Disclaimer: This story is based on the books and characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic and Warner Brothers. No money is being made from this. No infringement on copyright is intended.

Summary: No one can really tell when love begins, least of all the self contained R. J. Lupin who was caught by surprise.

AN: Set sometime during OotP but definitely before HBP.

Against Hope

Loving someone is like hoping against hope. It is as if the seemingly impossible, the greatest happiness is merely a hairsbreadth away. Yet, it remains the hardest distance to cross.

Slow Progression

If it wasn't her, it should be disturbing how easy things fell into place. It came quietly and subtly and took him by surprise and left him breathless. It was- Remus analogized- like realizing how good a book was only when you were called for dinner and you loathed putting it down. The thought only came consciously the moment you were forced to let go.

There was no way of telling when it really began, as if things like these have distinct beginnings. He remembered certain things that happened perhaps a lifetime past, but in reality was merely over a year ago.

There were those times when he would go out of his way to walk her home, whenever she would be too tired to Apparate without splinching herself. They would pace themselves slowly, even if they both have long strides and would always take the long way around the park.

He could not tell when he began draping his coat over her, regardless of the temperature or when she started bringing the bar of Honeydukes Best Chocolate to share. Somehow, she always managed to have him eat most of it, while taking only a bite or two for herself.

There were those conversations they had during joint stakeout sessions. She would ask him about his travels, his family and the Marauders, particularly Sirius. At the beginning, he had found it presumptuous and intruding and had told her so, in polite terms, of course.

She had apologized and had distanced herself, settling for questions related to Order business and the first war. After awhile, he had missed her presumptuous questions and had offered the information freely. It amazed him how big her heart was when she did not hold it against him. Instead she shared with him her real appearance, her thoughts on being raised half a Black and half a muggle and- even if she enjoys it- how scared she gets sometimes, living the life of an Auror.

There were nights, particularly before the full moon, when the recollection of being aware of the feel of her body for the first time haunts his mind. It was an innocent enough event. She had tripped on the troll leg umbrella stand and he had caught her, held her close for a moment, patting her head like one would a child before letting go.

But when night came and dreams of her all soft and solid and real found their way to his mind, he felt ashamed at himself, even if such thoughts were unconscious and unbidden and he has no control over them.

It was while doing something as commonplace as sitting across from her, while sipping tea and listening to her describe some daring escapade to catch some Death Eater that realization struck. The irrational urge to argue with her over her risky behavior made him analyze the why's behind it and he finally acknowledged to himself what he felt for her.

Then during one of their many walks around the park near her place (when the moon was new, he was certain), his hand had slipped comfortably into hers. It was the same as before, with his coat draped over her shoulders, clashing horribly with her violently pink hair and the wrapper of the chocolate bar that he had just finished palmed in his other hand. Except this time she turned to him with a hopeful look in her eyes and a shy smile on her lips.

"What are we doing, Remus?"

Her palm was soft and warm and unconsciously, he was running his thumb back and forth over the back of her hand.

He turned his attention to something else, anything but her closeness, the heat radiating off her and the faint scent of her shampoo that still lingered at the end of the day that someone with a normal sense of smell would not be able to detect.

Lilacs.

He focused on the flickering street lamp a few paces ahead of them, the thickening fog, the soft barking of a dog far, far away bringing back recollections best left forgotten. It wasn't a safe neighborhood and not because a werewolf was currently in the area.

"I would have thought it was obvious." He finally answered, opting to ignore the very obvious, unsaid question. "I am walking you home."

"You've been walking me home for four months now."

He raised one shoulder slightly in an elegant shrug. "It's dangerous for a woman to walk alone at night."

She arched an eyebrow. "I am an Auror. A good one, at that."

"I do not doubt that."

"Then what are we doing?" She raised their clasped hands.

"We are two friends-" he emphasized the word by extricating his hand- "enjoying each others' company."

Her small smile became strained.

"I see." Her voice broke.

Then she leaned towards him. Or perhaps he crushed her against him. Or perhaps they both gravitated towards each other- it was really difficult to tell. Only the end result was he had his arms around her, he had his face buried in her hair that had turned long and brown while she had her face in the crook of his neck and her hands fisted around the cloth of his jumper.

Closing her face towards his, she whispered, "give me a good reason why we shouldn't do this."

He had many, but at that moment, he couldn't say any of them. He didn't want to say any of them.

Hours later, in his cold, dingy flat, while he had a memory to warm him and remind him of his humanity, it troubled him that he couldn't even blame his actions on the moon.