Number One Crush

I would die for you

I would die for you

I've been dying just to feel you by my side--

To know that you're mine...

Most people experience full-blown, teenage infatuation as early as thirteen years old. The third year girls swoon, send ridiculous cards, stalk their chosen victims through the halls in giggling packs; the fifth year boys seduce, tease, act suave and handsome, seemingly unreachable, in the eyes of the desired female. But perhaps all that is simply fancy--will-o'-the-wisp, ephemeral appetites that come and go as willfully as sprites. Infatuation, I have learned, does not simply come along one day like a breath of wind and disappear just as quickly; it is, instead, a gnawing, all-consuming hunger which is present, hauntingly, every moment of every day. I have had my fancies; but I did not experience infatuation until the age of thirty-seven.

It is a blasphemous thing, this tale I have for you. You'll never forgive me. I don't want you to. But you have to hear it--maybe even understand it--for only then will you truly understand me. And don't say it's too late to understand one another; neither dust nor dirt nor interfering grime can stand between us... I am like you now, you see. I'm so very like you.

The cold rain of a September day in Scotland is no place for a romance to start. Perhaps at that moment, looking out the window of the Hogwarts Express at the dreary mist and fog moving like spirits through the trees, I should have known the dark turns I would be taking this year. The times were desperate, distrustful; Dumbledore practically ordered me into the open Defense Against the Dark Arts position. He didn't want an opening for anyone dangerous in the castle--so, reluctantly, I accepted. Over the past year I had proven myself rather useless, disorganized, unfocused... I had only one thing left fighting for, and, instead of coming together, he and I drifted apart, unwilling both to face our grief, or our guilt. I knew Harry would be a seventh year while I was teaching, and one of my more important pupils, as Defense would be his main focus. He would need some kind of internship under a teacher to go into Auror training, and that teacher would most certainly be me. Dread gathered in the pit of my stomach at the thought of spending the entire year with that walking reminder of the dead, like some frightening, half-alive parody of James back to haunt me, with Lily's eyes staring out, devoid of their brightness and destroyed.

Perhaps I should have let him run through that veil.

I became so wrapped up in these terrible thoughts, that I did not notice the door to my otherwise empty compartment slide open, and shut again with a kind of timidity that normally would ring a bell in my head. Whomever it was remained near the door, and I finally caught the strange aroma of excitement, fear, and sorrow, which had accompanied the newcomer. Before I could turn my head, however, I heard that voice speak again, the voice of my nightmares, screaming his godfather's name, the voice of my dreams, forgiving me, holding me, allowing me to keep him as my own...

"Professor Lupin."

The words themselves snapped me back into reality with an unpleasant crash; donning my detached smile like a tattered old cloak, I looked round and saw Harry, as I expected, still standing next to the door with his trunk--utterly alone. Of course, Hermione would be busy with being Head Girl, and Ron doing his prefect's duties. I felt a pang of pity for him, before looking him up and down. He hadn't grown nearly as much as he should have by seventeen, but had reached about the height of the bottom of my nose; his robes, most likely taken out by Mrs. Weasley in hopes that he might have growth spurt, were far too large; his hair, still damp from outside, nevertheless stuck out, untamable, in all directions. With another pang--this time of fondness--I thought how very like his hair Harry was--a wild creature, free-spirited, unable to be contained... Then, at last, I looked to his eyes. There I saw the very embodiment of my nightmares and dreams, the eyes deadened and alive all at once, carrying wisdom and disillusionment, yet still more naivete, orbs as frightening as death itself, mysterious and beckoning and seductive, benevolent and evil all at once, an angel, an imp, a sprite, and a demon, heaven's sanctuary light and hell's burning flames demanding retribution. He was beautiful.

I will cry for you

I will cry for you

I will wash away your pain with all my tears--

And drown your fears.

"Ah... Harry," I managed faintly, gesturing for him to sit down. A burning sensation tingled under my skin, followed by trembling gooseflesh... the wolf pounded against my ribcage in tandem with my heart, fighting to be set free. My eyes, without my consent, followed Harry in every subtle motion, his every contour of skin and rippling black robes concealing his young form, as he stowed away his trunk, hung Hedwig's cage on a hook, and sat down across from me, without a word. We sat in silence for some time, listening only to the rumble of the train as it sliced gently through the now sleeting sheets of rain, and the sound of the soft mist as it grazed the window in little spats. He sat with hands in his lap, looking out at the gray countryside, rather like a child being reprimanded. It was me who finally decided to break the tension.

"I've never known you to be quite so awkward around me, Harry. Then again, we haven't spoken much since... well, for a while. How'd your summer go?"

Harry sulked a bit after his fashion, still gazing into the mist pensively, before turning those beautiful eyes on me again.

"You're gonna be our new Defense teacher, right? You're gonna teach again?"

I smiled, for the first time really glad I had the position again, if only to see that young face hungry for knowledge and lighting some spark, albeit dark, of hope in me once more.

"Yes, and your N.E.W.T. instructor. I've heard you're the best," I said, winking. The corner of his mouth went up in the purest, wickedest little smile as we shared the joke, and felt, rather uncomfortably, the rush of heat tingle beneath my skin again. As suddenly as it came, it was gone, and he sighed deeply. Seemingly coming to a decision, his hand delved into his robes and came forth again, bearing a small, twinkling object. I leaned forward, unable to believe it--there, tiny and docile on his palm, gleaming red and gold, was a shining Head Boy badge. He looked thoroughly miserable.

'I'm hiding from Hermione. She's absolutely over the moon now we're Head Boy and Girl. Going on about all the changes for the better we can make around Hogwarts--it's just... overwhelming. Ron's been avoiding us since we got our letters."

I nodded, trying to hold in my pride, reminding myself he wasn't my son to be proud of. "Well, you shouldn't let any of that lessen the achievement. I'm not saying you have to be happy about it... but keep your head up. Wear it."

He fingered the badge a bit, and I took it out of his hand, beckoning to him. Harry hesitated before padding over to my side of the compartment, sitting down next to me. I held the heavy fabric of his robes in my hand and proceeded to pin the Head Boy badge on his chest... my hand grazed the resting place of his heart... it's gentle beating sent that fiery heat through me again... my heart yearned to beat in time with his... a rush of sensations flew threw me, shattering my façade for the barest of moments.

"I'm sorry," I heard him say... the only sound in the world was him. Our eyes met, I gazed up at him now instead of the other way around, sitting on that rocking train seat, too close together--as close as we had been that night he ran towards the veil--when I almost lost him.

"Why?" I half-whispered, drawing, against my good sense, even closer.

"I shouldn't be here... I shouldn't be bothering you--I'm sorry--" He got to his feet--quick as lightning my arm shot out and gripped his tighter than I thought--he spun, taken off guard, and I pulled him back down on the seat. For a flash of a second I saw him beneath the full moon glowing eerily... I wanted him there, as close as I could make him, around me and below me and within me, alighted by the stars and the moon, his scent mingling with all the fantastic smells of the forest.

I will pray for you

I will pray for you

I will sell my soul for something pure and true--

Someone like you.

"Don't go. You can... hide out in here for a while, if you're nervous about Hermione. I won't tell."

He rubbed at his arm, and I wondered briefly if I'd bruised it. He nodded, smiled, and sat back, shoulder against mine. I felt myself smiling. This assured itself to be quite an interesting year.

For several weeks after the start of term, we engaged in this little dance--or, rather, that's how it seemed to me. I found myself, somehow, always seeing him in the corridors, subconsciously noting his schedule, where he and his DA friends frequented, their favorite spots at the Gryffindor table; and also found myself finding excuse to go to these places. He'd see me out of the corner of his eye, blush slightly, and avoid my gaze--meanwhile Hermione Granger would throw me dark looks over her stack of books, and Ron Weasley would hiss lowly, his sister scowl and look away, Luna Lovegood disappear loftily behind her magazine, and Neville Longbottom swallow, unwilling to acknowledge my presence. Thus I would stroll by, unaffected. In truth I could not see them, they were barren ghosts next to Harry, shadows that danced about the entrancing fire that was he.

Perhaps it was that year of loneliness between us that began the fantasies, the dreams, the following. I could not look at him in class without seeing his lips bruised from my attentions, the visions of taking him against a wall, restraining him, his cries of protest softening in surrender. I would make him weep, see his eyes fill with wonder and fear and understanding, that he was the only one who could ever understand, that we were meant to be together--that so many others had died to assure our union. I would see him filled as an empty vessel with love and warmth once again, take his fire into myself, and make him whole again. I would show him true magic, true darkness and true light, keep him forever young and taste the summer mornings all upon that dew-born kiss, trap him as a sprite and contain him, taste him, upon my lips.

See your face every place that I walk in

Hear your voice every time that I'm talking...

I would spread satin upon a bed of steel nails, pluck his wings away as from a butterfly upon the glass, rip his heart out and show it to him, still beating as it gushed blood upon that lovely white skin. His bonds would burn upon those slender wrists, my name upon his lips, and only when he'd begged for my love would I set his heart back inside his chest cavity and kiss him tenderly. I watched him as he turned his eyes away, red flushing those perfect cheeks, and heat spread at once through my body, lava frozen and swimming with shards of ice that threatened to slice through my eyes and consume him where he stood. He would never avert those eyes again.

You will believe in me--

And I will never be ignored.

The light breezes of October came, stirring my blood. A meeting was called for the sixth and seventh year Gryffindors, with the NEWT professors present to answer questions and give needed advice. This was the moment of decision for the sixth years--and for Harry and the rest of the seventh years, the point of no return. Here they would be choosing where to intern and thus, their future careers deadlocked. A peculiar warmth spread through me as Harry announced his choice: an Auror. And who better to set him on the right path but his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, with whom he has a wonderful report? He smiled at me across the room, still blushing slightly as he caught me watching him with... well, rather unnoticeable intensity. I caught Hermione scowling out of the corner of my eye, sitting beside him, a hand upon his forearm--exactly where I had bruised it.

A strange thought came over me at that instant; please hate for this... I knew you rather approved of Hermione Granger, and so did I, for such a very long time. But at that moment I wanted to hear her screams halted by the severing of her brainstem, the smell of her blood hot on my hating hands. See the small vessels in her eyes burst, her hair writhe with electricity, brown tresses matted with black, like tar and water, swimming in foulness I could not describe, that wandered unbidden into my mind like plague. I wanted her coughing up yellow bile and the lining of her intestines, ash from her lungs as from the fiery pits of Hell. And above all--above all, I wanted Harry to step over her corpse without feeling and into my arms, mine and only mine, not belonging to the little bitch even in death. And in my mind's eye, I saw not Hermione Granger upon the ground in a pool of dark sickness, but myself.

I will burn for you

Feel pain for you

I will twist and knife and bleed my aching heart--

And tear it apart.

A loud thump sounded from the doorway, and I was disturbed from my rather disconcerting thoughts to gaze up, only to see Mad-Eye Moody standing on the threshold, leaning upon his staff heavily, eye roving insanely in its socket. He engaged in a whispered conversation with Dumbledore, who then approached me, Moody in tow.

"Remus," the Headmaster said in a low voice, "if you've too much on your plate at the moment, Alastor would also be able to take on Harry as an apprentice. The students have been a bit alarmed at your--" he paused momentarily, exchanging glances with McGonagall across the table "slightly odd behavior as of late. Stress, no doubt."

I almost laughed at him. Stress, yes. Stress at losing my best friend, Voldemort on the loose and torturing muggles by the handful, recruiting Dark creatures more and more every day, my obsession with a seventeen-year-old--couldn't the idiots see that the only thing keeping me sane was Harry himself? When would he and I be next? I being a werewolf, he a Parselmouth, as though the Dark Lord would ever leave us alone? But I would never tell Dumbledore that. Harry needed to be trained by me; somewhere in the back of my skull, perhaps it occurred to me that the wolf had stirred, that it was prepared to leap upon him and tear at his sweet, sugary flesh like a light pastry, make him what I am, change the world forevermore.

I chuckled, holding my façade flawlessly. "Stress, Headmaster? Not at all--just a bit worried about everything with the Dark Lord and all that, you know how it is. I'd be delighted to take young Harry on."

I will lie for you

Beg and steal for you

I will crawl on hands and knees until you see--

You're just like me.

The cold gusts of November came, beating against the castle walls and howling about the turrets with the voices of ghosts. I imagined that I heard your voice there, joining the others that have haunted me for the last sixteen years. For some inexplicable reason I found comfort in this. I had begun to retreat into the shadows--my only hold, however intangible or tenuous it may have been, was Harry. And what a hold he began to be as November faded imperceptibly into December, drawing closer and closer to Christmas. No--he was a crutch. Every moment of every day, thoughts of him swum like glittering fish through my mind. In the evenings, he had taken to coming to my office for a cup of tea, and I would help him with his NEWT Defense and Study of the Dark Arts work--it began to b something I not only looked forward to, but depended on deeply.

One evening he did not come. I waited for several hours, unmoving in my chair, gazing into the fire, feeling its attempts to heat my cold flesh, patience turning to annoyance turning to a black anger unlike any I'd experienced before.

I abandoned my chair for the halls, wandering among the portraits, no less ghostly than yourself. The suits of armor shrank from my approach, the students, though they didn't see me, fled with a chill which they could not describe. Every being trembled at my nearness--until I came to the abandoned Astronomy Tower, that is. In an alcove off the stairway, I heard small, whispered voices... I drew nearer, my heart stopping, ice shimmering through my veins and cutting up my heart. Careful not to be seen, I peered around the corner and into the alcove.

He was there. I seldom saw him without his glasses, and the singular perfection of those green eyes nearly shattered me. He leaned against the wall, still in his robes, hair tousled with that careless, wild ease that so sparked my inner demons. Then, I believe my heart did stop ticking for that eternal, horrible moment. Hermione Granger was pressed against him, trapping him against the wall, arms looped about his neck like a noose, her mouth moving up to meet his soft lips. My lips, the ones I had brushed and caressed, tasted and worshiped, drawn in and bruised deliciously, watched as they whispered and pleaded and screamed--if only in my dreams. Instead she was there, her cheeks being tentatively explored by those lips, being gazed upon by those bright green eyes with longing, with tenderness and familiarity, with that magical something I so long to be directed at me.

I couldn't bear to watch any longer, and, as quietly as possible, I fled back to my office, as fleetingly as I had come, seething with the power of that jealous wolf deep inside. Until dawn I gazed into the fire, allowing the anger to grow, to feed and ferment and be nourished by that image, played over and over and over in my mind, a sweet torture of hate that danced within me. By the time I had to be at my first class it had swelled to a harmonious ball, allowing me to think, to plan, to scheme. At last, a design formulated before my mind's eye; in the darkness of the dying embers, I heard myself laugh. I'm disgusting. Didn't I say I was, old friend?

Christmas vacation dwindled into my life, imperceptible but for the execution of my brain child. Most every student in the castle suddenly disappeared, and I wouldn't have noticed had I not always my eyes upon the Gryffindor table, and saw, one morning, that Harry sat alone with his toast. I don't think I have ever felt the wolf pull at me so strongly. He appeared wistful at not a little depressed, but smiled shyly at me nevertheless. I seized the opportunity.

Calmly, I strode across the near-empty hall towards him--resisted the urge to stroke his cheek--and clapped him gently on the shoulder.

"Good morning," I said, feigning my most innocent voice. "Where are Ron and Hermione? Not home for the holidays?" I, of course, having seen McGonagall's list of outgoing students, knew full well that they were.

Harry nodded, now looking and smelling thoroughly miserable. A breath of my old tenderness came into me--for a moment, a sheer, wonderful moment, I forgot the plan entirely. I'd have given anything just to play a game of wizard's chess with him, have a cup of tea, talk about dementors and boggarts as we used to. I had always thought that I loved him until that second in eternity; it was not until then that I knew. But I'm not strong enough. I never was--I pretended to be, I fooled myself and you and James and Lily--but it was nothing but paper dreams, a flimsy and short-lived thing. The wolf knocked, threw itself against my heart, and I dove off the cliff into damnation.

"Wh--why don't you come to my office later on, Harry? Say five. You look lonely, and goodness knows I am. We can have tea."

A chord of my inner self ached when he agreed--and as I walked away, the image of myself dead upon the floor came back before my eyes.

The firelight was flickering upon the stones, the sun was vanishing from a dismal gray day, the halls whispering with unseen drafts, when Harry's knock sounded upon my door. I heard my breathing, sharp and shallow, the rush of my blood from the adrenaline, the tensing of my muscles--every tightening tendon, the sound of my firing synapses, the pores as they dripped sweat heavy with hormones, the magic as it swum in tandem with my pulse, the curse as it emanated from me in waves so blinding I reeled. My own voice sounded foreign as I said, with an almost eerie calm,

"Come in."

With assured, intent steps I carried myself into the next room, my movements robotic--I had replayed this entire scenario so very many times in my mind... the idea that it now played out felt entirely unreal. Harry's awkward shifting, his uneven pulse, quickened by surprise, the heat that danced its way zealously to his skin to fight off the cold, reached me as I stood out of sight.

"Professor Lupin?" he asked my empty office, voice alarmed and bemused. How perfect a thing he sounded, how very like my dreams and yet completely more and less. At once I wanted him to run out the door, run into my arms, stay exactly in that position, suspended like a firefly in amber, a perfect and untouched memory. I wanted him to call my name to the empty shadows forevermore, the perfect contours of his body and movements, rippling with everything so uniquely him, to stand engraved into the stars, like a painting of fire and ice, godly, heavenly, eternal. But to solely gaze upon him for the rest of my life--that I could not do. I needed to touch him, assure myself that the contours, the sweet back and lithe young fingers and warm, musky skin fresh from wind and grass and chocolate, were all real. I needed to possess them, to damage them, see the lips bruise, hear his lungs gasp for air and burst forth into frightened screaming, taste the salt of his tears, the iron and sugar of his blood, smell the endorphins and seratonin and adrenaline of his fear and pain, the living, incredible transcendence of his release and surrender.

And for all those reasons, I wanted him to turn about and run, as fast as his legs could carry him, in any direction--so long as it was away from me and the demand of my ever-increasing heartbeat. And yet, as I always do, I stayed right where I was--a slave to my own bloody weakness, listening to him, knowing that the moment I heard him turn, I would leave my hiding place and dip a finger into the undisturbed lake that was him--rippling on into forever.

"Professor? Um... are you okay?" Harry asked. A floorboard creaked; I knew he had turned away from my direction, had begun walking towards my desk. I closed my eyes briefly, leaning against the wall. The wolf howled within, leapt up and into my heart and mind, fed off of all the longing, all the bitterness, all the years and sorrow and hatred and frustration that was there--and I left the wall, as fluidly as that very ghost I had always imagined myself, haunting the halls of the castle, stalking my prey, running unhindered through the forest... We were one, and suddenly, I felt nothing but desire and need, an all-encompassing hunger that could move from sweet caresses to violence without the slightest hint but a cackle of breaking glass within. My skin quivered and was smooth again as I felt my anxiety calmed into a kind of sweet drunkenness--drunk on all the sensations around me--the harsh, cold gravel of the stones with their many layers of dust, the scratchiness of my robes against me, Harry's breathing, Harry's heartbeat, the reverberating echo of his voice, the smell of his blood and his pulse pounding in my ears as though it were my own, panicking, as though it knew I was there, hunting him, wanting him, behind him.

I shaped myself to his body, leaving only a small wall of air and space between us; I let my hands hover just over his arms; he'd grown stiff, staring fixedly at my desk, sensing a presence behind him and deliciously scared to confront it. The jet-black of his hair reflected back the ballet of firelight--two strands fluttered slightly as I exhaled. He swallowed, left hand shaking. The scent of his sweat and alarm became as palpable an entity as heat waves, swimming off the milky white of his skin, intoxicating and youthful and wholly alive, and I drank it in like the sweetest champagne.

"P-Professor?" he asked the shadows again, his voice husky and soft. I passed my lips a hairs-breadth away from his ear, just so he could feel the heat of my upper chest near to his shoulder, smiling to myself.

"You know, the only thing more frightening than thinking monsters are under your bed, is knowing that they aren't."

Quick as lightning, he spun around, eyes wild as they fixed upon me; even quicker, and still smiling more gently than I could ever believe possible, I pushed him into the desk--he fell upon the edge and half way onto its surface--he never even conceived of going for his wand, not to use against me. Something about the idea made me feel a bit ill... but my smile continued nevertheless. I walked towards him slowly. He tried to pull himself into a sitting position, eyes fixed upon me.

"Wh-what are you doing--have you completely lost it?" he asked. I reached him, placed a finger lightly upon his lips, gazing at him, entranced by every shape of his face, every light in his green eyes, every depth and dimension of his soul.

"Shhh..." I whispered, imagining for a moment the me that had rocked him to sleep, given him chocolate after a dementor attack, held him back from the Veil and told him you were dead, the me that had stood alone for all those years, wishing for him, knowing we were the last ones, the ones left behind.

Violate all the love that I'm missing--

Throw away all the pain that I'm feeling--

His eyes darted towards the door--"Don't bother. I charmed it to lock the moment you closed it," I said, sadly and almost indifferently. He looked at me, standing directly over him--that was where I wanted to be all along, wasn't it? I could have let him go so easily--but to never touch that flesh, to see him always as that constellation of stars, that untouched lake, someone else's and never mine...

"Professor--" he started, his voice trailing off and lingering in the air between us. My muscles were still tensed, waiting, waiting, for a moment I had not the right to choose, nor the knowledge of.

"You have absolutely no conception of how beautiful you are," I said, wistfully, the tenuous, fiery mass of emotions rising into my throat, the strain of my muscles tightening. "Of course you don't--you're young, you think you're invincible. I did too when I was seventeen. I never knew how many things I had that I would miss. You're so unbelievably beautiful."

He was breathing harshly by this time, as prepped as I myself to leap away, his eyes dilated like a prey animal upon an open field who has seen its predator.

"Professor..." he said again, voice lower.

I placed an arm on either side of him, my hands pinning his wrists down, leaning over his body upon the desk until we were face to face. I gazed into him, watched as his mind moved with such precision, formulating some way, any way, to get out of this.

"There are always monsters under the bed, Harry."

It seemed an eternity--my lips brushed against his, felt every plane of silk, so gently it might have been a dream--my tongue lightly, unobtrusively found entrance--for an eternity he danced with me, unresisting, submissive, beautiful beneath me, his hands limp under my pinioning, his lips moving slightly, inviting more contact, glancing up to meet mine...

Suddenly I felt an impact in my stomach, and I staggered slightly away from him, our lips separating--I realized with a darkly amused laugh that he'd kicked me--and, scrambling up from the desk, he bounded away--his body came in contact with the door, trying, panicking, to get it open--his hands searched feverishly for his wand, and he spun about, realizing he didn't have it. I held it up, tut-tuting him and smiling. The moment had been chosen.

He leapt towards me, strong with fright and anger and confusion--still laughing, I met him before he'd taken two steps, grabbing him from behind, about the chest hard enough to break a rib--he yelped, his feet leaving the floor. With no more effort than lobbing a little rag doll, I threw him against the wall; he hit it with a strange crunching sound, crumpled down into a quivering heap.

You will believe in me--

And I can never be ignored.

He struggled back up, his feet slipping on the floor, face contorted in pain. A large bruise had begun to form on the left side. I seized him by the upper arms and yanked him upwards, slamming him, yet again, against the wall, with more force than I knew I possessed. He made a strangled cry but nothing more, fighting feebly against me; I pressed my body against him, stealing the breath from him with a kiss, hard on the mouth--this time, my tongue forced its way past his defiant seal, explored him fully and without fear; suppressed screams found their way from his throat, enraged, terrified noises that made me all the fiercer. His glasses hit the ground with a clatter that I ignored--Harry left the ground as I lifted him in my passion, fighting against me with an aggression I hadn't seen since that night at the Ministry, a year and a half before... it seemed so very long then.

I broke our contact on a whim, found his neck, listened to the sweet blood as it pumped through him in that haunting rhythm, magical and wonderful and finally, at long last, mine. I felt my canines enlarging and sharpening to fine points--unable to resist anything any longer, I sank them into that perfect flesh, and tasted it for the first time... the way it melted under my touch, supple and smooth and infused with every smell that was him, all the mysteries of the world... the very texture of his blood, thick and hot as it tear-dropped, the giving of a fountain, a light rain, upon my tongue... Harry made a small, pained noise--on another whim, I retracted my teeth and released his arms; he fell, to his evident horror, into my embrace--I enveloped him as for a sweet kiss, my lips wet with his blood--for a second, he fell into my eyes, as enchanted of me as I was of him. He rose up on the tips of his toes, his body against me, out of my design...

"Professor..." he said lowly, voice pained and slightly wheezing. "Don't... don't do this... please... you don't have to... I get it... just don't..."

I heard myself laugh at him, then lick the blood from my lips. Better than I ever imagined it to be. I drew my arm up and back-handed him across the face, that same sick smile still on my face; his head snapped to the right, a trail of blood falling down his cheek; he looked back at me, eyes full of terror and pain, confusion and betrayal and heartbreak, and I hated it and loved it all at the same time.

I would die for you.

I fucked him against that wall. The stone and marble was cold and unforgiving; rivulets of his virgin blood laced their way down, to form still lakes upon the floor. I couldn't feel him enough--the heat, the screams, the smell of his horror and anguish--I raked my nails down his sides, trying to find it, find the way to feel him inside me, a part of me; I buried my teeth into the flesh of his neck, the roundness of his shoulders, the tender skin of his inner elbow, upon his chest, his stomach, his manhood, engorged for me through all of it.

I would kill for you.

I gagged him with a thick piece of wool, held tightly across his mouth and tied about his neck, to muffle his screams from any passerby outside my door. His robes tore brutally as I ripped them from him--he beat against me ferociously, fighting against the gag, eyes filled with his heart, tears of frustration and anger and pain and desire, hatred for that very desire, and I laughed at him. He was so gorgeous in that flickering firelight, in the dying embers, as the light and energy began to go out of him, when I wrapped his legs around me. He was so tense, so incredibly tight, when I forced... forced myself inside. His spine arched against me, his head tossed back, his eyes shut tight, squeezing out the tears. He sobbed into his gag, horrible sobs that jogged my hazy mind. I only then realized that I was sobbing as well, as I pulled out and thrust, like a dagger, into him again.

I will steal for you.

And again.

I'd do time for you.

His sobs filled my soul, in crescendo with my growing climax. I wanted to die, more than every before. Not the shallow wish you can sometimes get when things go bad--no, at last, I truly wanted to die. He wasn't fighting me anymore, and the pleasure in my skin was like a red-hot brand on my brain.

I will wait for you.

Suddenly the wolf had quieted, sated and replete, in the back of my mind--my arousal diminished--I staggered away from the wall, and Harry slipped down it and out of my grasp, sinking onto the floor as though wishing to disappear into it. His eyes had grown dark and blank, devoid of spark and vitality. I fell against my desk and onto the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. Like a child I wound myself into a tight ball, letting the tears fall into those puddles of hardening black blood, protecting myself from his eyes, on me but seeing nothing. Minutes passed imperceptibly, like all time where there is no passion to be had, and my sobbing did not stop. Oddly, I felt his eyes, unfathomable as they'd always been, watching me, judging me, absorbing me.

I'd make room for you.

Warmth penetrated the skin of my arm, tracing its way into the muscle and the bone; I looked up, amazed, hardly daring to believe it. His hand was there--his arms laced their way about my shoulders, he buried his head in my neck, pressed his half-naked, battered body against me, shaking and shivering.

To be close to you.

Dimly I realized he must have been cold between all my other thoughts--in those eyes was a sliver of my own soul, all that I had felt and hungered for, a dancing flame of understanding that did not go out.

To be part of you.

I wrapped my cloak about him and held his body close, as gently as I possibly could, tracing patterns along his back, sobbing until we both fell asleep upon the cold floor.

Because I believe in you--

I believe in you...

So there it is, Padfoot, old friend--my whole sordid tale. I've always hated Christmas Eve--but now, I actually rather enjoy it. The snow is rather nice--the way it falls, its lightness, the way you can barely feel it. I'll miss it, I know that much. But not as much as I'll miss him. I said good-bye to Harry this morning... said I was going away. I think some part of him knew what I'd be doing--he even tried to stop me, asked me to spend Christmas with him. It's so absurd I want to laugh. He gets it, Padfoot, even better than I do. I don't know why I did what I did. It was senseless, and yet I'd never felt more in my life than when he touched me, when I knew that morning that I loved him.

But it's up to you and James and Lily to judge me now, for what I've done. Like I said, you'll never forgive me--but understand it. It's the greatest truth I could ever give you, old friend.

The snow swirled in tiny storms as Remus Lupin stood up from the trunk of the tree where he's been sitting, staring into the engraved letters of a tombstone. The ice had nearly concealed the name, but it could still be made out:

SIRIUS BLACK

b. 1959 d. 1996

BELOVED FRIEND AND GODFATHER

Remus caressed each letter tenderly, his teeth chattering slightly. The wind blew a bit chiller, and the snow on the walks, which had begun to melt, froze again into black sheets. The world stood still in the gray twilight, holding its breath, seconds dead and without meaning. Remus fingered something within the pocket of his cloak, biting his lips so hard it bled; he pulled his hand out, and with it came the dim shine of a silver dagger, reflecting back the stormy sky who had forgotten the sun.

He barely felt the knife as it slide into his cold flesh; the silver poisoning slithered into his veins, freezing his blood even as it stained the white snow a crimson-tinged black. His eyes began to grow heavy; the world spun lazily, the wind grew gentler, forgiving. The snow didn't feel quite so cold as he thought it might, as he laid his cheeks upon its bosom, near to the marker of Sirius's grave with no body. He could imagine he was there, still grinning rakishly, defying death even as the maggots ate away his eyes--and as the snow began to fall upon his body, Remus smiled too.

There were always monsters under the bed.

I would die for you.