Beneath the Tryst.

Story Notes: Yup, it was inevitable. This is Remus Lupin's view on the scene. How could I forget him?
A/N: This is probably the part I'm happiest with, I just kinda like the way it came out.
(Er, that should probably read: I like the way I think it came out :) ) Thanks to Jenni who made me post this, and reads all my junk even though she hasn't read the books. Also, a scary, and almost creepy, amount of thanks for the reviews so far :D

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Part Three: Remus Lupin.

For eternities he has waited for the sounding of the chimes, each daylight moment spent urging them to come, yet when the first one echoes he wishes for a longer wait. With racing heart, with cold, sweating skin, he moves with clumsy gait. The chimes end, the corridor ends, and now he is outside at last and all too soon.

Past the circle of the weak castle cast light, down deeper into night and grounds, he walks. His frayed and ragged cloak offers no true protection from the air, it chills him now, down through to bone, but there is no time, no place to care. The frozen breeze breathes sharply and stings along his face. The ground and stones beneath his feet are slippery and damp with growing frost. He slips once, and then again, and then he carries on.

He walks towards his destination now, without even looking up. Always in the same place, always watching, waiting there, was the one he moves towards.

Now he is close, now he looks up to see that pale face looming, as if magically supported only by the shadows of the night. For a moment, but no more, he sees a transposed sight, of wild and black, untamed hair, flowing over a long lost handsome face.

But then it's gone, and there instead resides the oil heavy head of limp, lifeless hair that he has stronger eyes for now. Beneath the crinkled, conflicted brow, etched upon the other face, lie fathomlessly deep, dark eyes, watching him intently.

Finally he reaches his usual place, stood just inches from his lover's frame. The eyes alone betray the thoughts, the echoes of silent emotions flash. At once a familiar feeling comes, provoked by that half cold, steely gaze. An urge to turn, an urge to run, an urge to touch a shaking hand to his protective wand, is only overruled by lust, by love, and by pure determination.

For far too long, he had given in to that projected rage and hate. Now finally, when he knew he could, he would never run from any chance to touch the man before him. This would be his only chance for hours, so now he stands, roots himself upon the spot, and, though shifting oh so slightly, stills his hand from its unasked motion. All he wants to say, he puts into his gaze, sets it in his eyes, and reaches out one unsure hand, inviting the other man to move away, or else to move to take him. He knows, too well perhaps, he cannot move to far or first. Control does not, should not, ever rest with him.

And then all thought is torn away, as his lover takes him swiftly in the strong circle of his arms. The forest itself takes one deep breath, and writhes in unison with them, mirroring their every move. The kiss deepens as he is pulled down, onto bended knees. His mouth is lost to deep embrace, the way it should always be.

But something stands, some distance away, it stands and watches them. He only sees a flash of fur, from out the corner of his eye. He only hears a fraction of the ringing, anguished cry, and only with half a heart he thinks of his old lover, his place now forever lost to new.