It was impossible to tell how long the kiss lasted. For Remus and Aurora, time seemed to dissolve, leaving only the warmth of the other and the quiet hum of connection that had been simmering between them for months. Neither thought of stopping, why would they? It felt right, as if the pieces of a puzzle had finally clicked into place.
Aurora's lips were soft and warm, her touch light, almost reverent, and Remus responded with equal gentleness. Their kiss was tentative and unhurried, a dance of curiosity and quiet longing. It wasn't hurried or desperate; it didn't need to be. This was about exploring, about allowing something that had always lingered on the edge of possibility to finally take shape.
It was inevitable, wasn't it? That simmering chemistry had been undeniable from the start. All the shared laughter during patrols, the unspoken understanding in moments of silence, and the way their conversations stretched into hours without either realizing it, all of it had built to this.
For once, there was no reason to hold back. No students to stumble upon them, no teachers with raised eyebrows, no nosy ghosts or mischievous poltergeists to carry tales. Tonight, in the quiet warmth of Remus's quarters, there was only the two of them: Remus Lupin and Aurora Moonridge. Moonrise and Moonset, meeting in the middle.
Eventually, something unspoken nudged them to pull away. They lingered close for a moment, their breaths mingling in the space between them, before reality slowly crept in. And then, it hit them what had just happened, and what it might mean.
"I'm sorry," Remus blurted immediately, his voice tinged with panic.
Aurora blinked at him, then shook her head quickly. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have invaded your space."
Their words tumbled over each other, awkward but earnest. And then they both smiled, small, shy smiles that felt like tentative peace offerings.
"But," Aurora said after a pause, her voice hesitant, "it wasn't... bad, was it?"
Remus chuckled softly, his eyes flicking to hers. "No, it wasn't bad at all."
"It was nice," she added, her voice warming.
"Yeah," he murmured.
"Yeah."
Their gazes met again, and this time the silence stretched out between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts. It was awkward, yes, how could it not be? They had kissed. They were coworkers, professors at the same school, and friends who had spent countless hours joking, talking, and sharing pieces of themselves. This kiss changed everything and nothing all at once.
But in that moment, they weren't just professors or colleagues. They were two adults who, beyond their shared connection and lingering emotions, felt the pull of unspoken physical needs. Needs for intimacy, for touch, for closeness in its most primal form. And in that moment, they both craved that kind of connection.
Remus rose slowly from the couch, the warmth of the moment lingering but overshadowed by the weight of unspoken thoughts. He moved across the room in deliberate silence, the soft sound of his footsteps barely audible over the faint crackle of the dying fire. At a cabinet on the far side of the room, he paused, then opened it with a quiet creak. His fingers brushed against the neck of a whiskey bottle, and for a moment, he stared at it as though seeking answers in its amber depths.
"Want some?" he asked finally, his voice soft but steady, breaking the silence like the first ripple in still water.
Aurora hesitated, glancing at him before shaking her head. "No thanks," she replied, her voice equally gentle, though a hint of something, uncertainty or regret, lurked beneath her tone. "I... I should be going now. Like I said earlier, but..." She paused, searching for the right words. "I'll see you tomorrow for Christmas breakfast in the Staff Room."
She rose quietly from the couch, smoothing her robes as if to erase the traces of the evening. Her steps were light as she crossed the room toward the door, but before her hand could touch the handle, Remus' voice stopped her.
"I thought you didn't eat breakfast," he said softly, his tone carrying the faintest trace of amusement.
Aurora turned slightly, just enough for him to catch the shy curve of her smile. "I think that might have changed," she said, her words tinged with warmth and promise. Then, without another word, she slipped out of the room, leaving the faintest scent of her perfume lingering behind.
Remus remained still, his gaze fixed on the closed door. His fingers tightened around the whiskey bottle as realization dawned, not that she had left because the moment had been awkward or unbearable, but because she truly needed to. The hour was late, and perhaps, she needed the space to think.
He exhaled slowly, the quiet room suddenly feeling vast and empty. Returning to the couch, he poured himself a small measure of whiskey, letting the burn of the drink anchor him. As he stared into the dying embers of the fire, he couldn't help but wonder what tomorrow might bring, what breakfast with Aurora might feel like after tonight.
To say that sitting next to Remus the next morning, after what had happened the night before, at Christmas breakfast with the other teachers was simply uncomfortable would be a grave understatement. It was, in fact, painfully uncomfortable.
It was all because neither of them had yet to fully process what had happened between them the night before. The memory of it lingered, vivid and unspoken, casting a shadow over their usual camaraderie. And because of that, they weren't ready to talk to each other like they usually did during meals, where easy banter and warm smiles came naturally.
Unfortunately for them, Professor McGonagall was seated next to them, and her sharp eyes didn't miss much. The unnatural silence between her two colleagues seemed to pique her interest.
"Is everything all right? Aurora? Remus?" she asked, her voice carrying the kind of gentle authority that made you want to confess even when nothing was wrong.
"Of course, Professor McGonagall," Remus replied quickly, his voice steady as he sipped his favorite Earl Grey, though the faintest tremor betrayed his nerves.
"Yes," Aurora added, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Why do you ask, Professor?"
"Oh, you don't have to call me Professor," McGonagall said, a slight smile tugging at her lips. "You're not my students anymore."
Her words hung in the air, but she didn't directly answer Aurora's question, her sharp gaze lingering on them for a moment longer than felt comfortable.
Lupin and Moonridge exchanged a quick, fleeting glance, one filled with unspoken questions and mutual awkwardness. Neither of them dared to say anything more, silently hoping the moment would pass without further scrutiny.
"Aurora!" Remus called as the other professors began to disperse, heading back to their quarters after the Christmas breakfast.
Aurora slowed her pace, waiting for him to catch up. His footsteps were light, almost hesitant, and she turned just as he reached her side.
"About last night," he began, his voice low and apologetic, "I wanted to say… I apologize again."
"You don't have to apologize for that, Remus," she replied softly, offering him a faint smile. "Besides, you weren't the only one who took action last night. It happened. There's no changing it now."
They walked together in silence for a moment, their steps in sync, before he asked quietly, his voice barely audible, "Do you regret it?"
Aurora paused, tilting her head slightly as she considered her words. "There's nothing to regret here, Remus. Don't worry."
He sighed, a mix of relief and lingering doubt, before admitting, "I still can't understand how it happened."
Aurora laughed quietly, the sound light but genuine, and nodded. "Oh, it was definitely sudden and unexpected," she agreed, her voice tinged with amusement. "But you know..." She hesitated, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. "I think it was probably something we needed, deep down. Nothing happens without a reason, so it had to come from somewhere."
Remus slowed his steps, turning his gaze to her, his expression both thoughtful and searching. "Do you have anything specific in mind?"
"When was the last time you kissed someone?" she asked suddenly, her tone gentle but direct. "When was the last time you felt someone's lips on yours? When was the last time you were this close to anyone?"
Her questions hung in the air, cutting through the silence like the soft crackle of a fire in a quiet room. Remus frowned slightly, his brow furrowed as he searched his memory. He seemed to retreat inward, reaching for something distant and buried.
"Well…" he began slowly, his voice faltering. "That would've been before Mary..." He trailed off abruptly, his face clouding with an emotion Aurora couldn't immediately place. A flicker of something unspoken danced behind his eyes, and then he continued, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "If we're counting the ridiculous kisses that came from a game of spin the bottle… that would be Sirius Black, summer of 1981."
Aurora blinked, startled, before laughter spilled from her lips. It was sudden, bright, and uncontrollable. The image of Sirius Black in such a scenario was simply too much.
Remus chuckled softly, his cheeks tinged with color. "Yes, well, it's not exactly a fond memory," he muttered, though his eyes twinkled with amusement.
As Aurora's laughter subsided, a different thought struck her, and her expression shifted. Remus' earlier words replayed in her mind, and one question rose to the surface, unbidden. "Who's Mary?"
Her voice was careful, her curiosity genuine but tinged with caution.
Remus' smile faltered, his expression dimming like a candle burned too low. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed stuck in his throat, as though they carried the weight of a memory too heavy to share.
"Mary..." he began slowly, his voice carrying a weight that made Aurora's heart ache. "Well, Mary... she was my girlfriend when I was still a student here at Hogwarts. It was something serious, at least, that's how I always felt."
Aurora watched him closely, sensing the heaviness of his words. His shoulders seemed to sag under an invisible burden, and his eyes, which often held warmth even in difficult times, now seemed distant, as though he were gazing into a past only he could see.
"Where is she now?" Aurora asked softly, almost hesitantly, as if she already knew the answer but needed to hear it from him.
"She's dead," he said shortly, his tone flat but trembling at the edges. His hands fidgeted slightly, brushing against the fabric of his robes as if trying to ground himself. "She was murdered during the war."
Aurora's breath hitched, and a pang of sorrow pierced her chest. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but the words caught in her throat.
Remus continued before she could respond, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. "That night when... it happened… I—I wanted to propose to her."
Aurora froze, the weight of his confession hitting her like a physical blow. She couldn't think of what to say. How could anyone respond to that? Her mind reeled as she tried to process it all: the unimaginable pain he must have felt, the loss that had shaped him, and the strength it must have taken for him to keep going.
Her gaze flickered to his face, and for the first time, she noticed the raw vulnerability etched into his features. His jaw was tense, his lips pressed into a thin line as though he were holding back a flood of emotions.
Aurora swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper when she finally spoke. "Remus, I—I'm so sorry. I didn't know."
He shook his head, his lips curling into a small, bitter smile. "How could you have? It's not exactly something I talk about. It was a long time ago… but sometimes it feels like yesterday."
Aurora's heart clenched at his words. Merlin, Remus' life was truly a series of tragedies. Being a werewolf, the ostracization that came with it, losing his closest friends, some to death, others to betrayal, and now this. The girl he had loved, the one he'd wanted to build a life with, ripped away from him in the cruelest way.
"Remus," she said softly, stepping closer to him without thinking. "You've been through so much… more than anyone should ever have to endure."
He gave her a faint smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. "We all have our burdens, Aurora."
For a moment, there was silence between them, a shared grief hanging heavy in the air. Aurora wanted to say something comforting, something that might ease the pain etched into his very being, but she knew words couldn't fix this. All she could do was be there, standing beside him in the quiet, letting him know he wasn't alone.
Aurora then decided to make a move. A move she knew Remus would definitely appreciate. She simply hugged him.