Tuesday, March 14, 1978
"Ugh, imagine taking N.E.W.T.-level Potions?" Mary said, wrinkling her nose.
Peter grinned. "You say that literally every time Padfoot, Prongs, and Lily go to Potions."
"Because I think it every single time they go to Potions." She shook her hair out of her face and grimaced. "I felt like I could never really wash the potions fumes out of my hair. I don't think it's so bad for Lily, because her hair isn't as thick as mine…" She glanced over at Remus, who had slowed as they approached the library. "You going to spend the free period in the library today?"
He nodded. "Of course I am. I haven't been in there in almost a week. The books miss me."
She shook her head. "Better you than me."
Peter laughed and waved goodbye to Remus. "You say that every time, too," he said as he and Mary continued in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.
"I like the predictability," she explained. "It's soothing. Makes me feel like I have control over my life."
"That's fair, I suppose." He gave the password and they climbed through the portrait hole, then came to a stop in front of the fire. "You going to take a nap?"
She shook her head. "I'm not feeling very nappish."
"Don't let Moony hear you say 'nappish,'" Peter said, grinning. "He'd hate it."
"I don't see why. It's a perfectly good word."
"What do you want to do, then?"
Mary wrapped a curl around her finger and pretended to consider. Peter knew exactly what she was about to say, down to the inflection, but he played along, because like Mary, he enjoyed the predictability of their weekly ritual.
"I think we should smoke a joint," she said, releasing the curl so it sprang back against her head. "Don't you?"
He nodded. "I do."
"I thought you might." She led the way up to the dormitory, then retrieved a small pouch from Sirius's trunk and knelt beside his bed.
"Can you grab–" she began, but Peter had already taken a Quidditch magazine from Sirius's bedside table and placed it on the duvet. She grinned, then took rolling papers and a bag of marijuana from the pouch and began to roll a joint. Peter watched, mesmerized, as her hands made the deft, practiced movements. He loved the ritual of this too, the pungent smell of the marijuana, the peaceful yet focused expression on her face, the neat joint she always handed to him first.
"What do you think about…"
She made a vague hand gesture, then accepted the joint from him and put it to her lips. Peter considered his answer as she held the smoke in her lungs. He watched her exhale a long stream of smoke that curled up toward the ceiling to mingle with the weak afternoon sun streaming through the window, but following the smoke's path brought him no closer to an answer.
"I dunno," he said eventually when nothing more eloquent came to mind. He took a hit and coughed, waiting for her to reply, but she only looked at him with wide, slightly glazed eyes. Sighing, he leaned back against Sirius's trunk and glanced sideways at her. "It's, well, it feels a bit…"
"It's fucking terrifying," she said, laughing through a mouthful of smoke. "I think we can be honest with each other at this point."
"Alright, yeah, it is pretty fucking terrifying," Peter said, laughing with her even though there was nothing funny about it. "But nobody is talking about that."
"That's because our friends are a bunch of typical Gryffindor idiots who think they're not allowed to be afraid of anything." She peered at him through the haze of smoke and shook her head. "Not that I'm any better. I haven't said a word because I don't want to let Black down, and I know he'll be disappointed in me if he knows how much this scares me."
He looked at her, the joint forgotten in his hand. "He wouldn't be disappointed. He loves you."
A sad smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "He loves me because he doesn't know what a coward I am."
She nodded at Peter's hand, and he realized the joint was still clutched in his fingers. He put it to his lips, closing his eyes as the smoke filled his lungs, then blew out the smoke and studied Mary's expression. Her curls tumbled into her face, yet her hair didn't hide the melancholy that made Peter want to cry.
"You're not a coward." His words were just above a whisper, but he knew Mary could hear him, because she turned her head and widened her eyes. "If anyone's a coward, it's me, and he's managed to put up with me for the last seven years, so I think you're okay."
"Don't be stupid. You run around with a werewolf once a month. What coward would do that?"
He shrugged. "It's not as dangerous for me. I just get out of the way if things get dicey."
"That's true, but if you didn't..." She bit her lip and examined the end of one of her curls, then turned her attention back to him. "Don't ever tell Remus I said this, but if he wanted to, he could eat you in one fucking bite. Just one chomp and it's bye-bye Peter, whiskers and all."
"He wouldn't," Peter croaked, swallowing back a wave of guilt, because he considered this before every single full moon. "I know he wouldn't."
"I know he'd never mean to, but look what happened to James. I'm just saying, he's capable and you know it, and yet you show up every single full moon anyway. You're not a bloody coward, Peter." Her tone was detached and calm, yet he sensed a stubborn defiance underneath. There was something about Mary's no bullshit approach that chipped away at his resolve, and he found himself grinning as he took the joint from her.
"Alright, I'm not, but neither are you. I don't pretend to know what it's like to have a mum like yours, but I do know you never flinch away from what has to be done, and that takes courage. And I've seen you tell Padfoot off when he's in the worst sort of Padfoot mood, when I'd be afraid to even look at him wrong, and it doesn't even phase you." He considered the joint in his hand, surprised to find it there.
"I guess we're going to have to agree that neither of us are cowards, then." She lay back on the rug and pillowed her arms behind her head. "So I guess I should be able to work up the nerve to tell Black I'm not sure about joining."
"I guess I should, too." He imagined confessing his doubts to the others. Lily would probably understand, and Peter suspected Remus had doubts of his own. Even James would forgive him, Peter guessed, once he got over his initial surprise and disappointment. But he couldn't stand the thought of Sirius's sharp dismissal, the expression of contempt on his face and the disdain in his voice as he muttered, Bloody hell, Wormtail, you're more pathetic than I thought.
"Oi." Mary plucked the joint from Peter's fingers. "You won't get stoned from admiring my excellent jointsmanship."
"Jointsmanship," he repeated, chuckling. "Another gem of a word."
They lapsed into silence as they smoked the rest of the joint. Peter had just dropped the remnants into a Butterbeer bottle full of cigarette butts when Mary pushed herself into a seated position.
"Fuck it, should we just go ahead and join?" She laughed and pushed a strand of hair out of her face. "I mean, I know I'm not exactly in the best state of mind to make life-altering decisions, but then again, when am I ever in the right state of mind to make life-altering decisions?"
Peter's thoughts shifted in and out of focus, drifting to the surface of his mind and sinking again like the lava lamp he had seen in Mary's bedroom. He pinpointed his doubts one after another, but they slipped away again before he could examine them. Should he just join? Was there even an alternative? Sirius's imagined dismissal echoed in Peter's mind, growing louder with each heartbeat…
"Maybe we should," he said, more to interrupt the mental spiraling than because he agreed.
"No backing out when the pot wears off, though," Mary warned. "If I'm in, you're in too."
Peter imagined his life stretching out ahead of him, veering off into two directions once he left Hogwarts. Joining Dumbledore's group meant danger and fear and maybe even death, but he would be with his friends. Failing to join was one big unknown, because if he wasn't with his friends, who was he?
"Alright. I'm in." Without thinking about it he held out his hand, and after a moment she shook it, her expression somber.
"That's settled, then." She nodded, then stood and put on some music before letting herself fall back onto Sirius's bed. Peter lay beside her, dangling his legs off the edge of the mattress and closing his eyes as the music washed over him. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes.
"Do you think we'll have to kill anyone?" Peter asked, the thought tumbling from his mouth before he had time to second guess himself.
She turned to look at him, her curls falling into her face. "Maybe," she said, her voice barely audible over the thump of the drums.
Peter tried to conceptualize what that would actually mean, what it would be like to take someone else's life, but it didn't seem possible that it would ever come down to that. Surely someone more talented and powerful would handle the actual killing, someone like James or Sirius, while Peter could get by with Disarming and Stunning?
"Do you think you could actually kill someone?" He dreaded her response, and at the same time he couldn't go another minute without knowing the answer.
"Yeah, I think I could," she said, her gaze still fixed on his. Her eyes were bottomless pits, impossibly wide, full of pain and fear and something else Peter couldn't identify. He looked away, afraid to identify that unknown emotion.
"I think I could," she repeated, "and that's what fucking scares me."
Peter took a deep breath, his heart thumping in his chest as he realized what the other emotion in her eyes had been. It was rage.
The last rays of afternoon sun streamed through the window as Remus padded through the aisles to his favorite corner of the library. It was deserted at this time of day, and Remus preferred it this way. Without the incessant scratching of quills punctuated by whispers and the flutter of turning pages, the library had an otherworldly silence that Remus could never find anywhere else.
He sat down on the floor and propped his back against the wall, opening his book and losing himself in the story. His surroundings had faded completely when a tap on his shoulder jarred him back to the library.
"How can you stand it in here?" Sirius asked. He clutched a book under his arm, and his robes carried a whiff of potions fumes. "It's too bloody quiet."
"Not anymore," Remus grumbled, giving him a pointed look.
Sirius sat down beside him and stretched out his long legs. "What's wrong?"
Remus heaved an impatient sigh."I've just told you, you're interrupting my peaceful reading time."
"No, I mean, why are you reading that?" Sirius nodded at the battered copy of The Hobbit sitting facedown on Remus's lap. "That's your comfort read when your furry little problem is being problematic."
"I don't only read The Hobbit for comfort," Remus protested. "Sometimes I just read it because it's a good book."
As he thought about it, though, he realized Sirius had a point. He couldn't remember the last time he had read The Hobbit when he wasn't trying to distract himself from something, whether it was physical pain, emotional pain, or some combination of the two. Fucking Padfoot. Get out of my head.
"Okay, then," Sirius said, shrugging. "It has nothing to do with what James told us about last night, then?"
Remus widened his eyes in alarm and shot Sirius a reproving look before casting Muffliato.
"No, it doesn't," he snapped.
"Well, good." Sirius glanced sideways at him and grinned. "Because I'm quite excited to see Remus Lupin kick some Death Eater arse."
Sirius's flippant tone goaded Remus into revealing his doubts. "Do you really think I'll be able to do anything useful for Dumbledore?" he muttered, staring down at a small tear in the cover of The Hobbit. "How can I when I'm incapacitated for several days every month?"
"I dunno, I assume you can just work around it, the way you do with perfect duties—"
"This isn't the same as bloody prefect duties." Sirius's nonchalance made Remus want to scream, even if they were in the library.
"I'm not saying it's the same," Sirius said. "All I'm saying is, you're not completely useless just because you'll have to miss a couple of days every month."
"But I'm not as useful as a normal person." Remus rubbed his temples, resisting the urge to dig at his cuticles, to shout at Sirius, to hurl The Hobbit at the wall.
"'A normal person,' what a bunch of rubbish," Sirius said with an exasperated shake of his head. "You're the most normal out of all of us, except for your taste in jumpers. And don't let this go to your head, but you're bloody talented, Moony. You'd be more useful than Pete even if you were incapacited for two weeks out of every month. Talk about useless." He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows.
"That's a bit mean," Remus said as his hot flare of anger cooled a bit. "He's gotten a lot better at dueling."
"Yeah, he's gotten better, but that doesn't mean he's good," Sirius said, waving a hand in dismissal of Remus's comment. "I'm not being mean, I'm just saying, if Dumbledore wants Wormtail to join, why the fuck wouldn't he want you?"
Remus didn't have an adequate response, so instead he gave a vague, irritated shrug and drew his knees into his chest.
"Did you really just tell me not to let that go to my head?"
Sirius laughed. "That was a fucking joke, because never in your entire life have you let anything go to your head. It would probably be good if you let something go to your head once in a while, because then I wouldn't have to try to talk you round in the bloody library." He glanced sideways at Remus and smirked. "You're exhausting, you know that?"
Remus snorted with laughter. "What, and you're not?"
Sirius placed a hand on his chest and adopted an affronted air. "How dare you? I am a gift to the world, and don't you ever fucking forget it, Remus Lupin." He sprang to his feet, then waited as Remus gathered his things and joined him. "If it makes you feel better, talk to Dumbledore about it. But if you want to know my honest opinion–"
"Which I'm sure you're going to give me even if I don't want it," Remus said, grinning.
"—if you want my honest opinion," Sirius repeated, ignoring the interruption, "I think a good shag would make you feel a lot better than talking to that old git."
"Shagging doesn't solve everything, Padfoot."
Sirius shook his head and set off down the aisle. "It actually does, though. Or, it solves 99% of problems, anyway, and the other 1% are probably unsolvable." He raised his eyebrows and added, "If it doesn't solve your problems, I think you're just doing it wrong."
"Sod you," Remus muttered. "I'm not doing it wrong."
"Well, how would I know, since you refuse to give me any details about your sex life?"
"That's because it's none of your business."
"Rubbish," Sirius said, eyes wide with indignation. "Everyone's sex life is my business, especially yours."
Madam Pince glared at them over the top of her glasses as they walked by. A conspiratorial smirk tugged at Sirius's lips as he gave her a small wave. Remus's face burned as he quickened his pace.
"I hate you," he said once they were out in the corridor.
Sirius laughed and shook his head."Liar. Like I said before, I am a gift to this world and I refuse to believe anything different." He glanced sideways at Remus. "You going to talk to Dumbledore?"
Remus shrugged, squirming at the thought of having that conversation, but it seemed preferable to not having it.
"Yeah, I suppose."
Sirius nodded, satisfied. "You going to take my other advice?"
A reluctant smile spread across Remus's face. "Maybe, but that's—"
"—none of my business — yeah, I know," Sirius said, holding up a hand. "Alright, I'll shut up."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
Now that Remus had resolved to talk to Dumbledore, the tight knot of tension in his chest began to ease. He exhaled, feeling lighter than he had since James's announcement last night.
"Thanks, Padfoot," he said reluctantly.
Sirius grinned, that smug, infuriating grin that he always wore when he knew he had been right. "You're welcome. I know, I'm a blessing and you'd be lost without me. Now come on, if you hurry you can catch Seven before she goes down to dinner."
Wednesday, March 15, 1978
Meet me in my office at 8:00 tonight and I'll be happy to answer any questions you may have. For secrecy's sake, you may want to borrow Mr. Potter's rather useful cloak if he can spare it.
-Dumbledore
P.S. The password is Chocolate Frog.
Remus folded up the parchment and slid it back into his pocket, then removed the Invisibility Cloak and stood facing the gargoyle that concealed the entrance to Dumbledore's office. His heart pounded as he dug at the skin around his thumbnail and forced himself to take deep breaths.
You're okay.
But what if he confirms everything I've been worrying about?
You're okay. You need to hear this one way or another.
But what if–?
You need to bloody hear what he has to say.
I could just leave, go back to the common room or hide in the reading spot until Seven gets back from practice…
He's expecting you. You can't just ditch, it's rude.
But–
"Chocolate Frog," he blurted, silencing his inner conflict. The stone gargoyle stepped aside to reveal a circular staircase. Remus eyed it apprehensively, then took a step forward. Before he could climb the stairs, they began moving upward, spiraling higher and higher until it deposited him in front of a large mahogany door. He reached for the brass knocker, but before his fingers closed over it, the door swung open to reveal Dumbledore.
"Come in, Mr. Lupin," he said, standing aside and beckoning him into the high-ceilinged, circular room. As Remus stepped inside, his eyes were drawn to a delicate silver instrument on a side table. It emitted a soft whirring sound, and Remus peered closer, eyes wide.
"Is this a magimeter?" he asked, looking up at Dumbledore.
"It is." Dumbledore smiled and pushed a button on the side of the instrument. Puffs of purple smoke began issuing from a tiny smokestack. "It's the only one in the country, if I'm not mistaken," he remarked, sounding only mildly interested.
"I think it's the only one in Europe, actually," Remus said, before widening his eyes and gaping at Dumbledore in horror. "Sorry, I didn't mean to sound so rude. I read a thing about them the other day, so it was fresh in my mind."
I 'read a thing' about them? You bloody idiot.
"It's quite alright." Dumbledore crossed the room and sat down in the high-backed chair behind his desk, then gestured for Remus to take a seat in the smaller chair beside it. "I'm far from an expert in magimeters. But I don't think that's what you came here to discuss, is it?"
"No. I…" Remus perched on the edge of the chair, his heartbeat picking up again. His eyes found a clock on the wall nestled among the portraits of the former headmasters and headmistresses, and he followed the path of the pendulum as it swung back and forth. He counted twenty swings before he summoned the nerve to finish his thought. "I wanted to know why you asked me to join your group. I was just wondering what tasks you had in mind for me to do, because, well…" Shame rose up in his throat as he struggled to choke out the words. "Because I won't be of any use to you on the days before and after the full moon, so I'd understand if you changed your mind about having me."
Dumbledore gazed at Remus over the top of his half-moon glasses. There was something about his piercing stare that reminded Remus of Lily, and his eyes darted away to the window which revealed a view of the dark grounds. The soft ticking of the clock and the whirring of the magimeter were the only sounds, and Remus was sure Dumbledore could hear the pounding of his heart.
"Mr. Lupin," Dumbledore said, and Remus let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. "Do you think it has not occurred to me that you will be unavailable to perform any tasks on certain days of the month?"
"Oh. I–" Remus stammered. "Of course. I just, well, I didn't want to shirk any responsibilities, or fail to fulfill any obligations or anything."
Dumbledore smiled and shuffled a pile of papers on his desk. "I assure you, I am perfectly happy to have your assistance for the days you are able, and you will not be shirking any responsibilities if you are not available every single day. Some of the other members have full-time jobs, and families, and other obligations. Are they shirking responsibilities by taking time off to tend to these other things?"
"Well, no, I suppose not," Remus admitted. "But that's not exactly the same thing, is it?"
"Of course it's not the same thing, but they are all equally valid in my eyes," Dumbledore said with a shrug. "All of this is a roundabout way to say that I am happy to have you join, regardless of your lycanthropy. In fact, your lycanthropy puts you in a unique position to help."
Remus stared at him, studying his face for any sign of pity or indulgence, but the headmaster's expression was earnest.
"What unique position?" he asked, dropping his gaze back down to his hands.
"Well, I know the Death Eaters have been actively recruiting the werewolf community for years. I assume you're familiar with Fenrir Greyback?"
Something in Dumbledore's voice made Remus look up. "I've heard of him," he said, frowning. "Are you asking me to try and get him on our side?"
No bloody chance, he thought, fighting to keep the disgust from his face. Part of the reason he was so afraid of his secret being discovered was that he assumed people would associate him with werewolves like Greyback. As much as he hated and feared himself, he wasn't a monster like Greyback, and he didn't see the point of trying to recruit someone like that.
"No, you misunderstand me," Dumbledore said, holding up a hand. "I don't want you to try to recruit Greyback. I'd like you to try to recruit other werewolves. I've tried, but unfortunately they don't seem particularly interested in what I have to say. I thought you might have better luck."
Remus's frown deepened. "I wouldn't even know where to begin. How would I find them?"
"There are several werewolf communities that I'm aware of," Dumbledore said, folding his hands on top of the desk and fixing Remus with that piercing stare. "I've only succeeded in locating one of them so far, and as I mentioned, my efforts to communicate with them were largely unsuccessful."
Remus pulled at the skin around his thumbnail, his mind reeling. He had never met another werewolf in his life, and Dumbledore thought he would immediately be able to convince dozens of them to join their side? It's not some bloody club, he thought bitterly. I can't just give some password and they'll admit me into their secret werewolf society.
"What makes you think I'll be any more successful than you were?" he asked.
"I think you'd be surprised. Many of them are highly mistrustful of wizards, and for good reason. It's shameful the way they've been treated, relegated to the fringes of society, looked down upon and persecuted or ignored. I don't blame them for not wanting to listen to what I have to say, but it would really be in their best interest to join us, and I think they might listen to you."
"Because I'm one of them?" Remus asked in a flat, hard tone.
"Because you're one of them," Dumbledore agreed. "It won't be easy, and you will likely have to put yourself in situations that make you uncomfortable, but it's imperative that we at least try to get as many of them on our side as possible, because the prospect of them going over to the Death Eaters is frightening."
Remus searched the headmaster's blue eyes as he wondered what sort of situations would make him uncomfortable. He had never met another werewolf before and didn't have the faintest idea how to go about convincing them to join him. What would he be expected to do to gain their trust? What if he chose the wrong approach and he failed? The gentle whirring of Dumbledore's instruments was suddenly deafening, and Remus wondered whether Dumbledore was making a terrible mistake trusting him with this task. When he tried to voice his worries aloud, the words caught in his throat.
"I know this must seem like an impossible task that you don't believe you are qualified for," Dumbledore said, as though he had read Remus's mind. "But I assure you, you are more qualified than anyone else in the Order. Your condition will be the in you need to get them to listen, but I believe you have other qualities that make you well-suited for this task, as well."
Remus cast a dubious look at Dumbledore. 'More qualified than anyone else' my arse. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.
"You are kind and compassionate," Dumbledore continued, "and you have a way of getting people to listen to you without being forceful or demanding. And most importantly, you're likable. Do you know, when you were nominated for prefect, none of the teachers had a single negative thing to say about you."
"That's only because everyone thought I could somehow get James and Sirius to behave if you made me a prefect," Remus said, his cheeks flushing from Dumbledore's praise.
"I don't think anyone would expect a prefect badge to reverse four solid years of rule breaking," Dumbledore said with a warm smile. "Anyway, my point is that you're more suited for this task than you think. I have complete confidence in you, even if you have no confidence in yourself."
His eyes darted to Remus's ragged cuticles. Remus slipped his hands under his legs and stared down at the floor.
"Of course, you are welcome to tell me to take my mission and shove it up my rear end, although I suspect you would use much more colorful language." He winked. "There's no rush to decide today. You won't be starting until you've finished school, so there's plenty of time to think it over. All I ask is that you consider it." He fell silent and steepled his hands in front of his face, fixing Remus with an expectant gaze.
Remus shifted in his seat as he replayed Dumbledore's words in his head: I have complete confidence in you, even if you have no confidence in yourself. The trusting quality of his smile reminded Remus of the day the headmaster had appeared at his home to tell him he would, in fact, be able to attend Hogwarts. Even then, he had seen something in Remus that Remus himself had a hard time recognizing. That had been the best day of Remus's young life, and he had never shaken the feeling that he owed Dumbledore for having faith in him and giving him an opportunity he didn't feel he deserved. I can't let him down, Remus thought desperately. He's mad if he thinks I'll be able to recruit a bunch of strangers who want nothing to do with me, but I've got to at least try. He glanced at Dumbledore, and a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. What a bloody persuasive git.
"I'll do it," Remus said, heaving a sigh. "I can't make any promises, but I'll try."
He shuddered as he imagined the repercussions of failing at this task. Fenrir Greyback was only one werewolf, yet his horrifying actions had a devastating impact on public perception of lycanthropy. If werewolves went over to the Death Eaters in large numbers, that would only cement the belief that they were all vicious, bloodthirsty monsters. Remus shook his head to clear his thoughts, then looked up at Dumbledore. His smile was full of such certainty and pride that Remus couldn't help but smile in return.
"Thank you, Remus," Dumbledore said, getting to his feet. "I'll see you out."
"Oh, hang on." Remus reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. "I was meant to give you this."
Dumbledore took it and unfolded it, then peered over his half-moon glasses to read the words written in James's hasty scrawl: We're all in.
Friday, March 17, 1978
"I wish you weren't leaving tomorrow. I'm going to miss you," Seven said as she set down her book and looked over at Remus.
There was a blanket tucked around her legs and another one draped over her shoulders, and she wore one of his old cardigans. Remus smiled and pushed back the baggy sleeve of the jumper to reveal her hand, then laced his fingers through hers and leaned in to kiss her.
"I'll miss you too. I can tell McGonagall I've changed my mind and want to stay here for the holidays instead," he offered.
"No, don't. I'll be busy practicing Quidditch the whole time. Don't tell James, because he'll probably try to stay as well, but the rest of the team is staying here for the holiday and we're doing practices every day to get ready for our last match. Besides, you were here for Christmas. I'm sure your parents miss you, don't they?"
His smile tightened. It should be a simple question, and yet he stumbled over his answer.
Do they miss me? He supposed they did, in a vague, abstract way, but when it came down to it, he knew they preferred to miss him from afar than be forced to see him every day and pretend his presence didn't make them uncomfortable. It wasn't that they didn't love him – they did, just as all sane parents loved their children, but there was always that almost imperceptible flicker on their faces when he entered a room that gave their true feelings away. On his mother's face it was a flash of fear followed by sadness – she was afraid of him, the son she had rocked to sleep as a baby, and this made her ache with sadness every time she acknowledged it. His father's expression was different but no less painful: his face contained pure, naked guilt. Remus supposed this was because he blamed his negligent parenting for his son's condition, and even though he never blamed Lyall, he understood why his father couldn't forgive himself. Either way, the sight of him caused his parents pain, which in turn caused Remus pain, so even though his mother had written and begged him to come home, he knew it was best for everyone when he stayed at Hogwarts.
"I guess so," he muttered, avoiding her eyes. "And I did promise James I would go out with all of them for his birthday. But…" He looked over at her and shrugged as his voice trailed off.
"It'll be good for you to get out of the castle, I think," she said, lying down on the pile of cushions and settling the blankets around her. "It seems like you've had a lot on your mind lately." She smiled and looked up at him, shifting aside so he could stretch out beside her. "More than you usually do, I mean."
"It will be good for me to have a change of scenery, I think," he agreed, snaking his arm underneath her and pulling her close. Ever since James's conversation with Dumbledore, Remus had been walking around in a fog as he struggled to make sense of the changes imminent in his future. After meeting with the headmaster last night, he had been even more distracted as he puzzled over how he would go about accomplishing the task set out for him. The thought of leaving the castle behind, even for the choked silence of his home, was a welcome one.
"I feel like I say this all the time, but you can talk to me about whatever's bothering you, if you like." She draped a leg over his and brushed a lock of hair out of his face, her fingers cool against his skin. Remus had a moment of panic as he wondered whether she could see his gray hair in the dim lighting, but he shoved that thought aside and focused on her words. "You don't have to give me specifics about the stuff you can't talk about, obviously, but it might help to talk it out a bit."
There was no hint of accusation in her tone, yet Remus was filled with guilt when he realized how distant he had been from Seven over the past week. It had seemed logical to keep Dumbledore's group a secret to protect Seven and save her from worrying, but that meant giving her vague, clipped answers when she caught him scowling down at his hands or staring out the window with a brooding, faraway look. Now with her soft fingers brushing against his skin and her gentle words soothing his weary mind, his resolve began to weaken.
"I'm sorry I've been so distant lately," he said, reaching for her hand underneath the blankets. "It's nothing to do with you, I've just, well, as you said, had a lot on my mind, and I've been really in my own head." He saw a smile spread across her face and chuckled. "You could tell that much, couldn't you?"
She pressed her lips to his cheek, kissing the thin line of a faded scar. "Well, when are you not in your own head?"
"Okay, you're really going to call me out like that?" He pulled the blanket up so it stopped just below her chin. "I've been thinking a lot about what I'm going to do after Hogwarts, and the whole thing is kind of terrifying."
"That's fair. I'm already terrified, and I have another year of school left."
"Until recently I didn't have any sort of plan at all, because, well…" They had never discussed the limited career paths open to someone with his condition, but she was far too perceptive not to grasp his meaning. "But now I have an actual plan, and it's even more terrifying than having no plan at all."
"That makes sense." She cupped his face and trailed her thumb along his jaw. "You think you need to be perfect at everything and you'll let everyone down if you don't, so I'm sure you're afraid to fail at whatever it is you've decided to do. Am I right?"
He laughed, and his breath stirred the little wisps of hair that had pulled free from her braid. "You're not wrong."
"I know you're not going to listen to me, but you're going to be great. You work too hard not to do well at whatever it is. And even if you aren't perfect at it, you're not letting anyone down. You can't please everyone all the time, you know."
He found it hard to believe her words, yet the sound of her voice and the gentle motion of her fingers comforted him.
"Thanks, Seven," he murmured.
"You're welcome." She fell silent for a moment and Remus savored the quiet and warmth of their bodies curled together. When she spoke again, her voice was soft and hesitant. "Is it dangerous, whatever it is you lot are going to do?"
Remus considered lying to her, but what was the point? Her sharp eyes could read his expression as easily as she read the Muggle novels they both loved.
"Yes," he admitted.
"I thought so. I don't suppose it'll do any good to tell you to be careful?"
He grinned. "Nah. But don't worry about me. I'm tougher than I look."
She laughed softly and kissed him, then leaned close to his ear and whispered, "I love you."
"I love you too," he said, but the words sent a stab of guilt through his chest as he thought about the inevitable end to their relationship. He had known for a while now that their time was limited, and now that he had this assignment from Dumbledore, it was even more certain. How could he be the boyfriend Seven deserved if he was hanging around werewolf colonies in the middle of nowhere for weeks at a time? Maybe it would be kinder to end things now, before she got any more attached.
"Seven," he began, his voice shaking. "When I do this thing I plan to do after Hogwarts, I don't know where exactly I'll be and how long I'll be gone. It might be hard for us to…" He couldn't finish the sentence, because the thought of losing these cozy little evenings with Seven made his chest tighten.
She rolled over to face him, her eyes bright and earnest. "Remus." She put her hands on his face, her grasp gentle but firm as she forced him to look at her. "I know this can't last forever. I have another year of school, and you're going on to do something admirable and dangerous, and I'm not naive enough to believe that we're going to stay together when we're both doing such different things. But we have three months left before we need to worry about that. Let's just enjoy this for now, alright?"
The phrasing echoed what he had said to Peter the night of his birthday, and for a moment he wondered if she had overheard him. As he studied her face, though, he saw no sign of deception, and he decided she was just in tune to the emotions he had trouble expressing. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and there was a determined set to her mouth that made Remus think she had never looked more beautiful. She's bloody perfect, he thought. She always knows exactly what I'm thinking and what I need, and she's gorgeous and doesn't cringe at the sight of me by some bloody miracle, and I'm ditching her to go chase after a bunch of werewolves. I must be fucking mad.
"Alright," he agreed, tracing the tiny scar on her chin. "Let's enjoy it for now."
He pressed his lips to hers and pulled her closer, resolving to make the most of the remaining time they had together.