The sound of his own heartbeat thundered in his ears. He felt every breath rattle his bones. He could see the minuscule particles of dust in the room. He could feel the individual threads in the sheets beneath him. Remus Lupin shut his eyes and tried to calm his nerves. The heightened senses were the worst part of the transformation.

In the earlier days, before Wolfsbane potion, the hunger was the worst part. He would crave blood. He would crave to crush someone's - anyone's - delicate bones with his teeth. He would have an aching need to smell fear on a victim. He would be driven mad from the isolation, finally turning his claws on his own flesh, just to ease the anguish. But what he had hated most, even more than the actual transformation, was the vivid detail with which he remembered every feral and inhuman thought. It would take the whole month to get over his repulsion at himself. But then it would happen all over again.

He lied now on his bed in his basement room, trying to sleep. But every time he shut his eyes, they snapped open again. He sighed. Keeping his human mind was an incredible blessing, but it didn't make his body any calmer. He let his mind wander instead to where it invariably ended up these days whenever he had an idle moment. Nymphadora. His whiskers twitched as his mind absently tried to coax his snout into a smile. She hated when he called her that. He thought he put up a convincing show of forgetting not to use her first name. It was a lovely name, he thought. Graceful and traditional. A perfect contrast to the clumsy girl she actually was. He saw her in his mind's eye with her hair a calming shade of seafoam green. He recalled one of their conversations.

He had arrived early at Grimmauld Place for an Order meeting, when she walked in, her hair a fiery red, and her eyes a gleaming green.

"Are you upset?" He wondered aloud, and she laughed, with an inelegant snort he found endearing.

"No, Remus! This is Festive Red. For Christmas." Her eyes darkened as she narrowed them in mock scrutiny. The mischief in them remained undisguised. "Should I be upset about something?"

He normally became stiff and distant under her attention. But feeling reckless, he played along. "You're early for the meeting. You know, as opposed to your usual ten minutes late. Something is up."

Smiling wickedly, she walked up to him, standing just a little bit too close. "I wanted to stare at you creepily while you grew increasingly uncomfortable with my presence. Is it working?"

He didn't back away like he knew she was expecting. "No," he said instead, softly, and took a step closer. "It's not."

Sirius walked in and they jumped apart, pointedly avoiding the exaggerated conspiratorial looks he threw their way all evening during the meeting.

What was happening? Was he actually falling for her? She was merely infatuated with him. She saw the intrigue and romanticised the danger of werewolves. She acknowledged none of the consequences. A growl escaped him. No. He couldn't. She was just a girl. A fearless, compassionate, driven, loving, fun girl, but a girl nonetheless. Thirteen years his junior. Her feelings were temporary, just a crush. She would get over them before long. And he would be heartbroken when she did, if he didn't discourage his own growing affections. Because her crush was just a phase. She could not truly love him. He was a werewolf, hated throughout the wizarding world. No one could love a monster. Could they? Could she? Possibly?

He clenched his paws into fists, snarling, his claws digging into his palms. She was a human and he was… not. Nothing else mattered. He repeated the thought as he resigned himself again to trying to fall asleep. Unfortunately, it was Dora's smiling face that finally soothed him to sleep.