NOTE

Content warning: a traumatic dream, involving sexual assault (first bit of the chapter). Take care of yourselves, loves.

14. Raven

The Forbidden Forest was lightless and void of life. There was nothing around me but my heartbeat and the sound of my breathing. I knew what dream this was, and I wanted out.

He would be somewhere behind me, I knew. I imagined I could hear his breathing, but I couldn't; not over my own. I was rooted to the spot. I couldn't run. Remus, I wanted to scream. Remus, wake me up.

The curse came from the trees at my back. It seized my body and made it its own through searing currents of delirious pain. Ten thousand daggers piercing and twisting, ten thousand talons digging into my mind. I surfaced on the ground, the dirt wet from the recent rain. It was in my eyes, under my nails. I was trying to speak, but my voice would make no sound. Fred. Fred.

The Death Eater stood over me, looking down. I couldn't hear his voice, but he said something, and his face broke into an evil smile.

I didn't understand why he was doing it. My hair was full of dirt and grime from weeks of fighting. My frame was thin from hunger. I was far from desirable. His cold hand wrapped around my neck. I fought, and he pinned my wrists to the ground. I fought more, and he cast the wicked curse again. My screams were silent–my voice was ruined. His tongue wormed into my ear, and he shoved himself into my body.

I waited

and waited

for it to be over.

Then a screeching voice cried his name and he fled.

I lay there bleeding, waiting for the falling of the sky.

I woke up to the illusion that I could not breathe. My throat felt closed and my hand went to it as I wheezed for air. The sheets were damp with sweat. Remus wasn't there. My body didn't feel real. I held my hands in front of my face but could barely see them in the dark. They were mere shadows.

I went across the corridor and splashed my face with cold water. My body felt raw and full of hatred for its own vulnerability. My heart stuttered. I thought I might be sick.

I climbed downstairs clutching the bannister, fearing that the shaking of my legs would make me fall. Remus was sleeping in a chair in the sitting room, in front of the dwindling fire. He had a book in his lap, and I thought he must have woken up in the night, and fallen asleep again to the peaceful sound of the logs.

I tried to sneak past him into the kitchen for a glass of water, but tripped over the edge of the rug and fell hard with a gasp. Remus woke at once and stood, the book falling from his lap.

"Are you alright?" he said, almost laughing at the absurdity of my fall. He stepped towards me, but I cowered, my body suddenly afraid.

Noticing my response, he stepped back. It was a deeper version of what had happened that first day, when he'd set a teacup in front of me and I'd flinched at the sound. Only now there was a look of betrayal that flashed behind his eyes.

"Sorry," I said, shaking. "It's not you. I… Sorry…"

And then I was crying. Remus stood still as a statue as I pressed my hands into the floor, begging for breath. The images from the dream were racing through my head, and terrible sensations haunted my body.

"Wilma," Remus said, his voice full of concern, and stepped forward again. But I put my hand out for him to stay away, my arm shaking violently. If he touched me, I would surely be sick.

He waited silently for a moment. I was trying to breathe, but still felt like a giant hand was clenched around my throat. "Do you want me to leave?" he said.

I shook my head violently. I didn't want to be alone.

He didn't move closer, but sat down on the rug where he'd been standing. He was very still, watching me. I saw it in his eyes as it came together; my flinching away, my request for him not to pin me down in bed, my inability to finish. His gaze softened and saddened, and I knew he had figured it out.

His voice was controlled. "It was a man, wasn't it. Who hurt you."

I nodded. The admission alone brought on a fresh wave of tears. I covered my face in shame.

There was a long and painful pause. "How can I help?"

I gasped. "I don't know." His empathy made me sob even harder.

"I'm here, Wilma," he said, his voice cutting through the anger that clouded my hearing. "You're not alone."

And finally I broke and reached out for him, and he crawled over and cradled me there on the floor. I bawled into his chest and he held my head, stroking my hair.

Who was I to come to a man like him, who had suffered far more than I? What was one night in the Forbidden Forest to a lifetime of inescapable, immeasurable pain?

But the goodness that radiated from Remus's body was too soothing, and I quickly let go of my self-hatred. I was surprised to realise that I couldn't help it.

We stayed like that until I quieted down, Remus guarding me from the rest of the world. It may have been many minutes before I finally stopped crying. He spoke then, very softly. "Do you want me to take you back to bed?"

"No," I managed. My voice was low and dry. "I want to stay. Please."

All the strength had left my body. Sensing this, Remus picked me up in his arms and sat me on the couch. I was surprised by his strength. My chest was aching from how little I'd been breathing. There was still tension in my throat, and I touched it with my fingertips.

"Some water?" he asked.

I nodded.

He didn't leave the room but summoned a glass from the kitchen, and filled it from his wand. He held it out to me but my hands were shaking too much for me to take it.

"Do you want my help?" he said.

"Yes, please. I'll drop it."

He held the cup to my lips while I sipped. I coughed lightly, but then took a little more. Remus rekindled the fire, and it burned brighter. Then he slowly sat on the couch with his legs crossed, looking at me. I felt so guilty for how generous he was being. He wasn't looking at me like I was a wounded animal–that look I'd been afraid of, which had kept me from telling him about what had happened earlier. I wished I had done now, though, so that it hadn't had to come out like this.

"What were you reading?" I asked, desperate to distract him. The book that had been on his lap when I'd come in was now lying in shadow on the floor. I hadn't seen it before on the bookshelf in the house, so assumed that it was his own. It was deeply worn and creased, and clearly precious to him by the way he picked it up.

"The Odyssey," he said. "Have you read it?"

"I've heard of it," I said.

"I could read it to you," he offered.

I nodded; he'd known what would comfort me before I did myself. He put on his reading glasses and turned back to the first page of the book, and began to read.

"Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story of that man skilled in all ways of contending, the wanderer, harried for years on end, after he plundered the stronghold on the proud height of Troy."

"Remus?" I asked.

He looked at me over his glasses.

"Please don't leave."

There was something in his eyes, then, something determined and complicated. "I will not leave you," he said.

I struggled not to cry in response to his deep sensitivity. I shifted towards him, and he opened his arm so that I could rest my head against his chest. Then he continued to read. I stared at the ink marks flickering on the pages of the book, until they lulled me out of reality. Remus had a strong and peaceful voice, and I soon nodded off.

I woke in the morning to a blanket tucked around me, and the smells of breakfast wafting from the kitchen. I padded in to see Remus standing over the stove. He paused what he was doing to say good morning and set an already prepared mug of tea in front of me.

I expected him to do or say something that would tell me what I had revealed had changed how he saw me forever; something that validated the anxiety in my belly. But he didn't. He hummed as he cooked, and sat across from me as he had always done during our time in that house.

"It's nothing for you to be ashamed of," he said at last, after I had stared for some time at my plate. I looked up at him, at once begging him to continue and to drop it. He saw my internal struggle, and chose to continue. "If you want to tell me, I will listen. If you don't, I understand."

I nodded silently. For now, that was my answer.

Four days later Remus had to leave for Hogwarts, in order to start taking the wolfsbane in time for the moon, which would fall on the third of December. We had reconnected the fireplace to the floor network, and had been informed by a letter that there was now a working floo fireplace in Hogsmeade.

Remus was very gracious with his body in those last few days, and I could tell that he was more careful than usual about not making sudden movements. Part of me didn't want him to care, but most of me appreciated it. We didn't make a habit of kissing, and went back to sleeping in separate beds. The most intimate we were was in the evenings, when he continued to read to me from The Odyssey and I let my head rest against his chest.

We shared a tight embrace before he went away.

"Are you sure you'll be alright alone?" he said.

"I am," I promised. I was actually relieved that I wouldn't be around him while the approach of the moon made his temper shorter and shorter.

"I'll write you," he told me. And then, throwing a pinch of floo powder into the suddenly-green fire, he stepped into the flames with his carpetbag in hand and said, clearly, "Hogsmeade!" before disappearing.

I quite enjoyed the time to myself. I put the finishing touches on what we'd accomplished in the house, and slept alone on the couch in front of the fire. I had to admit that I missed Remus's voice, his presence. There was a lot of thinking to be done about how my heart had changed towards him in the past weeks. We had entered the house still unsure of each other; but now I felt a very deep connection to him. We had accomplished much together, and had never bickered or fought. Not to mention what had happened between us that night in bed, and how easily and gently he had accepted my past. I didn't want to define the feeling yet, but I certainly wasn't as still at the thought of calling him my husband as I had been in the beginning.

For the first time since before the Battle of Hogwarts, I took an evening to touch myself for my own pleasure. I worked slowly, letting myself breathe, letting the warmth of the fire excite my skin. I was startled when I realised that it was going to happen. My breath hitched, and my body tingled with awareness–and the next moment I was slipping over the edge.

It was nothing like the powerful orgasms I'd once had with Fred, but at least there was something; a butterfly of pleasure; and, afterward, a smooth, deep relaxation.

I sat still, silent and satisfied with myself. Out of curiosity, I tried out my wand again. It had been working much better after consistent practice, but the more difficult spells were still hard to access. I softened my breathing and thought of a happy memory. It was the same one as always, a day when Fred and I had pulled a prank on everyone in the Great Hall; the moment of stupid joy before we were caught and given detention.

My wand vibrated with warmth, and in the next moment a small blue raven flew through a haze of light. It flew once around the room, before sitting on the mantel and then vanishing.

I sat there and smiled. The well of myself was not empty.

I paused my work on the distorted old mirrors in one of the upstairs wardrobes when I heard a tapping at the window. I turned to see a tawny owl, holding a letter in its claws. I pushed the window open–it was very hard to do, and I added fixing the windows to my list of tasks–and the owl flew into the room. I suddenly regretted that we had gotten rid of all the mice–it was inhospitable of me to have nothing to offer the bird. But it didn't seem to mind, and simply perched on the bedpost, waiting patiently for me to read the letter.

It was from Remus.

Dear Wilma,

I am getting on well. The castle is much warmer now. I have been taking the potion. I shouldn't complain, but it really is vile.

If you wish to come up to Hogwarts again, you should know that you can catch the train. They've just finished it and it's going down to London. It departs from 9¾ on the fourth at noon.

Come only if you like.

Happy December,

Remus

I rifled around for a piece of spare parchment and a quill.

Dear Remus,

Of course I'll come.

Love, Wilma.

I hoped the 'love' wasn't too bold, but decided not to change it. I tied my response to the owl's leg, and it hooted before flapping out the window into the snowy air.

NOTE

The translation of The Odyssey that I used is the Robert Fitzgerald, published in 1961.

I am always very happy to read and reply to reviews! (wink wink!)