It started with chocolate. Well, really it started with her, reaching her slender hand out and pressing something cool and smooth into his.
"Take it. It will help," she muttered before picking herself off the bench and quietly leaving the boy, tears fresh in his eyes, behind. Remus looked down at the brown, melting, soon-to-be-mess in his hand. He had tried chocolate multiple times and found it to be fine, but when he put this piece to his mouth, it was like a whole new world. Her world.
It was after that encounter, after she had found him alone sobbing and without even questioning him, tried to help, that he began to notice her. He noticed how she laughed, how her hair swirled in the wind, the way she only went up and down stairs two at a time, as if she was always trying to get places twice as fast. He noticed that she had a lot of friends, but enjoyed her time alone, noticed that sometimes her eyes would cloud over and she would suddenly seem sad and lonely. But most of all, he noticed that she always had chocolate.
Once he tried to approach her but found he couldn't force his feet to move further. So, instead, he decided to take up a hobby. Her hobby. He spent hours alone in the library, pouring over books about chocolate, wondering how something so brown and squishy could mean so much to so many people. He discussed the matter with some house elves, and found that they could make him chocolate, this fascinating new obsession, whenever he wanted.
So taken with this idea, Remus began to forget how it had been injected into his brain. That is, until he saw her again, huddled against a wall, her nose and eyes stained red, reading a letter. His hand clutching the bar of chocolate he had in his pocket, he found the bravery he had been searching for to sit down next to her.
"D-do you want some uh c-chocolate?" He mumbled, trying to help her the way she had him. As if just realizing he was there, she quickly looked up. Her lips lifted into a slight smile.
"I- I already have some, thank you. I think I just need someone who understands me now."
"I could try," he whispered before turning bright red, embarrassed at the notion. Silence ensued as she considered his offer, and Remus regretted sitting with her immensely. Who was he to think he could woo a girl? Much less this girl, so perfect and special… He wasn't James or Serious, even Peter had had a few girlfriends. But Remus, he was different. He didn't trust the way they did, wasn't carefree the way they were.
"I'm not sure…" she let out slowly. Remus felt his heart sink.
"Well, I suppose that's your choice. But then can I tell you something? Something almost no one in the world knows?"
Confused, she tilted her head. "Sure."
He had been meaning to tell her he was in love with her, had meant to say that it didn't matter if he could't understand, that he would always try to make her feel better. Always give her chocolate. Instead what came out was, "I'm a werewolf."
Her eyes widened, and then she broke into a smile. "Okay," was all she said, before silently handing him the letter clutched in her hand.
Her father was a death eater. Now in Azkaban. Remus's first thought was to back away, afraid of this girl, until he remembered that they were in the same boat. People would always fear them for something they couldn't control, and that was okay. As long as someone else understood.
"I'm not one," she quickly assured, "I don't support the idea at all. But he's my father. I grew up loving him, and I can't stop now. I feel guilty for every person he kills, I cry each time I read about an attack. But I still love him. Is that so wrong?"
He shook his head. "No. It's not your fault." And just like that, there was a bond. A bond of pain, of sorrow, of understanding, of chocolate. One little taste of sweetness in a world of fear.
She became his light and he hers. Whenever one felt down, they would nibble chocolate together, whenever they needed someone, they went to the other. It was a relationship of complete trust, of complete bliss. Of course they had their problems, as all couples do, but they would always remember that some things were stronger than petty little arguments, always end their conversation with a small kiss on the lips, tasting the warm flavor of cacao on the other's breath. It was pure, it was true, and it was impermanent.
Remus loved her and forgave her for everything she did. Forgave her for leaving the bath on too long and flooding the house, forgave her for accidentally losing his owl, he even forgave her when she left to visit her father and returned changed and dark. However, he did not love himself, and he did not forgive himself for finally putting her, the woman he loved, behind bars.
"It's not your fault," she had finally whispered, all traces of the insanity that had previously masked her face gone.
"Take this, it will help." And with that he was gone. Remus didn't eat chocolate again for years, refused to face the memories it brought. And so, for years he lived in darkness, in pain, until her funeral. Even those who rotted away in Azkaban got them, and that was the day he decided he would always love her.
From then on he ate chocolate not to make himself forgive or to make himself feel better, but to remember.