Unsure, Insecure
Disclaimer: Yes, still NOT mine.
Warning: And yes. Still Yaoi.
The first full moon without Bill meant all hell breaking loose for Remus. It was horribly lonely and purgative in its own cruel way.
He didn't take his Wolfsbane and McGonagall scolded him like a schoolboy when he came to an Order meeting next day, still bleeding, skin torn and eyes dull.
"Are you aware of what could have happened, Remus?!" she yelled and the barely concealed hysteria of mother hen in her voice reminded Remus of the times at Hogwarts, when Marauders had done something dangerous. She said he was irresponsible, that he could have bitten someone and that he looked terrible. And he knew she was right to some point, maybe absolutely right, but still, he couldn't very well explain it to her. No one would understand, no one could.
"Why, for heaven's sake, didn't you take that potion?" McGonagall tried to grab him and shake him into state of at least minimal understanding of what he'd done wrong, but seeing that any harsher movement only reopened his wounds and bites, she let go of him with a sigh.
"There was no potion this month," a cold voice stated matter-of-factly and its owner didn't seem a bit concerned about consequences that glared at him through McGonagall's eyes.
"Severus," she acknowledged his presence and Remus turned to see Snape's usual icy smirk.
"Lupin's body needs to take a break from Wolfsbane sometimes, Minerva. Unless we want some ugly side-effects, for example losing what little decency he has left."
Snape accompanied his statement with another sarcastic grin and McGonagall left, not exactly satisfied with that explanation, but at least not questioning Remus' state of mind any longer.
The werewolf looked up and saw a glimpse of what looked like understanding in Snape's eyes. Yes, he was a Death Eater, a beast in its own, more human and crueler way, and if someone understood the need to feel physical pain in order not to think about the mental wounds, it was Snape.
Remus didn't know what made Snape cover for him and lie to McGonagall, even if it had been the Potions Master personally who had delivered Remus' monthly drug just a few days ago. Maybe some strange feeling of familiarity with the werewolf's self-inflicted redemption, and maybe just because he wasn't as concerned about Remus' blood-loss and simply wasn't in a mood to listen to McGonagall's rambling. Remus didn't know, but whispered a "Thank you" anyway.
"Don't act like a spoiled child," Snape sneered at him, "there's no time to be rash now."
Remus knew – now, when War was so close it could be felt, smelled and tasted, the sensation of nearing blood-shed lingering in the air. And still it seemed so far away he couldn't even think about it, not when his own life resembled an abandoned war field.
During the following weeks, the power of Death Eaters was slowly rising, Remus' melancholy didn't fade and Christmas was closer with every passing day. Remus saw Bill a few times when their work for Order clashed in some way, but they never spoke to each other. Most of the time, Remus saw him from afar and even if his rational self convinced him that it was for the best, somehow it was hard to wish for Bill's happiness with Fleur devotedly. It was hard, when he saw them in Diagon Alley, happy in careful and not too obvious way, their hands touching occasionally – he knew it was how it was supposed to be… but it never helped anyone to know this.
And then, a letter came to Remus' lonely flat and he wondered if McGonagall was beginning to catch up to Dumbledore in being manipulative, meddling know-it-all. Even if there was possibility that the Headmistress didn't know anything about his previous relationships, it was at least highly improbable. And he couldn't very well refuse without revealing it, without admitting that something was wrong. Oh, how he hated these cleverly-made traps.
And so, on the Christmas Eve, which he had intended to spend with a bottle of Ogden's and have some brooding done, Remus found himself accompanying Harry Potter on his way to the Burrow, along with Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt. At least one misunderstanding seemed to be cleared as Remus' predictions about Tonks sending him accusing glares didn't prove to be accurate. In fact, Tonks was sending looks mostly in one black Auror's direction and according to Kingsley's attempts to flirt and fly at the same time, he returned her feelings.
What did prove to be accurate was Remus' bad feeling about his first visit of Burrow after very long time. He stepped into Molly's kitchen hoping that he wouldn't have to face her – they hadn't met since he had tried to convince her about his sincere feelings for her son and even that last meeting didn't go very well. She warned him then - said that for Bill, this relationship would never be as serious as it had been with Fleur… how I thought she was wrong at that time.
The second the door to the chilly December morning was closed, a familiar scent made its way into Remus' senses. The faint touch of apples and cinnamon let him know that he was here and Remus felt strong urge to flee this house full of what he wanted to forget. Instead, he took a few steps and looked at the piece of parchment lying on the table. Reading a few names apparently written down in haste, he smiled sourly – the list of wedding guests, of course… how he could forget.
He turned when he heard footsteps and saw Molly fussing over how thin and sleepy Harry looked. Remus highly doubted that it was a consequence of their ride here – in the last months, the tiredness seemed to be undeletable in the boy's face, everlasting in the dark circles under green eyes. It wasn't as if Harry looked any worse than every other Order member, but still – the fact that even a child like him would be needed in this damn slaughter made them all understand exactly how far it had all come.
Molly finally sent the poor boy to bed and after greeting Tonks and Kingsley, she moved her attention to Remus – it was awkward a lot, or at least Remus felt that she didn't know how to treat him. In her voice, there was that ever-present "I told you," of a woman who had won an argument, there was a bit of pity and even a little "sorry" hidden underneath, when she spoke to him:
"Remus… will you stay for dinner?"
He knew that no matter how hard he'd try, it would be too much for him to handle – seeing Bill happy with his soon-to-be wife, feeling the warmth of family he never had. Politely refusing, he wanted to take his leave almost unharmed, still a bit drugged by a faint scent of Bill lingering in the room along with other people's presences.
Then he saw him – still sleepy, hair messy, wearing only a pair of thin cotton pants and smelling of his morning tea. Bill stepped into kitchen, his loud yawn changing to a beaming smile when he noticed Tonks and Kingsley. Made some joke about the two – Remus wasn't listening. His only thought, as that of a trapped animal, was that his way to the door, thus to the freedom, was blocked by a red-haired man he didn't really need to see at the very moment.
However, it was too late to think about escaping, because Bill finally noticed Remus' presence and a smile disappeared not only from his lips, but from his eyes as well. To make things worse, Molly suddenly seemed to gather what little diplomacy she had when it came to her children, and shooed Tonks and Kingsley out of the kitchen under pretence of wanting to know everything about those two. Last thing Remus could make out was Kingsley's mumbling that they weren't really together yet.
And then, he was left alone with those eyes just looking at him, killing the last bits of his sanity and making him yearn for the next full moon.
"I'll go," Remus interrupted the awkward moment and wished he could Apparate right from here.
"Feel free to stay for dinner," Bill said quietly and Remus turned to face him. Instead, his eyes rested on the white parchment full of names again.
"Congratulations."
"I'll send you an invitation," Bill made a face that wasn't easy to decipher – Remus decided it was something between rebellion and hurt.
"Don't bother," he said and stepped out to the hostile winter day. It was still a bit dark, even if white was everywhere and Remus felt strange when he paced quickly through occasionally falling snowflakes to reach the border of Anti-Apparating spell. He wasn't sure if it was sadness, pain or relief he felt – most probably none of the mentioned. It just felt strange and Remus wished he could turn into a wolf right now, in this snow, near woods and hills and just run. At the same time, he knew it was a foolish wish and that most probably, even if he could, he would, rather that running in a nearing snowstorm, just Apparate home and make himself a nice, warm cup of… no, no tea today. Coffee would do, maybe.
Loud crunching of snow under someone's feet brought him back to reality and he turned just in time to find himself absorbed in cinnamon scent, cinnamon hair and cinnamon taste, when younger werewolf pressed his hungry lips to Remus' own. It wasn't gentle and it wasn't promising, it was just last Bill's cry for help, for Remus to help him decide. And Remus did accept what was given, poured his own imaginary sobs and cries into that kiss, tasted home for one last time before it ended, because Remus was painfully aware of the fact that he didn't want Bill anymore, not Bill only accepting what was offered, not Bill with Fleur-issues, not the real Bill who was never Remus' home to start with. He frowned at Bill's naked chest.
"You'll catch cold," he said, as if younger man didn't know himself. He knew, indeed, as he smirked, red on his lips already beginning to fade into ill shade of blue.
"I hate you when you're this… mature."
"One of us has to be," Remus shrugged and wondered if he should offer Bill his coat. He didn't.
"I know. I'm an immature brat who doesn't even understand himself. I thought I've already gotten through that phase… well, I haven't," Bill smirked and sneezed loudly, beginning to shiver a bit. "I am still not sure, Remus. I don't know if she's what I want. I don't know… if I don't need you."
"She is," Remus heard himself say, as if his voice was connected to the only rational part of his brain, the part telling him that this was alright. Most of his mind was yelling at him to grab Bill and stick tongue in his mouth, but that part didn't seem to be in charge. "And you don't need me. You are sure as hell about what you want to do; you're just insecure about doing it. That's understandable, but not forgivable. Bill… she'll accept you some day, most probably. Maybe you'll hurt her and maybe she'll be the one to hurt you, but that's what … relationships are about." Remus really wanted to say "love", but found himself unable to pronounce it aloud in front of the man who had been not so long ago connected to this word for Remus.
He saw it now – saw that Molly was right, that Bill was never truly in love with him, that he just needed assurance and sought it where he got it. He didn't blame him for it – how could he?
And Bill just stood there, shivering and cold, and smiled at him. His eyes were gleaming too much, but Remus managed to convince himself that the wetness covering the turquoise orbs only had something to do with the fact that it was freezing outside and Bill was almost naked.
"Thank you," he whispered and Remus felt a strange urge to kiss him again. Instead, he turned away and Apparated.
His coat hung loosely from shoulders tanned by Egyptian sun, shoulders Remus himself could never touch. Again.
Mary Phillips had always been an exemplary wife. She had always taken care of everything that could be needed when her husband had been still alive and even now, twelve years after his death, she couldn't even think about spending Christmas Eve without visiting him.
Mrs. Phillips lit a candle for the soul of her husband on his grave and after praying for a while (and also sharing the newest gossips with her Eddie), she stood up and let the small path in snow lead her away from this sad place. Just before she left, something caught her eye and she returned a few steps only to be sure.
To be correct, it was not something – it was someone, someone dressed in just thin trousers and worn-out sweater, someone sitting in the snow and almost covered with it as the snowflakes were now falling in heavy, damp clumps. Someone probably in his forties, wet brown hair already streaked with silver, someone clearly not minding catching pneumonia or something even worse, sitting here in those thin clothes, his back rested against a cold tombstone.
"Hey… hey! What are you doing here?" she asked rashly to get his attention. She wouldn't oversee the presence of some damn homeless on the cemetery where her husband rested in peace – even if she wasn't sure why any homeless would be here instead of getting some free Christmas food and clothes in the city.
The man opened his eyes – eyes that reminded her of liquid gold – and smiled, or at least tried; it was too sad to be called a smile, if Mary could say.
"Just visiting home," he said, his voice hoarse and she left with a shrug.
Homeless people just had it harsh.
A/N: This is meant to be THE END. At least for this story ;) I know you all wanted a happy end. I did myself... but I got carried away and did the worst thing you can do when you want a happyend... I actually THOUGHT about what would they do and what would happen in reality... and this is where it got me and this story. I really wanted Bill to ditch Fleur... but damn, it SO did not work TT
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the story anyway. See you in another fic of mine ;)