Werewolves of London
11th July 1978
Remus Lupin had always lived below. Below average. Below the poverty line. Below the bar he could never quite reach to be worthy of his father’s respect. Below the floor, caged in the cellars of a string of shitty homes in shitty villages because juvenile werewolves tend to wreak havoc on the neighborhood property values if they aren’t locked up tight.
Below the canopies of beech leaves when he would up high to settle on his favorite branches with a book in his hand as he pretended he wasn’t watching the other children of the village play in the field beyond the trees.
When you grow up below, it tends to rewire one’s brain and put a dampener on their perspective. Remus held no expectations for his future, aside from merely surviving from one day to the next – a goal that, if he were honest with himself, he only maintained because he had something now that he’d never had before.
He had a space that was only his. He had James and Sirius and Lily and Peter. He had his books and his records, and a few good jumpers – and Remus happened to love a good jumper. He had a little jar on his desk filled with a bit of muggle money he’d saved working as a security guard in a nearby disco club for a few weeks until they’d let him go for being sick too often. He had another job in a vinyl shop lined up to start the following week, which he wouldn't last long at either, but it would bring in a bit more money to throw in the jar.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough. For a man who was half beast, half awkwardness, stitched together with a pack of cigarettes and a stack of journals, it was more than he had ever hoped to achieve, so it was enough.
Lily likened him to a phoenix, for how the creatures tended to burst into flames, only to be reborn from the ashes. And sure, there was something to be said about how accurate her analysis was, given the way his entire body was torn to shreds and reformed into a monstrous beast every few weeks only to wake up human once more, as was typical with the curse of lycanthropy.
But that wasn’t what she meant. The reality was that Remus had always been the one who held the matches, setting himself on fire repeatedly only to rise again and again. He self-sabotaged as if he were trying to win a race, but since that damned day when Sirius and James barreled into his train compartment at eleven years old, they had always pulled him back.
Lily loved a good metaphor, but in truth, she was the Phoenix, the human embodiment of fire and healing, all book smarts and sass and take-charge attitude. She was the kind of person who made you want to be better, just to be worthy of taking up space in their life. From the moment in their first year, when she’d plopped herself down in the seat across from him in the library right after the Easter holiday and started peppering him with questions about being a werewolf – having, of course, figured out his secret thanks to her uncanny ability to read people like a book – she become important to him in a way he couldn’t explain.
He loved his other friends, of course, but Lily Evans felt like blood, in a way he had never experienced with anyone else. She was like having a second mother and an annoying little sister all rolled into one, far more family than friend. A fact that had become yet another universally accepted truth within their little ragtag group.
Which was exactly why he was currently here, in the sitting room of the cottage James and Lily had been fixing up through the summer as he watched James cast a silencing charm and pace nervously while Lily, ever the mother hen, busied herself in the kitchen preparing a pot of stew for him to take home.
“I’m not helping to replace this flooring again when you wear a hole in it, Prongs.” Remus said with an amused smile on his face.
“Right. Right.” James nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets and stilling his movements for a brief interval before he began pacing again.
“Right. I should just… out with it then, yeah?”
“Well, that would be preferable, though with the way you’re acting I’m a little concerned you’re about to tell me something horrible.” Remus responded.
“No, no its…its good. I think. It has to be good, right?” James muttered, before he finally sighed and dropped his shoulders, then took a seat at the other end of the sofa.
James reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, burgundy velvet box, then opened it and placed it on the cushion between the two of them wordlessly as he stared across the room at the empty fireplace.
“You can’t tell anyone else. Not even Sirius or Pete. She’ll kill me if anyone knows before her, and they’d never keep their mouths shut anyway.”
“Well, shit.” Remus laughed as he picked up the box and examined the ring inside. It was perfect. A round ruby sat in the center, encircled by a ring of smaller diamonds, perched atop a simple gold band.
“She’s going to love it.”
“You think?” James asked excitedly, turning to look at him. “I know we’re young. It’s just… when you know, you know… you know?”
Remus absolutely did not know, but he nodded anyway. It wasn’t that he was averse to the idea of romanticism in theory. It was just that, given certain aspects of his nature, he’d chosen to spend his school years focusing on academics instead of girls. No sense in wasting time on something that would prove to be pointless in the end, as it were.
“You are young.” He said with a nod. “But you’re James and Lily. You two are already an old married couple. Might as well make it official.”
James laughed and slung his arm over the back of the sofa as he reached the other hand down to put the ring back in the pocket.
“Traditionally speaking, I’d ask her father for her hand, but she doesn’t talk to her family any longer. While we all know that is for the best, I still want to do right by her. So, in lieu of blood family, I’m asking you.” He said with a grin as he shifted in his seat to face Remus fully.
“Remus.” He continued in a serious tone. “Can I have your blessing to make Lily my wife?”
He blinked at James and, shocking himself, realized he was a bit misty eyed.
“Moody, are you crying?” James laughed.
“No. I got… dust in my eye. Shut up. Of course you have my blessing.”
“I’m going to marry Lily.”
“You’re going to marry Lily.”
“Well shit. Now I’ve got dust in my eye.” James laughed, launching himself across the sofa and pulling him in for a hug. “We’re hugging now, do not resist.”
Remus groaned but complied and brought a hand up to pat James on the back awkwardly.
“Woah.” Lily’s voice rang out. He looked up – James still glued to him – and caught Lily’s eye as she stood in the doorway holding a small cauldron by the handle.
“James, let him go, you’re going to scare him.” She laughed as she watched them with a bemused smile.
“Never.” James argued, squeezing him tighter.
“Okay, thirty seconds is my limit.” Remus grumbled, peeling his arm off of him as he moved to stand.
“What happened in the five minutes I was in the kitchen that led to Moony being hugged?” Lily asked. “James, you know you have to proceed with caution, you’ll scare him away.”
“Hey! I’m not that bad. I’m just not as touchy as the rest of you lot.”
“That’s okay. We’ll convert you someday.” James said as he settled back on the sofa. “Hey, speaking of converting you…”
“James, I already told you no. Here, Remus. Be sure to remove the stasis charm when you get home before you put it in the cooling cabinet.” She said as she passed the cauldron to him.
“Thanks, Lils. Told him no about what?”
“Divinia Greatling is in my round of auror training.”
“And?” Remus asked, though he already knew where this was going. Divinia was a nice girl, a Hufflepuff that had been at school with them, and she’d been far too obvious in her attempts to flirt with him when he’d tutored her in ancient runes his sixth year.
“Annnddd,” James continued, “She was asking about you.”
“And.” Lily added, “I reminded James that you don’t date, but he’s being relentless.”
Remus sighed and brought his free hand up to rub the back of his neck. James, ever the romantic, just wanted everyone to be as happy as he was, and honestly, Remus couldn’t fault him for that, though he loathed to be on the receiving end of James’ attempts to play matchmaker.
“I’ll pass, James.” He told him, trying to keep his tone light.
“Fine. I’ll let it go. This time.” James sighed. “We just want you happy, Moony. You can’t let your furry little problem make you a spinster. You’d never pull off one of those Victorian looking nightdresses old shut-in women wear, anyway. Your legs are too long.”
“I’m good, Prongs.” Remus laughed, then looked down at his legs. “And I could pull off anything, thank you very much.”
He turned to Lily and leaned in, giving her a quick side hug and then immediately stepping back again.
“Thanks for the stew, Lils. And for letting me scream in your cellar again.”
“Tell Sirius to visit soon or the next cauldron will have a balding potion.” She responded with a grin.
Remus stood outside the front door to the flat he shared with Sirius, balancing the cauldron of soup in one hand as he dug his keys out of his trouser pocket. He found keys to be rather pedestrian, but, given the fact that they had to be cautious with their use of magic in a muggle block of flats, it was a necessary evil. He lifted his hand and slid the key into the lock but stopped short of turning it when a smell invaded his senses.
Nadolig.
Christmas.
Like the cocoa his Mam would bring him in his favorite mug, complete with a candy cane to stir – only when Dad was way, of course. Chocolate. Sugar. Peppermint. The scent was so heady he felt as if he were drowning in it.
He leaned forward and rested his head against the door for a brief moment, then shook his head, blinking rapidly as he turned the key. He always felt as if he were starving in the few days before and after the full moon, and clearly, whatever Sirius’ notorious sweet tooth had inspired him to pick up from the shops was just hitting him hard.
He felt ravenous.
Turning the key, he called out for Sirius as he pushed the door open and stepped into the little foyer of their apartment.
“Sitting room, Moony!” Sirius responded. Remus, distracted as he tried to shove his keys back into his pocket with an inexplicably shaky hand, looked down at the cauldron he held in his right to focus on not spilling it as he reached the end of the foyer and immediately veered left in to the kitchen.
Shit. Lily was right, as always. He really should have had a bite to eat before he apparated back to Fulham.
“Lily sent some of that beef stew you like so much.” He called out as he waved his wand over the cauldron and canceled the stasis charm, rolling his eyes as the light over the sink flickered slightly. Really, someone ought to have figured out how one could cast a simple spell without making the electricity go all wonky by now.
“Ah, my dream girl. James is lucky he already got a promise ring on her finger. Though if she keeps feeding me, I might try to steal her away, anyway.” Sirius laughed out.
Remus sighed and rolled his eyes. Sirius’ flirty banter was one of the few things that could rival that sweet tooth, and he tried to take it stride but the longer time went on, spent listening to his best friend make comments about women, the more frequently he found himself wanting to grab him by the shoulders and scream that he should stop lying to himself.
He looked back down and picked up the cauldron, drawing in a deep breath – a poor fucking choice, really, because that damned smell was still driving him crazy, so thick that he could taste it on his tongue – and turned toward the refrigerator.
“James may not have a mind left to fight you if fixing up that godsdamned cottage keeps giving him so much trouble.” He responded as he placed the cauldron in fridge and quickly scanned the shelves, finding only a couple bottles of Guinness and the few odds and ends that had been there before he left. He closed the door with a sigh, then turned to exit the kitchen. He needed a fucking cigarette, if only to stop these blasted shakes.
“What’s that smell?” He called out to as he stepped through the threshold into the room that doubled as their dining and sitting areas.
“Did you pop over to the sweet shop or - ” He began, but the words died on his tongue when he caught sight of the woman sitting on the sofa next to Sirius.
He let his eyes trail from her wild, chocolate brown hair, past her thin brows and almond eyes, across the light smattering of freckles that spread from the bridge of the button nose that turned up just a bit at the end, all the way to her full lips, which were parted just slightly, as if in surprise.
She was new. Why was there somebody new?
He flicked his eyes back up to hers and then –
Then
It happened.
What it was, he hadn’t the slightest clue, but a million sensations hit him at once. The world seemed to shift beneath his feet, and he felt an eerie sense of realization sinking in, as if every cell in his body had been out of place and he’d never noticed until it all snapped back together the second his eyes met her deep, chocolate orbs.
Chocolate. Sugar. Peppermint.
It was her. He could taste the way she smelled on his tongue, her scent so thick it was practically suffocating. A sudden, overwhelming urge to close the distance and latch on to her hit him like a freight train, and he was frozen, lost in her eyes as a strange heat began to surge up his spine, leaving his heart hammering in his chest.
It was unbearable.
There was something about her that made him feel… hungry, but not in the way he was used to. It wasn’t born of a need for food, or even sex, thought that would have been easier to understand and explain away. This was different. It was gnawing away at his insides, fierce and wild, and he wanted to scream.
He couldn’t look away from her, couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t supposed to look away from her, and she was staring back at him, their eyes locked in a standoff, a slight glint in hers that made him think – know – that she felt it too.
In a desperate attempt to shake himself of this stupor he’d slipped into, he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, drinking in the scent of her as if he were dying of thirst and duw, he was still so bloody aware of her even with his eyes closed. His hands twitched as he sides as he tensed every muscle in his body in an attempt to stay rooted in place despite the overwhelming urge to just fucking… go to her. It was like trying to fight the tide with his bare hands, his resolve dying before it ever even took hold.
It was her. Her fault. Whatever this was, whoever she was, she was the source of everything. The smell, the unbearable feeling in his chest as if some essential part of him was trying to claw its way out to reach her.
He opened his eyes, immediately finding hers again, and he was hit with an all-encompassing, intrinsic need to just fucking get her. He stumbled back and reached out to steady himself against the doorframe, gripping the wood so tightly that his knuckles ached, but he simply could not trust himself to let go.
His eyes burned, and he tore them away from hers, his gaze catching on the spot here the neckline of her jumper had shifted slightly to the right, the delicate juncture between her neck and shoulder in full view. And then, as if both his mind and body were conspiring against him, a sharp, painful throb shot through his teeth.
He froze.
For a split second, the whole world went still.
His teeth...hurt.
It wasn’t a pang of hunger or even just a physical ache – though they did, physically, ache, and he, physically ached, he was almost positive his cock had never been this hard in his life and could only thank the gods that he’d thrown on a jumper two sizes too big this morning so that it hung low enough over his trousers to conceal what was going on down there.
But no. It wasn’t just physical hunger. It wasn’t just lust.
It was more visceral than that. His mouth watered, and his chest clenched, the urge to move closer to her reaching a fever pitch. He needed to touch her, to bury his face in the crook of her neck, to inhale her scent deeper.
He furrowed his brow and darted his eyes back up to her face as he tried to push it all down, but the ache refused to be ignored. Something was clawing its way to the surface, something wild and feral and animalistic, and he couldn’t seem to get a grip on it at all.
Almost instinctively, his gaze shifted back to her neck, and his breath caught in his throat.
He wanted to bite her.
To cradle her head with one hand and wrap the other around her waist and sink his teeth down, right fucking there, to taste her blood on his tongue and sink inside of her and –
Gods, no. He couldn’t do that, he wasn’t ...that.
He had never felt this kind of desire—this deep, feral longing— and it disgusted him. He hated it. He hated himself for even thinking it. He wanted to vomit, if only to seek a break from the way her fucking neck seemed to beckon him forward. She was like a siren, and he, a sailor lost at sea, desperate for a reprieve.
He tried to force the thoughts away, but it didn’t help. The ache in his teeth only grew, the hunger more insistent. He was a fucking monster, and that monster was pushing through, demanding a reaction, begging something of him that he refused to do, and he could feel his resolve slipping with every breath he took, every time he breathed her in, his control was hanging by a thread and the very thought of it sent bile to his throat.
He was a monster, and he shouldn’t feel like this, could not want her like this. He was disgusting, diseased, a fucking animal, and the animal wanted to devour her. The need to get closer to her was suffocating, every fiber of his being pulling him in her direction. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. But he needed to touch her. He needed – he was supposed to fucking touch her.
He was losing his bloody mind. His forced himself to look away from her and let his eyes land on Sirius in an attempt to ground himself, to latch on to something familiar, to escape from this. But there was no escape from the way his body needed her.
"Pads," he rasped, his voice thick, the words feeling like a desperate plea for clarity, for something. His body screamed for release, but all he could do was stare at her, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.
He took a step forward.
He was ravenous.
Peppermint. Sugar. Chocolate. Nadolig.
Christmas fucking morning.
His teeth hurt.
Another step.
She smelled like she was his.
Another step.
Closer now, a fresh wave of her scent washing over him as if he’d been bathed in golden sunlight.
She smelled like home.
She smelled like... him.
No, that was wrong. Gods, but it was so right, so bloody brilliant, but how did she smell like him, and why did some part of him settle the moment the realization hit?
She was supposed to smell like him.
What was she doing to him?
"Who the FUCK is that?"