3 months.
Remus has experienced 3 months of absolute and utter bliss since accepting Pandora’s proposal to join her in her home.
It’s a small thing, the house, with only 5 rooms but the minimal furniture makes it seem much more spacious. What they do have is gorgeous and perhaps slightly odd, to both his and Pandora’s tastes, though he had insisted she need not his opinion on her home and her purchases.
She’d retorted with a judgemental stare and a fierce pout for his protests, Perhaps I want the opinion of one of my best mates, then. Then, she’d swept past him, Luna bach peeking over her shoulder, giggling at his gaped mouth. Safe to say, he was sufficiently cowed and open to offering input after that.
There is a glowing lamp on their bedside table, a lava lamp, Pandora had explained, a muggle invention. He tracks the floating spheres inside of it, further nosing into Pandora’s neck all the whilst. Its emanated orange emphasises the large hoop earrings that she wears, drawing attention to the long, bruised expanse they rest upon. His soft exhales against her skin have her shivering in his arms. He drags a slow hand down her bare back and up again, cupping her precious pulse with his lips.
The bed they tangle together upon is sturdy, true. He knows this for certain. However, the blanket that lays atop them is thin, unable to protect against the winter chill. They don’t mind. The rest of the blankets, thick and thin alike, had been piled upon the single-bed in the room next to theirs for Luna bach and they wouldn’t have it any other way. We are two, would it be so hard to warm each other through the night? Pandora had challenged and he had accepted, eagerly stepping into her open arms. Grinning, he’d said, You are an inventor, cariad. You’re always saying trial and error. His wolf’s hunger had awoken again, a pit in his belly begging him to take his fill, and he’d be willing to indulge it in this way, he had found.
Their settees, he thinks, are not unlike those of his childhood home, only half-soft to the touch and with intricate twirls that have distracted Luna bach often enough to be forgiven for what he had accidentally, blearily ‘granny vibes’ when he’d had enough liquor warming his stomach to forget his previous living arrangements. Pandora had laughed, accusing James and Sirius of infecting him with their pure-blood, obscenely rich snobbiness. He’d agreed completely just to sneak close and surprise her by lifting her off the ground and whirling her around their living room in a dance. Prideful still, as he lowly whispered terms of defeat into her ears, she proclaimed that she’d ‘not demand an apology for the comment because they are admittedly ‘granny vibes.’ And all the better for it, as they will likely be here when the two of them are old and grey and wrinkled, so they wouldn’t need to buy anything new.’
He’s surprised, or shocked more like, that he can find joy in such a place, within four walls so similar to the cage of his childhood, one built with good intentions, that unfortunately fulfilled its purposes too well. He’d been isolated then, surrounded by woods on all sides, with his only company a perpetually teary mother and a grim man who couldn’t stand in the same room as him long enough for Remus to call him father. They’d loved him, he knows, and he loves them, with all he can muster. It’s why he hadn’t returned to his father when his money had began depleting rapidly. He’d not burden the kind man with his presence further. Instead, he had wandered alone, dodged concerned calls and expected for the worst.
When he had been walking those dirt paths with holes in his socks, an odour clinging persistently no matter how many lakes he’d discreetly ducked in and a jacket slowly growing too large for his gaunter body, he’d dared not think of what he had expected, what he’d had in a way when he was younger.
The last days of the Summer Holidays, those that dipped into Autumn despite what they were called, when he begged off his chores to visit the Potter’s mansion - the summer base of the marauders, James had beamed - were locked away in his head, somewhere his greedy heart couldn’t take ahold of them and draw the wrong conclusion.
Grand mansions complete with drawing rooms upon drawing rooms, hanging portraits of proud ancestors and large pianos his long fingers hover over unsurely, they don’t look to be his scene, not anymore, not ever. He’s found he’s choosing that, he’s found himself growing something unnervingly close - the same - to content.
When he’d had nowhere, not even a humble little hut in the forest to retreat to, trapped to licking his wounds alone and in the open, one eye always wide, it wasn’t a castle he’d stumbled upon, no fairy-tale awaited him. Rather, a mousy little thing had hunted him down with fervour and a locator spell he’d wheedled off of someone he still refuses to name.
Peter had found him, looking him over coldly at first, before demanding him to follow for once. He’d uttered the words darkly, glare only the more ferocious for its wet sheen, and Remus had listened to the rattled man, half-dazed and half-protective over the vulnerable brother of his. He can still feel the phantoms of that intoxicating strength that had guided his trembling legs, a prickling in the back of his mind that needed not tell him the moon never truly sets, is never truly not whole.
Remus had expected to be shipped off to the Potter’s mansion or Sirius’s luxurious apartment at the earliest convenience, not that he would be spending time in Peter’s modest abode. Once there, he’d learned why exactly Peter had never invited them, the marauders, to his home, gazing at the back of his friend.
Peter, for his part, had resolutely ignored the tattered carpet beneath them, the narrow stairs that had took Remus minutes to safely climb and the crate of empty, and some cracked, beer bottles in a far corner, perhaps hoping that Remus wouldn’t acknowledge it all. He hadn’t.
Peter was oddly quiet and oddly still, responding to Remus’s prodding with a rasping ‘Bloody hell. I came after you ‘cause you were gone! Yer dad’s worrying his head off! What other reasoning did I need?’ and nothing more, no matter how matters did seem to be contrarily deep for him. One night, he took Remus, gaze spotty from an evening reading newspapers and noting down jobs to apply for with rather meagre success, aside and told him quietly, forced-casual that he ‘did not need to stay.’
Then, the floodgates had started.
Now, Remus has a brother he’s never understood more yet also less about, a solemn oath to speak truth and only truth when called upon and a home away from home all tucked into his pocket.
7 months after that night, 6 months since he’d found a new apartment pleasantly nearby to Pete and 4 months of a standing invitation to stay at, or visit, Pandora’s home whenever he’d like, he had taken up her offer.
Her golden sleeping cap, in honour of her dyed-blonde dreadlocks, is the brightest thing in their bed and what Luna bach runs towards when the storms are too loud for her young ears. On those nights when they know to stay clothed and let her cuddle between them, whispering their own soft assurances to their baby girl, ‘Fy mach i’ tumbles from his lips as he protectively encircles both his girls with his arms, ‘Koritsi mou’ comes from Pandora’s as a silent promise whilst she wordlessly calls forth light.
Remus goes to work as a cabbie from the setting of the sun to its rise the next morning, certain of his ability to defend himself in the dark. He comes home most days to the lady of his dreams stirring from bed and he convinces her to stay for an hour longer with fancy tongue tricks and cuddles.
He pulls himself out of bed only with the intention of making breakfast for his darling little one who greets him with a hug and kiss each morning, ecstatic that he’s still there, and he watches over her for the day, as her beautiful, intelligent mother works tirelessly.
He takes Luna bach on walks through the town and watches as she makes friends with the locals, finding many a companion himself, equally glad to watch the kids thrive together.
They, the three of them, eat dinner in their living room, talking and teasing and swapping stories of their days. When Peter swings by - fairly often - Luna bach insists they eat on the floor and takes the opportunity to cuddle into Remus’s side, one hand clinging to her mother’s hand and her Uncle Pete’s hat dwarfing her tiny head.
He is happy. He is joyous. He is elated, here.
Here, in this small, cozy home occupied by people he loves and who love him fiercely in return, with worn-down floorboards from playing pretend pirates and stains on the couch from snorting too hard while drinking hot chocolate and an extra coat-hanger that’s never unused for long. A place where the front door’s hinges do not know of rust, where his little girl waltzes around like the queen of her very own palace and where tears are treated with soothing words, plasters and caresses; that is his heart.
That’s why. Those are his reasons. They are his reasons. He is his reason.
His hand falls to Pandora’s hips, tracing their initials like a love-sick schoolboy. He brushes the foot of the leg she has slung over his with his own and brings his other hand to stroke the hairs on her neck. Remus pulls back, intending to admire the peaceful expression she often adorns in sleep, forehead free of creases and down-turned lips gently parted.
Instead, he meets a low-lidded gaze, clearly still chasing dreams. She pushes closer to him, bumping his forehead with her own and asking blearily, “Luna…?”
”She’s safe, still asleep in her room,” Remus assures her, memorising the soft smile that overcomes her at his words. She looks utterly melted in their bed after their earlier ministrations, tension stolen away by wet kisses. She looks how he does many hours of the day, any time she’d give him even a sliver of attention, a peck on the cheek or a sensual kiss drawing his adoration the same. “I didn’t mean to wake you, cariad,” he adds, softer still.
Pandora, with a low groan, rises, shifting so she lays on top of him then, her torso only slightly raised to avoid smushing their faces just yet. She gazes down at him, ethereal in the slab of moonlight their curtains allow them. Her free hand, the one not tauntingly lingering on the edge of his mouth, idly plays with his pec, “I wouldn’t have awoke if I hadn’t wanted to,” she says, “What has you scrambling so if not our daughter, latria mou? I can see your brain whirring.”
She looks him in the eyes, dark gaze swallowing him whole so thoroughly he wonders if there is anything left there for her to see. If she’d ask, he would strip whatever looked-over scraps bare and present them to her, redeem himself for hiding with a river of enthusiastic kisses, trailing from her collar-bones to her dainty feet. He’d beg for permission to mark her.
Remus swallows deeply before responding in a murmur, “See with that 20/20 vision of yours, mhm.”
She laughs lightly and presses her weight down between his legs, only encouraged as one of his hands left her hips to squeeze at her cheeks, “Try again, mou. And what have I said about touching without permission, hm?”
He groans, avoiding acknowledging the second half of her statement and knowing she only likes it more to see his aflame cheeks paired with a surly gaze, knowing he likes it as well by the issue pressed thickly against her thigh, “I was thinking about what you said the other night.” He cuts himself off roughly as she twists his peck and swiftly reaches her hand into his hair.
“Go on. I say a lot of things with you,” she practically purrs, silky.
”You were talking about psychologists and -and I think I’m ready to see one.” He says, expelling it all at once.
She appraises him slowly, ministrations paused.
He almost buckles into her touch, fearful of her reaction no matter how he knows she would never think lesser of him for admitting to needing help - another reason he must go.
After all, she’d been talking of having visited one herself after her husband, Xenophillius Lovegood, had died and she’d been left sinking more than ever with a daughter that needed her to keep afloat.
He knows she’d not think badly of him. A pool of shame starts to form in his unending pit of a stomach for having doubted her.
Her toothy grin, bringing a horde of butterflies, quickly dissipates it, “Oh Remus. I’ll have to tell you I love you yet again.”
“Truly, mou.” She whispers before leaning down and capturing him in a slow, sensual kiss, lips parting his mouth and dominating thoroughly. When they part, gasping for breath, his saliva gives her lips a glossy sheen and hers his.
He sinks into the bed, relaxing like a coil within him has unwinded all at once and simply smiles at her, cueing he is feeling much more carnal at this hour, with sleeping clogging his throat but not his desires - a feeling she reciprocates. Pandora lets go of his hair though, removes her thumb from the corner of her mouth, and he hums low in confusion, gaze tracking her. She must feel it reverberating through her as well, with how her leg’s hold tightens considerably. She grins up at him, staring him in the eyes daringly, as she makes her way down his body with her mouth trailing kisses, “We can talk properly tomorrow. But for now, I have a good idea on how to reward you.”
And then, she is dangerously close.
Her practiced mouth latches and, he struggles not to quiver immediately.