Author's notes: This is a drabble, I guess…from Remus's POV. I saw it as being about Sirius, and posted it as such, but as it doesn't say outright, it could also be about James, or even Peter (ew)!
Your Juliet
You were always my Romeo.
Pretty, perfect, sweet and loving boy. I, who had never known love, never even hoped for kindness, should never have known you. My parents told me so, just before they dropped me off to catch the train to my first year away from home. "You musn't let any of the children get too close, Remus. You don't want to hurt them, do you?"
Of course not.
I wouldn't have approached you. You or any of the others, never, would have cherished the little I had been given, this opportunity to go to school, undreamed of in my world of lunar cycles and cages and pain. No, it was you who approached me, snatching the first textbook I had ever owned out of my hand before sweeping me up into your grand, wonderful world of mischief and happiness and love.
We were only 11. I knew, even then, that there could never be anyone but you. That was the first year that I knew joy, and you were the center of that merriment. You were the sun, your brilliance vanquishing the shadows that the moon cast on my life.
I did not know, then, what my parents told me that summer. In all fairness, they did not tell me to be cruel, though it was. The truth is often thus.
"Werewolves mate for life, Remus. We know you're very young, but, well, you're nearly 12, and if you're going to start taking an interest in girls, you'll need to think about the consequences of your actions."
They were always going on about the consequences. They were always right, too. It was too late, though, for the wolf had chosen, and, having done so, could not rescind that choice. And I would not have changed that decision for all the world.
It was your well-being I thought of, two years later. At 14, you were too young to fully comprehend the decision that would have to be made. I could not ask that kind of commitment of you, and so I refused your advances, whispered my pretty lies that I would rather be just friends, please understand.
I could hear you sobbing into your pillow each night for the next two weeks. The sound tore at my heart, but I did not break. Not yet.
Then I saw you with him, and I shattered.
I had chosen for you without fully comprehending the consequences of my own decision. I was not your Juliet. You, my pretty, perfect, sweet and loving Romeo, had found another. You were not bound by the wolf. You were free.
You still loved me, of that I have no doubt. We were the Marauders, after all, and unrequited love could never tear us apart. So I watched you, and I watched him, and I dreamed.
I did what no werewolf has any right to do: I hoped.
But you did not come back. You had found your Juliet.
You were my Romeo.
But I—I was only your Rosaline.