NOTE

Warning for sexual content.

13. Hold

On the twenty-first of November I walked down from Islington to the Leaky Cauldron. London was frozen. Snow fell, cold and beautiful. There was, at least, no bitter wind. The front window of the Leaky Cauldron was black and clear. On such a cold day it might have been foggy from many people gathered inside, but the bar was empty apart from Tom, who was twiddling his thumbs at a table in the corner.

When I entered he sprang up. "A customer, at last?" he said, a sort of shine in his eye.

"Sorry," I said. "I just need to get through the back."

He frowned, but nodded. "Right," he said, "you know the way," and sat back down.

I wove my way through the dark back corridor to the grey courtyard, where the snow was piling in the corners. I took the turn into Diagon Alley, where the snow somehow seemed softer.

Most of it was in ruins, after the destruction of the war. I had expected it to be deserted, and was surprised to see a large and talkative group of witches and wizards working to manage the rubble and rebuild the shops that had been destroyed. There were friendly mutters, people standing around with hot cocoa and cider to warm themselves, talking for a moment while they rested from their labours.

An older witch caught sight of me and waved, and it wasn't until she approached me that I recognised her as Augusta Longbottom. She was quite underdressed compared to the other times I'd seen her; she wore only a dark purple cloak and had nothing but a simple hat for warmth on her head. Some other witches looked after her and, when they saw me, offered smiles full of pity.

"Wilma," she said, and drew me into a rather stiff embrace. "What are you doing here in London?"

It was wired into my brain not to give up any information that could be sensitive. I had to stop myself and remember that we were no longer at war before the truth would come out. "Restoring the old Order Headquarters," I said. "Snape sent Remus and I…"

But I didn't continue, seeing the shadow of suspicion that passed over her face. She took my wrist tightly in her cold hand. "That's just exactly what I wanted to speak to you about dear," she said, her eyes wide and rather fearful. "We've all heard about the marriage, and you must know that, if you should ever need a place to stay, my door is always open."

A wave of disgust rolled in my belly as I recognised the implication that I would need protection from Remus. I looked over at the gathering of witches who were watching us, and the feeling increased. I felt an offended expression rise to my face, and took my wrist away.

I remembered now how Mrs. Longbottom had turned up her nose at my relationship with Fred. She must have spoken a good deal about it around Neville, too, for there had been a brief but painful period in my fifth year when he had been quite awkward around us both. It had angered me then, how some thought it offensive that adoptive siblings had fallen in love, when pureblood families married their own blood solely for the sake of preserving the purity of their line and no-one batted an eye.

"Thank you," I said, in a measured voice, "but I'm quite alright. I'm quite happy with him, actually."

She looked at me dubiously, as though I had just made a silent plea for help. "Of course, dear," she said.

I wanted to stay and somehow convince her, but felt the dangerous warmth in my blood and thought it best to walk on.

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was remarkably undamaged. All of the glass panes in the windows were intact, and the large automaton out front still raised and lowered his top hat. After the war, people who knew the Weasley family had spoken of the shop's survival as something to be glad about. But everyone knew that George would have destroyed the shop himself a million times over if it meant he could have his twin brother back.

I looked through the frosty windows at the stacks of brightly coloured boxes and almost turned around, for fear that seeing George would bring up too much pain. But I had come all this way–and thinking of what Molly would want, I decided to go through with the visit.

The bright orange trim felt garish on that dismal day, as I rang the bell and waited.

It was not George but Angelina who answered the door. She smiled at me as she opened it, inviting me into the warmth of the shop.

"George!" she shouted, turning towards the stairs. "George!"

I couldn't blame her for calling him so quickly; we didn't know each other well.

"Want me to take your coat?" she said.

"No, thank you," I told her. "I won't be here long."

He appeared at the top of the stairs, above the layered paraphernalia of the shop. He was dressed in his usual button up and waistcoat, and corduroy trousers. My heart ached at the sight of him, especially after being far away for so long. George had been a stalwart presence ever since Dumbledore first brought me to the Weasleys before my first year at Hogwarts. He and Fred had been the first of Molly and Arthur's children to really accept me. They had never expected me to play the role of their sister, instead welcoming me into the warmth of the house like a stormy-night traveller from a fairy tale, accepting me for my past and taking me along on their own adventures. George had also been the first to accept it when Fred and I became something more. I felt myself fill with guilt for how I had turned away from him after Fred's death, unable to bear the walking reminder that he was.

"Thanks, Angie," he said to Angelina as he came down the stairs to me. They exchanged a meaningful look and Angelina smiled at me before she left.

"How's that going?" I said, hiding my shame at the fact that I'd been ignorant of his life since the arrival of the ministry letter–no, long before; since the battle, really.

"It's not bad, actually," he said. "We get on well enough."

We stood there awkwardly for a moment.

"How was Hogwarts?" he asked.

I told him about the state of the castle, about who was there, and the progress we'd made in our research about the strange beings.

"So you're just back with mum and dad now?" he said.

"No, I'm here in London, cleaning up Number Twelve," I told him. "With Remus."

I saw the urge in his eyes to ask me how it was between Remus and me, but he didn't. I let myself really take him in for the first time–the darkness around his eyes, the stoop in his shoulders, the tension in his jaw. He looked miserable, like he was just scraping by. I thought I probably looked much the same, and was suddenly less angry at Mrs. Longbottom for her presumptions. She was an old gossip, but that didn't mean that, deep down, her heart wasn't in the right place.

"George," I said. "I'm sorry." He was looking at the floor. "...for how distant, how… cold I've been to you."

"It's alright," he said, before I could continue. He looked at me finally, and I saw that to him I must have been a harsh reminder of Fred, just as he was to me. So many of the cold, hard moments between us were suddenly explained, and I knew he was my brother again.

A lump formed in my throat, and we both knew there was nothing else to say. The grief was too strong to let it overflow.

"Well," I managed, "I just wanted to see you and say hello. I'll go now."

"It was good to see you. You can come again any time, if you like." And he saw me out the door.

Walking back to Islington I felt the cold wind start to pick up. My body ached. I was still so alone.

I entered the house with a hopeless heart. The innermost part of myself expected it to be empty. But Remus was there, and appeared promptly after I closed the door. "Finally solved the back garden," he said. He looked thrilled–I hadn't seen him smile like that ever before–and when I walked through to see his work I understood why.

It was gorgeous. The mischievous wooden vines had woven themselves in a Celtic knot pattern around the trellises, and they revealed a patch of winter-blooming flowers. It must have been a shambles when he'd first exposed it, but now it was gorgeous, beautifully unruly. He had also fixed the grandfather clock, which chimed softly, lowly, to mark the hour.

He was sweating from his work, and went upstairs to bathe while I started dinner. I felt a bit guilty about hiding the wine. I hadn't seen Remus bring any new bottles into the house, and so assumed that he hadn't been craving it. But perhaps it would be nice for him to celebrate with a glass…

I climbed down into the darkness of the cellar and found by the weak light of my wand the small bottles where I had left them in the corner. I chose one and reversed the shrinking spell before climbing back up the stairs to the kitchen.

"Where'd that come from?" said Remus, when he entered some minutes later. He was dressed in a grey cardigan, and his hair was still damp.

"The cellar… I hid them on the first day," I confessed.

"I had a feeling," he said. "But I didn't go looking."

We finished the cooking together and sat across from each other at the long dining table. He studied the label on the bottle and sighed as he uncorked it. He must have sensed the lump in my throat, for he looked at me with reason in his eyes. "Only one glass," he promised, and poured one wine glass halfway full. "Want some?"

"No thanks."

I watched him carefully throughout the meal, but he didn't seem to be too affected by it, and only took small sips as he ate.

"How did it go with George?" he asked, once we had cleared our plates.

"It was alright."

I was grateful again for the strength of his intuition, for he didn't push me to speak about the visit. "You still look chilled to the bone," he told me.

"I guess I am," I said, realising.

"Go and sit by the fire, I'll follow," he said. "I'll do the washing up."

I went out and sat alone by the flames, holding my hands out to them. He had seen what I hadn't, and the warmth provided me with a deep relief. He joined me later and sat by me on the couch.

"Better?" he asked.

I nodded. We both looked at the fire, and without thinking my head went to his shoulder. I felt a moment of hesitation in his body before he looked down at me, a question in his eyes. Without thinking, I lifted my mouth to his and kissed him.

It was soft and short, and I withdrew trembling, tears of surprise gathering behind my eyes. "I'm so sorry…"

I thought he would leave, but he looked back at me, his eyes deep. His arm shifted and he caressed my face with the back of his hand. He leaned forward and kissed me again.

The presence of a man had always been intimidating to me, and especially so in the months since the battle. But all of that fell away in the face of an unexpected and desperate need to be held. He drew away, the breath from his lips ghosting across my own. I touched his face carefully, my fingertips tracing the scars in his cheek. Fuelled by the need rising up from the depths of myself, I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him again, pulling him close, as though I could pull him into and through me. I felt my heartbeat quickening, my body growing hot.

"I didn't think you would want me again," he said, when I finally broke away. He looked as though he might cry.

"I want you," I said, and I realised that I honestly did.

A trust of him had grown inside my heart during our time together. I should have been nervous to face intimacy without Severus's potion, but I wasn't. Not at all.

Remus looked at me with his world in his eyes, held my face with his hands, and pressed his mouth to mine, wrapping his arms around me in return. I moaned softly at the relief of the contact.

"Do you want to go to bed?" he said.

"Yes," I breathed.

God, yes, please.

I held his hand as I followed him up the stairs to his bedroom. My heart descended into my groin and beat wildly–more so when I remembered he could hear it.

He opened his door and we fell into each other's arms. I felt desire rippling through my belly, and a thrill as he made a soft, high sound against my neck. It was in a moment of mutual insanity that we took off our clothes. I was overcome by the intense vulnerability of being naked in front of him. But my own nervousness dissipated as he allowed me to see him, scarred skin and all.

His new wounds were still red, but the old ones were thin and white. And then there was the first one, which pinched the skin over his shoulder. The original bite that had changed his life forever. It had a strange colour, slightly shining, and I remembered from the books that the way to heal a bite was to seal it with silver.

There was a pleading in Remus's eyes as I looked at his body. No pity, I remembered him saying. I touched his chest, and carefully, carefully kissed the oldest scar. His face was full of emotion. I took his hand and led it to my breast, and couldn't help the sigh and then the broken moan that his touches earned. "Wilma…" he said, his breath trembling and heavy.

I held onto him as he lifted me onto the edge of the bed to kiss me again. Patient hands caressed my belly and my inner thighs, and then, both slowly and suddenly, he stroked between my legs. His touch was deft and I felt sparks in parts of me that had long seemed dead.

My voice broke free of my shaking body. "I want to…"

He climbed onto the bed and pulled me to him. Without reservation I took his mouth against mine and, leaning over him, let him fill me. He moaned, his hands stroking my hips as I rolled my body against his, proud of the sounds my movements drew from him.

With deep passion he pulled me closer, his breath bleeding and quick against my neck. "Christ, Wilma. Can I–please–" His right leg shifted and I knew his wish.

"Don't pin me–"

"I promise–"

And I let him turn us over, the weight of him driving me wild as he unleashed upon my body his intense and tender desire, slowing his thrusts to gauge my reaction. Another part of me fell away with his every movement.

"Is this good?" he said, when he had me moaning with every breath.

It was, it was fantastic, but I was too overcome to speak, so I kissed him and pulled him deeper. He set a steady rhythm, sliding a hand under the small of my back and caressing my chest with the other. I thought I would cry from the power of my pleasure, and his attentiveness. So this was what he had been holding back all these weeks.

I let him ride me until my mind was lost. A deep throbbing rolled through me like a hard current. It was so pleasant to need, and to be needed.

But my heart sank when my body suddenly came up against a tall stone wall. I sensed that it stood between me and my release. I was trembling and trembling, but couldn't let go. There was a mounting frustration in my mind as I confronted the limitations of my body, and I struggled to hold back tears.

Remus was gripping me tightly, his body writhing with anticipation. It was all I could do to hold him back, gasping when his hips drove forward and he came. He groaned deeply, as he had on our first night, his voice ringing through my belly, kissing every part of me.

I whimpered when he touched me down there again, trying to help me to join him. I knew that, despite all of the need in my body, something was keeping me from coming. I needed him to stop before this pleasure, building up to nothing, turned maddening. I knew that some women faked it, but I'd never done that with Fred, and wasn't about to make a habit of it with Remus.

"That doesn't seem fair, does it?" he said, when I told him.

"It's alright. I just can't."

"Ever?" he said, looking a bit stunned.

"No, just not for a while now."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," I promised, willing him to understand that the pleasure I'd shown him was real in spite of this.

Breathless, he kissed me again, a long and gentle kiss, and pulled me on top of him. For a long time we rested there, his arm around me, my cheek on his chest, listening to his heart slow down.

"That was…" he whispered.

"For me, too," I said, for though I hadn't come, the freedom of my body to feel had been extraordinary. My heartbeat was still heavy in my neck.

Moment by moment I cooled down, feeling the coiling tension between my legs reluctantly retreating.

Remus stood and pulled on his pyjama trousers, leaving the room. That was it, I thought, expecting that he had become embarrassed, and would now hide from me until he left for the full moon. But my assumption was wrong, for he returned a minute later. "I've run you a bath," he said.

I was still trembling slightly as I relaxed into the warm water. I replayed what had happened in my mind, surprised at myself for what I'd had to offer. I got out of the bath and, in a towel, walked into my bedroom to find that he'd set a cup of tea with a warming spell on the bedside table. It wasn't difficult to see that he was trying to make it up to me, that I hadn't been able to come.

It was dark by then. I changed into my pyjamas and after pacing for a minute went back to Remus's room to see if he had fallen asleep. But his door was still open and he was still awake, though lying under the covers.

"Want to come under?" he said. "I wouldn't mind, if you want to sleep together."

A moment of panic flared in my throat. I had not shared a bed with anyone since Fred. Then again, neither had Remus, since Tonks.

Accustomed to my usual habits of avoidance, I almost declined, but stopped myself. There was no longer a point to pretending we were complete strangers–we certainly weren't anymore. His eyes were warm and the offer was genuine. I didn't want to be alone.

I climbed under the blankets, my body shivering with gratitude as it entered his warmth. He sighed and held me against his chest, and I soon fell asleep.

NOTE

I hope you enjoyed it… A forewarning that the next chapter will be quite intense.