Author's Note: Thank you so much to GraceMonroe for your review! I do not deserve all of your kindness! (But I will greedily accept it all the same)

I wanted to give you all a heads up that my posting schedule may have to be a bit off for the next month or so. June is going to be a pretty busy month at my house, and I may not be able to stick exactly to my usual posting schedule. I'm still going to try to post weekly, but I hope you will all understand if things get thrown off a bit.

Anyway, thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy!


Chapter Seven: Microphones and Mild Problems

Professor Lup- no, Remus, Mairead reminded herself, he's Remus now - Remus made her explain her theory twice, then got to his feet and announced that he was summoning Dumbledore.

"No, but -" she cried in alarm. "Wait. You - you don't really think...?"

"Yes, Mairead," he said seriously. "I do."

He summoned his Patronus - a breathtaking, silvery wolf - spoke to it briefly, and then watched it turn and lope off through solid wall.

Remus turned back to Mairead, who was still sitting on the couch she had spent the past twenty-four hours on, surrounded by books, diagrams, pieces of machinery, tools, and various empty and half-empty mugs and glasses.

"He'll be here soon," he told her. "I'm sure of it."

And he was right. No more than a few minutes after Lupin had sent his Patronus, Professor Dumbledore was knocking on the front door.

Mairead welcomed him inside, feeling surreal and dizzy, and showed him through to the sitting room. There, at Lupin's urging and encouragement, she repeated everything she had told him.

If Dumbledore felt that her idea was inane or pointless, he did not betray the feeling, but devoted his full attention to what Mairead had to say.

After she finished, there was silence. Then Dumbledore said, "I believe that it is time we called a special meeting of the Order of the Phoenix."

"We should go to Grimmauld Place," Remus said, rising from his seat beside Mairead. "Bring those books."

"But, I -" Mairead faltered. She looked back and forth between the two wizards frantically. "I don't..." Mairead let out a little whimper and pulled her lips into her mouth. Remus cocked his head to one side.

"What's wrong?" he asked gently.

"I - don't you think this is a little premature?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No, I really don't," he said.

He knelt down beside Mairead and helped her carefully mark her spot in all of the books. Then, she and Remus each gathered up an armload of the materials spread out on the table and, at Dumbledore's signal, Apparated to the bottom of the steps at number twelve.

Sirius met them at the door.

"I think Dumbledore's on the way," he said, holding up a phoenix feather clutched in his hand. "Oh - Dumbledore!" he said, spotting the headmaster. "What's going on? Are you all right, Mairead?"

Mairead nodded and Remus said, "Let's go down to the kitchen. Will you please fetch Arthur and Molly, Sirius? There's going to be an Order meeting."

Remus ushered Mairead down the stairs and into the basement kitchen. He deposited his load of books onto the table, then reached for Mairead's. Mairead was feeling overwhelmed. Her heart was racing and she could feel herself trembling with nerves - or perhaps it was exhaustion. As soon as her hands were free she wrapped her arms around herself, shifting on the spot uncertainly. Lupin turned back to her, and, like he had read her mind, laid a calming hand on her arm.

"Don't be nervous," he murmured. "It'll be all right."

She heard the door open behind her and she whipped around. Her stomach felt like it dropped ten stories as she watched the members of the Order begin filing into the room, all with varying looks of confusion and intrigue on their faces. Before she could stop herself, Mairead shrank back against Lupin, seeking his comforting presence.

"Good evening," said Dumbledore placidly when everyone had arrived, smiling around at the group. "Thank you all for meeting me here on such short notice. Please be seated. Mairead here has something she wishes to share with us."

Mairead turned and looked desperately over her shoulder at Lupin, silently pleading with him to rescue her. He laid a hand on her back, between her shoulder blades the way he had done at Hagrid's cabin.

"Just tell them what you told me, Mairead," he said as he gently steered her into a chair and sat down beside her. "Walk them through it exactly the way you did me."

Feeling extremely cowardly, but drawing strength from Lup- from Remus's hand, which was still resting on her back, Mairead took a deep, shaky breath, and began.

Dumbledore listened intently once again, and, to Mairead's unending gratitude, his attention seemed to command the same from everyone else. Mairead began by explaining how gramophones worked, pausing frequently and looking over at Remus for reassurance. Then she explained the basic differences between how records and cassette tapes worked. After that, she pulled out several music CDs and passed them around the table, explaining how differently this technology worked.

"So you see," she went on quietly, "even though the sound is stored in a record through physical grooves, and it's stored on cassettes through ferromagnetic tape, the playback process is the same: the movement creates an electromagnetic field, which is amplified and sent to the speakers."

"Delightful," said Doge dryly. "And that is why you felt it necessary to drag us all out of bed at nine o'clock on a weeknight? To tell us about Muggle pop music?"

"I guarantee you literally no one else was in bed at nine o'clock," Tonks said, rolling her eyes. She nodded and smiled encouragingly at Mairead. "Go on."

Mairead could have hugged Tonks for the vote of confidence, but her own confidence was shot. "Erm..." she hummed, trying to gather her scattered thoughts.

"So that was analogue?" prompted Sirius.

Mairead nodded. "Yes," she said, blinking a few times as she remembered where she had left off. "But - but digital recordings work differently. Analogue sound is created by physically etching - either by physical grooves, like with records, or by physically altering the magnetic tape - an unbroken sound that is analogous to the original sound waves. Digital sound is created by breaking these sounds down into individual digits that can be interpreted by a computer. Each moment in a song is broken down into a value somewhere on an axis -" Here, Mairead reached for two diagrams and held them up. "Do you see how the analogue sound is one continuous wave? Well, digital recording works by assigning a value to each moment - values like how loud and how high or low the pitch should be. And the more moments that can be packed into a single second - what's known as the sampling rate - the more precise the replicated sound will be. But that's just it - it's a replication, not the original. Digital recordings work by breaking the sound down into little, teeny packets that get sent to a computer that puts them back together again and then produces sound. But here's the thing - digital information is easily interfered with. If something happens to the data between when it's sent and when it's received, it can be corrupted or even erased entirely."

She paused for breath. About half the room appeared to be with her, but the other half were frowning in confusion.

"So..." said Sturgis slowly. "What's this got to do with magic?"

Mairead frowned and bit her lip, looking around for an example. "Here," she said, tearing a piece of paper out of her notebook and crumpling it up. She stood up and walked a few paces away from the table, turned to Sirius, and said, "Catch this."

She tossed the ball of paper and Sirius easily snatched it out of the air.

"That's analogue," she said. Then, she tore another piece of paper out of her notebook and began shredding it into tiny pieces. She gathered the pieces up into her hands, walked over to Sirius, and deposited the pieces into his hands. "And, without any problems, this is digital. The same information is broken down into pieces, but once it reaches its destination, the pieces can be reassembled flawlessly."

Now, she held out her hands and Sirius dropped the shredded paper back into her hands. She stepped away from the table once more. "But this is what happens when there's interference." She began walking towards Sirius again, but this time, she brought her hands up to her face and blew on the handful of paper. Pieces scattered everywhere. By the time she got to Sirius, she only had a few pieces left in her hands. "My theory is that that is what magic does to digital technology. That's why some Muggle technology works and some doesn't. The newer stuff is just more susceptible to interference."

"Fascinating," breathed Arthur. "It's absolutely fascinating." He looked around excitedly at the others. "Do you see what this means? We can - if we know what causes critical failure of Muggle devices, we can more easily harness the ones that will work. Perhaps, with time, we can even solve the interference issue and have full functionality of Muggle technology in magical homes!"

Arthur's face was shining as he beamed at Mairead.

"Now explain how this could benefit the Order, Mairead," Remus said quietly as Mairead resumed her seat.

For the third time that evening, Mairead recounted her conversation with Mr. Thompson. She told the group about how Remus had come over to the house to tell her about the Order meeting, and how it had all been played back for her on the computer screen.

"Does Mr. Thompson know about the Order, Mairead?" McGonagall asked, a steely note of alarm in her voice.

"No, Professor," Mairead reassured her quickly. "That was my first question, too, but no. His cameras just recorded video, not sound. But: there are security cameras that do record both, and there are also these things called listening devices that just record sound. And these things, they're tiny. I'm talking the size of a shirt button. They're commonly referred to as 'bugs' - that's how small they are. They're the size of an insect. And - and I saw one of Mr. Thompson's cameras as I was leaving. It was much bigger than a shirt button but I never even noticed it. The whole time I was there I was surrounded by these things and I had no idea they were even there. They were tucked into corners, hidden behind picture frames... If we... if we -" she broke off, concerned she would sound foolish and naïve.

But Sirius finished her thought. "If we could get even just one of those listening devices into Lucius Malfoy's house..." he said in a hushed tone. Mairead nodded.

A thoughtful silence fell. Mairead looked over at Remus, and he smiled slightly at her and gave her a reassuring head nod.

After a few moments, Dumbledore said, "Mairead, are you confident that you can get one of these listening devices to work in a magical house?"

Mairead's eyes widened in panic. "Er," she said. "I - I'm not sure. I've only known about these devices since eight o'clock last night." She looked around at the table full of people who were hovering so close to the brink of excitement, and she felt she owed them more than maybes and uncertainties. "I'll give it everything I've got, sir," she promised softly.

Dumbledore bowed his head. "You will have the full resources of the Order at your disposal," he said. "You should have help with your research, too. Arthur, I wonder: would you be willing?"

Mr. Weasley looked as though he had just won the lottery. "Yes, sir!" he said, eyes gleaming. Mairead smiled shyly at the tall, thin wizard.

Sirius let out a single bark of a laugh. "It's just," he said when people looked around at him. "Can you imagine the look on Malfoy's face if he found out we were spying on him using technology invented by Muggles?"

"It's elegant," said Remus, sharing the same, satisfied smile that many other people had.

"It's a goddamn thing of beauty," Sirius said.

"How many could you make?" Emmeline broke in. "Ideally we'd have as many as possible."

Moody grunted in agreement. "We should plan out a list of places to plant them, in order of preference," he growled.

"Well, one in Malfoy's home, for sure," said Bill, ticking the names off on his fingers as he went. "And one at Macnair's, Yaxley's, Nott's -"

"Would it be possible to get one planted in Malfoy's and Macnair's offices at the Ministry?" Arthur cut in. "It's nearly impossible for me to imagine they're not recruiting at work."

People began talking over one another in their excitement - excitement which, in spite of her nerves and somewhat shaky confidence, Mairead couldn't help but begin to feel herself.

Somehow, though he spoke scarcely louder than a deadly whisper, Snape's voice cut through all the hubbub.

"You do realize," he said, eyeing Mairead unpleasantly, "that if one of these devices is found, and it is somehow traced back to you, the Dark Lord will see to it that you die a death more unpleasant than you can possibly imagine?"

Like a balloon popping, the optimistic spirit in the room instantly deflated and silence fell.

"Are you prepared to accept that?" Snape asked Mairead, black eyes glittering.

Mairead swallowed. "Erm, well," she said quietly, "based on what I've seen from these meetings so far, it seems the only reason we're called the Order of the Phoenix is because the Order of the People Who Are Willing to Die a Death More Unpleasant than You Can Possibly Imagine takes too long to say."

More than a few people laughed, and Sirius clapped her soundly on the back.

"God, I like you!" he exclaimed, grinning doggishly at her. "Will you marry me?"

"Will you quit harassing me?" Mairead retorted.

"If you marry me? Absolutely."

"Ugh," Mairead groaned, burying her face in her hands.

The meeting was adjourned shortly afterwards, but many members stayed behind for drinks, at Sirius's invitation. The mood was boisterous and loud, and Mairead vaguely thought that if she fit in or felt like she belonged it might be nice to stay. As it was, she quietly slipped out while Sirius was making a toast: "To rendering Snape as obsolete as I feel."

She wearily took the stairs up to the entryway, feeling her depression settling around her like a blanket.

"Are you leaving?"

Mairead turned at the sound of Professor L- of Remus's soft voice. "I should get back," she said, speaking painfully around the lump that had formed in her throat.

Remus smiled and leaned against the stairway, hands in his pockets. "You don't want to stay even for one drink?" he asked.

Mairead smiled ruefully and shook her head. "I make bad decisions when I drink," she said, recalling Fred and George's Victory Juice... and Roger Davies's subsequent 'victory.'

"Ah," Remus said. He watched her thoughtfully for a moment or two, then said, "May I show you one thing before you go? I think you'll like it."

Dimly, Mairead thought that it probably wasn't the healthiest thing ever that she couldn't imagine herself ever saying 'no' to him, but she pushed the thought aside and nodded. "Show me what?" she asked.

He grinned and shrugged off the wall. "It's a surprise. Follow me," he said.

Smiling in anticipation, Mairead followed Remus to the staircase. They walked up flight after flight of stairs to the fifth floor, and then Remus led Mairead down the corridor to a door at the very end. He opened the door onto another staircase, this one rickety and narrow, with only a rope as a railing. Mairead looked to Remus for reassurance, and he nodded.

"Go on up," he said. "I'm right behind you."

Mairead reached out and clutched the rope as she unsteadily climbed the stairs. Good thing I didn't have that drink, she thought to herself as she wavered dangerously and reached forward to grab hold of the stairs rising before her.

The stairs opened out into what looked like the attic. As soon as she reached the top, Mairead lit her wand. Somehow, the attic managed to be even danker and dingier than the rest of the house, which, Mairead thought, was quite the accomplishment. There were old-fashioned pieces of furniture covered in white sheets, cobwebs hanging from the wooden beams, and, based on the hurried scuttling she heard as she lit her wand, a nice little infestation of mice or rats.

She looked around skeptically then gave Remus, who was standing hunched over in the low-ceilinged room, a painfully forced smile.

"Erm, this is great," she said entirely unconvincingly. Remus burst out laughing at her strained politeness.

"This isn't the surprise," he said, still laughing. "Here - follow me."

Walking doubled over, Remus headed for the far end of the attic, towards a set of double doors that were so covered in grime that Mairead didn't even recognize them as doors until Remus reached out and worked the handle. The hinges shrieked in protest as Remus swung open the door and stood back to let Mairead walk through.

Her mouth fell open as she stepped through the doorway and out onto a rooftop garden. This had obviously once been a well-cared for space. Dozens of pots ranging from small to large enough to sit inside were scattered throughout the space. At first glance, all of the plants looked dead, but Mairead knew well enough that many magical plants entered a dormant state when neglected rather than die off altogether. The area obviously got plenty of sunlight, and there was even a small greenhouse that, upon closer inspection, Mairead saw was already equipped with two long tables, gardening tools, and a tap for water.

Mairead wandered among the plants, occasionally reaching out to touch a shriveled vine or a flower bud that would crumble under her fingers. Her mouth was still open in surprise when she turned back to Remus, wonder in her eyes.

"This - this is incredible," she said earnestly.

Remus smiled. "Sirius says it's all yours."

She let out an astonished laugh. "I'll be able to grow so many of the medicinal herbs and potions ingredients I need here!" she said. "This is amazing."

"I thought you'd like it," he said.

"I love it," she confirmed.

She walked over to the waist-high wall that ran around the footprint of the building and leaned against it, looking out over the rooftops of London. Remus strolled over and joined her.

"It's got a great view, too," she said, her dour mood forgotten as a massive smile spread across her face. "You know, this is actually a really nice house."

Remus snorted derisively.

"No, it is!" she insisted. "It just needs someone to love it. To put love into it, I mean. There's no love here." She nibbled on her lip, becoming lost in thought as she watched the lights blink on and off inside the Muggle houses surrounding them.

Mairead turned to look over at Lupin to thank him and was startled to find that he was not, in fact, taking in the view of the rooftops, but looking intently at her. She felt her eyebrows contract at the expression on his face. She had never seen him look at her like this before. There was something in his eyes that was new. Before she could identify it, though, he blinked and his face rearranged itself into the mild-mannered, gentlemanly expression she was familiar with.

Wait - no! Her mind scrambled to commit the way he had looked to memory. For some reason it felt important.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked softly, praying that he would tell her the truth.

"Oh," he said, smiling vaguely. "I was wondering how your new place is."

Okay, I don't know what he was thinking about, but it was not that, she felt certain of it. Oh, well. I probably shouldn't pry.

"It's nice!" she said. "It's super nice. And they've got pets! I mean, you saw it."

"Is the dog doing any better at night?" he asked.

Mairead raised an eyebrow. "Sherlock has either resigned himself to the abandonment of his owners or he has forgotten their existence."

Remus smiled crookedly at her. "Sherlock, is it?" he asked. "Let me guess: is the cat named Moriarty?"

Mairead stared at him, nonplussed. "How did you know that?" she asked.

"Ah," said Remus, smiling. "You've not read the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle."

Mairead shook her head. "Is he a Muggle author?" she asked. "'Cause these are Muggles."

Remus nodded. "He was," he confirmed. "He wrote mysteries revolving around a detective named Sherlock Holmes, his sidekick, Watson, and his nemesis, Moriarty."

"Maybe they'll have some of his books at the house," she mused. "They've got an enormous library. Oh! And they have a whole wall of films! I'm there for a month. I'm going to get through as many as I can."

Remus smiled at her. "Sounds like you won't want for entertainment," he said.

"You should come over and watch a movie with me sometime!" she said enthusiastically. Then, remembering herself, she quickly broke eye contact and mumbled, "I mean, if you want to. You don't have to. Obviously. You're your own person. I just mean you're welcome. To come over, I mean. Not like, 'thank you, you're welcome' you're welcome."

"Thanks for clarifying," he said, his voice quivering with barely suppressed laughter.

Mairead closed her eyes in embarrassment. Perhaps in the dim light he wouldn't be able to see her blush.

They wound up staying up on the rooftop and talking quietly, watching the traffic below them, until a clock somewhere struck eleven.

"I suppose I'd better get back," Mairead said regretfully. She wished she could stay up here with him all night.

"I'll walk you out," said Remus.

When they reached the fifth floor landing again - Remus having navigated the rickety, narrow stairs with far more grace and agility than Mairead managed - they extinguished their wands, and Mairead once again found Remus staring at her. She could feel her heart quicken at the attention, even if it meant nothing.

"You will try to get some rest tonight, won't you, May?" he asked. Mairead could hear the concern in his voice. "Go straight to bed, yes?"

One corner of Mairead's mouth turned up. "Can't," she said. "I still have to walk Sherlock and then I definitely need a shower. As you've so astutely pointed out, I've been in these clothes for more than one dance."

"You smell fine."

Mairead looked back at him, mid-way through descending a staircase. "Wait -" she said, putting pieces together in her head. "Can you - that is... I mean... are your -?"

"My senses are more acute than those of normal people, yes," Remus said, reading her mind as he always did.

Mairead felt her face grow warm. "I'm sorry," she said, embarrassment coursing through her. "Was that - I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry."

"It's perfectly all right," Remus said softly.

Mairead glanced up at him shyly through a curtain of her hair. "Erm... d-d'you... do you hate people asking questions like that?" she asked. And then, just like that, just when her fully-formed question should have been left to stand on its own, she began to babble. "I only ask because I want to do the right thing. If you hate questions about being a werewolf I won't ask them, but I also don't want to conspicuously not ask them, because, like, I don't want you to think that I'm walking on eggshells or treating you all delicately like you're this fragile thing made out of spun sugar because I hate it when people do that to me about being a Squib. But also I know that you're not me and I shouldn't just assume that you'd want to be treated the same way that I would want to be treated under similar circumstances. Because I get that you're not me. You're you. And... and that's great! You're great at being you and you're great at - at - at being great and I just don't want you to think that I'm, like, taking advantage of your proximity to feed my sick curiosity or making you feel weird or anything because it's not like that at all and I... just..." she trailed off at the look of befuddled hilarity on Remus's face. She figured she'd better wrap this up. "Erm, so like, eh?"

Oh, that was a fantastic bloody finish, her brain told her.

For a few dreadful moments Mairead had absolutely no idea what response she was going to get from him. Had she offended him? I mean, in all likelihood yes, she thought rationally. I said so fucking much in there that something in there was bound to be bloody offensive. She felt like absolute rubbish. The last thing on earth she would ever want to do was hurt him.

Just as she was thinking up ways she could find out where the nearest sinkhole was and throw herself into it, though, Remus let out a snort. Then another. He clapped a hand over his mouth. "Sorry, that -" he managed to say, but next thing she knew he had completely dissolved into helpless laughter.

Mairead scratched her eyebrow awkwardly as she watched her former professor struggle to regain control of himself, still chuckling.

"Sorry," he apologized once again when he finally seemed to have gotten a grip. He looked over at her and Mairead's stomach gave a pleasurable swoop at his flushed cheeks and bright eyes. "I - I think that may have been the most endearing thing I've ever seen."

Mairead let out a whimper of embarrassment and hid her face in her hands. She heard him laugh again.

"And no," he said, his voice warm and kind. "To answer - er, what I think was your question. I don't mind if you ask me questions. You're right - sometimes I dislike it when people ask me about it, but not you. You can ask me anything."

Mairead blinked up at him. "Why not me?" she asked curiously.

He tilted his head slightly to one side. "Because I trust you," he said simply.

Mairead felt that this was quite possibly the highest compliment she had ever been paid. She didn't know what to say, so she acted on impulse, stepped forward, and threw her arms around him.

He stumbled back on one foot, clearly startled by her show of affection. He placed his hands on her back, but very lightly.

"I'm surprised you would still want to hug me," he murmured into her hair, sounding, to Mairead's ear, like he was feeling guilty. "After what I did to you this evening."

Mairead pulled away just enough to look up at him. "I trust you too, you know," she said softly.

That strange, unidentifiable look was back in his eyes. But this time he didn't pull away. He allowed his gaze to linger on her, and Mairead felt herself grow warm and flushed. They were so close to one another. Mairead could see the flecks of blue and amber mingling among the swirls of grey in his eyes. She felt like she could spend all day looking at his eyes.

All at once, it occurred to her that, if his sense of smell was heightened, his sense of hearing might be sensitive enough to pick up on her heart rate.

She pulled away abruptly, then felt guilty at the confused look on his face.

"Sorry," she mumbled, quickly concocting a lie. "The 'I haven't showered' thing. I forgot."

He smiled. "I told you: you smell fine."

She smiled shyly and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as she resumed walking down the stairs.

"So wait," she said as they passed Fred and George's bedroom, from which a series of strange noises and smells was emanating. "If your sense of smell is extra sensitive, what must it be like living in a house full of hormonal, unhygienic teenage boys?"

Remus raised an eyebrow at her and smiled ruefully. "Not nearly as bad as living in a castle full of hormonal, unhygienic teenage boys."

He laughed at Mairead's open-mouthed look of dismay. "I'm used to it," he reassured her.

Mairead froze in her tracks as she remembered all of the evenings they had spent sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, of the times she had left dueling sessions hot and sweaty, of the time he had stood behind her and put his hands on her to correct her stance...

Remus looked around at her, saw the stressed look on her face, and seemed to understand immediately. "You always smelled very nice," he said. "I promise."

Mairead let out a sigh of relief, as much at the reassurance as at the fact that he hadn't read her mind as thoroughly as he usually did. If he had, he would have been able to sense the heat pooling in her core, the thrumming she felt between her thighs as she recalled the sensation of him sliding his hands over her belly, slipping down her arm, his long fingers completely enveloping hers, his soft, purring voice stirring her hair as he murmured instructions in her ear.

"Well, 'night, then," she said as brightly as she could manage. She barely waited for him to say good-bye to her before she slipped out the front door and Apparated back to her place.

Best to make a quick exit before his sensitive nose picked up on the arousal she could feel building inside her.


Remus's mild problem was not so mild anymore.

He paced his bedroom back and forth, over and over until his feet began to leave tracks in the old, worn carpet.

It had been a week since he had shown Mairead the rooftop garden, a week since he had gone to her house to rescue her and wound up attacking her instead, a week since she had started making a concerted effort to call him by his first name.

Remus had decided after she left that night a week ago that he needed to create distance between himself and his former student. But this was easier said than done, as Dumbledore had asked Mairead to devote every spare moment of her time to developing a listening device they could use to spy on Voldemort. Consequently, Mairead was spending more and more time at Grimmauld Place. And the more time she spent at Grimmauld Place, the more Remus ran into her by accident. And the more Remus ran into her by accident, the less he was able to convince himself that he was actually running into her by accident and not carelessly dropping whatever he was doing to go be near her.

He stopped for a moment and clutched his head. Why is this happening to me?

Remus took a few ragged breaths, then resumed his pacing. He liked Mairead. He knew this. He had always liked Mairead. That by itself was not unusual. Everyone liked Mairead. There was nothing wrong with that. She was objectively likable, with her sweet personality and her quirky jokes and her quiet determination to make everyone feel like they belonged and were wanted and the way she made him feel like she had never wanted anything more than to listen to everything he had to say and to tell him what was on her mind in return and her laugh that sounded like a bell ringing and her forest green eyes that shone with curiosity and intelligence and her freckles that covered her nose, cheeks, and forehead and the hollow of her throat where her collarbones met and her pink lips that she bit when she got nervous and -

He stopped again and frowned. At what point did that become incredibly inappropriate?

He let out a low growl of frustration.

How exactly was he supposed to avoid somebody who was always around, anyway? It wasn't his fault that they both had business to attend to at headquarters. And it certainly wasn't his fault that Mairead happened to be working on incredibly important work. Nor was it his fault that she was extremely dedicated to completing this work as quickly as possible, and as a result was spending every moment she could spare at Grimmauld Place, bent over a textbook on electronics or learning how to use a soldering gun that she had picked up at a secondhand store (which he had accompanied her to - just so that she wouldn't have to go alone; it was only the polite thing to do) or frowning in that adorable way of hers where her auburn eyebrows would come together and she would tilt her head thoughtfully from side to side and alternate nibbling on her lip and soothing the sting with the tip of her pink -

STOP.

When had this all started? If he could trace it back, perhaps he could figure out what had gone wrong. He rubbed his eyes roughly with his fingers and thought back.

Had it started on the rooftop? He recalled with a warm, flooding sensation a moment when he had looked over at her while she looked out over London. The ambient light had just caught the tip of her nose and her cheekbones. Her pale skin had seemed to glow in the low light, and the redness in her lips stood out starkly against it. Twilight had settled over her and the shadows were taking up residence in the swirls and eddies of her hair. Her eyes had appeared to be an even darker green than they normally were, with her pupils wide to catch the glow of the lights. He remembered wondering whether she had always been this pretty.

But no. That couldn't have been the start, because earlier that evening he remembered standing inside the house where she was staying, fighting an internal battle inside himself over whether he should let himself be vulnerable for her and risk letting her see how he felt.

Not that he felt any particular way.

Had that been it? When he had been so frightened for her safety? Perhaps protectiveness had somehow turned into... into...

He shook his head stubbornly. NO. I am NOT attracted to her.

With a frustrated sigh, he decided it didn't matter when it had begun. It needed to end. He had absolutely no business being so... drawn to her.

Which wasn't the same thing as being attracted to her.

Which he wasn't.

She was his student. He was her teacher. That was where their relationship began and ended. That was all he was to her, and that was all he would ever see her as. That was obviously why she continuously struggled to let go of the formality. She had gotten better about it in the past week, yes, but whenever her mind was occupied with something else she always returned to addressing him as 'sir' or 'Professor Lupin.' Which was the way it should be, really. That's what he was. He was her professor. Her unemployed, highly dangerous, entirely unworthy professor.

Then why do you keep insisting that she call you by your first name?

He scowled at the unhelpful voice in his head, as much because he didn't have an answer as because the voice in his head sounded irritatingly like Sirius.

Unbidden, he recalled what she had said when he had called attention to her first attempts at switching to first name basis.

"I practiced saying your name so it would sound right."

See, this right here, he thought angrily to himself. THIS kind of thing is exactly what's been causing my problems. It's not my fault; she just says these things and then - what am I supposed to do with this?! She practiced saying my name? WHO DOES THAT?!

Before he could stop it, the image flashed in his mind of her lying in bed, whispering his name over and over again until she was satisfied with how it sounded.

Huffing out a breath, Remus banished the thought. He was not allowed to imagine her in bed. That was not going to happen.

Remus, Remus... Remus...

His breath shortened and his footsteps faltered in their pacing as he remembered what his name had sounded like in her voice. The added component of her whispering it naturally led to the thought of what it might sound like if she were to breathe his name... moan his name... scream his name -

NO!

Remus needed an outlet. He needed to take up running, or boxing or something. He was spending too much time pent up in this house. He was breathing in too many fumes from the various potions and elixirs they were using to drive off the fungi and creatures infesting this place.

Creatures. That's all he was - a creature. Just another dark creature infesting this house, and she: a brave, bright, determined spark of daylight who seemed to believe that sheer willpower was all that was needed to turn a horrible, dark world into something beautiful.

Like her.

But no. She wasn't that naïve. Remus had long known that Mairead was perfectly aware of how foul the world could be. He had known this since he had watched her stand tall and composedly answer to the rumors and accusations that had already reached his First Year students within weeks of the start of the school year. It wasn't that she was too ignorant or foolish to know that the world was cruel; it was that she looked at its cruelty, clear-eyed and calmly, and made the conscious decision to work towards the good anyway.

Was that why she tolerated him? Why she spent so much time with him? Was he some pity case? Some pet project? Was he simply the foulest, darkest thing she had ever encountered and she thought, through proximity, she could somehow make him pure and beautiful?

The thought made Remus's throat throb.

No, that can't be it.

But even as that thought went through his head another thought, in direct contrast but of equal weight, said, Yes, that's exactly it.

The two thoughts dueled in his mind for supremacy until Remus's entire body became hot and itchy and he felt as though he would willingly burst out of his own skin just to get away from the uncertainty.

Remus blinked. At some point in his turmoil, he had left his room without intending to, and had made it all the way down the corridor to where Mairead's potions lab was.

This, more than anything, cleared his head.

He was doing exactly the opposite to what he should be doing. He had run to her as soon as the demons inside of him had become overwhelming. He knew she could quiet them. She had done it before. But he couldn't turn to Mairead when he felt pain. He couldn't turn to anyone. If he became overly reliant on her for emotional intimacy, then he would only be more lonely and bereft when she was gone and he was alone again. He knew from years of experience that it was best to sustain a constant level of loneliness than to suffer the ups and downs of the fleeting human companionship he had endured over the years.

He paused outside the door to the lab. He could easily hear Mairead moving around inside. She was singing to herself - a tune he knew, a tune she had learned from listening to his record collection - but upon listening for a few seconds he realized that she had changed the words to be the instructions of the potion she was brewing, bringing a soft, affectionate smile to his face.

She is so very lovely.

The pain in Remus's throat was back. He rested his forehead on the door, careful not to make a sound, and took three deep, calming breaths.

Regardless of when it had happened or why it had happened, Remus had accidentally let his guard down when it came to Mairead. Whatever her intentions, she had slipped past his walls and nestled herself right in close beside him. He was a fool. He should have seen this coming. He had recognized the potential for this to happen years ago when he had brought her a feast to thank her for a kindness and she had bewitched him into spending the afternoon with her. The girl had an unparalleled gift for finding the weak spots in what he had thought was an impenetrable fortress.

By the time he had exhaled the third time, Remus knew what he had to do. Regardless of why or how he had allowed this to get this far, he had to put a stop to it. Despite whatever she or others might think of him, Remus had spent the last thirty years controlling the dark, hungry urges of the wolf that prowled within him, and as a result, his impulse control was watertight.

He could stay away from her. He would stay away from her. Starting now.

Remus pulled away from the door and began walking back down the corridor to his bedroom. He did not allow himself to look back, and he did not stop until he was enclosed safely inside, completely alone.


Author's Note: To quote an earlier review, Remus sure is Remus-ing, isn't he? What do you think? Is he going to be successful at avoiding Mairead? How will our poor girl react to that? And what do you think of her newly hatched plan? (Apologies, by the way, to all engineers, sound designers, and generally all those who actually know what they're talking about when it comes to electronics for any flagrant mistakes in what I wrote here) I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Songs for Chapter 7: Demons, Imagine Dragons (Remus)