YO. This is for PTC. Bellatrix x Remus. Yeah. I wanna explore this more.

I don't think this really has warnings. Maybe slight depression and a mention of blood?

Word Count: 454

I Don't Care (What You Are)

No matter how many times Remus woke up in the Hospital Wing, unable to remember the walk there with Madam Pomphry or the Marauders, the pain never eased. It didn't matter how many comforting hands he had feeding him recover potions or tucking a blanket up to his chin, nor did it matter if he had someone to talk to or just someone to sit with him.

Or… That's what he thought.

Now that he was waking up in the forest, completely alone, things were so much worse. He winced as he sat up, his naked body uncovered by clothes but covered in injuries—scratches, gouges, scrapes… mainly injuries with blood.

This was much worse, both physically and emotionally. With Lily and James in hiding, Peter doing work for Dumbledore, and Sirius keeping his distance, the full moon was excruciating.

A branch snapped, somewhere off to his right, and his eyes snapped to the sound, widening when he saw a figure. It was a figure that looked oh so familiar in stance, but oh so different in personality.

"I found your clothes," she sang, head tilted, eyes just as bright as Sirius's used to be, back before Remus had shut him out.

Remus scrambled back, instinctively reaching for his wand, but realizing he had left it with his clothes the night before.

She let out a laugh. "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you," she said, her voice surprisingly delicate, but dangerous at the same time. "I believe you are quite a bit more dangerous than I am."

His eyes widened once more, but he said nothing at first. He simply tugged his knees to his chest, wanting to hide as much of himself as he could.

It was almost a full minute before he spoke. "I don't believe that for a moment, Miss Black," he said, his voice scratchy from a night of howling.

Bellatrix laughed before walking towards him, slowly, as if he were still a wild animal. "So you know who I am." It wasn't a question; he didn't bother answering.

"And you know what I am." His words weren't a question either.

She smiled, her eyes glinting—it hurt him to see that glint. It was just so familiar. "I can help you," she said, reaching her hand out to stroke his cheek. He instinctively leaned into it. Her hand was cold.

"I don't deserve to be helped," he whispered. She shook her head and leaned even closer. He almost pulled away, but couldn't bring himself to. "I'm dangerous."

Her smile softened, and she pressed her palm to his cheek as she leaned forward to kiss his lips. He was surprised by how gentle it was. "I like dangerous," she replied.