Chapter 10: The Aftermath
The occasional rumbling of his empty stomach woke Remus. He lay on his side with his arm holding Calyxa and ignored his hunger. She was curled with her back to him hugging his arm to her chest the way a child hugged a doll. In his sleep-fogged mind, he perceived that embrace as possessiveness, which pleased him. Combined with her familiar scent and the ache of an erection, it made him sigh in deep contentment. Overwhelmed by the scent and sensation, he nuzzled her ear and neck as he rubbed against her. Even through the layers of her nightdress and his robes, she was soft and warm, and he realized somewhere in his groggy partial consciousness that he had been right, that she had nothing on under hers.
His fingers rested against her throat; trying not to wake her, he carefully slid his arm from her lax grasp down until he realized that his hand was upon her breast. That brought him completely awake and aware.
For several long seconds, he waited to see if he had woken her. She breathed evenly, though, so he knew she was still asleep. The contact had been accidental and innocent, but the feelings and thoughts racing through his mind were anything but innocent. Even at age fifteen, Calyxa had been a full-bosomed girl, and he had dreamed of an opportunity like this. What harm could it do to just let his hand wander? Just touch her? She would not realize, she would never know…
No, he told himself firmly. She trusted him! No better than a randy teenager, he had been about to feel her up when he was supposed to be making her feel safe.
A bitter flood of disgust killed the remnants of his ardor. He eased himself away from her before climbing out of bed and then fixing the duvet over her. There was no sound save her deep, slow breaths, so he found his shoes and wand in the murky light and let himself out.
It was nearly dinner time already. Neither hungry nor in any mood to see others, Remus headed out into the cold dusk and shoved his fists in his pockets. The night air cleared his mind a little but did nothing to alleviate his bitterness.
Before they had drifted off to sleep, he had feared that she might wake and mistake him for her boyfriend. Not that he would be opposed to a little affection from her, he admitted. He would take anything she offered. After last night, though, he could not play dumb and pretend that there was a possibility of being with her, that she was falling in love with him.
No, comforting her as a platonic friend was as close as he would get to affection. It was a role he knew how to play very well, but the delicious dreams of the past few weeks were gone. He felt stupid and naïve for even imagining that a lady of her stature would choose him. It was ridiculous to imagine them going out together in public. What had he been thinking? Would he take her, with her exquisite robes and formal manners, to a corner pub for a pint? Or would he accompany her to a formal event where even his best robes would make him a laughingstock? What would the papers say about her being seen with a poverty-stricken werewolf?
Through all the pain and turmoil, he could not stop his mind from returning to one question: to whom did the dressing gown belong? In the papers, she had been linked to numerous wizards, but not one of them was the type of man to have such a garment. What kind of man would let his lady take such a thing with her to remind her of him when they were parted?
The only explanation was that she kept the relationship private. How else to explain the lack of publicity? She had been seeing her poor, humble wizard in private and loved him enough to protect him from the press. For her to actually wear such an unfortunate dressing gown, she must truly adore him. The realization that she had fallen in love with a poor nobody pained Remus most of all because he knew that it could have been him, had the timing been right.
Not that it mattered. He had been fooling himself, and now he knew the truth. No matter what she took from him, he was only a replacement for the other man. It was better this way and certainly no more than he deserved.
The meeting with Professor Dumbledore had been long, Calyxa reflected as she made her way down towards her office. Long but satisfying. Instead of scolding her, the dear old man had expressed pleasure at her actions and had taken full responsibility for not setting a means of warning him when she detected Sirius. Overall, she felt much better now than she had in the wee hours of the morning.
Coming into the corridor, she met Mr. Filch. The poor old man must have been lurking there, waiting for her. "Ah. Good evening," she greeted.
"Evenin', ma'am," the caretaker answered, seeming a bit anxious. "I, well, I ain't had time to do any of my practicing today. I just haven't had the time."
"Of course not," she answered. "It has been quite an experience. No, I would say that today you can be excused from your exercises, but see that you resume them tomorrow."
Filch looked relieved. "Thank you, ma'am."
"There is no need to thank me," she assured him. "Now, if you would be so kind, would you ask George Weasley to come to my office for a moment?"
"Sure I will." Now that he was off the hook, Mr. Filch seemed glad to do any little favor. "I'll send him right up."
She went the rest of the way in silence. In front of the fireplace in the unused classroom that served as her office, Calyxa stood, motionless, staring into the flames. At the meeting, they had discussed what had happened and what it might mean; she still dwelt on the thoughts, which swirled and fluttered around her like living things.
Sirius.
As a boy, he had been nothing but trouble. Nothing good had come from her friendship with him. Yet, she recalled a snowy holiday... sitting on his knee outside in the dark… kissing him while the others watched from the windows...
She leaned her forehead against the grey marble mantle. It was cold, smooth, and hard. How was it possible that the annoying, endearing boy she had known had been sent to prison for crimes against those whom he most loved? Sirius Black, that irritating boy – she had disliked him until she found something sterling in his character, and then she had been able to love him.
Deliberately stupid, she had once called him, she recalled with a tiny smile. Later, though, she had realized that he was only a little naïve, but it had not been his fault. What had happened to that boy? That tall, pretty boy she had known?
There was no doubt that he had intended murder last night, cold-blooded murder. But he had not hurt the young Weasley boy. It would have been easy to silence him with one flash of his knife, but he had not. His expression had been… indecipherable. There was something strange there that she did not know or understand.
There was something that Remus was not telling her. As well as she knew him, it was obvious that he was keeping a big secret. But what was it?
More that that, Remus provoked a terrible longing on her part. He had made clear that there could never be anything more than friendship between them, which she had come to accept. He struggled with the attraction between them, of course, isolated out here at the school where there were very few single women around. However, he was gentleman enough not to take advantage of the physical when he could not also fulfill the emotional.
Tell me what to do, and I'll do it, he had said, completely unaware of how painful it was to hear him say those words.
"Are you all right?" A voice right beside her brought her back into the present in a rush.
She turned with a start. George Weasley stood watching with a frown.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you," he said. "I did knock."
"I was wrapped too tightly in my thoughts." She took a deep breath to recover her composure. "Tell me, how is your brother? Recovered from his ordeal?"
"And then some," he said with a grin. "Enjoying the attention, I'd say."
She could not help smiling in response. Thank the Goddess the boy had not been killed! "I am glad to hear it," she said as she walked over to the table.
He followed her. "Though I must say the story changes a bit every time he tells it."
The comment made her laugh, which seemed to encourage the boy.
"I was wondering," he began. "That thing you did. When you wanted to see what he saw."
"Sharing memories? It is common among the Janarra."
"Could you teach me how to do that?"
Although she had the urge to laugh again, she remained somewhat serious. "I am not a teacher," she reminded him. "And I think you would have to live among us for a time and learn the old ways. It is quite different than the life here. Even Amanita is now learning such things."
"And how long 'til she's able to do it?"
"One cannot be sure about such things, but probably not until she is twelve or thirteen."
"That long," he said with a sigh.
"Well, I cannot say if it takes that long or if the magical ability increases as a child reaches a certain age." His dressing gown and slippers, freshly laundered and folded, were tied into a neat little set that she picked up and presented to him. "I am sorry to trouble you to come all the way here, but thank you so much for your kind thoughtfulness."
"It was nothing." Standing still, holding the parcel, he was smiling and looking at her rather directly. Looking at her with an expectant expression that puzzled and alarmed her.
Something strange disoriented her; it took a second to realize that he was alone. "I cannot recall ever meeting you without your brother."
"Well, Filch wouldn't let Fred come. He said you asked for me to come alone."
The words and the tone of voice with which they were spoken caused Calyxa to freeze. Poor old Filch had thought he was doing her a favor in making her deal with only one of the boys whom he detested. Why had she not realized what was going on before now? What could George be thinking? That she was going to reward him with a kiss?
In the first moment after her surprise had worn off, she told herself that she might as well kiss the boy. Kiss him and take him back to her room and teach him how to please a woman. Of course, teenaged boys were awkward and inexperienced, but they supposedly could perform five times a night.
These wicked thoughts shocked and amused her in varying degrees. If you are that desperate, Calyxa, you could contact Lucius Malfoy, she thought in disgust. And whatever happens, every boy in the Gryffindor dormitory will know by midday tomorrow.
"Mr. Weasley, will you not sit down for a moment?" she asked quite formally.
He hesitated before going to sit in his usual chair.
She sat across the table and looked at him with a serious expression. "I cannot express how much I appreciate your kindness, but I am afraid that it is terribly inappropriate for us to be alone together for any length of time."
His frown deepened, but he looked guilty. Oh, yes, he had certainly been thinking about it. "Why?"
"I have been vilified in the newspapers for things that are completely untrue. My enemies are just waiting for some true scandal to use against me, and just being alone here with you will be enough to start the gossip. You are a student. And underage."
He grinned, unembarrassed, with a glint in his eyes. The idea had obviously occurred to him.
"With the things that are said about me, my position here at the school is a bit precarious." She mused for a second and then finally said, "Would you have me treated even worse than I am now?"
"'Course not." Now he looked a bit uncomfortable.
She studied him without speaking for a long two minutes. "If Amanita were your age, I do not think I would approve of her being alone with a man in his thirties."
He grinned again with that wicked sparkle in his eyes. Really, the boy was shameless! "I suppose my Mum would be a bit upset as well. More so if it was Percy instead of me, though."
Although she had met Mr. Arthur Weasley, their father, a few times at the Ministry for Magic, she had never had to opportunity to meet the mother. George's sentiment seemed reasonable, though: Percy, whom she did not know at all, seemed rather more delicate than the twins or young Ron. Or even young Miss Weasley.
"You know, Malfoy is going around saying that Snape asked you out. Took you to a party at his house. Granger says that's rubbish, that he just took you so you didn't have to go all that way alone."
For a second, she thought he meant Lucius, but it soon dawned on her that he was speaking of the son. "It is not seemly for a lady to speak of such personal things with a gentleman, and I must ask you not to gossip with the other students," she told him. "However, I will tell you that your friend Mr. Malfoy was misinformed and Miss Granger was perfectly correct."
"He's not my friend," George insisted. "We couldn't imagine you'd go out with that that…" He trailed off before saying something of which he knew she would disapprove. "Well, my sister and some of the other girls think Lupin's your boyfriend. Now, he's all right."
That remark took her by surprise, but she did not show it. "I think that there is no unmarried wizard that has not been rumored to be my boyfriend," she remarked with a self-mocking smile. "Does anyone think that Professor Dumbledore is my boyfriend?"
He grinned. "It'd be better than Snape."
With a little frown of disapproval, she shook her head. "Whatever you may think of him, Professor Snape is a brilliant wizard and a friend of mine."
It was something he had heard her say more than once. "I know," he said but refrained from adding anything unflattering about his Potions professor.
"I must now say good night," she told him as she got to her feet, and he did the same. "Thank you again for your kindness and understanding."
He took up his parcel again and walked with her to the door. "It was nothing. Really."
"Not to me," she sighed before holding out her hand. "Good night, George."
He took her hand and kissed it, and then he grinned at her. "'Night, Countess."
As always, kudos to the stellar beta readers: Vaughn, Phoenix, and Clara Minutes. Special thanks to Finrod the Faithful for the guy point of view.