I Promise You; Were't Not for Shame
Curfew came and went and there was no sign of Harry. Though he was disappointed about not getting to visit with the young man, Remus considered it a good sign. They'd had a number of polite teas filled with only brief and pleasant chatting, but Harry most often came to Remus to be comforted. Hopefully his absence meant he was not in need of it.
Still, Remus could not say he wasn't relieved when he finally heard Harry's resolute knock at his door, and he rose cheerfully to answer it.
"I was starting to think you wouldn't be coming tonight," Remus remarked with a smile to Harry's disembodied head peeking from atop his invisibility cloak. He was becoming inured to the sight. The boy's intense expression, however, was another matter. It made Remus shiver, but he brushed it off. It was getting easier to do so despite the previous night's lapse in resolve. No doubt Harry would explain his mood momentarily, anyway.
"Come in, the tea's ready," he said warmly, going in ahead to pour it. But when Remus turned back to him to verify how the boy would take it (sometimes Harry wanted milk and sometimes he did not) he found Harry had not followed him to the sofa as usual. Remus straightened slowly, wondering if he should be concerned, but Harry didn't seem distressed. Off, somehow, but not upset.
Harry leaned against the door, and there was something new in his features; something Remus was familiar enough with but not on this face. He concluded his imagination was simply overactive, and he ignored the suspected sense that it was not only his own heart that hammered. "Harry?" he said uncertainly. "Are you alright?" he asked, drawn back to the boy but almost afraid to approach him at the same time. "What-?"
And that's when, without a word from the young man, Harry pushed off from the door and his cloak fell from his shoulders making the rest of him suddenly visible. He wore only his school robe which hung open to show nothing beneath but boxer shorts. He wasn't even wearing shoes.
Remus froze, alarm and confusion chasing each other across his face. He wracked his brain, trying to come up with an explanation beyond the obvious. Because it couldn't be that. It was wishful thinking. It was fantasy. Remus was a man, after all. And old enough to be Harry's father, besides. That look in his eyes, that seemed a reflection of Remus' inner desire, could not be for the werewolf. Something must be wrong, something Remus couldn't immediately fathom.
Asking, though, was difficult. Remus swallowed hard. Then again. "Harry, I don't understand," he said shakily, wetting his lips. "Has something happened? Are you...okay?" But though his words sought to comfort, his self-control crumbled, and he could no longer prevent his gaze from becoming keen and drifting to the wide swath of exposed flesh showing from beneath Harry's gaping robe like an offering. The subtle but perfect and undeniable definition of Harry's chest and stomach lay bare, as well as the spattering of scars that told the tale of a life harder than most; the unambiguous swell in his pants was outlined by the cling of thin fabric; the curve of the muscles of each of his inner thighs, strengthened by the practice of grasping a broomstick between them, peeked tantalisingly from behind the black fabric.
Remus felt faint. Instead of rushing forward to console him, as he should if he suspected distress, Remus took a small step back. One of his hands was half-raised at his side as it could not decide whether it wanted to reach for Harry or else shield Remus from him somehow. If this was some further test, as before in Severus' quarters, it was a cruel one. Remus' improper interest had already been established, but hopefully so had his commitment to ignoring it.
Harry's expression did not waiver. Though it made no logical sense, Remus was coming to slowly accept that this was not a test. It was a challenge, an invitation.
A request.
But was it really illogical? Remus revisited every interaction he'd had with the young man since he'd come out of mourning: Harry's stepping out of Severus' washroom without a shirt, his almost flirtatious glances as they traversed the dungeons, his frequent touch, his regular presence in Remus' quarters after curfew, and his refusal of Hermione...Perhaps this was not as sudden as it seemed. Perhaps Remus had refused to see it, was too busy discouraging his own impulses to recognize and discourage Harry's.
Though Remus abruptly recognized his miscalculation, the realization that his feelings were, in fact, requited caused Remus' heart to veritably explode with grateful elation; but in the very next instant, all the reasons they could not be allowed, regardless of mutuality, snuffed the blaze and paralyzed him.
As Remus helplessly wrestled with this cascade of revelations, Harry fixed the man with an intent look and stalked unsteadily forward until he was scant inches away from Remus' outstretched hand as if daring it to do what it so obviously craved. But Remus could not, would not, accept the gift being offered to him; though he could not lower his hand either, and Harry impatiently took hold of Remus by the wrist and gently forced his palm flat against the bare skin of Harry's chest.
The contact was electric, sent a jolt the length of his body and Remus' inhale was a hiss. This should not happen, must not happen. And yet it was, and he was far too weak to prevent it. Willingly or not, he'd fantasized about just this: about drinking in the texture of the young man's skin, memorizing its curves and contours, feeling it warm beneath his touch. But the fantasy was forbidden, was as disgraceful as it was delicious. Remus stood stock-still, glaring at the appendage as if it did not belong to him and was no longer under his control. Then carefully, Harry released Remus' wrist; and though it was freed, it could not escape. It was as if they two were magnetized and the effort necessary to remove it was greater than that needed to allow it to remain.
Remus' eyes closed momentarily, and he resolved to taste this sample and be done with it; to appreciate the sensation and seek no more. But his hand seemed to move independently of Remus' intention, and he watched with both gratitude and horror as it slid up toward Harry's neck. How his lips longed to taste the young man just here. Harry threw his head back to accommodate it with an encouraging sigh, and the gentle sound further shattered Remus' self-control. Harry was so pliant and willing. Remus ran a reverent thumb down the side of Harry's jaw, imagining it was his tongue that traced it instead. His eyelids fluttered in anticipation as he watched his hand sliding over to Harry's shoulder, parting his robe further to reveal more of Harry that it might visit.
He'd gone so far already, was so intoxicated by the touch, that the reasons for stopping were becoming more and more distant. There was only this, only skin on skin and nothing seemed to matter except that it continue. He ran his hand, splay-fingered, down over Harry's chest, feeling the answering pulse of the young man's heart tap beneath his palm before his thumb carefully and intentionally grazed Harry's hardening nipple as it passed. Harry gasped, pressing himself into the touch, and Remus could not deny that he loved the young man's responsiveness. Oh, what Remus could make him do if he dared. He could have the young man writhing, sighing, crying out. If given the opportunity, he could make the boy weep with pleasure.
Remus was still lost in imagining doing just that when Harry came at him. He wasn't certain why it surprised him, why he thought the encounter would end with just a stroke of his hand when Harry had obviously come here tonight with a purpose. The young man grasped him by the back of the neck and pulled Remus' lips to his own. Remus resisted, used the hand resting against the young man's flesh to push him away, but the effort was half-hearted; too trembling and weak to be effective.
And so Harry kissed him. He was awkward and inexperienced but decisive. That alone, Harry's clearly unseasoned kiss, should have been enough to snap Remus out of it, make him stop this madness. But Harry's insistence spoke to Remus' yearning, and the two bypassed Remus' better judgement and seemed to join hands, pulling Remus reluctantly into damnation.
The man's resistance waivered and then dissolved completely, and finally he surrendered. So many lines had already been crossed, what did it matter now if he opened his mouth to Harry, pushing past Harry's lips with a ravenous tongue as he brought a hand up to cradle the back of Harry's head? So much had already been explored, what further harm was there in his other hand skating knowledgeably over the parts of young man's torso yet unvisited?
Harry responded enthusiastically, kissing Remus back with just as much fervor though considerably less skill. Remus could taste his inexperience, but oh, how quickly the young man learned. And how could this feel so right? So effortless? So divine despite Harry's slight fumbles? And then Remus remembered, with sudden and aching clarity, why this gorgeous young man was not familiar with this activity.
He was not allowed to do this. With anyone, and not just with Remus because of who they were. Harry was protected by archaic magic whose effectiveness absolutely required that the boy be unpracticed, untouched; and yet here was Remus, the very man charged with his safety and wellbeing, threatening those safeguards.
Harry moaned into Remus' mouth and the sound woke the man properly to what was happening. His eyes flew open and all at once he realized, with horror, what he was doing and the impact it could have and how far reaching the consequences could be. It went far, far beyond propriety, and Remus wrenched himself away with a gasp. The same hand that had sought to conquer the young man moments ago now held him at arm's length.
Harry seemed disoriented by Remus' sudden absence. He whimpered and reached for Remus, but the man quickly distanced himself, taking several stumbling steps back; his eyes squeezed shut against the pained and confused expression on Harry's face, his hand still outstretched to discourage him from approaching.
"What? What is it?" Harry asked, breathless words slurred through kiss-plumped lips. "Didn't you like it?" The hurt and desperation in his voice wounded. "Remus? Isn't this what you want?" he asked, taking a small step forward despite the warding hand and slipping his robe off entirely to pool at his feet. The sight was almost physically jarring. There were few things, if any, that Remus had ever wanted more, and Harry's posture of offering was torturous.
Remus looked back up at Harry as if coming out of a daze. His lust-clouded eyes cleared as he ran them the length of his now almost completely naked ward.
Gods. Harry was a child. True, he was on the cusp of manhood, held many of its charms; but he was far too young to truly understand what he was doing. Offering himself to a sexually experienced adult was in no way the same as exploring physically with his peers. He had no way of knowing that, though. But Remus understood it only too well, and he shuddered to think on what he'd almost done, on the sin he'd almost committed. He hid his face in his hands, muffling the vocalized stream of denial that poured from him.
" Remus, it's okay," Harry insisted, reaching out to the man. "I'm of age. I'm sixteen. I can consent," he said, lip trembling. "I want this too," Harry pleaded, his voice cracking under the pressure of his need.
With every word, Harry made the horror of it even worse. Sixteen. Good gods, Sixteen. "What have I done?" Remus whispered. He looked at Harry again, standing in nothing but his boxer shorts which did nothing to conceal Harry's desire. Remus had done that, had intentionally placed hands on and aroused the boy. He felt ill. He diverted his eyes, determined not to look at Harry again until he had covered the boy's nakedness. But he could find nothing besides the discarded robe at Harry's feet, which would have required Remus to kneel too close to…
The mental image Remus had then of diving to his knees and taking Harry into his mouth was almost violently involuntary. Remus recoiled from it, ripping off his own cardigan and draping it over Harry's shoulders. He overlapped the front across Harry's chest and forced the boy to hold it there. But having covered him, he jerked his hands away and hastily stepped back again to collapse against the arm of the sofa.
"Remus," Harry said in a small voice, clutching the knitting closed under his chin. He was trembling and near to tears from frustration and embarrassment. "Please. Don't do this."
"I have no intention," Remus said, angry with himself for having come so close. He swallowed his shame and self-loathing and looked up at Harry apologetically. "Harry, this is wrong," he said, willing the young man to understand. "So much about this is wrong. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry-"
"Don't be!" Harry pleaded, trying to approach him.
"Don't come any closer, Harry!" Remus gasped. His want was still too strong. He shook his head. "You could not possibly think this would...th-that I..." Remus groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face. He was a little heartbroken that Harry must consider him that kind of man; he was wretched realizing that he had almost been. "Harry, I think you should leave now," he said, so disappointed in every aspect of this situation. He pointed at the door, but his eyes fell closed. He could not bear to see the hurt of rejection on the young man's face.
Without another word, Harry snatched up his invisibility cloak where he'd abandoned it, threw it on, and bolted clumsily through the door, slamming it behind him. Once he was gone, Remus sank to his knees. For a moment, his anguish was too overwhelming to voice; but after the initial, crushing wave ebbed, he began to sob. This was his fault. His pain and Harry's both were his fault. If he hadn't been so weak and foolish, Harry would never have known of Remus' attraction, would never have considered it and been tempted to return it. His curiosity would never have been piqued.
But how was Remus to know the boy was gay? Had Harry even realised it before Remus had brought the matter to the fore by confessing his relationship with Sirius? Surely this was why Harry was still so pure. Despite the spell, there should have been other close encounters. Remus remembered himself as a boy, the confusion and frustration; the loneliness, the lack of opportunity. He remembered watching James and Sirius entertain a series of romantic dalliances and them trying to foist several very pretty, very interested prospects on Remus, though he refused them all without understanding exactly why for the longest time.
Remus also realized that his own first encounters had been with a man far too old for him, as well; as was true for so many young men of their inclination. The absence of potential lovers among his peers had opened him to candidates most would not have considered. He had recognized his feelings for James at that point. And despite his whiskey-fueled confession, Sirius was Sirius: ladies man extraordinaire. Remus had not allowed himself to accept that the boy had been sincere in his interest at the time; and even if it were true, he hadn't wanted to hurt him, fearing he could not return Sirius' affection when his heart was held firmly by their friend. He had not wanted to risk irreparably queering one of his only close friendships.
And so it had been to another that Remus had given himself, to a friend of his father whose secret but knowledgeable stare had flattered the young man. He had not been meant to be a lover, simply someone with confident experience who could initiate Remus into this confusing realm of sexuality. Remus did not -could not- know at the time that there was a vast difference in the circumstances; he did not understand then that their separation in years was not the only factor that deviated and what he experienced was not equal to what his friends experienced with others their own age.
For a long time, Remus blamed himself for the shame he had always felt afterwards. After all, he had indicated an openness to the man's advances. He had not turned him away when he first crept into Remus' room while the boy's father was not at home. He allowed the encounters even when he did not wish them and after a time occasionally sought them out. He naively told himself it was just sex; would not understand until much later that sex was rarely ever just sex. He was confused by the feelings their activities invoked in him. Even when he hadn't really participated, if he had truly disliked what was being done to him, would he still have climaxed? Could he really claim unwillingness when his body responded so enthusiastically under the man's insistent and practiced hand? If he thought himself so used, why had it still hurt when the man had abandoned him in disgust after discovering Remus' condition?
Years would pass before Remus came to understand that he had been a victim, that the relationship had been predatory. Remus had been too young to know better, but his abuser had not been. He had manipulated Remus, had intentionally taken advantage of his youth and inexperience.
And Remus refused to be that man. He refused to exploit Harry's innocence, to allow the young man's advances and then carry them further than Harry could yet know he wanted and then lay the blame at Harry's feet for initiating it. Consent meant nothing if Harry could not appreciate what it was he was consenting to. Remus was the worldly one. It was his responsibility to walk away.
And he must literally walk away. He could not simply refuse the boy and pretend none of this had happened. His feelings for him were too strong, and Harry's could not be encouraged, even accidentally. Remus had to leave Hogwarts. And he had to do it immediately.
Remus picked himself from the floor and strode out of his door the instant he made up his mind to go. He felt naked without his cardigan, was as self-conscious as if he were actually undressed when he considered where his woollen armor really was and why. It was a disaster, but it was one Remus intended to remedy now as well as he could. He spoke the password to Albus' office so that the statue moved aside before he arrived at it, allowing him to pass it without breaking stride. He climbed the stairs instead of riding them, feeling that if he hesitated he would balk and be unable to voice the necessary confession. Remus even left the door swinging open behind him as he stumbled toward Albus' desk to profess, with no prelude, in a rush to the shocked Headmaster, "Albus. I cannot do this any longer."
The man's surprise quickly transitioned to suspicion. "Cannot do what, exactly?" Albus asked tersely, eyes narrowed. Though, by Remus' disheveled state and reluctance to meet his eye, Albus seemed to guess at the answer. Remus did not respond immediately. He hung his head, sitting heavily on the arm of the nearest chair, his cheeks still wet from earlier. For all his hurried resolve, these words were so hard to speak aloud to a man for whom he held such respect, who had placed such confidence in Remus by naming him the guardian of the prophesied saviour of the Wizarding World. He felt so much shame in having to disabuse the Headmaster of his high regard.
"My feelings for Harry have become...inappropriate, and our time together too intimate," Remus confessed softly to the floor.
Albus was quiet for a time, and Remus felt his critical gaze like a spotlight illuminating his guilt. "I see," he said, pulling in a deep, disquieted breath. "Have you...?"
"No," Remus said, shaking his head. "No!" he insisted, his horror on understanding the unspoken portion of the man's question allowing him to meet Albus' eye for the first time since bursting into his office. "No," he repeated more calmly, more sheepishly, "but I..." He swallowed and wet his lips nervously. "I no longer trust myself to behave professionally," he admitted, eyes drifting away again, unable to bear the condemnation they found in the Headmaster's own.
"Have you made advances?" The Headmaster's voice was low and hard. They had gone to such lengths to ensure Harry's innocence, and if Albus suspected Remus was to blame…
"Albus, I swear," he started, shaking his head emphatically. Surely his breach in self-control could not be considered a solicitation. Not a conscious one, at least.
"So it was him?" Albus asked, not nearly as skeptical as Remus might have been in the Headmaster's place. Remus didn't answer, only squeezed his eyes shut, trying but failing to exorcise the memory of what had just happened. He would never forget the look on Harry's face as he had approached him, nor the determination in his grip as he took Remus by the wrist to force his touch. He didn't particularly want to forget, he simply felt he should and that coveting the memory made him despicable.
Albus nodded solemnly. "We knew there would be complications when the spell broke," he sighed. "I'm almost surprised some issue did not arise before now." Remus raised a cautious but hopeful look to the man. He had expected to have to beg for his understanding. "Though I confess I never suspected this particular scenario," Albus went on uneasily. "Of course, these impulses are only natural for a boy his age," he reasoned, trying perhaps to comfort himself and not necessarily Remus. "And you are only human, after all, Remus. However, I admit to finding myself deeply disappointed by this turn of events."
Albus seemed to be attempting sympathy, but Remus could tell he would not escape this without a certain measure of condemnation. "I'm returning to Grimmauld Place," Remus said, thoroughly defeated. Perhaps the Headmaster could tell punishment was unnecessary, as Remus was already punishing himself. "I'll leave tonight. I'm not sure there was much else of real value I could have taught him anyway."
"Very well," Albus acceded sadly.
Remus stood, but hesitated to go. He wanted to both proclaim his innocence and confess his guilt. He wanted to convey the complexity of the situation. He hated leaving the matter with Albus' respect for him so obviously damaged. But there really was nothing to say besides, "I am sorry, Albus."
"As am I," the man replied quietly. Remus turned and trudged gravely toward the still open doorway when Albus spoke again. "Harry. If you would be so kind as to remain behind, I'd like to have a word with you." Remus froze.
No.
No, the young man could not be here! He could not have been allowed to witness Remus' admission and his disgrace. Shattered, Remus watched Harry pull his invisibility cloak from his face, and despite the contrition he found there, Remus was suddenly angered. The boy had no right to see this, nor had he had any to force its necessity. Deeply hurt, Remus turned away from the young man's imploring expression and fled down the stair.
"Harry," Albus warned sternly. "Harry James Potter, come back here!"
Remus knew the boy followed but didn't have the strength left in him to stop and speak with him. He could not discuss what had happened. He was too wretched to explain himself.
Though he should. Harry would not understand Remus' shame and might mistake it for some flaw in himself that lead Remus to reject him. He did not want the young man to feel the same humiliation Remus had felt when the man who had taken his virginity turned him from his bed for being an abomination. But Remus was spent, and he wasn't certain Harry would accept his explanation anyway. Harry managed to catch Remus by the arm before he reached the foot of the stair, however, and turned him to face him whether he could bear it or not.
"Remus, you can't go," he said plaintively, tears spilling down his cheeks.
"Harry, I will not have this conversation with you," he barked. But he checked himself. Harry was clearly hurting as much as he was. Remus could not look at him, so his eyes anxiously searched the stone walls around them instead, as if his dignity might be found there. "Maybe...if I was a better man," he began helplessly.
"You're the best man I know," Harry interrupted, his voice small and broken.
The darling, naive child. "It's too late, Harry," Remus said sadly, fighting back his own tears as he gently removed Harry's hand from his arm. "The damage has been done."
"What damage?" Harry demanded. "I'm old enough to decide. Have decided. And you aren't my professor."
"No. I'm your guardian," Remus sneered bitterly, hating himself.
"Bollocks. Who cares?" Harry spat. As if it were so simple. As if they could just disregard the context, ignore that Remus was meant to be his protector and not his violator. Even though Harry did not know about the magic protecting him, the situation was still clearly inappropriate. "Look, I'm sorry," he rushed to continue when Remus began to turn away. "Remus? I'm sorry. I was wrong," he said, the grasping desperation in his voice cutting Remus like a knife to the heart. "Please." Each pleading word wounded them both further. "I just...I want…" he stammered, as if knowing nothing he could say would sway the man. "Just stay," he wept quietly.
"I'm sorry, Harry," Remus whispered with more aching and regret than the three fragile words should have been capable of carrying. Turning his back on the young man then was the single hardest thing Remus had ever done in his life. The effort required made him physically ill. The boy was in pain, and it was intolerable. Every cell in Remus' body screamed at him to turn back, to take Harry in his arms and comfort him. But somehow Remus managed to resist, to keep moving forward...away.
"But you said you'd always be here!" Harry shouted tearfully at Remus' retreating back; a challenge, a reproach, an entreaty. Remus paused, his eyes falling closed as he accepted just how miserably he'd failed the young man. He had promised that, had meant it, but it was a promise he could no longer keep. For Harry's sake, Remus must make himself a liar, a breaker of oaths. "You can't make a promise like that and just run away," the young man spat accusingly. "You coward!"
No other words could have hurt Remus more. The man glanced over his shoulder, forcing himself to look at Harry, to take in the every detail of the young man's suffering no matter how painful it was to behold. Remus did not deserve to be spared it. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing he said could possibly be adequate. Nothing could repair what he had broken. And so in the end, Remus simply shook his head regretfully and continued on, sending Harry a silent apology like a prayer, and returned to his rooms to remove himself from the young man's life. Possibly forever.