Author's Note: Thank you to all who reviewed! Can you beleive how shocked and pleased I was to see thrity-six new reviews? Wow! And my chapters aren't that long...Well, here's chapter two, hope you like it. Mind you, I did write it at one o'clock in the morning...

He couldn't believe it. He was in shock. Here she was, enclosed in his arms, her head upon his chest. He tangled his hand in her hair, drowning in her scent, he touch. He grazed his other hand over her cheek, then over her closed eyelid. His heart melted, and he lost all reason as he lifted her face towards his own.

And then, the pain came. His back arched, and he lifted his face in pain, his neck elongating. And there it was. The full moon. How could he have forgotten? How could this have happened?

He tried to cry out, to yell at her to leave, but his voice had left him, and his hands, or rather, claws, were grasping her wrists so tight she could not have run, even if he told her to.

A fierce snarl burst from his throat as the transformation was complete, the remainder of his robes falling from him into a pile of rags upon the ground. She shrieked and pulled from him, but he would not let go. He howled and turned upon her, fangs barred…

"NOOOOOOO!" yelled Remus, as he fought for his eyes to open, and at once found himself in one of the old armchairs in number twelve, Grimmauld Place. He pushed the old blanket to the ground and stood up, wiping cold sweat from his face. He walked to the mirror, and saw nothing but his own careworn face. No snout. No fangs. He glanced at the window. The moon was new. Not nearly a full one yet. It had been a dream. That was all.

And yet, Remus could not shake the thought from his mind. The terror in her eyes. Her scream. What if that really….

"No," he told himself. "That will never happen. I'll never let it. It doesn't matter how much I lo-" He stopped, unable to bring himself to finish the word. To finish it would make it so much harder to walk away from. "How much I care about her," he said.

He walked into the hall and waved his wand, a glass appearing out of nowhere, filled with a dark amber liquid. He took a sip, and frowned. He'd never been one to drink much, but lately…Well, he'd drank much more than he ever had before, but not nearly as much as Sirius ever had. He took another gulp, ascending the stairs.

Her voice spoke in his ears as though it had just happened, though in reality, it was nearly a week ago.

'Don't tell me you don't feel the same way Remus!" she had said desperately, grabbing his sleeve as he attempted to walk away. "I love you! Don't you…" Her voice had faltered, and it had broken his heart. "Don't you love me too?"

And how had he responded? With a "I'm too old for you. It would never work. I'm too dangerous…I don't love you." At those words, what was left of his heart had shattered into a thousand pieces, and he had turned his face away from her to hide his eyes, swimming in tears. He remembered her tearing from the room, holding her face in her hands, sobbing in anger and pain.

But what else could he do? He was too old for her; that was sure. He was thirty-six years old for goodness sake! And she was what? Twenty-three?

And then there was the fact that there was a war going on. For all either of them knew, it wasn't real love at all, just the desperate lust and passion between two souls at a time of despair and crisis. At least, that's what he told himself. That it wasn't real love at all. But he had never been good at lying to anyone, least of all himself.

And of course, he was a werewolf. Far too dangerous. And besides, he couldn't put her in that sort of danger, it would kill him just knowing she was at risk. He couldn't bear it.

Yes, much as hit hurt him to cause her pain, he couldn't make her think he felt the same way. Nothing good could come of it in the end.

He entered the drawing room and set his half empty glass down on a desk, sighing and picking up a leather bound tomb he'd been studying earlier. He then noticed another book lying on the desk. He'd seen Molly with it days ago, it was her photo album. She must have left it.

He set his book down and picked up the album curiously and opened to a page in the middle. There was the Order of the Phoenix, sixteen years ago. And on the opposite page, was the current one. He could see Arthur and Molly, as well as Charlie and Bill standing with them. And there was Dumbledore, and Sirius…This must have been taken before he died. And Kingsley, and Mundungus, and many others. And there, towards the right of the picture, was himself.

And she was beside him. He'd never noticed it before. The photo version of himself kept stealing glances at her, and she, in return, glanced at him every once and a while. He closed the book quickly, putting it back on the desk.

He picked up his glass again and drained it, shuddering slightly. He vanished the glass with a wave of his wand. More sleep, that's what he needed. But then again, more sleep meant more dreams. And more dreams meant more nightmares of himself hurting her…For ever since she had confessed her feelings to him, such nightmares had plagued his every moment asleep. He couldn't very well concoct a potion for dreamless sleep, for he never knew how long he would be able to sleep, or at what hours.

He ambled into his room, beside Sirius' old one, and fell onto the bed with a sigh. Any other man might cry in such a case, torn between anger and torment and fear. But Remus had already cried so many tears he seemed to have none left. And at times like these, he wish he had. For all his emotion was bottled inside him, and he had no way of letting it out.

And so he willed himself not to sleep. Not to even close his eyes. But really? How long could that last? Sooner or later, the nightmares would come.