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There are plenty of things Remus hadn’t expected in his humble life. Being bitten by a werewolf when he was still practically a toddler, for one. Having the esteemed Headmaster Albus Dumbledore personally visit eleven-year-old Remus and offer him every accommodation to attend Hogwarts, for another. Then there was the added surprise of Remus’ parents turning down Dumbledore’s once-in-a-lifetime offer. In the following sixteen years of that visit and rejection, nothing truly spectacular happened between juggling Muggle schooling and his father’s intense Wizard-training. (There was the one time Remus nearly bled to death the morning after a Full Moon, several miles from his werewolf cellar hideout, but that was hardly spectacular and to be expected.) However, being tailed through the dirty London streets by famous Quidditch star James Potter? That is something Remus never, ever expected. ♤♤♤ “Do you think I should dye my hair?” Dorcas twirls spaghetti around her fork and messily shoves it in her mouth. Talking around her food, she goes on, “The grey is getting...more.” “The grey has been ‘getting more’ for me since I was seventeen,” Remus says. “You’re just tastefully aging.” “Such a charmer.” Remus winks. Dorcas waves her fork at Remus. “You’re a sexy grey fox, Lupin, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. In fact, you should be going around telling people that.” She jerks her fork to the far back of the restaurant. “Like those Wizards over there.” About twenty minutes ago, a rowdy group of Wizards came in and have been growing steadily rowdier since. They wear Muggle clothing, nearly passing off as “normal” if not for the few weird style choices—mismatched bright legwarmers over suit pants, short jean skirt layered over flared jeans, outrageously low v-neck over a turtleneck sweater. One Wizard skips all pretenses and wears a spectacular twinkling robe. The matching pointy Wizard hat is placed on the table like a peculiar centerpiece. The group holds a collective air of trouble that’s tickled Remus’ innate paranoia since they first stepped in the Muggle establishment. Dryly, Remus tells Dorcas, “I’ll be sure to tell them my most attractive attributes on the way to the bathroom.” Dorcas raises her eyebrows. “Bathroom window?” Remus lifts his glass of water in a cheers gesture. The group of Wizards watch the restaurant door, clearly waiting for someone. While that nixes leaving the restaurant through the front doors without been seen, if Remus walks in a diagonal line to the back, he can make it to the bathroom without entering the table’s direct line of sight. “Give me a kiss before you abandon me,” Dorcas says grumpily and Remus smiles in thanks. There’s amusement in the corner of Dorcas’ lips and Remus loves her for it—even though she never understands his reasons for hiding, she’s never guilted him for the way he lives. Pressing a stack of cash on the table, Remus stands up. He kisses her right cheek, then says, “One for Marley,” and kisses her left cheek. “Charmer!” Dorcas accuses again. “Well,” Remus takes his coat off his chair and slips his arms into it, “I’ve learned from the two best.” Dorcas and her partner Marlene are the two most sappy sweethearts Remus has ever known. After a small bow in goodbye, Remus makes a beeline for the bathroom. He’s a little too caught up in keeping an eye on the Wizard table without openly staring at them that he forgets to watch where’s he’s going. He catches a glimpse of the robed-Wizard holding his wand out under the table and his heart flatlines as the wand points at him.  Remus’ body is forcibly jerked. He trips on air and falls—flies—into a pair of sturdy arms. Irritation, hot and fast, licks Remus’ heart like burning flames—he’s always been a target for jokes and humiliation, though how and why he’d caught this Wizard’s attention is a mystery. This is why he avoids all Wizards—annoying, interfering bunch! The person holding Remus interrupts his flurry of thoughts. “Alright?” “Yes,” Remus says. He tilts his head down and keeps it slightly turned away, his voice quiet and without a distinct inflection. Untangling himself from his rescuer, Remus mumbles thank you. A hand immediately grabs Remus’ elbow and tugs him back. The force of it surprises Remus into looking up. “You’re alright?” James Bloody Potter—JAMES BLOODY POTTER—asks Remus again. “Yes,” Remus repeats, tersely this time, and pries James Bloody Potter’s fingers off his elbow. He speed-walks out of reach, chancing a look at the robed-Wizard who watches James Bloody Potter with open smugness. Picking up his pace, Remus wastes no time in escaping into the bathroom. He crawls through the small window and slips on the rubbish cans outside before dropping to the ground. The chilly air sets Remus at ease. The bite of it brings him out of his head and serves as a reminder that he’s not trapped in a stuffy restaurant with strong arms keeping him pinned. At a brisk pace, Remus emerges out of the alley and starts walking to Lily’s place, focusing on lowering his heartbeat. Remus isn’t a wanted criminal or any type of criminal at all—unless being a werewolf made him one, which some Wizards do believe. Truthfully, there isn’t a problem with him running into Wizards. Dorcas herself is a Witch, as is her partner Marlene. Lily, the friend Remus is staying with is also a Witch. He just prefers to not interact with the outside Wizarding world if he can help it. Humans rarely grow suspicious of Remus' relation to the moon cycle but people of Magic blood are an entirely different story. The extent to which Remus goes to completely and utterly avoid Wizards is so thorough that he left through a bathroom window so a Wizard wouldn’t so much as glance at him—he had scouted the restaurant's bathroom in case that scenario happened, that’s how deeply his avoidance ran. Not that any of that helped in the end. The anxiety that erupted in Remus’ lungs when he saw that wand pointed at him slowly dissipates into a simmering annoyance about how he’d been so carelessly picked out. Of course he’d be the one for that robed-Wizard to use as a joke. Remus attracted trouble even when he expertly dressed as a low-class boringly ordinary Muggle. He can’t wait to send Dorcas an Owl telling her I told you so. This will be amazing ammunition to use in his debates with her against his paranoia being baseless. Remus crosses the street, paying little attention, and a car swerves around him, blaring its horn. The driver’s window is down and a middle-aged man yells a slur at him. Remus turns around to watch the car drive past him, flipping the driver off. A shadowy figure catches in the periphery of his vision. Remus is being tailed. ♤♤♤ Thirty minutes have gone by and Potter—he stopped being James Bloody Potter twenty minutes ago and five minutes after he was quickly demoted to just his last name—continues to stalk Remus like a newborn Hippogriff in a field of Nifflers. Once Remus realized how awful Potter is at this, it became a hilariously amusing game. They’re nowhere near the path to Lily’s house—Remus turns street corners at random, creating a bizarre route for Potter to try and keep up with. Despite his joints tiring and the headache beginning at his temples, Remus doesn’t want to give up this game of chase. Giving into the need for a few good breaths of air, he ducks into a small gap between two buildings and waits. The fast clack-clack of footsteps grows louder—dear Merlin, is this man capable of any subtlety?—and Potter stands in the middle of the empty street right in view of Remus. Leaning into the shadows, Remus watches Potter look left, right, left, right, his eyes passing right over Remus. Potter turns his feet in a complete circle, looking everywhere intently. Something frightfully warm curls in Remus’ chest, betraying the distrust and annoyance that should be there. He pulls his wand out of his pants and waves it so a pebble down the street jumps four steps in a clatter that gains Potter’s attention. Remus slips out of the alleyway and runs on quiet feet behind Potter, quickly turning the corner and ducking behind a building on the next corner. Confident that Potter isn’t in close enough hearing range, Remus Apparates to Lily’s flat, damning the crackfire sound it makes. It’s pleasantly cool and dark in his friend’s flat. She’s been gone for a while, returning tomorrow, and it smells a bit stale. An overwhelming feeling of safety washes over Remus, clashing with the adrenaline Potter had spurred in Remus’ veins. He walks to the desk pushed up by the flat’s only window and sifts through the polaroids cluttering the desk. Lily swears every time she’ll make a photo album and every time Remus visits, the only change to her photo clutter is that it’s grown. Remus pushes to the end of the pile and—there you are. Remus whispers lumos and his wand lights up the moving picture. A group of three boys smile, their arms thrown around each other. Lily moves in the background, creeping behind them before jumping on the back of one of the boys. The whole group falls in a pile of soundless laughter and then the scene restarts. Though the photo is old, taken a decade or so ago when Lily was at Hogwarts, Remus can confidently say the teenager Lily jumps on is the robed-Wizard from tonight. And the lanky boy next to him? James Potter. “Should’ve Floo-ed back with Dorcas,” Remus says out loud. He sets the photo down. “Nox.” Plunged back in darkness, Remus makes his way to Lily’s room. He closes and locks her door, undresses, and flops into bed. ♤♤♤ “—fried my hair off!” “We can grow it back instantly, idiot.” “Says you! If it had been your hair—” “We’ll swear that this is the last time we break in.” “A Marauders swear.” “She said last time was her final-final warning.” “When have we ever been known for respecting private boundaries?” “Let’s add that to our resumes. ‘Does not understand personal boundaries’. ” “Oi, if I wanted to get a job, I could get one!” “I have a job.” “Yes, we know. ” “Pfft. Like that’s a real job.” “Tell that to the three bones I broke last week!” “Lame.” “Don’t listen to him, he sobbed in the stands when we saw you fall.” “Shut up!” “ALL OF YOU SHUT UP,” Remus shouts. The other side of Lily’s front door goes quiet for the first time in thirty minutes. Remus presses his head against the door, closing his eyes and searching for the internal strength to deal with this. “Uh, no offense mate,” someone says, their voice muffled by the door, “but who the fuck are you?” “I’m the person who you woke up with all your squabbling,” Remus says. “We don’t squabble.” “Yes, we do.” “I resent that.” “Will you please leave before I fry the hair off all three of you?” Remus’ wand feels heavier in his pocket as if it’s excited by the idea. “How long have you been listening to us?” “Does it matter?” Remus asks. “Lily’s not here.” “A man is in Lily’s flat alone?” “You don’t know if it’s a man.” “The voice is deep—ow!” “Wormtail, you dumb—” “I am a man and I am in Lily’s flat alone and I am tired, thank you for asking, and yes, I would like for you to leave. Bye.” “Bye? What do you mean bye!” “I mean I’m not listening to you squabble,” Remus drawls. “Let us in!” “I’m not letting three strangers in here.” “We’re not strangers!” Remus takes his wand out and performs a nonverbal locking spell he tweaked into not responding to Alohomora. As he walks away, he hears one of the three strangers shouting that exact spell as another one shouts put your wand away. Remus half-naps on Lily’s couch for the next two hours. He doubts the people outside are any threats but he keeps his wand in hand and stays half-conscious with the door in sight just in case. Lily’s voice breaks through Remus’ fog around noon and he swishes his wand just in time for the door to unlock with her key as if it had never been tampered with in the first place. Vaulting over the couch, Remus slides on socks into Lily’s room and quietly shuts her door. A split second later, he hears the door slam open and Lily shouting as she’s, presumably, shoved aside. “EVERYONE SHUT IT!” The three voices talking over each other immediately silent. “Good. Remus?” Remus knocks on the bed headboard. “If anyone tries to peek in my room I will—well, you don’t want to know what I’ll do.” “But—” “Uh-uh!” Remus holds a pillow up as the bedroom door opens and closes. The person who entered the room has auburn hair, freckled cheeks, and brilliantly green eyes that squint at him. More importantly, the person brings the sweet taste of home to Remus' heart. “Is smuggling me with my own pillow the way you say hello these days?” “Haven’t you heard? It’s the new fashion.” Setting the pillow down, Remus climbs off the bed and engulfs Lily in a hug. Lily squeezes Remus. “Ah! Remus! I’ve missed you.” “I did miss you but then The Three Musketeers showed up and now I only sort-of like you.” Pulling out of the hug, Remus pointedly looks at the bedroom door. Someone behind it shouts in offense to Remus’ comment. Lily scowls. “Stop eavesdropping!” She grimaces at Remus. “I’m sorry? I had no idea they’d show up.” Remus half-grins. “It’s alright. I was thinking of going home, anyway, but I knew you’d kill me if I left before saying bye.” “You can’t leave.” Lily grabs Remus’ arm as if he planned to Apparate that very second. “You promised you’d spend the week. We haven’t spoken in ages.” One of the Musketeers shouts that Remus can’t leave until they meet him. Remus widens his eyes at Lily and jerks his head to the door, communicating that he’s in no mood to meet Wizards. Lily releases Remus’ arm and crosses her arms over her chest, adjusting her stance and pursing her lips to communicate that she doesn’t care and that Remus is not leaving. Remus crosses his arms, leans against the wall, and crosses his ankles—try me!  They stare each other down until a Musketeer asks what’s going on and another asks if they’re snogging. “Please, Re,” Lily whispers. “They won’t leave until they meet you and I don’t want you to go.” Remus stays leaning against the wall, not budging in his opinion. Mostly to humor her, he relents in asking, “Which friends are they?” “I don’t know if you remember their names but I used to write about three troublemakers at Hogwarts?” Remus freezes. In a panicked split-second, he decides his self-preservation at this moment is more important than future-Remus being fucked over what he’s about to agree to. There's no way Remus can manage ditching Lily without her weaseling a reason out of him for why meeting her friends is so horrific. If she digs past the flimsy surface of his usual "fuck Wizards, I'm a Werewolf", she'll immediately sense he's hiding something. Lily never needs to know about his weird cat-and-mouse chase with Potter last night. James Potter. The James Potter. James Bloody Potter who happened to be one of Lily’s closest friends from school. 
Fuck.
 Yeah, there’s no way Remus is telling her about last night to get out of meeting the Musketeers. Potter and his friends won’t even remember his face, right? The restaurant was dark, Remus kept his head down, there’s nothing remarkable about him...this is fine. Everything’s fine. They won't remember him, Lily will never learn about last night, and Remus will simply endure an hour of socializing. Remus pushes himself off the wall. “I can do lunch,” he agrees airily. Lily takes a few seconds to gather her wits to speak. “Wait, really? No, I’m just going to run with it—you said yes! Okay. Are you going to be,” Lily lowers her voice, “a Muggle?” “Remus Lupin, bland jack-of-all-trades job-hopper with a boring Muggle life,” Remus tips an imaginary hat, “at your service.” “Take out the word Muggle and that is your life. You should let me do your cover stories. Like, famous footie player. We can drink champagne and watch them stumble over what they think Muggle sports are.” “Ask one of them to help you cook,” Remus says. “Oh, God, I don’t think any of them has physically picked up an object since they could legally use Magic outside of school,” Lily says. Her face lights up. “Okay, let me give them a heads up and tell them to behave. Don’t expect them to, though.” Remus nods and eavesdrops as Lily goes off to tell the Musketeers. One of them, with genuine confusion, asks, What do you mean he’s a Muggle? while another demands petulantly,  How come she gets to have a Muggle friend! General slapping and smacking sounds ensue before Lily starts ordering various jobs—cooking, setting the table, and telling ‘Black’ to sit on the couch and make as little trouble as possible. Remus laughs as he hears someone splutter about how they can’t use any Magic? Turning away from the door, Remus makes his way to Lily’s dresser and rummages through for something decent to wear. He throws on a footie jersey that swamps him, with the bottom of it going past his ass and the short sleeves sliding down to his elbows. He pulls on the ratty old sweatpants he steals every time he visits, runs a hand over his face, and deems himself presentable enough. He goes to open the door and steps back—he stalls for a few more minutes by washing his face and brushing his teeth.  This is fine. You’ve acted as a Muggle your whole life. This won’t be longer than an hour, Remus tells himself. It’s either this or coming clean to Lily about Potter stalking you and liking it. With that thought in mind, Remus slides out of Lily’s room. The flat is in mild chaos. Someone found a balloon and two of the Musketeers play a violent game of using any limb to keep the balloon from touching the ground. Remus watches the blond Musketeer—shorter than Remus and a few times as wide—lose focus, allowing the balloon to hit the floor. The Musketeer playing with him shouts and lunges over to twist Blondie’s nipples. Remus recognizes Nipple-twister as the robed-Wizard from last night that shot a tripping spell at him. He’s dressed in high fashion Muggle clothing today and Remus wishes he had his wand to hex’s the bloke’s long black hair into getting tangled. The kitchen is flying with insults. “Potter, you’ve burnt the toast!” “You were supposed to be watching the toast, Evans!” Lily’s hair is at least three times more frazzled since Remus last saw her, making her look like a Raggedy Ann doll. Potter’s back is to Remus and his strained shirt over his broad shoulders is enough to have Remus stepping backward, ready to abort this plan. The floorboard creaks with Remus’ step and all four heads whip to face him. Remus chooses to focus on the two balloon-playing blokes. “Hello,” Remus says, smiling wanly. Nipple-twister releases Blondie and points an accusing finger at Remus. Luckily, Lily’s couch separates them, so Remus’ nipples are safe. “You are the man who locked us out for two—” the anger flips into excitement, recognition lighting up on Nipple-twister’s face, “—oh shite—it’s—you’re the—” Blondie elbows Nipple-twister in the ribs, saving Remus from his internal panic becoming external. Remus glances at Lily, hoping she hadn’t caught on. She shoots Remus a look that’s a cross between what and I’m sorry. Remus gives her his best bemused face. “I think what Black was trying to say was hi, it’s nice to meet you,” Blondie says. He has a nervous energy that’s oddly charming—it makes Remus forget about his own nerves in want to make Blondie feel comfortable. Remus wonders if it’s an act. It’s a clever one that Remus has used himself. “Oh, I’m Peter—Peter Pettigrew.” Remus can’t help but laugh and share an amused look with Lily. “You’re into Bond?” Remus asks. Peter’s face twists in confusion. “Sorry, what?” Remus tilts his head, blinking innocently. Oh, he had forgotten how fun it is to mess with people. “The movies. You know the famous line.” Remus deepens his voice and says, “‘The name’s Bond—James Bond.’” The three boys look to Lily like kids to a mother. She laughs and they copy her instantly with fake-laughter. Elbowing Potter out of the kitchen, Lily waves her hand. “Black, Potter, introduce yourselves. I’ll finish the food.” Lily winks at Remus as the Musketeers turn away from her. She pulls out her wand and moves the dishes from the kitchen to the table with nonverbal Magic. Nipple-twister speaks first. “You can call me Sirius.” He looks around the room with purposeful disinterest. Remus’ five ideas on payback for the tripping thing increase to eight ideas. “I’m Potter!” Potter jumps in next. He’s frozen in the spot where Lily elbowed him out of the kitchen. “Potter—James Potter.” “Oh, mate,” Sirius winces with exaggerated disappointment, “too late.” Potter protests, “It’s funny because my name is James, too.” “How many times do I have to tell you? If you have to explain it, the joke isn’t funny.” “James,” Peter says, intervening the oncoming squabble, “aren’t those your clothes?” Everyone’s eyes are on Remus again. A muffled snort of laughter comes from the kitchen. As much as Remus would like to shoot Lily a glare, he plays up his befuddled act. “Oh, they were in Lily’s dresser. I always wear them when I visit.” “Always?” Potter repeats. “Imagine if he wasn’t wearing pants,” Sirius mutters. Peter, who Remus has been hoping would be an ally, covers his mouth to keep in his braying giggles. “Pads!” Potter hisses “What?” Sirius asks lazily. “Your jersey looks like a dress on him. What greater fantasy—” Potter makes a strangled sound and Remus cuts in before this can get any more mortifying. “You play football?” “What?” Potter asks as Peter echoes, “Football?” and Sirius mutters, “Where did you find him, Lily, under a rock?” “He,” Remus nods to Sirius and looks back to Potter, “said it’s your jersey.” Remus genuinely thought it had been for football. How was he supposed to know Potter’s Quidditch team marketed Muggle merchandise? Peter, ever so eloquent, coughs and says, “Muggle.” “Oh! No! I—uh—um—I don’t play foot, uh, footie. I’m—that’s, uh, it’s just a shirt. My shirt. That I wear. Not that I wear when I play footie because I don’t. Play footie, that is.” James sags in relief as he finishes his ramble. “Nice save,” Peter says sincerely. Sirius elbows him. “I can change,” Remus offers. “No,” Potter says before the sentence is out of Remus’ mouth. “I mean, no, it’s no problem. You can keep it if you want.” Shrugging, Remus makes his way through the Musketeers, aware that their eyes are following him. “That’s alright.” He plays aloof. “I’m a little attached to the sweatpants, though. I like worn-in clothes. So soft.” Potter makes the strangled sound again and Sirius declares, “I love this.” “Me, too,” Lily pipes in. Her eyes are gleaming as she smiles at Remus. She exits the kitchen and they sit together at the table. A mad scramble sounds behind them and in a whirlwind of movement, the three boys shove each other until Peter sits across of Remus, Sirius across from Lily, and James is tacked onto the end of the table at the corner closest to Remus. “How did you get the food in here?” Sirius asks suspiciously. Lily sticks her tongue out at him. “Shut up and dig in.” Remus does his best to fade into the background as lunch ensues. He succeeds better than he had expected. His plan to capture their undivided attention for a few memorable minutes so that they would then not care about him afterward seems to have worked. The only problem is Potter’s gaze drifts to Remus too often for comfort. He alternates between eyeing the clothes Remus wears and opening his mouth as if to say something only to close it and turn away. Eventually, Potter manages to get words out of his open mouth. “You live in the city?” “No,” Remus says. Their little chase last night embarrasses Remus in the light of a new day. At least he gets the amusement of watching Potter struggle with wanting to point out that he saw Remus walking in the city nowhere close to Lily’s house, except that would give away that he stalked Remus for over half an hour. “Oh.” Potter stares at his plate for a few seconds. Perking up, he looks back to Remus with the question, “What do you do for work?” “This and that,” Remus says. “What do you do?” Sirius butts into their side-conversation to say, “Our Jamesy here is famous. He plays—” The table jostles as Lily not-so-subtly kicks Sirius out of finishing his sentence full of pride. “Fuck!” Sirius says, glaring at Lily. “Famous?” Remus prompts. All three boys exchange wide-eyed looks as it finally hits them that Remus is a Muggle (at least to their knowledge). Potter’s jaw drops dramatically and Peter mutters something about now Potter knows what it’s like to pull without having Quidditch to boast about. Remus’ appetite for mischief tempts him to ask what Quidditch is but he cuts them some slack. Potter has gone into comatose with the realization that to Remus, Potter is just an ordinary guy with no fame whatsoever. No need to kick a man while he’s already down. “I’m famous,” Potter eventually mutters meekly. Remus tilts his head. “It’s top secret! But I am famous,” Potter insists. “Let it go,” Sirius says down the table, visibly enjoying this meltdown. Remus gathers his silverware onto his empty plate and stands. “I believe you,” he says to Potter, exaggerating his pitying tone. He ignores the explosion of laughter from Peter, Sirius, and Lily as he enters the kitchen. Several whisper-shouting conversations start up. Remus washes his dishes even though Lily can Scourgify it later. At his own home, he tends to live fairly Muggle-like, using Magic sparingly in day-to-day things. Mostly, he uses Magic for experimental fun or more complex actions. A polite cough gets Remus’ attention as he finishes up tidying the counter. Potter blocks Remus’ exit out of the kitchen. He smiles bashfully and hunches his shoulders as if to appear non-threatening. “Hi.” Remus raises his eyebrows. “Hello,” he says, his voice tipping up at the end in an almost-question. Potter runs a hand through his hair, fluffing it up. Remus vaguely recalls old school letters of Lily ranting about this annoying tick. “I wanted to say it was lovely meeting you,” James says. “I also—that was you at the restaurant last night, right?” Frowning, Remus pretends to think, willing his heart rate to slow down. “Oh. I don’t remember much of last night. Sorry.” Potter’s expression sets into a stubborn look. He’s finally found his footing since Remus first stepped out of Lily’s room—standing up tall and setting his jaw. “No,” he says. “I’m sure it was you. You tripped and I caught you.” “I think you’re thinking of someone else.” Remus gives Potter his most bland smile. “I look like a lot of people.” “No, it was you. I wouldn’t forget your face.”  Oh, dear Merlin. “That’s flattering but I’m not that remarkable. You’re confused.” Potter crosses his arms and a triumphant smile lights up his face. “No,” he says cheerily. “It was you.” “Was not.” “Was, too.” “Was not.” “Was, too.” “Was not.” “It was,” Potter says, his grin widening. He steps forward and Remus stills. Potter reaches out, his fingertips lightly skimming Remus’ neck. “You had that same mole.” “Everyone has moles,” Remus protests weakly. Potter drops his hand, brushing over Remus’ exposed collarbone as he pulls away. Do not shiver, do not shiver, Remus chants in his mind. Stupid, stupid large shirt—practically falling off his shoulders. “James,” Lily calls out. Potter turns and Remus closes his eyes, pulling himself together. Opening his eyes, he uses the momentary distraction to slip past Potter. “Nice meeting you all,” he says to the flat, making his way back into Lily’s room and closing the door before anyone can stop him. “Are we done now? Can we go?” Remus hears Sirius drawl. Slapping his face, Remus chastises himself. His cheeks are burning now that he’s finally alone. A shower—that’s what he needs. A shower, a nap, and to forget all of this. Relaxed with a plan to grasp onto, Remus goes into Lily’s attached bathroom and fiddles with the shower knobs. The water never runs as warm as he wants it, so he goes to grab his wand off Lily’s bed. Potter’s voice carries through the bedroom door and Remus should ignore it but he hears his name. It’s definitely Potter’s voice saying it, too. Creeping forward, Remus presses his ear to the door. “—really cute, Lils,” James says. “And I feel this connection. I don’t know what it is but I feel like I have to know him.” After a brief pause, Lily says, “I love you, James. I love Remus, too. You guys are my best friends. I’d be so happy to see you two together, trust me. But,” Lily’s voice is impossibly soft, “it’s not going to happen. You aren’t for him. I’m sorry, love.” Remus presses his forehead against the door. He should be thankful for Lily. He is thankful. It’s what she should say—what he wants her to say. He doesn’t think about warm fingers on his neck. “No, it’s okay,” Potter says. Another long pause follows. The two of them must be the only ones left in the flat. Potter’s serious tone switches into eager joking, “I could help him see I’m right for him?” “James.” “I can show him there’s a possibility of us being in a happy, healthy relationship?” “Get out of here,” Lily snickers, “you ridiculous idiot.” ♤♤♤ A month later, Remus takes Sunday as a personal Remus-day and sleeps in. His body automatically wakes up around five but he pushes himself to drift between sleep and wake for two more hours. He lounges in bed until early afternoon, only getting up once to pee, make a cup of tea, and grab the newest Transfiguration textbook. He doubts the Wizarding schooling system will use it since they prefer everything to be as old as possible. As bitter as he is at never getting the Wizarding school experience, he feels an equal portion of sympathy to all the students for all the backward ways they’re taught. When his stomach gurgles for the fifth time, Remus relents. He packs a small lunch and makes his way to his favorite bench on this little cliff right outside of his village. Half of his sandwich and a bag of Dorcas’ little nut cookies are devoured when Remus senses someone behind him. He makes a show of stretching his arms and shuffling slightly on the bench to widen his periphery vision away from the cliff. Remus blames the wind for the way his lungs tighten as he makes out the blurry figure from the corner of his eyes. He shifts back to face the sea, unwrapping the second half of his sandwich. Remus’ screaming instincts to bolt become faint background noises to the amusement welling up inside him at James Potter’s painfully awkward shuffle toward Remus. Curiosity far outweighs all thoughts of consequences. It takes a few more minutes for Potter to step up to the bench. “Do you mind, uh, if—can I—is this seat taken?” Remus meets Potter’s intense gaze. “Yes, it is.” Potter’s body slumps in utter dejection—he’s the embodiment of wearing your heart on your sleeve. “Oh.” It’s more of a wounded sigh than a word. It makes Remus reach forward and take Potter’s wrist before he can walk away. “I’m joking,” Remus says. His fingers flex, loosely curved around Potter’s wrist, and he forces himself to let go. “The seat is taken by you. It’s not private property, yeah?” “Oh,” Potter repeats, except it’s now a word of excitement. “Yes. I thought it was polite to—but—alright, I’m...sitting now.” Remus bites into his sandwich, unsure of what to say. He promises himself he’ll leave when he’s finished eating—that he’s just along for the ride of Potter’s social fumbling. Potter sits a good distance away from Remus which is stranger than if he had sat too close. Seeming to realize this, Potter scoots sideways toward Remus with a clear effort for subtlety that he fails spectacularly to achieve. Remus thanks the fact that his chewing hides his smile. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.” Remus swallows his sandwich. “No.” Potter stares. Remus glances at him from the side of his eyes and cracks a small, genuine smile to show he's joking. The bright chuckle it pulls from Potter warms Remus more than the sweater he charmed into being thicker on his walk here. “You mentioned you lived here and I was nearby.” The explanation sounds too practiced. Raising his eyebrows, Remus says, “I never mentioned where I lived.” The flush on Potter’s face brought on by the wind darkens. He has the decency to confess, “Lily told me.” Remus takes a bite of his sandwich and knocks his elbow against Potter’s to say it’s fine even though it isn’t. Or shouldn’t be. Potter elbows him back eagerly, a little too hard. “I watched those Bond movies you talked about,” Potter says. Remus continues eating, tilting his head. Potter catches onto Remus’ nonverbal way of speaking and relaxes, starting a long one-sided conversation about the movies. When he mentions how guns are useless, Remus can’t help but innocently ask, “Why? What weapon do you think is better?” The flush darkens again as Potter stumbles through the worst come back, stuttering about spears and arrows. “Is that what you do? You’re an archer?” “Archer?” Potter cluelessly repeats. He shakes his head, grinning at Remus. “I told you I’m famous. ” Remus resists patting Potter’s knee in mock-condolence. “Famous for your horrible taste in movies. James Bond is the worst.” Potter’s jaw drops the way it had when he realized he couldn’t tell Remus about Quidditch. Remus’ heart is bottled up with so much laughter that it’s going to pop if he stays any longer in Potter's company. “I’m leaving,” Remus announces, packing his trash up. There’s a pause as Potter awaits an explanation or apology but Remus doesn’t give one. He’s still in some mild form of shock when Remus walks away from the cliff. “What about James Potter,” Potter calls out. “Is he the worst?” Remus walks a few more paces. He doesn’t turn to see the reaction as he shouts, “Undecided!” ♤♤♤ Lydia left a note in Remus' mailbox asking if he can visit her as soon as possible at the toy shop in the village. He has three other notes—one for helping laundry with one of his elderly neighbors and a nonsensical scribbled question from Annie-The-School-Teacher. It’s probably some excuse for help to trick him into coming down so she can bombard him with incentives to teach there. The third note kindly gives him a week’s notice until they need someone to look after their pet (they don’t sign their names, though Remus suspects it’s the handsome bloke and his gorgeous wife that the village loves to fawn over). After dressing quickly, Remus stops by his neighbor’s house to say he can help with laundry tomorrow and speed-walks to poor Lydia, who looks like death over the counter at the toy shop. He shoos her away and takes her place by the register—no co-workers are here as the village is small enough that most places operate on one-person shifts. He’s helped out here several times in the past, so he’s not worried. There’s a little rush at noon as people realize Remus is manning the place and come by to say hello. Early afternoon leaves him in solitude. He’s tidied up the place, put items back where they’re supposed to be, and now he watches people walking on the street. He spots Potter the second he appears within view of the window a few minutes later. Remus tells himself that he’s not attuned to looking for Potter everywhere—it’s just that anyone who isn’t white immediately stands out in this small village. Which is true. Remus’ home isn’t necessarily racist—they are more of the “I don’t see color; the only race we are is human” type of progressive. It’s a bit of an eye-roll but never a problem. Remus has lived here for nearly a decade and the village has absorbed him so thoroughly into its midst that the majority of the time they forget he’s not one of them—the born here, die here white heritage tree. Anytime someone not-white visits, it’s like they suddenly remember he's Black and look to him on how to react no matter what race the visitor is. Potter pushes open the door and his dark hair settles into a ruffled look. The wind outside is unforgiving and his long-ish locks stand no chance against it. One strand of hair curls next to his eye and Remus desperately waits for Potter to push it away. He doesn’t. Remus tries to ignore it. “Fancy seeing you here,” Remus calls out. Potter’s face lights up as his eyes settle on Remus. He walks up to the register and says, “That’s the first time you’ve initiated the conversation.” “We’ve only met twice.” “Three times,” Potter says, wiggling three fingers. “The restaurant, remember?” Remus wants to say he tripped and technically that does count as initiating a conversation. But he’s pretending that wasn’t him, so he rolls his eyes. “Twice,” he repeats. “What are you doing here?” “You cut right to the chase, don’t you?” “I would if there was a chase.” Potter presses a hand over his heart. “You wound me.” Remus doesn’t say anything and Potter happily jumps over the non-response, adding, “I was nearby and since I’m very famous, I thought I’d buy a little souvenir for my many fans.” “By your ‘many’ fans, do you mean your two idiot friends and a rock?” “I’m telling Lily you called her a rock.” “Oh, I did not. I thought I’d throw in a rock to generously round your fan number up to three.” Potter splutters. “I have more than three fans!” “Alright, Potter,” Remus says consolingly. “I believe you.” Potter stares at Remus, his cheeks rapidly flushing. His urge to blurt out how famous he actually is stinks up the room; his waning self-control heavily palpable. Remus struggles to contain his laughter. Oh, the joy of living as a Wizard pretending to be a Muggle. After a minute, Potter finds a semblance of composure. “Is this what you do?” “Oh, no, I’m famous, too.” “You’re funny,” Potter blurts. The curl is infuriatingly still hanging over Potter’s eye, though it shifts as the corners of Potter’s eyes crinkle with a crooked smile. Remus deadpans, “Thank you.” “That came out wrong. I actually didn’t mean to say it out loud. Of course you’re funny." Potter adds, "Please, don’t stop talking to me.” “I’ve used up my word limit for the day, actually,” Remus says. “You should leave unless you have money to buy something.” Potter opens his mouth, shuts it, and scowls. Remus tries not to look too smug about knowing Potter wouldn’t think about things like bringing Muggle money. “Farewell, then,” Remus says. Potter shifts on his feet. The puffy Muggle snow pants he wears crinkles with a swish-like sound. “I’ll go,” he says. “But only if you promise to call me James from now on.” Distancing himself from attachment by using a last name is futile at this point, anyway. Remus agrees, saying, “Goodbye, James.” Biting his lower lip, James buzzes with emotions filling up the air, again, but in a different way this time. His gaze lingers on Remus a second too long to be socially appropriate, his eyes big and round behind square glasses, drawing Remus’ attention fully to them for the first time. Dark brown eyes that have no right to sparkle as spectacularly as they do. “Bye!” James blurts and dashes out the door, leaving Remus blinking in his wake with the reminder of how James fails spectacularly at being smooth for more than a few seconds. ♤♤♤ “Did you see that young man yesterday?” Remus nods as he helps Ms. Brittlebrigs with putting her freshly cleaned sheets on her bed. “Odd sort of fellow.” Remus has had this conversation at least four times already. He doesn’t know how to explain the reason James dressed in a ski suit like a weirdo is because he's a Wizard who doesn't understand Muggle fashion and not because he has brown skin. “He has a condition,” Remus makes up. “It makes him permanently feel like he’s freezing cold.” “Oh.” Remus sighs and makes eye contact with Ms. Brittlebrig’s curious eyes. “He’s nice.” Ms. Brittlebrig instantly brightens up. “Oh, good! I think so, too.” When Remus leaves that evening, she tells him, “I heard you talked with the handsome young man.” Encouragingly, she says, “Maybe he’ll visit again!” With an awkward grimace, Remus says, “Leave me a note if you need help with anything else.” With Remus’ seal of approval on James, the village will push them together if he visits again. As Remus never charges for the random work he does around the village, everyone seems to think they should repay him by breaking him out of his solitary hermit life.  Never worked before, Remus thinks stubbornly as he walks home, and it won’t work now. Life is good as it is.  ♤♤♤ 
Lily,
 
A certain nerd with big brown eyes has been following me around. I have the utmost faith that you have nothing to do with this because it is obviously very easy to track me down to my little obscure village without any insider information to point the way.
  - Remus   
Dear Rem,
 
Big brown eyes? You’re not falling for his charm, are you?
 
Xx, Lily
 
Lily,
 
He’s unbearable. I subbed for the mail carrier and he followed me along my route all day yesterday! Is he always this bloody persistent?
 
- Remus
 
Dear Rem,
 
You think this is persistent? Imagine all that energy packed into a fifteen-year-old boy. He’s usually intense about ideas, though, and not people… I’d ask you if you want me to say something but I know if you didn’t want someone to so much as look at you, you’d get it done in seconds.
 
And yet you haven’t told him bugger off…?
 
Xx, Lily
 
Lily,

Oh, great. So, I’m an idea then? You’re right. I have been letting this carry out too long. I’m lucky I’ve kept him from discovering Dorcas & Marlene. I’m taking off to theirs and I’ll be spending the week there, so if there’s a delay in my responses, that’s why.
 
- Remus
 Remus Lupin! I cannot believe you took what I said and twisted my words until you’ve run off. I am extremely annoyed with you. 
Tell the girls I say hi.
 
All the love and kisses, Lily
 ♤♤♤ “You had to have this on the coffee table, didn’t you." “Dorcas thinks his butt is cute,” Marlene says. “She should only think your butt is cute,” Remus grumbles. Marlene snorts. Remus stares at the Quidditch Weekly spread of The Fabulous James Potter killing it on the field. James has been on a near record-breaking streak with goals lately. It's a surprise considering that he’s been mostly known for his good looks rather than skills as an athlete. That’s not to say he’s bad at Quidditch, he certainly has amazing talent, but this is the big leagues that he’s in. He holds his own but right now he’s pretty much carrying the team on his back to the World Cup. Of course, the article only talks a fraction about that and is mainly made up of flattering photos on and off the broom. An unnecessary amount of shirtless ones, too, Remus thinks. Not that he seriously looked at the article or anything. He definitely does not own a copy of the magazine at home that he stores under his mattress. Dorcas enters the den with a platter of snacks. “It’s James Potter, Re,” Dorcas says, “I can’t believe you’re not grabbing that ass and running with it.” “You’re walking right into the trope of a nosey old woman,” Remus comments. He flicks through Marlene's notes that he’s been editing with careful nonchalance. “Why are you eavesdropping when you should be at the flower shop?” “I wanted to play housewife,” Dorcas says with a wink. Marlene blows her a kiss. Remus gags. Marlene ignores Remus and explains, “Doug—you know the owner—his wife is sick so the shop’s closed for the next two days.” She exits the conversation as quickly as she entered it, scowling at the quill writing up her all her notes onto one parchment and scolding it—no, no, no! He has blue-grey eyes now, not storm-blue, you idiot!  Dorcas sets the tray down and picks up a cookie. She ignores her life partner’s cursing and munches on the food, squinting her eyes at Remus. He studiously ignores her in favor of editing Marlene’s latest novel. With James visiting him often the past two months, Remus has slipped back on his work for Marlene—editing, reviewing, and sometimes co-writing her popular romance novels. The foundation of this romance story was actually his idea and he’s supposed to be more involved in the writing than past novels. If he slacks off anymore, he’ll start refusing the percentage of profits Marlene transfers into his vault at Gringotts for the ongoing successes of her book collection. Dorcas asks, “Is he as arrogant as he is in the article?” Remus refuses to rise to the bite. “Yes,” he lies. “I bet he’s one of those awful blokes that never listen to you. He looks like an idiot. He probably can’t even think for himself!” Dorcas prattles on and on. Five minutes later, she mentions, “Honestly, his ass isn’t even that fantastic.” A little scoffing sound leaves Remus’ lips without his conscious permission. Dorcas lets out a triumphant cry and sends the papers in Remus’ hands flying across the room with the wave of her wand. She pushes at Remus until his back is against the couch armrest, forcing him into sitting sideways with his legs pulled up on the cushions, facing her. She mirrors him on the opposite side of the couch, drawing her knees up and pressing her toes into his feet. “I win,” she says, pointing her wand threateningly at him. Remus wraps his arms around his pulled up knees. “He’s not dumb,” Remus shoots Dorcas a dirty look, “he’s maybe even the smartest person I’ve ever met and he’s never been purposefully rude. He’s a bit oblivious but anytime I point something out he apologizes and changes his behavior without getting angry or defensive. I don’t understand him at all. He’s kind and funny and doesn’t care if I leave in the middle of him talking or if I don’t talk at all.” Remus presses his face into his knees, hiding his flustered frustration from Dorcas’ pitying expression. “You let Dorky prattle on all that time about everything you’ve just disproved of and it was the ass comment that got you snorting at her?” Marlene butts in, batting her floating quill away. “It is fantastic,” Remus says into his knees. Dorcas mutters, oh, I bet it is. Marlene laughs, probably at the both of them. “What is there to understand?” Marlene asks. “He’s nice. It’s that simple.” Remus sits up to give her a disbelieving look. “You’re a catch, Re,” Dorcas intervenes before Remus can argue with Marlene. “I have no idea why you’d come running to us when you could have a holiday with him.” “Oi, don’t talk my assistant out of doing my dirty work. Re can declare his love after he shred’s my writing dignity and then praises my brilliance.” “I’m not in love!” Remus protests. “I hardly know him.” “You can’t keep your eyes off the magazine,” Dorcas says. Marlene adds, “You have somehow created tension between you and paper. I’m going to have to tell those pictures that they better treat you right and I’ll cut them up with Dorcas’ crafting scissors if they hurt you.” Remus takes a couch pillow and hugs it to his chest. He leans his head back and stares at the ceiling. “I hate you.” “He means you,” Dorcas says. “He means you,” Marlene says at the same time. Remus groans. ♤♤♤ “Hi.” Remus startles and presses a hand over his chest, feeling the heavy thump-thump of his heart. He’s been having nightmares lately with the upcoming moon and hadn’t slept at all last night. The sun has barely set with his last day of first draft editing over, and he thought he could have a few moments of peace sitting on the front step of his little home. He opens his eyes and takes in the sight of James with his plain Muggle clothing, horribly wrinkled in a way that’s damn charming. He holds a bouquet of blue and purple flowers that are messily tied together with a piece of twine. The dreadful exhaustion seeping into Remus’ bones almost makes him snap at James for frightening him—but then James does a dorky little wave and Remus’ heart sighs. Half-smiling, Remus props his elbow on his knee and plants his chin in his hand. “What are you doing here?” “I was nearby,” James says as usual. He frowns when Remus fails to laugh at the poor excuse. “Is it alright I brought flowers?” Remus shrugs. “Is it alright I brought flowers,” James clarifies, “for you?” The darkening sky hides Remus’ hot cheeks. At least he hopes so—he’s too flustered from thirty-six hours without sleep and the encroaching anxiety of a waxing moon. “It’s alright,” he mumbles against his palm. James bows dramatically and holds the bouquet out, making Remus sit up to accept them. If Remus didn’t have to take the flowers, he’d bury his face in his hands. “I like when you blush. It’s adorable,” James says, sitting down beside Remus. Now Remus buries his face in his hands, setting the flowers on the ground. Damn the night for not coming sooner. With all James’ general fumbling like a large dog who thinks it’s a puppy, Remus forgets how unabashedly forward he can be. Remus peeks from behind his fingers and James grins shamelessly. Rubbing his eyes, Remus yawns and says, “Your flirting can use some work.” “Are you offering to help me practice?” Remus walked right into that one. He wishes James had at least half of a shameful bone in his body so that he would have taken offense at Remus’ teasing instead of bulldozing right through with a cheesy one-liner. James knocks his shoulder into Remus’ when the silence stretches, a gentle touch to tell Remus he’s just teasing. “I’m heartbroken,” James says. “You never told me you were leaving. I had to find out from Ms. Brittlebrigs! People say you practice some sort of W-wicca thing? Village gossip is that you usually only leave on full moons for a celebration of some kind of spiritual thing and I looked up about it all because I was worried if you had some family emergency and I wanted to know if this was a holiday that people don’t know about since it’s not a full moon yet and I learned a lot! I think it’s really neat that you—” Remus, his heart frozen several rambles ago, interrupts. “James.” He’s always saying James in a variety of tones but there must be something different in how he says it this time because James stops his wild gesticulating and cringes. “Did I say something wrong? I don’t mean to be offensive. The books I read were a little outdated—” Remus shakes his head. I’m tired. I haven’t slept and I’m scared to close my eyes. It’s not your fault. The words are on the tip of his tongue but—you can never show weakness. He thinks of how James says full moon, how it easily rolls off his tongue all lower case, unlike Remus and Dorcas and Marlene and Lily and his Dad and his dead Mam who pronounced it slowly as Full Moon. “I have an early day tomorrow,” Remus says in a daze. He stands up. “Yes. I’m going to be busy since I took time off. Maybe it’s best if you don’t come around if you’re ‘nearby’.” That’s why he left to Dorcas and Marlene’s in the first place, so why did it hurt to push James away? “Thank you for the flowers,” Remus puts his hand on his house’s doorknob, bewitched to unlock at his touch. “I’ll put them in a vase. It’s nice that you stopped by—” James stands up, protesting, “Remus.” “—and thank you again for the flowers,” Remus babbles. James reaches out and Remus opens his door and slides in, shutting it before James can touch him. A muffled Remus travels through the door. Leaning his forehead against the door, Remus’ heart aches with how familiar this is to the first time they formally met at Lily’s with Remus tiredly pressing his head against the door and listening to Lily tell James to stay away. Fucking stupid insomnia—Remus’ heart hurts from sleep-deprivation murdering his ability to compartmentalize and repress. He slides down until he’s sitting on the matted rug for wiping his shoes when he walks in the front door. He keeps his ear pressed to the door. He’s not sure why he’s sitting here, waiting, until he hears a heavy sigh and footsteps disappearing away, followed by the loud CRACK! of an Apparition. Remus breathes shakily. There’s a little table near the door for keys and miscellaneous objects Remus drops carelessly on for when he walks in. There’s a vase sitting on it that he can’t remember the last time he used. It’s the same shade of warm, pleasing brown as James’ skin with swirls the same color of blue as the flowers James brought. Remus looks down at his empty hands. He left the bouquet outside. ♤♤♤ 
Dearest Remus,
 
As you had your faith in me those few months ago, I am sure you have nothing to do with the big brown-eyed idiot moping in my flat between Quidditch matches.
 
Please send an update after the Full. Love you always.
 
Xx, Lily
 ♤♤♤ Quidditch Weekly reports that James Potter’s spectacular streak ends in an embarrassing match of dropping the Quaffle seven times. ♤♤♤ Remus’ beastly shift isn’t memorable among the many Full Moons he’s spent as a bloodthirsty wolf. The only peculiar thing is his voice fading in and out, hoarse, for days afterward—as if he howled all night long. ♤♤♤ Remus Apparates to Lily’s apartment and walks to a popular cafe in the city, the kind he avoids for the loud noises and crowds. To think only months ago he was sliding out a bathroom window to escape any social interaction and now he can’t care less for who is around him—his tunnel vision narrowed down to one person. He nods at the cafe’s hostess, walking past her to a table in the back. Clearing his throat, Remus asks the question he practiced on the walk here, “Is this seat taken?” James jolts, going from morosely looking out the window to gazing up at Remus with wide eyes. “How did you—?” “I was nearby,” Remus says with a shrug. “Is this seat taken?” James scrambles out of his chair, bumping into and apologizing to the woman sitting behind him. He pulls out the chair next to his for Remus to sit. Remus smiles to himself as he sits down. “Are your manners really this good or are you still trying to make a good impression?” “My manners are always good for people who are worth it.” James winks, returning to his chair. Remus groans. Marlene and Dorcas would love him. “You said I needed to practice my flirting!” Remus hesitates a moment, pulling all his reckless courage together, and says, “I did.” He nudges his foot against James’ under the table. James’ blinks slowly. “I, uh.” He fluffs his hair and looks down, grinning to himself. He meets Remus’ eyes and asks, “Have I made a good impression?”  Merlin’s beard, Remus can’t believe he’s going through with this for this goofy, silly man. “As long as you keep bringing me flowers.” James smiles shyly and yes, Remus knows exactly why it’s worth it to let in this goofy, silly, extraordinary man. ♤♤♤ 
Dear Remus,
 
James has bought a book written centuries ago by a heterosexual Witch on human courting.
 
That is all.
  Xx,  Lily Lily, 
I’m already lying by being a Muggle, I don’t need to know embarrassing insider information.
 
(This does explain A LOT, however).
 
- Remus
 
My dearest Remus,
 
My greatest joy is exposing my closest friends.
  Xx,  Lily 
Lily — I’m one of your closest friends???
 
Remus — You being a (fake) Muggle only cancels out 5% of embarrassing things you do :) Xx
 ♤♤♤ James keeps his promise with utmost intensity by bringing large bouquets every time he sees Remus. They’re always tied together by twine with a poorly knotted loop that does all fuzzy sorts of things to Remus’ insides. On days where Remus is tired or more quiet, the flowers smell especially fragrant with the obvious use of Magic to exaggerate their scent. It never fails to make Remus hide his face behind the bouquet and grin to himself. Remus makes an effort to talk more, though it isn’t easy with all his years of keeping to himself. He likes defaulting to nonverbal communication, which James has become splendidly well-versed in. If James is reading a book on Muggle courting, however, Remus wants to put in as much, if not more, effort in his own odd way. “Since you’re so famous,” Remus jokes one day, “I’ll have to make sure you have something to remember me by when you leave.” He hands James a pencil from helping a storekeeper with mathematics. Clueless to what a pencil is, James holds it tenderly against his heart. “I’ll keep it at my bedside,” James swears solemnly. Remus immediately abandons his jokes to tease James about the purposes of Muggle objects and instead starts giving James whatever he has on hand at the end of their visits. A screw from helping fix Ms. Brittlebrig’s broken pipe. A pebble that got stuck in his shoe while walking handsome bloke and gorgeous wife’s dog. Half of a broken knitting needle that Dorcas threw at Remus from his fireplace via the Floo Network. A sword made out of two toothpicks from babysitting Lydia’s niece. A little bow hair clip also from babysitting said niece a second time, clipped onto Remus’ shirt to be used as a bowtie during play time. A coin. Three rubber bands. Postal stamps. A price sticker from a chocolate bar. And James’ favorite—a mostly empty blue nail polish jar. No matter what object Remus happens to have at the end of their time together, James looks at Remus as if he gifts him the Elder Wand, or something else of unimaginable importance. ♤♤♤ “Remus?” “Jesus, Merlin fucking—” “Jesus fucks Merlin?” “Marley this is precisely why I keep threatening to cut off the Floo Network for your house!” Marlene, her head resting in Remus’ fireplace, rolls her eyes. “I need you to whittle.” “What?” “Whittle! Keep up, Lupin. My character is getting over a break-up by whittling.” “...and that has what to do with me?” “I don’t know how to whittle,” Marlene scoffs. “As your employer, I am demanding you research whittling by learning it and telling me how much it sucks and in what way it sucks and if it helps keep your lovey-dovey thoughts away from Mister Sexy Ass.” “Shut up,” Remus whines. “Why can’t you do this yourself?” Marlene’s hand emerges through the fire, pointing at Remus. “Employee.” She points at herself. “Employer.” She disappears, pops back, shouts no Magic!, and disappears. ♤♤♤ “Can I ask you a favor?” “Whatever you want.” “I need you to whittle.” James makes the expression Remus imagines he had made when Marlene said those words to him. “Um,” James stalls. His glasses slide down his nose so slight that anyone not paying close attention wouldn't notice. Remus resists leaning forward and pushing them back up. “What?” “It’s for work. Apparently, I’m too good at it.” “And that’s a bad thing?” “I was supposed to give real-life experience on how shit it is but I picked it up really quickly.” “Good with your hands,” James provides. Remus shoves him. “When will you tell me what the fuck do you do for your job?” “What do you do, Mister Famously Not-Famous?” It's James' turn to be the one shoving. Remus feels a little guilty for lying about not knowing what James does for a living. Before he can rationalize himself out of doing so, he admits, “Researcher, editor, co-writer—essentially the handyman for novelists.” James bolts upright from where he’d been slouching on the bookstore’s stool next to the register. His eyes are bright and big. “That’s what you do?” “Someone helped me out when I was in a shitty place,” the not-spectacular bleeding out in a field post-Full Moon miles from his cell hideout, “and she asked me what I thought of this popular book,” one of the endless strings of questions Dorcas had asked him to distract him from the pain, “and I said it was mediocre.” James smiles, picking up on where the story is heading. “She insisted on taking me back to meet her life partner and repeat my opinion. Turns out, her partner was the author. We argued for a few hours, she showed me the rough draft of the sequel, we argued for a few more hours, and then she’s kept me around ever since. I was sixteen.” “That’s fantastic!" The way James says things makes Remus feel like he is the celebrity between the two of them. “Are they still together? The person who helped you and the author?” This is where Remus is supposed to give names. “Yes.” James waits for more and moves on easily when nothing comes. “I can do whittling.” Remus briefly touches James’ hand in a silent thank you.  “My pleasure.” “My pleasure,” Remus repeats in a posh accent. He turns his face to hide his enormous smile from the laughter he pulls out of James. ♤♤♤ “Ta-da.” “...Thanks.” “It’s a stag! I made it. The whittling, remember?” “... James.” Despite all the teasing Remus gives James for his whittling, he keeps the poorly carved stag on his bedside table, propped against his lamp because its legs are too wonky to stand up on its own with the gigantic antlers James gave it. Remus swears that he sleeps better that night and the next and so on. When he sees James next, Remus brings a perfectly crafted flower from his own whittling experimentations. ♤♤♤ It never fails to astonish nor amuse Remus how terrible James is at hiding Magical aspects of his life. Even huge secrets he should hide from the real Wizarding community always clumsily fall from James’ lips in small implications. Not everything he learns is innocently entertaining, however. ♤♤♤ “So,” Remus says half-way through tea. “They’re Animagi.” Lily spits out her drink and spends a good few minutes hacking. Remus looks out the rainy window, feeling rather melodramatic with his head in hand. “He’s a stag, isn’t he?” Lily eyes Remus before nodding her head slowly. Remus already knows he must be beautiful. A stag. So Majestic. It fits James well. “It’s normal to cry,” Lily pipes up after Remus stews in his thoughts. “Why would I cry?” “Because it’s overwhelming.” “Next topic,” Remus requests. “No, I think it’s time we talk.” Remus waves his wand lazily, shooting off glittery letters that spell NOPE in the air. Lily plops down on the couch beside Remus, pushing her feet against his legs until he looks up. Her chin juts out challengingly and her face pinches together with a scornful expression. “Imagine it, Rem! James is infuriatingly good at potions,” Lily says, a smidge of academic resentment there. “He has a family fortune based on their stupid potion-making skills. I would trust him more than a healer at St. Mungos to make a,” she fake coughs, “certain potion. And don’t you dare say the ingredients to make it are expensive because remember what I just said—family fortune! On top of his ridiculous salary at being a world-famous athlete for five years. If he knew—oh, Rem, if he knew that you were a Wizard he’d be buying you a million things by now. He wants to spoil you like crazy. If he knew you were,” she gives him another look, “ an mm-mm he’d be making a certain potion for you every day if you needed it, not just once a month.” Remus faceplants into a couch pillow. “I know,” he mumbles miserably. He lifts his head. “I’m in so much trouble, Lils. All I can think about when I’m transforming is about if a stag was with me. If I had the potion, too, and it works like the articles say it does and I’m more like a docile dog...we could just curl up or play.” Lily takes Remus’ hand. “Oh, Remus.” “I’m never going to be the same again, am I? He’s changed me forever.” “Is that such a bad thing?” Remus sighs and pulls away from her hand. “That’s the worst part.” He meets Lily’s green eyes, absently thinking how less appealing he finds the color that’s nowhere near the warmth of dark brown. “It isn’t bad at all.” ♤♤♤ Remus steps out of Dorcas and Marlene’s fireplace. They’re in the middle of dinner. “Movie time,” he announces. Dorcas and Marlene continue eating, not bothering to look up. “Mashed potatoes first,” Dorcas says. “Check and see if we have good snacks. Grab the pillows off our bed, too. And blankets!” Marlene stares at Dorcas. “What?” Dorcas asks around a mouthful of potatoes. “I like being comfy.” While Marlene and Dorcas get caught up in quips and banter, Remus sets out into making the den into a pillow paradise. It’s been nearly a year since they’ve had an announced Movie Time; the last unspoken event had been Dorcas losing her healer position. They must have watched Betha & Eddie fifty times or more since they first played it while Dorcas patched sixteen-year-old Remus’ wounds after the bleeding-in-a-field meeting. It’s one of the only Wizard-made movies to exist and by far the best tear-jerker movie Remus has ever seen. If you cry while watching it, the only reason you’re crying is because of how tragic the film is, obviously. Not crying would be a huge embarrassment with demanding questions like what the hell is wrong with you. With two other people sobbing beside you, asking for tissues and cuddles no longer brings up pointless shame and the false need for dignity. Marlene and Dorcas don’t ask Remus any questions as they settle in the pillow mound. They sandwich him between them and clutch his legs when the opening music begins. “Oh, Salazar, I’m already starting to cry,” Dorcas says. “Fuck!” They watch Betha, an Irish Witch, work with the British government during Muggle’s World War Two—something not all Wizards took part in. She meets Eddie, an American Muggle spy, who teams up with her. They fall in love in a brilliant action movie with both impressive Wizard dueling and Muggle fighting. Marlene cries at their first kiss while Dorcas genuinely did start crying at the very beginning. Remus manages to hold out the longest, breaking down when the two lovers are ambushed on a rescue mission. “Eddie n-n-no,” Remus says as the three of them do every time Eddie drops his gun, “D-d-don’t d-d-d-o it!” Marlene, Dorcas, and Remus snuggle together through Eddie’s death. Remus falls asleep during the jump-forward scene to Betha’s life five years later, all tired out from his tears. He wakes up in the morning covered in blankets, his throat a little sore and his eyes a little puffy. The tight weight festering in his chest has disappeared and the stress clogging up his mind wilts away. ♤♤♤ The sun blesses Remus’ little corner of the earth with a fairly warm, beautiful day. Dealing with the monthly Full on top of his general chronic pain, Remus avoids standing or walking for long periods of time. He needs to get out and move, as Dorcas likes to remind him, more and today feels as good as any to relieve the restless tension in his joints. He’s not surprised when James shows up by his side halfway along his walk to the cliffside. “We’re going on a walk.” “Fancy,” James says with a spring in his step. “I like it.” Pushing his elbow out to the side, Remus waits for James to loop his arm in his. James struts on, oblivious, grinning up at the sky. There’s a rock a few steps ahead of his path and Remus waits until James trips over it. “Come on,” Remus says, catching James and linking their elbows together. “Monsieur Clumsy.” Staring at their linked limbs, James stays in a stupor for a few seconds before catching up with Remus tugging him along. “I love walking. We should do it more often,” James declares. “Thanks for catching me—” “Oh, don’t say it.” “—I can’t help falling for you,” James finishes, ignoring Remus’ groan. “My Monsieur Handsome. Do you speak French?” “I speak Welsh.” James goes on to speak several sentences in French, mostly exaggerating Remus’ beauty. “You think my teeth are cute?” Remus asks. James’ head whips to Remus. “I thought you spoke Welsh!” “I do. I speak Welsh, English, a handful of other languages, and French.” Sighing, James says, “First you let me trip over a rock on purpose,” a short breath of laughter bursts out of Remus—it constantly surprises him how James sees right through Remus' subtle mischief, “then you let me humiliate myself waxing poetic about you when I thought you’d be impressed by my linguistic skills instead of understanding what I was saying.” Remus snickers. Dryly, he asks, “Did it humiliate you, though?” James’ smile is wide and toothy. “No. You want me to repeat it again in English?” “That’s enough compliments for the day, thank you. For the rest of the year, actually.” “Nonsense, I’ve barely even started!” James takes over guiding, pulling Remus in the direction closer to the cliff and coming to a stop. “Take a moment to breathe.” Sending James a glare, Remus obliges. He is young enough to resent James looking after him but old enough to not care too much for wounded pride. The walk along the cliffside is flat with a few small inclines. Without James, Remus wouldn’t have stopped until a bit farther up. Combining talking with walking has made his breaths far more labored, though his slight wheeze sounds worse than it is. His muscles aren’t screaming for a rest, his lungs only want a minute of solid breathing. After a few minutes, James says, “Onward!” He adds, “I need you clear-headed or else all this flirting is a waste.” Remus shakes his head. He slides his elbow out from James'—James makes a small unhappy sound before he realizes Remus is just adjusting so he can wrap his fingers around James’ upper arm instead. It pulls them closer together, forcing them to walk at a slower pace. James’ beaming contentment manifests in rapid chatter. Remus’ skin soaks up the sunlight and he knows he’s going to need a nap after this. Idly, he daydreams of sunny afternoons and napping on his couch with James. The lovely timbre of James’ voice and the faint crashing of waves against the cliff lull Remus away from panic concerning these thoughts. “You’re not boyfriend material,” Remus interrupts one of James’ monologues. “No offense.” “I am very much offended.” Remus knocks his shoulder against James’. “What I mean is not to my dad.” “He wouldn’t be thrilled by my magnificent presence?” Remus holds back the bark of laughter that wants to come out. “Merl—Gods, no. It has more to do with me than you but,” Remus shakes his head, “no, my parents wouldn’t see you as boyfriend material. Mam might have but she’s not around anymore.” Lyall Lupin might have a heart attack on the spot by the mere mention of James. Seeing James in person, being introduced as a partner? Remus would go from one dead parent to two. His dad’s guilt-complex over Remus’ lycanthropy is outrageously excessive, as is his paranoia about people discovering and discriminating Remus for his “condition”. He means well, Remus knows. He just wants his son to live his life to the fullest as a Wizard without exposing himself to large communities as a werewolf. Remus can’t begrudge him—he’s lived an unexpectedly well-adjusted life with a good paying job and prospects for living-wage Muggle jobs if Marlene ever fires him. He’s a bright Wizard with Muggle-intellect and had a pleasant childhood void of any fear or trauma that he’d have experienced at Hogwarts. If hardly being in the Wizarding community is the price to pay for that, it’s a small one in his dad’s mind. Hope Lupin, Remus’ Muggle mam, had always been on the opposite side of the spectrum. She never wanted Remus to attend Hogwarts and be ostracized, but she always wanted more for him than he had had as a boy longing for Wizard friends, running around in a homemade smock that looked nothing like traditional Wizard robes. “She’d love you,” Remus says aloud. Warmth spreads in his chest thinking of how his mam and James would be thick as thieves. The creativity of Remus’ mischief comes from her. It's partly why he took to Dorcas and Marlene so well when he met them, having a similar brand of silliness for life. “My parents would have loved you, too,” James says. Remus squeezes his fingers around James’ arm in silent condolence. The Daily Prophet had done a small article years ago when the Potters died by Dragon Pox—a young death in Wizard years but old from a Muggle’s perspective. The breeze brushing Remus’ cheeks feels colder with the dip in James’ mood at the mention of his parents. Pulling them closer to the cliff in a silent request for another rest stop, Remus mulls over what to say. Has comforting someone for the first time always felt like this huge of a leap? The pressure to figure out James’ specific brand of reassurance is immense. It’s fruitless to think he can perfectly comfort James. Remus has kissed and slept with a great number of people, but dating has never been his forte. Neither has close friendship, honestly. Accepting imminent failure with his limited experience, Remus pulls a handkerchief from his pocket. “My mam made me this,” Remus says, holding it out for James to take. James holds it like precious treasure—Remus does not tear up—and the concentration he puts into being gentle seems to pull him somewhat out of his head. “Interesting colors,” James says. “It used to be bright orange and dark blue-ish purple,” Remus explains, finding the words easily when usually this subject is like a Dementor sucking bits of his soul from him. “I was partly homeschooled until University.” His parents wanted him to have an early Muggle education but Remus enjoyed learning so much he kept going with it. “My dad went to a boarding school and I thought that was the most brilliant thing as a child—having no adult supervision? That was the dream life,” Remus softly jokes. “My dad was on this team at school,” Remus bends the truth, “and I wanted to have a wicked uniform with team colors like he did. But I wanted to be original.” “Of course,” James says. Remus smiles at him. “So I demanded he tell me all the different team colors there are and what each team was like. I combined the colors of my two favorite and…viola.” Remus wonders from time to time what House the Sorting Hat would have placed him in. Remus liked the idea of Ravenclaw, his father’s house, but Gryffindor had a great appeal to him as a boy, with its lion and bravery. So, Gryffindor’s red and gold became orange; Ravenclaw’s blue and brown became dark blue. The cloth is dull compared to its original vibrancy, but Remus likes the faded look of it. Restoring it with Magic feels wrong. “It used to be a smock I ran around in but it’s fallen apart over the years. I made a small handkerchief from the material to keep a small piece of her with me.” James’ face softens—in a good way, Remus thinks. James likes when Remus divulges personal information. James’ thumbs swipe over the striped handkerchief for another minute before he hands it back. Remus pockets it and takes hold of James’ elbow, turning them back in the direction of home. ♤♤♤ The next time they meet up it’s pouring rain and Remus is helping shelve books at the village bookstore. He keeps shushing James, who speaks far too loud in general but even more so in his cheery mood. Whenever Remus asks him why he’s so happy, James winks and says you. Remus rolls his eyes with more exaggeration each time, knowing that yesterday James’ team won by an enormous margin. ♤♤♤ “I’ve always liked my small life,” Remus says one visit as James walks him home from the village shops. James had been a little underfoot this visit and Remus had made a dry comment about how come James doesn’t have fans to attend to. James had taken the opening and ran with that conversation, discussing how he hasn’t had relationships at all really since he became famous. It’s hard to meet people that see James and not Potter, the famous Ch—the famous, uh, person, James had finished, fumbling over almost saying Chaser. On the other side, James lamented that down-to-earth people with good intentions for dating him usually feared his social status. “No hopes of getting caught in fame?” James teases. Remus shrugs. “I’m not sure I would mind it too badly if I got sucked into it for the right reasons.” James listens intently. “My work with M, my author friend, has always been...unconventional. This book, though, I wrote a hell of a lot of it and I’ve let M convince me to have my name listed with hers on the cover.” “Remus!” James stops walking and grabs Remus’ arm. “That’s bloody brilliant!” “You think so?” Remus feels a little silly bringing this up. Marlene is a highly popular writer within the Wizarding world but Remus isn’t anything special. People probably won’t even notice his name. James looks at Remus as if he’s asked a gibberish question. “Yes!” Remus smiles slowly, mirroring James’ ecstatic expression. After grinning at each other for a minute, Remus gets back on track and says, “This small magazine is going to do an interview with me after the book is published. People won’t be coming up to me on the streets but,” Remus teases, “at least one of us will be actually a little famous.” “I am famous,” James grumbles. “As long as I’m not in the spotlight, I don’t mind,” Remus goes on airly. “No hopes for getting caught in fame but—I wouldn’t mind.” “Erm,” James says, still oblivious, “good to know.” Remus starts walking again, picking up a slow jog on the pathway to his home. He calls over his shoulder, “So if you know any real famous people you can point them my way if you know what I mean.” “Cheeky bastard,” James shouts, dashing after Remus. ♤♤♤ It’s a good thing Remus came clean about how he helps Marlene write books because he’s needed at her house more and more as the weeks go by and he can’t be bothered with coming up with a fake explanation. James pouts when Remus laughs at James’ question to where Marlene and Dorcas live so that he can come by. When James whines about how come Remus’ "author friend" can’t visit here, Remus calmly tells James to shut up and deal with the fact that Remus will be frequently not-here for the next month. No one needs to know that Marlene is perfectly fine popping through the fireplace to Remus’ and, if Remus wants, he never has to visit her home for work. In fact, she would be coming to Remus if he hadn’t blocked her fireplace from his Floo network for two reasons. One, he’s terrified of James running into Marlene or Dorcas simply because of their personalities, let alone that they’d give away the fact that Remus is a Wizard because they don’t care for subtlety. Two, right before Remus blocked their home, Marlene had visited and snooped into Remus’ bedroom. Dried flowers are plastered to the bedroom wall from floor to ceiling opposite of Remus’ bed. Each flower is gorgeously preserved with its faded color, petals flattened down with no creases. The perfection of detail is excessive and impossible. “I have Magic,” Remus had snapped, “it’s wasteful to throw away every bouquet!” Marlene mocked and laughed at him for over an hour. Dorcas sent an equally humiliating Howler full of teasing the next day. So, no, Marlene will not be visiting Remus anymore. ♤♤♤ James and Remus go almost two months without seeing each other. They only catch each other once in those couple of months for more than a few minutes and it’s the day after the Full. James finds Remus resting at his cliff spot and upon seeing Remus’ death-like appearance, excuses himself. He returns fifteen minutes later with a hot thermos full of soup and a steaming cup of hot chocolate with a shop brand stamped on the styrofoam. Whether James thinks a Muggle wouldn’t notice these items are obviously not from the village or if he doesn’t care about that in the face of Remus’ ill state—Remus is done for in both scenarios. He is impossibly endeared by this man. ♤♤♤ “I’m going to be at Lily’s next week.” “You’re leaving again?” James asks, slumping on the counter of the ice cream parlor. Remus serves a few of the village children ice cream and waits for them to scramble outside. He turns back to James and raises his eyebrows. “You happen to be ‘nearby’ here all the time but never near London?” James perks up. “I can be near London.” “So, I can take you on a date, then?” “You can take me on a date any day,” James says reflexively. Remus waits a second. James’ whole body jolts. “You want to take me on a date!” Remus wipes down the counter. “Yes.” “With me? A date. A date with me which I will be at. With you.” “Unless you want me to change my mind.” “No, no! That’s—Friday. Does Friday work? Friday next week.” Remus bites his lip, trying not to let his smile falter. The Full is on Friday. “Can we do Wednesday?” “Yes, of course,” James says. “I think I have something on Wednesday but that doesn’t matter, this is way more important.” “If you have—” “No,” James holds up a hand, “uh-uh. The world is canceled forever until our date.” He adds, “And then canceled again until our next date.” The full-out smile Remus had been trying to contain breaks out. “Assuming we’ll have another date? That’s optimistic.” “Realistic,” James corrects and Remus has never wanted to kiss someone so badly. ♤♤♤ The next day, Remus lounges in bed longer than usual. He traces his eyes over the flowers overlapping his wall and turns to press his face into his pillow. Poppy, his owl, hoots at him in concern, dropping The Daily Prophet on his bed and hopping on his head once before flying off. Lazily, Remus flips to the sports section of the paper. His stomach sinks at the flashing letters proclaiming the two big matches that determine which teams make it to the World Cup. Remus skims over the team names, hopelessly praying James’ team is listed under Monday. Remus drops the paper on his face. ♤♤♤ Dorcas coos. “That is so sweet. He forgot all about his match because you asked him on a date.” “Darling, you do realize how tragic this is?” “Yes, thank you, Marls,” Remus says. “We’ll have to keep watching this horrible pining mess if their date is canceled,” Marlene finishes. “Piss off.” Remus takes a deep breath, thinking about what he’s about to say. He squares his shoulders. “Our date won’t be canceled. I have an idea but it’s a little mad. A lot mad.” “Oh, delicious!” ♤♤♤ 
Lily,

I have a favor to ask.

- Remus
 Remus whistles and Poppy flies through the window. “Hi, baby,” he says. He ties his note to her outstretched leg. “To Lily, please.” Poppy gives a hoot, flies around the room until she knocks over a glass, and then flies out. ♤♤♤ The look on Sirius’ face when he sees Remus—so, so worth it. Remus makes a show of twirling his wand and grins maliciously as he shoots a silent spell. Sirius shrieks and shakes his left hand where the words FUCK YOU are spelled out in red—the burn is as mild as a quick pinch and the words last only as long as it takes the recipient to read it. Being homeschooled in Witchcraft and Wizardry as a kid with too much time on his hands and an abundance of repressed anger for his angst-filled existence led to a lot of immature spell experimentation. “That’s for tripping me, wanker!” Remus shouts over the crowd. Lily laughs and pulls Remus away before he can see if Sirius remembers the night at the restaurant. “We have to get to our seats,” Lily says, tugging Remus to the East Wing of the Quidditch stadium. ♤♤♤ The two Beaters on James’ team have to fly with James sandwiched between to keep him upright during the fly-around-the-stadium greeting. He nearly fell off his broom when he spotted Remus sitting in the stands with Lily, Sirius, and Peter. Butterflies, both from nerves and excitement, have been fluttering crazily in Remus’ stomach as he watches James through the binoculars he brought. The Quidditch commentator announces five minutes until the match starts and James zips over toward Remus the second his coach excuses the players to go say hello to their families. “Remus!” James blurts as soon as he's within hearing range. He yanks his broom up a moment before he crashes into the stands. Before James can lose time getting caught in a long ramble, Remus starts explaining as fast as he can. “I’m a Wizard and I’ve always known who you are. I make people introduce me as a Muggle but you’re the first I’ve ever want to tell and—well, here I am.” James stares at him gobsmacked and Remus blurts, “Is that okay?” James flips upside down on his broom, spinning in a circle three times. He comes up with his hair sticking up everywhere and grinning so wide it must hurt. “Is that okay?” James repeats, talking so loudly he’s nearly screaming. “This is the best, most—ah! Remus! Fucking hell, Merlin’s balls—this is the best moment of my life! I’ve been pranked.” He whips to the left, looking at Sirius. “Padfoot, I’ve been pranked!” “Mate, I’m still working on believing this myself,” Sirius says. He’s been sneaking starstruck glances at Remus while trying to pretend like he’s unsurprised. Remus is extremely smug. “This is the biggest, greatest, most brilliant prank ever!” James goes silent for a few moments, just staring at Remus before bursting again with joy. “You’re wearing my robe!” Remus twists to show the back of his robe, real Wizard fashion and not a rattly old football-like jersey, with James’ name and number on it. “That is so hot!” “Oh, my God,” Lily says. “Before you go—” Remus pulls out a strip of purple and orange cloth from his pocket and reaches for James’ arm. “Your handkerchief,” James says, eyes wide. “Nope,” Remus says, tying the ribbon around James’ upper arm. “This is my ribbon strip and I know my life is very Muggle,” James barks a delighted laugh, “but I know Wizards are very medieval and I thought you could wear my token, like a Knight.” “You are killing me. Oh, Merlin’s saggy ass cheeks. I’m going to die. No—I’m going to play my best fucking game ever.” Remus chuckles under his breath as he finishes tying the ribbon around James’ arm. “Is this alright?” James flexes his bicep, testing the tightness of the ribbon. “What if it falls off?” “I want to kiss you so bad right now,” Remus says. (Sirius says oh, Merlin in embarrassment this time while Peter coos.) The ribbon may not be his treasured handkerchief, but it still is one of the last remaining parts of his smock left. James continues to be unfailingly thoughtful no matter the situation. The second most important match of this year and he’s worried about Remus’ ribbon. Remus pulls his wand out and taps the ribbon into temporarily melding its two ends together. It lights up gold for a few seconds. “There,” Remus says with a smile. “I created the spell myself—foolproof.” James’ eyes widen and he fiercely promises, “I’m going to show you who’s famous.” “Get out of here, you arse!” Sirius shouts. “You can bitch to each other later.” Lily smacks Sirius, “Don’t say bitch.” Remus gently pushes James’ broom away. “Good luck.” ♤♤♤ James plays a spectacular game, never losing focus even when he looks for Remus in the crowd each time he scores. A Bludger skims his side at one point and he throws a dorky thumbs up in Remus’ direction to let him know he’s fine. Sirius had scoffed and grumbled about how James never let him know he was fine when he gets hit. Lily herds Remus out of their seats as soon as the other team catches the Snitch—losing the game to James’ team at 260 points behind—down through a series of secret tunnels until suddenly Remus is blinded by the bright lights pointing down at the field. As usual, James has a sixth sense for whenever Remus is near and breaks away from his team’s hugging huddle to run over to him and Lily. Remus has two seconds to rush out an apology for lying before James scoops him up into his arms. He’s sweaty and smells like grass from when he face planted into the ground in the middle of the game and Remus’ heart has never been so full of love. “Are you kidding?” James says into Remus’ ear, refusing to let go of their hug. “I was so stressed about missing our date that I almost got benched for playing horribly during warm-up! This is the most incredible, wonderful prank ever! Godric Gryffindor! Am I crying?” He pulls back. “Yes,” Remus says. “You’re also cracking my ribs.” James loosens his hold and then hikes Remus up by the waist. Remus lets out a squeal he never knew he was capable of making as James spins him around in a circle—once, twice, thrice. “James!” Remus screeches on the fourth spin. “James! ” James sets him down. His eyes are wide and bright. “Now that’s the laugh I’m looking for. My life is complete. I’m ready to die. From now on, I always want you to say my name while laughing.” Remus raises an eyebrow. “That’s the only way you want to hear me say your name?” If James wasn’t already flushed from all the flying, Remus knows his cheeks would darken. “I love your brain, Remus Lupin.” “God, you are so gross,” Lily interrupts from the side. “Also, you’re about a minute away from being tackled by Pads or having a photo taken of you by journalists.” Remus grimaces and opens his mouth. James cuts off his apology before it’s even out. “Go wait for me somewhere. I’ll come find you once everything dies down and we can slip away unnoticed.” He kisses Remus’ cheek and pushes him away. Remus waits in a supply closet that Lily leads him to. He stands next to a self-sweeping mop that twitches every few minutes and half of him is in disbelief that he’s living out this cliche. Remus John Lupin, homeschooled student, waiting in a closet for a secret snogging session at twenty-seven-years-old. He spends his time waiting by creating colorful sparks and images with his wand. His initial anxiety over this ambush plan has subsided to overwhelming giddiness. There’s a knock on the closet door and before Remus can say anything, it opens to reveal James. His hair is a disheveled wet mess from a shower and he smells like flowers and mint. “You have no idea how gorgeous you look holding a wand,” James breathes out and shuts the closet door behind him, bringing their bodies impossibly close together. Remus laughs, a little shy about being so openly...Wizard-y around James. “I was about to stupefy you.” “Gorgeous,” James repeats. Remus casts a spell to fix the broken ceiling light to stop flickering as a way of distracting himself from the way James shamelessly checks him out. “Please never take off that robe. Can I kiss you?” Remus drops his wand into his robe pocket and takes James’ face between his hands. “Has anyone told you that you’re too tall?” Casually grabbing Remus’ ass, James helps hold Remus up to take off the weight Remus presses into his tiptoes to reach James’ height. “Usually they say I talk to much.” Remus takes a breath, that inhale that seems to stretch forever in the before of an important kiss. He savors the feeling of his toes digging into his boots, the sweet way James helps hold him up, the dusty smell of the closet mixed with James’ flowery mint body wash, the velvet lining of Remus’ robe, the rising heat in the previously chilly closet. He exhales and tilts forward, pressing their lips together. It’s like a casted firework spell meeting an opposing firework spell. The chaste brush of Remus’ lips against James’ wind-chapped ones shifts like a jump forward in time. He thinks they may have broken the self-sweeping broom because in the next second Remus’ back presses into to the wall where it had been leaning against. His fingers are twisted in James’ hair and James’ nails are digging into Remus’ waist through his robe and Remus isn’t sure when they shifted to tongue kissing but that is definitely James’ tongue in his mouth and that is definitely a thousand percent more than okay. Remus makes a small sound in the back of his throat and James reads his mind, grabbing the underside of Remus’ thighs and hiking him up. Wrapping his legs around James’ waist, Remus leans his spine harder into the wall and loops his arms around James’ neck to pull him closer. They kiss messily through all the moving and keep kissing and kissing and kissing until Remus doesn’t know anything else about the world other than the slide of James' lips and tongue against his lips and tongue. “You’re a wizard,” James breaks apart to say and then dives back in for a kiss. Remus sucks on James’ lower lip, releases it, says, “I know,” and goes back to learning the gentle-but-fast way James kisses. James breaks away again, breathing hard. “I’m an Animagus!” Remus gives him a long, searing kiss. He comes up for air and chuckles weakly. “I know. Black and Pettigrew, too. You are mind-bogglingly bad at being a Muggle.” “You called me mind-boggling,” James says. His crooked smile looks extra dorky with his swollen lower lip. He kisses the corner of Remus’ lips, his cheeks, his chin, his left eyebrow—peppering Remus in affection until Remus’ small chuckle turns into laughter. Remus unwraps his legs and slides down James’ torso, wobbling a little as he stands on his feet. James rolls his hips against Remus’ and Remus groans for a second before pushing James a good step away. “You have an after party.” Raising an eyebrow, James gives Remus a once over. “I’ve missed the pre-Apparition firewhiskey shots and the public after party by now. The after-after party at my place is probably just starting.” He touches his lips briefly and smiles. “I haven’t snogged like this without going any further in like a decade—it’s awesome.” “I’d offer more but I don’t put out until after the first date and we haven’t even got to the date part.” Remus lifts his arm and squints at his wrist. “We’ve missed our date by—holy shit, an hour and a half.” Shrugging, James says, “I’m not complaining.” Remus shoves his hand in James’ face. ♤♤♤ They stand outside the gate to James and Sirius’ fancy mansion. On party nights, James and Sirius put up a spell to keep people from Apparating into the house. A line of people waits outside the gate, testing out spells to get it to open to no avail. James leads Remus around to a second gate, hidden behind shrubs, and waves his wand until it opens. “I can sneak you into my room so no one has to see you,” James assures him. “You don’t have to expose yourself to all my friends because you’ve told me you’re a Wizard.” “I trust you,” Remus says. He takes James’ hand and tangles their fingers together. “If you trust your friends then I trust them to not sell me out to any celebrity magazines.” “No ‘but’?” Remus offers, “I have a spell that detects any potential snitches and it’ll give them brief—harmless—amnesia about any details when they try mentioning me.” “Is this another spell you made?” James swoops in for another kiss as Remus nods his head. James’ forehead smacks painfully into Remus’ nose. “Sorry, sorry! It’s just—ah, you being a Wizard is so unbelievably hot and you’ve created spells.” Remus shakes his head fondly. “Bring me into your fancy house so I can say a quick hello and then nap while you go party.” “Alright, alright. One last kiss, just a peck. I’m coming in slow.” Remus meets James for the kiss, angling his head for a light brush. ♤♤♤ “Not that I don’t love you sleeping in my bed,” James says softly, “but I think you’d rather wake up at your house.” Remus yawns as he shifts into the awake world. Sitting up, he lifts his arms above his head in a stretch. His robe pools at his thighs. “Stopping looking at my legs” Remus scolds, dropping his arms to push his robe down and hide his decency. “It’s not my fault you look delectable.” James drops onto the bed in a dramatic flop. “Delectable,” Remus says and James hums in tired agreement. Remus leans against James’ headboard and pulls James’ head into his lap, stopping all the restless wiggling going on. All James limbs go limp immediately. “I guess you’re okay-looking, too.” James twists his head so he can look up and catch Remus’ eyes. “Yeah?” Remus presses his chin to his chest so James can see his full smile. As ridiculous as it must make Remus’ head look like a thumb with no neck, it’s worth it for how much James melts when Remus smiles his rare dimple smile. James rests his cheek on Remus’ thigh and Remus runs his fingers through James’ hair. With the combination of the high-speed Quidditch game and the hair-pulling from the closet, his hair is a mess of complicated knots. Remus hums as he gently detangles James’ locks. “Oh, yes. You looked very regal on your broom with your cloak billowing in the wind.” “Go on,” James says. “Was I handsome?” “I’m not sure, you’re too fast to get a good look at.” “I am fast,” James agrees. “Fast, clever—that play after the other team scored their fifth goal? Your team’s Beaters hit their Bludgers at the Seekers to act as if the Snitch was near. It deflected the other team's attention—that was your idea, wasn’t it? I saw you whisper to your other Chaser so they could get the Quaffle unnoticed and score.” James nods his head against Remus’ thigh, suddenly too shy for words. “Merlin, that was brilliant. And you didn’t get any credit for it.” “We’re a team. We share everything, success isn’t just mine or theirs. It’s ours.” “Fast, clever, humble,” Remus lists. “Well, except for when you try to convince me that you’re famous.” James chuckles into Remus’ thigh, sending shivers down Remus’ back. “I am famous.” Remus keeps combing through James’ hair. “Kind. Patient. Generous. Funny. Sweet. Sensitive.” Remus smoothes his thumb over James' eyebrow. “Caring. Gentle.” “I think that is every trait no one would ever use to describe me. Except funny—I’m hilarious.” “Trust me, I have a long list of your flaws,” Remus teases honestly. “Everything I said is true, though, James. You’ve been infuriatingly persistent in following me around. At this point, I know you almost like the back of my hand, and everything I said is true. Soak it up while I’m in the mood to say it all. Not all of us are a constant romantic like you.” James stays quiet for a few minutes. When he speaks again, he sounds happy-drunk despite being completely sober. “We should take you home before I die from all this affection.” Remus pushes James’ head off his lap and laughs. James sits up with his seemingly permanent grin. He stares at Remus and Remus stares at him, grinning back and thinking about how he’d never thought he’d be this disgustingly sappy. It feels amazing. “Will you come home with me?” Remus asks. “Not to do anything. I’d sleep here with you but I have something I want to show you at my house.” James knows Remus well enough to understand by Remus’ tone that this is not the time to make a joke about showing him something. Remus knows he’s made the right choice in staying with James—James is the right choice for every answer in Remus’ life—but the ice in Remus’ stomach grows heavier and colder the longer James knows Remus is a Wizard. “I’m not ready for the night to end,” Remus adds to keep himself from backing out of James coming home with him.  “Me either.” James picks up Remus’ hand and kisses the knuckles. “I promise I’ll love whatever you show me.” Remus laughs. “I wouldn’t say love.” “I promise.” James’ eyes are the same shade of intense as that morning at Lily’s when he insisted Remus was the person from the restaurant. “You’ll see.” Remus' lungs tighten. James is so far from the reality of what Remus is about to expose him to. They Apparate into Remus’ front room and Remus quietly guides James to the bedroom. He pulls the trunk out from under his bed, unlocks it with a bewitched key, unlocks the trunk within it with his wand, and pulls out a notebook and parchment. The notebook is several inches thick and the parchment spans across the width of Remus’ desk when opened. Both are completely blank. James waits patiently as Remus gathers his wits. Trying to buy more time, Remus says, “I want to preface this by saying you stalked me the first time we met.” James gapes for a good few seconds. “So, it was you!” “Of course it was me," Remus scoffs. “Why did you sneak out the bathroom window?” “Why did you stalk me for half an hour?” “Because I couldn’t let the chance of meeting you go,” James answers easily. “I knew I’d be a fool if I did.” Pushing down the urge to run away and watch Betha & Eddie, Remus mumbles, “My answer isn’t as good as that.” He taps the tip of his wand on the folded blank parchment. “The wolf rises at dusk.” The paper unfolds itself, opening across the desk. Black lines skitter across the parchment like spiders until indecipherable ink becomes an intricate map of various forests throughout Europe. James inhales sharply. “This is…” he cuts off in a disbelieving laugh. “It’s moving! Are those real people?” He pushes his glasses farther up his nose and bends down to get a closer look. “It tracks who is near each location and where they’re moving,” Remus says. He sits on the bed and waits as James gets lost in marveling at the map. “I want to stare at this forever. You know, back at Hogwarts, we wanted to make something like this,” James looks over his shoulder and falters at Remus’ expression. “Oh, sorry. Do you want to tell me what this is for?” Remus pats the bed and holds out the notebook. The bed dips with James’ weight. Like most of Remus’ possessions, the notebook responds only to the touch of his wand. However, Remus went the extra distance with protecting the contents of the notebook even more so. The pages stay blank in James’ hands until Remus vividly imagines the contents inside of it with his wand pressed to the front page. He watches ink spill across the pages into dates and names of places that match the Map, added notes on what happened where. Wrinkles form between James’ eyebrows and Remus wants to cry with how clueless James is. He takes the notebook away from James and places it aside. Twisting his body until he’s facing James, Remus pulls his robe off. He doesn't look at James' expression. He focuses on taking James’ hand, guiding it to touch his naked torso. Remus wishes his scars looked silvery or like some other beautiful word in the moonlight spilling through the curtains of his bedroom window. Instead, they look as they always do—nothing unique compared to his regular skin, just a shade or few lighter than his natural skin tone, a little pinkish. The scars are puckered in some places and long and thin in others. The worse scars bulge out from where his claws had dug in deep and no Magic had been near to stitch the wound together. Remus presses James’ hand to a protruding scar over his chest and takes James’ other hand to place over the bite-shaped scars on his hip. Remus releases James' hands and finally looks at his face, watching James' unreadable expression as fingers smoothe over his skin. James' eyes roam over every inch of Remus’ torso and the places where Remus' claws had dug into his thighs as well. His eyes return to Remus’ face, free of any injury or hint to the beastly madness within. “Okay,” James says, simple as anything. “That’s alright.” The sincerity cuts all the strings holding Remus together and he slumps forward, his forehead falling onto James’ shoulder. James cups the back of Remus’ head, holding him there, and slides his hand around Remus’ waist, stroking his back. He makes a low, calming hum in the back of his throat as Remus exhales shakily. “Let’s lie down now,” James says. “Only if I get to be the big spoon,” Remus mumbles. “Ah,” James says warmly, “can you be any more perfect?”