The Second Time Around

Remus and Harry sat in the living room, each quietly reading and listening to the thrum of the rain as it spattered against the roof. They hadn't spoken of Harry's nightmare since it happened, and as Harry had slept peacefully ever since, neither felt the need to bring it up.

Harry felt his eyes once again drawn to the window, to the rain-battered rose bush, and the drenched meadow beyond. It had been raining for three days, trapping the two men indoors. Each day, the house felt a bit smaller, a bit more stifling. Harry sighed sharply, drawing Remus's attention.

"Am I boring you?" Remus asked seriously. Harry immediately felt guilty. Until he saw a smile quirk the other man's lips.

"Quite frankly, yes," Harry said, rolling his eyes in mock disgust.

"And does my presence offend you?"

Harry smirked evilly. "I find it repugnant."

Remus's eyebrows lifted, and Harry found it difficult to keep a straight face.

"Well then. I won't trouble you any longer," Remus said, rising from his seat.

"No!" Harry shouted, chucking a toss cushion at him. "Sit down, you silly prat."

Remus laughed. "I'm only going to make us some tea."

"Oh," said Harry, his cheeks coloring.

"Now who's the silly prat?" Remus said, teasingly.

"Oh, go on!"

Remus winked and disappeared into the kitchen. Harry leaned back in his chair, the book forgotten in his lap. He watched the rain trace complex patterns of glittering lace on the window pane, and smiled contentedly. Spending the summer at Remus's was suiting him just fine. No more nightmares, no more worrying when the next terrifying vision would strike. He and Remus had slipped into a comfortable routine, and Harry found himself thinking of the man as more of a friend than a father figure. A very dear friend, in fact.

Remus came back into the living room, carrying a large tray with two steaming mugs and heaped with scones. After a while, Harry set his cup down, his gaze returning to the window. When he looked back, Remus was watching him thoughtfully.

"It gets old, doesn't it?" he asked.

"What?"

"The rain. It comes for days at a time. Sometimes weeks."

Harry shuddered at the thought of that. "Mmm. I think I'm going a bit stir-crazy." Remus chuckled, returning to his book. Harry sat up quite suddenly, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"What?" Remus asked warily, glancing up at him.

"Let's go," he said.

"Go where, Harry? Hogsmeade is underwater."

"No, just outside. For a walk. We both need to get out."

Remus gave him a look that clearly said, You've gone nutters, and Harry laughed. "Come on Remus, live a little. You need some adventure in your life."

Remus shook his head. "I prefer to have my adventures inside, where it's warm and dry, if it's all the same to you."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said, pouting. "I'll just go by myself."

"Harry, don't be ridiculous. You'll catch pneumonia." But Harry wasn't listening. Before Remus could protest any further, Harry was up and out the French doors that led to the backyard. "Harry, wait!" Remus shouted, but to no avail. Harry was by then merely a raven-topped blur in the midst of the downpour. "Harry" he called again, weakly. His only answer was the constant static of the rain as it continued to fall.

***

Harry had never been much of a runner. Of course, he loved speed, love to feel the wind sting his cheeks, but he got that rush from riding his broom.

Just then, Harry ran. He whipped through the trees, loving the shock of the cold rain as it beat against the skin of his face and hands. His lungs ached for air, and his legs began to burn, but he continued to run, feeling as though he was shedding all the months of pain and terror with each step.

He ran and ran, not knowing or caring where he was going or where he would end up, until he heard a distant voice calling his name. He stopped running and turned, seeing the house behind him. He had run a complete circle all the way around, and was now heading away from the front door.

Harry saw a figure materialize through the sheets of rain. It was Remus, carrying an umbrella and overcoat, looking rather upset.

"Here," he yelled, thrusting the coat and umbrella towards Harry. He had to shout over the roar of the rain. "If you're going to go frolicking about in the rain, at least use these."

Harry grinned, seeing the state Remus was in. He was obviously distressed, his brows furrowed, lips pursed. His sandy brown hair was plastered around his high cheekbones, and he appeared to be shivering.

Harry opened the umbrella and quickly pulled Remus under it with him. "What on earth are you doing out here?" he asked, amused.

"Well," Remus said, hands trembling with the cold, "I didn't want you to fall ill, so I brought you the umbrella, and the coat to keep you warm."

"But why didn't you use them?" Harry asked.

Remus flushed, color flooding his pale cheeks. Harry felt a twinge somewhere in the region of his stomach.

"I was in a hurry," Remus replied. "I saw you running away from the house, and I thought maybe... I was worried that you were..."

"Running away from home?" Harry said teasingly. Remus's face was completely serious.

"I thought perhaps I'd made you angry," he said quietly, casting his eyes down toward his shoes.

"And so you thought you'd run out here to make things better?" Remus nodded, and Harry felt a jolt of heat race through him, not entirely sure it had anything to with the warm coat. "And look where it got you," he said softly. "You're all wet. And cold," he added, seeing Remus's jaw clench to stop his teeth from chattering. He took off the coat and threw it around the older man's shoulders, pulling him a bit closer.

He kept his hands on the lapels of the coat, noticing how close Remus's face was to his own. "Stupid git," he whispered, suddenly transfixed by the other man's mouth.

Remus grinned, flashing his teeth, but his eyes were unsure. "Watch it, young man. This is an ex-professor you're talking to."

"Really stupid git," Harry said, and then as an afterthought, "sir."

Remus laughed, but he was quickly silenced when Harry pressed his warm lips against the other man's.

Remus's lips were cool and smooth, yielding slightly under Harry's searching mouth, though his body tensed. He tasted of rain and chocolate and peppermint, a combination Harry never realized was so delicious. He flicked his tongue out against Remus's mouth, wanting to taste more.

Remus abruptly pulled away, shock, concern, and something indefinable wrought over his face. He mumbled something incoherent and ducked out from under the umbrella, dashing through the still-pouring rain and back into the house.

Harry let the umbrella drop, barely noticing the rain as it pelted against him, washing away every trace of a kiss he knew should never have happened.

***

Harry lay motionless in his bed, silently counting the small cracks that criss-crossed the ceiling above him. Though outwardly he was a picture of calm, inside he was screaming, thrashing, beating his head against the wall.

Harry had no idea what had come over him out there in the rain, accosting a man twice his age - a man who at one time had changed his diapers!

Not to mention a man who, up until two years ago, you called Professor Lupin,

Harry thought miserably.

He wracked his brain for some signal, some warning that would have prepared him for these feelings.

And just what were these feelings, anyway? And when had he started thinking of Remus as an attractive, available man instead of a kind, godfather-type? For that matter, when had he started thinking of men like that?

Harry sighed, shifting uncomfortably in his bed, unwilling to admit to himself just what the thought of Remus's lips pressed to his was doing to him, or the thought of what might have happened if Remus hadn't pulled away.

He wriggled around, tangling himself in the sheets, and with a low groan, he gave up trying to get comfortable, tossing the covers away from his overheated body and hopping out of bed.

Harry padded quietly downstairs to the kitchen and began bustling about, making himself a cup of tea. A glance at the clock above the oven told him it was 2:30 in the morning. Remus would be fast asleep by now, dreaming peacefully. Not lying awake, plagued by thought Harry was fairly sure were impure.

He wondered vaguely what Remus looked like when he slept. Lips parted, breathing softly, his hair falling carelessly across his forehead. His face would be young and unlined in sleep, the cares of his day erased. He would, Harry knew, be beautiful.

Harry shook his head, trying to rid himself of images of Remus in bed. He took a swig of his tea, enjoying the sensation as it scalded his throat, the pain forcing him to focus on thinking rational thoughts. He considered the events that led up to the kiss, but there was nothing that made him think he had any feelings other than platonic for Remus. Oh sure, Remus had kissed him on the forehead after his nightmare, but that had been out of fatherly concern, right? And he had felt funny that night, but considering the emotional state he was in, that was only to be expected, wasn't it?

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. He stopped suddenly when he realized it was something he'd seen Remus doing frequently. He thought back to all his romantic exploits, though there hadn't been many. There had been Cho, of course; he still regretted that his first kiss had been with her. That relationship was a mistake from the very beginning. There was about a minute in sixth year when he'd been convinced he was in love with Hermione. After a week, he came to his senses and realized she was exactly where she was always meant to be - with Ron.

Harry felt his mouth go dry and his throat tighten at the thought of Hermione, and he abruptly moved on. However, he could think of no one else he'd really had feelings for. Once the war began, he didn't have time for relationships. Things like romance had just seemed so trivial. As for having feelings toward another man... Harry frowned, trying to recall. There weren't any he could think of, except maybe...

Well, he might as well admit it now. It no longer had any consequence. With a heavy pit settling in his stomach, Harry remembered the feeling he got every time Draco Malfoy was in close proximity. He was always torn between beating the snot out of him, or running a hand through that silky blonde hair. Between slapping the smirk off his face, or kissing it away. Even now, Harry was slightly ashamed to admit that his heart beat harder as he thought of the handsome Slytherin.

None of that matter any longer, as Draco had been dead for years. He was one of the first to fall, back before the war had really begun. He was killed at his father's hand, after attempting to switch sides.

Harry realized he was gripping his mug so tightly it was in danger of shattering in his hands. He sighed, taking deep breaths. Well, he thought grimly, at least that proves I can be attracted to another man. Harry knew he had never been in love with Draco; he had had no feelings for the boy besides abject lust and desire.

That explains it!

Harry thought, grinning triumphantly. I'm just attracted to him physically, is all. Just like Draco. And it was true. Remus had always been a good-looking wizard - Harry had known even as a boy. And now, at twenty-one, he finally had the chance to realize it.

Harry felt as thought a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. If it was just attraction, then it was completely harmless, wasn't it? If it went no deeper than the physical, it was no big deal, and their relationship wouldn't have to be compromised.

Harry let out a sudden giggle. I think my old professor's cute, he thought, feeling like a schoolboy again. He remembered the first time he'd lain eyes on Remus Lupin, back in third year on the train. When Ron had said something along the lines of, "He looks like one good hex would finish him off," Harry had felt an inexplicable rush of protectiveness for the then-stranger. He rather liked the sharp lines of the man's thin face, the way his hair was a bit on the shaggy side, but looked so soft hanging over his eyes. How he looked so peaceful as he slept...

Harry returned to his previous thoughts of Remus in bed. He would be deeply asleep by now, probably dreaming. Harry wondered what he dreamt of, if he murmured quietly to himself as he slept.

"Harry," he could almost hear him whisper.

"Mmm..." Harry breathed, thoroughly enjoying where this fantasy was heading. His eyes fell shut languidly, and his hand dropped into his lap.

"Harry," Remus said again, more firmly this time.

Harry's eyes snapped open, as he realized he wasn't alone.

***

Remus couldn't sleep. He'd been tossing and turning for hours, but the image of Harry leaning in to kiss him wouldn't leave his mind. He'd gone over every sensible explanation he could think of, and had finally settled on lunacy. Harry had gone stark, raving mad, and the first symptom of his descent into said madness was randomly kissing the men who'd practically raised him.

Good thing Sirius isn't around,

he thought wryly, but he didn't laugh at his own joke.

At first he'd questioned his motives for asking Harry to live with him. Though he thought of Harry almost - Almost? - as a son, he feared that by having him in the same house, he would selfishly be using him to get back a small bit of Sirius.

But now... Remus was loathe to consider exactly who it was he wanted to "get a bit of." He'd always felt particularly connected with Harry, as though the two of them understood one another on a different level.

He's twenty years your junior,

Remus thought disgustedly. What could you possibly have in common with him?

But it was useless to argue. Remus had been trying to deny what he felt for Harry for nearly two years. They had fought Voldemort side-by-side, they had faced the violence of war and the horror of death together. Harry had grown into a strong and capable man right before his eyes, and it hadn't taken him long to notice.

He loved Harry with a burning intensity that frightened him at times. The only thing that kept it from bothering him was the conviction that he was only doing what James have wanted - being a surrogate father to his son.

So, for two years, since Harry was just nineteen, Remus had pretended to ignore the fire that lit Harry's eyes, to forget the chill he felt whenever Harry said his name. Incidentally, nineteen was the age at which Harry had stopped calling him "Professor Lupin" and began calling him "Remus."

Remus growled, throwing the blankets away from him and standing up. It wasn't right for him to be thinking of Harry this way, especially not after everything the boy had been through. Remus felt dirty, as though he were taking advantage of him, even though Harry had been the one to kiss him.

He's confused,

Remus thought petulantly. He would not, for one moment, entertain the thought that Harry was the least bit interested in him that way. He's just been cooped up in this house with only me for companionship for too long. It's bound to drive anyone to distraction, he thought, proud of his brilliant deduction. And after that nightmare... he's just looking for some comfort, and he thought that was the only way to get it.

Remus shook his head, sad that Harry felt the need to kiss him in order to get his attention. He was obviously failing in his role as a father figure.

I need to be there for him,

he thought. I need to let him know that I'm not angry about today. I need to forget about that kiss... that kiss... that soft, sweet, innocent, passionate...

"I need to take a cold shower," he muttered, upset at the involuntary reaction his body always had to these thoughts of Harry. He opted instead to go downstairs and make a cup of hot chocolate. He pulled on a robe and stepped quietly out of his room, so as not to wake the sleeping man down the hall.

As he approached the kitchen, he noticed a light glowing from around the cracks of the door. That's odd, he thought. I don't remember leaving that on. He opened the door silently and peered inside. Harry was sitting at the table, his back to Remus, the top of his dark head resting against the back of the chair.

"Harry," Remus whispered softly, wondering if the boy was asleep. Harry made a soft, throaty noise, and one hand slid from the table into his lap.

"Harry," he said again, a bit louder. For a moment, there was no response. Then suddenly, as though he'd been prodded with a hot poker, Harry leapt up, overturning the chair in the process.

Remus gasped audibly and took a step backward. Harry was clad only in his boxers, showing off his perfect olive complexion and toned quidditch figure.

Harry stammered an apology, bending over to pick up the chair. Remus, nearly choking at the sight of Harry bent over in front of him, went over to help him lift the heavy oak chair. Their fingers brushed, and the abused chair clattered to the ground a second time.

This time, however, neither of them moved to set it right. Remus slowly straightened, and Harry did the same. Their hands were still lightly touching. Remus tried to speak, but could think of nothing to say.

"I want to apologize," Harry said finally, his eyes wide and earnest.

"What?" Remus asked, surprised.

"For today. I should never have... you know... what I did. It was a mistake, and I hope I haven't upset you too much."

Remus smiled, feeling infinitely better. "It's okay, Harry. I understand."

"You do?" Harry said with mild shock.

"Of course. It's perfectly natural."

"It is?"

"Yes." Harry's eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead. "And I just want you to know, I'm here whenever you need me." Harry's mouth fell open. "Although, next time you don't need to go to such drastic measures to get my attention."

"Oh," Harry said quietly. "You think I'm only trying to get your attention."

"Well, yes. And I want you to know I understand what it's like to need someone, need to be comforted."

"Frankly, Remus," Harry said, setting his empty cup carefully in the sink as he walked past the older man, "I don't think you've any idea what I need."

After he had gone, Remus sad down heavily at the table, all the strength gone out of him. "Oh Harry," he whispered, "I'm afraid you're the one who doesn't know what I need. And I'm even more terrified that you might find out."