Second Secret
He tells her once that Lily and James argued for a week over whether to make him or Sirius Harry's godfather. Lily, who had been his best friend before he was James' and Peter's and Sirius' missing link and was still sore at Sirius for a few of the more inappropriate jokes he had played on her, had remarked tartly that she would never be able to rest comfortable knowing that that prankster would have custody of her son if anything happened to them. When he found out that they were arguing about it, in his own quiet way, Remus saved them the trouble by telling them that he wouldn't accept the position if they asked him.
"Why?" she wonders aloud as she traces patterns down the paths of his ribs, which protrude painfully from his too-thin chest. The blanket is fleecy and uncomfortable, without a softer, cooler sheet to go under it, and they are sweating in the summer heat.
"Dora, you know why. I'm a werewolf. He couldn't possibly have lived with me. I could never have supported him."
"I don't see why that should possibly matter," she says obstinately and rolls over in his arms so that he is spooned behind her, their legs threaded together.
"What if I forget to take the Wolfsbane?"
"When do you ever forget anything, Remus?"
There is a long pause, and she relaxes against him, her breaths growing long and deep. He swallows against the sudden lump in his throat from feeling as if she is his family, from feeling so miserably alone for so long, from wondering how it, how he, would have been different if Harry had been his. "Still . . ." he whispers softly to himself, "I would have loved it . . ."
"I know," she says sleepily.
He tells her once that Lily and James argued for a week over whether to make him or Sirius Harry's godfather. Lily, who had been his best friend before he was James' and Peter's and Sirius' missing link and was still sore at Sirius for a few of the more inappropriate jokes he had played on her, had remarked tartly that she would never be able to rest comfortable knowing that that prankster would have custody of her son if anything happened to them. When he found out that they were arguing about it, in his own quiet way, Remus saved them the trouble by telling them that he wouldn't accept the position if they asked him.
"Why?" she wonders aloud as she traces patterns down the paths of his ribs, which protrude painfully from his too-thin chest. The blanket is fleecy and uncomfortable, without a softer, cooler sheet to go under it, and they are sweating in the summer heat.
"Dora, you know why. I'm a werewolf. He couldn't possibly have lived with me. I could never have supported him."
"I don't see why that should possibly matter," she says obstinately and rolls over in his arms so that he is spooned behind her, their legs threaded together.
"What if I forget to take the Wolfsbane?"
"When do you ever forget anything, Remus?"
There is a long pause, and she relaxes against him, her breaths growing long and deep. He swallows against the sudden lump in his throat from feeling as if she is his family, from feeling so miserably alone for so long, from wondering how it, how he, would have been different if Harry had been his. "Still . . ." he whispers softly to himself, "I would have loved it . . ."
"I know," she says sleepily.
