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Author: Gabriella Du Sult Story: Never Give Up Rating: Mature Setting: Pre-HBP Status: WIP Reviews: 8 Words: 63,528
(AN – Sorry this update took so long. The problem was a combination of writers block and Beta communication problems. I say that without any accusation. Bring and Fly suggested I get a new Beta for the duration of her computer problems and I steadfastly refused. I like her and I dislike change – so it is entirely my fault this update took so long. This is getting really hard, for obvious reasons. Thank you to all readers who are sticking with this despite the canon. As I could have guessed, this chapter got long and unwieldy, so I split it in two – otherwise, I was making my character’s do OOC things to cut it short, which wasn’t fair. Still, it’s close to the end now, I swear {I hope}.) *~*~* After breakfast, Mrs. Weasley stood up and wiped her hands on her apron. "Now then," she said, her tone all business, "I’ll go about setting up the room across from Ginny’s – it’s already cleared of dark objects, so it shouldn’t take long to make it clean and habitable. You three," here she pointed to Harry, Ron and Ginny, "can work on the library. Be careful, don’t open any book you don’t recognize the title of without asking Professor Lupin or me first." "Let’s go," Ron said, standing and beckoning to Harry. "If we get right to it, she might give us a break this afternoon. I doubt it, though – she’s in a right state this morning. Lucky tomorrow’s your birthday." Harry cast a look down the table where Ginny was still steadfastly avoiding his gaze. "Can I help you with the dishes first, Mum?" she asked Mrs. Weasley sweetly. "No, dear, thank you," Mrs. Weasley said. "Professor Lupin and I need to talk to your father and Bill before they go to work. Go along now." Sighing, Ginny rose and walked out of the kitchen stiffly past Harry and Ron. Harry could almost feel the ice off her shoulder as she passed. While they were sorting out the library, Ginny came up behind Harry and tapped him sharply on the shoulder. He turned to her wincing and grabbing the spot where she had poked. "I was right about Beatrice and Remus," she said, her jaw jutting out. "Yes," he readily agreed. "And you will not tease, harass or otherwise laugh at me for anything else I may have said last night." When did I laugh? he wondered. Is that what she thought I smiled about? "Ginny, I never…" "Harry!" Discretion being the better part of valor, he quickly agreed, "No teasing." After that, though she was not back to her normal self, she seemed satisfied enough to stop avoiding and glowering at him so much.
Ron had been right about Mrs. Weasley’s state of mind. They only stopped working for lunch. Although the idea that they might have a break the following day in honour of Harry’s birthday was quickly squelched when Molly said at dinner, "The attic tomorrow morning, I think." Harry knew this was probably an effort to have the three of them as far as possible from the front door when Beatrice moved in tomorrow morning, but knew better than to broach the awkward subject with Mrs. Weasley. Awkward subjects were not to be completely avoided, however, which Harry realized when Remus pulled him aside after dinner. "Harry, I promised Molly that I would talk to you about…what happened…Beatrice and I…" he started to stammer. Then, his face as red as Harry expected his own was, Remus squared his shoulders and plunged on. "Harry, it’s a sometimes unfortunate, often necessary fact that the rules of what is acceptable are different for under-aged wizards and adults." "Yeah," Harry agreed bitterly, thinking of all the underage magic restrictions, but not quite sure how it related to Remus and Beatrice. "Yes, well…erm…while you would be hard pressed to get me to call last night a mistake…it was a tad irresponsible and not anything I would advise for an underage wizard like yourself…" Harry snorted. "Who am I going to go around shagging?" he asked before he could stop himself. Remus just stared at him for a moment as if deciding whether to scold Harry or be embarrassed by his referring to the… activity…as ‘shagging.’ "Well, Harry," Remus said, clearing his throat, "that’s a topic for a different day. Just keep in mind that I have eyes and – at present – quite a keen nose, and I was at breakfast this morning." Without another word, Remus left him on the stairs. Harry felt a rock land in his stomach when he realized that Remus knew how he felt about Ginny. It took him just a moment too long to realize that with his ‘keen nose,’ Remus would also have some insight into Ginny’s feelings. Before he could chase Remus down and ask him, however, Snape arrived with the Wolfsbane Potion. After a quiet discussion with the Potions master, who left with a more sour expression than usual, Remus bolted himself into his room for the night. *~*~* Beatrice watched Number Twelve Grimmauld Place expand before her with an awe that remained undiminished though this was the fourth time she had observed the Fidelius Charm in action. The first time she had been humbly honoured at the level of trust she had been given, to be included in such powerful, protective magic. This time, despite its battered and dark appearance, she had the strangest sense that the house was opening up to her specifically – almost as if it was welcoming her home. It’s a good thing the house is welcoming me, she thought ironically. She wasn’t too sure about certain other members of the household. She had thought that she had connected with Molly Weasley before yesterday morning. They shared the kinship of Gryffindor women, something Beatrice had always put great stock in. They had joked knowingly about Gryffindor men and imparted wisdom about love. Beatrice had thought they might form a friendship – and then she had ruined it all by letting her passion carry her away. Now Molly probably thought her little better than a trollop – and Beatrice had not helped matters with her crass joke in the pantry yesterday morning. Not that any of that really mattered, she reminded herself as she carried her bags to the front door and pulled out her wand to signal her arrival. She would do her best to placate Molly, of course, but ultimately she could not regret letting her passion overrule common sense night before last. If she hadn’t, then she might not be standing here this morning, at the threshold of everything she had ever wanted. Remus Lupin. The door swung open and she stepped into the dark and quiet entry hall. Thankfully, the Weasley who greeted her was the one least likely to make her feel uncomfortable under the circumstances. Bill gave her a welcoming smile and took up her larger bag. "Good morning, Beatrice, how was your shift?" he asked. "Exhausting, though thankfully not as crazy as it could have been," she answered. She was thankful, indeed as her mind had kept drifting to Remus – alternately daydreaming about the night before and worrying over his transformation. She couldn’t keep her eyes from darting up the stairs. "How is... was… last night?" she asked tentatively. Bill was understanding and kind. "Everything went as smoothly and peacefully as possible. Remus is asleep in his room if you want to go check on him. I believe you know where it is?" His last words were delivered so casually, she had to look at him sharply to see the teasing twinkle in his blue eyes. Oh, Merlin, she thought fighting the heat spreading over her face. "Erm…yes," she answered his question, though she supposed it was rhetorical. "Actually, I’d like to go down to the kitchen first, if that’s all right?" "Mum’s down there," Bill warned, stopping her short at the top of the stairs. Beatrice looked back at him, a feeling of dread creeping into her stomach. "Is she…avoiding me?" Bill shrugged. "I suppose. I think the whole thing just surprised her more than anything. Mum doesn’t always do well with sudden changes to the status quo." Beatrice looked down the stairs and heaved a sigh. "Wonderful…well, there’s nothing for it. I need to use the kitchen." Hefting her healer’s satchel, she started to make her descent. "Wait." Bill put a hand on her shoulder. "Is there something I can get for you down there?" Beatrice wondered if he was protecting her or his mother. "Unfortunately, no," she replied. "I need to brew a special tea. It helps with the recovery." He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at her shrewdly. "You learned all the tricks while you were working on Wolfsbane, didn’t you?" So, Remus had told him about that, had he? She squared her shoulders – it wasn’t something to be embarrassed about. "I learned everything I could." He grinned. "I guess you always knew you’d be here someday." She looked around the dark entry hall pointedly. "Not here exactly…and I never knew it as a certainty, I just… hoped." "We should all be able to hold on to such powerful hope these days," Bill said soberly. His grin reappeared quickly. "Listen, don’t worry about Mum. She really liked you before all this, and she’ll like you again. It’s just the suddenness of it all, like I said." "I think she’s also a bit worried I’m a bad example to the underage wizards in the house," Beatrice countered wryly. "I notice they’re nowhere in sight – has she hidden them from me too?" "Oh, they’re about cleaning and the like," Bill answered casually. "Anyway, don’t let Mum give you too hard a time about that aspect," he advised. "If she’s still treating you like a ‘scarlet woman’ in a few days, just ask her when she and Dad got married, and once she’s glowingly remembering her wedding day, casually inquire about my birthday." Beatrice gaped at him. He shrugged. "Despite the fact that I scored top marks in Arithmancy, she still believes I don’t know – so, if you choose to go that route, you may want to do it when I’m at work." Beatrice frowned as she tried to come to terms with this new information about Molly Weasley. "Are you sure you weren’t you know – early?" Bill gave a low chuckle. "See, that’s where she just wasn’t thinking. Mum loves to tell the story of all our births, and mine always starts with, ‘almost all first babies are late, and my Bill was no exception – three weeks late as a matter of fact!’" Beatrice had to smother a laugh at Bill’s impersonation of his mother. "Well," she coughed out, "if you’ve gone this long letting her believe you don’t know, I certainly don’t want to be the one to spoil it." Bill smiled at her. "You’re a good person, Beatrice. Ultimately, that’s all Mum will care about. Let me levitate your bags up for you and I’ll take you down into the kitchen before I go to work." Beatrice felt her face fall. "I’m keeping you from work!" she exclaimed in realization. "Please, don’t hold up any more on my account. Go on, I’ll be very diplomatic with your mum. I’m a big witch, after all, I can take care of myself." Bill hesitated. "Are you sure?" "Yes, go!" Beatrice insisted. "Well, all right," he agreed. "But not before I get your bags upstairs." He waved his wand, floating the bags up the stairway. "Good luck," he called softly over his shoulder as he followed behind them. Beatrice looked down the stairs that led to the kitchen. Good luck, indeed, she thought with a sinking sense of dread as she made her descent. Molly was putting away clean breakfast dishes. She started a little when she turned and saw Beatrice, but controlled herself quickly. "Oh, Beatrice – you’re here. Did you want breakfast?" she asked with a politely formal tone that only amplified the tension between them. If she wants it formal, I can do that, Beatrice thought with an inner shrug. "No, thank you, Molly. I ate at St. Mungo’s before leaving this morning." Molly looked at her and Beatrice dared hope she saw a flash of motherly concern in the older woman’s eyes. She obviously took note of the green healer’s robes Beatrice still wore. "You came straight from work? I expect you’re exhausted. Did Bill show you to your room?" "My…?" Beatrice caught the incredulous question in her throat. She had been assigned a separate room? "I set you up across from Ginny and Hermione," Molly continued in her bustling way. "Tonks sleeps there when she stays over, but that’s not often, and I didn’t think you’d mind sharing." No, she didn’t mind sharing, but she hadn’t expected to be sharing with Tonks. Still, Beatrice was no fool; she could read the subtext loud and clear. So, she smiled and continued to keep it formal. "That sounds lovely, Molly. Thank you for your trouble." "Oh, no trouble. Do you need help settling in? I can take a break here if…" "No," Beatrice interrupted. "Actually, Molly, I don’t usually go to sleep immediately after a night shift. I wanted to…" Beatrice hesitated and cleared her throat before continuing, "To check on Remus first. I just came down here to brew him some tea." There, Beatrice thought, setting her healer’s bag on the counter and getting out a small pouch of ingredients. Bringing him tea was innocent enough, Molly could hardly object to that. "He prefers cocoa with peppermint to tea," Molly said with smug authority. Beatrice snorted, but didn’t turn from her work, which required all her concentration at that moment. "I know," she responded after making sure her measurements were accurate. "So do I, and cocoa has its value – but this is a special, medicinal tea – it will help him recover from last night’s ordeal." She felt the strange sense of being scrutinized as she set the kettle on and continued to focus on properly preparing the concoction. It gave her the same prickling sensation she used to get during her practical examinations as a trainee healer at St. Mungo’s. She tried to shake off the feeling that Molly was grading her. Even if she was, Beatrice wished desperately for a comment, even a negative one, to break the tension. "And what are you up to today, Molly?" she finally asked with a hard brightness that came with strained polite conversation. Anything was better than the awkward silence. "Well, it’s Harry’s birthday today," Molly began. "Oh, I know!" Beatrice burst excitedly, glad to be able to show some honest enthusiasm. "I had to call in all favors owed and promise a few more to get tonight off – but I didn’t want to miss it. I had the most wonderful inspiration when I got to my flat yesterday morning. I sent the owl out before I even ate. The response caught me at work right before I came here – thank Merlin. It’s going to totally gobsmack him…" she broke off, realizing she had interrupted Molly in her excitement. Molly stared at her for a moment as if making sure she was finished with her outburst. "We’re having a family dinner. I’m making all of Harry’s favorites." She wiped her hands on her apron and turned away. "That’s so wonderful, Molly, really." Beatrice tried to put all the earnestness she felt into her voice. "I hope I’m not disturbing your plans too much. I’ll be out of your way shortly. In the mean time, please let me know what I can do to help you." But Molly said nothing to her and Beatrice finished her work in uninterrupted silence. She poured the steaming concoction into a mug, got her bag together and turned to Molly with another hard forced smile. "All finished. I’ll just take this up to Remus and get out of your hair. Thank you again, Molly – for everything you’re doing, especially for Harry and Remus." To her surprise, the Weasley matriarch sighed and her shoulders dropped into a defeated posture. "He really is yours to care for, isn’t he?" she asked. Too bloody right, he’s mine, she thought, but she tamped down on her possessive reaction. "Molly, what do you mean?" But Molly had sunk into a chair at the table and started dazedly babbling. "I really thought I could help him this summer. Having to come back to this awful place of all places – but he had to escape that awful place. I wanted to be here for him – to comfort him when he’s ready…" Beatrice began to realize that they were thinking of two different ‘hims.’ She crouched down, adjusting her robes so that she could rest on her haunches before the other woman. "Molly," Beatrice said, bringing Molly’s focus on her. "Are you talking about Harry?" Molly looked down at her miserably. "He’ll be turning to you for comfort now." Beatrice almost laughed at the ludicrousness of it. Was that what was really bothering the woman? "Molly, you can’t believe that," she said placatingly. But the woman was on a roll. "It’s true!" she wailed. "He only really talks to Remus and now that you’re here – already he’s smiled more since you’ve been around." "Molly, that could be timing as much as anything else. Anyway, if my being around does make Harry happier, I can only be glad of that. I know you’re not saying you don’t want him smiling more?" That inflamed her. Molly looked up sharply. "Of course not!" she cried defensively. "Of course not," Beatrice repeated in a soothing reasonable tone, shifting into the chair nearest Molly’s. "I won’t lie to you. If I thought he needed it or wanted it – I would take that role in Harry’s life in a heartbeat. The thing is – he doesn’t need or want any other mother in his life but you." Molly dashed at a tear on her cheek. "You think so?" Beatrice smiled encouragingly. "Of course I do. He sees you and your family as his – that much is clear even to someone like me who doesn’t know him well yet. If I’m anything to him at this point, it’s a novelty and nothing more." Molly cheered up enough to be more generous. "I’m sure there’s more than that – he’s such a dear boy." Beatrice smiled. The improved air between them emboldened her to discuss the more pressing issue for her. "I hope so, I hope to become closer to Harry in time. He’s obviously very important to Remus and I’m a part of Remus’s life now." She rushed on when she saw Molly’s expression darken. "Molly, I want you to know about the other night… I don’t usually… I mean I have never before… I mean…" Beatrice sighed. "I just love Remus very much." Molly’s expression managed to look both soft and stern – years of practice as a mother, Beatrice supposed. "Of course you love him," she said understandingly. "But, Beatrice – with the children – I must insist…" "I know," Beatrice stopped her. "I don’t mean to dispute that at all. I’m not here to… well, to continue as we began so to speak. It’s more than that for me…for us." Molly continued to study her for a moment, then said softly, "Your tea’s getting cold." Beatrice stood and moved back to the counter. She muttered a charm to stabilize the temperature of the mug and gathered her things once more. "It’s just about healing this morning, you know," she assured Molly. The older woman just cocked an eyebrow at her with knowing skepticism. Beatrice sighed. "I’ll just leave the door open, then, shall I?" Molly nodded curtly. "I’m glad we understand each other." I hope we understand each other, Beatrice thought, retreating before her mouth got her into trouble. She was relieved to finally be making her way up the stairs to Remus’s room. It’s the first time you’ve gone up these stairs on your own two feet, a wicked thought came to her. She allowed herself a moment to recall the thrilling feeling of being carried up the stairs. Like a bride, she thought wistfully, but tamped down on the thought firmly. Nothing like that out loud, Bennet, she told herself. Let Remus take the lead in that. You know he wants to. So often he doesn’t, even when he wants to, she countered herself. Well then, at least give him a day to recover, she reasoned practically. That made sense, she decided. She shifted her burden so she could open the door, stepping inside Remus’s room and leaving the door ajar behind her in deference to Molly.
Remus was sleeping. He looked peaceful and his face at least bore no fresh mark. The greasy git’s Wolfsbane Potion appeared to have worked well enough. She quietly set her things on the desk and turned towards the bed, determined to enjoy just looking at him for a moment. His nostrils flared and a smile crossed his lips. "I smell vanilla," he croaked out hoarsely before opening his eyes and allowing her to see the smile reached their golden-brown depths. She smiled back. "Don’t expect to get your way so easily all the time," she warned teasingly. His grin broadened. "I don’t ever expect to get my way." The irony of his statement suddenly sobered them both. "How do you feel?" she asked gently. He shifted himself into a sitting position, wincing as he did so. "I feel like all my bones and muscles have turned themselves inside out twice in the past twelve hours." She managed an amused snort at his crack. "That sounds about right. And there was no…collateral damage?" He grunted. "Did I scratch or bite myself, do you mean? No, everything worked as it was supposed to. I told you – Snape’s good at his work." Yes, well – you’ll see next month he’s got nothing on me," she boasted. "Of that, I have no doubt," he assured her, the hoarse timbre of his voice resonated through her nerve endings. "Good," she said with an arch smile, "now strip to the waist." Even from where she stood near the desk, she could see the pulse jump in his throat. "Beatrice, I’m really in no condition… not to mention the fact that I more or less promised Molly we wouldn’t…" "I know," Beatrice cut in, forcing herself not to laugh at his apologetic and regretful tone. "I spoke with Molly in the kitchen just now. I’m not going to ravage you – this time – I’m going to heal you. Now strip down." Her militant tone, something she had learned to use with unruly patients, had the desired effect. He started unbuttoning his pajama top, though he still protested as he did so. "There’s nothing to heal, Beatrice. I told you there was no…how did you term it? Collateral damage." She let her eyes sweep over his bare chest. No fresh wounds no, but there were plenty of old scars that made her heart ache. In the mean time, the angle of his shoulders and the way his chest tapered to his abdomen…. Well, that made other parts of her ache. She turned to her healer’s bag, keeping her hands busy rummaging through it while she tried to push down the heat rising in her face. "It’s not that kind of healing," she explained, keeping her back to him. "This is for those aching bones and muscles. I’m going to give you a massage." She extracted the jar of lotion and, taking a deep breath for extra control, turned back to face him. He was grinning at her, the same knowing grin he used to flash her when he would look up and catch her gazing at him when they were supposed to be revising in the library. Now, she didn’t even pretend to look away or fight the blush that headed her cheeks. There was no point in trying to hide the outward signs of her attraction, she realized, when his nose was telling him everything he needed to know. "A massage?" he asked quirking a teasing eyebrow at her. "Are you sure that’s wise?" She rolled her eyes at him, secretly glad to see this side of him so soon after a transformation. "I think I can handle it – anyway, like you said, you’re in no condition…" She could see a defiant flash in his eyes. "I might be in some condition," he protested. She grinned. The male ego was a beautiful thing in the proper circumstances. She couldn’t let him over exert, though. "There’s still Molly," she reminded him. He sighed and grimaced. "Yes…Molly." His frustration mirrored her feelings. They both respected Molly – but there was a certain eagerness to get on with their lives. Not just the sex, though that certainly had a large place in their minds at present. They just wanted to be together uninhibited for the first time. She walked over to the bed and sat on it, placing a hand on his forearm. He looked up at her, curiously hopeful. "Guess who moved in today?" she asked, gently reminding him that they were at least under the same roof. His mouth quirked back into a grin. "Who?" he asked, playing along. "Me," she answered running her hand up his arm to his shoulder. "You," he sighed and closed his eyes in a relieved way. She playfully walked the fingers of her other hand up his chest. "It will be just like Hogwarts, Remus," she mused. "I tend to you in your room after the full moon, knowingly this time. You scrupulously avoid my room, without the help of a magical staircase this time. Then later we can find something in this house resembling a Common room or library where we can revise and snog a bit." He opened his eyes and raised a brow at her. "Seeing as we’re long out of school, we have no revisions," he stated practically. "Oh," she said, smiling indulgently and leaning towards him. "I guess we’ll just be snogging then." It was the first kiss she had initiated between them since she was sixteen and his reaction made it all the sweeter. He deepened the kiss almost hungrily, reaching out and pulling her to him. Her hand flattened between them on his chest and she could feel the tension in his muscles there and on his shoulder. She knew that the effort it took to embrace her must be at least a little painful this morning, but she didn’t stop him. She would take care of all that with the massage in a minute. For now there were other ways to heal this man, her man. He finally released her, his arms dropping to his sides limply, as if sapped of all their strength. His face contorted with the effort not to grimace in pain. When he saw her watching his exertions, he did grimace apologetically. "I guess I truly am in no condition," he said with a resigned sigh. Beatrice retrieved the lotion jar and quickly returned to him. "I don’t know about that," she countered, licking her lips pointedly. "That felt perfectly conditioned. Now take a deep breath and roll over on your stomach." He frowned and asked, "Why a deep breath?" She shrugged and held up her jar. "I thought I’d let you enjoy one last whiff of vanilla before I unleash this aroma on your senses." He wrinkled his nose. "Is it that bad?" "It’s not what I would call unpleasant," she replied assuringly, "but it is quite strong. I’ve found the reaction differs for everybody." He narrowed his eyes and drew his mouth into a thin line. "You mean all the other werewolves you’ve massaged?" Did she find his male ego amusing and adorable before? That sort of thing got old very fast. "Yes, Remus. I have massaged many werewolves, and other patients: Men, women, young and old. I’ve become quite good at it – now roll over and reap the benefits." He was apparently smart enough to obey here without further argument or pouting. He mumbled a petulant, "sorry," and rolled onto his stomach, folding his arms under his head. Beatrice found she like his bare back nearly as well as his bare front. She sat back down on the edge of the bed and traced a finger between his shoulder blades, enjoying the jolt of pleasure even the simplest contact with him could give her. He rose up on his elbows, grunting a bit from the effort, and looked over his shoulder at her. His contrite smile and gleaming golden eyes told her that he sensed her physical reaction to him and it had soothed his ridiculous jealousy. "I am sorry," he said more sincerely. "Just relax and enjoy," she said with a smile, opening her jar and extracting a dollop of lotion. He gasped and coughed when the aroma hit the air. "What did you say was in that stuff?" "I didn’t – but it’s nothing revolutionary," she answered, warming the lotion between her hands. "Just standard tension relievers and deep muscle healers like chamomile, lavender, rosemary and eucalyptus. Plus, there’s peppermint oil, I know you like that smell." She pressed her hands into his shoulders, forcing him to lower his head back into the pillows as she began her work. He turned his head to the side. "Peppermint is fine when I want to drown out the other smells – but not when I want to…" he broke off when she hit a particularly knotty area under his left scapula. "When you want to smell me?" she asked knowingly as she worked out the stubborn knots with her thumb. He nodded, his eyes shut tightly and his jaw clenching as she applied more pressure. "Relax, Remus," she soothed. "You have to give the herbs and oils a chance to work." He exhaled loudly, making her think he had been holding his breath. She continued her work, making sure to get ample lotion seeping into his skin. After several minutes he gave a grunt of contentment. "What did you say was in this stuff?" he asked wonderingly. She smiled knowingly as she started concentrating on one of his arms. "You’re starting to feel it, aren’t you?" "I’m…tingling," he answered, in an awed tone. She got a familiar feeling of accomplishment that often occurred for her as a healer when the treatment of a patient worked. There was an extra surge of satisfaction that it was Remus she was healing. "Are you sure that’s not just me?" she asked archly, moving back to center and pressing the heels of her hands into the small of his back. He chuckled, lifting his head and turning it so that he could look her in the eye. "I’m quite certain it is you," he answered. She could get used to seeing that gleam in his eyes, she thought. "I’m afraid I can’t take all the credit," she admitted. "One of the best Apothecaries at St. Mungo’s mixes this. I’m not surprised if you haven’t discovered it before now." He lowered his head as she ran her hands back up to his shoulder and started working on his other arm. "I’m not sure who would have administered it." "I think you would have found a volunteer or two if you’d bothered looking," she speculated. "Why would I bother doing that?" he asked with what she deemed the proper blend of teasing and honest bemusement. "Who knows," she answered teasingly. "I…" she stopped suddenly finding herself doing battle with the urge to yawn. "Beatrice?" Remus turned to look at her just as she lost her struggle. "Merlin, Beatrice! I’ve been a selfish prat, letting you do all this when you’ve been up all night working." "I’m fine," she argued, successfully swallowing another yawn. "I never sleep right after a night shift. I’m not tired…" Another yawn snuck up on her to contradict her own argument. Remus sat up and reached for his pajama top. Beatrice noticed, with a hint of pride, there was much less grimacing in pain when he did so. "No, you’re not tired – you’re exhausted to the point of delirium." "Don’t exaggerate," she chastised him, ineffectively since she punctuated it with another yawn. "And stop getting dressed, I’m not finished with you yet!" The unintended double entendre of her words was not lost on either of them. She bit her lip in embarrassment and he paused in the action of buttoning his pajamas to raise his eyebrows at her. "I’m afraid you are quite finished for the moment," he countered. "In fact, you’re all done in. Beatrice, I must insist that you get some rest." She sighed in resignation. He was in no mood to be argued with and she was feeling suddenly tired. Still, she knew how to get the last word in. "All right, I’ll go get some rest," she agreed, "but not before I see you drink your tea." "My tea?" he repeated bemusedly. "Yes," she affirmed, standing and retrieving the cup from the desk. It was still steaming under her warming charm. "It’s willow bark tea, it will help ease the residual muscle pain." She handed him the cup, which he raised to his nose to sniff delicately. "Willow bark?" he asked skeptically. She rolled her eyes. "Come on, Remus, even Muggles know about willow bark tea – although they leech most of the magic out when they prepare it. Now drink up – I’m not going to rest until I’ve seen you have the full dose." He took a first cautious sip. She wasn’t sure if he was more worried about taste or temperature, but she had taken special care to ensure both were perfect. Willow bark was not rendered ineffective by sugar as was Wolfsbane. When he was sure he wouldn’t gag or scald himself, he polished off the drink in several swift gulps. She gave him an approving smile and nod, and collected his mug from him. She put that on the desk and then closed the lotion jar up and returned it to her bag. "Beatrice," he said behind her, his voice hoarse and thick. She turned to him expectantly. "Are you sure that was just willow bark tea?" he asked, looking at her from under heavy lids. "I may have added some sleeping draught as well," she admitted unrepentantly. "Beatrice!" he protested, though weakly under the influence of the draught. "Not fair." "Sleep is the fastest way to recover, Remus," she explained professionally. "I slept as…the wolf," he protested, struggling to keep his eyes open and his speech coherent. Not that it would matter in the end – she did good work if she said so herself. "You need…sleep." "I will, I promise," she assured. "Once I’ve made sure you’ve settled." She gently pushed his shoulder so that he was lying down again and allowed herself the indulgence of running her fingers through his hair. Despite the ample gray, it still retained a silky texture. He closed his eyes under her ministrations – she knew he wouldn’t have the strength to open them again. "Not…over," he sighed out as he succumbed to the power of her draught. "I know darling," she said, planting a kiss on his brow. "I look forward to being chastised later today." Straightening, she looked around the room, eyeing the door she had left open for the sake of Molly’s propriety. She looked back at Remus sleeping. Beatrice loved Remus’s open eyes – their color, the way they looked at her, how they actually paled to a more golden color when he felt passionate instead of darkening. Still, there was something to be said for watching him sleep – especially with his hair looking a bit tousled from her fingers. She reached down to run her fingers through it again. He made a humming noise of contentment and smiled slightly. She sighed and looked back at the open door. She didn’t have to go right to her new room, she reasoned. As long as she left the door ajar and remained dressed, there was no harm in just watching him sleep – just for a few moments. *~*~* The contentment was back. When Remus opened his eyes, it was clear why. Beatrice’s head lay on the pillow next to his. It wasn’t quite like before, of course. A quick glance around the room showed that the door was ajar and Beatrice remained fully dressed, complete witih St. Mungo’s awful green robes, and lying on top of the bedclothes. In fact, the only physical contact between them was Beatrice’s hand resting lightly on his shoulder. He couldn’t decide if the gesture was soothing or possessive on her part, but found he liked both ideas equally well. The hand in question still had a lingering scent of the lotion she had used to massage him. Thankfully, that had largely dissipated and underneath it he could still detect traces of vanilla blended with her natural essence and – he allowed a surge of smug satisfaction – himself. He could smell himself on her after more than a day – after she had bathed and worked and covered herself in other manufactured scents. His mark could not be so easily erased – it would not be erased now – they would never be apart that long again. He looked around his depressingly austere room again. Not that he had much to offer her. "This isn’t even a proper home." "Mmm?" The hand on his shoulder shifted and he looked back to see Beatrice’s eyes flutter open. "Did you say something?" she asked groggily. Had he spoken out loud? "No, nothing," he said, turning away lest she see any lingering doubts in his expression. Her hand left his shoulder and caressed his cheek, gently turning his face back towards her. "Don’t hide from me," she said, her voice strengthening. "What did you say?" He sighed. "I only said this isn’t a proper home," he admitted. She lifted herself up on her elbow and looked around as he had done. "It’s not exactly decorated in my style, I’ll admit. Not to mention the house has a certain oppressive aura from years of …well… not right minded people living here, shall we say?" He only snorted in response. That was an understatement. "Anyway, good people are living here now," she went on. "And Merlin willing, we won’t be living here forever." Beatrice, I’ll never be able to give you a proper home," he said ruefully. She pushed herself up to a sitting position and he followed suit as she asked, "Is that what you’re looking all broody about? You know I have a job, right?" "I…" he stammered. He knew there was no way he could explain how he felt without raising her ire. "I want to take care of you," he managed lamely. "And you think paying for where we live is how you’re going to do that?" she asked. "Remus, I don’t need you to do for me what I can do for myself. I need you for the things I can’t do." She quirked a sly eyebrow at him. "Or do only rarely," she finished archly. He felt a heat rise in his face. "Beatrice!" he hissed looking meaningfully at his open bedroom door. She pressed her hands to her cheeks. "Oh, what in the world is wrong with me?" she asked with an apologetic grin. "I can’t seem to keep such thoughts to myself with you." And, if he was honest, he liked that he brought that out in her. He cast a cautious glance to his door again and then reached out to pull her close. "I will be more than happy to take care of you in whatever way you need me to," he murmured in her ear. "Good," she chuckled and kissed his jaw. "And you won’t get all stodgy and old fashioned about the money thing?" "I’ll…try," he answered hesitantly. He wasn’t sure he could so easily alter his stodgy and old-fashioned views. "Good," she repeated. "You know, Remus, I’m not rolling in Galleons or anything, but I can keep us comfortable while you try to find something steady – and it can be for pittance as long as it’s steady." Steady would be a miracle considering the current Ministry restrictions, he thought. She shifted next to him and took his face between her hands. "And you know, don’t you, that if you found a good teaching job in the far reaches of Tibet, where they knew all about your lycanthropy and didn’t care one jot – I’d drop everything at St. Mungo’s and go there with you." She took his breath away, but he recovered it quickly. "Well then, I guess I had better marry you." She let her hands slide down to his shoulders and smiled at him in a self –satisfied way. "I guess you had better." His eyebrows shot up. "No complaint about the shoddy proposal?" Her smile broadened. "I’m just impressed to get one out of you at all so soon." He grinned sheepishly. "I would have probably waited and tried to plan something more traditional and romantic…" "That was romantic," she countered, but then she pouted playfully. "Although, you’ve proposed, I’ve accepted…isn’t there some sort of traditional romantic gesture to be made?" He smiled and lowered his mouth to hers, wrapping his arms about her tightly. Somewhere in the middle of the embrace, he realized that he felt no residual pain in his arms. When they finally broke he looked down at her questioningly. "What was in that tea?" he asked. "I told you," she answered. "Only a little willow bark and sleeping draught – combined with the herbs and oils from the massage. Really it’s the sleep that does it – gives everything a chance to just… work." "Ah yes – the sleeping draught – I believe I owe you a lecture about that." He remembered. "Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed, jumping gout of his embrace and off the bed suddenly. "I forgot! I was going to just make sure you were sleeping peacefully and then go down to my own room. I must have drifted off!" She buried her face in her hands. "What’s Molly going to think?" "She’s going to think you were exhausted," he answered in annoyance, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He groaned a little at the action. "Are you all right?" she asked, hurrying around to his side of the bed. He looked up at her and reluctantly admitted, "the legs are still a little stiff." "I’m sorry about that," she responded, "but I didn’t think it would be a good idea to massage them this time around." "Good point," he grunted out his agreement as he forced himself to stand. He looked over and noticed her fists clenched at her side. "Thank you." "For what?" she asked, surprised. "For not helping," he answered, stepping toward her and embracing her again. She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Well…next time I’ll do the legs too," she promised. He kissed her forehead. "Then we had better be married by then." He felt her heartbeat increase against his chest and she tilted her head back to look him in the eye. "Really?" she asked excitedly. He chuckled. "No objection to the short planning time?" She made a dismissive gesture. "That only matters if we want a big extravagant wedding," she explained. "I just want to be married." "Still, less than a month…" "Two weeks," she interrupted tersely. His own heartbeat increased rapidly. "Two…?" She pressed against him and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. "It will give us a couple weeks to enjoy wedded bliss before…" "I see," he interrupted. "Some of ‘the better’ before the ‘or worse.’" "None of that," she admonished, kissing his jaw, which he had inadvertently clenched. "Think of it as getting me moved into this room as soon as decently possible." "When you put it that way," he said, tilting his head back as she nuzzled his neck. "Perhaps tonight…" She laughed. "I do need some time to arrange things. I think two weeks is quite soon enough. Besides, tonight’s Harry’s birthday." "Ah yes, Harry’s birthday." He cracked a smile. "If we get married in two weeks, Harry will be there." "Standing up with you," she agreed, smiling back. "Yes, that will be fitting." "Only," he said furrowing his brow in thought, "let’s not say anything today. Let him be the center of attention for a positive, normal reason today. He’s never had a proper birthday party. Not since he was one…" He recalled that party suddenly quite vividly: James was proud and boastful that Harry was walking already and would be on a broom before long. Lily playfully zapping Sirius with her wand when he reached for the food, even Peter was there laughing – don’t think about that – and Harry, covered from chin to brow in icing. "You’ll have to tell me about it someday." Beatrice brought him out of his reverie. "I…" He paused as he realized their somedays had started. "I’ll tell you about it now. Just bring your things down to your room while I get dressed and I’ll meet you in the sitting room." She grinned. "Is the sitting room like a common room?" she asked archly. He kissed her forehead. "Under the right circumstances, it could be." "In that case, get dressed quickly," she said with a flirtatious smile. Then, she grabbed her bag and left, closing the door behind her.
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