A/N: I'm astounded by the amount of feedback I've gotten over the past few days. Seriously, I simply mention that I'd been reconsidering some of the chapters, and I suddenly get a flood of reviews! I feel like something is wrong about all of this. But still, I guess I should be grateful that I have so many faithful readers. Thanks for all the support, even if it was based on a misunderstanding haha. I'm still not going to be updating so often though. Sorry!
Pandafulprincess, Lucifel Fenrir, and tiffy: Thanks so much for the kind words! I'm really happy it's been a page-turner for you guys. I'm also happy that the sequel has been enough for you to keep going with it. I really appreciate the warm reviews, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story!
This isn't a very eventful chapter, but we finally get a look into Remus' head. He's such a good guy.
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Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Chapter 21: Of a Werewolf's Happiness
Remus woke slowly, blearily. Even without opening his eyes, he felt the warm body pressed against him and simply knew that it was Rowan. He pulled her in tightly. He still didn't understand what had brought her there and knew deep down that it had been a mistake to insist that she stay the night, but he wanted to cherish every moment he had with her. He wanted to pretend that she was still his.
It had taken him weeks to understand the implications of his leaving her in the hospital, crying alone. He had been lost in a dark haze of anger and hatred. He barely remembered any of it. Even as he'd sat with by her bed with his head full of her, he hadn't really seen her in front of him. Her voice was like a distant echo.
She had been a ghost – or perhaps he had been the ghost – and all he could think about was finding the traitor within their midst. No person had been beyond his scrutiny, even their closest friends. When he'd smelled the burnt flesh, heard her terrible screams, his darkness had roared and thrashed, tearing at him from the inside, and for the first time in his life, he relished it, wanted to unleash the monster in him to reap revenge on anyone who came near her. He wanted to rip apart every Death Eater, every person who had ever laid eyes on her. As he looked at their comrades, he saw guilt in every single face and wanted to tear them all apart. He wanted them to all know the pain that she had suffered, to know that it was also their fault for allowing her to be the sacrifice. Green fire burned everywhere.
But as the days turned to weeks, the anger became numb, and he realized that she was nowhere to be found. He hadn't found the traitor, and there was a deathly silence within him. Even the dark voice had gone cold, and he wondered if perhaps he had burned in that fire along with Edgar.
And then his mother died.
When he saw Rowan standing in St. Mungo's, she'd looked like a haunted doll, like a distant dream. She didn't meet his eyes, tears silently falling to the floor with head bent. He couldn't remember her voice. He wondered how long it had been since he'd seen her. She stood alone and frail. It didn't look right. Hadn't he always been by her side?
But he hadn't been there. He'd left her, been swallowed by his rage, consumed in the fire along with her skin. How long had it been since he'd seen his parents? His friends? Had he really left her to heal alone?
She'd been there all along, helping his sick mother and recovering slowly with her while he'd been in the dark, groping blindly for a sign of a traitor that he wasn't even sure existed anymore. He'd promised to protect her, to take care of his mother, but he'd abandoned them both in his search for the revenge that Rowan hadn't even wanted. Had his mother been lonely, afraid when she died? Did she know that he loved her, that she was more than he'd ever deserved?
He returned home with his father, searching around the house for any trace of Leanna, cherishing ever remnant of her. There was a broken teacup and small splatters of dried blood on the floor. The white bandages on Rowan's small feet burned into his mind. She had stood in that very kitchen earlier that day, clinging to his dying mother. Had she fallen? Was she in pain? He followed the bloody footprints through the halls and saw the ghost of Rowan's frail form struggling through the house. He could imagine her fear, taste her tears.
Remus stood in the kitchen among the broken ceramic. He didn't know for how long. The pieces were scattered across the floor, and though he knew he could fix it with a word, it seemed wrong, like a sign of disrespect to his mother. He almost wanted to leave them there to serve as a reminder of all the ways she'd suffered. He imagined his mother's small form standing in front of the counter and the sound of running water over clinking glass. He had looked at the back of her figure there his entire life, remembered the day he realized he was finally taller than her – she had cried happily – and he wished more than anything that he could see her there one more time. His throat tightened. He would never be able to hear her voice again.
Finally, he picked up the larger pieces and then gently swept up the tiny shards with his hands. He placed the shattered bits on a clean piece of paper and didn't have the heart to throw them away. He sat at the kitchen table with his mother's broken glass and the still-full cup that Rowan had drank from until his father pushed him up the stairs.
Sleep never came, however, and as he sat awake, he imagined that, at any moment, Leanna might knock on his door softly and scold him for not sleeping, as she always had in his nights of insomnia as a boy. He thought of her melodious voice, and the way she would cradle him after his monthly transformations as a boy. He laid in his bed, which felt much too small, too cold to be his, and he cried silently, wishing desperately that he could see her one last time.
When dawn broke, he began to hear the voices of his friends entering his home. How long had it been since he'd seen them? How could they come there after all that the terrible ways he'd treated them? He suddenly felt ashamed. His friends, who had accepted all of his worst qualities and weaknesses from the very first day at Hogwarts, had absorbed his coldness, his darkness, without so much as a complaint. How could he face them?
And then there was a knock, and he was terrified. He wanted to curl up in his bed and disappear. But he had no right to run away from them. He deserved to feel their anger, their resentment. He grit his teeth and opened the door.
But it hadn't been his father or Sirius or James. It was Rowan. He had just seen her the day before, but as she stood there, he saw her face for the first time in what seemed like years. The brightness of her eyes blinded him, and before he knew it, she was in his room, standing amongst his belongings. It felt so strange to have her there, but as they looked through his pictures, he realized that she had been there all along. The world suddenly came into focus, clear and bright, and he wondered how it could have taken him so long to see her there. How many times now had she stood by him quietly, waiting for him to notice her?
She held him as he cried, just like Leanna had all those years ago. His mother's funeral passed in a hazy blur, but he remembered the warmth of Rowan's body pressed against him that night. When she left the next morning, he mourned that while he'd finally woken from his walking nightmares, he'd paid the price of losing both of the most precious women in his life. Rowan had suffered too much by him, and he knew it was finally time to let her go.
Though he and the Marauders immediately picked up where they'd left off, he still couldn't shake the feelings of suspicion around the other Order members. He had caught a glimpse of Rowan's burns as she'd slipped on his shirt, and the sight of the clean bandages beneath her clothes was sobering. The image was again fresh in his mind, and as long as it remained there, he knew he wouldn't be able to truly rest until he knew she would never be hurt again.
He fell back into a mundane rhythm without any great sorrow or joy, but he was content. He and Rowan resumed their friendship surprisingly easily, and he thought fondly that his mother would have been happy for them. His judgment had slipped on Christmas Eve, and he'd kissed her, but he reasoned that they'd been drunk and that their secret would remain there in the dark. She hadn't seemed to mind, and he never brought it up again, but the dark voice within him howled distantly.
But when he and Fabian saw her silver wolf appear that evening in February, his blood ran cold, and he felt his own wolf bursting from his bones. Every fiber of his being screamed as he saw her run into the burning apothecary, and before Fabian could stop him, he'd ran after her, dragging her out kicking and screaming. It was a nightmare. He saw flashes of her burning flesh in his mind again, and no matter how much she beat at him and shouted for her master, he held steadfast and absorbed her blows, letting her punish his selfishness.
He still didn't know what had transpired within Belby's parting gift to her, but when she'd woken from the Pensieve's trance, there was an ache in her eyes that he'd never seen before. He spent the next couple of weeks coming and going from her apartment. She didn't move much, and at times, he thought that perhaps she was a ghost. He wanted to hold her, but he knew he had no right anymore – hadn't he given all of that up when he'd abandoned her the last time she'd grieved?
Her master had left him a decent amount of gold in his passing, and he still hated the thought of it. It sat in his bank vault untouched, and if it hadn't been for the precious place the deceased Potions Master held in Rowan's heart, he would have given it away. It seemed tainted, like a gift of pity – his stomach clenched bitterly at the thought. But Rowan had cried and held his hands tightly and told him that it was a final gesture of devotion to the old wizard's love. He found that he couldn't argue.
Rowan had bounced back though, as she always did, though her actions were more subdued, her voice a little less bright. He missed her spark desperately, and he was determined to be by her side, to ensure that it came back to her. He insisted on walking with her at night and even checked on her sometimes during the day. When he was away on missions for the Order, he ensured that one of the other Marauders was there for her, and through it all, he finally understood that while his morals and ethics might waver, she would always be his reason.
So when she'd appeared at his door the night before, wide-eyed and confused, he felt as if he had been dreaming. He couldn't understand what had brought her there, and he still hadn't the faintest idea. He looked at her as she slept and wondered what could have possibly happened for her to seek him out.
If it hadn't been for his insistence on seeing her, would he really see her at all? He grimaced at the thought. He knew she still loved him – was he actually hurting her by staying by her side? Should he try to distance himself, to allow them both time to move on?
His eyes then fell upon the scars on her arm, and he knew he couldn't possibly do that. The bandages were gone and the open wounds and scabs had healed over, but the redness remained, peaking out from beneath the sleeve of his shirt. The color was bright and shining and screamed of painful memories. He thought of the way she'd always cherished his scars affectionately and thought bitterly that this was much darker. Hers was a crime, a brush with death and spite. The anger bristled in him again. This beautiful girl should never have known anything but the kindest of touches. Even if she grew to resent him, he couldn't leave her alone when there was still a war going on.
His dark thoughts were interrupted when he felt her shift against him. He looked down and saw her looking at his chest, eyebrows furrowed.
"Winnie, your gears are showing," he whispered. He was surprised at how easily and quickly it slipped from his lips.
She jerked in surprise and looked up at him, flustered, a light blush on her face. He couldn't help but smile, reminded of the times at Hogwarts before they'd started dating when he'd tease her mercilessly. She frowned at him but didn't say anything before moving away from him. He mourned the pressure of her body against his.
Her face melted into a sheepish smile, and he wanted to squeeze her again. But she shifted and sat up, and he quietly mourned the loss of her warmth.
She sat in silence for a while and just stared about the room. He watched her gaze wander slowly and admired the way the morning light reflected off her skin, how her hair fell about her. His heart tightened painfully. He couldn't just reach out and touch her anymore whenever he wanted, and he wanted to so badly.
"Thank you," she whispered, turning back to him. He felt his throat constrict at the gentle smile on her face.
"I frequently seem to be a mess around you, but you always take it in stride," she said, grinning lightly. He smiled softly back. "Sorry for taking up your bed – not a very good friend, am I?"
He laughed softly and sat up as well, ruffling her hair and moving out of the bed. He needed to put some distance between them before he did something stupid.
"Nonsense," he said genuinely, "You've always been a better friend than I deserve." He moved towards his sink and filled a glass of water, bringing it over to her.
Her face melted warmly as she took the glass from him, amber eyes shining in the yellow light, and he had to look away. It was as if she took the sun and magnified it – he might go blind if he gazed at her too long
"You deserve everything, Remus," she said fervently, and he had to consciously keep himself from kissing her.
She drank from the glass then stood, taking it over to his sink. He watched her figure and thought of how normal it all seemed to have her there again, as if they were still together.
"I should probably get going. I know you have to get to work and all," she said, turning back around and moving towards her clothes, which were laid over a chair.
He nodded dumbly, not really hearing her. He watched as she sorted out her clothing and then realized that she was looking at him with an embarrassed look on her face. Shit, he was staring!
He turned away from her, face burning, and moved to his wardrobe to pull out his own clothes for the day. He heard the shifting of cloth that said she was changing quickly. Once he heard her movement stop, he turned slowly to see her staring out the window longingly. He had noticed this habit and paired it with her moments of inner musings. He wondered what she had just decided.
But then she turned and smiled at him, and he was dazed.
She moved towards him quickly and hugged him fiercely. He stumbled slightly with surprise at the force of her embrace but then wrapped his arms around her tightly. She sighed and then slowly let go, looking up at him brightly. He wanted to kiss her.
"Better take a shower before work - you stink," she said cheekily.
He barked out a laugh and ruffled her hair. She was so bright - how he loved her! She squealed and ran away from him towards the door. Just as she was about to open it, she turned back at him and smiled again.
"Thanks again. I really can't tell you how much I appreciate it," she said warmly – appreciate you.
He smiled. "I know," he said. She grinned one more time before running out the door. As he watched the door shut, he felt strangely light, and as he prepared for work, he noted happily that the monotony of his days had been lifted just slightly.