The pain is relatively manageable, now, but Remus knows it'll get worse as the years go on.

Will likely kill him, one day. A potential side effect of all chronic conditions.

But the only thing worse than knowing how it all ends is knowing that it could affect her, too, in the process.

Dying would be bad enough. But breeding resentment just might be worse.

So any thoughts he has about acting on this something between them — if there's anything there at all — are immediately cast away.


In hindsight, he should have never taken a mission so close to the full moon.

He was already in an irritable mood, pain searing through his joints, and just about everything set him on edge.

In said mood, Remus blurted out something rash, about Sirius. He knew it was a mistake, the minute the words left his mouth.

But he'd said it, anyways.

He doesn't think he'd ever be able to forget the look on her face, now.

Angry, then hurt. Then downright furious.

"If you weren't so busy feeling sorry for yourself," she snaps in retaliation, "you'd know exactly who I'd fallen for!"

Just like that, his jaw drops. In spite of himself.

"I … I don't know what you're talking about." he manages, somehow.

His brain is working at a million miles an hour, because surely, she doesn't mean...

Her face says otherwise. She looks absolutely devastated, then.

"Yes, you do," and then, words so low they're practically a whisper —

"It's you , Remus."

For a moment, his brain shuts down. Stops functioning entirely.

The sensation is followed by a feeling of happiness he's never known before.

She'd fallen for him.

Not Sirius. Not some young, handsome wizard in the Auror office.

Him.

And he doesn't know what kind of Gryffindor courage possesses him in that moment, but suddenly he pulls her in close and then he's kissing her like he's wanted to for so damn long .

She tenses for a moment from surprise before melting into his arms, and then she meets him just as eagerly.

Remus loses himself to the thrill of it all: of kissing her deeper, drawing little noises out of her throat. Of knowing, at last, that she feels just as he does…

It's too good to be true.

So, naturally, it all comes crashing down.

He's not sure what triggers it (he never is), but he's suddenly overcome by a sharp spasm of pain, one that burns his whole body.

It passes after a few moments. But it's enough.

It's a reminder, loud and clear, of exactly why he's wrong for her.

Which is why he breaks away, murmuring a hasty apology:

"Dora, I'm so sorry… I shouldn't have…"

"Remus, stop." she whispers, and she looks terrified, suddenly. "You didn't do anything I didn't want."

And there it is again. Want.

She shouldn't want him. Not with the life of pain he promises them both.

(He has no right to deceive her into thinking otherwise.)

So he pushes her away. As gently as he can.

(Tries not to think about the memory of her lips against his.)

"I can't do this to you." he whispers. "I'm so very sorry."


He avoids her, after that. Volunteers for the most dangerous solo missions, leaving for weeks at a time.

Does his best to ignore the looks of hurt, her attempts to talk him down. Talk to him at all, really.

She doesn't deserve this. But it's better for the both of them, this way.


The next time he sees her is after Sirius' death.

He tells her he's leaving. For much, much longer, this time.


Joining the werewolf pack was a mistake.

It's a reminder of every last thing he hates about himself. Constant, relentless, awful.

Some days are better than others. But a war is brewing, and the situation grows bleaker by the day.

Remus fears he might be breaking apart.

That he might wake up one day, and no longer know how to put all the pieces back together.


He watches the dawn after a particularly painful transformation.

Dark gray skies fading into light pink. The color of her hair.

He thinks of love, briefly. How little of it he understands.


It's been four months without her. It feels like a lifetime.

The days all seem the same. Make their steady progress, one after the next.

He tries to form some semblance of routine. For a time, it works.

But no matter how much he tries to keep thoughts of her at bay during the day, she finds her way into his mind at night, the possibilities of what was and what could have been haunting his aching, sleepless dreams.


The only other person who frequents his thoughts is his mother, Hope.

Remus replays the moments in his mind, every night: watching her die from the worry and stress caused by his transformations. A slow, excruciating death, the kind he wouldn't even wish on his worst enemies.

He'd been too young, then. Didn't know what to do except hold her close.

She'd had no choice, in becoming the mother of a dark creature. Destiny had afflicted her with that curse, a burden to bear along with him.

For that, she gave up her life.

It's not a price he wants anyone to pay, ever again.

Not for a wretch like him.


The holidays offer the first brief moment of respite. They're all allowed to leave, but must return to the camp within days. Must carefully mask the scent of anyone they visit to avoid retribution of the worst sort.

Remus tries, foolishly, to write her a letter. It seems less cruel than seeing her in person, somehow, though he's not sure who he's trying to spare here.

He sits there, in his tiny, cramped study, and thinks. Thinks how best to put his thoughts into words, freeze the pain in his chest into the solid block of ice he so desperately needs it to be.

It comes out of nowhere, of course.

A single memory of her smile — the very first time she'd hugged him to her chest after a mission, the delicate scent of her perfume lodging into the back of his mind, lingering on his cheek — and the pretense shatters at once.

(He can't — he can't — he can't.)

And it's like he's bleeding all over again, fresh wounds knit with the sort of aching longing he's tried so hard to push down.

His hands shake, and he groans with frustration at the spilled ink beneath his fingers.

Remus crumples into himself, shoulders hunched as he tries to catch his breath.

To gather his thoughts once more, though really, he's overcome by just one —

You're all I want, he mutters into the parchment.

(And yet, you're all I can't have.)


Tonks finds him before he leaves again. He should have expected no less.

Words stumble into each other, form a conversation they've had before. Always, to no avail.

(This time is no different, of course.)

"Remus, I don't care," she whispers, voice breaking into a sob. "I don't care what it is you think, I've told you a million times…"

She breaks down, and then there's nothing he can do but hold her close as she weeps in his arms.

He draws her close even as he prays for the strength to let her go.

For his heart to give her up, at long last. Set them both free from this misery they've brought unto themselves. Or rather, that he's brought unto her.

And yet, he can't. Can't let go of her.

So they just stand on his doorstep, wrapped in a tentative, painful embrace, the harsh morning light filtering through the icy winter air.


They smell her on him, when he's back.

He'd been reckless, careless, by allowing her to get so close.

For that transgression alone, he pays a hefty price.

They beat him within an inch of his life. Closer, even.

"Remember what you are, Lupin," the pack leader sneers when he's finally done with him. Adds in a few threats about what he'd to do that bitch if he got his hands on her, words too terrible to repeat.

He's too feeble, too badly battered to protest. He'd deserved it, certainly, and no matter how much his blood had ignited with anger, fighting back would have blown his cover.

Pain is, perhaps, inevitable. But he chooses to suffer. It's the least he can do.

And it's as he wipes the blood from his mouth and hobbles to his feet that he admits to himself, softly, softly, that the memory of her had been the one to flash behind his eyelids.

If he'd been about to die, she was still the happiest moment of his life.

He wonders how long he'd be able to hold onto that secret. Wonders if this is one he'll take to his grave.


For a while after that, his dreams go dark.

As if, by doing so, he might be able to protect her, somehow.


Hope comes into his dreams, again. A flashback to a moment they'd had together, a few months before her death. One he'd all but forgotten.

It started as a usual post-moon caretaking. She'd been tending to his wounds, and that's when he'd noticed the color all around.

Red, red, red. On the bandages, on her mouth, on her thin, trembling fingers.

And the words had spilled out before he could make them stop —

"Why do you do this?"

(How could she bear to be around so much red?)

His mother had answered, without a moment's hesitation —

"Because I love you, darling."

Somehow, that wasn't enough.

"But… but aren't you scared ?" he'd whispered, wondering, already, if he'd stepped too far, had somehow crossed a line.

Instead, her smile went all the way up to her eyes. Something beautiful, rare.

"Oh, yes. Every single day. But you know what?"

"What?"

She'd knelt down by his bed, then, so she could meet his eyes.

"Loving someone is the bravest thing you can do. Do you understand?"

He'd nodded numbly, not fully understanding. Filing her words away for another time, another place.

Hope leaned down and kissed his forehead, before leaning down and whispering her next words —

"So promise me. Promise me you'll be brave, Remus."

"I will," he'd whispered back, and he'd known, somehow, that this conversation would be one of their last.

(True to her word and his — she'd been brave until the very end.)

And when his eyes finally flutter open, there's something wet on his cheek.

(God, he hasn't done that in so very long.)

He closes his eyes, again. Tries to hold onto the sound of her voice.

But he's alone once more, her memory already lost underneath the dark morning mist.


He's called to Hogwarts that very night, alongside the Order.

The ensuing battle — if one could even call it that — is chaos.

But in the end, none of it matters.

Dumbledore is dead. His undercover mission is over.

(It's all over.)


They all gather in the hospital wing to check on Bill, and that's when he finally sees her.

His heart twists at the sight.

She's somehow grown even more ragged and thin over the last few months. A mere shadow of her former self. His fault, of course.

And yet. Despite everything, his feelings remain the same.

He's so damn selfish.

Their world just fell apart, and all he can think about is her.

Somehow, he tears his eyes away and resigns himself to silence, once more.


Silence is not what he gets in return.

Remus sees it a moment before it happens, on her face.

Flashes of a kind of bravery he can only ever hope to have.

And then the truth is tumbling out, naked and raw and every bit as unrelenting as it's always been.

Though he murmurs half-heartedly that now is not the time, he knows it's anything but.

Knows that time has finally caught up with him.

That he needs to stop running and decide.


She leaves the hospital wing a few minutes later. Doesn't so much as look back at him.

He follows her quietly, down a dark, vacant hallway.

"Dora," he calls out, hoping she might listen.

She ignores him. He quickens his pace slightly.

"Dora, please —"

"What, Remus?" she snaps, finally turning around. "What's possibly left to say?"

She swallows, as if to re-center herself, and he notices tears brimming at the corners of her eyes.

"I love you," she whispers, voice trembling. "And yet, you won't have it."

He steps closer, then. Registers faintly the way she shifts towards him, if only in the slightest.

And he knows, in that moment, what he has to do.

Tries to summon up the courage for his next words —

"What good is love? If all it brings is pain?"

He lets the questions hang for a moment.

"Because that's all I can offer you, Dora. All I have ever caused you."

She shakes her head in protest, cheeks starting to go pale, but he continues on, because he has to know —

"Why would you choose pain? Why would you choose a life like this? When it could never end in anything but hurt?"

Tonks finds her voice, at last.

Starts her words off uncharacteristically slow, measured.

"Maybe you're right," she admits. "Maybe loving you would hurt."

"But —" she continues, "losing you has hurt so much more."

She steps closer to him, and he can see the solid conviction in her gaze.

"So, to answer your original question — 'what good is love, if all it brings is pain ?'

The answer, Remus, is that sometimes, you find someone who's worth the pain."

And for a moment, it's like his brain stops functioning.

He's stunned in place.

By words he never thought anyone could say.

Words he'd never imagine, not in his wildest dreams.

The fist clenched tight around his heart loosens a little.

He's staring, now, and he knows his face must be absolutely unreadable, because she suddenly touches her hair self-consciously, thin fingers running through the dull brown strands.

"I know it looks bad," she murmurs. "But the truth is, I'd suffer all this and more. You're all I want. All I've ever wanted."

She gently takes one of his hands in her own, idly tracing out an old scar. Like she's inscribing a promise, of some sort, before she meets his eyes again.

"So give me your love and your pain. I'll take them both."

Her words shatter the last of his reservations, and suddenly he feels like every suppressed emotion of the last year — the ache, the fear, and the love, yes, the love he'd tried so desperately to forget — are all flooding his system, all at once.

She wants him. All of him.

He can't string together words, can't form full sentences. Not after this.

So he takes the hand she'd been tracing with and kisses it. Slow, gentle.

There's a keen sense of finality to it all. He can't take this back. He won't .

(But then again, he's been hers all along, hasn't he?)

"I'll give you mine only if you give me yours," he whispers against her skin.

She gives him a smile, then, a real one. It's the first time he's seen it in months, and she's never looked more beautiful

"Deal," she whispers, and she's so, so close to him, now…

So he cradles her face with one shaking hand, tips her head to get a better angle, and pushes his mouth against hers.

Kisses her, something quiet and fierce. Like she's the only thing that can soothe the ache.


Later — much, much later, with his hand on her spine and his mouth on her throat — he finds that in the act of coming together, there's as much chaos as there is beauty.

It's all love, it's all pain, as he pulls a broken gasp from her lips, as she digs her nails in his back and tugs him closer, closer, closer .

The two are inextricable. Impossible to separate.

But despite it all — she's gentle with him. Takes care of all his broken pieces.

And in the end, that's enough.