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ikkyfics · 14 days ago

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When the Stars Fade

Remus Lupin x f!reader

Summary: Remus knew—felt—that something was wrong. It wasn’t just the aftermath of the full moon. It was as if the air was heavy, carrying the weight of bitter promises.

Warnings: dad!remus, mom!reader, est. relationship, no use of y/n, no use of a baby name, angst, no war au, sensitive content, mention of death, suicide, (according to dear @lupinzlover) major/massively giant hurt&comfort- in which remus loses everything

A/N: my dear lovely @boromoony, I know it took a while to fulfill your request (and reading it broke my heart a little) but I hope you can enjoy it <33 and I think we'll need some comfort later?

Masterlist

Remus knew—felt—that something was wrong. It wasn’t just the aftermath of the full moon. It was as if the air was heavy, carrying the weight of bitter promises. You had tried to reassure him, a tender smile on your lips as your fingers tangled in his hair.

“You’re just tired, love,” you said, your voice so calm it was hard to think otherwise. “Just rest, alright?”

“But—”

“Remus,” you gently chided, brushing away a stubborn strand of hair that insisted on falling over his eyes. Silver strands had begun to weave their way through the brown. “We’ll be back before you even notice. I promise.”

He wanted to protest—there were a thousand and one ways to argue—but he wanted to believe you. So he only nodded, feeling a small smile tug at his lips when you leaned in, kissing him softly, as if afraid to worsen the damage left by the last transformation.

“Just… don’t take too long, please,” he murmured against your lips.

“I won’t,” you promised, a bright smile on your lips as you pulled away.

Remus watched as you crouched beside the little one, your eyes softening when they met his over her small shoulder. The morning was quiet, broken only by the gentle rustling of leaves outside and the soft giggles of the little girl, who was still playing with the hem of your coat.

“Shall we say goodbye to Daddy?” you asked gently, encouraging her with a warm smile.

She hesitated, clutching the stuffed toy in her hands—a small fabric wolf, its fur already worn from countless nights spent embraced in sleep. “Daddy’s sick?” she asked, her voice carrying the kind of innocent concern that only someone so small and blissfully unaware of the world’s horrors could have.

Remus swallowed hard, his heart clenching in his chest. He forced himself to smile, even as pain pulsed through every nerve in his body. “Daddy’s just tired, sweetheart,” he reassured her, his voice rough but warm, like a thick blanket on a cold night. “But I’ll be alright, I promise.”

She seemed to consider his words, her eyes—so much like his—studying him with a seriousness far beyond her age. Then, as if deciding he was telling the truth, she wiggled free from your grasp and ran toward the bed, stretching out her tiny arms.

“Kisses make everything better, Daddy,” she announced with conviction, pushing herself up on the mattress to reach his face.

Remus let out a quiet chuckle, the pain momentarily forgotten as he leaned in just enough for her to press a loud, exaggerated kiss to his cheek. “I think I’m already starting to feel better,” he admitted, with a sincerity that made your heart melt.

You stepped closer, lifting the little one into your arms, smoothing her unruly curls as you smiled at Remus. “Now it’s my turn,” you said, a playful glint in your eyes. Before he could respond, you leaned in, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was both soft and full of unspoken promises. He melted into you, aching body and all, as if that simple touch could erase the last few days of torment.

When you pulled away, it was only enough to rest your forehead against his. “Take care of yourself while we’re gone, okay? No pushing yourself past your limits.”

He sighed, exhaustion evident, but still managed to say, “I promise.” And though there was resignation in his voice, there was also a quiet trust, as if he truly wanted to believe everything would be alright.

You set the little one back down and began leading her toward the door, but not before casting one last glance at him—full of a tenderness that wrapped around him like warmth on a winter morning. She waved enthusiastically, her curls bouncing as she called out, “Bye, Daddy! We’ll be back really soon!”

“Bye, my little one,” he replied, watching as she disappeared down the hall, followed by you.

When the sound of the door closing echoed through the house, silence settled once more. Remus let his body sink into the pillows, his eyes slipping shut. He could still catch the lingering scent in the air—yours, mixed with the faint lavender that always clung to his daughter.

He turned his head to the side, resting it against the pillow’s softness. He knew he should get up, maybe make some tea or at least check if anything needed tending to, but the mere thought of moving even a finger felt unbearable. The exhaustion wasn’t just physical; it was something that had settled deep in his bones, a weariness that no amount of sleep or rest ever seemed to truly mend.

“It’s alright,” he whispered into the empty room, as if the words themselves could chase away the unease gnawing at his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to focus on anything other than the unsettling feeling that something was off. But exhaustion was stronger than worry. His body no longer gave him a choice, and he felt himself slipping further away.

The world around him faded, distant and blurred, the only thing lingering in his mind being the soft scent in the air.

Remus never noticed the exact moment he fell asleep.

There was no transition—just a slow, quiet fading, like a candle burning down to its final flicker.

And then, his body surrendered to the pull of sleep.

Remus woke with a jolt. A sharp, insistent sound echoed through the house, reverberating against the walls in a rhythm that seemed to match the frantic beating of his heart. He blinked several times, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness filling the room. What had once been the warm glow of morning had now turned into deep, heavy shadows.

The first thing he felt was pain. Not a simple ache, but something deep, visceral. Every muscle, every bone in his body throbbed with the painful memory of the transformation. His fingers trembled as he brought them to his forehead, trying to ease the pressure building there. His chest burned, as if something unseen was pressing down on him with relentless force. He took a deep breath—or at least tried to—but the air felt thick, too heavy to fill his lungs.

The knocking continued, louder now, as if demanding his attention. He tried to sit up, but the movement sent a sharp pain straight to his ribs—a cruel reminder of the violence he inflicted upon himself every month. The pain made him choke on a low groan, but he ignored it, focusing on the sound that had woken him. Something was wrong. He could feel it in the air, like an invisible current buzzing around him. The weight in his chest, which had once felt like nothing more than lingering worry, was now suffocating.

With difficulty, he forced himself to his feet, every step a battle against exhaustion and pain. The house was silent, save for the persistent knocking. He passed through the living room, where his daughter's toys were still scattered across the floor, just as she had left them. The sight made something inside him tighten. You always complained about the mess, but now… now it felt untouched, as if moving anything would break something far more fragile than just the order of the house.

When he finally reached the door, he hesitated. A part of him didn’t want to open it. A part of him knew that whatever was on the other side would not be good. Still, with trembling hands, he turned the doorknob.

The man standing outside was unfamiliar. Tall, severe-looking, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit. The Ministry badge hung from the pocket of his jacket, a silent reminder of his authority. He looked uneasy, as if the words he was about to speak already weighed on him before they had even been said.

"Mr. Lupin?" The man’s voice was low but firm, carrying something Remus couldn’t quite identify yet.

"Yes," he answered, his voice rough with exhaustion and confusion. "What’s going on?"

"I… it’s a sensitive matter. May I come in?" the man asked, glancing briefly at the surroundings as if assessing the place.

"No," Remus answered almost immediately, his chest tightening further. He gripped the doorframe, his knuckles turning white. "Just tell me what happened."

The official hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the refusal, but something in Remus’s eyes made him continue. He took a deep breath before speaking, as if he needed to brace himself for the impact of his own words.

"Mr. Lupin… there was an accident. Your wife and daughter were involved." He paused, but continued before Remus could process it. "Unfortunately… neither of them survived."

For a moment, the world stopped. The words echoed in his mind, repeating in a cruel loop, like a broken record. He blinked, once, twice, as if trying to wake up from a nightmare. But the nightmare was real. He could see it in the man’s eyes, in the way he avoided direct contact, in the tension that seemed to suffocate the air around them.

"No," Remus finally managed to say, his voice breaking. He took a step back, as if distance could undo what he had just heard. "No… you’re wrong. This can’t be right."

"Mr. Lupin," the official began, but Remus raised a hand, cutting him off.

"You’re wrong!" he shouted, his voice filled with a pain so raw it seemed to tear through the air. "They were fine! I saw them this morning! They were fine!"

But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true. He knew, deep down, that something had been wrong. That he had felt it all day—that lingering feeling, that inexplicable weight.

His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto his knees in the doorway, his hands gripping his hair so tightly it was as if he wanted to rip it out. He shook his head, muttering "no, no, no" over and over, as if the words could somehow undo what had been said.

The official took a hesitant step forward, but Remus stopped him with a look so utterly broken that the man froze in place.

"I should have gone with them," Remus whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "I should have protected them. This is my fault…"

And there, in the dim glow of his empty house, with the weight of those words still hanging in the air, Remus shattered. He didn’t just cry; he broke. Every sob was a strangled scream, every tear a piece of himself that he knew he would never get back.

Remus woke with a jolt, the sound of your voice calling his name shattering the suffocating veil of the nightmare. It was as if he were emerging from a deep, dark ocean, struggling to breathe, to understand where he was. The dim evening light filtered through the curtains, and he realized he was in bed, the sheets tangled around him, damp with sweat. But it was your voice—soft, worried, so incredibly real—that anchored him to reality.

"Remus? Love, are you okay?"

He turned quickly, eyes wide, still filled with a pain that seemed impossible to contain. There you were, kneeling beside the bed, your expression full of concern and tenderness, a gentle hand resting on his arm. Before any words could be spoken, before he could even process that it had all been just a nightmare, he reached for you, his arms wrapping around your waist with an almost desperate urgency.

"You're here," he whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. "You're here. You’re both here."

You barely had time to react before he buried his face in your shoulder, holding you with a force that seemed to want to merge you into one. That’s when you felt the warm dampness on your shirt—he was crying. His tears were silent but intense, his body trembling against yours as he clung to you as if afraid you might disappear.

"Remus," you murmured softly, your fingers threading through his hair in an instinctive, soothing gesture. "Hey, love, it's okay. We're here. I'm here. Everything's okay."

He shook his head against your shoulder, his arms tightening around you even more, as if trying to absorb your presence, your life. He seemed to be breathing you in—the familiar lavender scent in your hair, the warmth of your body—everything that proved you were real. That this wasn’t another cruel illusion.

"It was a nightmare," he finally managed to say, his voice barely audible. "Oh, Merlin, it was horrible. I thought… I thought I lost you."

Before you could respond, there was a small sound of footsteps in the hallway, followed by a sleepy, curious voice. "Daddy?"

The little one stood at the bedroom door, clutching one of her favorite stuffed toys against her chest. The moment he saw her, Remus let out a shaky breath, as if the crushing weight on his chest had suddenly lifted.

He reached out for her without letting go of you entirely. "Come here, my little one."

She ran to him in that clumsy, adorable way that only a child could, climbing onto the bed with your help. As soon as she reached her father, he pulled her into the embrace, holding both of you with a protective intensity that spoke louder than any words. He kissed her forehead several times, murmuring between kisses, "My little girl… my love… you're okay. You're here."

She blinked up at him with wide, curious eyes, clearly sensing the emotion in the air even if she didn’t fully understand it. "Daddy, are you crying?"

Remus laughed, a low, broken sound, but still filled with tenderness. "Yes, I am, my angel. But don’t worry, Daddy's okay now. You saved me."

"Saved you from what?" She tilted her head, wrapping her tiny arms around him.

"From myself," he answered softly, pressing another kiss to the top of her head. Then he looked at you, his eyes still glistening with tears, but now overflowing with a gratitude that was almost too much to hold. "And from a nightmare. A terrible nightmare."

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, your fingers intertwining with his as you offered him a reassuring smile. "We're here, Remus. It was just a bad dream. We're okay, all of us. And we always will be."

He held your gaze for a long moment, as if trying to memorize every detail of your face—the way your eyes shone, the soft curve of your lips. "I don’t know what I’d do without you." His voice was so raw, so vulnerable, it made your heart ache.

"You don’t have to think about that," you murmured, your other hand sliding over his face, wiping away any lingering tears. "Because you’ll never be without us."

The little one, now nestled between the two of you, decided to contribute, cupping Remus’s face in her small hands. "I take care of you, Daddy," she declared with the seriousness of someone who truly believed she could protect the whole world. "I'm strong."

Remus smiled, a tired but utterly loving smile. "I know you are, my angel. You're the strongest girl in the world."

The night carried on with the three of you together, curled up in bed like a cocoon of warmth against any darkness that the world might try to cast. Remus didn’t let go of you or his daughter for even a second, and the feeling of your warmth surrounding him was all he needed to keep the shadows at bay. The nightmare still echoed somewhere in the back of his mind, but now, wrapped in the love of his family, he knew he was safe. And he knew he’d never have to face anything alone.

Things should have happened like that, but the world is not made of fairy tales.

You didn’t come home that night, or any other night. Remus never heard the comforting sound of his daughter’s laughter again, never felt the warmth of your hands in his hair or the soft touch of tiny fingers holding his face with the same seriousness of someone who believed they could heal the world. There were no more mornings where the bed was warmed by the bodies he loved so much, no more nights where the weight of your presence beside him kept the darkness at bay. Everything had been ripped away so cruelly and abruptly, leaving behind an emptiness so devastating it seemed impossible to fill.

The days following the accident were a haze, each one more unbearable than the last. Remus didn’t remember the formalities—the words spoken by the Ministry officials on that fateful day, the empty condolences that felt so meaningless, the details of the accident that he barely managed to absorb. None of it mattered. Everything was a blur, except for the crushing certainty that you and your daughter were no longer there.

He was forced to face reality on the morning of the funeral. The coffin was too small, accompanied by another that, though larger, seemed just as wrong. He remembered standing there, paralyzed, as the earth was thrown over the caskets. The feeling of cold soil was almost tangible, as if each handful buried more than just the bodies—it buried his very soul along with them.

James, Sirius, and Peter were there. They stood beside him throughout the ceremony, their presence almost suffocating in their attempt to support their friend. James, his eyes red and glassy with unshed tears, tried to steady Remus when he wavered under the weight of it all. Sirius, always so loud and full of life, was silent, his face a mask of restrained grief as he stared at the caskets. And Peter, who never knew how to handle intense emotions, offered a trembling handshake and a look that overflowed with sadness he didn’t know how to express.

Despite their efforts, nothing they said or did seemed to reach Remus. Not James’s whispered reassurances, not Sirius’s hand on his shoulder, not Peter’s quiet solidarity. They tried, and he knew they tried, but the cruel truth was that no one could reach the abyss he was trapped in.

And then the house—the one you had turned into a home—became a mausoleum. The little girl’s toys were still scattered across the living room floor, her favorite blanket draped over the couch where she used to curl up with him. Your hairbrush remained in the bathroom, strands of your hair still woven into its bristles. Your clothes and hers still hung in the wardrobe, as if at any moment, you could walk through the door and undo this nightmare. But you didn’t. You never would.

James visited a few times, bringing food that Remus had no energy to eat, insisting on conversation. Sirius showed up, too, trying to cheer him up with stories from the past, desperate to coax a smile from him. Peter came once or twice, quiet as always, but his presence was a subtle reminder that they were still there for him. But none of it mattered. No words or gestures could fill the void you and your daughter had left behind.

The nights were the worst. The solitude was suffocating, and Remus would find himself sitting in the chair by the cold fireplace, staring at the portrait of you. A picture taken on a sunny day in the garden, your daughter on his lap while you sat beside him, laughing at something he could no longer remember. He spent hours looking at that image, desperately trying to anchor himself in the memories. But they weren’t enough. They could never replace the warmth of you, the sound of the voices he would never hear again.

He tried to move forward. For you. For James, Sirius, and Peter—for little Harry, who hadn’t even learned to speak yet—who kept showing up, who kept insisting that he wasn’t alone. But it was a lie. He was alone. Because without you and without her, the world was gray and empty, an existence he didn’t know how to endure.

And then, one morning, as the timid sun struggled to break through the gray clouds, he decided he couldn’t anymore. He sat on the bed—the same bed you once shared—and realized it no longer made sense. There was nothing left to fight for, no reason to stay. He was tired. So, so tired.

He left a single letter, written with trembling hands and a shattered heart. It wasn’t long, because there wasn’t much to say. Just one final confession of love, to you and to your daughter, and an apology for not being strong enough to go on without you.

When Remus’s body was found days later, he was surrounded by pictures of you both. The letter still lay beside the bed, the paper stained with tears. He looked peaceful, as if, for the first time in weeks, he had found some semblance of rest.

His grave was placed beside yours, just as he would have wanted. In the silent cemetery, three headstones stood side by side, marking what was once a family and what could have been. James, Sirius, and Peter were there the day he was buried. James was the last to leave, lingering beside his friend’s grave, his eyes glistening with tears he didn’t bother to hide.

On Remus’s headstone, only a simple inscription, yet one heavy with meaning:

Reunited with those he loved.

And so, the world lost another soul, drowned in a grief too heavy to bear.

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