I thought this might be a nice change for you…

That's what Dumbledore had said, oh so many moons ago. Become a Hogwarts professor, he said! It'll be fun, he said! And… well, on one hand he'd been correct. Being a teacher was fun. In fact, it was probably the only bright spot you had going for you currently; you loved to teach. You loved your students, loved to see them alight with curiosity, and in turn, loved to be taught by them as well. You learned just as much from them as you hoped they were learning from your class. Everyone was doing well. To the point that you were a little afraid you were going too easy on them. But after a long discussion about it with Professor Sprout, you had written to Charity Burbage over the winter holiday about your curriculum, and you had been assured that it was on par with her own. You had high hopes that everyone would do well on their exams come June, and would be back in your class again next year.

But on the other hand…

When you had been a student at Hogwarts, the only things you had to worry about had been exams, boys, and Gilderoy Lockhart. Sure, daily life within Hogwarts was inherently hazardous, between Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures and Potions alone, not to mention being in a castle full of barely trained underage witches and wizards. But you had never felt particularly threatened as a student. You couldn't say the same as a professor. A mere week ago, Sirius Black had broken into the school again. This time, he'd actually managed to attack a student. With a fucking e. There were now security trolls roaming the halls near of Gryffindor tower, and you were once again thrown into doubt. About your own abilities to perform protective magic. About the inherent safety of Hogwarts. And about who you could trust within its walls.

A nice change for you…

You had merely escaped one drama for another, and at this point, between Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Severus Snape, you almost preferred Albania. You tried not think about it too much, or too often, which was considerably easier said than done. But you coped with it the only way you knew how: by pouring yourself into your work, and taking your mothers sage advice to 'get a fucking grip, girl' as she has so eloquently put it during your visit home over the holidays. She suggested that you needed to separate yourself from the narrative, to detach from the situation that was causing you so much heartbreak, and try to take an objective view. Because the longer you lingered, the further you fell, and you'd already been at the bottom before. You'd both been there to see that aftermath.

You needed to stand on your own two feet. Needed to remember how to function on your own. Not that getting outside support from others was a bad thing. No one was suggesting you try to struggle through everything alone… But you feared you were becoming overly dependent. You couldn't continue to lean on Severus every step of the way. You'd been reliant on him for what felt like everything; he was still casting the protective charms, still brewing the Wolfsbane potion… all while you were still pining over him like a heroine in a trashy romance novel. You also couldn't continue to dwell on your mixed emotions about Remus, either. You thought about him, about what Severus had told you about him, damn near every day like a bad habit, but you couldn't bring yourself to make a decision about him one way or the other. What Severus had told you differed so greatly from the genial man you thought you knew… And that made you wary. Because it wouldn't be the first time you thought a man was trustworthy, only to be utterly betrayed.

You at least had the self-awareness to know that you needed to get control over this disordered pattern of thinking. How in the world were you supposed to watch over and care for so many others, when you could hardly keep yourself from falling apart? So you started to make a concerted effort to take time for yourself. To take care of yourself. By yourself. Just because Severus had been your beacon for over half of your life, didn't mean you couldn't figure this shit out on your own.

(Right?)

It was early February, and for the first time since you started teaching, you had declined an opportunity to chaperone a Hogsmeade trip. Not because you hadn't wanted to go (quite the contrary, since visiting the little town with your third year class was becoming something like a tradition), but because you felt like you needed to stay. You thought you had been doing well recently; staying focused, above water, maybe even starting to feel a bit better. You'd been making little changes, forming little habits that helped you stay grounded, kept you present. You could physically feel your magic getting stronger again, for the first time in months. But the last break in by Black had rattled you, and you could see the warning signs that your tenuous grip was starting to slip. You'd been sleeping badly, getting distracted, thinking too much... You knew that you needed to nip that shit in the bud, fast, so you decided to stay behind, take the opportunity to pull focus, and make a little time for yourself.

Your only regret was that it was an unusually beautiful day outside. It wasn't gloomy or storming, which had seemed to be the perpetual state of affairs since September. Rather, it was almost cheery, the sun making an occasional appearance through the gaps in the overcast clouds, causing the blanket of snow on the grounds sparkle and gleam. It was cool, and bright. By all accounts, a lovely day.

And instead of going out to enjoy it, you decided to stay in and paint it.

The staffroom was utterly deserted, which was to be expected on a Hogsmeade day. Very few professors stayed behind if they didn't have to, only the bare minimum of staff staying on to keep an eye on the first and second years, as well as the meager handful of older students who didn't have permission to visit the magical little hamlet. So you'd settled yourself into your favorite chair, at your favorite table beside your favorite window, looking out over the snow frosted grounds and the darkened forest beyond. With the sun high, the snow was almost blinding, and you were waiting for it to move further towards the horizon before you continued with your watercolor, wanting more dynamic shadows and shapes for your composition. You'd sketched out the basic silhouettes already, of the forest tree tops, the rippling clouds, the frozen lake. You'd been gifted a pearlescent white pigment by your mother for Christmas, that you were eager to test out on the pristine, glittering snow.

Before there was Severus, art had always been your solace. It was a way to be alone with your thoughts, without being constantly bombarded by them. Your mother had tried to get you to meditate since you were a child, and you'd been practicing it on and off for many years now. The goal was not to clear one's mind, but rather to stay present within the moment. Just this breath your mother would say. You knew how it worked; you were supposed to close your eyes, and count your breaths, not anticipating the next one, or remembering the last one… Just in (one) and out (two). All the way up to ten, and then returning back to one. When you realized that you had become distracted, you were supposed to simply acknowledge the thought, and then let it go, and start again… To stay present, to keep from dwelling on the past and fretting about the future… and that was all well and good, but sometimes it was bloody hard. Sometimes the process would make you more frustrated than you were before you started. The breath was supposed to be something constant to come back to, but sometimes it simply wasn't enough to grasp your attention. Since you were small, you knew what meditation was, how it worked, but you had never practiced it consistently, and you would just forget to do it when you needed it most. So you'd worked out an alternative.

When you were painting or drawing, you tried to completely immerse yourself in the act. Just this breath turned into just this stroke. Just this line. Just this color, this curve, this shadow. The distractions would still arrive, intrusive thoughts would still force their way in. But it was so much easier to return to the present when you had a little more to focus on. Preparing potions had been similarly meditative when you were a student, but you'd been creating art for longer than you had been brewing potions, and blessedly, art didn't require magic (usually). It wasn't about creating a distraction. You weren't trying to avoid the thoughts and feelings; you couldn't control that. But what you could control, was how you reacted to them, and so… you just tried to not let them affect you. Meditation, brewing, painting… they all allowed you to observe the bullshit from a safe distance, and gave you enough time to change course before stepping in it.

Of course, lapses in concentration were to be expected. Like earlier, when you found that you had dipped your brush into your coffee not once, but twice (you really needed to get a dedicated paint water jar or something; staffroom mugs and teacups were just accidents waiting to happen). Or, like now, as you waited for the sun to mosey its way across the sky, to give you a little more depth of shadow to work with. You had your hands wrapped around your (definitely) coffee (not paint) cup, warming your fingers against the heated porcelain as you stared out across the grounds.

The view itself from this window was rather bland. That's what you had thought, the first time you'd sat at this table, nervous and on the edge of tears after being sent here by Professor Sprout to continue your Career Advice meeting with Professor Snape. You remembered that Sybil Trelawney had been in the room at the time of that meeting, fast asleep in one of the squashy armchairs by the fire. (You remembered that he'd made you tea to soothe your nerves, but his mere presence calmed you more than any combination of herbs could. Maybe that's why the view appealed to you, now...) You realized that you hadn't actually seen Sybil since you'd visited her at the start of the school year, and wondered why she no longer visited the staffroom for naps. But as you absently swirled your mug of coffee, you couldn't help but recall what she'd told you, during that little visit at the beginning of term. That there had been a deceitful rat in your tealeaves, and that you ought to be wary of whom you trusted-

The rasp of the staffroom door cracking open pulled you suddenly out of your contemplations, and you silently cursed yourself as you realized that you had been doing the opposite of staying mindful and present; the whole reason you were here. Slipping your mug back onto the table, you wondered if you should pull a Sybil and pretend to be asleep, so as to avoid having to speak to whoever was entering… But any thoughts of faking it flew from your mind as you watched Remus Lupin poke his head in through the crack in the door. You felt your heart rate spike, the throb of your pulse like a hammer knocking against your sternum. There couldn't be any hiding; your table was directly across from the entrance door. And it was too late to feign sleep, as Remus had already made eye contact, and was smiling sheepishly as he let himself into the room. You forced a little smile in return, and tried to quickly clear your mind of thoughts of treachery.

"Good morning," Remus greeted cordially as he approached, before he paused, glancing out the window towards the grounds, and then pulling back the sleeve of his chocolate colored robes to peer down at his battered wrist watch. "Good afternoon," he corrected himself, and you felt your forced smile smooth into a more genuine one. You tried to ignore the swell of fondness under your thumping heart. "Sorry, I'm not interrupting you, am I?" he asked, his eyes sweeping over the marble topped table, at your hideously messy looking watercolor palette and mixing tray, the two mugs of similarly muddy looking brown liquid, and the sketch card of paper you had taped to small brown board.

You should tell him that he was interrupting. That you were in the middle of something and would rather not be disturbed, thanks. But… You didn't do that. Instead, you told him the truth. "Not really," you conceded, pulling your mug back into your lap, missing its warmth on your suddenly trembling fingers. "It's such a beautiful day outside, I thought I would try my hand at capturing it. I'm just waiting for the sun to stop trying to blind me."

Remus' smile only warmed further, also more genuine as he nodded once. "I can see that," he murmured fondly, eyes peering out the window at the blinding snow, then shifting down to your sketch of the same view, before jumping back up to meet your gaze. "May I join you?" he asked simply enough, his affable tone betraying nothing. And you wondered why he was here. He wouldn't be asking to sit with you if he had other pressing matters to attend to, right? Had he just been looking for company? Or had he been looking for you, specifically?

"Of course," you finally replied, hoping your own voice didn't betray anything either. Remus nodded his thanks, before pulling out the chair opposite you and settling into it.

"No Hogsmeade for you today?" he asked, his tone light, conversational, and washing you in a wave of odd nostalgia. The scene was familiar, only it used to take place in your office, or sometimes his. Spending off periods together, chatting, joking, about everything and nothing. It had been some time since you'd had one of those casual chats with him. You tried not to squirm as your stomach sank.

Shaking your head at his question, the motion continued down your body in a wholly exaggerated charade of a shiver. "Too cold," you explained, lifting your steaming mug as if to make a point, taking a drawn out sip as you stared out the window at the glittering banks of white. "Beautiful as it is, I'll be happy when all of this snow finally melts," you admitted, smiling wistfully as you leaned back into your cozy chair. "I'm looking forward to spring."

Glancing back at Remus, you found that he was not admiring the view along with you. His eyes were still on you, and he was returning your smile, his elbow propped up on the arm of his chair, his chin resting against his knuckles. "I couldn't agree more," he concurred, taking a deep breath, before releasing it in an uncharacteristically heavy sigh that belied his smile. His eyes fell from yours, somewhere onto the table, before he confessed, "The Dementors certainly don't help matters."

You stiffened slightly, your tongue going dry in your mouth. Why did he have to go and say that? You glanced uneasily out the window, thankful that there wasn't a single one of the damned creatures in sight. It wasn't that you disagreed… but… Thinking about the Dementors made you remember why the Dementors were here in the first place… and thinking about Sirius Black made you think about…

"I've made you uncomfortable."

You started, your shoulders jumping up at the allegation, and when you looked back to Remus, his smile was no longer warm. It was still there, but now it was tight, resigned. Like it had been the first night you'd met him, when he had thought the same thing; that he'd made you uncomfortable, by sitting beside you, by being a werewolf. The thing was, he hadn't made you uncomfortable… back then, anyway.

But just like the first time, you found yourself jumping to assuage his fears. "No!" you insisted, sitting up straight and shaking your head as you held your palm up to him placatingly. "No, the… the Dementors make me uncomfortable," you clarified, and though it wasn't the full truth, neither was it a complete lie. You fell back into your chair with a soft fwump, and made a twirling motion in the air with your already raised hand. "Things are already… stupid," you explained with an amused huff, your hand falling back into your lap. "I don't need an extra layer of externally manufactured depression on top of… everything else."

Remus dropped his tight smile, but the expression he wore did not evoke much more confidence. Instead he looked concerned, and it made you uneasy to see that expression on someone else's face. You weren't used to seeing it… not from him, at least. "Everything else?" he asked softly, lifting one pale brown eyebrow. And you realized that you had played yourself.

Damn it.

"Well, there was the second break in, last weekend," you suggested quickly, again hoping to curb his worry. "I think that made everybody a little more… anxious." However, your hope to ease his concern seemed to have backfired; you thought saw his throat working behind the collar of his shirt as his face slowly drained of color, and your own anxiety spiked. Your brain suddenly flooded with hearsay…

Lupin in hiding something… hasn't offered a single alternative suggestion, and that's bullocks.

…and you grasped at straws to try and steer the discussion away from Black.

"Then there's all of the drama surrounding Hagrid and Buckbeak," you sputtered, feeling guilty the second you said it. You frowned deeply, knowing you were just making up excuses, but really, you were pretty distressed about that, too. Hagrid had always been a friend to you, and you knew that both his position as a Professor, as well as every animal he ever cared for, meant the world to him. From what you knew of the situation… well, you weren't surprised that a certain Malfoy was giving him a hard time. "Their trial was yesterday, you know," you muttered, trying to continue the conversation, but you received no reply. Deflating slightly, you peered across the table at Remus; he still appeared troubled, but at least had the presence of mind to nod at your words.

An uncomfortable silence settled between you then, and you fumbled with your coffee cup as you waited for him to say something. Staring down at your empty sketch, you tried to breathe, to concentrate, tried not to make conjecture… about why Remus would become so aloof at the mere mention of the last break in. It made you think of the first break in, that Halloween night, when you'd passed Remus on your way back to the Great Hall. When he'd looked you dead in the eye, looking just as anxious as he looked now. And it made you sick, remembering the things Severus had told you about him, a mere week later…

"Gwendolyn," he said abruptly, and he immediately had you attention as you lifted your eyes to meet his. There was an unhappy sort of smile on his lips again, and it made your insides coil uncomfortably. That smile was worse than any sort of glare, because at least glare would have been easier to read. You didn't know why he was looking at you like this, and it made you want to shy away from that inscrutable green gaze. But his voice was level, and his words almost teasing as he simply implied, "You strike me as the type of woman who doesn't mince her words."

You blinked, taken aback by this… observation? He… wasn't wrong. You were rarely one to hold back what you were feeling for the pure sake of decorum. You just… didn't understand why he'd said it. It felt like an accusation, and it left you feeling off kilter. "My mother says it's because I'm a Sagittarius," you explained, feeling increasingly stupid as each word left your mouth, but you tried to shrug it off with a short laugh, looking back up to him. That strange smile of his had widened a touch, so maybe it hadn't been such a stupid thing to say, but you didn't feel any more comforted as you watched him straighten up in his chair.

"Well, whatever the reason may be," he started, leaning his elbows against the edge of the table, his hands clasped together where they rested on the marble top. "I'd love for you to be straight forward with me." His voice was still even, still pleasant and almost playful. But you felt more apprehensive than if he'd been shouting.

Your mouth went dry again, and you wondered if he could hear your heart pounding from across the table. Was this why he was here? Had this been the reason he'd sought you out? Your palms had gone sweaty against your warm coffee mug, but you were afraid it would rattle against the marble table if you tried to set it down. "About…?" you asked, unsure (on the verge of panic). What was he going to ask you? Breathe Gwen… breathe…

Whether or not Remus could detect your agitation, he continued to smile that soft, sad smile. But behind it, in the knit of his brows, you saw the briefest flash of disappointment. Like you were supposed to know exactly what he was talking about. It didn't last long, however, as he dropped his gaze from yours, looking steadily down at his hands as he finally clarified, "About why you've been avoiding me since November."

Your mouth fell open, dumbstruck, scandalized, as your body prickled with the burn of this allegation. But once again, you found yourself springing forward to pacify him, words coming out in a stuttering flurry before your mind had the chance to form them. "Oh, Remus, I'm not-!"

Aren't you?

You floundered, your mouth working, trying to find the right things to say as your brain finally started making interjections. "I haven't been…"

Haven't you?

Oh, but you had been. You'd been avoiding being alone in a room with Remus Lupin for the past three months, specifically because you were the kind of woman who did not mince her words. You were so afraid that you would spill everything you'd learned, everything Severus had told you in confidence, because you still could not reconcile your trust in Severus against your affection for Remus. So… you'd removed yourself from the narrative entirely, by utterly avoiding Remus, in the guise of trying to give yourself space to think. And look where that brilliant plan had gotten you, now. Nothing ever felt like the right thing to do. Whether you spoke your mind, or kept your mouth shut, it always seemed to lead to somebody's suffering.

You shrank back against your chair, finally placing your mug on the table, porcelain rattling minutely against marble, so that you could cover your face with one hand as it burned with irrepressible shame, the other arm wrapping around your roiling stomach. "I'm so sorry," you managed to squeak, trying very hard not to crumble under the weight of his completely accurate deduction.

"It's quite alright," came the soft, gentle reply you most certainly hadn't been expecting. You lifted your eyes to his, your hand moving instead to cover your mouth, and you found him still smiling, but kindly. "I just… couldn't help but notice," he admitted, finally unclasping his hands, absently tracing a finger down a dark line in the marble table top. "We barely speak anymore, unless it's a full moon. That's a far cry from the way we used to chat." He looked back up to you, his smile only wavering minutely as he confessed, "I miss… that. Miss you."

You felt like you were going to be sick, so you kept your hand firmly clasped over your mouth. You were disgusted with yourself, now that the consequences of your avoidance were bared before you, bright and blinding like winter snow. You'd abandoned him. Someone you knew, you knew, was all too used to being abandoned. You'd simply walked away, kept your distance, without so much as an explanation. And how were you being repaid for it? With kindness. A kindness you did not deserve, and only made your guilt churn higher.

When you did not reply, Remus pressed on, his smile finally dropping, curving into a confused frown instead. "Is it something I… did I do something? To offend you?" he asked, his brows knotted together, as if trying to imagine some slight, some altercation, which in truth had never happened.

You felt like jumping to his defense once again, to tell him no, of course not, he'd done nothing wrong. But you stopped yourself, because prolonging this would only lead to more confusion. More undue anguish. And you didn't think either of you deserved that at this venture. You finally lowered your hand from your mouth, letting it drop into your lap. "Not exactly," you admitted softly, shaking your head, your eyes trained down on your sketch.

There was a pause, before you saw a scarred hand enter your field of vision, gently touching the wooden board your fledgling art was taped to. "Gwen…" You forced yourself to look up at him, and you found that familiar apprehension deep in the lines of his face, perhaps for you, but… more likely for himself. You could clearly see that he wanted to make amends for whatever transgression he had committed… but you weren't sure he would be able to do that. And that's what made you so afraid.

All this time, you had been trying to elude this exact conversation. Like avoiding going to a doctor, even when you knew there was something wrong, because without a name to the affliction, you could keep on pretending like everything was going to be okay. You didn't want a confirmed diagnosis. You didn't want it to be true. You wanted to keep hoping, and pretending, that Remus was better than what Severus had told you. Even if it meant staying away from him, it was preferable to knowing. You didn't want to believe that he was really just as monstrous as his affliction might lead others to believe.

"Severus told me," you gasped, your voice startling to your own ears. You didn't realize that you were ready to start talking, but… here it came anyway. And it didn't feel like a relief, when those three words alone caused Remus to stiffen up in his chair. It only made continuing more painful, and you twisted your fingers up in your robes as you confessed. "…About something that happened when you both were students here."

Remus stared across the table at you for several long moments. He had never been a very guarded person, always loose with his laughter and grins. But you noticed now that his face was carefully blank, but an unexpected distance in his eyes. "I understand…" he said softly, and you felt a great sigh whoosh out of you. You'd been afraid for a moment, that he was going to deny it. But what was there to lie about? Severus had told you, that you could ask any professor who had been on staff when he was a boy about the veracity of his tale, and Remus probably knew this too.

"He's…," Remus paused, as if there was someone else in the room who could overhear, before continuing quietly. "He's always had a grudge against me for that, and I suppose he has every right to." There was a pause as he settled back into his chair, and he laced his fingers together in his lap before heaving a great sigh of his own. "I suppose he also told you his suspicions, about myself and… Sirius Black."

You started slightly, to hear this spoken so… so casually. And his tone was casual. Any apprehension he'd supposedly felt at your admission had apparently dissolved, and his voice was as level and smooth as ever. Which was shocking, given Severus' allegations against him. Allegations that he was apparently extremely familiar with. You could only nod dumbly in reply, and Remus closed his eyes for a brief moment with another sigh. Once he'd gathered himself, he lifted his eyelids and gazed back at you earnestly. "Do you believe him?"

You felt tears spring to your eyes, unbidden and completely irrational. In an effort to keep them from spilling down your cheeks, you tipped your head back, staring up towards the top of the window… to give yourself a moment to think without that green gaze upon you. That was the rub, wasn't it? Did you believe Severus? About the factual parts of the story, yes, you did. You believed that Remus and Black had once been friends, that Remus had been the werewolf Severus had encountered as a boy, and that that encounter had been the result of a crime in the guise of a prank. But did you believe that Remus Lupin was currently in cahoots with Sirius Black? That he was, whether actively or passively, allowing Black into the castle so that he could murder children? That… was conjecture more so than fact, and you couldn't bring yourself to believe it. At least, not without evidence.

It was your turn to think very carefully about what you were going to say. You wouldn't allow your mouth to start running before it made a full circuit through your brain this time, and you finally settled on what you felt was the only appropriate answer to the question.

"I… believe he has just cause, for thinking the way he does," you said finally, lifting one hand from your lap to rub at your eyes. You were proud of yourself, that you'd managed to keep your own voice so steady, and that the tears had stayed well within your ducts. And your words were true enough, you supposed. But you weren't sure you would ever tell this to Severus directly. Not because you felt he would be angry with you, because you had no doubt that he would be. But because you felt like… someone needed to believe him. Or rather, he needed to believe that someone believed him. After what had happened to him as a boy… seeing his assailants make it out scot-free, being forced not to speak of the event with anyone… Everyone had been looking out for his attackers, but no one had been looking out for him.

"Remus?" you asked quietly, finally lifting your face from your hand to meet his eye. He appeared to have been doing some contemplating of his own, perhaps prompted by your words, or the situation at large, but you had his full attention now, and he nodded once, to assure you that he was listening. Swallowing down the sour taste of apprehension in your mouth, you sucked in a shaky breath before asking, "Were you 'in on the joke'?"

Remus started at once, his body jerking upright, his hands curling around the arms of the chair with a claw-like grip. "Absolutely not," he stated adamantly, and you felt your eyebrows crawl up your forehead at his resolve. Once upon a time, you would have taken his word at face value. Why wouldn't you? But over the years, through no fault of your own, insidious doubt had wormed its way into your thought processes, and you wondered if this insistence was a ploy.

But Remus seemed steadfast as he continued with his defense, though he had settled back into his chair, his tone slightly more subdued. "I was mortified when I found out what Siri-" he caught himself, closing his eyes and shaking his head. You felt a frightful thump in your ribcage. "What Black had done. He'd betrayed me. My trust. He'd exposed my secret, and used me for something that…" Another despondent smile twisted back into his lips, but this one was tinged with deep regret. "Well, if his so-called joke had succeeded, I likely would have been executed as a dangerous beast."

You winced, as this was… perfectly true, and it was something that had been on your mind since Severus had told you all of the gory details. The things that could have happened to them… to both of them… had this 'joke' been successful, whatever successful even meant in this horrific context... Remus heaved another heavy sigh, and his voice was tinged with bitter laughter as he concluded, "He'd put me in mortal peril, for a lark."

You'd been worrying your lip between your teeth the entire time he'd been giving his explanation, and you had to make a concerted effort to stop as you processed this new information. Or… well, it wasn't really new. It's what you had suspected from the beginning. You understood why Severus had been convinced of Remus' guilt, but you could just as easily believe Remus' side of the story as well. Only… you didn't feel better after hearing it. Quite the contrary in fact, now that you thought about it. Because there was something decidedly lacking from his explanation.

"…You were mortified by the danger he'd put you in," you repeated slowly, lifting your straying gaze back to Remus', his eyebrows raising in confusion at your response. And the fact that he didn't immediately get your meaning, made something hot flair up from deep inside of your chest. "Not the danger he'd put Severus in."

Ah, so there it was. Understanding flickered across Remus' face, followed immediately by uneasiness, and he started up again, holding a pacifying hand out to you as you started to get to your feet. "I- Now, I didn't say that," he fumbled, but you were already shaking your head, gathering up your mugs in trembling hands.

"You didn't have to," you murmured, doing everything within your power not to shout it back at him. You turned your back on him then, making your way to the small kitchenette in the staffroom, a small corner of cabinets and countertops, which provided a never ending supply of coffee, tea, and assorted snacks for the faculty. As you busied yourself rinsing out your paint and coffee mugs in the small basin sink, you tried to breathe, to come back to center. But there was a bubbling anger in your belly now, aimless and scorching, and the last time you had felt this way, you'd considered strangling Severus with your own bare hands. You were past that kind of volatile reaction now, weren't you?

But as Remus stood from his chair, making his way across the room to you, you weren't entirely sure that he wasn't gunning for the same fate. "Gwendolyn…" he crooned soothingly as he crept up cautiously beside you, but you simply weren't having it. He flinched as you set down the mugs with much more force than was necessary, the sharp sound of porcelain in the stone basin seeming to echo for a moment, and you were quite satisfied with the effect.

"Did you stay friends with him after that?" you asked stiffly, your eyes still cast down into the sink, but you saw Remus' wavering incomprehension out of the corner of your eye. Turning to him fully, you propped your hip against the sink, wiping your damp hands off on your robes before crossing your arms. "With Black?" you elucidated and that flicker of understanding crossed his face again. He opened his mouth once, before closing it and casting his eyes down, away from yours. Well then. Guilty as charged. You threw your hands up in exasperation as you pushed yourself off of the sink. "Then why should believe that you aren't still friends with him now?"

You had intended to walk past him, to gather your supplies and head back to your own quarters, but you didn't make it far. A broad hand wrapped around your forearm, and your gut reaction was to snatch your arm away, but Remus' grip was firm, and you were forced to face him as he glared down at you. And you were momentarily surprised by how wet his green eyes were. "I was friends with James, too," he said firmly, though you caught the hint of a waiver in his voice. "And Peter. And it's because of Sirius Black that they're both-" His voice and his glare faltered, his gaze dropping away from yours, and you saw the first tear slide down his cheek before slanting down the ridge of a pale, raised scar.

But you. Weren't. Having it. This touching display of remorse did little to put out the fire of indignation blazing in your breast. Because one thing did not excuse the other. "So attempted murder is fine, but actually getting away with it is where you draw the line?" you spat vehemently, trying to wrench your arm away again.

But his hold on you was fast, and the flash in his eyes startled you into submission. "I was fifteen, Gwen!" Remus cried, and you were finally subdued by the anguish in his voice, because that sounded… very genuine. You recognized that sort of pain and regret, not from Remus but… from Severus. And that recognition was enough to make you listen. You stopped resisting, letting your arm go slack in his grip, and he must have seen that you weren't going to turn away this time, as he finally released you. "I was fifteen," he repeated, his tone softening, layered with regret. "And lonely, and for the first time in my life I had friends, and I just..." He held his hands out helplessly, looking back at you imploringly, a silent appeal for your understanding.

And you did. You understood, on one level, at least. You rubbed your arm where he had grabbed you, and you saw him only deflate further, fresh guilt welling in his eyes. "I get it," you sighed heavily, crossing your arms defensively as you peered over at him, a small twinkle of hope sparking in his eyes at your words. "I do. I know what it's like, for werewolves. I know you were just… clinging to what you had." Remus was nodding at your words, grateful apparently, for your empathy, but he hesitated as you shook your head in reply, your teeth worrying against your lip once again. "But you still aren't giving me any convincing evidence that Severus is wrong about you."

Remus' face fell once again at that, and he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes for a moment, making a frustrated little sound in the back of his throat. You sighed, turning from him again and making your way back to your table. You hesitated by the chair, wondering if you should sit back down. But as you heard footfalls coming up behind you, you conceded, dropping down into your chair and waiting for him to join you.

But Remus didn't retake his seat across from you. Instead, you jumped when you felt fingers brush against the back of your hand, and you looked down to find Remus kneeling down on the floor next to you, looking up at you imploringly. It was a startlingly familiar set up, and you didn't like it one bit.

"What can I give you, besides my word, that I am more committed than anyone to keeping my best friend's child safe?" Remus asked, before you even had a chance to tell him to get up, that you weren't asking him to prostrate himself before you, that this wasn't what you wanted of him. But his words struck you, and you pulled your lip between your teeth again as he clasped his hand over the back of yours. "I am infinitely more devoted to Harry than I would ever be to Sirius Black after what he did to James and Peter."

There it was again. That name. Harry Potter. And this desire to keep him safe. Severus had had the same notion, you remembered… So it certainly seemed plausible that Remus would have similar sentiments, considering he had a more personal stake in it than Severus did. That indignant fire in you had quelled itself to embers, and you were staring down at Remus' large, scarred hand, curled over yours. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe him so badly, that he wasn't in on the joke. That he wasn't helping Black. That he wasn't a monster… but how were you supposed to…

"You aren't hiding anything, Remus?"

Remus blinked, lifting his eyes back up to yours. "What?" he asked, as he finally pushed himself up off of the floor. He stayed standing beside you, but finally let his hand slip away from yours. You watched his hand move away, shivered at the cold that rushed in against the warmth his touch had left, but you didn't reach out for him. You stayed where you were, but your eyes stayed on his hand.

"Severus says that you're hiding something," you explained, almost tonelessly, simply repeating back the words that had been expressed to you. "That even if you aren't helping Black directly, Severus thinks you know something, and you aren't telling us." You saw his fingers twitch at his side, and you finally lifted your eyes to meet his. "So, do you?" you asked softly, already knowing how he would answer, and already dreading it. "Know something?"

Remus' face was reserved again, but his voice was firm as he gave you the answer you expected. "No," he replied, his voice just as flat as your question had been. Turning away from you, he retreated back to the chair across from yours, and fell back into it heavily, rubbing his hand against his forehead. "I understand that Severus has just cause for thinking the way that he does. But…" This time he was the one to throw his hands up in exasperation. "Do you really think I'm pulling a fast one on Albus Dumbledore?" he asked incredulously, and that… was a fair point.

Your lip was back between your teeth as Remus continued, his hands dropping to rest on the table. "I owe that man my life. My livelihood. He let me attend this school as a boy, despite my affliction, and he trusts me enough to grant me a job here now. That…" He paused, his frown only deepening as he shook his head. "That ought to count for something." He lifted his eyes to meet yours, and he pulled his hands back to settle into his lap. "And of course, I owe you so much as well." He swallowed hard, against the crack in his voice as he lifted one hand to rub at his neck. "Contrary to what Severus believes, I promise that I'm not actually in the business of betraying my friends."

Ouch. That stung a little. He sounded so genuine, when he insisted that he owed you, just as he had during the Welcoming Feast, when he'd said nearly the exact same thing. And to say that he was not in the business of betraying his friends… meant that he still considered you a friend, even after how rotten you'd been to him as of late. And perhaps that's why it hurt so much, that there was still doubt. It would be so much easier if he just hated you.

Your lip felt swollen, and you surreptitiously wiped your mouth with the back of your hand to force yourself to stop. "I want to believe you, Remus…" you croaked, unable to look at him. He'd confessed to quite a few damning things, and that took a certain level to trust, you reckoned. But something in the back of your head (something whose voice was deep and baritone and constantly sneering) forced you to consider if any of it was even true.

"I get it."

You glanced up at the defeated tone, and Remus was smiling miserably again, looking so forlorn and tired. "You've… known him longer. Severus, I mean." He shrugged a shoulder feebly, before turning his eyes away to look out the window. "And I suppose that ought to count for something as well."

It… certainly did, you thought, as you followed his gaze to the grounds beyond. The sun had finally moved, casting subtle shadows from the Dark Forest and the trees on the grounds. But you didn't feel all that inspired anymore. Mostly… you felt just as forlorn and tired yourself.

"I don't like it… having to pick sides like this," you admitted, closing your eyes against the swell of emotion that admission suddenly produced. You hated being in this position, more than anything else. Choosing a side meant that one of them was going to get hurt, and you didn't want to hurt anybody… Especially when you knew… when both of you knew, that the side you would choose was a foregone conclusion.

"I understand," Remus said softly, barely a whisper, and when you looked back to him, he was looking… almost sheepish again. He was still gazing out the window, but he sent a furtive glance your way, before taking a deep breath and stiltedly asking, "Are… the two of you…?"

You blinked dumbly at the question a moment, not comprehending his meaning for what felt like an embarrassingly long time, until suddenly you did comprehend. You could feel your cheeks warming up, and it felt like a horribly inopportune time to be blushing light a schoolgirl. But the question had caught you completely off guard, and so you could only answer truthfully. "No," you stated simply, trying not to dwell on the implications of his question, hoping to leave that line of questioning dead in the water.

"But… you're in love with him."

There was no malice, no accusation. Just a casual curiosity that sent your mind spinning wildly out of control. You had to close your eyes a moment, hoping maybe Remus would just disappear by the time you opened them… but no such luck. He was still there when you forced your lids open, only now he was grinning, a knowing sort of look on his face as he explained, "You're not exactly subtle."

You were dumbstruck for another moment, but in the end, you couldn't help yourself. When met with the dueling desire to both laugh and cry, you inevitably chose laughter. Though it was not the uncontrollable giggles of your childhood, but a pathetic cackle of wholly inappropriate mirth. "I'm… not trying to be subtle," you confessed, rubbing one of your hands over the side of your face, both in an attempt to hide your stupid huffing laughter, and to cool the prickling burn of your skin. This was fucking embarrassing.

Remus at least looked mildly surprised by this. Perhaps he thought he'd been in on a secret, only to discover that literally everyone else knew what was going on before he did. "He knows?" he asked tentatively, and the reminder that, yeah, he does, only added a new layer to the days heartbreak. At your quiet nod of confirmation, Remus finally sat up a bit, looking utterly perplexed. "And he… what? Doesn't feel the same?" he asked, bewildered, and you felt…

Well, you felt like you had, when you'd first become friends with Remus. This was the sort of conversation that friends had, wasn't it? And it felt good, and you wanted to lean into it, to talk about it with him… but you couldn't. Just… couldn't.

"It's complicated," you admitted evasively. That, too, was true enough, and you hoped that Remus would get the fucking hint that you were quite done talking about this. Christ, you were supposed to be spending the day getting your shit together. Not mulling over the exact things that were causing you to feel this fucking rotten.

Remus did seem to catch your cue, and the sadness that crossed his eyes was different from the sadness you'd seen there before. It wasn't for himself, or for his friends of years past. This time… it was for you.

"Knowing him, I don't doubt that," he sighed, though there was still a hint of a smile at his lips. You dearly hoped that wasn't a dig at Severus, though your addled brain might have been looking too deeply into it.

And excruciating silence fell once again. You wanted this to be over. You wanted to pack up your supplies, toss your now worthless sketch into the bin, and head back to your room. You wanted to dig out your bottle of cognac in order to counteract the effects of the coffee you'd had earlier. And then you just wanted to sleep. Who cared if it was the middle of the day? Sleep sure sounded preferable to being awake and thinking right now. Your meditative attempt had been shot down to hell, so why not fuck the hippie dippie bullshit and just get pissed like everybody else?

You were just wondering how to excuse yourself from this horrific tension, when Remus suddenly turned to you, catching you momentarily off guard. He had that contemplative look on his face again, like he had something urgent he wanted to tell you. He'd just drawn a breath, your name on his lips, when-

"Lupin! I want a word!"

The fireplace at the end of the staffroom had suddenly burst to life, green flame roaring from the grate, along with the agitated voice of Severus Snape from beyond it. You both stared at the hearth in utter bewilderment, but it was Remus who recovered first, with a huff of laughter of his own and a weary shake of his head.

"Speak of the devil," he murmured, and you wondered what he had been about to say, before the interruption… but you decided that you simply weren't curious enough to ask him about it. You watched him carefully as he stood from his chair, brushing out his robes as he prepared to take the floo. But he turned to you first, a careful, questioning look on his face. "Are we okay?" he asked cautiously, as if he feared the answer.

You couldn't blame him. You sort of feared it too. Glancing back at the fireplace, you breathed a soft sigh before shrugging, and ultimately nodding. "I guess so," you whispered, because what else could you say? You needed a little time to process this… but it had felt good, for those few moments, to talk to him again, like he was a human… a friend. A good friend. "For now."

Finally, for the first time since he'd arrived in the staff room… for the first time in months, you were graced by one of those wide, honest smiles he had been so charitable with when you'd first met him. Your heart clenched, but it also felt so good to see. "I can handle 'for now'," he assured you, reaching out and gently touching your shoulder. "Thank you."

You glanced down at his hand, at the scars that marred the edges of his palm. You reached up, gently brushing your fingers across one of them, before tilting your head in the direction of the fireplace. "Get going," you told him, finally managing a small grin of your own. Remus rolled his eyes and winked, before doing just that. You craned your neck around the wings of your arm chair to watch him stride across the staffroom before he disappeared into the fireplace.

And then you were alone again. The staffroom silent but for the lingering crackle of floo fire embers, and the sound of a clock ticking on one of the high walls. And only now did you allow yourself to cry. You bent over the table, burying your head in your arms as the well of emotion overflowed, and you found yourself choking on tears. You knew, god, you knew, that you weren't supposed to dwell on the past, or fret about the future. You were supposed to exist in the present. And perhaps you could trust Remus, for the present moment. Perhaps you were okay, for now. But you were so terrified that you were going to be wrong again, just as you had been about every other man who had come into your life and spoke of promises.

Severus was the only man who never promised you anything. It was just about the only thing you could count on… He was also the only man in your life who had never betrayed you. And in a way, perhaps it was the fact that he never made any promises to begin with, that made him more reliable than anyone. You just… wanted this all to end.

And it would…

Soon enough.