He knew his task. It was simple enough: close his eyes or avert his gaze. Under no circumstance was he allowed to look at her. Remus knew what was coming and that the only way for him to cope was to let it wash over him as if he was a stone in a riverbed and she was the river running over him, wild and untamed yet unable to move him. This imagery helped him - picturing himself as a stable, immovable object, unfaced by the environment it was put in.
Soon enough, she'd decided she had enough, and he had once again become a worthless piece of flesh. But against his will and better knowledge, his eyes didn't close. Instead, they moved their focus up slowly until they met Lyra's, staring back at him, dark brown and empty and hovering over him like a hunter awaiting the single move of its prey that would decide its fate.
"Don't you dare look at me again," she snarled. "You disgust me."
Her hands closed around his neck as she shifted her weight entirely to her wrists. Panic rushed through his body instantly as he started to feel lightheaded from the lack of fresh blood entering his brain. There was the inevitable urge to fight back, flailing his arms and legs and free himself from the perpetrator. It would have been an easy task for him, physically. Lyra was a small-framed woman. He wouldn't have to try hard to regain control of the situation. But he knew this was not actually about any physical restriction. This was a mind game. And if he fought back, consequences would be dire. He was in no position to claim any status in the pack. He was the lowest rank, just existing to be used by the other members for whatever they saw fit. For Lyra, it was this.
Thwack. Lyra's hand met his cheek so intensely that his ear started ringing.
"What did I say?"
Remus knew the answer. Not to look at her. That was the answer. He was not allowed to look at her while she was using him. He had to answer if he wanted to leave this place alive again. Somehow, he miraculously managed to procure the words through choked gasps and strained breaths, his voice rasping and hoarse. "No … looking at you," he wheezed, his eyes bulging as he struggled for air.
Lyra rewarded his correct answer by spitting in his face. He could feel it running down the side of his nose with an odd cooling and tickling sensation and then sting his eye as soon as it reached it. He closed his eyes, partially to avoid more spit getting in them, partly to avoid making the mistake of looking at her again. She lowered onto him, and in every second, Remus wanted nothing else but for this to end, to be left untouched. In fact, that was the only thought that kept him sane: that she couldn't keep doing this forever, and she would have to end eventually. Let her wash over him like a wild river running over a stable, immovable rock.
People in the books he read awoke from their nightmares with a scream, immediately sitting up in bed. Remus awoke from his nightmares with a cold sweat over his entire body, frozen in a state of panic and unable to move for the first few minutes, too afraid to breathe loudly, his heart pounding against the inside of his ribcage. His eyes wandered around his room, slowly taking in reality. And even if the reality was that he was living in this derelict cottage all by himself, it meant that he escaped Lyra and the rest of the pack, and this knowledge felt like someone had just applied calming balm directly onto his bruised and battered soul.
Just like a rock in a riverbed became rounded after being exposed to the river for long enough, Remus had to acknowledge that his experiences in Greyback's pack, spying for the Order, did not leave him as unfaced and unmoved as he would like himself to believe. It wore him down. He became less of himself and more of something that wouldn't cause trouble, something she could easily wash over, wild and untamed as she was. And now, even after not having seen any of these people for over half a year, Lyra kept haunting him in his dreams and waking thoughts.
Whenever he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, it was harder and harder to keep her voice out of his head. You disgust me. And whenever he looked into someone's face, he needed to constantly remind himself that he did not have to apologize for it. The occasional nightmares had turned into a regular occurrence, with the same scene being shoved into his mind repeatedly and without anything he could do to prevent it.
Remus took a few deep breaths to ground himself. Turning to the window, he could see the sun rising behind the forest, the sunbeams peeking through the trees. The early morning light cast a warm glow over the walls, and the distant sound of birdsong filled the air. He stayed in bed for a few more minutes, slowing his heartbeat down to a more comfortable rhythm before getting up and dressed for the day.
A glance at his calendar confirmed his thoughts: today would be another day to visit Harry and Petunia. He was happy that he wouldn't be alone after a night like this, and at the same time, he dreaded leaving the house and spending the day with people, his soul feeling like raw flesh exposed to the elements. But there was no way he'd cancel this appointment - after all, Harry would suffer the most, and Remus didn't want to make the poor child go through more hardship than he already had.
Remus looked into the mirror into the room that could be considered a bathroom. The hair of the man staring back at him was beginning to go grey at the temples, and the beard grew in an uneven, patchy pattern, and because of that, he could not hide the scars on his jaw. There was an unmistakable restlessness in his eyes. Barely 22, he looked old.
He looked as if he'd lived an entire life already. And he had, in a way. His days working for the Order had been so full of action that he hadn't realized how tired he was until after Voldemort had vanished. Dumbledore had organized several spies in different circles supporting Voldemort. Still, Remus had been the only werewolf working for the Order, so the information he provided was of great value to the Order that he felt he couldn't decline. They would lose too much information. But now that everything was over, Remus felt his body ache; he felt the tiredness of his soul.
He wore his cleanest shirt and pants and went outside his cottage to apparate to Little Whinging.
He apparated directly into Petunia's back garden. A few weeks ago, she suggested he do that to avoid attracting the neighbors' attention, and he didn't mind not having to wait on her front porch until she opened the door. Now, she just left the entrance to the conservatory open, and he could enter on his terms. As he stepped inside, he listened carefully for any voices or sounds he wasn't supposed to be hearing. So far, Vernon had never been home when he visited, but he knew it wasn't entirely impossible. It was his house, after all. But everything he heard was Petunia's quiet humming from the upper floor. She probably had just put Dudley down for his nap.
In the kitchen, he found a note on the worktop.
Upstairs, putting Dudley down for his nap. If you're hungry, food is on the stove. Feel free to take as much as you need. P.
It dawned on him that he had never seen her handwriting before and was amused by the fact that it was, in a way, just like her. The letters were clean, slender, and sharp, yet there was a certain playfulness to how the letters blended into each other, carefully crafted to form words that flowed smoothly across the small piece of paper. He couldn't help but smile as he read her note, feeling a warmth spreading through him.
He lifted the note, realizing more was written on the paper. These letters looked as if written in more haste, the handwriting less neat but not less playful.
If you don't mind, set up the tea kettle, will you?
He couldn't help but chuckle before going over to the stove. He filled the kettle with water, turned it on, and approached the stove. There were several bacon stripes in one pan and scrambled eggs in another. Next to the stove was a package of toast. He grabbed a plate from the cupboard and raised his eyebrows in slight confusion as he realized the bacon and eggs were still warm. He had half expected it was just whatever was left from Petunia and Vernon's breakfast, but this … she must have made it specifically for him, expecting him precisely when he arrived. He took two slices of toast and ate everything while standing beside the tea kettle, waiting for it to boil. He hadn't realized until now how hungry he was, and his stomach angrily called for more food as soon as he fed it.
Suddenly, Remus was startled by a hand making contact with his shoulder. He spun around, his wand at the ready, only to see Petunia standing there, looking at him with furrowed brows. He lowered his wand and gave her a small smile.
"Sorry," he said, nodding to his wand, "it's a habit."
"No, I'm sorry," Petunia replied. "I didn't mean to startle you."
"It's alright. I'm just jumpy today. It's not your fault."
Petunia nodded, her eyes flickering to the note on the counter. "I see you found my message."
Remus smiled. "I have, indeed. Thanks for the food."
"It's nothing, really. I just figured you might be hungry."
Remus chuckled and pointed toward his empty plate. "You have no idea."
The kettle whistled, and Remus turned to make the tea. He felt Petunia's gaze rest on him.
"So, how are things?" she asked, her tone casual.
Remus hesitated for a moment, unsure of why she asked that. Usually, their conversation flowed, and hearing her use such a phrase felt awkward and out of place. He wasn't sure whether she was interested in how things were for him or was saying something to fill the silence. He hesitated for a moment.
"Eh, not great, not terrible, I guess."
"Sorry to be so direct," Petunia said lowly. "But are you alright? You seem a little… off today."
Remus thoughts were spiraling. On the one hand, he hadn't expected he'd be able to hide his exhaustion and the struggles from the previous nights. On the other hand, he also didn't expect Petunia to ask him so bluntly, nor had he prepared a plausible explanation he could give her.
"Uhhh… didn't sleep too great last night. You know, those nights, just one nightmare after the other," he said, and it was more than he had wanted to say, but now he couldn't take the words back.
"Oh," Petunia made. "Wanna talk about it?"
"It's nothing really… just a stupid dream about my… let's say, my ex-partner." He shuddered at the thought of calling Lyra his ex-partner, implying that she had been his partner at one point. Implying that he had made a choice and chosen her. But he didn't feel like making up an elaborate lie, and this was the closest to the truth he allowed himself to be on the matter.
"Ah," said Petunia, looking a bit surprised by this answer. "Things didn't end well, I presume?"
Remus couldn't hold back a nervous laugh.
"Things have never been good, to begin with."
Petunia
He was standing in her kitchen next to the tea kettle, heating the water for their teas, and he looked, admittedly, as if he had always been here. He didn't look one bit out of place, although he should have. He was a stark contrast to her pristine kitchen, with his shabby clothing and patchy beard.
He seemed lost in his thoughts, so she approached him and tapped his shoulder. Immediately, he spun around; his wand pointed at her like a weapon. But there was something else odd about him. He had looked disheveled before. He had looked tired, sad, and as if he was in physical pain and all the above simultaneously, but today was different. This time, an even more profound sorrow in his eyes reached deeper than ever before. And it was not just sadness she could see in his eyes. There was … fear? He stared at her as if he was expecting to fight a monster.
It took him a few moments to realize who he was looking at, and then he lowered his wand and smiled weakly.
"Sorry," he said, nodding toward his hand holding the wand. "It's a habit."
Petunia felt terrible for eliciting such feelings in him. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."
He shook his head slightly. "It's alright. I'm just jumpy today. It's not your fault."
She pressed her lips together and nodded over to the kitchen counter. "I see you found my message," she said to fill the silence, instantly feeling stupid for saying it. Obviously, he had. He was eating the bacon and eggs she had prepared just for him.
Remus didn't seem to take any issue with her comment. "I have, indeed," he said. "Thanks for the food."
"It's nothing, really. I just figured you might be hungry."
Remus chuckled and pointed toward his empty plate. "You have no idea."
The kettle whistled, and Remus turned to make the tea. Petunia watched him, noticing the way his hands moved with practiced ease. Something about his movements was both graceful and utilitarian, and Petunia felt a strange pulling feeling behind her navel that she couldn't quite put a finger on.
"So, how are things?" she asked, trying to sound as casual as possible, although she was unsure how well she managed.
He seemed to ponder for a little while before he replied. "Eh, not great, not terrible," he said. He tried to make it sound uncomplicated and like an easy-going conversation, but his gaze focused on a point far, far away.
"Sorry to be so direct," she said. "But are you alright? You seem a little… off today."
"Uhhh," he made, scratching his beard. "Just didn't sleep too great last night. You know those nights, just one nightmare after the other."
"Oh," she heard herself exclaim in a tone that sounded as if she understood, although she did not know what Remus' nightmares would entail. "Wanna talk about it?
"It's nothing really… just a stupid dream about my… let's say, my ex-partner."
There was a slight sound of disgust as he said the last word. Strangely enough, his mentioning of an ex-partner stung a bit, and she couldn't help but wonder what this partner was like, what their relationship had looked like. "Ah," she just made, trying to hide her surprise. "Things didn't end well, I presume?"
He chuckled nervously. "Things have never been good, to begin with."
She raised her eyebrows. "I see. Sorry to hear that."
"It's okay," he said, turning towards their cups and preparing their tea.
As he handed her the cup, their hands brushed briefly, and the place where he had touched her felt different even minutes after. She looked at him, but he didn't seem to have noticed.
Petunia took a sip of her tea, but she couldn't shake the strange feeling that had settled in the pit of her stomach. She wondered if it was just the caffeine or something else entirely. Remus also sipped away at his tea, and they sat silently for a while. Petunia wanted to say something - anything - to break the silence, but she couldn't find the words, so she just sat there, sipping her tea and stealing glances at Remus. Luckily, Harry came to her rescue as his cries from upstairs indicated that he had awakened from his nap.