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Lunaticus Bonus: Blue Moon	By : JBankai89 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Remus Views: 1982 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, I gain nothing from this but a way to pass the time.

Chapter List
- 1-Blue Moon
- 1
A/N: One year. Holy shit. It's hard to believe that this little story has been going for a whole YEAR. I thought it'd be nice as a thank you to you guys for sticking with this story for so long, I offer you this companion piece, and I hope you enjoy it. :) This was written hella fast, so apologies for any mistakes that I may have missed. I loved all the ideas thrown at me for this, but I could only pick one, so I ended up choosing something related to Remus, primarily because I love writing about him ^.^ please enjoy. If you're new to Lunaticus, this can be read before New Moon Rising like a prequel, however, there will be a few spoilers for early NMR chapters if you choose to do that. I also find it amazing that my one-year also coincides with the 20th Anniversary of the publication of Philosopher's Stone, so, Happy Harry Potter Day everyone!! :D
TRIGGER WARNING this story contains elements of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, and may be upsetting to some readers. It is tagged, of course, but sometimes people's eyes accidentally skim over tags, and so consider yourself doubly warned.

Maybe I just set aside the fact that you were brokenhearted,
In my own special selfish way,
And if I hadn't set aside the fact that you were brokenhearted,
Hell knows where your heart would be today,
Maybe with me.
-Sorry About That – Alkaline Trio (Goddamnit, 1998, Asian Man Records)

Blue Moon

When Remus woke up that morning, he was cold.

It was a bone-deep chill that had little to do with the air around them—which was heavy with humidity, and the sharp tang on the air promised that another storm was on its way—but instead it came from within him.

He could still taste the blood in his mouth—Harry's blood.

Never in his life had he ever felt so disgusted with himself.

When Remus at last opened his eyes, he was alone.

No Greyback.

No Harry.

He could only vaguely recall what had transpired the night before—with his system still gradually flushing out the wolfsbane potion, his wolf memories were never as strong as some other turned wolves his age, but one things he did know was that Greyback had forced him to bite Harry.

Remus shivered, and he felt a wave of nausea wash over him.

How could he have done such a thing?

Remus could not decide whether he wanted to scream his anguish or weep; his mind was a cluttered mess of regret.

He stood on stiff limbs and hobbled over to a copse of trees where he had hidden his clothing at sundown. Thankfully, they were still there, albeit soaked and icy cold. Remus laughed weakly, recalling that it was raining when he had finally broke through the protective wards of Grimmauld Place and was able to see Harry that first time when the bond has originally been enacted.

The memory was bittersweet, and it caused a lump to form in Remus's throat.

I love him more than I have loved anything in my life, Remus thought as he dried the clothing with his wand, then pulled them on. More than I ever loved my friends, or Sirius, or myself. I just wanted to help him, save him from this curse, but I only managed to completely ruin his life.

Remus hadn't been consciously aware that he had been walking, but soon he found himself of the front steps of Grimmauld Place. Standing at the door like a ginger, one-headed Cerberus, was Ron Weasley.

“I—” Remus began, but Ron was quick to cut him off.

“Get the fuck out of here, Remus,” Ron snarled, and drew his wand to emphasize that he was not mucking about.

“I just wanted to make sure that Harry was all right,” Remus explained to him, but Ron's eyes narrowed as though he'd spouted out a particularly awful swear word.

“He's not all right, Remus,” Ron hissed, “he hasn't been all right for ages, and it's all your fault. You've taken my best friend from me, and in the process Hermione was turned too. I've lost my best friend and my fiancée, and it's all your fault. Thanks to you, they'll never be the same. Get out of here before I make you leave.”

The dangerous calm was almost more alarming to Remus than if Ron had been shouting.

“I'm sorry, Ron,” Remus replied as he bowed his head in supplication, “there's nothing I can say that will make it all right, but...”

“Then what the fuck are you doing here?” Ron snarled, and took a step forward. “You've ruined both of their lives. Harry has lost everything thanks to you. What do you think his reaction will be if he sees you? He's not even properly angry with you—he's afraid of you.”

“I didn't mean for any of this to happen,” Remus responded in a similar tone, and he curled his hands into fists at his sides, “please, believe me, I'd never intentionally hurt Harry—”

“—and dragons would never intentionally eat a human,” Ron countered with a glare. “Remus, I don't care whether you intended to hurt him or not, you did. Get the hell out of here. You aren't going to see him—you're not going to hurt him anymore. I won't let you do any more damage.”

Remus debated trying to shoulder past the redhead—he was physically and magically stronger than him, and likely he could manage it easily, but his words resonated with Remus, and he rather wished that they didn't.

He'd hurt his Harry.

The one person in the entire cosmos he never wanted to hurt.

Without a word, he spun on his heel and stormed away, more angry at himself than at Ron, while the redhead only returned inside the house when Remus had cleared the property line.

I need to leave, he thought as he cast one last glance back at the decrepit old house, I have no place in Harry's life anymore. The bond is broken, Harry no longer has any magical compulsion to stay with me—if he ever truly loved me to start with.

The thought tugged at his heart, and he hated how true it felt. How could he not still love Harry? He was young, and strong, and brave—pure of heart, beautiful in his own right—anyone would be lucky to have him.

When Remus's thoughts turned to himself, he could not see any reason for Harry's love for him to have been genuine.

I'm old, I'm broken, I'm in no fit state to be with anyone, not if I'm going to hurt them...

His heartbreak over what had happened between them became more intense, and with tears streaking his cheeks, he slipped into a shadowed alley to Disapparate.

I promise, Harry, Remus thought as he spun on the spot, you won't see me again—I won't hurt you any more.

Remus reappeared on the edge of a thick forest, so remote that the closest village was over one hundred miles away, and it did not look like anything more remarkable than a thick expanse of woods.

Remus stepped forward, his hand extended, and he felt a warmth engulf his flesh as slowly a small wooden cabin materialized before him—his safe house when Red Moon had been at their height. The last time Remus had been here was when he and Harry had been transferring his belongings over to Grimmauld Place, and like with most memories involving Harry, it was another jagged spike in his heart. He smiled sadly.

The tiny cabin was nothing special—large enough for one or two people, with a thatched roof and stacked half-logs making up the walls. One single-pane window rested next to the front door, and it had an unkempt look about it, given that it had stood uninhabited for roughly a year and a half.

Remus headed inside, and its interior was bare, given that all of his things were still at Grimmauld Place. The bed was stripped and the mattress was caked in a thick layer of dust; the ceiling was thick with cobwebs, the rickety furniture that had been left behind pockmarked with chew marks left by mice, and the curtains on his windows seemed to be buzzing softly—doxies. The depressing atmosphere matched Remus's internal turmoil so well that he almost laughed out loud, and he was marginally relieved that he had no intention to stay.

Remus stepped softly over to the bed, careful to keep his footfalls light so as to not rouse anything else that might have taken up residence in the little cabin, and crouched before the piece of furniture as he ignited his wand tip.

There was a distinctive skittering and clicking under the bed as he shone the light under it, and Remus did not feel overly compelled to identify the sound—it sounded very much like acromantula, and if there were acromantula babies living here, it was assured that the parents were not far off.

Remus used his wand to siphon some of the dust off the floor, and he reached carefully under the bed, where he dug his fingers into the edges of a loose floorboard, and wiggled it free. Inside was a small wooden box, no larger than a deck of Exploding Snap cards, with the planetary symbol for Mercury burned into the front of it. He pulled it out, his hand trembling a little as he handled the thing, and pocketed it before he stood up and slipped out of the decrepit house.

Now that Remus had gotten what he came for, he knew that he had to get farther from Harry, and more importantly, farther from memories of Harry. It felt as though his heart was aflame, and he shivered bodily. The longing to see him one last time was almost impossible to ignore, and memories of the last few times he had seen him elicited another shiver.

I don't deserve him.

Eyes shining, he spun on the spot and Disapparated once more.

~*~

Uncertain what to do or where to go, Remus reappeared on the edge of Hogsmeade.

Thankfully, it was a weekday, and thus the village was not teeming with students, though he spotted more than one professor out and about, and he bowed his head in an effort to mask his identity from passer-bys as he moved, and made a beeline for The Hog's Head.

The pub was blessedly empty, save for Aberforth behind the grimy bar.

Some things never changed.

“Lupin,” he grunted in greeting, and Remus nodded his head once. “Been a while. Haven't seen you in here since the war.”

“Yes, it's been...” Remus trailed off and shook his head. “Whisky, please. Not firewhisky, the Rotgut stuff.”

Aberforth arched an eyebrow at him, but did not question him as he pulled out a fifth of amber liquid with an ominous black label that carried a skull and crossbones painted across it in white, and the barman filled a shot glass with the drink before he slid it across the bar to Remus.

Remus knocked back the drink and shuddered. It was like drinking petrol, but he needed the risk of going blind today, after everything, he didn't deserve a luxury like firewhisky.

Aberforth refilled the little glass, and Remus stared down into the shot glass before he knocked back the second one with another shudder.

“You best slow down there,” Aberforth suggested, “legally, I can't give you more than five of these—any more at one time and you'll start burning holes in your stomach.”

“I'd deserve it,” Remus mumbled miserably, and pushed the glass back at Aberforth. He hesitated, but when Remus glared at him, he reluctantly poured him another drink.

After his third, the alcohol was beginning to make him feel delightfully numb, and he pulled out the little box he'd retrieved from the house. He turned it in his hand, and sighed heavily.

“What's that?” Aberforth asked casually, Remus suspected as a means to avoid tidying his dirty pub and instead engage in small talk. Remus almost giggled at the question.

“A last resort,” Remus replied, his words slightly slurred, and he tugged it open to show the barman. Inside was a narrow vial, its contents almost shining in the low light of the dingy pub. He picked it up, and Remus felt his fingers tingle as he touched it, the glass it was encased it just barely stopping it from burning him.

“That's Quicksilver, Lupin,” Aberforth said seriously, as though Remus would have no idea what he held. “That'll kill you. What are you doing with it?”

“A werewolf can survive with Quicksilver in their system for no more than sixty seconds, did you know?” Remus said conversationally as he turned the vial between his fingers, “and I have heard that it is agonizing. It is a better death than I deserve.”

“Any particular reason you're thinking about offing yourself?” Aberforth asked, his mouth twitching into a frown, “that's very serious business, Lupin.”

“What else is there to do?” Remus responded, “I nearly killed the one person I cared about most, and—and now he hates me. I don't deserve to live.”

“Killing yourself ain't the answer,” Aberforth replied in a strangely even tone, “you kill yourself, and you leave things exactly how they are. Nothing can change. But if you keep on living, you can do something about it. Make amends.”

“He hates me,” Remus repeated miserably, “it's too late for amends. I'm better off dead.”

“That's the funny thing about life,” Aberforth said, “you think it's too late, but really, it never is. There's always time to make amends.”

“You're very wise when I'm drunk,” Remus observed, the tiny vial still held aloft in his hand.

“Having a brother like Albus, people forget that I'm not a simpleton,” Aberforth replied icily, and he glared at Remus, but the werewolf did not feel as though he had the energy to react to it.

“Anyway, you're wrong. It is too late,” Remus continued, and shifted his gaze back to the vial. He needed to do it. To free himself from this. Maybe the next life would offer him the penance he deserved for all that he had done. He moved to unstopper it.

“Accio vial!”

A new voice cried out the incantation, and Remus yelped in surprise as the Quicksilver zoomed from his hand and towards the door of the pub. He whirled around, and eyes widened when he saw Minerva McGonagall standing in the doorway. He hadn't seen her this angry since the time she'd caught himself, Sirius, James, and Peter booby-trapping the entryway to the Slytherin common room in their sixth year.

“Remus John Lupin, I am surprised at you,” she said angrily, and he winced at the use of his full name. “Suicide? You know better than this! I can't believe you would have such a thing on your person. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Professor, I—” Remus began, but his former Head of House cut him off before he got very far.

“—I don't want to hear it,” she snapped as Remus watched helplessly as she vanished his means of escape with a quick tap of her wand. “Aberforth, may we use one of your rooms? I need to speak to my former student in private.”

“Room seven is free,” he replied, and threw a small key at her, which she caught deftly. “Take your time, not like I've got tons of guests clambering to stay here, anyway.”

She nodded her thanks, then set her gaze back on Remus.

“Come with me.”

Remus didn't dare argue, and followed the older woman up the rickety staircase and to the room Aberforth had mentioned. It was a simple setup—bed, toilet, empty wardrobe. The wallpaper was peeling off the walls and it smelt strongly of mould and rot.

“Sit,” McGonagall said sternly as she pointed to one of the armchairs near the empty fire grate. Her tone left no room for argument.

He sat.

“Now,” she said tersely, while she jabbed her wand angrily at the low coffee table. A tea try materialized there, and she forced a cup of tea into his hands. Remus did not think to protest, but accepted it, and added his milk and sugar with mildly shaking hands while McGonagall continued to glare at him. “I am assuming this has something to do with your relationship with Mister Potter, am I correct?”

“How did you—?”

“Your initial bonding was all over the papers, Remus, and Harry came here to visit with Hagrid a few days ago. It doesn't take a genius to work it out. What I cannot work out is why you felt the need to replicate a scene from Romeo and Juliet. Explain.”

Remus found himself unsurprised that a woman like Minerva McGonagall would have known who William Shakespeare was, but he was reluctant to voice the entirety of all that had happened over the last year and a half. What if she, like Ron and Hermione, hated him for it? He'd deserve it, certainly, this he knew, but he wasn't sure how much more rejection he could take before he cracked.

“Remus Lupin, I have known you since you were eleven years old,” she said patiently, her voice losing its hard edge and taking on a kinder tone that he'd rarely ever heard. “I have been a professor for longer than you have been alive, and there is nothing left in this world to surprise me. Explain yourself, and why you felt that such extreme, harmful action was necessary.”

Remus hadn't intended to tell her much—the bare minimum, and leave it at that. Not lie, not withhold his actions in any way, but not divulge every single detail of how he had systematically destroyed Harry's life so completely without barely lifting a finger.

But like hairline cracks in a dam, he could not hold himself back, and soon he was telling her everything. The initial albeit accidental bonding, how awful he had felt about what he was doing in seeking out Harry so desperately, but alternatively felt as though he could not stop; his rapidly growing and changing feelings for Harry, and the confusion that brought on, given their history; the incident; their face-off with Red Moon and Greyback's invitation; Harry's partial turning and his massive misjudgment on how to handle it; their reunion and subsequent parting, and he ended with Harry's full turning, and his conversation with Ron.

As he spoke, Remus kept his gaze focused on his knees; he did not want to see Minerva's look of disappointment at all the wrong he had done. His throat ached from talking nonstop for close to half an hour, and his eyes were burning from the effort of holding back his tears.

“Remus,” Minerva said, still in that uncharacteristic, gentle tone, and he finally lifted his gaze to her. She was regarding him over her teacup, her gaze calculating, but carried none of the condemnation that he had expected to see. “What do you intend to do now, now that it's all over?”

“I—I don't know. It's barely been twenty-four hours, and already I—I want to see him again. I can't, though. I've ruined his life. He won't want to see me. I need to go away, far away, where I can't reach him again.”

“Is that really what you want?” Minerva asked, and Remus looked away to hide his crumpling facial expression. It had been a long time since he'd cried in front of anyone, and he wasn't about to start now.

“No,” he answered, his voice shaking, “I love him. I need him—but...I can't have him.”

“Albus would have encouraged both of you to follow your hearts,” Minerva said gently, “you have made no short list of massive miscalculations—thanks in no small part to your own views of your Lycanthropy. Fear makes us do horrible things, Remus, and paired with the strong magic both of you were under the influence of, it made everything worse.”

“Don't—Minerva, please, it was my fault. I can't—I can't make excuses for myself any longer. I loved him, and I betrayed him. I ruined his life.”

“To be a werewolf is not a death sentence; you of all people should know that. It is a new stage of life, one some of us are destined to take,” Minerva said simply, and set down the teacup and vanished the lot before she stood up and smoothed out her robes.

“Stay here a few nights, Remus, and think seriously about what you would like to do. I will ask Aberforth to keep an eye on you, so I don't want you taking any more silly notions into your head about ending your life. Nothing is worth that. I will be checking up on you, and if you choose to stay longer than a couple of days, the Shrieking Shack is open to you if you wish to use it. Get some rest.”

Minerva stood and swept out of the room without so much as a backward glance.

The moment he heard the door of the pub shut distantly, Remus felt his complete despair settle over his heart again.

Stay here for a few nights, Remus, and think seriously about what you would like to do...

Minerva's words echoed in his mind, but still he felt that death was the only answer.

I have nothing, Remus thought miserably, no friends, no family, no significant other...nothing. I destroyed everything. What do I have left?

Harry's beaming, smiling face materialized in his mind, and Remus rested his head in his hands with a soft groan.

“Nothing left, except my memories...” Remus muttered to himself, and a weak, bitter laugh escaped him.

~*~

The days bled together, and Aberforth seemed to take his appointment as Remus's would-be prison guard quite seriously. Of the few times that Remus had tried to make a bid for freedom, Aberforth had threatened to break his legs, and always did so in a deadpan, matter-of-fact tone of voice.

It was frustrating, but broke up the monotony of his meditative brooding over all that he had done wrong, and how it felt virtually impossible to begin making up for it all, at least.

The worst of it all, at least for Remus, was how no matter how much time seemed to pass, one thing remained constant:

He missed Harry.

It went beyond a simple feeling, and extended to a bone-deep ache, as though part of his body had been cut off from the whole.

He had loved and lost before, of course, and he'd grown accustomed to being alone, to being singled out, to feeling apart from other people, but his loss of Harry was different, and he knew it.

He was, if such a thing exists, my true love...and I destroyed it.

The thought made him feel even worse, but despite the part of him that wanted to leave Harry alone and let him move on from all the trouble Remus had caused, he still burned to track him down and beg for forgiveness.

The one thing, in Remus's estimation, that he did not deserve.

Remus lost track of time as he stayed in that little room, and before he knew it, four weeks had passed, and the full moon had come.

Hidden by the encroaching dusk, Minerva and Poppy escorted him to the Shrieking Shack, and they offered him a goblet of the wolfsbane potion. He nodded his thanks, and they left quickly, enabling him to discard the potion without them seeing. They may have had his best interests at heart, but Remus understood the potion better than he used to, and he knew that he could not reintroduce it into his system.

Remus could feel the moon climbing in the sky and warming his skin like the summer sun. He stripped out of his clothing and put them in another room to minimize the chances that he'd rip them apart in his wolf form, before he strode over to one of the boarded-up windows to watch the progression of the moon in the sky through the gaps in the wooden planks.

Be safe tonight, Harry... Remus thought, the last purely human thought that crossed his mind, paired with the guilt that he could not be there to see his wolf, and help him through the transformation.

Remus let out a guttural groan as the transformation began, and his knees buckled beneath him as the pain, stronger than he recalled it ever being before, overwhelmed him. It shot down his spine, and Remus gagged as it intensified, his bones crunching, body shape changing, and hair sprouted from every follicle as Moony replaced Remus.

Moony sniffed the air, and immediately let out a whine of unease. He was indoors, and he could not smell his mate.

Tail high, he rushed to the door and began to scratch at it feverishly, but it would not budge. Moony stepped back and howled, calling his mate to him, but no one responded to his call.

Frustrated, Moony circled the room, looking for a way out—a way to his mate. He felt that he was in trouble—he needed to protect his sub at all costs. He scrabbled at the windows, at the walls where the wood seemed to be weakest, but despite his efforts, the wood would not give, and he felt well and truly trapped.

Beyond worry for his mate, Moony felt a fierce hunger, and he had no way to hunt. In his state of worry and irritation, he bit and scratched at himself to alleviate some of his pent-up feelings, but even the taste of blood in his mouth did not calm him like it normally would have.

His mate—where was his mate?

He bayed at the mother moon, hidden from Moony's eyes by this house, though he could still feel it.

She did not answer his call.

~*~

When Remus next woke, he recognized that he had been moved back to his room at the Hog's Head. He was dressed only in a pair of pyjama bottoms, and when he looked down, he could see thick bandages covering most of his abdomen and ribs, and his right wrist and forearm were bound in a thick cast not unlike a muggle one.

“Welcome back,” a female voice said, and Remus turned to see Minerva setting down her copy of Transfiguration Today as she levelled her gaze with him.

“That's the word for it,” he croaked, and grimaced as he sat himself up, while the Headmistress gave her wand a flick, and a leaden breakfast tray appeared across his knees.

“Eat,” she ordered, “you look half-dead.”

“I feel completely dead,” he groaned, but began to eat without complaint—he was starving.

“Did you not take your potion last night?” she asked as he turned in to his sausages, and he tensed. “I had at least seventeen students come to me this morning in a panic, because they swore that they heard a werewolf howling on the grounds. I dismissed their claims, of course, but we all heard you.”

“Wolfsbane...” Remus paused, frowning, as he tried to decide how to best explain it to the woman. She was not unintelligent, but she was human. There was every chance that she would not understand his reasons for not taking it. “It certainly helps, but is not ideal over long periods, and can be dangerous if taken too often. I've spent the better part of ten months trying to flush it all from my system, and I didn't want to go back on it. I wasn't certain you or Poppy would completely understand, so I didn't bring it up.”

“Contrary to popular belief, we are not prejudiced ogres,” Minerva said, though her neutral tone made it difficult for Remus to discern whether she was annoyed with him or not for his nondisclosure. “If you had explained it earlier, there would have been no issues, I assure you. However, of what little I do know of werewolves...you seemed to be particularly distraught last night.”

“I'm sorry, Minerva,” Remus said, bowing his head shamefully, “it's not that I don't trust you, but I still struggle with letting people in.” He paused to sip his tea before he addressed the latter half of her statement. “Moony was pining for Harry. We—I miss him. In my wolf form, I can't understand the idea of everything I have done, or why it was wrong, and I only know that my mate—Harry—was missing from my side, and that greatly distressed me.”

“You miss him.”

It was not a question.

“I feel like I'd miss breathing less,” Remus whispered, and grimaced when he felt his eyes burn. “My life was so dead and colourless until Harry re-entered my life, and now that he's gone, it's like...like I have lost part of myself.”

“And the logical thing to do is to exile yourself, or commit suicide?” Minerva asked, and Remus laughed weakly.

“I have nothing left, Minerva. All I can think about these last few weeks is how desperately I want to end my own life. Life without my—life without Harry is empty. Meaningless.”

“Remus,” Minerva said, drawing his attention back to her as she levelled her gaze with him as she crossed her arms across her chest, “the trouble with suicide is that if you are facing troubles in your life, and you end it all, you life certainly won't get any worse—but it won't get any better, either. If you keep on living, there is every chance that things will continue to be awful, continue to weigh on you more than you think you can bear, but, as Albus used to say, 'happiness can be found in the darkest of places, if one remembers to turn on the light.' I know that it would be a terrible loss if you were to end your life. If you still love Harry, go to him. Show him that you have seen the error of your ways, but do not end it all because of this. It's not worth it—it's never worth it.”

“I abused him,” Remus replied in a deadpan tone of voice, “I don't deserve him any more.”

“You loved him with all your heart, and more,” Minerva said in a simple, matter-of-fact tone, “you were trying to help him. You were rash, misguided, stubborn, and went about it very, very badly, but you did it with good intentions. And that still counts for something.”

She stood as she finished her statement, smoothed out her robes, then laid her hand on his arm to offer him a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

“I will not tell you what to do, but I think you and Harry are good for each other. Without the bonding magic interfering with your minds any longer, I think it would be safe to pursue him without concern that you'd hurt him again, if that is what you choose to do,” she said gently, in a more maternal tone than Remus had ever heard from her before. “Get some rest,” she continued, “and I'll come visit you again soon.”

Without another word, she swept from the room and did not look back.

Remus quickly learnt that he had broken his wrist during the moon, and the salves and charms were not instantly mending it as they should have, much like the gouges in his abdomen.

Remus theorized that this was because of the self-inflicted nature of the wounds themselves, much like the injuries he'd caused himself that first moon following his physical assault on Harry—the incident—these were a penance, and thus would not heal as quickly.

During his time in bed, without any books in the little room to occupy his mind(and the Daily Prophet being so full of its usual falsehoods that Remus did not even bother with it), he spent his days and evenings thinking.

About Harry.

At first, he could only think about the good times he had shared with the young man—their first outing together, Harry's discovery of Remus's talent in the kitchen, the look on his face when he'd given him the ring—each one brought a sad smile to his face, and once again he often wondered how everything could have gone so badly wrong.

Minerva was right, Remus thought on his third day in bed as he stared up at the cracked ceiling, I cannot kill myself. I need to seek penance. I need to pay for what I have done. I want Harry back, but most of all...I want him to forgive me.

Remus laughed bitterly; eating with a silver spoon would have been easier.

~*~

At the end of the first week following the full moon, Minerva returned to his bedside. For a long time, she did not speak, but merely kept him company in silence while she read her magazine and he stared up at the ceiling and tried to think of something to say.

“I want to get him back,” Remus said after nearly a full hour of silence.

“Yes, I thought you might,” she replied as she closed her magazine and set it down on her lap. “It will not be easy, you realize. Mr Potter is likely harbouring deep feelings of betrayal towards you.”

“It's not like it would be unfounded—I did betray him,” Remus replied with a small frown as he dropped his gaze to the thin duvet, “but...I left him initially in self-sacrifice. It killed me to do it, but I was afraid...I didn't want to curse him with this. This time...I want to be selfish.”

“That is not a sin, Remus,” she said gently, “I commend you for it. You have always been a selfless person, and you always took the vast amount of rejection you were subject to in stride. This is something you genuinely want, and I am happy to see that you intend to fight to get it.”

“And I will have to,” Remus added with a small grimace, “Harry hates me. I want to show him that I mean it when I say I'm sorry.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“I do,” he said with a short nod, “I'm going to go to Greyback. That's where Harry will be, I'm certain. I'm going to ask him if I can be accepted back into the pack as—as pack omega.”

Remus grimaced; past the idea of actually asking to be omega of a pack was like asking a group of boxers if he could be a stand-in for their punch-bag, but he knew that it was something that had to be done. He needed to pay for all that he had put Harry through, and he could think of no better way than to put himself into a role that would easily become his own personal hell.

“That is very serious business, Remus,” Minerva observed, “are you quite certain that you'd rather not take a path less likely to leave you with permanent injury?”

“It's the best way to show Harry that I mean it when I say that I'm sorry, to subject myself to that,” Remus explained, “werewolves approach matters with their teeth and claws first. He'll understand the sentiment.” He paused, his mouth tugged into a frown as his mind went back again to Harry and how angry he had been the last time Remus had seen him. “...I hope.”

“If you insist on choosing that path, I certainly hope you know what you're doing,” Minerva remarked in a resigned tone of voice, while Remus shifted his gaze to the window, where outside he could see a vicious thunderstorm lashing against the rattling window panes.

“Me too.”

~*~

Remus waited another full week before beginning his journey south, to ensure that his wounds were properly healed, and that also gave him a chance to rehearse what he wanted to say to Greyback and Harry respectively. He had a lot to atone for, after all, and he did not want to come across as insincere to either of them.

He packed a small bag with a number of items Minerva had forced on him—spare clothes, water, food—and after he left a note of thanks with Aberforth for all her help, he stepped out of the pub.

The cool November wind whipped at his face and stung his cheeks, and he hoped the minor pain was not a portent of what was to come.

He strode from the pub and to the edge of the village, and after taking a slow, steadying breath, he spun on the spot and Disapparated.

Remus reappeared on the edge of the western side of the Black Forest, and he found it curious that as the sights and smells of the forest assaulted his senses, he was caught by an overwhelming sense of foreboding and the feeling of home all at once.

He took a small step back as fear overlaid these feelings. What if Harry rejected him? What if Harry really and truly did hate him? What if another dominant had claimed him?

The latter musing made Remus feel sick to his stomach, and the hand encasing the small bag he carried tensed. His nails dug half moon crescents into his palm, and the image in his mind of Harry with some faceless dominant that was not him filled him with equal parts possessive anger and a deep anguish. He wanted Harry back—he couldn't let that happen.

Remus pushed his way into the trees with renewed hope, his mind a jumble of emotions—predominantly the feeling that he did not deserve Harry's forgiveness in any capacity, as well as something new for him—the feeling that he didn't care. He had to try.

The trek to Greyback's territory was a familiar one, and he ambled through the trees, feeling more relaxed and at peace than he had in months. Soon, he would see Harry again.

Not far from the territory's borders, Remus stopped dead in his tracks as a familiar, cold scent invaded his senses and burned his nose.

Soul Eater.

It had been so long since he'd encountered one, for a moment, Remus was frozen with shock, and he had no idea how to circle around it safely without being targeted. He knew it was still far off enough that it likely hadn't picked up on his presence yet, but with these creatures, complacency always meant certain death.

He began to move again, changing course and heading east in an effort to swerve around the dangerous creature—that is, until he heard a familiar voice cry out

It was far enough that Remus could not pick up the words, but the panicked tone, paired with the familiarity of it was a voice he knew all too well, and he felt his blood run cold.

“I did not come this far to lose you now,” Remus whispered, and he pointed his wand at a small boulder on the ground near his feet. It glowed silver, and transfigured into a thin iron fire poker. He then rolled back the sleeve of his cardigan, and used a carefully aimed slicing charm to cut his flesh but avoid the major arteries, and forced the tip of the poker into the wound.

Remus hissed in pain, but did not allow himself to slow down as he abandoned his bag and shook down the sleeve of the cardigan, and ran as fast as he possibly could towards the sound of Harry's cries.

He reached his former mate just in time to see his Patronus Charm pass directly through the creature. His knees buckled, and he could see Harry beginning to lose consciousness as the Soul Eater bore down on him, and Remus wasted no time in watching the scene before him.
Brandishing the bloodied iron poker, he leapt between Harry and the creature, and with one sure strike, he embedded it in the Soul Eater's chest, and it let out a high, blood-curdling shriek of pain.

Remus bared his teeth at it and forced the poker in deeper. Behind him, he could hear Harry's sharp gasp of recognition and the rustling of Ginny stirring, but he did not dare take his eyes off the Soul Eater until he was quite certain that it was dead.

Slowly, the Soul Eater's twitching slowed, and when it was perfectly still he turned, a small smile of triumph on his face. He had rather hoped that Harry would feel grateful for his timely rescue, but the only emotion that seemed to have registered on the young man's face was shock. His eyes were wide, his lips parted, and he stared at Remus as though he was seeing a ghost.

Remus moved to approach him, but at the same instant another dominant barrelled in between them, and made a beeline for Harry.

“Harry!” the dominant cried, “are you all right? Are you hurt?” He drew Harry into a close embrace, and Remus felt as though he might be sick. What was this man doing touching his Harry?

Remus felt marginally pleased that Harry seemed uncomfortable in the tight hold, and stood there awkwardly as he watched the scene, trying to gauge whether he had the physical strength to pry the man off of Harry—he was significantly larger than Remus was, and he didn't like his odds.

“Ulrich,” Remus heard Harry protest weakly, “Ulrich, I'm fine, don't make a fuss.” When the dominant—who he now recognized as the pack beta—did not react to Harry's continued protests, Remus began to calm down slightly, that was, until Remus watched, horror-struck, as Harry arched up and kissed the man.

He did not feel any rage at either Ulrich nor Harry, but a bone deep ache that made him feel nauseous and dizzy. His vision swam, and he dropped the iron poker near the corpse of the Soul Eater.

Harry was lost to him.

He hastened from the area and back to where he'd left his belongings, and he sunk down to the ground. All manner of pride and dignity lost, Remus wept openly.

I am so pathetic, Remus thought in between hiccoughing sobs, no wonder I lost Harry to him...

At the thought, the mental image of Harry and Ulrich together came unbidden to his mind, and he ground his teeth. He'd gotten so close, and that man had taken Harry from him.

Jealousy, misery, and shame all jumbled together in his head, the latter emerging as he realised just how much of his dominant werewolf tendencies had surged to the forefront of his mind without him even noticing.

Harry is not mine to give or take, or to own, Remus thought fiercely, I should know that by now.

But in the same breath, he hated how he had lost him to someone like Ulrich.

Someone who did not deserve Harry, as far as he was concerned.

Uncertain what to do, he looked to the option of leaving, and never looking back. Harry probably wouldn't even notice his absence—not when he had that good-for-nothing handsome dominant clinging to him.

But as he had learnt over the last six weeks, life without Harry in it was empty—meaningless.

He needed Harry.

On shaking limbs Remus stood up and walked over to a shallow brook that ran through the wood. He splashed cold water on his face, and used his uninjured arm to dry himself off.

He set back towards the territory with renewed hope.

Seeing Harry with another would be painful—close to the moon, moreso.

If in the end it meant that he could be part of Harry's life again—to talk with him, to hold him, to kiss him—it would be worth it.

And in the end, that was all that mattered.

-Fin
A/N: I initially had a reference in Half Moon about Remus having a past relationship with Sirius, but it ended up being cut because the particular context of it made no sense, and I've been looking for a way to include it ever since.

This is the symbol of Mercury, if you don't know what it is/have never seen Sailor Moon: ☿
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Lunaticus Bonus: Blue Moon