Chapter 11

What are days for?
Days are where we live.
They come, they wake us
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:
Where can we live but days?

- Philip Larkin [Days]

Remus carefully set another book onto the shelf, his fingers lingering on its spine. He let his eyes flicker closed for a moment, breathing in the musty scents of paper and ink—it was his favorite thing about working at Flourish and Blots. He heard the bell on the door ring as a customer came in, and he quickly stooped down to pick up another book, turning his face away so he wouldn't be recognized. It had been a condition of his employment that he stay out of sight. They didn't want backlash from their customers if they learned a werewolf was working there. Now that all the students had gone back to Hogwarts, there was much less of a risk of anyone recognizing him.

Picking up another book, he set it in its place and glanced out the front window of the shop. He hated himself for looking. He knew she would be there. It was Friday afternoon after all. Every Friday in September, Rose and a woman he did not know would sit at one of the patio tables of a café across the street and eat lunch and drink coffee. Based on the folders and paperwork the two had with them he assumed the pair were coworkers—the idea that they might be more always made his stomach flip sickeningly. He knew Rose well enough to know that she had picked this location for their meetings intentionally. She must have only worked half days on Fridays as she would sit at the café long after her coworker left and read from the book of poetry he'd once given her.

She was driving him crazy doing this. He was entranced by the forlorn look in her eyes when she read a particularly poignant line. The gentle tilt of her head filled him with an affection for her that nearly caused his heart to burst. And when she'd lick her fingertips to turn a page, he would imagine his own lips capturing hers, his tongue entwining with her own, his fingertips running over her body the way she ran them over the pages of the book.

Today a man with honey-blonde hair had joined the pair at their table. The man was undeniably handsome and only a few years younger than Remus. At the moment, Rose was laughing at something he'd said and twirling a strand of long red hair around her finger. Remus looked away from the window quickly and slammed another book onto the shelf. The book let out a pitiable wail at this treatment, and Remus winced, glancing around to see if his manager had noticed. He hadn't. Remus couldn't help the jealousy he felt even though he knew it was completely misplaced. It made no sense for him to be jealous of the people in her life when he had done his best to cut himself out of it. Yet he kept being drawn back to her, and she seemed unwilling to let him go.

Rose leaned back in her chair and glanced up at the bright blue sky. It was a beautiful autumn day with barely any clouds and only a light breeze. She, Gina, and Damien had been reviewing how their research was going but had long since lapsed into casual conversation. September had crawled by in a sluggish haze. She'd been grateful for the departure of Draco to Hogwarts. Rose had been able to make excuses to get out of visiting her parents when Narcissa sent her invitations. She hadn't heard anything at all from her father. Rose still hadn't decided how to respond to her family after the Quidditch World Cup. As such, she had defaulted to her tendency to avoid situations and people that made her uncomfortable.

One person she could not avoid in a similar manner was Damien.

"I'm going to head back to the lab to finish up some paperwork before I head out for the day," Gina said, and the pair bid her farewell. Rose glanced around the alley to avoid looking at Damien. She couldn't help still feeling awkward around him.

"How is he," Damien asked hesitantly after Gina departed. Rose glanced at the man with raised eyebrows, but he was pushing a cherry tomato moodily around his plate and refused to look at her.

"He's having nightmares," Rose answered scathingly. She had practically moved into Stefan's bedroom because of them.

"He's always had nightmares," Damien answered quietly.

"I thought we weren't talking about him," Rose said accusingly, and Damien winced. When she'd first tried to talk to him about Stefan after the World Cup, Damien had told her in no uncertain terms to drop it.

"We're not," he answered stiffly.

"I thought you left," she pressed, and he finally raised his eyes to glare at her, but she didn't look away.

"I did," he said firmly before his gaze softened. "I… I still worry though."

"Well next time you worry, you can ask him yourself," Rose replied with a sneer. Damien crossed his arms and glared at her. Rose didn't care. She was the one who'd had to see Stefan crying and walking around in an apathetic daze for the past month.

"There won't be a next time," he said firmly.

"You're lying," she said, and Damien stood up abruptly.

"Have a good weekend, Rose," he said, turning and walking away. Rose blew a strand of hair out of her face moodily. She knew she was being hypocritical. She was currently avoiding her family for what had happened at the match, yet she was judging Damien for avoiding Stefan for the same reason. But then, Rose had to see the consequences of Damien's actions whereas she never had to see her mother crying over another letter saying she was too busy to visit. Wincing at the thought of Narcissa crying, Rose shook her head to clear it.

Leaning back in her chair, Rose pulled out the old leatherbound poetry book and flipped randomly through its pages. Like her, Remus only worked half days on Fridays. He should be getting off soon. Tucking her hair behind one ear and stretching her legs out on another chair, Rose tried to pass the time by reading but found that she was too distracted to take much of anything in. She was skimming a few lines of a Mary Oliver poem when she heard the bell of Flourish and Blots ring. Staring determinedly at the text, she forced herself to read rather than immediately look up to check if it was him.

There you were, and it was like spring—
Like the first fair water with the light on it,
Hitting the eyes,
Why are we made the way we are made, that to love
Is to want?

Rose digested the words on the page slowly before slamming the book closed. 'Damn poetry hitting a bit too close to the mark.' She looked up and saw Remus walking past her, determinedly not looking her way. She felt a wave of irritation shoot through her. He hadn't said a thing to her. Not for an entire month. Not since he'd turned up on her doorstep terrified that she'd been hurt. Not since he'd held her in his arms and ran his hands through her hair and kissed her forehead. She was sick of being ignored by him. Rose stood slowly, smoothed out the robes she was wearing, and flicked her wand at the bag he carried. The strap abruptly broke and the bag fell to the ground, several books spilling out of it. She could hear him curse quietly as he stooped down to pick them up. Rose casually walked over, picked up one of the books, and offered it to him.

"Here you go," she said, holding the book out. Remus gave her a suspicious look, and she smiled innocently. "Too bad about your bag."

"Reparo," he muttered, pointing his wand at the strap before stuffing the books back inside. "Stalking, destruction of property…. anything else I should be worried about?"

Rose flushed at this statement but was encouraged by the amused glint in his eyes and the humorous tone in his voice.

"I wouldn't call it stalking…" she defended meekly, and Remus chuckled at her.

"What would you call it then?"

"…pigheadedness?"

He couldn't help the laugh that escaped his mouth at that. Rolling his eyes, he began walking. Rose followed along at his side somewhat abashed but unable to keep the small smile off her face.

"How was work," she asked conversationally. Remus glanced down at her out of the corner of his eye. He was quiet for a moment before deciding she wasn't going to leave him alone.

"Fine," he answered simply. "You?"

"Fine," she parroted with a shrug. Stepping close, Rose wrapped her arm through his and leaned her head against his shoulder.

"I've missed you," she said. Remus stiffened abruptly and paused. He glanced around the nearly empty alley for a long moment before relaxing and allowing her to retain her spot on his arm.

"You're impossible," he told her.

"I know," she answered. And then with a smile, "You like it."

Remus opened and closed his mouth, deciding it was better not to say anything. Despite his better judgement he did like it. He missed her when she wasn't there. It had been many lonely months and the days he'd seen her had been undeniable bright lights in the dreariness of his routine. He missed talking to her as much as he missed holding her. He missed someone looking at him not as a monster but as a man—to see in her eyes interest rather than disgust. He missed the way she could lift him from his seriousness and the boldness of her desire for him. He knew it had been a mistake to go to her the day after the World Cup, his concern and his comfort had only encouraged her. It had given her hope that he still cared for her.

He knew he should pull away and put a stop to what was happening, but the warmth of her body was intoxicating. With only two days to go before the next full moon all his senses were thrown into sharper focus. With her this close he could smell the warm molten scent of her and the underlying spiciness of her desire. It made the wolfish part of him practically howl in approval that he could elicit this reaction from her body simply by standing so near. Shaking his head, Remus bereted himself for this train of thought and tried to clear his head. But her presence and her scent refused to leave him. It was such a familiar frustrating circumstance that they were stumbling back into. One where she was pursuing him, and he was too cowardly to turn her away or to take things further.

'How can you be a coward, Professor, aren't you supposed to be a Gryffindor? I really want to know which kind of brave you'll be.' The memory of her teasing voice and the warm press of her body against his seemed to call to him out of time. Urging him to meet her boldness with his own.

The pair walked in silence for another long moment before Remus let out a low growl of frustration. Rose glanced up at him in surprise when he disentangled his arm from hers and turned to her suddenly, gripping her shoulders with both of his hands. He stared into her eyes with an intensity that sent a wave of heat coursing through her body.

"Have dinner with me," he said, and Rose gaped at him.

"Really," she asked breathlessly. Remus gave her an amused look.

"Unless you'd rather not?"

"No! I'd love to!" She exclaimed a bit too loudly. She flushed a bright pink at her own eagerness, and he grinned. It was the mischievous, boyish grin she so loved that stripped years of care from his face. Letting his hands fall from her shoulders, he laced his fingers with her own and turned on his heel.

Rose breathed in sharply when they arrived at their destination. She had been surprised by the sudden apparition, and even though it was over the feeling of being squeezed through a tube had not quite left. She wasn't sure if this was from the apparition or from her own nerves. Remus had already demonstrated his tendency to suddenly leap forward in intimacy and then immediately regret it and recoil emotionally. So while she was delighted by his sudden request, she still felt cautious. And she could tell he was nervous too by how hard he was holding her hand.

"It's not much," he said as they walked up a gravel lane towards a small two-story cottage. The house might once have been white but was now a dingy yellow. Ivy had grown up across one side of it and paint was chipping off from years of weather damage. The front garden was a bit overgrown but pretty enough and the picket fence that surrounded it was missing some boards. Rose managed not to wince at the sight. Had she not recently been to the Burrow she would have been far less prepared to see his home.

"It's beautiful here," she said instead, looking around the private clearing the house was situated in. They were surrounded mostly by woods and the leaves were just beginning to change colors. It had been the right thing to say, Remus smiled at her.

"You should see it in the winter with snow covering everything," he said, plucking at the air to undo his wards.

"You'll have to invite me back when it snows," Rose replied, and he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She could sense that same nervous energy from him again, and she quickly looked away.

'Don't be greedy, don't push too far too fast,' she berated herself. He released her hand to open the front door and she felt suddenly afraid. Afraid of driving him away again, afraid of being hurt again, afraid of hurting him.

"Coming, Rose?" he asked, shaking her out of her thoughts. His hand was extended to her again. Smiling, she took it and followed him inside.

The interior of the cottage was kept up better than the exterior had been. Though the furnishings were obviously dated and the paint faded, it felt homey and clean. Remus led her into the kitchen and dropped her hand while he began rummaging through the fridge. Rose had a suspicion he was avoiding looking at her again. She settled herself onto a barstool at the kitchen island and watched him. It always amazed her how Remus could make mundane acts seem so effortlessly sexy with his hair falling casually into his eyes, his gaze intent, his tall frame outlined in the light of the open door.

"How does chicken alfredo sound," he asked over his shoulder.

"Sounds great," she answered immediately, and he began to pull out ingredients. She was surprised when he began to prepare the food by hand rather than using his wand. Remus must have noticed her expression.

"I enjoy cooking," he said simply. "My mother was muggle-born. She taught me."

"I don't think I've ever cooked the muggle way," Rose said.

"Would you like to learn?"

"I don't want to mess up what you're doing…" she replied hesitantly.

"You won't," he reassured her. His voice was so tender when he said it that she couldn't help believing him.

Rose found that pasta was simple enough to prepare, and seasoning chicken—though touching the raw meat repulsed her—was well within her capabilities. Mincing garlic, however, terrified her. The last time she'd used a knife was to prepare vegetables at Sam's house, but none of them had required the fine mincing that the garlic did. But with Remus' coaching she managed it while he put the chicken in the oven and began to melt butter on a large skillet.

"I wonder if Lilly would have taught me to cook," Rose said aloud, biting her lip as soon as the words came out. Remus paused and glanced at her, giving her a soft smile.

"I'm sure they both would have. James turned into a decent cook after a few years. It was Sirius who was always hopeless with that sort of thing," his eyes took on a faraway quality, and she knew he was reminiscing over his old friends.

"Have you heard from him… Sirius?" She asked, squishing another garlic glove with the flat of her blade like he'd shown her.

"Just once saying he was going south and that he was safe," Remus replied. "You?"

"A couple of times," she answered.

"Have you spoken to Harry at all since the match?" he asked after a long pause.

Rose let her hair fall into her face and shook her head slowly. All month she'd been trying to decide what to do about Harry—whether to write him or leave him alone. She was so ashamed after the World Cup and every time she put a quill to paper she couldn't think of what to say. She felt a hand on her shoulder and glanced up to see Remus looking down at her with understanding in his eyes.

"I'm sure he doesn't blame you for what happened," he told her, and Rose felt her stomach clench. "Write him when you're ready."

Rose nodded at this, grateful that he wasn't pushing her to talk to Harry immediately. The rest of the preparations passed with less serious conversation, and Remus gave her a brief tour of the house while the chicken cooked in the oven. When they finally sat down at the small dining table together and ate both were feeling comfortable in one another's presence.

"That was delicious," Rose said, leaning back from her plate with a contended sigh.

"And we made it through a whole meal without fighting," Remus pointed out. Rose laughed.

"Miraculous," she grinned. Glancing through the window at the now setting sun, she looked back at Remus and gave him an apologetic look. "I should probably go."

"Of course," he answered quickly, the smile on his face dimming. "Let me walk you out."

He didn't offer her his hand this time, but the pair walked close to one another towards the front gate. Rose wanted more than anything to reach out and kiss him, to fold herself into his embrace. But she knew if she tried it would be a mistake.

'Don't be greedy, don't push too far too fast,' she reminded herself again.

"Goodnight, Remus," she said in place of a kiss.

"Goodnight, Rose," he replied.

He had just enough time to begin to regret not asking her to stay before there was a soft pop. She was gone.