A short bit of RL/MM I wrote a few years ago, taken from my collection of snippets and drabbles. Set at the end of OOTP, after the battle in the Department of Mysteries.
Usual disclaimers apply.
When He Wakes
When he wakes, he's alone.
The pipes creak ominously from deep within the walls of Grimmauld Place and there's the occasional loud bang from upstairs as the twins practise apparating, coupled with the occasional yell when they land on someone's legs. Remus remembers learning to apparate. He remembers the initial nervousness when they were warned of all the things that could go wrong. He remembers the joy of finally succeeding and the new freedom it brought, and then he remembers what happened last night and why it's definitely not a good thing that he's alone.
She's angry, but only with herself. She should have known better. She should have thought before she went rushing in. And she desperately wants to be alone: Molly's ministrations, though delivered with the best of intentions, are driving her crazy. She slips into the drawing room for a moment's peace, and when she trips over Remus Lupin's legs in the gloom it only makes her angrier still.
"Why are you sitting in the dark?" she snaps.
"I like the dark," he says coolly. "It helps me think. Put the lights out and I'll show you."
He finds her downstairs, bundled in her dressing gown and absently sipping peppermint tea from the mug she cradles in both hands like a precious jewel. Her face is turned to the window but her eyes remain glazed and she doesn't stir even when Remus sits down quietly beside her. Her hair is no longer immaculately groomed: instead it falls in loose waves around her shoulders and, to Remus' eyes, makes her seem infinitely younger. Absently he wonders why she doesn't wear it like this more often.
He senses how she's feeling before she can even open her mouth to speak. In another time she'd be touched by his insight but right here and now she doesn't notice. She's spilling out her rage before she can stop: the alcohol has loosened her tongue and given her another reason to hate herself. But strangely he doesn't seem to mind.
"Hagrid will have appreciated it," he says with the utmost calm.
"Hagrid didn't even see," she hisses bitterly.
"But he'll know. They'll tell him."
But all she can remember is the expression on that woman's face, the last thing she saw before it all went black.
"How are you feeling?" he asks.
"Embarrassed. Ashamed." She shrugs dispiritedly. "What should I feel, Remus? You tell me."
"Minerva," he says gently. "Being emotional is not a crime. It doesn't matter what you feel. Isn't it enough that you feel it? That you can express it? Some people would envy you that."
"And some people would call it weakness."
He doesn't know how to answer this, doesn't even care. He knows it's not the real issue here.
Slowly she starts to relax. At some point she realises that she's not the only one with things to be angry about. She asks him how he is and he tells her the truth.
"It wasn't the same as it used to be. It wouldn't have ever been the same, not now that James is gone. Every time we looked at each other we saw the past."
"But it still must have been hard."
"I've grieved for Sirius ever since I found out the truth. I've regretted not doing more. I just accepted he was guilty. I grieve for him now but I… I'm glad he's at peace. Is that a horrible thing to think?"
"No," she says vehemently. "No, it's not."
And she knocks back the last of her drink hoping that the alcohol will displace the utter despair that she feels.
The sun slants lazily through the window, serving only to highlight the dust coating the ancient furniture. It's hardly a romantic setting.
"Minerva," he begins awkwardly. "Last night…"
He sees her shoulders stiffen but presses on resolutely.
"All I want to say is that I hope you don't feel I took advantage of you because that's the only thing that would make me feel guilty and ashamed. I know you asked me to make things better. I'm sorry I can't do any better than this."
"Do you ever get lonely?"
In the darkness his hand finds hers and squeezes gently. She stiffens but doesn't pull away.
"All the time," he says.
"So you and Nymphadora aren't..?"
"Aren't what?"
"You know," she mutters awkwardly.
"Whatever made you think that?"
"Of course not!" she says. "Remus, I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions, thank you very much. I can assure you that, had I felt you were taking advantage, you would have known about it."
This is going nowhere. He feels the distance between them growing by the minute. He wants to reach out to her but doesn't know how to tell her that seeing her vulnerable side has made him respect her more, not less. He can't seem to find the words to resurrect the closeness they felt the previous night.
But he can't leave now without trying one last time.
"Then what could you possibly have to be ashamed of?" he asks her.
"I need another drink," she announces suddenly.
"Fine. But it won't make it go away."
"How would you know?"
"How do you think?"
"Then what does make it go away?" Her voice has lost its edge. Now she sounds tearful and desperate, and lonely. His heart breaks to hear her, only because he knows exactly how she's feeling.
"I don't know," he says slowly. "There's only one thing I can think of that I haven't tried."
"And what's that?"
"This."
He releases her hands and leans across her. In the darkness his mouth finds hers and he gently brushes her lips.
"Remus," Minerva says calmly. "Why do we even need to talk about this? It's not like we're going to do it again. It was just a one off. It was the alcohol. I should never have had so much to drink."
"Well, I had quite hoped that we might do it again," Remus says calmly, opting for the truth this time. "You know, I admire and respect you more than you'll ever know. I'm glad that you felt that you could talk to me, even if it was the alcohol talking. I'd like to think of you as a friend at the very least, and if friends is all you feels comfortable with then that will do."
She listens to all this in silence, thinking back to the previous night.
The darkness is no longer oppressive; instead it's comforting.
She's denied of her vision so instead she uses her hands to find her way across his body. She cannot see his expression but she can hear him whispering her name.
She's gasping for breath as he pushes her backwards. Her robe is open and her thighs parted. His hands roam across her body, feeling hot against her skin.
And she's calling to him, urging him on, telling him to touch there, to push harder, to take her back to what she was, once long ago, before all of this happened.
"No," he's saying. "Not here."
He kisses her before she can speak. Her lips feel cold at first but soon her resistance dissipates and she kisses him back. He hopes that she's remembering the passion they shared the previous night. Being like this with her feels strangely comfortable. It feels right, he thinks, and he hopes that she can feel it too.
"Do you really think that this would work?" Minerva asks. "Us… together?"
Remus hesitates. He doesn't know if it will work. He hasn't thought that far ahead.
"The only way we'll find out is if we try," he points out. "This might seem strange now but it didn't seem strange last night. Not to me, anyway."
She studies him carefully and he can tell she's considering it.
The gas lamps in the hall, however dim, break the spell. He has to help her up the stairs and once more she feels frustrated at her obvious inability to look after herself. She's drunk, too, and that's not helping her steadiness, even though it numbs the physical pain.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes, just help me on to the bed."
"Yes, but are you sure you want to-"
"Remus!"
With a wave of her wand the lights are extinguished.
"I can't think about this. I don't want to think about this. Just help me…"
"…make it go away?" he says wryly.
"Make it better," she corrects him. "Make me better."
He feels his way forwards.
"Like this?"
He fumbles her dressing gown open once more and this time tugs at it until it falls off her and onto the floor.
"Like that," she sighs, as he slides her knickers down.
He helps her on to the bed and the feel of air on exposed skin and arousal makes her tingle.
"Please..."
"If we try?" she says hesitantly. "And if we try and it doesn't work? What happens then?"
"Then we go our separate ways," Remus says. "And we stay friends."
She gives him a long, thoughtful look.
"Do you really think it would be that simple?"
"We're adults, aren't we?" he replies. "And at least that way we'd know. Wouldn't it be worse to walk away now and never have any idea what might have been?"
Minerva smiles wryly. "I think you've been reading too many romance novels, Remus."
"Well, Sirius doesn't have an awfully large selection of reading material," he replies with a grin. "I have to make do with what I can get."
Something changes in her expression and she smiles in a way that reminds him of Minerva as he knew her once, long ago, before all of this. It reminds him of a woman who laughed at his cheesy jokes and chastised him when he dared to suggest that the House Quidditch competition was 'just a game'.
It seems she's reminded of something too: she leans closer to him and kisses him again, this time with feeling. She lifts one hand and tangles it gently through his grey-streaked hair.
"Careful," Remus warns her. "Any more of that and we'll be late for breakfast. And then what would Molly say?"
"Sod Molly," Minerva decides. "Let's go back to bed."