggleborn prejudice,” his tone of voice was patient and reminiscent of the teacher's voice he'd adopted in Harry's third year at Hogwarts. “A muggleborn witch or wizard is born, as the name implies. A werewolf if made. Anyone can become one, and no one is immune to the bite. Fear and ignorance are incredibly powerful; they push people to violence as easily as blinking.” Harry knew Remus was likely speaking from experience, and he felt a wave of sadness for the man. Harry had no idea what to say, or how to offer comfort. It wasn't his world, and Harry felt that it wasn't his place to offer opinions or advice. He hesitated for a moment longer, then reached out and wrapped an arm around Remus's midsection, offering a gentle squeeze.

Remus appeared startled by the contact, and for a moment, Harry thought he might move away. Slowly, the werewolf relaxed into his touch and Harry felt that strange somersaulting sensation in the pit of his stomach return. They did not look at one another, but stared into the fire, both lost in their own thoughts.

~*~

Harry woke the following morning feeling well-rested and calmer than he had in days. He woke alone, the weak sunlight pouring into his window illuminated the room with a friendly glow, and for the barest moment Harry actually missed the sensation of waking up into someone's arms. Shaking his head to rid himself of the thought, he stood and stretched, his spine popping in a most satisfying way, then moved to grab some clothes to face the day in.

Harry's good mood died the second he took down the protective charms and opened his bedroom door. The armful of clothing he held nearly tumbled out of his grip as Harry took in the image of Remus curled up on the floor, cheek pressed against the blemished, dark wood—minute scratches and crescent indentations visible where the man had tried to get past Harry's wards and into the room. Harry felt as though he'd swallowed a block of ice, and he quickly slipped down the hall and to the loo before Remus had even stirred.

Muttering a quick, “silencio,” on the closed door, Harry dropped his clean clothes onto the bath mat and sunk into a sitting position upon the toilet, his face in his hands. It had seemed so simple the night before; cast charms on Remus's door—with his permission—as well as his own, and that should keep him from wandering in the night. Clearly, the bond wouldn't be contained that easily. Harry ran his fingers through his hair, a faint shiver running through him. The idea of inviting a man into his bed still felt as though he was betraying Ginny somehow, and the guilt refused to be placated by the reasonable parts of his mind. At the same time, it seemed cruel to force Remus's instincts to seek him out like that in the middle of the night. As little as he liked the idea, wouldn't it be kinder to just give in and invite the man into his bed?

With a frustrated sigh, Harry stood up and turned on the hot water.

Under the near-scalding spray, Harry closed his eyes and his thoughts strayed immediately to his house guest. It wasn't fair to force Remus to sleep in his hallway like that, and the sight of him curled there like some sort of desperate beggar made him burn with guilt. Harry was already subject to casual touches and embraces by the man when he was awake, it would be the same in sleep, wouldn't it?

But somehow, Harry knew it was not the same. Harry reached for the shampoo and worked the cedar-scented concoction into his hair. There was something so much more intimate about sharing a bed, even if it was just for sleep. Harry felt his stomach knot with nerves, and he sighed with frustration. I can't let this go on, I just need to sack up and get it over with. The thought did little to put Harry's mind at ease, as he was terrified of Remus interpreting the invitation as something more than just sleep.

But this is Remus, Harry reasoned for what felt like the thousandth time, even if his wolf side does push him, it wouldn't push him that far, Hermione's notes said so at least half a dozen times. He stepped back under the spray and picked up the violet bar of soap. I really hope she was right, at least.

Harry did not step out of the shower until well past the point where muggle water tanks would have gone cold. His skin was wrinkled like an old prune and he felt marginally calmer than he had an hour ago. If nothing else, showers were spectacular for thinking through his problems—though he wasn't particularly thrilled with the conclusion he'd come to; but he'd grow used to it in time, wouldn't he?

Remus was conspicuously absent from the breakfast table, though someone—Kreacher, most likely—had left him a plate piled high with breakfast fare under a warming charm. Next to it was his post, along with the usual stack of paperwork from the office were two sealed envelopes, one he recognized as from Hermione, the other was addressed to him with an unfamiliar scrawl.

With a triangle of toast balanced between his teeth, Harry slit the envelope of Hermione's letter, which turned out to be lucky as he shook it open one-handed and began to read.

Harry,

How are things going with Remus? We haven't heard from you in a few days and we wanted to make sure you're still alive.

Also, Ron wanted me to pass along that at a recent raid on a Red Moon hideout they found some photographs of the areas around Grimmauld Place. It would probably be safe to assume that they know Remus is there, though I don't know how much they know. Be careful, Harry.

Love,
Hermione

Harry set aside the letter with a faint smile, and moved on to the mystery letter, though now with a sneaking suspicion that he knew who it was from. He used a few curse-detection charms first, and finding nothing he slit it open and a single square of parchment fell out. Instead of it being written, it appeared as though it had been typed on an old-fashioned typewriter, with perfect, uniform indented letters. It read:

You will burn for protecting that monster. A creature's whore is still a whore.

“Well isn't that charming,” Harry muttered, slipping the note back into the envelope, then summoned some blank parchment, a quill, and ink to draft a reply to Hermione.

Hermione,

Things are fine, I'm not dead yet, thanks for the vote of confidence. Things're a bit weird, but I reckon that'll go away in time. Right now it's just a matter of us kind of talking through things and stuff.

Thanks for the novel of notes, by the way. They've really helped in keeping me from running away screaming. Remus is trying to not push, but it's sort of hard for him. We're both trying and we're both not exactly keen on this, so it's pretty much turned into this whole mess of weird mixed signals and awkwardness. At least this happened with Remus and not someone like...Greyback or something.

I got a lovely anonymous note today, three guesses from who. You can let Ron know I'm sending it along to Caldwell today, though likely he'll see it at some point soon anyway.

Take care,
Harry

Harry folded up the letter to Hermione and put it aside while he sent off Strax to the Ministry first with the letter he'd received that morning, as well as a note to Auror Caldwell. The threat was definitely the bigger issue, and Hermione could wait a bit for an answer to her letter.

Harry put away Hermione's letter and his unsent response, as keeping it out of Remus's sight seemed a safer idea for the moment. He didn't know how the bond might make him respond contact from one of his best friends, no matter how platonic it might be. Harry didn't like being this nervous and paranoid, and being so cut off from the outside world made it even worse. Harry raked a hand through his hair and stared out the window, wondering if he'd ever get the normal life that he wanted—that he almost had with Ginny. Harry shook his head violently as the beautiful redhead once more snuck into his thoughts. Move forward, you have to move forward. Harry wished it was easier to forget her.

Harry passed the morning at the table, eating his way through his mountain of food while he worked on the day's paperwork. By noon, Remus still hadn't come out of hiding, and Harry had begun to worry. Was he embarrassed? Harry frowned, guilt pooling in the pit of his stomach while he thought it over. He moved to the sitting room with a cup of tea and Quidditch Through The Ages tucked under his arm, hoping that the book would distract him from worrying about the werewolf.

Harry stretched out on the sofa and buried his nose in the book. Harry lost track of the time, but as the soft pitter-patter of light rain began to descend on the windows, Harry felt himself drift off into a light sleep.

Harry was tied to a chair. His wrists were twisted behind his back in tight bindings, and each ankle had been stuck to the legs of the chair with some sort of sticking charm. A nameless thug hovered before him, pinpricks of eyes the only visible part of his assailant, the rest hidden by a cloak and a balaclava.

“Freak,” they snarled at him, the vicious tone making it impossible to discern whether it was male or female. “How dare you bend over for a monster! You're nothing but a whore, you give it up to whoever comes along—human or not.”

“Shut up, I'm not a whore!” Harry struggled against the bonds, but they held fast.

“You are. You're a sick, disgusting freak. You'd give it up for a hippogriff if one took a fancy to you.” The words hit Harry like the cracks of a whip, and he struggled harder.

“Shut up! I'm none of those things—”

“You are, Potter. Whore to a monster, to filth.” The word whore echoed around Harry, and he roared in frustration and anguish.

“Stop it! Remus isn't a monster, he's a good man.”

“A man, you say? Well look at your man now.” The assailant stepped aside.

Bound in a chair across from Harry was the desecrated corpse of what had once been Remus Lupin. The eyes were missing and bloody tears streaked his sunken, waxy cheeks. His abdomen had been slashed open like a pig for slaughter, and his throat had been cut so fiercely that only the barest connective tissue kept it from toppling from his shoulders.

Cruel laughter engulfed him as Harry screamed.

“Harry, Harry! Wake up, you're having a nightmare!” Harry thrashed, struggling to get away, but as the haze of his sleep lifted, he found himself safe and free. Remus was leaning over him, hands on Harry's shoulders, eyes wide and his face lined with worry.

“R-Remus?” Harry shook his head a few times, trying to rid his mind's eye of the last image of the dream. Harry took several trembling breaths, and before he could think through the action he threw himself at Remus and wrapped his arms around the werewolf's neck in a tight hug.

Remus froze under the contact, though after a moment a hand came down to rub Harry's back gently. Harry held onto the older man tightly, unable to completely quell the shakes that racked his body. “I—I'm sorry,” Harry murmured after several minutes of silence, as he pulled back from the embrace, and Remus moved to sit at his side. “I didn't mean to worry you,” Remus moved his hand to rest it on Harry's hip, and while the contact was still slightly foreign to Harry, Remus did nothing other than hold him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for Harry,” Remus replied gently, giving him a small, reassuring squeeze. “Would you like to talk about your dream?” Harry shook his head at once, cursing inwardly when he felt his face grow a little warm, though he was uncertain whether is was from embarrassment or shame.

“It was—unpleasant,” Harry pressed a hand over his eyes, his back curling forwards as he struggled to shake off the remnants of the nightmare.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Remus's voice was hesitant, as though he was afraid of overstepping his bounds by repeating the question.

“I—” Harry's voice caught in his throat, and images of Remus's nightmare-corpse assaulted his mind's eye. Harry swallowed, trying to stave off the nausea that followed, “...no, I...seeing it once was enough.” Harry felt one of Remus's hands close over his and squeeze lightly. Harry returned the unspoken sentiment, though he did not yet lift his gaze. Harry heard Remus murmur an incantation, and a moment later a glass of water was being pressed into his hands.

“Drink, it'll help. I'll be back in a moment.” Remus released him and stood, while Harry finally looked up and watched him stride out of the room. For one wild moment, Harry wanted to make him stay, but his mouth refused to work properly. Harry sipped the water he'd been given, and felt some of his nausea immediately begin to recede.

Beyond the horror of seeing that much gore, Harry wondered what else the dream could mean. In between sips of water, he had a feeling he knew exactly what it meant, but it was too soon for that...wasn't it? He couldn't deny that his feelings towards Remus were quickly changing, but what they were changing into...he was still uncertain. Remus returned in under five minutes, balancing a tray of chicken soup and dry toast in his hands. Harry pursed his lips a little to keep himself from laughing out loud.

“I'm not ill, you know. It was just a nightmare.” Remus ignored his comment, and placed the tray on the coffee table.

“Humour me. You woke up and nearly made a mess of my favourite cardigan. I'll feel better if you eat light this evening.” Harry chuckled, picked up the bowl, and drained half the broth in one. Remus sat down next to him, close enough that Harry could feel his body heat, but he did not physically touch him. Harry shifted and closed the distance between them so that their legs brushed together. He tried to make the movement seem casual and unintentional, but he was fairly certain that Remus didn't buy the act. Harry was still shaken by the nightmare, and the physical contact was helping him stay calm. The older man hesitated for a moment longer, then curled an arm around Harry's waist, and Harry felt himself relax at once. He tried valiantly to ignore the little voice in the back of his mind that was telling him he should not be enjoying this; he was practically assaulted by the man roughly thirty-six hours earlier, but even so he could not deny how he reacted to gentle contact from the older man.

It amazed Harry how utterly safe he had begun to feel when Remus was near. It was so incredibly different than how it had been with Ginny; with her, Harry had been in the role of protector—not that Ginny really needed protecting—but with Remus the roles were reversed, and Harry found that he did not mind it nearly as much as he thought he would. He'd been so afraid of being emasculated by this relationship, of being seen as the woman, but Harry felt no less masculine in Remus's arms than he had felt in holding Ginny. Smiling slightly at the realization, he reached forward to grab some of the toast.

“Sickle for your thoughts?” Harry looked up when Remus spoke, the toast balanced lightly in his hand and halfway to his mouth. Remus was looking down at him curiously, with a faint smile playing across his lips.

“I was just thinking about me...us...this...” Harry waved his free hand vaguely to indicate the two of them.

“Come to any conclusions?”

“Some, yeah,” Harry munched on his toast to keep from elaborating, and he felt Remus quiver next to him in a soft chuckle. “Where were you all day, anyway? I didn't see hide nor hair of you til now.” Keen to divert the conversation away from himself, Remus seemed to catch on to this desire, and smiled a little before he answered.

“Unpacking my books, mostly. Even with magic it takes time to sort them properly.” Harry chuckled a little, and moved to sip some of his water.

“Properly? There's a right and wrong way to sort books?”

“By author, then chronologically for series, then arranged by subject, the fiction, nonfiction, and muggle books kept together...” Harry listened, a shadow of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. Remus was getting a dreamy, glazed-over look to his eyes as he talked, and Harry could just imagine Sirius taking the mickey out of him for his obsession with books.

The thought of Sirius in that moment struck him as slightly odd. His godfather had been friends with this man, best friends. What would he think of what was happening now? Harry swallowed the question as best he could and focused on listening to Remus talk, seemingly unaware that he'd lost Harry somewhere along the way. Slowly, they fell into silence again, though for once it carried none of the awkwardness Harry had grown used to feeling of late. He picked up the remnants of the soup and ate quietly, pretending he didn't notice the way the werewolf's eyes watched his every move.

The pair passed the evening in companionable silence, with Harry asking Kreacher to bring Remus some dinner so that they didn't have to move. The elf grumbled the entire time, shooting Remus nasty glares in between quiet insults. Harry decided to ignore it, as Remus didn't seem entirely offended by the elf's multiple variations of 'nasty werewolf'.

Harry did his best to appear nonchalant as he summoned a bottle of firewhisky and two glasses, using a quick cleaning charm to siphon off some of the dust, before pouring a measure for each of them. He had spent the evening psyching himself up for the sleeping arrangements that night following the decision he'd come to in the shower that morning. Harry hoped the liquid courage would help with his nerves, though he genuinely doubted it.

Harry pulled his legs up and sat on his ankles, his eyes fixed on the crackling fire while he took small sips of the drink. Harry could feel Remus's fingertips absently rubbing at his hip, and he had a feeling the contact was born out of habit, rather than intentional. Part of Harry's mind still protested the alarmingly fast progression of his thoughts and feelings towards the man that currently held him, but a larger part was content to just enjoy it, and not overthink it.

“Well,” Harry said at last as he stood up, untangling himself from Remus as delicately as he could, “I think I'll head to bed.” His mouth twitched into a vague half-smile when he saw Remus's expression fall, and he reached out for the man's hand, giving it a gentle tug. “You coming?” Remus's gaze snapped up, eyes wide.

“You mean...?”

“Yeah,” Harry smiled weakly, “I—I mean I'm not ready to do y'know...stuff yet—” Harry felt himself go red, “—but yes, I mean it.” The shock of Harry's invitation seemed to have glued Remus to the spot, but after a few encouraging tugs of his hand, he stood up and followed Harry upstairs, the corners of the man's mouth quivering as though he was struggling to stifle a smile.

Harry had been earnest in his sentiments, but by the time they'd reached the top landing, he found his resolve had already begun to waver. Remus stood very close to him as they walked hand in hand to the bedroom, and Harry could feel the werewolf's body heat practically radiating off him. If Remus was at all aware of Harry's nervousness, he did not react to it. The pseudo-assault was still fresh in Harry's mind, and he felt almost nauseous with fear at the memory. While he knew that that hadn't really been Remus, it was still difficult for Harry to separate the two.

Upon reaching the top landing, Remus dropped Harry's hand and slipped down the hall without a word or a glance towards Harry. He watched Remus slip into Regulus's old room, while Harry made his way to the master bedroom.

Harry dug out a fresh pair of pyjama bottoms and changed into them, though he hesitated at sleeping the way he always did, as he was reluctant to give Remus's wolf any funny ideas. Before Harry had come to a conclusion one way or the other, Remus returned dressed similarly to him, and again Harry was subject once more to the man's surprisingly fit physique.

Harry did not know what he had expected, it wasn't like he was used to seeing shirtless men in their forties wandering around his house, but it was a far cry from what his mind had imagined. Remus was leanly muscled, with an opalescent crisscross of scars across his chest and abdomen, with a jagged tear of white scar tissue just above his left hip. It was clear to Harry that that was where Greyback had bitten him, and he struggled to keep his eyes off the white mar upon his flesh. Light brown hair trailed down Remus's stomach and collected in a thatch just below his navel, before continuing into the pyjamas he wore. Harry felt himself go red for the umpteenth time that day, he turned and rushed to the loo without a word.

When Harry had returned, Remus was sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands and he was muttering to himself. Harry was too far away to catch the words, but he did not miss how distressed Remus looked. In a way, he found it strangely comforting; at least it confirmed to Harry that he wasn't the only one freaking out about the whole situation that they suddenly found themselves in.

Harry made more noise than was necessary in returning to the room, giving Remus a chance to compose himself in the event that he didn't want to discuss his own worries regarding their budding 'relationship'. Harry felt a shiver run down his spine at the word; it was still very strange to him that he and Remus were in a relationship.

Remus turned sharply at the sounds of Harry returning, and he smiled weakly. Harry attempted to return it, but he wasn't quite able to get his mouth to cooperate. He took a handful of tentative steps forward, his movements wooden and stiff despite his best efforts to conceal how nervous he was about sharing his bed with the older man.

This is so weird, Harry thought in a panic, It's barely been three days and I'm already sharing a bed with him? This can't be right. His stomach roiled with nervousness, and he curled his hands into fists to try and hide his trembling. He and Remus both reached for the duvet at the same moment, and Harry felt the colour rise in his face again. The hand on the blanket froze, and Remus moved to take Harry's hands in his own. “Harry, breathe,” Harry looked up and could see that familiar, placid smile he'd always known looking back at him. “I'm not going to do anything you wouldn't want, I swear. It's just sleep.” Harry nodded a little, but his mind was still stuck in a whirlwind of panic. Slowly, he extricated his hands from Remus's, and slid under the covers, his effort to conceal his fear utterly shattered.

Logically, Harry knew that Remus would never do anything without his consent, but in his panic-stricken state, it was difficult to convince himself that the werewolf was above anything. Harry felt the bed dip next to him and he rolled onto his side, hoping that if he couldn't see Remus it might help with the strangeness he felt about the entire situation.

While Harry was still in the midst of trying to calm his freaked-out mind, he let out a small gasp of surprise as an arm extended and slowly snaked around his midsection and pulled him close. Remus's chest moulded into Harry's back and he let out a contented sigh, their bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle.

The fact that they seemed to fit so easily together made Harry feel strange, and he could not exactly work out why. Remus's breath ghosted across the back of his neck in warm, even puffs, and he held onto Harry the way a child might cling to a treasured stuffed animal. Harry shifted experimentally, putting barely an inch of space between them, and at once Remus shifted to close the gap.

With a defeated sort of sigh, Harry took off his glasses and flicked his wand to extinguish the gas lamps. Sleep did not come to him for a long time.
- 6
- 7
- 8
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Lunaticus Book One: Half Moon