Title: To Crash and Burn
Author: Marianne C. Malfoy
Rating: High PG-13
Pairings: Harry/Remus, Hermione/Ron
Warnings: Slash, large age difference
Feedback: Given a loving home at ithilwen892@aol.com
A/N: In this fic, I'm going with the theory that Remus is back at Hogwarts teaching, having returned sometime in Harry's sixth year. I'm of the opinion that prefects (which Harry, in this fic, is) have their own private rooms. However, for the purposes of my plot bunny, in this story, due to a larger number of new first years than usual (perhaps because, after the downfall of Voldemort, which has happened maybe a year or two earlier, there was a large influx of pupils who would have attended the (in my universe) now closed down Durmstrang), the Gryffindor sixth years have had to share a dormitory again to make room for the ickle firsties. The time periods (past, present) may be a little confusing, but I should have marked out with ~~~s where flashback-esque things happen. Harry's POV, addressing Remus in his thoughts as 'you'.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, the characters and books, belong to J.K.Rowling, Scholastic Books, Bloomsbury Books, and whomever else may be concerned. I am purposely not crediting Warner Bros. because, in my universe, they have nothing whatsoever to do with the books, and should mind their own business when it comes to taking liberties with them. I take no ideas from the films, so they have no need to sue me anyway. I make no money from the writing of this fic.
To Crash and Burn
The journey from Scotland to London is long, but I'm used to it. This is my seventh year of travelling the length of the country, and I'm so used to the view that I let it rush past the window without really looking. The familiar motion of the steam-engine of the Hogwarts Express is replaced today by the smooth rocking of an electric Intercity high speed train. I stare past my reflection, seeing your face in the clouds and in the blurring trees.
It began last winter; December, in fact. I remember how you opened the door and your rooms were warm. I was cold because I'd just been out for Quidditch practice and you told me to sit in one of the big, squishy armchairs in front of the fire. You even poured me a glass of whiskey and made me promise not to tell anyone or they'd all be wanting alcohol from you. I sat and you told me all about your day, and we laughed about the disaster with the Third Years and the Grindylows. We talked for what seemed like hours, and I didn't notice I was shivering until you wrapped your cloak around me and went to find some blankets. You came back and made sure I was warm before you went to do some marking. Your hand lingered on my shoulder for a second longer than it should have done.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next time I opened my eyes it was nearly midnight and you had finished your marking. You were sitting at your desk, and even though I didn't look at you, I could feel your eyes on me. You were watching me and I loved the feeling of having your whole attention focused on me alone. I moved slightly to make it look as if I had just woken, to allow you to move your eyes away and pretend you were reading a book, before I looked at you. I smiled. You still looked exactly the same. In the four years that I had known you, you hadn't changed. Perhaps your hair was slightly more grey, and perhaps your face was more creased with faint lines of worry when you frowned, but you were still beautiful.
You were bathed in the glow of the fire, the shadows flickering slightly on your face as you pretended to be absorbed in the book you had picked up when I stirred from my sleep. It would have been more convincing if the book hadn't been upside down. Your beauty was entirely masculine, from the defined jaw line to the hair falling softly forward onto your forehead. I remember wondering when I started to think of you as beautiful, and I realised that I didn't know. In those few silent moments I tried to commit you to memory, and I succeeded. I can still remember the way you pushed the hair from your face as you turned to me, and I remember wishing that I could touch your hair, brush your cheek in that way.
You smiled when you saw I was awake and I asked if you had finished your work. You nodded and walked over. You sat on the arm of my chair and looked at me, and I could see sadness in your eyes.
~~~~~
"They would have been so proud of you, Harry." You say, a sad smile gracing your lips.
I bow my head and there is silence for a moment. I never know how to respond when people talk about my parents. How should I reply when you talk of people I barely remember? "Why?" I ask, quietly.
You smile down at me and your eyes are misty in remembrance as you recall your friends, the people I don't know. "You're everything they wanted you to be. Lily was sure you'd grow up just like James; a joker, always getting into trouble. But I think you're more like her. Courage, loyalty, forgiveness. You've got a good soul, just like she had." Your voice has become wistful and you seem to detach yourself from it to smile at me once more, "But I think your Quidditch skills are definitely the legacy of James."
I smile back at you, "Thank you. It means a lot for you and Sirius to tell me all these things about them."
You put your arm around my shoulders and, as if on instinct, I lean towards you, savouring the feel of your warmth against my body.
~~~~~
At some point you slid down into the chair itself and I wrapped my arms around your waist, my head resting on your chest, and your hand playing idly with my hair. We stayed in that chair all night, our arms round each other, and for the first time in my life I knew what it was to be held. When I fell asleep, I don't know, but I know that you were still there beside me. When I woke the next morning you had gone.
That day was torment. I moved as though in a daze, trying to hang on to the heat of you against me, daydreaming my way through lessons, in agony as I longed to see you. You were absent from the Great Hall during meals, and I had no lessons with you. I waited so impatiently for evening.
The darkness eventually fell, but I didn't go to you. I was scared, afraid that you might be distant with me, or that I might do something wrong, something to make you turn away from me. But I had no plans to seduce you, no plans for what happened.
So I tried to be as normal as possible. I completed my homework, played a game of chess with Ron, and led the Gryffindor team through a gruelling training session. It was snowing that night and when I came back into the building I was soaked to the skin, and frozen to the bone. I had remained outside for some extra practice, and it was late, possibly 11 o'clock. I thought that perhaps if I went to you then, the events of the previous night might once again unfold. I wanted so much to feel you close to me again.
I walked to your rooms, and knocked on the door. There was a long pause and I could hear you leaving one of the rooms further into your chambers and walking towards the door. I took a deep breath and you were there in front of me, the door opened between us. Thanks to my having grown in the two previous years I was then only slightly shorter than you and your amber eyes were surprised as they looked into mine.
~~~~~
"Harry, you look frozen!" You exclaim, pulling me into the warmth of your rooms. It is then that I realise that I am indeed very cold. I begin to shiver and realise, kicking myself, how pathetic I must look, standing here half-drowned. I allow myself to be propelled towards the fire and feel you pull my soaked Quidditch robe from me, leaving me standing in my jeans and shirt. "What on Earth were you thinking, flying in this weather?" You demand, worry in your eyes as you hand me a block of chocolate, which I take with trembling hands and eat, feeling the warmth spread through me. I tell myself it is the worry of a parent for their child that I see in your eyes, although I can't help but hope that for a second I saw something more.
I allow you to lead me into the rooms that lie behind your study and realise that we now stand in your bedroom. It is as I imagined it would be; Spartan yet warm and homely. You are rummaging in a wardrobe, and when you turn back to me you are holding some rather old looking clothes.
"I'm afraid these are all I have that will fit you. They're a bit old, but they'll keep you warm." You hand me a black pair of trousers and a red shirt, both of them made from a thick, soft material. I nod and croak my thanks, my voice hoarse from the cold. I begin to unbutton my wet shirt and see your eyes widen in something akin to fear. You almost flee from the room rather than watch me undress.
I am too cold by now to think much of it, and am cursing myself for being such a fool and flying in the snow. I change as quickly as possible, rubbing my hair with the towel you provided and making sure I am presentable before entering the study once more, holding my wet clothes before me. I try to ignore the fact that the clothes I am wearing smell indefinably of you.
You take my wet clothes from me and arrange them in front of the fire, and I sink gratefully onto one end of the small couch which is set before the fireplace. There is only just enough room for the two of us and when you bring me a mug of steaming hot chocolate and sit down we are sitting close, our bodies touching. I clasp the mug gratefully and drink in silence as we go through the usual ritual of you telling me the events of your day. Somehow during the course of the discussion I have set my cup aside and I am now leaning back against you, my back against your chest, your arms wrapped around my waist. I can feel your breathing, and the vibrations in your throat as you speak. We both know that this kind of contact between teacher and pupil is wrong, inappropriate, but as long as neither of us speaks of it, we can exist in denial.
After a while, I don't know how long, your talking ceases and our breathing stills to a gentle rise and fall. Everything is so peaceful and perfect, and nothing can spoil the moment. Then I realise that your arms around my waist have grown slack and that your head now rests on top of mine. You are asleep. I don't want to disturb you, but I know that I can't spend another night here. My absence from the dormitory will be noticed, I must get back there before everyone wakes. I check the clock above the mantelpiece and see to my relief that it is just 2 a.m. I have plenty of time to return to the Gryffindor Tower. Slowly, gently, I lift your arms from around my waist and move away from you, standing in one movement so as to prevent waking you. I collect my clothes from the fireguard and decide that, as they're still damp, I'll carry them and bring your clothes back tomorrow. I pause by the couch and look down at you. In sleep your face is clear, peaceful. The lack of care and worry means that you lose ten years. You look young again, and I'm happy that you can still find this peace.
And then I forget the first thing Sirius told me about you: Never startle a sleeping werewolf. I reach out a hand to touch your face, and suddenly your eyes snap open. The usually calm amber is filled with something wild, something primal, and I am suddenly lying on my back on the floor with you sitting on me, pinning me to the floor, my arms above my head, your hand clasping mine together.
Maybe you see the fear in my eyes, but I feel your grip on my arms slacken and something of the animal in your eyes recedes. I remain tense, waiting for you to move, to speak. And the sorrow and regret and self-hatred in your eyes when you realise what you've done almost makes me cry.
"Oh God, Harry." You gasp. "I'm… sorry."
I shake my head and try to speak, but the words don't come out. "It…"
"It's the wolf." You say, faintly. "I can't help it. When I'm asleep I let it take over. It's the only way I can cope. I let it out in my sleep and it's not so hard during the day." You are trembling as you say this.
"Remus…" I raise my hand to your face and you lean your cheek against my palm, your eyes closed.
"Harry, don't." You say, although you don't move away from my touch. "Please."
"Why not?" I ask, as my thumb strokes your skin.
"Because if you start this, I might not be able to stop." You whisper, your eyes filling with tears.
I push away the locks of hair that have fallen onto your forehead and my hand settles on the back of your neck. I sit up, and pull you towards me. I hold you, cradling you and your arms slip around me. I can feel the sobs shaking your body and I want to stop it, to make it better.
"Remus… Remus…" I whisper your name, like a mantra. I lift your face, now with tears coursing down it and kiss the wet trail on your right cheek.
"No, no, Harry. I can't. Lily and James…"
"For God's sake, you can't live your life thinking you owe my parents something." I murmur.
"You're seventeen, I'm too old… I'm your teacher…"
I shake my head and let my lips slide down your left cheek, "It doesn't matter. Just for once, you can forget it all."
"Please, Harry…" You are begging now. But what are you begging for?
"Let me make you forget." I whisper, as my lips kiss your left eyelid, then your right.
"Oh, God…" You moan, before my lips slide over yours.
At first you try to resist, but my tongue flicks over your lips and with a moan your lips part, and our tongues meet. It is painfully tender and I know that this is what you need. Your arms are around me and you are pulling me closer and I give myself to you gladly. I have waited for this moment for almost a year. It is worth the wait.
~~~~~
You were so gentle with me, that night. You let me show you how much I loved you, and then I let you show me. You were so kind, so tender, it almost broke my heart. We kept the wolf at bay.
We fell asleep in each others' arms. You held me as I trembled in the aftermath of our passion, and I found sleep with my head resting on your chest, your arms around me, your hands stroking my hair as you murmured to me how much you loved me. You slept peacefully that night. I wonder how long it had been until then?
If I had feared what morning would bring, my worries were unfounded. When I opened my eyes you smiled at me and kissed my forehead gently. As I gathered my clothes, and we dressed, you laughed when we realised that I had put on your old clothes instead of my own. As I left your rooms you kissed me and I swore myself to secrecy. Perhaps we were naïve to believe such happiness could last. Perhaps we were just too happy to care.
I strolled back to the Gryffindor Tower, arriving back in my dormitory at half past five. Creeping silently into the room, I drew back the curtains around my bed and lay down, falling asleep with a smile on my face, the smell of you on the clothes I wore and on my skin.
I was woken one hour later by Ron asking me if I wanted a shower first. I didn't want to move, let alone shower and wash away the scent of you, but I agreed because I realised I had a whole day to get through. Luckily, it was a Saturday and I had no lessons to attend. With my aching muscles groaning in protest I staggered into the bathroom and caught sight of myself in the mirror. I looked tired, but I looked happy, and I couldn't help but grin at myself as I realised how ridiculous your clothes looked on me. Something caught my eye; a mark on my skin. Tilting back my head slightly I inspected the slightly red mark on my neck. I knew – thanks to Ron and Hermione's exploits – that it wasn't a love-bite. It was a bite mark. I was puzzled, but not overly concerned. I didn't care about anything that morning. If anything, I felt slightly proud to have been marked by you, blushing to myself as I realised it.
I showered and dressed, making sure the bite mark was covered by the collar of the shirt. Your shirt. I was still wearing your clothes under my Hogwarts robes. And they still smelt of you.
I went with Ron down to breakfast and, as he made no comment about the night before, I assumed my absence had been unnoticed. After meeting Hermione, we went to the Great Hall. Inside I was dancing with trepidation and anticipation at seeing you and having to control my reactions.
On entering the Hall, my eyes immediately scanned the room and the Staff Table, but you were absent again. I tried to crush the disappointment I felt and the niggling worries that perhaps you had been filled with regrets.
We sat down at the Gryffindor table and, as I picked half-heartedly at my toast, I listened to Ron telling me all about his new attack formation for the upcoming Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match. It must have been no more than five minutes in and already my attention was drifting. I reached over Ron's plate for the jug of pumpkin juice and was just pouring a glass when Hermione gasped loudly.
~~~~~
"Harry!" She exclaims.
Ron glares at her, "Hermione, I was talking to him."
Hermione glares back then turns her eyes on me, "Harry, can I have a word? In private."
I nod, puzzled, but follow her as she walks briskly out of the Hall. She pulls me to one side. "Herm, what-"
"Do you realise what you have on your neck?" She demands, sternly.
To my horror, I blush. I pull my collar further up my neck, "Yes, but -"
"I don't want to know what happened, Harry, I just hope you realise what you've done. And leaving it for anyone to see… Honestly, Harry, that's really-"
"I didn't leave it for anyone to see." I protest indignantly. "And the number of times you've come back from a night with Ron with all sorts of marks all over you..."
"This is no time to be joking, Harry!" She scolds. "Anyone who's read the DADA textbook will know what that is, and then there's only one person -"
"Hermione, what are you talking about?"
"That's a werewolf bite, Harry! That means that there's only one person in school it could be, which isn't something I'm going to argue about now, but if anyone else sees…"
"What?" I gasp. "But he never, I mean…"
She looks at me pityingly. "Not that kind of bite, Harry. It didn't break the skin. Haven't you read the textbook?"
"No."
"A bite of that kind," She says, reciting the book, "is inflicted only by a werewolf on his or her chosen mate. So you'd better be careful not to let anyone see. You could get into serious trouble, Harry. You'd be expelled, and he'd be sacked -"
"I know, Hermione. I'll be careful, I promise."
She looks curious and embarrassed for a second, before asking, "So, you and Remus...?"
I nod and am surprised when she says nothing of reproach. "You aren't angry or upset?"
"Harry, he's a teacher. I'm not angry, I'm just shocked. It may take me a while for me to get my head around this..." She shakes her head, and I can tell she's wanting to tell me how irresponsible I've been.
"Don't tell Ron," I say, "not yet."
She shakes her head again. She moves to go back into the Hall, and turns before she walks through the door. "I hope you're sure, Harry," She says softly, "Werewolves mate for life."
~~~~~
Those few words were all it took to throw me into confusion. I then recalled the words of the textbook:
A werewolf marks his or her mate with a bite, usually inflicted on the neck. It is recognisable from the unusual shape of the canine teeth. If a mate is marked in this way, be they similarly afflicted or not, they have been chosen by the werewolf as a lifelong mate. The bond between the two will never be broken...
You had chosen me as your mate. I was torn between feelings of love and anger. This was proof of your love for me, but how dare you mark me in this way without asking my permission?
I turned from the Hall and walked down the corridor, wanting to escape into the grounds, needing space to think. I walked for what seemed like hours, outside in the snow. Ron and Hermione didn't find me, even if they did come looking, and I wandered alone, deep in thought.
I knew then, as I know now, that I loved you. I had had almost a year to come to that conclusion. And I knew as I also know now, that I could never live without you. I had to see you again, I couldn't wait until evening. I had to talk to you, kiss you, and tell you that I wanted you so much it hurt when we were apart. So I ran to your rooms, through the corridors.
I didn't see, however, Draco Malfoy standing outside a classroom on the second floor corridor, apparently waiting for somebody. At least, I didn't see him until I had run into him and been knocked, sprawling to the floor.
He glared down at me, no doubt about to make some sarcastic comment, when his eyes narrowed maliciously and a grin spread over his face. His eyes were fixed for a second on my neck before he turned and walked swiftly away down the corridor, turning the corner before I had a chance to call out to him. I raised a hand to my neck and felt that, in my fall, my collar had been pulled down to reveal the bite.
In that moment, I can't lie to you, I panicked. What should I have done? Should I have gone to Dumbledore straight away, confessed, tried to lessen the damage Malfoy could do? I wasn't thinking along the lines of general reason, and instead I went to you.
You opened the door of your study and I fell inside, gasping that I had been seen by Malfoy, telling you that I was sorry, that I wouldn't blame you if you hated me, that I was so, so sorry. You closed the door and held me, even though I could see the panic in your eyes. I felt so foolish for believing that we could keep up the pretence. We hadn't even lasted one day. You didn't blame me, or if you did you didn't say so. You tried to calm me down, and stroked soothing circles on my back. And then you bid me go and see Dumbledore, tell him what had happened. So I left you, and I wish I had never done so.
To face Dumbledore was one of the hardest things I have ever done. He had not yet been informed of Malfoy's discovery, and I sat opposite him and confessed what we had done as though it were something wrong and shameful. The disappointment and betrayal on his face was hard to bear. I knew I had betrayed his trust, and I knew that it would be you who would be held responsible. He informed me of my fate, and of yours. I begged him to reconsider, told him it was all my fault, that it was I who led you astray, and not the other way around, but he would not be moved. I think he pitied me then and he told me that if it were his decision things might have been different, but that the governors and the public wouldn't stand for it any other way.
He told me to go, then. Dismissed me.
McGonagall was waiting for me outside his office. She was silent, lips pressed together in anger. She escorted me back to the Gryffindor Tower, but not to my dormitory. She took me to a room with a single bed, and I saw that my trunk had been moved in there. They were putting me apart from my friends, perhaps so I wouldn't corrupt them with my sordid, shameless, sluttish ways. She left me there and told me that I was to stay there until things had been sorted out. I remember exactly what she said:
"Don't try to see him. He'll be gone in an hour."
I was going to try. When she'd gone I tried to get out, to come and say goodbye. I wanted to beg them to change their minds. I wanted to tell you that I'd leave Hogwarts and go with you. But she'd locked the door and I couldn't get out. They'd taken my wand, I couldn't open the door. I tried. I tried.
So you left that afternoon, and I didn't even have a chance to say goodbye. The pain of losing you was almost a blessing. I spent the next months in a state of numb grief. Hermione stood by me, even though she didn't understand, and Ron tried so hard. The Weasleys still sent me their love, and it meant a lot to me. I grew used to the glances and sniggers in the corridors, and eventually everyone, even Malfoy, grew tired of tormenting me. Sirius' anger was hard to bear. He didn't understand. He blamed you, and I know he said some terrible things to you. But I didn't care, I don't care.
Your letters kept me sane, let me know that you were safe. Sometimes you sounded so hurt and so alone, and I was tempted to leave and go and find you. But I knew that you were right to tell me to stay. You were working somewhere, you didn't say where. I think you didn't want me to feel bad, but I know it wasn't any job worthy of you. But you said you didn't care.
I finished the school year with the rest of my class. Hermione cried as she said goodbye, Ron hugged me and tried not to, and they boarded the Hogwarts Express and left me. I stayed in Scotland for the day, I hadn't wanted to travel back with them. I'm not one of them any more. You've changed me.
It sounds like a cliché, like a cheap romantic novel. I'm sorry if I've hurt you. I want you so much it's like a fire inside me.
And now the train is slowing. We're pulling in to the station. Nearer to you. The fire's burning higher. The movement ceases and the other passengers stand, ready to get out onto the platform. They pay no attention to me. I have no trunk, I've left it with Sirius until it can be brought down, and Hedwig is travelling with Hermione and Ron.
I'm stepping down onto the platform along with the other commuters. The fire is burning brighter. I scan the crowd, trying to spot you amongst the collection of travellers and relatives. Maybe you're not here, maybe you changed your mind. And then I see you. Standing at the back of the platform, you're there. I pause, unsure how to greet you. You look up; find my eyes across the crowd. The flames are threatening to consume me entirely. I make my way towards you and I think I might not be able to reach you. My legs are weak, my heart is pounding. I stop a short distance away. Your eyes have not left mine. I'm going to faint, I'm going to… But suddenly you're here. You're next to me and around me and you're holding me and I'm laughing. I'm crashing and burning and it's never been more glorious or wonderful.
You kiss me gently and briefly, oblivious to the crowd milling around us. You murmur something, and I don't quite hear. Pressing a kiss to my cheek, you say it again. I smile and wrap my arms around your neck, yours winding around my waist.
So now we're here, and now is fine. And my flaming heart is yours.
*****
Extra A/N: The penultimate sentence is taken from 'Flowers In The Window' by Travis. This began as a song fic inspired by listening to the tATu album continuously for 48 hours, then morphed into something decidedly odder.
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