Full Moon
The weeks following Dumbledore’s visit felt like a delicate balance between tension and relief in the small cottage. Harry could see the change in Remus; at first, his father had been tight-lipped and tense, his brow often furrowed as a heavy cloud of worry hung around him. Harry noticed how Remus stared out the window more than once, as if he was waiting for something—or someone. It was unsettling, and Harry felt knots twisting in his stomach each time.
However, as days passed, something shifted. The tension began to ease, and Remus’s smiles returned. The warmth in their home felt genuine again, as if the shadows of worry had been pushed aside by the golden light filtering through the windows. Harry found comfort in their routines: helping with breakfast, chatting about the books Remus was reading, and sharing their plans for the day. Laughter started to fill the cottage once more, and the unsettling feeling in Harry’s stomach slowly began to fade.
But today was different.
Remus had been quieter than usual, and as the evening approached, Harry noticed the signs. His father’s usually calm demeanor was strained, his face drawn and exhausted, with deep circles under his eyes. There was a glint of something sharp behind his soft brown eyes—an uneasy flicker of yellow just around the rims.
Harry knew what was coming.
After they finished clearing the dinner table, Remus hesitated for a moment before nodding toward the small living room. Harry followed without question. They both sat, the weight of the air between them suddenly heavy. Remus’s hands trembled slightly as he rubbed them together, and Harry’s stomach twisted with a familiar nervousness.
“Harry…” Remus began, his voice low and filled with the same exhaustion that his face wore. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, avoiding Harry’s gaze for a moment before sighing heavily. “Tonight... it’s the full moon.”
There it was. The words hung in the air, thick and laden with the reality they both lived with.
Harry didn’t flinch. He had known it was coming. The restless energy in the cottage had built steadily over the past few days, Remus becoming quieter and more distant as the date loomed closer. Harry had noticed the little signs—the way Remus would avoid looking at the calendar, the way his hands would grip the edge of the kitchen counter a little tighter when Harry wasn’t looking.
“I know,” Harry said softly, his voice firm but understanding. He met Remus’s gaze, seeing the mix of exhaustion and something deeper in his father’s yellow-rimmed eyes—an understanding that went beyond words. They had shared so much already, more than Harry could ever have imagined.
But Remus didn’t relax. Instead, he sighed heavily and sat forward, elbows resting on his knees as he looked at Harry with a serious expression.
“Harry, we need to talk about how tonight will proceed,” Remus said, his voice steady but carrying the weight of something important. “I’ve taken precautions—more than usual, to make sure there are no... incidents.”
Harry’s heart skipped a beat. He hated when Remus talked like this, as if the transformation was something to be feared—something he couldn’t handle. But before Harry could say anything, Remus continued.
“Severus has been providing me with a store of Wolfsbane Potion,” Remus explained, his voice softer now. “I took it earlier today, so you don’t have to worry about anything like... what happened before.”
Harry felt a small wave of relief at that. The Wolfsbane Potion allowed Remus to keep his mind while transformed, ensuring he wasn’t dangerous during the full moon. Harry nodded, feeling a little better, but Remus wasn’t finished.
“However,” Remus said, his tone shifting to one of firm resolve, “you are to stay away from the basement tonight. Just in case.”
Harry frowned, a spark of frustration flaring up. “But you just said you took the potion. You’re not dangerous if you’re in control. I don’t understand—”
“Harry,” Remus interrupted, his voice suddenly sharper. The weariness in his eyes hardened into something unyielding, and Harry could feel the tension rising between them. “There will be no arguing with me on this. I don’t care how safe you think it is—I don’t want you anywhere near that basement tonight. Is that clear?”
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but the sternness in Remus’s gaze stopped him. His father rarely raised his voice or put his foot down so firmly, but when he did, Harry knew it wasn’t up for debate.
“Is that clear?” Remus repeated, his eyes locked on Harry’s with an intensity that made Harry realize just how serious this was.
Harry clenched his jaw, fighting back the urge to argue further. He hated the thought of Remus being down there alone, hated the idea of not being able to help if something went wrong. But he knew, deep down, that Remus was only trying to protect him.
“Yeah,” Harry muttered, his voice quieter now. “I get it.”
Remus’s expression softened a little, though the exhaustion still hung heavily on his features. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I know it’s not easy, but this is how it has to be.”
Harry nodded, though the frustration still simmered beneath the surface. He hated feeling helpless, but there was no changing Remus’s mind. Not tonight.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” Remus said, standing up slowly. He looked at Harry for a long moment, his tired eyes filled with something that Harry couldn’t quite name—regret, perhaps, or maybe just the weight of years of carrying this burden alone.
Remus stood there for a moment longer, the tension between them heavy in the air. His eyes softened, the sternness fading as he looked at Harry with a warmth that broke through the exhaustion lining his features.
“I love you, Harry,” he said quietly, his voice low but full of emotion. “You know that, right? No matter what happens.”
Harry’s heart tightened in his chest, and for a second, all the frustration and tension melted away. He nodded, his voice catching slightly as he spoke. “I know. I love you too, Dad.”
Remus gave him a small, tired smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes but was full of meaning nonetheless. “We’ll be all right,” he added, as if trying to convince both of them.
And with that, Remus turned, heading toward the basement door. Harry watched him go, the soft click of the door shutting behind him echoing in the suddenly too-quiet cottage. The warmth from their earlier conversation lingered, but now it was mixed with a sense of dread that Harry couldn’t shake.
With a sigh, Harry tore his gaze away and moved to the bookshelf. He grabbed a book—something he'd been meaning to read for a while—and settled into one of the armchairs by the fire. The cottage was cozy, the warmth of the flames crackling nearby, but no matter how much he tried to focus on the words in front of him, they wouldn’t stick.
Page after page, his mind drifted. He’d read the same sentence over and over again, the meaning slipping away as his thoughts returned to the basement. He imagined Remus down there, alone, dealing with the transformation, the fear gnawing at the edges of Harry’s thoughts.
An hour passed like that—of half-hearted reading, of restless glances toward the door. Finally, Harry gave up, closing the book with a frustrated thud. He ran a hand through his messy hair, feeling the tension creeping back into his shoulders. No matter how hard he tried, the distraction hadn’t worked.
With a deep sigh, Harry decided to get ready for bed. Maybe if he could settle in for the night, sleep would help pass the time. Standing, he padded to the bathroom, the sound of the floor creaking beneath his feet breaking the stillness of the cottage. The warm water from the shower was a welcome comfort, and as Harry stood under the steady stream, he tried to let the heat relax him, easing the tightness in his muscles.
He scrubbed at his hair, hoping that the routine would clear his head, but even in the shower, his thoughts were stuck on the basement door. What if something went wrong? He knew Remus had taken the Wolfsbane Potion, but the memory of the last full moon still lingered.
Stepping out of the shower, Harry toweled off and changed into an old t-shirt and a pair of Remus’s sweatpants. They were a bit too long, the hems brushing against the tops of his feet, but they were soft and comfortable—familiar. He’d been sleeping in them for a while now, and wearing them tonight felt grounding somehow, a small connection to his dad even though Remus was downstairs.
Once dressed, Harry walked back to his room, feeling the weight of the night settling on his shoulders again. He sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his damp hair, the sound of the wind outside softly brushing against the windows. But in the quiet of the cottage, everything felt too still, too silent.
With a sigh, he lay back on the bed, pulling the blanket up over himself. Harry stared at the ceiling, listening to the distant creaks of the old cottage as it settled in the night. His thoughts swirled, but the exhaustion tugging at the edges of his mind was stronger.
His eyes drifted shut, the worry still gnawing at him but fading as sleep began to pull him under. Before long, his breathing slowed, and Harry fell into an uneasy sleep, the quiet of the cottage wrapping around him like a heavy blanket.
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Hours later, Harry woke up with a start, his heart pounding in his chest. His brain was hazy from sleep, disoriented, as he sat up in bed and tried to shake off the grogginess. The room was dark, save for the faint moonlight filtering through the window. He rubbed his eyes, squinting around the room.
What had woken him?
He stayed still for a moment, straining to listen. The house was quiet, eerily so. No creaks, no howling wind—nothing. Harry’s stomach twisted uneasily. There wasn’t a sound, not even from the basement.
Trying to push down the growing anxiety, Harry reached for his wand on the nightstand, just in case. The familiar weight of it in his hand made him feel slightly more in control. He stuck it into his pocket before slipping out of bed, his bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor as he made his way downstairs.
His throat was dry, and he told himself that he just needed a glass of water. The dimly lit hallway seemed to stretch longer than usual as he descended the stairs, every creak underfoot sounding unnaturally loud in the stillness. When he reached the bottom, he glanced toward the basement door, but quickly averted his eyes.
Harry reached the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. His hands trembled slightly as he filled it with water from the tap, the sound of the running water breaking the otherwise oppressive silence. Without thinking, he chugged the water in one long gulp, the cool liquid soothing his dry throat but doing little to calm the nervous energy thrumming through him.
He set the empty glass down with a clink, staring at it for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. There was no way he was going back to sleep, not with his mind racing like this. He needed something—anything—to distract himself.
Moving out of the kitchen, Harry headed toward the living room, his steps quiet in the darkened house. As he entered the room, his gaze landed on his dad’s favorite chair, the one Remus always sat in when they talked or read together. Without a second thought, Harry made his way over and sank into the chair, the worn fabric feeling comforting beneath him.
He glanced around the room, spotting the old blanket draped over the back of the chair. Harry pulled it down and wrapped it around himself, curling up in the seat. The scent of the blanket—of home, of his dad—brought a small sense of comfort as he nestled into the warmth. But even as he tried to settle, his thoughts kept drifting back to the basement, to Remus down there alone.
His eyes grew heavy again, though he wasn’t sure if it was exhaustion or the weight of his worry dragging him down. He pulled the blanket tighter, telling himself that everything would be fine, that Remus was safe.
He shifted slightly, pulling his legs up closer to his chest as he nestled deeper into the fabric. His thoughts, which had been racing, began to slow, blurring into one another. The exhaustion he had been trying to ignore finally began to win out. His eyelids fluttered, his breathing evening out as the weight of the day—and the night—pulled him into sleep.
In the stillness of the living room, Harry’s head tilted slightly to the side, his grip on the blanket loosening as sleep finally claimed him. The house remained quiet, the soft ticking of the clock in the hallway the only sound that echoed in the otherwise peaceful night.
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Half asleep, Harry became dimly aware of a soft voice, one that seemed to drift through the fog of his dreams. It was comforting, familiar, but distant enough that he wasn't sure if he was imagining it. He burrowed further into his dad's blanket, pulling it tighter around himself, trying to hold onto the warmth and safety it brought.
Then, a gentle touch on his shoulder stirred him more. The warmth of the hand was real, and Harry’s eyes slowly blinked open, the world around him coming into hazy focus. The living room was dim, the soft glow of morning light just starting to filter in through the windows. Blinking a few more times, Harry saw his dad crouched in front of him, his hand still resting gently on his shoulder.
“Dad?” Harry mumbled, his voice thick with sleep as he sat up a little straighter, still half-wrapped in the blanket. He rubbed his eyes, the haze in his mind lifting as he realized it really was Remus sitting there, his expression soft but tired.
“Come on, let’s get you back to your room,” Remus said gently, a hint of warmth in his tired voice. He stood up, stretching slightly, the movement making his joints crack softly. Harry nodded, grateful for the reassurance in his father’s presence. He clutched the blanket tighter around himself, its familiar weight grounding him.
As they walked down the hallway, Harry leaned against Remus, the soft fabric of the blanket trailing behind him. The air in the cottage was cool, a comforting chill that felt refreshing against the warmth of the blanket. Harry could feel the fatigue radiating off Remus, but he also sensed a deep care in the way his father guided him, steadying him whenever he wobbled slightly.
Once they reached Harry’s room, Remus paused at the door, glancing down at Harry with a mixture of concern and affection. “I’ll be in my room if you need anything, okay?” he said, his voice low and soothing. “Just call for me.”
“Okay,” Harry replied, his heart warming at the thought of Remus nearby. He shuffled into his room, pulling the blanket around him like a shield against the uncertainties of the night.
“Try to get some rest,” Remus urged, his tired eyes still scanning Harry’s face for any signs of distress. “I’m guessing that you didn’t sleep very much last night.”
“I will, I promise,” Harry assured him, a small smile breaking through his earlier haze. “Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, Harry,” Remus replied softly, before stepping back into the hallway. He hesitated for a moment, then disappeared down the corridor, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Harry settled into bed, clutching the blanket as he let out a soft sigh. The familiar surroundings of his room enveloped him, the shadows from the night wrapping around him like a protective cocoon. He could hear the faint sounds of the world outside, but they felt muted, distant, as if they belonged to another world.
As his eyelids grew heavier, he let out a contented breath, allowing the warmth of the blanket to lull him into a comfortable haze. The gentle rustle of the wind against the window and the soft creaks of the cottage became a soothing lullaby, and before he knew it, he succumbed to the pull of sleep once more.