One afternoon in the library, Hermione was mulling over the strange but comforting rhythm of her actions over the last few weeks while she quietly passed Remus another bar of chocolate. He accepted it with a small, grateful smile, his eyes never leaving the book in front of him. Hermione couldn't help but marvel at how seamlessly had feeding Remus's adorable chocolate addiction become a part of her routine.
Deliberate on her part, of course. Had she only offered them during that time of the month, it would surely raise his suspicions, and the last thing she wanted was to make him feel self-conscious about something he worked so hard to hide. He didn't really need to know that she knew.
The double entendre struck her suddenly, and she had to stifle a snort as it bloomed into an unexpected parallel between lycanthropy and womanly monthly cycles—a rather apt and ironic analogy, given his condition. Even the symptoms shared great similarities. The absurdity of it made her laugh under her breath, her shoulders shaking slightly with the effort to contain it.
Remus glanced up from his reading, his brow quirking in curiosity at her sudden amusement. "What's got you so entertained over there?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with affection.
Hermione quickly composed herself, shaking her head to brush it off. "Oh, nothing. Just a silly thought."
Remus watched her, a faint smile playing at his lips. She could tell he was amused by her laughter, even if he didn't know the cause. He leaned back slightly, pretending to focus on his book, but his eyes kept flickering back to her, his own grin barely suppressed. "You sure about that? Looked like quite the funny thought."
Hermione's heart fluttered at the warmth in his gaze, the way he always seemed to find joy in her little moments of happiness, even when he wasn't in on the joke. She glanced down at her own book, trying to hide her smile behind the pages. "Positive. Just… an inside joke with myself."
He chuckled softly, shaking his head in mock exasperation. "One day, you'll have to let me in on these private jokes. Feels like I'm missing out on all the fun."
Hermione met his eyes, and for a moment, she felt the weight of everything she couldn't share—the truth about him, about her, about everything that would come to pass. But here, in this quiet corner of the library, surrounded by dusty tomes and hushed whispers, it was enough just to be in his company.
"Well," she said playfully, "I'll consider it. But for now, you'll just have to keep guessing."
Remus shook his head with a fond smile, returning to his book but still sneaking glances at her. It was these simple, stolen moments that made the chaos of her time here feel manageable. And while the future still loomed uncertain, right now, all that mattered was the comfortable silence they shared, punctuated by the occasional quirk of an eyebrow and the soft crackle of chocolate wrappers.
For now, that was more than enough.
The last week of October brought with it the familiar tension of the full moon, creeping closer with each day. Hermione could sense the change in Remus even before he said a word—his usually calm demeanour had taken on an edge, his patience wearing thin. By the time Tuesday arrived, she could see the storm brewing in his eyes, simmering just beneath the surface.
That afternoon, the Marauders were sprawled out in the common room, discussing their latest prank with the kind of enthusiasm that only they could muster. Remus sat a little apart from the group, flipping through a book with a furrowed brow, clearly struggling to keep his focus. Hermione was seated nearby, pretending to be engrossed in her own reading, but she was all too aware of the tension building.
Sirius, ever the joker, glanced over at Remus with a mischievous grin. "Oi, Moony, what's with the long face? And why aren't you sitting with your favourite bookworm today?" He shot a teasing look at Hermione, his tone light but playful.
Remus's eyes flicked up, his expression hardening. He looked at Sirius with a mix of irritation and something darker, his patience fraying at the seams. "Maybe I just didn't feel like it," he said tersely, his tone clipped. The words came out sharper than he intended, and the shift in his mood was palpable.
Sirius, oblivious to the tension, only laughed, nudging James with his elbow. "Oh, someone's in a mood. Must be all that time spent around Miss Perfect. You sure she's not rubbing off on you?"
Hermione glanced up at the comment, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. But it was Remus who reacted, his temper snapping under the weight of the poorly timed joke. "Can you just drop it, Sirius?" Remus muttered, his voice low but tight with frustration. "Not everything's a joke, alright?"
Sirius blinked, taken aback by the sudden bite in Remus's words. "Blimey, Moony, I was just messing around."
Remus shook his head, closing his book with a thud that echoed in the quiet room. "Yeah, well, maybe you should think before you open your mouth for once." There was a flicker of regret in his eyes, but he pushed it down, his frustration spilling over in the most understated way—a slight tremor in his voice, the way he clutched the edge of his book a little too tightly. Without another word, he stood and walked away, slipping through the portrait hole without looking back.
Hermione watched him go, her heart sinking. Remus's irritation was rarely this visible, and it stung to see him so on edge, especially when she knew why. She could feel the weight of his condition, the looming transformation hanging over him like a shadow, and it hurt to know that, in moments like these, there was nothing she could do to ease it.
Sirius exchanged a quick, bewildered glance with James, his brow furrowing. "Didn't mean to touch a nerve," he said, his tone suddenly unsure.
James sighed, a touch of exasperation mixed with concern. "He's just… it's right around schedule, isn't it?"
Sirius nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I know. Just thought he could use a laugh."
Hermione quietly closed her book, slipping it into her bag as she stood. She offered James and Sirius a small, tight smile, not trusting herself to say anything more without revealing the turmoil swirling inside her. The boys watched her go, but she barely registered their concerned expressions as she slipped through the portrait hole.
She didn't have to go far. Just a few steps down the corridor, tucked into a dimly lit alcove, she found Remus leaning against the wall, his hands clenched into fists. His head was bowed, and for a moment, he looked almost fragile, as though he was holding himself together through sheer will alone.
"Remus?" Hermione called softly, her voice barely above a whisper. He glanced up, his eyes dark and turbulent, a storm of emotions swirling beneath the surface. For a fleeting second, he just stared at her, something raw and undecipherable in his gaze—anger, frustration, and something else entirely.
Before she could say another word, Remus moved. With a suddenness that caught her completely off guard, he pulled her close, his mouth capturing hers in a fierce, desperate kiss. It wasn't gentle or sweet—it was all-consuming, almost feral, a collision of everything he'd been holding back. Hermione gasped against him, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she found herself kissing him back, matching his intensity with a hunger of her own that she hadn't even realised was there.
Remus's hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer as though he couldn't stand even a sliver of distance between them. There was a possessive edge to the way his fingers curled into the fabric of her robes, his desperation palpable in every movement. Hermione's own hands found their way to his shoulders, clinging to him as though he was the only thing grounding her in the moment. The corridor felt like it had narrowed around them, nothing existing but the heat of his touch and the unspoken emotions between them.
It was a messy, reckless kiss, fueled by frustration, longing, and the weight of unspoken fears. Hermione's heart raced, her mind struggling to keep up with the sudden shift, but she didn't stop. She couldn't. For this moment, she let go of everything—the doubts, the worries, the fear of the future—and just let herself feel.
When they finally broke apart, they were both breathless, chests heaving as they stared at each other, wide-eyed and stunned by the intensity of what had just happened. Remus's grip on her loosened, and he took a half-step back, his expression flickering between regret and something softer, like he was just as surprised as she was.
Her mind was reeling. She couldn't help but remember another kiss in a different moment of chaos—one that had felt just as desperate and unexpected, though born of entirely different circumstances. Ron, the Chamber of Secrets, the taste of fear and adrenaline mingling with relief. A kiss that had marked the start of something new, something that might have blossomed into a real relationship had she not been torn away from her own time. The thought struck her with a pang of guilt, mingling with the confusion and turmoil.
"I—I'm sorry," Remus stammered, his voice breaking with a mix of regret and panic. Before Hermione could say anything, he turned and bolted, his footsteps echoing down the empty corridor, leaving her stunned and alone.
As Hermione stood there, trying to piece together what had just happened, her thoughts drifted to the Remus she had known in her own time—the older, wiser man who had struggled with his feelings for Tonks. She remembered how conflicted he had been, constantly torn between his deep affection and the self-loathing that came from years of feeling unworthy of love. The memory made her heart ache, and suddenly, the desperate edge to Remus's kiss made more sense.
He was still that boy now, grappling with his own insecurities, haunted by the same fears that would plague him as a man. It was strange, almost surreal, to feel the echoes of his future in the way he'd looked at her just moments ago, a mixture of longing and fear that she recognized all too well.
But as she tried to make sense of it all, another realisation struck her again, sharp and unsettling: Mina Delacour didn't belong in their present. There was no mention of her in the stories of the Order, no trace of her in the years to come. It was the glaring truth she had been avoiding—she would have to find a way to leave, to slip out of this time as quietly as she had arrived. Her presence here, however meaningful it felt in these moments, wasn't meant to last if what she knew of time travel was true.
The thought gnawed at her, a constant reminder that she was living on borrowed time. She couldn't stay, couldn't allow herself to become a permanent fixture in their lives, no matter how much she wanted to help, to be there for them. Her very existence in this time was a complication—a thread that didn't belong in the tapestry of their world.
Hermione's resolve wavered as she walked back to the common room, her mind heavy with the weight of choices she hadn't yet figured out how to make. She knew she couldn't avoid the truth forever, but for now, she would hold onto the fleeting moments she shared with them—the laughs, the camaraderie, and even the impulsive kiss that left her feeling more connected and conflicted than ever.
But the question lingered, pressing and insistent: How would she find her way back, and what would she leave behind when she did?
The next morning, Hermione sat at breakfast, her eyes scanning the Gryffindor table for any sign of Remus. But he was nowhere to be seen, and none of his friends seemed to acknowledge his absence, or the kiss. Remus obviously hadn't confided in them regarding that. It was as if last night had never happened, and she found herself caught in a limbo of uncertainty, replaying that moment over and over in her mind.
By the time dinner rolled around, Hermione's unease had only grown. She hadn't seen Remus all day, even in their shared Arithmancy class, and it was becoming painfully clear that he was avoiding her. The full moon wasn't until that evening, but he was already hiding away, likely from her. It stung more than she wanted to admit. She picked at her food absently, her gaze drifting repeatedly toward the entrance, hoping he might appear.
But Remus never showed. As the minutes ticked by, her heart sank further. She tried to convince herself it was just his usual routine, that he often disappeared around this time of the month even on the pre-moon day, but she couldn't shake the feeling that it was different this time. That it was because of her.
James, who had been engaged in a lively discussion with Sirius and Peter, caught her searching gaze. He leaned over, his expression a mix of casual concern and something more guarded. "Looking for Moony, are you?"
Hermione blinked, feeling caught. She hadn't realised she'd been so obvious. "Yeah, I was just… wondering where he was. He missed Arithmancy."
James exchanged a quick look with Sirius, who merely shrugged. "He's got the flu," James said, his tone carefully neutral. "Came down with it pretty suddenly last night. He's holed up in the dorm, resting."
Hermione nodded, forcing herself to smile as if the explanation made perfect sense. "Right, of course. Thanks." But as she looked away, her mind churned with doubts. The flu was just another cover story—one they used when Remus's condition became too obvious to ignore. She'd heard them make excuses before, but it stung to know that this time, the lie was meant to keep her at a distance.
She turned her attention back to her half-eaten dinner, pushing the food around on her plate as the din of the Great Hall buzzed around her. It wasn't just the full moon driving him away, she knew that, otherwise he might only have missed this dinner period, maybe. It was what had happened between them, and the tangled mess of emotions that neither of them had the words to untangle yet.
Hermione lay in bed, staring at the canopy above her, unable to quiet the thoughts swirling in her mind. She tossed and turned, her mind drifting back to Remus and the kiss that still lingered on her lips. She couldn't shake the gnawing feeling of guilt and confusion, her heart heavy with the weight of what she knew and what she could never truly be a part of.
Finally, with a sigh of resignation, she swung her legs out of bed and grabbed her robe, pulling it tightly around her shoulders. The castle was quiet as she made her way down the stairs to the common room, the soft glow of the dying embers in the fireplace casting flickering shadows on the walls. She settled on one of the window ledges, her eyes drawn to the dark silhouette of the Forbidden Forest in the distance.
The moon hung heavy and full in the sky, its light spilling over the treetops, casting an eerie silver glow over the forest. Hermione rested her forehead against the cool glass, her breath misting the window as she gazed out, her thoughts drifting to the four boys who had shared so much of themselves within those woods.
She could almost see them there now: James, with his sleek antlers and effortless confidence; Sirius, wild and fierce in his massive, black dog form; Peter, small and nimble, scurrying at their feet; and Remus, in the heart of it all, transformed into something both monstrous and vulnerable. The thought of them together, frolicking in the depths of the forest as werewolf and Animagi, stirred a bittersweet ache in her chest.
Hermione could almost hear the distant howls and playful barks echoing through the trees. They were so young, so full of life and courage, banding together to make something beautiful out of the unthinkable. The image was as comforting as it was heartbreaking—a glimpse into the bond that had defined them, a bond forged in loyalty, sacrifice, and love.
She envied them, in a way. Not for their recklessness or their daring, but for the seemingly unbreakable friendship that had carried them through so much. They had been each other's light in the darkest of times, a pack bound by something stronger than magic.
But now, knowing what she did, the reality of their future loomed large. They didn't have forever, and the carefree nights in the forest were numbered, slipping away with every moonrise. The most heartbreaking betrayal of this bond was coming closer and closer. Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the cold seep in, a chill that had nothing to do with the October night.
Hermione pressed her palm against the window, her eyes tracing the distant tree line. For now, all she could do was watch from the sidelines, carrying the burden of her knowledge and the ache of everything she could never change. And as the moonlight bathed the forest in silver, she whispered a quiet wish for the four friends lost in the night, hoping that in this fleeting moment, they found some measure of peace.
Hermione must have dozed off on the window ledge, the cool glass against her cheek and the faint glow of the moon her only company. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but the restless churn of her thoughts had finally given way to exhaustion. The next thing she knew, the soft creak of the portrait hole roused her, and she blinked bleary-eyed into the dim light of the common room.
Three familiar figures slipped through the entrance, moving with the practised quiet of boys used to sneaking back in at odd hours. James, Sirius, and Peter, each looking slightly dishevelled and carrying the unmistakable air of a night spent in the Forbidden Forest.
Hermione sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she tried to orient herself. She watched as they tiptoed inside, their laughter hushed but still buzzing with the adrenaline of their latest adventure. There was a wildness to their expressions, a shared exhilaration that spoke of freedom and the untamed magic of the night.
James was the first to notice her, his glasses askew and his hair even more tousled than usual. He froze mid-step, his eyes widening as he took in her presence. "Mina!" he whispered, surprised but not unkind. "What are you doing up?"
Hermione shrugged, trying to play off the awkwardness of being caught. "I couldn't sleep," she said, her voice groggy and thick with the remnants of dreams. "I just… needed some space."
Sirius smirked, though there was a flicker of something more serious in his eyes. "Guess we're not the only ones sneaking around at odd hours, huh?" He shot her a playful wink, though it lacked some of his usual bravado. He looked tired, and for a brief moment, Hermione saw past the mischief to the weight of the secret they all carried.
Peter shuffled beside them, avoiding eye contact as he rubbed his hands together for warmth. He was always the quieter of the group, content to let James and Sirius lead the charge.
Hermione's gaze flickered over them, noting the exhaustion etched into their faces, but it was impossible to ignore the absence of the fourth Marauder—the one who had driven her out of her own bed and into the quiet solitude of the common room. She knew where Remus was, but a part of her couldn't help but wonder what excuse his friends would offer up this time, the usual half-truths meant to shield him from prying eyes.
"Remus?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking his name too loudly might shatter whatever fragile calm lingered in the room. She kept her eyes down, not quite meeting theirs, bracing herself for whatever story they'd spin.
James sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair, his usual confidence dampened by fatigue. "He's… had a rough night, flu took a turn for the worse" he began, choosing his words carefully. "We had to practically drag him to the Hospital Wing in the middle of the night. Madam Pomfrey's keeping him there until afternoon for sure."
"You know, stubborn as a mule, that one," Sirius, trying to keep up appearances, forced a smirk but couldn't quite muster the usual mischief in his tone.
Hermione nodded, her heart sinking as she tried to maintain a calm façade. The flu—at least they were consistent with their lies. She couldn't help but admire the ease with which they spun these stories, their commitment to protecting Remus's secret stitched seamlessly into their everyday interactions. Last month it was a migraine, now the flu; she wondered idly what next month's excuse would be. A twisted ankle? An allergic reaction? The cover stories varied, but the careful deflection was always the same.
Hermione forced a smile, feeling the weight of their shared charade pressing down on her. "Right. Well, I'm glad Madam Pomfrey's taking care of him now. I might look in on him around lunch—I'm sure he'd appreciate a bit of company if he's feeling so poorly."
James's smile faltered, a flicker of panic flashing across his face before he quickly masked it. "Er, you know how Pomfrey is—she's likely to chase you off. She doesn't want anyone disturbing her patients, especially when they're… contagious."
Sirius nodded, jumping in with an easy, practised grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, Moony's in pretty bad shape. I'm sure he'd love to see you, but better give him a bit of space until he's feeling more himself."
Peter nodded along, though his expression was more strained than usual, the lie clearly unsettling him. "Besides, you know how he gets when he's under the weather. Prefers to be left alone."
Hermione kept her smile fixed, but their rushed deflections only made her more determined. She knew they were trying to protect Remus, but she couldn't ignore the feeling that something else was going on, that this wasn't just about keeping his secret but also about keeping her at a distance. She nodded slowly, not wanting to push them further. "Of course. I'll wait until he's better, then."
James relaxed visibly, grateful that she didn't press the issue, though Hermione could see the tension lingering at the corners of his mouth. "Thanks, Mina. We'll let him know you're thinking of him."
Funnily enough, when Hermione made her way to the Hospital Wing at lunch, Madam Pomfrey was as fierce a gatekeeper as the Marauders had warned. The moment Hermione stepped through the door, she was met with a stern look from the matron, who was bustling about with her usual no-nonsense air.
"And what are you doing here, Miss Delacour?" Pomfrey asked, her tone brusque but not unkind. "This is no place for visitors today. My patients need rest, not distractions."
Hermione hesitated, clutching the small bar of chocolate she'd brought with her, a quiet gesture of comfort she hoped might bridge the chasm that had opened between her and Remus. "I just wanted to—well, I thought Remus might appreciate some company, or at least this." She held out the chocolate, feeling a bit foolish under Pomfrey's scrutinising gaze.
Madam Pomfrey's expression softened just a fraction as she eyed the chocolate, then Hermione. "It's very kind of you, but Mr Lupin is not up for visitors. He's had a rough night, poor boy. I'll see to it that he gets this when he's feeling a bit more like himself."
Hermione nodded, grateful that at least the small gesture wouldn't be lost. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. I just… wanted him to know someone's thinking of him."
Pomfrey's eyes softened, and for a moment, the stern healer seemed to drop her guard. "He knows, dear. And he'll appreciate this. But you'd best be off. I'll let him know you stopped by."
Hermione nodded, feeling the sting of being turned away but also the quiet relief that Remus would at least receive her small offering. She turned to leave, casting one last look toward the closed curtains at the far end of the ward, knowing Remus was behind them, hidden from view.
As she stepped back into the hallway, Hermione couldn't help but smile, just a little, at the thought of Remus finding the chocolate. It wasn't much, but it was something—a reminder that, even in the thick of his struggles, he wasn't alone. And that, for now, would have to be enough.
The lead-up to the full moon was always difficult, but this one felt particularly relentless. The entire week had been an uphill battle against the rising tide of pain, impatience, and the ever-present simmering anger that lurked beneath Remus's usually composed exterior. The end of October brought with it a sharper edge, a bitterness in the chill that seemed to seep into his bones earlier, tightening the anxiety that always came with the moon. This one felt worse, somehow; there was a kind of restlessness in his skin, a gnawing agitation he hadn't felt since the days before his friends had joined him in his transformations.
He hadn't meant to snap at the others that afternoon, but everything was grating on him. The Marauders' easy banter that usually brought him comfort now felt abrasive, their jokes tinged with an edge that scraped against his raw nerves. He wanted to be alone, yet hated the solitude that waited at the end of every outburst.
The irritation in him peaked when Sirius, in his usual carefree manner, made a jibe about Mina rubbing off on him, and Remus had barely contained the urge to lash out. He couldn't stand the idea of Mina being brought into his foul moods, couldn't stand the way her eyes followed him with concern and confusion. She hadn't deserved his temper, but he was too wrapped up in his own misery to pull himself back from the edge.
Then the moment in the corridor—he hadn't even planned to speak to her, let alone kiss her. The frustration and desire had collided all at once, overwhelming his usual restraint. And in his state, he'd made a mistake he knew he couldn't take back. He'd seen the way her eyes widened, felt her response, felt everything that he had no right to claim. It was only when he pulled back, breathing heavily, that the reality of what he'd done settled in. The shame had cut deeper than the usual pre-moon anguish, and he'd run, leaving Mina behind with no explanation, no apology, just his own self-loathing swirling in his chest.
By the time the moon rose the next night, Remus was a mess of anger, regret, and the physical pain of his body preparing to tear itself apart. He'd gone to the Shrieking Shack earlier than usual, desperate to be away from the castle, from his friends, from Hermione. The transformation had always been brutal, but it was made worse by the storm of emotions he carried into it. Every moment spent thinking about her, about the kiss he should never have initiated, only made him more volatile.
He barely remembered the actual transformation; it was a blur of pain, bones cracking, skin tearing as the wolf clawed its way to the surface. The agony was something he had learned to endure, but tonight it felt like punishment. The wolf surged forward, restless and aggressive, far more agitated than it had been in years really. The presence of his friends, always comforting in their Animagus forms, felt stifling and wrong.
James, Sirius, and Peter had done their best to keep him contained, to keep the wolf's attention on them rather than letting him lash out at the walls of the shack. But there was an uncharacteristic ferocity in his movements, a wildness that even Prongs's antlers couldn't completely rein in. The wolf had charged and snapped, frustrated and angry, his instincts in complete turmoil. He vaguely remembered snarling at Padfoot, and the way Wormtail had squealed and scampered out of his reach more than once.
They hadn't had a moon this bad since their early days of learning to transform alongside him. Remus couldn't fully recall the details, but his friends filled him in once the morning sun finally dragged him back to his human form.
"It was rough, Moony," Sirius had said, his voice uncharacteristically serious as he sat beside Remus's prone figure in the Shrieking Shack. "You were restless as hell. Nearly took my head off more than once."
James nodded, his expression sombre. "I've never seen you like that. It was like you were fighting something—more than usual, I mean."
Remus could barely muster the strength to respond then, his body aching and bruised, his mind still foggy from the night's events. He was wrapped in blankets in the Hospital Wing now, the dull ache in his limbs a reminder of his nocturnal battles. He stared at the ceiling, the words of his friends echoing in his head, but what he remembered most clearly was the agitation, the anger. He didn't remember the chase or the snarls—only the restless, ceaseless need to escape something he couldn't define. And then, when he woke, the sense of having completely lost control, not just of his body but of the feelings that drove him to that point.
Sirius tried to reassure him, telling stories of how they'd managed to keep things contained, but Remus only half listened, his mind replaying the kiss, the way Mina's eyes had looked at him in those last seconds before he'd turned and run.
His friends didn't know about that part. They hadn't asked why he'd been so on edge, why the wolf had been so impossible to manage. And he hadn't told them. It was his burden to bear—his mistake. And it only made him feel worse, knowing how much effort they'd put into keeping him safe, only for him to let his guard down in the most reckless way possible.
The morning after the transformation, he was too sore and exhausted to move, and he dreaded the idea of facing Mina. The thought of her knowing, of her seeing him in this state, was too much. Madam Pomfrey had scolded him gently, her fussing a welcome distraction from the tumult of his thoughts, but even she couldn't banish the guilt that gnawed at him.
He was grateful, though, when she handed him the bar of chocolate with a knowing smile, telling him that Mina had dropped it off earlier in the day.
"She was thinking of you," Pomfrey had said, her voice soft but firm. "You've got people who care, Remus. Don't push them away."
But all Remus could do was stare at the chocolate, feeling a mix of gratitude and deep, unyielding shame. He'd spent weeks accepting her quiet offerings, letting her draw closer again after the tension between them had slowly melted away. They'd been talking, sharing moments that he hadn't realised he'd missed so much until they were there again. And now, he'd ruined it, letting his own fears and desires spill over into something that should never have happened.
"She's got a good heart," James had said, his voice low and serious while he snuck in for a quick visit under that cloak of his. "But you've got to let her see yours too. It's the only way she's going to understand."
Remus had nodded, but he didn't have the strength to do it. Not yet. Not when he was still reeling from the transformation and the mess he'd made of everything. He needed to get through this, to find some semblance of control again, before he could even think about facing Mina and admitting to what he'd done.
So he hid. He stayed in the Hospital Wing longer than usual that day, letting Madam Pomfrey's gentle reprimands and the hum of healing magic drown out his thoughts. He needed to pull himself together before he could make things right with Mina. Because facing her now, when he was still feeling the weight of the wolf's instincts and his own self-loathing, was more than he could bear.
Maybe after the moon had passed a bit more, when his head was clearer and his heart wasn't such a mess, he'd find the words to apologise. Maybe then, he'd be able to reach out and ask for forgiveness. But for now, he needed time—time to heal, to steady himself, and to figure out how to fix the fractures he'd caused. And he only hoped that when he was ready, Mina would still be there, willing to listen.
But Remus never did. Each day that passed after the full moon felt like a missed opportunity, and with every lost chance, the weight of his own cowardice settled deeper into his bones. He told himself that he was just waiting for the right moment, that he needed to be back on stable ground before he could face her. But the truth was simpler and far more shameful: he was scared. Too scared to admit what he'd done, too scared to face the hurt he might have caused, and too scared to let her see the parts of him he kept buried beneath layers of composure and forced smiles.
As the day stretched on, he found himself hiding behind excuses—he was still too weak from the transformation, he was too busy catching up on missed work, he was too tired, too preoccupied. Every morning, he would wake up with a plan to talk to her, to pull her aside and offer the apology that was burning a hole in his chest. And every time, he faltered.
When he finally returned to classes, he kept their interactions brief, sticking to polite nods and forced smiles. They exchanged pleasantries, little comments about homework or passing remarks about the weather, but nothing of substance. The easy understanding they'd built before the full moon had slipped away, replaced by an awkward silence that neither seemed willing or able to break.
Mina, for her part, had retreated as well. She was polite, always with a kind smile and a friendly greeting, but there was a distance to her now, a guardedness that hadn't been there before. Remus could see it in the way she avoided meeting his eyes for too long, in the careful way she chose her words around him, as if she was trying not to step on a hidden landmine.
And every time he saw her, a knot tightened in his chest. He knew she'd been trying—trying to reach out, trying to mend whatever was fraying between them. But his own fear kept him at arm's length. He couldn't bear the thought of sitting down with her and admitting the truth: that he'd lost control, that he'd crossed a line he never should have, and that he was terrified of what that meant for them.
He watched from a distance as Mina went about her days, catching glimpses of her in the library, in the Great Hall, in the common room where she would sit with her friends, laughing at something Lily said or deep in discussion with Marlene. He kept his distance, retreating into the background where it was safer, where he didn't have to confront the mess he'd made.
The bitterness of his own failure clung to him. He'd thought that maybe, after the moon, he would feel more like himself—less volatile, less consumed by the instincts that had driven him to kiss her in that corridor. But instead, he just felt empty. The wolf's restlessness had left him ragged, and his own fears had built a wall between him and the girl who'd been his closest friend in recent weeks.
The worst part was that he knew Mina would probably understand. She was kind, empathetic to a fault, and if anyone could forgive him, it was her. But he couldn't forgive himself, and every time he thought about the kiss—the way her lips had felt against his, the way he'd let the wolf's instincts bleed into his human heart—he felt a surge of self-loathing that choked him.
He tried to distract himself with his usual routines, burying his head in his books or throwing himself into Marauder mischief whenever he had the energy. But it was never enough. The guilt followed him everywhere, a constant shadow that tugged at his mind whenever he saw her, whenever he remembered the way he'd stormed out after the kiss without so much as an explanation.
Sirius had tried to talk sense into him, cornering him in the dormitory one evening, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "You need to talk to her, Moony. You can't just avoid her forever."
Remus had only shaken his head, staring down at his hands. "I can't. Not after what I did."
Sirius's expression had softened, a rare flicker of understanding in his usually teasing gaze. "You're punishing yourself for something that's done. You made a mistake, but you can't just let it hang between you. It's not fair—to either of you."
But Remus couldn't bring himself to face her, not when he felt so raw and unworthy. He was the werewolf, the boy with the cursed blood, the one who had vowed never to drag anyone else into his darkness. And now, he'd done exactly that, letting his own selfish desires break through in a moment of weakness.
He wanted to believe that he could find the courage to make things right, that he could explain and maybe—just maybe—salvage whatever was left of their friendship. But every time he tried to summon the words, they stuck in his throat, twisted by the fear that he'd already ruined everything beyond repair.
So, he did nothing. He hid behind his excuses, watching as the days slipped by, each one a missed chance to reach out and make amends. And with every passing moment, the distance between him and Mina grew, until it felt like they were on opposite sides of a chasm too wide to cross.
Remus knew he was being a coward, letting his own insecurities dictate his actions. But it was easier to stay in the shadows, to let the guilt fester in silence, than to risk the possibility of rejection—or worse, forgiveness. Because deep down, he didn't feel like he deserved either. So he kept his distance, nursing his wounds in solitude, all the while painfully aware that he was the only one keeping them apart.
A/N: If anyone is wondering, I have this fic written up until chapter 32 right now, and I'm nowhere near done, so it's going to be a long one. I'll probably post fairly often for now but it may slow later on so that I don't get too caught up with my current progress.