#once again another one bites the dust :^) plucking this from the rejection pile

[firewoodfigs]

[delicrieux]

Can we get some uhhhh Mutual Pining and Cuddling for Warmth with one of the marauders?

to this request i silently whispered “yes....”

Remus Lupin knew you would never engage him in conversation, or offer to have breakfast together, or help with homework, or any of the sort. To him you were a mirage, pretty, but far away. And perhaps he had, on moments of dullness or dissociation, dreamed what you were like: to talk to, to joke to, to... Well, admitting it would tarnish him. He is terribly shy, but more than that, terribly lacks self-confidence due to the beast locked inside his body until the next full moon. He’s absolutely riddled with fear at the mere prospect of hurting anyone, of even the chance that it might happen. And so he keeps people away, pushes them out, and even when involved in conversation with James or Sirius or Peter he is always, in his own way, reserved and distant. He knows they love him for who he is. The problem is that he despises himself with such unfiltered disgust that it is hard to remind himself that it is only his tormented thoughts that paint him as a monster; that no one besides himself sees him in that light.

Alas, he could never allow himself to indulge with you, the risk of rejection and self-sabotage is too great. Therefore you live inside his daydreams, safe from harm, from him, oblivious to his feelings or how sometimes he sneaks glances at you in class.

But if he only knew what sort of things rummage inside that head of yours, what sort of butterflies erupt in your chest when he walks into your line of vision. He is always so swift, yet strangely refined, tense, in control, though his face never once warped into a frown in your presence - it had always stayed deliberately neutral or soft. And your friends, quick to notice as they were notoriously perceptive, teased you about this crush often. It was a ridiculous one, that you knew. You didn’t even know him personally! Had never even uttered “Hello!”. But you almost knew what he was like, just from observing him. Almost knew how the conversation would go, if you ever approached him, or vice versa. Imagined scenarios in double digits on how you’d meet him, prepared for each one just in case.

Nothing happened, of course. He lived inside your daydream with you.

No amount of myths, legends, daydreams, or imagination could have prepared the both of you for the actual way you’d meet. Fate is funny like that - nothing ever happens the way one plans it.

It’s the 7th of December and a storm is brewing, wind howling in your ears. Hogsmeade was frozen over since last Sunday, though the townies swore the weather had been lovely: setting sun, cloudless sky, crisp air, dancing ice sculptures, piles of puffy snow that decorated the small houses like icing. And it had been a wonderful afternoon, one full of gossip, butterbeer, Christmas shopping. That was, of course, till the first gust of wind nearly knocked you off of your feet. All changed from there: the sky darkened with clouds, snowflakes raged, it was suddenly freezing and ice started to collect on the windows, on the loose strands coming out your hat. Everything was white and hazy and you couldn’t hear a thing; separated from your friends and from the rest of the world you quickly searched for shelter. Fear picked at your throat and your nerves were the only thing keeping you alert and from hypothermia. After what felt like eternity you spotted a building, a house, a something and ran to it, nearly tripping over your own two feet before yanking the door open and the wind shut it behind you.

You breathe slow, steady, standing eerily still by the entrance. You only now realise where you are; you recognise the old stairwell, the dust, the rotting wood, the creaks that sound like wails from ghosts, all collected from stories your friends had shared about the most haunted place in Hogsmeade. The Shrieking Shack. It is absolutely silent, however, besides the moans and howls of the wind blowing past barged up windows. Snow is already covering the floor with a thin layer. You release a breath you had been holding and it comes out your lips in white smoke. Your clothes are damp and you start to shiver. Groping for you wand you—

A loud thud echoes from upstairs, then something that closely resembles a hiss. You freeze. Then spring into action, only to realise that your only means of getting dry, of casting spells, of protecting yourself is not with you. It must’ve fallen out, you realise in horror, it must’ve happened when I ran. Your teeth begin to clatter, fingers stinging, numb. It might be a bird, or a cat, or a raccoon, or anything but a ghost, you reassure yourself. And really, if it is a ghost you’ll join it soon if you loiter by the door instead of looking for something warm. Snow crunches under your feet as you move to the stairs, making your way up. The second floor is brighter than the first, yet it rocks from side to side gently, as if on a boat, and for a moment you feel light headed. Rooms with no doors greet you from all sides. No sign of ghosts, though. You pick at random and—

You physically jump when you see him, a strangled noise of surprise escaping your lips, eyes wide in terror. Remus Lupin, of all people, sits on a ragged bed, pale and sickly, scars and bruises covering his face, his clothes ripped and tattered. Around him is a mess: wild claw marks on the floor, broken furniture, shredded paintings and wallpaper... He glances up, startled, brinks a few times, rubs his eyes as if not believing them.

“A-Are you okay?” You ask, rasp, almost voiceless. He gives a nod. You frown, “You s-sure?”

He clears his throat, “Got caught in the storm.” He says hoarsely, looking away from you, “Ungracefully landed here, and, well... ripped my clothes on some nails.” He finishes, rubbing the back of his neck.

“A-And your f-fac-e.” You add with a shaky smile. He releases a humourless laugh.

“Yea, that too.”

He finally turns to you and a bit of warmth rushes back into your body, though not enough to feel your fingers, or your toes. He gives you a shy smile and glances you over, the smile diminishing into worry as he stands up and yanks the sheets off of the bed, sending a flurry of dust your way, “You must be freezing.” He says, offering it to you.

“Aren’t y-you?” You question. He shrugs.

“I...am...sort of. Not nearly as bad as you, though.” He insists, and you relent, if a little. “Where’s your wand?” He asks once you wrap the fabric around yourself - it does little but reek of mold. With your head you vaguely motion to the windows.

“Lost. Yours-s?”

“Uhh-yea, mine too.” He utters, another hiss that sounds a lot like a swear falling from his lips. You relax, almost laugh - it was him you heard, of course it was.

“S-so no fire, then.” You attempt to lighten the mood, but all he does is nod solemnly and you realise it was for naught.

“You’ll catch a cold.” He states the obvious, but in a way that sounds gentle, concerned, though as if he knows it is inevitable. “Damn, if only I...” He gives you another once over, “Uhm, well, I, uhm-I’m Remus, by the way. Remus Lupin.”

It takes you a second to register his name, suddenly feeling giddy - you, of course, already knew it. It also dawns onto you that you might already have a fever. With a crooked smile you introduce yourself and he nods, pleased. Then, he starts again, “Well, I have this— I don’t... please don’t take it the wrong way or anything like that, I just don’t want you to fall sick or-or worse, so, I, well-“ He does a motion with his hands, as if they would somehow convey his point, “you should- not that you need just, uhm- should, should take off your jacket, and hat, and scarf, everything that’s soaked.” He turns his gaze away, suddenly more interested in the marks on the floor, “They’ll keep you from getting warm.” He adds, quieter.

You feel slow. As if he’s moving, talking, changing courses and topics too quick for you to follow. Chills wash your body in cold sweat like waves, and you nod after a moment of consideration.

“Y-you’re nifty.” You say, shrugging off the sheets and they ungracefully fall to the floor. He quickly picks them up and smiles, happy that you’d taken his advice, “You’ll... hav-e t’help me, t-though.” You stutter; your limbs feel numb and heavy.

“Oh!” Heat rushes to his cheeks and he throws the sheets onto the bed and approaches you, “Of course, I, just...” He trails off, not exactly certain on what he wanted to say. You slowly pluck your hat from your head and drop it on the floor, then move to the scarf and unwrap it. The cold air bites your neck and you suck in a breath. “Here.” He mutters, helping you take it off, his hand brushing yours. Your eyes widen. His touch feels like fire.

“Y-You’re r-really warm, y-you know t-that?” You question, watching him work on your coat. He gulps.

“Uh-Yea, runs in the family.”

“A-Are you related t’dra-g-gons or something?” You ask.

He looks at you, locks your gaze, and your heart skips a beat. His lips melt into a smile.

“Something like that.” He admits and takes off your coat, folding it neatly. Left without an outer layer, the cold attacks your body fiercely, and you stagger to the bed, as quickly as you can, and curl into a little ball, wrapped up in blankets.

When Remus is done collecting your things, he places them neatly on a table that has the least damage done to it - only a chewed up leg. He joins you, sits down next to you, and immediately his presence radiates heat like a furnace.

“I-I wish I h-had your genes.” You say, trembling. Something painful crosses his features, but what you can’t place. He doesn’t say anything, just lifts his arm up as if to touch you, but then hesitates. Your gazes meet again and he awaits for permission, and you, with a small, broken voice, only manage to murmur “Please”.

He pushes you close to his body under the blankets and sheets and you shiver in delight. You press closer to him, if possible, as if trying to absorb all the warmth you can. It feels better, instantly, and calmer, and you can smell the remnants of his earthy cologne and blood and sweat.

“You’re like a popsicle.” He mutters into your hair.

“S-Sorry if you catch hypothermia because of me.” You say sleepily.

“I’ll be fine, you need to worry about yourself now.” He urges gently, “And... try not to fall asleep, no matter how much you want to, okay?”

“Okay. When do you think the storm will end?”

“Soon, hopefully. You need to see Madam Pomfrey.”

“She’ll probably scold me.”

He breathes out a laugh, “I have yet to meet a student she hasn’t scolded.”

“Even you?”

He pauses. Then, “Especially me.”

If you were in the right state of mind you would have asked why, but it matters little at the moment. All you can focus on is how close he is and how safe he is and how warm he is. The prospect of leaving to see Madam Pomfrey did not seem appealing at all.

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed & feedback is always welcomed 🖤