Tw: sexual assault, self harm, alluded to non-con towards a minor, talk of self-harm
[Tuesday 29th April]
It's around midnight by the time Draco hears a knock on his bedroom door.
"You took your time," says Draco as Ron plods in.
"Sorry, I was meant to come early but Harry wanted to go round Hagrid's place and we got caught up-"
"Hey, it's okay," Draco says, pulling them into a hug. "I don't mind waiting. Sorry about the other night, by the way, I was completely out of it."
"It was nice to relax," says Ron. "Is your arm all better now?" They point to his castless arm.
"Yeah, it's pretty much healed," Draco says. "You were telling me something about Quiddich when I fell asleep last time, what happened with that?"
"Well, I did a try-out for the Gryffindor team for upcoming matches, and guess what."
"What?" Draco says as Ron tries to hold back a grin.
"I got in!" Ron squeaks, jumping onto Draco excitedly.
"Oh my God, well done," Draco smiles, hugging them tightly. "My Quidditch star."
"I haven't won anything yet," Ron says, looking extremely pleased with themselves.
They slump together on the sofa, as tradition.
"You look different," says Draco, putting a hand on their thigh. "Have you done something with your hair?"
Ron giggles, pushing his hand away. "Oh, so you noticed?"
"Yeah. I like it, it's cute."
"Thanks," Ron smiles. "I thought I'd switch things up. I'm getting sick of waiting for my hair to grow out enough for it to look less masculine."
"It's kind of long," Draco says, admiring the back that doesn't quite reach their shoulders.
"Not long enough."
"When will you stop growing it?"
"Once it's past my shoulders, I think." Ron fiddles with their hair, seperated into two small plaits with stray bits of hair that weren't long enough to go into the plaits sticking out to the sides.
Draco frames Ron's face with his hands and leans in to kiss them.
"Draco," Ron whispers as he brushes his lips against theirs.
"Yeah?"
"Can I quickly put my jumper on?"
Draco pulls back, a little surprised as Ron is already wearing a jumper, but says, "yeah, you don't have to ask me."
Ron puts on their even baggier jumper and returns to the sofa. "Okay."
Draco leans in to kiss him again, placing his hands on Ron's hips as he slides his legs on top of theirs. Ron reciprocates his kisses, slightly taken aback by the intensity, but puts it down to them having not done anything like this for weeks. Draco makes out with them with as much vigour as he can manage, clinging onto the addicting feeling of finally being in control of the situation and of his body, not motivated by fear or pressure, just by his love, and lust, for Ron.
As usual, Draco takes the lead and Ron goes along with his passionate making out, focusing on their intertwining tongues rather than Draco's hands underneath their shirt. They were already feeling dysphoric today, hence the plaits, and Draco isn't exactly helping despite how good it feels to have him kiss them again. They ignore the acute discomfort, that is until they feel Draco's hands slide up to their crotch. They take a sharp intake of breath, but Draco doesn't move his hand away or even seem to recognise his action as a mistake.
"Draco," Ron mutters, his body frozen.
Draco pays no attention to this as a signal to stop and continues making out with them, caressing his hand over the one place Ron stated he should avoid. Ron navigates their hands to Draco's wrists, gently trying to hold him back.
"Draco-" they say quietly again.
Draco, consumed in the act, doesn't hear or doesn't listen. He continues, sitting on top of them, their bodies pushed together. He only snaps out of it when Ron makes a small sob.
Draco stops and glances up. "Ron?" he says, confused at Ron's deeply hurt expression.
Ron stands up, hugging their jumper around them and staring at Draco with wary confusion.
"I don't want you to touch me there, I thought we'd talked about that," they say, voice strained from holding back tears.
It dawns on Draco that he has made a huge mistake. His face contorts into apologetic guilt.
"Oh. Ron, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to-"
"I tried to tell you," Ron mumbles, a single tear dripping down his face, forcing himself not to blink in case he starts crying properly.
"Ron," Draco says, standing up, lost for words. "I didn't realise-"
"It's fine," he says, backing away. "I need to go."
"Wait, Ron!" exclaims Draco. "Please, wait. Let me explain."
Too little too late. Ron shuts the door in his face and runs back down the stairs.
Draco stands in shock, despair overcoming him. He sinks his head into his hands. What the fuck is wrong with him? Why did he ignore Ron?
One frightening thought immediately seizes hold of his mind; Slughorn's black eyes piercing through him, except this time all he sees are his own cold blue eyes staring right back at him.
He starts shaking as it hits him- he's become like the man he hates most. Crossing Ron's boundaries, ignoring their attempts to get him to stop, putting his own desires before theirs. The line between him and Slughorn wavers ever so slightly, and the distinction between the victim and the perpetrator blur until Draco engrosses himself in imagining him doing every single thing Slughorn did to him to Ron. Horrifying guilt entwines itself with desperation as Draco tortures himself with the burden of knowing he has hurt Ron in the exact way Slughorn has hurt him.
Slughorn is ruining everything. Every. Single. Thing.
Draco slams his hand into the marble border of the fireplace. Again and again, until there's a ringing in his ears and the white stone is smeared with blood. He's endured worse, he thinks, crying out as he drives his hand into the hard surface continuously until the pain becomes unbearable.
He curls up on the sofa, in complete emotional turmoil, the smarting pain in his knuckles offering nothing to distract him from the guilt. He can't escape the thought of Ron backing away from him with wet eyes, actually backing away as if Draco would ever purposely hurt him, as if he was scared.
I tried to tell you.
He knocks his knuckles onto the hard table edge; he doesn't deserve for the bleeding to stop, and he certainly doesn't deserve Ron.
Ron trudges back to his dorm, an empty feeling in their chest, disgusted at having their insecurities highlighted, feeling pathetic and small. They ignore Harry and Seamus' usual jibes once back in the dormitory and settle straight into bed. The burning feeling doesn't go away.
The following day, Ron avoids Draco's desperate stares in every class they have together. They had a seven day streak going. Seven days free from self-harm. But in the evening as the shame rolls in, they can't find a good enough reason to stop themselves from picking up the blade and hiding away in the last stall of the third-floor bathrooms.
The problem doesn't lie with Draco, particularly. Ron doesn't imagine he did it on purpose and they should've been more transparent that he wasn't happy with it. The problem lies within, in their stupid male body and stupid male chromosomes. If he liked himself a fraction more, none of this would be a problem and Draco could do whatever he likes.
Ron slashes the scalpel down their calf. Watching the blood pulsate out feels like releasing some of the badness within.
It must be some sadistic trait inside, Ron reflects, that makes them smile numbly at the yellow bubbles that appear as they run over the cut again and again. He watches it and the seconds blend with the minutes as they sit and watch the blood trickle over the array of purple scars.
He cleans it up, puts a plaster over the wounds, ties an old sock over them in case they bleed through, and shoves the scalpel to the bottom of his pocket.
They walk back to the Gryffindor Common room.
It hasn't worked; the badness is still there, inside of them. Ron doesn't know what he'll have to do to get it out.
Ron drags their feet up to Draco's bedroom. It's been three days since they were last here and Draco hasn't stopped trying to catch their eye or talk to them since. They feel like if they don't face him soon, Draco will implode. There's a faint uneasiness in his stomach and tightness in his chest, but they know it's general anxiety of confrontation and not fear that raises their heartbeat.
He knocks on the door and Draco answers it almost instantly. His eyes widen at the sight of Ron standing awkwardly in the doorway.
"Ron," he starts, not daring to pull in for a hug. "I am so sorry. I promise I didn't mean to do anything you didn't want to, I just wasn't thinking and I'm so sorry." He can't keep a lid on his emotions and he starts crying big, ugly sobs, quite the shock for Ron as they've never seen him so much as shed a tear before.
"I'm so sorry," he sobs. "I didn't mean to. I promise I didn't know. I was just, I don't know, not paying attention."
He chokes back the tears and Ron gazes sadly at him. All they want to do is blame themselves. Maybe if they spoke louder, held him back better, was more insistent.
"It's okay," Ron says softly. His anxieties ease at the remorse on Draco's face. He can see that it's been destroying him.
"There's a reason," says Draco, his voice wobbling with emotion. "I'd never just- I didn't mean to, Ron. I'm fucked up right now, everything's gone to shit and I'm not myself."
"Everyone makes mistakes," says Ron. Even though they don't fully forgive him, he can't help but console him. "It's okay. I should've told you I wasn't into it or stopped you or something."
"No, don't blame yourself, please, don't you dare blame yourself," says Draco. He sniffs, wiping the tears away. "It's completely my fault, I knew you didn't want me doing that, I knew it. I'm so fucking disgusted at myself, Ron. I am so sorry. I should've asked you, I don't know what I was thinking."
Ron doesn't know how to respond to this. He stares into Draco's red-brimmed eyes.
"What have you done to your hand?" Ron asks on seeing his scabbed and raw knuckles.
"Nothing," says Draco.
"It's not nothing, what happened?"
"It doesn't matter," he says. "All that matters is that you're okay because I did a terrible thing and I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."
Ron nods in acceptance of his apology.
"Are you okay now?" asks Draco. "God, stupid question, I mean I obviously upset you, but like, did I hurt you or anything?"
Ron shakes their head. "No, it was just unexpected. I'm fine."
"Ugh, I'm such a cunt," Draco groans. "Ron, I was a proper dickhead. I understand if you want to stop, you know, kissing or any of that stuff, or if you want to just end it altogether. I honestly don't know what I was thinking. Maybe we should have a break from all of this. I don't want to hurt you again," he says, his tone spiralling into self-hatred. "You shouldn't be with me when I'm like this, I'm so fucking out of it and you deserve better."
"What?" Ron exclaims. "Are you breaking up with me?"
"I don't know, it might be for the best," says Draco, twisting his arms around his back. "You could come back whenever you feel comfortable to, and if you don't then don't come back. I get if you don't want me near you again, honestly, I understand and I won't be mad."
Ron gives him an injured look, then walks forward and puts his head on Draco's shoulder. Draco, startled for a second, gently wraps his arms around Ron.
"I don't want to end this, this you wanker," they whisper. "How could you even think that?"
Draco releases a shaky breath. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Ron, and I feel so guilty that I've hurt you. I'm a shit boyfriend," he breathes as they stay rested on each other. "I'm really, really sorry."
"It was a mistake," says Ron. Then after a long pause of reflection: "I forgive you."
"Really?" he says, hopefulness mixed with disbelief.
"Yes. And you're not a shit boyfriend." Ron pulls out of the hug and makes eye contact. "Fucking hell, look at us both," he smiles, referencing their-tears stained faces. "I'm going to go now," Ron says, stepping away. "Because the mood's been ruined. I'll come on Friday like usual and this is all going back to normal, all right? Let's just put this behind us."
"Are you sure?" says Draco. "I don't want to forget about this if it's made you upset."
"I'll be fine." Ron flashes a sad smile. "Friday we're going to be happy."
"Okay," Draco says uncertainly. "If you're sure."
"I am sure. Come here."
Ron pulls him into a hug, and despite the previous week, they feel completely safe in his arms.
"I'm sorry, again," Draco mutters into their ear. "I won't do anything like that again, I promise."
"I know," Ron says, tapping Draco's cast. "When are you getting that off?"
"In a few days, if I'm lucky."
"Okay," says Ron, edging towards the door. "I'll go now. See you Friday."
"See you on Friday, Ron. I'm sorry, again."
"Fucking hell, stop apologising," says Ron looking sternly at his guilty expression. "Draco, don't beat yourself up over this, I swear to God. Forget about it or you're going to make me feel bad too."
"Okay," Draco says, biting the 'sorry' off his tongue. "I'll stop."
"Good," says Ron. "Now can I say goodnight?"
"Yes."
"Okay," they say, patting him gently on the shoulder. "Goodnight, Draco."
"Goodnight, Ron."
Draco watches them limp slightly on the way out, his stomach still unsettled.
[Two weeks later]
"I've talked enough, you can have your results now," says Professor Slughorn to his sixth-year potions class. They mutter excitedly between themselves as Slughorn goes around the room handing out papers.
"Don't worry if you didn't get the result you wanted," Slughorn announces after handing them all out. "I'll be honest, most of you could've done with a bit more revision but this exam isn't important in the long run, it's just to prepare you for your finals in June."
"Ugh," groans Daphne as she looks at her percentage. "Sixty-five percent."
"That's not bad, I got fifty-three percent," laughs Millicent, folding her test paper up. They sit together on a row of six, along with Draco, Pansy, Blaise, and Goyle. Crabbe sits at the end of the next row, leaning over to talk to them.
"I got a 'U'," pouts Crabbe.
"You didn't study, though Crabbe," Blaise comments.
Crabbe shrugs. "No one did."
"I studied, actually," xe says.
"Of course you did," Pansy scoffs.
Millicent snatches his test paper. "Let's see what you got then, Blaise." She rolls her eyes. "Ninety-two percent."
"Woah, that's good," says Goyle.
"Thank you," Blaise says.
"Draco, what did you get?" asks Daphne, elbowing him.
"Eighty-six percent," says Draco emptily. He knows it's only a result of asking Slughorn to boost his grades and not any real achievement.
"What the hell?" Daphne says. She notices his blank expression. "Aren't you pleased?"
"Yeah," says Draco.
"That's so good," says Pansy. "I got seventy-one percent and I revised like a bitch."
Slughorn catches the tail end of their conversation as he walks around to the row. "Are we all happy with our scores?" he asks.
"Yes," says Blaise instantly.
The others give mixed muttering.
"I revised so much Professor Slughorn," Pansy complains. "And I was still so far off Blaise and Draco."
Slughorn gives a sympathetic look. "Better luck next time. Some things can't be revised in the textbooks, like writing technique."
"Writing technique?" Millicent half scoffs.
"Millicent, you've got excellent writing technique," Slughorn says to her surprise. "Crabbe, I was expecting more but don't worry about it, you'll have plenty more chances," he says. "The exams aren't for months yet. Well done to Blaise and Draco on their exceptional test results."
Blaise beams proudly, Draco keeping his eyes firmly on the desk.
"Right everyone, that's the bell," Slughorn calls as the bell goes for the end of the day and the class erupts into noise.
"Well done, Draco," he says again, tapping a hand on his test paper. Draco takes this as an instruction to stay behind as the rest of the class filters out.
"I'll be up soon," Draco says to Blaise as she lingers at the end of the desk.
"Alright," xe says. Xeir smile fades as he barely reacts. Draco refuses to tell her why he's been staying after pretty much every potions lesson after school on Mondays and Thursdays. They assume it's for extra tutoring considering his grades. Blaise leaves and Slughorn locks the classroom door behind them, bustling around with the papers and tucking in chairs. Draco sits still at his desk, phasing out his work-related mutterings.
"You failed the test," Slughorn says simply, pulling up a chair to sit opposite Draco.
"I know."
Slughorn crosses his arms. "You're digging yourself a hole," he says. "What happens when people realise you know nothing about potions and you've been failing for five months?"
"What 'people'?"
"Your parents, other professors, the exam board."
Draco shrugs. "They won't find out."
"Alright," says Slughorn. "But I'm not bailing you out when someone catches on."
"No one will catch on."
"Fine. Be like that," says Slughorn. "I'm just warning you."
Draco looks down at the floor, unimpressed and bored. Waiting for Slughorn to get on with it. He hates the build-up, every second of it. He hates hearing his voice, he hates looking at his face, he hates being in the same room.
"Have you broken up with Weasely yet?"
Draco stares dead in his eyes. Slughorn knows they haven't broken up.
"Yes," Draco says, just like every other time he's asked. He's learned that this way is the easier option. He flinches, preparing himself for the fallout.
"I know you're lying," says Slughorn.
"Why did you ask then?" Draco retorts.
Slughorn clenches his jaw and smacks the back of his hand across Draco's face. It connects with a loud clap. "You fucking disgust me," he growls. "I don't know why I do anything good for you." Draco cradles his cheeks, eyes watering.
"Now, be a good boy and get on your knees."
Draco flares his nostrils. He has no choice but to obediently kneel, wishing himself somewhere, anywhere, else. He feels Slughorn's controlling hands on the back of his head, knowing the dust on the floor is currently rubbing off onto his lower trousers, hearing nothing but silence.
As the force makes him gag for the third time, Slughorn suddenly jerks back and kicks his boot full force into Draco's chest. Draco sprawls down across the floor, all the air knocked out of him.
"Get up. We're done today."
Draco barely moves. He wipes his mouth, crumpled on the floor, pain searing through his chest.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, humiliated.
Slughorn turns away, getting up to re-dress himself and Draco tries to find the motivation to pull himself to his feet.
"What's the issue, Draco?" says Slughorn, turning back to him. "I haven't grown five inches since last week, have I?" He slams his hand down on the desk. "I can't be arsed with your shit today. Get out of my classroom."
"I'm sorry," Draco says quietly. "I'll do better next time."
"I should fucking hope so."
Draco unbolts the door and leaves, blinded with fury and guilt. Why does he have to ruin everything?
"Hey." Ron bounds in.
"What's happened now?" Draco asks, letting them in without their usual embrace.
"Huh?"
"You look on top of the world."
"Do I?" Ron says, twirling around the room before sitting next to Draco on the sofa. "Look what I brought." They pull out some threads from their pockets. "Do you want to make some bracelets?"
"Yeah, sure," says Draco.
Ron leans forward to kiss him casually, but Draco backs away suddenly.
Ron's cheerful expression fades. "What's wrong?" they ask.
"I'm just- I don't want to do any of that right now," Draco says, his stomach twisting. Ron hesitates, unsure whether to take it further or not.
"Is it me?"
"No, no," Draco says. "It's not you."
"Alright," says Ron with an air of suspicion. It's unlike Draco to be like this at all, although he has been extra cautious about any physical contact since the incident three weeks ago.
"Pass some of the blue ones," Draco says, and Ron pushes his thoughts away. Everyone has off days.
"I sold a few of these to some girls in the year below," Ron says. "I had enough money to buy some new clothes and things so I went to Hogsmeade and got some stuff."
"Ooh, what have you got?"
"Well, I'll show you on Friday but it's like this brown dungaree thing which can go on top of pretty much any of my jumpers. And I also got, oh my God, wait."
Ron digs round in their other pocket, fishing out three muted yellow hair slides. "I also got these, and I actually remembered to bring them."
"Put them in," Draco suggests.
Ron does so, feeling his face heat up as Draco stares at them.
"They suit you," Draco smiles. "That's definitely your colour."
"Thanks," Ron says. "It's shame I can't wear them around school, though."
"I wouldn't say it's a shame," says Draco. "I've got clip-wearing Ron all to myself."
"Are you looking forward to the match tomorrow?" Draco asks as they finish up making their bracelets.
"Kind of," says Ron. "I'm shitting myself to be honest. It's my first ever match in front of the whole school."
"You'll be great, I've seen you in flying class," says Draco, looping his navy thread around his wrist.
"You think so?"
"Of course."
They keep talking, Draco keeping a safe distance from Ron at all times. Ron notices but doesn't mention it any further.
"I know what we should do," says Draco eventually.
"I can't be arsed to play chess," Ron groans as he goes over to the bookshelf.
"I've got something even better," Draco grins. He spins around with the scrabble board. "Scrabble."
"I don't know how you have the energy to do games this late. They drain me."
Ron moves so he's sitting opposite Draco around the table.
"Games energise me," says Draco, taking out seven tiles from the bag. "I feel alive."
Ron gives him a look. "You're so bloody weird."
"Do you want some good news?" Ron asks once they get to the slow part of the game where most legal words possible have been used.
"Is this a tactic to distract me from finding a high-scoring word you've just spotted?" Draco asks, not taking his eyes off the board.
"No, it's not, believe it or not," says Ron. "I am quitting self-harm. Or trying to." He gives a nervous laugh. "But it's going well, I'm three weeks clean."
Draco's eyes dart up. "Oh God, really?"
"Yeah," Ron grins.
"Fucking hell," says Draco. "I'm, wow, that's so good. Well done, congrats. I don't know what I'm supposed to say but yeah, well done."
"I'm going to try and quit for good this time," says Ron. "End of. I'll start flying straight downwards instead like you recommended."
"Yeah, good idea," Draco smiles. "You should do that at the match tomorrow, I'm sure you get extra points for fracturing your spinal cord."
"Piss off, you're just jealous that Gryffindors are undefeated."
"Yeah and why do you think that is? It all started going downhill since I left my team."
"Of course, that's what it is," nods Ron. "Their star player Draco bloody Malfoy resigned from the team. Absolutely nothing to do with fouls the Slytherins rack up because people don't know how to keep their bats to themselves."
Draco raises his eyebrows haughtily. "I don't know how you could suggest such a thing. But seriously Ron, I'm proud of you for trying to stop."
"Thanks."
Draco's eyes dart back to the board. "Now come on, finish the game. Or do you give up?"
"No way," Ron smiles, leaning into the board. "I'm so going to win this."
"Sure you are."
"Shut up, I can't focus while you're talking."
Draco snorts but lets them focus.
"Ok, I give up," Ron groans after another ten minutes.
"Thank God, look at my letters," Draco says, showing Ron his remaining letters, 'a, e, i, e, e, z, k.' "I couldn't have made anything with those."
"So what score did you finish on?" Ron asks. "I got fifty-five."
"Drumroll please," says Draco, hiding his sheet of paper with the tally of his score on. Ron pats his knees in a drumroll.
"I got... sixty-eight!"
"Fuck's sake," Ron groans. Another victory for Draco. "I need to get better at this, don't I?" says Ron, putting the tiles back away in the bag.
"I can never be beaten," Draco chuckles, doing a little jig in celebration.
"I'm going to practice," says Ron, crossing their arms. "Once I get a board, I'm gonna practice with Harry and Hermione until you can't beat me."
"Yeah, good luck with that. I doubt Hermione would let you win once."
Ron elbows him. "Maybe she'll teach me some new words."
Draco snorts, biting back his tongue from unleashing the multitude of comments he's been saving for Hermione. "I'm not saying anything else about her."
"Best not."
"Has she and Harry shagged yet?"
Ron gives him a disgusted look. "Draco, what the fuck?"
"Oh, come on, you can tell they're all over each other."
Ron folds their arms. "I'm not talking about it."
"Fine, fine."
"I don't want to end on that note, but I really should be off," Ron says after looking at the clock. "We're doing last-minute practice tomorrow morning at an ungodly hour so I can't stay up too late or I'll be falling off my broomstick from exhaustion."
"Just so you know, the Slytherins are fucking clear," Draco says. "They've been practicing daily for weeks, there's no way you're going to beat them."
Ron rolls their eyes. "Nice try, but I doubt they won't be relying on their usual tactic of trying to push the opponent off their brooms."
"What do you mean? We never do that," Draco says.
"Yeah, yeah, sure you don't. See how many fouls you get tomorrow. I'll be thinking of you for every single one."
"How very romantic of you," Draco grins, walking with them to the door.
"See you next Tuesday then?" Ron says.
"Yep, I shall see you then," says Draco. "And good luck with the match tomorrow. You'll be great."
"Thanks," they beam, and almost lean in for a hug but remember the cold reception they received earlier.
"Do you want to hug or...?"
"I'm alright," Draco says with a forced smile. The truth is, he can't bear anyone else's hands on him right now. "I'll see you Tuesday."
"Okay, nighty night," Ron says, giving a little wave to replace the lack of embrace.
"Night, Ron. I'll be watching you tomorrow," he adds as Ron makes their way out.
"Creepy," they call back.
Snape watches Harry fly around the bounds of the pitch, eyes scowering for the golden snitch. There's a loud boo from the crowd as Nott quite clearly boots a member of the opposing team with his bat across the legs, causing them to wobble to one side.
"Are you enjoying the match?" Remus says, sitting down in the empty seat next to Snape. The professor's tent is packed full apart from the back corner Snape has squeezed himself into.
"Not particularly," he says, pulling his robe tighter across his body. "How are you?"
"Yeah, I'm alright," he nods. "And you?"
"Bored."
"I see," Remus says, watching the game. "Look, Severus, this probably isn't the best place to discuss this," he says, lowering his voice as much as possible over the roaring crowd. "But it's about Nymph."
"What about her?" Snape says, turning fully to face him.
"She wants to get married."
"Dear God," he mutters, disguising his surprise through pursed lips. "And what did you say?"
"I said no."
"Oh."
Remus takes his coat off and puts it on the back of his chair. "Ten points to Gryffindor," a voice booms over the speaker as a Quaffle flies through Slytherin's undefended basket. The onlookers cheer.
"I think we will though," Remus says. "Get married, that is."
Snape crosses his arms, unimpressed by the goal. "Forgive me for making assumptions, but if you said no then you aren't getting married," he says.
"She'll end up convincing me," Remus says.
"Remus, a no is a no."
"I know but let me explain. She thinks the reason I'm saying no is because of-" He cuts himself off.
"Because of...?"
"Do you know about the whole-?" he points to the sky and back to himself.
"That you're a werewolf? Yes, I know about that."
"Of course you do," Remus sighs. "How the hell-"
"Sirius as good as told me in sixth year," Snape says. "He tried to lure me to the shack you shifted in so you'd tear me to shreds. Just another one of his hilarious pranks."
"What?" Remus says sharply, his mild expression vanishing. "He did fucking what?"
Snap grimaces as several professors glance around at the sudden outcry.
"I could've killed you, what the bloody hell was he thinking?" Remus hisses, a tone quieter.
"James stopped me," Snape says with a shrug. "That's about the only nice thing he's done for me, prevented me from getting savagely eaten."
"If that boy was here, I'd be giving him a piece of my mind," Remus says with venom that Snape hasn't heard in his voice for a long time.
"I survived," says Snape. "It's irrelevant now. What I was going to ask is why would you being a werewolf affect the marriage from your point of view?"
Remus bites back his thoughts on Sirius' 'prank' and puts his mind back to the present.
"Because I don't want to put her in danger. Or anyone for that matter. And marriage is one step away from having kids and I'm not prepared to pass this onto someone else."
"You're getting a bit ahead of yourself, don't you think?" says Snape at the mention of kids. "Take one step at a time. So, she thinks it's because of that."
"It is partly."
"Right, but what's the real reason?"
Remus glances around to make sure no one's been listening. Thankfully, everyone is fixated on the match.
"It's Sirius," he says, but Snape knew what the answer was before it left his mouth. "I know I've been pretending like I'm over him and that I'm okay now, but I'm really not. It's been nearly a year and I still can't go a day without thinking about him. It's like there's a permanent hole in my heart that nothing can fill."
"And you're not going to tell her that?"
"No," says Remus. "She doesn't know about him, no one does."
"Why don't you tell her?" Snape asks. "I don't think she's the type to be against that kind of thing. If you ask me, she seems slightly... you know, herself."
"Are you trying to tell me that you think my soon-to-be fiancé is a lesbian, Severus?" Remus says seriously, a twinkle of humour in his eyes.
"No, not necessarily a lesbian," says Snape, slightly flustered. "Just attracted to women in some way."
"It's easier to keep quiet about it all," Remus says. "Because imagine she flips out, then I've lost my partner and I've lost the only thing keeping me going. It's just not worth the risk."
"Fine, it's your decision," Snape says. "But I still don't see why you need to get married when you've hardly known each other a year."
"That's not important," says Remus. "The important thing is is that the werewolf thing isn't enough to put her off wanting to marry and start a family with me. She doesn't think it's good enough of a reason for me to reject her based on that alone."
"I would tell you to refuse her proposition," Snape says. "But clearly it's not that simple or you wouldn't be talking to me right now."
"I don't know what to do," says Remus. "She wants this so badly, and who am I to deny her that? Because of some childhood crush that I can't get over?"
Remus sighs deeply; reducing his profound and undying love for Sirius as a 'childhood crush' hurts.
"We both know he was more than that," Snape says. "And what do you mean who are you to deny her? It's your relationship, Remus. You'd make up half of the marrige, it's not going to work if you don't want it. It absolutely is your place to tell her if this isn't going to work."
"I know, I just..." Remus sighs. "If I don't do this, how am I ever going to get on with my life? I need something to make me move on from Sirius before I get depressed and start drinking again."
"Marriage is a bit extreme though, don't you think?" Snape says.
"Are you two enjoying the match?" Madam Hooch says chirpily, approaching the pair huddled in the corner. Snape can't keep the disdainful grimace off his face at the interruption.
"Yes," Remus says. "The Gryffindors are doing superbly, I must say."
"They're a first-rate team," she nods. "Although I was a bit concerned with putting Potter as a seeker with his injury."
"His injury?"
Snape stands abruptly, not entertaining the small talk. "We can pick this up another time, Remus," he says.
"Gosh, sorry, did I interrupt?" says Madam Hooch, flapping a hand to her chest.
"Certainly not," Snape says, striding away.
"Don't mind him," Remus forces a smile at her and looks back to the game. "He's always like that."