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Author: Gabriella Du Sult Story: Never Give Up Rating: Mature Setting: Pre-HBP Status: WIP Reviews: 9 Words: 63,528
Disclaimer: This story is based on the stories and characters created by J.K. Rowling and I am in no monetary way profiting from it. Thank you to Bring and Fly for always asking the question, "What are they doing here?" when I’m lost in a sea of dialog and forget about the action. *~*~* The first thing Remus felt when he woke in the pre-dawn hours was a sense of contentment that he hadn’t felt since…ever. Unfortunately, the reason for his contentment soon became the cause of his agitation. The weight of a head on his shoulder, a soft warm body pressed against him, a leg hooked over his, and his hand resting on the curve of a hip, his fingers spread over the soft round…. He quickly moved his hand up to a slightly safer position in the crook of her waist. He closed his eyes tightly trying to remember how he came to be in this position. He could recall flashes – almost like images of a dream. Please let it be a dream, he thought – but he had had enough dreams of this nature over the past two weeks to know it was different now. He had let the wolf take over last night – and now he had to pay the consequences. "Beatrice, wake up," he said, slightly appalled at the growl evident in his voice. He shifted his shoulder under her head by way of a nudge. He felt eyelashes flutter and she made a sound akin to a purr. "It’s not even morning yet," she protested in teasing tones. "What reason could you possibly have for wanting me awake now, hmm…?" She was drawing her foot up along his shin and turned her head to nuzzle his neck. When he felt her teeth scrape his collarbone, his hand left her waist and fisted in the sheets. "Beatrice, you have to leave," he ground out. She froze in her seduction. "You want me to leave?" Didn’t she understand? Of course he didn’t want her to leave. He wanted to lock the door and never leave himself, but reality was rapidly approaching as sunrise neared. "Won’t anybody be missing you?" he asked. "Missing me?" she asked. He could hear the puzzled frown in her voice, though her features were partially obscured in the silver-shadowed light from his window. "Like who? I’ve no flat-mate, my parents are out of country and I’m not due at work until tonight." Remus sighed; he had to ask, "Beatrice, what about your husband? What happened to him?" "My…my what?" she asked, pulling away from him slightly – a fact that made him feel both relieved and bereft. She sat up, pulling the sheet up to cover her chest, as if his question suddenly reminded her she had cause to behave modestly. "I don’t have a husband." "Well, what happened to him?" Remus repeated, feeling relieved that his nose had been accurate about that last night. "Did he leave you? Oh, Merlin, Beatrice, did he die?" The thought had just occurred to him and he was overcome with a new sort of guilt – ashamed to be glad that someone was dead. She shook her head. "Remus, I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’ve never been married." Remus again wondered if he was dreaming. He wasn’t sure why her words were causing such a thrill. It didn’t matter if she had been married as long as she wasn’t now. Except for some reason it did. "I don’t understand. Kingsley told me years ago that you were getting married. I saw the invitation." She frowned at him. "Kingsley told you? You saw…? How many years ago?" He looked up at the ceiling and called up the agonizing memory. "I don’t know – between ten and twelve? It was a lean time for me and he let me stay in his flat while he was on assignment. He was going to miss the wedding." "He didn’t miss anything," she said, waving her hand in an offhand manner. "It never happened." "What?" he asked, looking down at her again, not knowing what to think. "Remus, if you thought I was married, what was last night about?" she asked rather than answer his question. "I…" he stammered, "the approaching Blue Moon. I lost my head." "But you asked what happened to my husband," she said thoughtfully. "What made you think something happened to him?" "You said you lived alone," he countered, unwilling to admit the full truth. "Remus," she said in a warning tone. She knew there was more to it than that. "If you thought I was married last night then you never would have…full moon or no. And what kind of woman, what kind of wife did you think I was that I just…?" She moved further away to the edge of the bed. He was torn between wanting to reach for her, and knowing he should let her go. He split the difference by trying to draw her back with words. "Beatrice, no it wasn’t that. I just…I couldn’t smell him." "You couldn’t…what?" She seemed alarmed. "Around the full moon my senses are…" "Heightened," she finished for him knowingly.. "Erm…right," he agreed, wondering just how much she knew about werewolves. "So, last night there was no male scent on you. I just…" he stopped. How would she feel about his animal instincts taking over so violently? "You just smelled me, is that it?" she surmised. He could only nod, waiting to see how she would react. "Oh, Merlin!" she groaned, sliding out of bed completely, taking the sheet with her. Remus discretely pulled the blanket up to his waist. He tried to think of a way to apologize to her for being so base. He finally looked at her helplessly, only to see her red and shamefaced. "I was trying so hard to hold back, to be subtle. Little did I think it was all so obvious," she lamented. She was embarrassed? He didn’t understand. She was a Healer and surely knew about pheromones, she certainly seemed to know about werewolves. There was something about her discomfiture that seemed odd in a woman of her age and experience. "Beatrice, how long were you with your fiancé?" he asked, an idea, a glorious idea, creeping into his head. She looked at him sharply. "What are you really asking, Remus?" she asked back, though she seemed to know. "What does your nose tell you?" "I…" he paused. He had been struggling to stay rational, to tamp down the wolf, ever since he woke up. Now that she mentioned it though, there was a strangely unfamiliar odor… "Stand up," she instructed. "Beatrice, I don’t think…" "Stand up!" she repeated more firmly over his protest. He complied, wrapping the blanket around him in a makeshift toga. "Does that answer your question?" she asked, gesturing towards the bed. He looked down. The pre-dawn light was not enough to distinguish the color of the dark stain on the sheet – but his nose told him, once he let it flare to life. Blood. Not just any blood, which explained why the scent was unfamiliar. There was a saltier, ocean reminiscent aura to this smell – this was woman’s blood, virginal blood. He looked back at Beatrice feeling strangely numb and light. The surreal sense of being out of body, but still looking through his own eyes, enveloped him. Beatrice had an expectant look on her face that pulled him back into himself enough to speak. "How…" he started, but could not form an articulate question. "I told you I never married. I guess after fifth year I turned into a bit of a prude – for self-preservation, of course," she said with a shrug. "But…Kingsley went to your engagement party. He said you were practically joined at the hip with your fiancé – that you were besotted with him." "Besotted? I think that’s rather a strong term," she said with a raise of her eyebrows. "I did think I was happy, I thought I had what I wanted. It turns out I wanted something entirely different." She gave him a soft, meaningful smile. The reality was pouring into him. "Beatrice, last night… I didn’t even consider you might…I was so out of control…If I’d realized I would have…Are you…?" Remus couldn’t think of how to delicately say or ask what he wanted to say and ask. Beatrice somehow understood his rambling anyway. "Oh, don’t worry about that. In your frenzied need to claim every inch of me as your own, I was well taken care of." He closed his eyes and groaned. ‘Frenzied’ was a good description. Her words brought more flashes of memories from last night – parts of her that he had been particularly eager to claim repeatedly. "I’m not saying it was completely perfect, or that there isn’t a bit of residual soreness – all very normal," she assured hurriedly when he winced. "Really, Remus, I think for a couple of thirty-something virgins we did all right." Male ego reared in him. "What do you mean?" he asked defensively. She rolled her eyes. "Don’t be coy, Remus. After I figured out you were a werewolf I did my homework on the subject, believe me. If there had been someone before me at Hogwarts, we never would have gone out in the first place – and if there had been somebody since, well then last night wouldn’t have happened." She had done her homework. Remus was suddenly reminded of what Bill had said about studying Veela: …That’s why I know so much about Veela. When I realized this was more to me than a harmless flirtation, I thought I’d better be sure it was real… If Bea had done that much research, she knew what last night meant to him, regardless of the fact that he had felt the bond previous to then. She knew and she apparently didn’t care. In fact, she seemed down right happy about it. She was here with him and there were no hindrances, no husband, not even a former lover. He took a deep breath to steady himself, but the scent of her blood filled his nostrils again. The wolf, temporarily sated by last night, had waited patiently up until now. He felt a sudden surge of desire wash over him. He let his eyes sweep over her. The thin white sheet she held to her chest did little to conceal her, and he imagined she looked just as enticing with it, as she might have without. Not that his opinion was the most clear-headed. At the moment he would find her enticing in those disgustingly green colored St. Mungo’s robes of hers. There were many more questions to ask – but the wolf pushed them aside. She’s yours, take her. His desire must have been evident in his expression, or else the blanket wasn’t nearly as concealing as intended, because before he could figure out the best way to get across the bed to her, she was casting about the floor for discarded clothes. "Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment," she explained, tossing him a bundle and smiling. "I just think all things considered the ‘sex first questions later’ approach should be avoided from here on out." Remus looked down at the bundle in his hands and recognized his vest and boxers. He donned them quickly and looked back over to Beatrice in time to see her head emerge from his tattered jumper. As she tugged the hem down he flashed to something Sirius had once said back in their Hogwarts days about the ideal height for a girl. After she puts on your shirt, if it just covers her bum, but isn’t so long she could wear it as a dress or anything, that’s perfect. Beatrice was perfect. You needed my schoolboy method to tell you that? Sirius’s voice echoed through his mind. No he didn’t. "Remus…erm…I think maybe my knickers…." Beatrice gestured in an embarrassed way over to his side of the bed. He broke out of his reverie to realize what she was asking. He looked down and saw the requested garment, along with most of the rest of her clothes. No wonder she put on his jumper. He absently picked them up. Another image came to his mind of the night before – desperately tearing at fastenings, throwing clothes any which way… "Remus." Beatrice’s voice brought him out of his trancelike state. He blinked at her dazedly, still feeling as if he was waking up. "My knickers?" She reached out for them and he hastily passed them over, feeling a heat rush into his face as she bent to put them on. He looked away and tried to reassert some of the self-control he had always prided himself on. He tried to think of something to say. Somehow, the combination of desire and embarrassment left him more tongue tied than he had ever been at seventeen. If Beatrice was feeling the same conflicting emotions, they were having the opposite effect on her. She was babbling. "White cotton grannies, I don’t believe it. You should have seen what I wore to my first Order meeting – not that I was planning or expecting anything – just nervous, you know? Nothing builds a girl’s confidence like looking good from the inside out. If I’d known… well, I suppose it could be worse… I mean my laundry day knickers have the elastic wearing through…" Remus finally found his voice. "I was hardly in a position to notice last night – besides which, worn and tattered clothing is somewhat the norm for me, as you can tell from that jumper you’ve got on." Beatrice’s eyes went wide and she pressed her hand over her mouth for a moment. "Remus, I didn’t mean… you don’t think that matters…I mean…I don’t care about…" "I know," he assured, finding her stammering oddly endearing. "It was just my poor attempt at self-deprecating humor. I’m usually much more amusing. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m a bit too distracted just now." She gaped at him a moment before a smile came over her features. "Maybe we should sit and talk," she suggested. "Yes," he agreed. They tentatively slid back onto bed. He arranged the pillows so they could comfortably sit up and was surprised and pleased when Beatrice nestled under the crook of his arm. "So who should go first?" she asked. "First?" he repeated. "Who should ask the first question," she clarified. "Well, you’ve already answered my most pressing question… I think it’s your turn," he reasoned. She took a deep breath as if preparing for something monumental. Remus braced himself, his mind racing for answers to the most outrageous questions he could imagine. "Why didn’t you ever answer my owls?" she asked in a breathy, nervous rush. He had not expected something so straightforward and simple. "Are you sure you want to waste a question on that?" Her eyebrow raised in challenge. "Are you planning on limiting me to a finite amount of questions?" "No," he hastily assured. "Well then…?" She waited expectantly. "I just thought that it would have been obvious." He had thought that. Her first Order meeting, when she made her knowledge of his lycanthropy clear and made some sort of comment about how long it had been – he had meant to apologize sometime that evening – but never had, but an explanation had seemed superfluous. "I don’t find it obvious," she disagreed seriously. "I’m a werewolf," he said, trying to control the wince he always experienced whenever he said the words out loud. He usually let people come to the conclusion on their own, or find out from a third party. For some reason saying it himself seemed to make it more painfully real – as if anything could be more painfully real than his monthly transformations. "You thought that would matter to me." She looked away in obvious disappointment; he tightened his grip on her, afraid she would pull away too. "No," he denied hastily. She turned back, her expression doubtful. "Well," he conceded reluctantly, "yes – but there’s more to it than that." "So not such a wasted question after all," she said with a meaningful look. Remus reached out and touched her cheek with his fingertips. His nineteen-year silence had hurt her – hurt them. He wasn’t sure the truth alone could correct that. Still, he owed her the most honest answer he could give her. "Beatrice, being able to attend Hogwarts was a blessing and a curse for me," he started. He could see his words touched her curious nature. "Since I was bitten, I learned to have low expectations from life. Then suddenly I was allowed to go to Hogwarts. I had friends who knew my condition and didn’t care. Later, I was awarded the Prefects badge which demonstrated a certain respect from my Professors, and in my seventh year I had the most amazing girl…" He paused and allowed himself to enjoy the hint of a smile that played about her mouth. He caressed her face again. Her eyes flickered shut as if savouring his touch. "Amazing," he repeated. She opened her eyes and they sparkled with emotion before focusing back on him. "But?" she asked. He sighed. "But…Hogwarts didn’t prepare me for the real world. I knew all about it – but I let myself forget. I left you on Platform Nine and Three Quarters thinking I had two years. That I would find a job, get a modest flat and save the rest of my pay for… a ring." He looked away at his last words, feeling inexplicably embarrassed sharing the dream of his youth with her now. She let out a strange whimpering moan that communicated both longing and regret. He continued quickly. "I had fooled so many people for so long – I fooled myself into thinking it would be easy. I hadn’t counted on… well on anything. These days the Ministry provides all employers with the Werewolf Registry and has impossible restrictions. Back then there was only observation and prejudice – but with the war on people were more aware of dark things – it was enough. Little did I suspect my first employer kept a lunar calendar in his top drawer." Beatrice bit her lip. Remus could see her struggling between her sympathy for his situation and her old hurt over his apparent rejection of her. "The first month?" she asked. "Not quite," Remus admitted. "He was willing to attribute my first absence due to sickness a genuine fluke, but by the end of August he had found me out and well and truly sacked me." "But…." Beatrice bit down on her protest and turned from him guiltily. He couldn’t have her feeling guilty for his mistakes. "Beatrice," he said, forcing her to turn back and look at him. "I’m sorry, Remus," she burst out apologetically. "I was such a school girl then, and I know your life was beyond difficult. I don’t want you to think I don’t know that but…" "Beatrice, ask your question," he urged, wanting to help her resolve her emotional struggle. "You were working practically the whole Summer and didn’t answer any of my owls." Her plaintive tone brought him more than a pang of guilt. "I’m sorry, I know I sound terribly spoiled and whiny. I know it was awful for you – but that Summer, it hadn’t really become so out of hand, had it? I mean, it was just one man at that point." He nodded. "It left me slightly discouraged, but not completely daunted. I knew some people like that existed, I took it as a reminder to be more careful next time and proceeded to look for another job, not easy to find during the war under normal circumstances." She shifted her weight, but he continued before she reiterated her main point. "Remember, your parents had taken you to the Continent for the Holiday? A reward for completing your O.W.L. year?" She nodded slowly, her brow still furrowed. "I had no owl of my own and couldn’t afford the international post." He watched her press her lips together to keep from responding. "You weren’t the only one with youthful ideals, you know," he reminded her. "I was too proud at first to accept James and Sirius’s offers of help. Then I lost my first job and I realized that I would have to explain everything to you – and that was not something for a letter. At first I just wanted to get stable before contacting you – then it became clear that I would never have the life I dreamed of… the life you deserved. Even the thickest of employers figured things out after a few months – I even worked in a Muggle bookshop once and got canned just for taking too many sick days…" "But Remus, by that time…" "Yes, by that time – it had been almost a year – your letters had tapered off to nothing so there were none to answer," he cut off her protest. "There wasn’t much point in sending an owl that read: ‘I’m the wrong man for you, forget about me.’" "At that point, I would have taken even such a discouraging note as encouragement," she admitted. "I thought as much – the last thing I wanted was for you to hunt me down and find me scraping out an existence." "I would never have cared about money," she declared earnestly. "Well," Remus acknowledged, "Your reaction to my financial situation wasn’t my biggest concern. There’s a look people get on their faces when they find out I’m a werewolf. It’s a sort of combination between fear and revulsion. I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing that look on your face." "You thought I was like those people?" Beatrice asked, her voice quavering. "You don’t understand, Beatrice – I’m not just talking about employers and the bigots at the Ministry. Everybody gets this look. Good people too – Order members like Dedalus and Molly…" "And James and Sirius?" she asked, looking up at him petulantly through her lashes. Remus couldn’t contain a small wistful smile. "James and Sirius were young boys when they found out. They saw it as a big adventure. I let myself get caught up in their romanticization of it because… well, for a lot of reasons. I was a young boy too." A little grin crept over her. "I remember you as a young boy," she said, nudging him almost playfully. "You were pretty cute." He couldn’t help but chuckle before replying modestly, "I’ll have to defer to your judgment on that." "As well you should," she agreed, snuggling close. "So all those years of silence…?" "I never contacted you partly because I thought you deserved more than the only life I could ever live – and also because I was afraid of being hurt," he admitted, looking down and away from her shamefacedly. "As a result I hurt you… I’m not quite sure how to make that up to you." "I’ll think of something," she assured archly. Her tone caused him to look at her sharply. She was grinning at him. "Are you forgiving me so easily then?" he asked. "What would the alternative be?" she countered. "Throwing up barriers after being apart for almost twenty years? I don’t care to waste any more time. I’m disappointed you didn’t trust me back then, of course – but I know you didn’t hurt me on purpose. Besides, if I wasn’t prepared to accept your explanation, then I wouldn’t have gone to bed with you last night." He shook his head wonderingly. "You’re as amazing a woman as you were a girl." She smiled demurely. "I’ll defer to your judgment on that," she said, echoing his earlier words. "Anyway, it’s not as if I didn’t make a few missteps or let my decisions be guided more by self-doubt and fear than – well, than my Gryffindor courage, I suppose." Something about her tone sobered Remus from the teasing direction their conversation was headed. He was suddenly reminded of the beginning of their conversation this morning. He wondered which of Beatrice’s missteps and decisions had brought her to be here with him now, instead of raising a family with that other wanker, as he had always imagined her to be since… "So what really happened between the time Kingsley told me about your engagement party and…?" He broke off his question as soon as he realized he was asking it out loud. "The time I broke off the engagement?" she finished his thought easily. "Yes," he confirmed with a sigh. He might as well hear the full story. She frowned thoughtfully. "I’m not sure you’re in the right state of mind to hear this." "What is the right state of mind?" Remus wondered out loud. He was asking about her relationship with a man she once had cared enough about to agree to marry. Having her in his bed and in his arms was about as good a state of mind as he was likely to be in when discussing such a topic. "I’m not sure. Maybe I’m not in the right state of mind. It was not one of my finest hours, in fact, it was all just so embarrassing and uncomfortable." Remus tilted his head to regard her for a moment. She had broken off the engagement, and last night…she had been as innocent as he. He began to have an inkling of what she might be getting at, which made him more curious. "I think I had better hear the whole story." Beatrice sighed in a resigned way. "All right then, where to start? I supposed it all goes back to when I first started going out with…" She cast a nervous look at Remus. "Malcolm Fallwell?" he provided. Her eyes widened. "You know his name?" He shrugged. "I told you I saw the invitation in Kingsley’s flat. The name rather burned itself into my memory." She pressed her lips together and turned her head away, but not before he caught a trace of a smug smile and a glint of feminine triumph in her eyes. He expected she would take every opportunity to lord that over him later, but he found he didn’t mind if she did. In fact, he thought he would enjoy her teasing him very much. For now, though, he would divert her. "What happened when you first started going out?" he prompted. "I told him… well… I told him I was ‘saving myself’ for marriage," she practically blurted, still looking away from him. He watched intently as the back of her neck reddened with an embarrassed blush. "Merlin! That sounds more ridiculous now than it did then." Remus reached out to cup her chin and guided her face back around so that their eyes met. "Are you sorry?" he asked. "About last night?" Her tone was incredulous. "Don’t be silly. But you’re getting ahead of the story." She grinned deviously, rubbing her cheek against his hand. "Perhaps we could come back to it later?" Yes, later, he thought eagerly. Then he caught a look in her eyes. She was purposely trying to distract him hearing this story; it piqued his curiosity. Apparently a glutton for punishment, he pulled his hand away from her face. "Sorry, do go on." He winced at the rough desire in his voice. "I take it old Malcolm was accepting of your restrictions?" Bringing up the other man’s name again cleared his head a bit. "He was a prince," she admitted with an apologetic tone. "He was looking for a wife, you see – and felt my declaration was an indication that he’d found someone suitably untouched." She snorted. "I guess I was a big fraud." "But you were untouched," Remus said, more to remind himself than her. She looked at him silently for what seemed an eternity. Her eyes were dark and serious and he knew she was trying to convey something important to him, but he was at a loss as to what. Finally, she broke her gaze and looked down with a sigh. "Do you really think back at Hogwarts, if you had asked me on one of those rare occasions when the opportunity arose, that I would have given you some girlish line about waiting for marriage?" she asked quietly. Remus gaped at her, stunned. He hoped her question was rhetorical, as he couldn’t form an answer. She shrugged. "I know I looked the part of a prim and proper girl. I was quiet, unassuming and studious. I was a Prefect for Merlin’s sake! I wasn’t exactly the kind of girl the other boys were falling all over themselves for… which was fine with me… but you… I thought you knew that the only thing stopping us most of the time was you." "You were fifteen!" he protested. "Sixteen," she corrected, reminding him that he found out after they started going out that she had had her birthday just before their first kiss. "You make a good point, though – I was young and naïve enough to fall for your ‘I want to be able to look your parents in the eye’ line." "I meant that!" Remus objected defensively. She shrugged again. "Maybe you did – All I knew by the time I was in sixth year was that you had dropped me for some unknown reason. I was devastated, but I was smart enough to know that if we had… well, if we had, then I would have been out of my mind." Remus winced, wondering again if he could ever make up for causing her so much pain. "I’m sorry." The words sounded lame to him and he pulled away from her, feeling unworthy to keep holding her. "Hold on there, Lupin," she exclaimed, grabbing his arm and securing it back around her. "I tried to warn you this wasn’t a completely pleasant story – but you insisted on hearing it – so quiet down and hear me through. Didn’t I already say you were forgiven for all that?" "Yes," he said, his eyes downcast like a chastised boy. "Good, then let me get on with this. I’m almost to the worst of it," she said, clearing her throat. "Now then – I’ll jump ahead to my engagement party – ironically enough, it was that night I realized just how fraudulent I’d been. It had been a lovely evening and Malcolm rather slyly suggested we have a sneak preview of the wedding night. I figured an engagement was enough of a commitment that I didn’t have to worry about him fleeing afterwards – so I agreed." Remus tried to remind himself again that it never happened, but his muscles tensed anyway. "Malcolm was… is a good man, Remus," Beatrice said with an apologetic smile. "He was mature and attractive and probably all the other things a young witch should look for in a prospective husband. He had a good job with the Ministry and was ambitious without being obnoxious about it. Most importantly, he was very attentive in his courtship. I honestly cared for him – I thought I loved him. I knew I didn’t feel the same as I did with you, but I reasoned that it was the difference between mature, adult love and passionate, youthful love – but that night…" she trailed off and bit her lip thoughtfully. Remus could see an embarrassed blush beginning to form. "Go on," he urged, anxious to hear the conclusion. She closed her eyes as if to gather courage, then went on slowly, as if each word took a great deal of effort. "The minute we…got past…the boundaries I had previously set, I…began to get ill." She opened her eyes and looked at Remus almost woefully. "I mean I did get ill – all over him." She slammed her eyes back shut and bowed her head under the weight of her obvious mortification. Her face was in a deep blush by now. Remus knew he should offer some comfort to her, but he was busy trying to keep the howling laughter in his head – that sounded disturbingly more like Padfoot’s than his own – from bubbling to the surface. "What did you do then?" he asked finally, in what he hoped was a humor free tone. She opened her eyes again. "What could I do? I buttoned up my spattered blouse, grabbed my robes off the foot of the bed and beat a hasty retreat. Thank Merlin we were at his place – I would have felt even more miserable kicking him out in that state. I think I spouted some nonsense trying to blame it on drink and excitement – but I’d barely had a butterbeer all evening and since he’d barely left my side, we both knew I was lying. My stomach churned all the way home and through my shower. Finally I just lay on my bed and did something I hadn’t done since the beginning of sixth year." "What was that?" Remus asked, trying to remember any nausea remedies taught in Charms or Potions in sixth year. "I closed my eyes and erm…thought about you," she said, her voice dropping shyly. Remus’s mind snapped completely out of academia and brought up a picture of Beatrice and what her emphasis on the word thought obviously meant. "You did?" his voice cracked as if he were a sixth year himself. Beatrice smiled. "I did – and it did a lot more than settle my stomach, let me tell you." His face couldn’t have felt hotter if he stuck it in the fire without Floo powder. Speaking would be impossible for the moment. Beatrice took a deep breath and rushed out the rest of her story. "I returned Malcolm’s ring the next day – he was bitter and hurt, but not exactly surprised. It was difficult for a while after that. He works in the Ministry liaison office to St. Mungo’s – so we saw each other quite a bit. There were comments and rumors about me being cold or not liking men…I never minded though," she assured when Remus’s shifted himself in annoyance. "If no other man asked me out then that was fine. I knew I couldn’t go down that road again with anyone else until I resolved things with or about you – if I ever could." "That was more than ten years ago!" Remus found his voice. She blushed a bit. "Well, I had a little plan, more of an idea really – but I didn’t want to humiliate myself if you had really found someone else. Then I got involved in my work. You’d be amazed how strangely time passes when you work shifts at St. Mungo’s. In fact," she added, making a face suddenly, "I have to work tonight. It’s too late to switch or I’d never leave you tonight." "Tonight’s a full moon," he reasoned, wondering why she was so disturbed. "You wouldn’t be able to be with me anyway." The last thing he wanted was to expose Beatrice to that horror of his life. She made an exasperated sound. "I know I wouldn’t be in the room with you – but you’ve just made me a part of your life. I want you to know that I want that – that I want you and everything that means. Being gone for this first transformation could make it look like I’m pretending it’s not real." She framed his face with her hands and looked at him seriously. "We’re not going to ignore this part of our lives. I don’t want you to ever feel you have to hide a part of yourself from me again." He nodded. Despite his misgivings, he couldn’t help but feel a joyful surge inside him when she said she wanted all of him and talked about ‘our lives.’ He wished there was no wolf – but there was and he could see she sincerely didn’t care. Suddenly he felt happy enough, comfortable enough, to tease her a bit. "Perhaps it’s just as well you won’t be here tonight. A repeat of last night’s vicious encounter with Snivellus might be too much for us all." Instead of granting him another pretty blush, Beatrice frowned. "Snape," she muttered bitterly. "He’s been making your Wolfsbane Potion, I suppose?" "Yes, of course," Remus said. "Whatever else you say about Snape, he knows his Potions." "Well, you can tell him his services won’t be needed next month – or ever again for that matter," she declared firmly. "Beatrice, I’m no fonder of Snape than you are, but it is a very difficult potion." She gave a half-affronted, half-teasing look. "I’ll have you know I made top marks in Potions both at Hogwarts and St Mungo’s." "Even so…," he began to counter. She continued over his protest as if he hadn’t started speaking. "Not to mention the fact that I worked on the team that developed Wolfsbane, so I’m pretty sure I know how to brew it." Remus wondered how many times she would shock him that morning. As he gaped at her in wonder, she turned away from his gaze, blushing yet again. "Oh don’t look at me like that," she said. "It’s not nearly as impressive as I made it sound just now. I’m good at brewing potions, but I’m not much for inventing them. I joined the team when they were ready for live tests and needed more people to brew, administer and document the reactions of the volunteers." Remus began to understand. "You thought I might volunteer?" She nodded, her eyes downcast. "That was your plan?" he asked, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice. She managed a half-hearted sheepish grin. "I never said I had a good plan. We used a portion of our funding to pay the volunteers and I thought…" "There were a couple of bad times where I considered it – but something else always came up," he admitted. "I’m grateful to those who did it, of course – but I always considered becoming a guinea pig as a bit of a last resort." "I was just as glad I never saw you there after the first test," Beatrice confessed. Her eyes grew distant and haunted as she recalled the memory. "There was too much Wolfsbane in the first batch – everyone was violently ill and some…" her voice caught. "Some of the older ones didn’t make it." Her hand reached up to dash at an escaped tear. Remus just kept his arm around her shoulder, unsure if he could do more as she relived these memories. She took a shuddering breath before continuing. "When the balance was off in the other direction it was just as bad. The transformations were brutal, excruciatingly painful experiences, and the wolves did so much damage to themselves – worse than if they’d had no potion according to them. Even as I treated them for their injuries I’d wonder what you had done to yourself – and if you had anyone to tend your wounds…." Beatrice sobbed out and turned into his shoulder. Remus wrapped both arms about her, gathering her in as she gave up her struggle with her emotions. It gave him a strange sense of fulfillment to hold her as she wept. Not that he was glad to see her upset – but seeing as she was, it was as if comforting her was something he was made to do. "Shh," he murmured soothingly, stroking her back. "It’s all right. I’m fine and the Wolfsbane Potion works perfectly now." "Perfect!" she exclaimed, lifting her head from his shoulder. The sorrow on her face was quite suddenly replaced with what he could only describe as righteous indignation. "It’s far from perfect! It tastes terrible, it does nothing for the pain – it’s not a cure, which was the point of the project when it was first proposed. As soon as it rendered the wolf harmless – the Ministry declared it ‘good enough’ and yanked our funding. Bloody cowards and closed minded bureaucrats!" she spat bitterly. Remus found himself amused by her sudden shift from sobbing to railing against the Ministry. He felt what he thought was a chuckle bubbling in his gut. He hoped Beatrice wouldn’t be affronted after she had been so indignant on his behalf that he would suddenly seemingly laugh at her. He couldn’t hold in the feeling surging up through his chest now. He opened his mouth. "I love you," he said, surprising himself a moment before the contentment of finally declaring it settled over him. She gasped. "You do?" she asked with girlish awe. Her complete surprise puzzled him. "Beatrice, you know what last night meant for me." "Well, yes. But it’s one thing to know there can technically be no other – it’s quite another to be sure there’s more behind it than – well, a mostly carnal motivation." She ducked her head apologetically. Ah, that, Remus thought. Remus remembered when Lily was pregnant, James had told him that women liked to hear they were loved on a regular basis, even when they knew it. "Not that I minded the carnal part," Beatrice added hastily, looking up at him, her eyes suddenly twinkling with mischief. "Not with you – I love you too, by the way. In case you were wondering." Apparently, it didn’t hurt for a man to hear the words out loud either. He decided to see how far he could escalate this amazing feeling. "I’ve loved you since the first time I kissed you in Greenhouse Three. You’ve been the only one for me since then, even if I was too unsure to say so or even realize it. I’ll never let that happen again." He took her face between his hands. "I love you," he said again with slow deliberation before lowering his head to kiss her. He wanted it to be a tender kiss – communicating all he felt beyond ‘the carnal,’ as she had put it. The wolf, however, had been pacing patiently beneath the surface as they talked and would be deterred no more. Beatrice was no help, opening her mouth under his the instant their lips touched and bringing a hand up to his nape to finger his hairline. Her actions brought an inner smile as he recalled Beatrice had never shied away from his more passionate side. At least this time he would have the presence of mind to take his time, he thought as his hands left her face and drifted down her back. He would savor every moment and make sure she did the same. Then later, he would recall every joyous detail instead of remembering only frenzied flashes. His hands reached the hem of his jumper and his fingers grazed the skin of her thighs as he prepared to pull the garment off her. A strange growl erupted between them. Beatrice broke off the kiss suddenly, putting one hand to her mouth and the other to her stomach. She let out an embarrassed giggle. "Sorry," she apologized, "I didn’t have much for dinner last night – I was nervous about Harry." "Should I go scare up some food?" Remus offered, wondering if he still had an odd chocolate bar somewhere in his room. "No," she said, smiling and reaching for him. "I’d rather not just yet – a person can go three days without food before starving, you know." He returned her smile and leaned in again. Their lips barely brushed when his own stomach gurgled loudly. This time when Beatrice pulled away, she wore a stern look that he knew meant nothing good. "You need to have breakfast," she declared. "What happened to three days before starving?" he asked plaintively. "You have a transformation tonight – you can’t afford to skip meals," she answered in a firm tone. Remus closed his eyes and sighed. Why did I have to think of chocolate? "Molly already fills the role of ‘mother’ in my life, thank you," he said, his disappointment dripping out in his sarcasm. She had already slid out of bed and started collecting the rest of their clothes. "I’m not trying to mother you, Remus, and I’ll thank you not to imply that ever again. I’m your mate – and as such your health and well-being are of great importance to me. Now get dressed." Remus’s disappointment was sufficiently quelled by her using the term mate to describe herself. She was his mate – and she didn’t just know it or accept it – she insisted on it. That fact left him a bit dazed and awed as he followed her directive and pulled on his trousers and shirt. "I suppose it’s just as well," Beatrice said with a wistful sigh, letting Remus know she shared some of his disappointment. "Dawn has broken and it wouldn’t do to stumble blithely into a kitchen full of knowing or worse disapproving looks." Remus glanced out the window. True, the sun had broken the horizon, but he would not yet call it risen – and he had reason to know what technically constituted a fully risen celestial body. Still, Molly was an early riser, and it would probably be best to get Beatrice fed and gone before the questions came. "Right then," he said, turning back from the window and seeing Beatrice all dressed. "Quietly on the stairs now—and in the entry hall." Beatrice nodded and they crept down to the kitchen like two guilty teenagers. Once there, Beatrice turned to him with a triumphant smile. He felt his own face expand into a broad grin. "See," she said, "now you’ll have all day to explain that I’ll be moving in after my shift ends tomorrow morning." Remus’s heart leapt, but he raised a brow at Beatrice teasingly. "That’s a bit presumptuous of you. Don’t you think you should wait to be asked?" She crossed her arms in front of her chest and raised both brows at him. "Waiting to be asked has never proved a good strategy with you." Remus had no comeback for such a true statement. "I don’t think we should cook anything," Beatrice observed, moving on to the matter at hand. "The smell might wake somebody." "Molly always keeps biscuits around," he offered, feeling the poor host. She scowled at him. "You are not having a breakfast of biscuits," she declared. "I’ll dart into the pantry and sort out something nutritious. You set the table." Remus cheerfully began his assigned task, quietly humming to himself as he took plates and glasses from the cupboard and turned towards the table with them. It was then that he froze. Molly Weasley was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, arms across her chest and expression stormy. He started speaking before he really came up with an explanation. "Molly…" "Well," she hissed, "you certainly seem pleased with yourself, Remus John Lupin!" He groaned inwardly – she had used his full name! Even his own mother rarely, if ever, had had cause to do that. "Molly, try to remember that I’m a grown man," he found himself saying defensively. "I’ll remember it when you start acting like it!" she retorted. "You should try to remember that there are children living in this house – my children and Harry. Is this the sort of example you want to be setting him? Running about like some rutting animal in heat?" Who does she think she is? Padfoot raged inside his head. I left this house to you and Harry. If she doesn’t like it, she knows where the door is. Remus struggled to suppress his inner Sirius. He tried to tell himself that Molly was in too much of a state to realize how close to the mark her words were – that she would have said the same thing to him regardless of his lycanthropy and had not specifically tried to degrade and hurt him. She had a valid point about the teens, he reminded himself. Taking several steadying breaths, he chose his next words slowly and deliberately. "Molly, I know my actions last night seemed rash and unthinking on the surface – but the emotions behind them went far deeper than mere…animal… impulses." He saw by the flash of guilt in her eyes that his emphasis on the word ‘animal’ had made an impression. "Remus, that doesn’t excuse the fact that it was totally thoughtless and irresponsible with the children in the house," she countered firmly. No, it didn’t, he conceded. He could only hope that it had been late enough last night, and that it was early enough now. If it weren’t for the wards, he would be fervently hoping that Beatrice just Apparated out of the pantry. "Molly, I can’t excuse it. I wasn’t thinking. Sometimes, some days, it’s hard for me to think." "Remus." He had been about to lose any semblance of contrition and become overly defensive. It was the only voice in the world that could have stopped him in his tirade. He turned to see Beatrice standing in the doorway of the pantry. "Molly’s got a point – we didn’t exactly consider any consequences last night." Her tone and expression seemed chastised and repentant, but there was something in her eyes – a certain sparkle that made him think she, like him, didn’t care about the consequences. "Beatrice…" He wasn’t sure what he was going to say. ‘Let me handle this,’ seemed a bit overbearing and, ‘Don’t worry about it,’ was disrespectful with Molly standing right there. He had just settled for merely saying, ‘I love you’ – when in doubt, after all, it was probably a good thing to say – when Beatrice spoke up again. "I should go." Her words sent him into a minor panic. "You’re not going!" he declared, grabbing her arm and pulling her back into the pantry so they could at least have the illusion of privacy. Suddenly he was itching for a row and if Beatrice thought she was leaving, then she would do just as well as Molly. "You’re not going," he repeated in a harsh whisper. "I think it’s a good idea," she said with a soothing smile. "I can get a proper breakfast at my flat and collect a few necessities to bring over tomorrow morning. That will give you a chance to figure things out here. I’ll need to wind down and try to have a little nap before work tonight…maybe a shower." Her eyes danced mischievously. He had felt a wave of relief when he realized that she hadn’t meant to leave permanently. Then she deliberately brought the tantalizing image of her in the shower and he suddenly forgot everything else yet again. "Use the vanilla scented soap," he told her, half surprising himself. "I beg your pardon?" she asked with a laugh. "Do you still have it?" he asked, trying to ignore the heat in his face. "Well, it’s a lotion, not a soap, but I think I can scare up the vanilla scented kind if you like," she said with a good-natured smile. "It doesn’t have to be vanilla," he retracted. "Just… nothing fruity – or strongly floral." He wrinkled his nose involuntarily, thinking of how cloying such scents were before and after transformations. "I see what you’re getting at," she said with a knowing nod. "Your wolfly senses find certain aromas unappetizing, is that it? Well, how about I just rub steak tartare over my body and have done with it?" Behind him, Molly made a noise of shock and disapproval. It was her own fault for following them into the pantry. Anyway, he couldn’t be concerned about that as he struggled to come to terms with how excited the idea of Beatrice covered in raw meat made him. Since when did you become such a perv, Moony? He could hear Padfoot teasing him. Will you keep to yourself for once!? he admonished the inner voice. Beatrice had clapped her hand over her mouth in embarrassment, and he was trying to gather his wits enough to help rescue her from the situation. "I’m sorry, Molly." Beatrice overcame her silence first. "I was trying to unnerve Remus, not offend you." She pressed past Remus and Molly to get back out to the kitchen, "Merlin, I really had better go, now before I make things even…" "‘Mornin’." An amused, if sleep filled voice filled the room. Beatrice’s eyes went wide and her face turned red. Remus and Molly both followed her to the door to see a very rumpled, wild-haired Harry standing there. Remus was only grateful that Ron and Ginny did not appear to be with him, though there were hardly more ways this morning could go wrong. Considering the hour and his unkempt state, Remus wondered if Harry hadn’t hurried down here with the express purpose of finding such a scene. Hoping that Harry had missed their conversation, he forced a smile. "Good morning, Harry," he said, his forced cheerfulness ringing hard and false in his own ears. "You’re certainly up early. Beatrice was just here erm…." His mind scrambled to find a reasonable explanation for Beatrice’s early morning presence. "Spending the night?" Harry offered, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing them both uncertainly. "Harry…"Remus floundered. How he wished this was a simple lecture topic. He had no idea how to explain to Harry what had happened last night. Harry raised an eyebrow shrewdly. "Was Ginny right then?" he asked. That’s right, Remus recalled. The youngest Weasley had accurately deduced Beatrice’s lack of a husband, among other things. It was as good a starting point as any. "Yes," he confirmed. Harry’s hesitant look was suddenly replaced with a cheeky grin. In fact, the smile that crossed his face was the broadest Remus had seen there in a while. Combined with the mischievous gleam in his eye and his even messier than usual hair, Remus thought Harry had never been more like James than that moment. Beatrice caught his eye and from the look she gave him, he thought she might be thinking the same thing. Her cheeks and mouth twitched with amusement and she gave a resigned shrug. "Right, then – I’m definitely going to Floo out of here before it gets any worse. You’ll owl me if there are…complications?" He smiled and took her elbow, escorting her to the fireplace and turning their backs to their little audience. "There won’t be," he assured her. "Don’t worry about it – I’ll take care of everything." It felt good to say it, and even better when she looked at him with such loving trusting eyes. She was his to take care of. "I’ll see you in the morning, then," she said, stepping into his embrace and putting her arms around his neck. "Don’t forget to tell Snape where he can stick his cauldron." He chuckled. "With pleasure, believe me." He kissed her as chastely as he could manage, mindful of who was watching. Then he whispered in her ear, "Don’t forget the lotion." She gave a womanly giggle and a tinge of pink crossed her cheeks – inspired, he thought, more from pleasure than embarrassment. Then she grabbed the Floo powder and flashed him one last smile before calling her address and disappearing into the flames. He tensed then and turned back to the kitchen. While he had made his goodbyes, Bill had apparently followed Harry in. The younger man was grinning at Remus just as cheekily as the boy. "So… I guess she’s not married after all?" he asked. "No," Remus said, his gaze shifting to Molly. Her outraged expression had softened to mild disapproval. "Not yet," he added, looking at her meaningfully. Her expression cleared somewhat, but she had a set to her jaw that told him this wasn’t over. "Remus, a word in the pantry," she said, with false brightness, confirming his fears. Remus followed her obediently back into the pantry, casting a brief glance over his shoulder at Harry and Bill. Both were still grinning. Yes, everybody loved the idea of Molly giving a good tongue lashing to someone else. When they were in the small room, she reeled on him. "You aren’t seriously thinking of brining that woman into this house?" ‘That woman?’ Last night it had been ‘all Order members are family,’ and after the row with Snape, she had practically given Bea the royal treatment. Now, suddenly she was ‘that woman.’ "That is exactly what I’m thinking," he said calmly. She pointed out into the kitchen. "How do you expect to tell Harry that what happened last night was wrong when you so obviously are going to continue?" He raised his eyebrows at her. "I don’t expect to tell Harry that it was wrong at all." She drew in a horrified breath and gaped at him, speechless. He sighed. "Molly, I admit to being indiscreet and I will talk to Harry – make it clear to him that my circumstances as a grown man are different than his – not that he needs any lectures on morals. Harry’s got a fine values system." "Which you won’t be helping by bringing that…" "Beatrice," Remus stopped her from using the offensive term again. "Molly, I must stay here. Dumbledore needs someone to maintain Headquarters and he has asked me to do so. And if I’m here, then I need…" Remus broke off. Already he felt Beatrice’s absence. It was a tolerable agony, but having her live across town would be intolerable. Not that he could tell Molly that. It was uncomfortable enough to discuss werewolf mating habits with Harry and Bill. Molly was out of the question, particularly considering her reaction to last night. "It’s still a terrible example," she said in the pouting stubborn way she had. Yes, it was, and yet – it wasn’t. Perhaps he owed Molly more of an explanation. "Molly, for most of my life I have been led to believe that there were certain things in life that I could never have. Society and its rules and prejudices seemed to imply I had no right to them. Last night and this morning, I realized that not only can I have them – I deserve them as much as anybody else. I’ve waited a long time to have love in my life. I’m not going to give up that kind of happiness for any reason – and that most certainly is an example I want to set for Harry." She stared at him for a long moment, not exactly liking his explanation, but understanding it. Finally, she gave a short nod and moved back out into the kitchen. "Well, then, I best get breakfast going – I have a busy day ahead of me if I’m to make another bedroom livable before tomorrow morning." Remus realized, watching Molly turn to her work at the stove, that he had just been issued an ultimatum. Until he made good on his tacit promise to marry Beatrice, she might be living here – but there would be no more incidents like last night. He silently accepted the terms. They were reasonable enough, and he determined Molly wouldn’t think much of the argument that last night was as good as a wedding from a werewolf’s point of view. Suddenly he realized that for all the tension he still felt, everything was as taken care of as it could be. Relaxing, he followed her out and went about setting the table for breakfast. "What was that bit Beatrice said about Snape?" Harry asked, moving to help him. "Oh, Beatrice will be taking over the brewing of my potion next month," he said in what he hoped was a casual tone. "Can she? I mean, isn’t it supposed to be really difficult?" Harry seemed to be trying to decide if he should be excited or skeptical. "Apparently, she had a small part in its development. She learned to brew it while testing volunteers." Remus could see the wheels of Harry’s brain working behind his still sleep bleary eyes. Watching students work out problems for themselves had been one of his favorite parts of teaching. "She worked on Wolfsbane Potion because she knew about you, didn’t she?" "That was an influence in the decision, yes," Remus confirmed. Harry grinned suddenly, looking once again his most James-like. "Can I tell Snape where to stick his cauldron?" he asked hopefully. "Harry James Potter!" Molly turned from the stove to admonish him. "Harry, you still have two years to complete at Hogwarts with Professor Snape – I really think you had better let me handle it. No sense in going out of your way to provoke him," Remus chastised calmly, though he couldn’t help think how good it was to see Harry in this sort of humor. Not to mention the fact that he felt certain kinship with Harry over being scolded by Molly this morning. So, when Molly turned back to the stove, Remus leaned in and conspiratorially whispered to Harry, "Beg a set of the twins’ Extendable Ears and you can listen in." He grinned at Harry knowing he was encouraging terribly irresponsible and inconsiderate behaviour, and not caring. Harry did not react with the expected grin of appreciation. Instead, his face fell and he slumped into his place at the table. "I don’t like those things," he mumbled gloomily, looking down at his empty plate. Finished with the table setting, Remus took his own seat and eyed the boy with concern. He was all too aware of Molly’s bustling presence and Bill teasing his mother using an offer of help as an excuse to nick the bacon. He looked back at Harry and resolved to ask him what was wrong regardless of the others when the number in the kitchen increased again. "G’Mornin’," Ron mumbled even more sleepily than Harry had. He lurched around the table to his place on the other side of Harry. "Good Morning!" Ginny entered after Ron. Her bright tone and neat appearance was a stark contrast to the mussed looking boys. She was cheerfully awake and had her mass of red hair pulled neatly back into a ponytail. She smiled cheekily at Remus, reminding him that if Harry knew what had happened last night, then she and Ron probably did as well. He wondered if Molly had also made this conclusion or had decided to live in a comfortable state of denial where her own children were concerned. Before Ginny said anything to ruin such an illusion, though, Harry looked up. The movement distracted her attention and Remus watched with keen interest as the two teens’ eyes met. Ginny’s grin faded and she scowled, turning from her usual place across from Harry and Ron and sitting pointedly at the far end of the table. Harry watched her for a moment, during which time she adjusted her flatware and plate, studiously avoiding the gaze she had to know was on her. After a minute, Harry sighed and looked back down at his plate. This was a new development. Remus had been aware of Ginny’s infatuation with Harry from the time he had taught them both at Hogwarts. Since then, though her outward behavior suggested otherwise, his nose told him that the attraction was still very much there. This Summer, he had noted a surge of pheromones on Harry’s side in Ginny’s presence from time to time. Until today, he was unsure if it was Ginny-specific, or just the standard teenage boy’s reaction to a teenage girl. Now, just hours before his transformation, Remus was sure. Harry was so full of attraction and frustration where Ginny was concerned it fairly exploded from his pores. Remus suspected pure-hearted, innocent Harry didn’t quite realize the depth of his feelings for the girl – only that he fancied her and she, for some reason, was angry with him. You didn’t need to be a werewolf to see that much – just eyes. When Molly and Bill turned from the counter with breakfast, they almost stopped short to see Ginny in her isolated seat at the end of the table. Molly shifted her eyes from her angry daughter, to her despondent surrogate son and pressed her lips together. Remus had the distinct impression she was trying to keep herself from beaming. She proceeded to serve the breakfast dishes as if nothing was amiss. Bill, in the meantime, had placed himself across from Ginny and was doing his best to tease a smile out of her. When Arthur entered the kitchen moments later, dressed for work, even he quirked an eyebrow at the scene in the kitchen. After exchanging a look with Molly that communicated volumes, he sat down and began eating, telling one of his blithe stories of Muggle ingenuity. This had the added benefit of partially amusing and drawing out Harry, who politely corrected Arthur’s numerous mispronunciations and misconceptions. Remus found himself wondering if he and Beatrice would some day communicate as much as Molly and Arthur did with just a look. Already, he realized, they were finishing each other’s sentences and guessing each other’s thoughts. As the breakfast conversation continued around him, his gaze drifted to the fireplace, where Beatrice had disappeared a short while ago. His mind resurrected a long dormant dream – one he thought had died when he was eighteen – the dream of a life with Beatrice.
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