He repulses me.

His golden, calculating eyes burn punctures into my skin, liquid fire seeping through my pores as he smirks, his obscenely full lips curving into a smile that doesn't reflect in his malicious eyes. The scars that run jaggedly across his face raise questions and goosebumps, suggesting a far more sinister side than the devil will let on. They reveal his inner Beelzebub, display to the world what truly lies beneath the carefully marketed exterior of youthful perfection.

His personality is sickly, overtly polite to the point where it is almost offensive. His gentlemanly manner charms many, but I shan't be fooled by the falsity of his demeanor. For it is all an act, there is no one on this earth that can act in such a manner without having an ulterior motive. Markings of a demon, cursed and polite, scarred and beautiful, Remus Lupin is designed to attract.

For he is attractive, that much can be determined. Then again, temptation is designed to capture hearts and destroy them, and that is all he is. Temptation, created to lure people into his tangled web, toying with them until he has his fill and, in a courteous and gentlemanly manner, disposes of them, leaving them pining for his affection.

And how he affects my bad boy. Not in the same way as the girls he beds on a nightly basis, nor in the manner that the Potter boy does, keeping him amused when the women become too much. No, the devil makes him tender, makes him weak, makes him act like every other person in -

No, I get ahead of myself. My bad boy is not 'in' anything, not for long. He has, however, made a deal with the devil, selling his soul, but for what? Perhaps for his charm, perhaps for his grace. Ironic, that the only person who could make my rebellious angel act at all angelic is satan himself.

After the devil walked in on my bad boy's tryst, my bad boy has all but given up his night time rendezvous, preferring to stay in his dormitory at night, hiding in the safety of his own sheets. How any man could have the power to make my bad boy give up something so important to him, I do not know, but somehow his large eyes and innocent manner have convinced my bad boy that celibacy is the best lifestyle choice.

Regardless, every night I have diligently stayed in my corner, waiting patiently for my bad boy to return. Every night, for 12 weeks, I was bitterly disappointed, as life continued and the common room remained silent at night, never punctuated by the usual sighs or exclamations emitted by my bad boy and his lovers. 12 weeks I stayed, 12 weeks without his moonlit face, 12 weeks of loneliness punctuated by the occasional moans of other couples of no interest to I.

How my bad boy stays away, I am unsure. The sexual drive of a teen should not allow him to abstain for this long, should have forced him to seek out the solace of a female touch within days, a week at most. Yet, somehow, he remains pure, increasing my desperation, making my muscles tense with suppressed desire, until eventually I came close to giving up, close to retracting into my own dormitory at night, or finding the bed of some other worry free rogue to pass my nights with.

But he returned. Eventually.

My breath caught in my throat as I saw him emerge from the dormitory stairs, looking utterly delectable as always. Long limbs moved with grace across the room, before he placed himself in the usual lounger languidly, waiting.

He leans against the sofa delectably, abdominal muscles tensing as he repositions himself, the slither of taught skin between his shirt and belt translucent in the shimmering moonlight. Alone, so beautiful, so independent, so delectable. He faces the stairs once more, beckoning his scarlet woman out of the shadows from which he had emerged. But as I see another leg emerge from the same shadows, with taught, masculine lines and lithe, cord-covered thighs, my heart drops, sinking to the depths of my toes as the devil crosses the room to mount my bad boy's lap, straddling him with practiced ease and whispering something inaudible into his strong ear.

A coarse laugh escapes my bad boy's lips and I jump. In our night time sessions, Sirius Black has made a lot of noises, but never a laugh before. It only serves to accentuate the night's company, to highlight how far my bad boy is drifting away from his usual routine, from me.

The devil leans back once more, revealing my bad boy's face to the common room once more. I close my eyes immediately, horrified by the soft lines of my bad boy, the affectionate glance which he rewards the devil with. Never, never have I seen that look of utter adoration on his face before, not with any of the women, the wanton ladies before this demon. He was never meant to wear that face, not for anyone else.

Only for me.

I blink back tears rapidly, feeling bile rise steadily in my throat in disgust at the scene ahead. I need to leave, cannot bear to watch the scene in front of me. Even as my eyes close, the image of their gentle kisses are burned onto the backs of my eyelids, scarring my memory with their disgusting romance. My bad boy leans up, taking the swollen lips above him into his mouth and nibbling slightly, enticing a groan from the devil's lips. I cannot do this, I cannot watch.

He is too encaptured by the man in his arms to notice me run across the room. The devil seems to pull away as if he hears something, but his bad boy places a kiss on his collarbone, and my footprints are forgotten in the wake of desire.