Scars

Scars-

Scars are souvenirs you never lose

The past is never far...

(Name, Goo Goo Dolls)

***

The curtains billowed at the window, thin white sails that fluttered in the slight, cooling breeze that filled the room. The chill on the wind was odd, really; the heat had been oppressive for the past few weeks, gusts of hot air shooting through the house whenever someone left the window open, and going outside had been akin to stepping into a furnace.

But today, the weather had changed, seemingly overnight. It wasn't cool, but it was more pleasant than it had been all summer. The wind didn't carry heat on it; the small puffs of summer's breath that made their way into the winding suffocation of 12 Grimmauld Place were surprisingly laden with the scent of rain and freshly turned earth, both of which could not be seen for miles.

Remus Lupin shook his head as he drew out a chair at the old rickety desk. He would never understand this house, but he wasn't sure he ever wanted to. In a few hours, it would be gone, razed to the ground once the new owner had signed the demolition papers. t didn't escape him how painfully ironic it was that ownership of 12 Grimmauld Place had now passed to Andromeda Tonks, simply because she was the eldest daughter of her family, disowned or not... the two people who hated the house the most were the two who inherited it. Maybe it simply had a way of claiming its owners, he mused, a perverse reversal of the human need to lay claim to property.

But he couldn't bring himself to care about the mysteries of the house, only pretend to find relief in the idea that soon it would be knocked down. He could turn his back on it and pretend it never existed. No matter that he had spent the past year living under the old roof, sweeping cobwebs from dusty corners and getting used to sleeping on the hard bed, eating on a regular basis, hearing Sirius laugh in the kitchen...

No, he did not want to remember this place once it was gone. He had gone over every inch of his room, stripping it of everything of value- a few books, a photograph he had stuck on his desk and an old wand-box he thought might come in handy. He did not take anything else; he did not want any other souvenirs to remind him of his time here. He was not one for attachments; his life had taught him not to play the sentimental fool one too many times, and now that the headquarters of the Order was moving to a new location he had made up his mind to simply forget the old one.

< style="text-indent: 0.00mm; text-align: left; line-height: 4.166667mm; color: Black; background-color: White; "> His suitcase stood in the corner by the door, packed. The cupboard doors were open, devoid of any clothing except an incredibly tattered old robe that was more holes than cloth. He let his eyes wander over the peeling paint of the walls once last time, pausing when he came to the pencil marks that marred the otherwise plain white surface, a scratchy design that leapt out at him and demanded for him to come closer.

He had spent many nights staring at the same set of marks, wondering. The first time, he had not really taken into account what the doodle might be; it had been night and by the dim light of his wand, it was hard to see anything through the shadows that crept about the room. An interesting point to note was that it had been in pencil, and it was the strangeness of that which led him to examine it further- Muggle objects such as pencils were few, if not completely nonexistent, in the Black family home, so he could only conclude that Sirius, in his youth, had smuggled away some pencils from him and used them to desecrate the walls of the house.

But when he had gotten close to it, he realized that there were faint words under the strange pattern, words in a handwriting that was oddly- and painfully- familiar, trailing away to a point behind the bedstead. And as he had done many times since then, he stood up from his place, striding over to the bed and pushing it away to get a better look at whatever it was that was written on the wall.

It never did get old. Neither did the feeling of plaster against his palm, or the dust that rose from the floor no matter how much it was swept. Remus knelt on the ground, knees against the old floorboards, his eyes darting from his palms to the drawing on the wall. With the index finger of his right hand, he traced the pattern, forming the familiar five points of a star that were etched into the plaster. His finger dropped to touch the faint white scar that was pressed into his left palm, five points where the skin stretched taut, slightly raised.

His fingers shook as he brushed them against the wall, settling his hand over the child-like drawing. The scarred skin on his hand fit perfectly over the star on the wall. He closed his eyes, drawing silent comfort, imagining that he could feel the lines leaping from the wall to brand his skin, the edges of his old scar burning, his eyes clouding over...

*

The first time is an accident. He catches her in the library, pressed u against the bookcase at the far end where almost no one bothers to look, her arms around some Hufflepuff boy's neck and her legs around his waist. He simply turns the corner and there they are, writhing against the books, and his legs seem to freeze. Her hair sticks to her forehead and she is breathing loud enough for him to hear and he gasps, hands flying to cover his mouth. She looks at him, her eyes half-closed, and he swallows, mumbling an apology as he backs away. He almost trips over his own feet in his haste to leave, unable to tear his eyes away from her, forgetting whatever it was that he came for.

But he cannot forget her; the image of her lazy, satisfied smile, the sound of her muffled cries, the sight of her body stiffening and her head thrown back stays with him. It burns itself into his brain, a beautiful picture that replays itself over and over, despite his efforts to push it from his mind.

So when he sees her again, walking in the corridors, he follows her without thinking. He finds her in an empty classroom, smirking as a trembling hand slides up her leg, under her skirt. She pushes someone against a wall and kisses them, and his stomach twists as he hears an inarticulate moan. Of course, she doesn't notice him, fading into the shadows.

But Remus Lupin has always been unobtrusive. Simply there, not much to look at, a quiet boy.

When she passes him, he finds the heat rushing to his face and his hands shake of their own accord. He shoves them into his pockets and doesn't dare to meet her eyes, only looking after her wistfully when he knows she is too far away to see him.

There are a lot of 'accidents' after that.

And at night, when he goes to bed, he thinks of her. He dreams that the lips that cover hers are his own, that his hands slide over her skin and she smiles only for him. It is his fantasy, and he licks his lips as he wonders what it would be like to kiss her. He bites down into his pillow so that no one will hear him, his fists clenched on the sticky, sweaty sheets. In the mornings, he washes away his guilt and stares despairingly at himself in the small bathroom mirror, willing the dull red blush that stains his cheeks away before someone else walks in.

*

She corners him in the prefects' meeting room, when everyone has already left and he is slumped back in his chair, staring up at her.

He's not sure what to do, not when she looms over him, her hands on either side of him, her face merely inches from his. He can't stop his eyes from flitting down to her lips every three seconds, he can't stop himself from inhaling the scent of her, distinctly dangerous, reeking with recklessness. He wonders if this is how she controls everyone, invading their personal space so they can't breathe, forcing her way in so they cannot ignore her.

They must have made Andromeda Black Head Girl for a reason, even if the reason eludes him at times.

She is saying something, she is scolding him, for what, he is only vaguely aware. He watches her mouth move, not listening to a word, only realizing she's stopped talking when her lips stop moving. He snaps his head up, only to find her staring at him curiously, a strange look on her face that scares him to no end. That, and the closeness between them makes his mind spin.

But this is no time for teenage fantasies.

'Were you even listening to me, Remus?' she asks, and he looks away, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. He is tempted to lie, to tell her that he has understood he is not to miss another patrol, because what else could she be saying? But he shakes his head softly, still staring off to a spot on his right.

'No.'

He nearly screams when he feels her fingers against his face, forcing him to turn, to look at her. His breath catches in his throat as she leans closer, her fingers still firm on his jaw.

'Why?' she asks, and it's clear by her smirk that she knows why, and she just wants to hear it. Ego. She knows how he watches her, she knows what he's been doing for weeks now, and she's got him trapped.

'Because...'

He can't say that he wasn't listening, that he hardly ever listens when she talks because he's too busy watching her. He can't tell her that he wasn't listening because he's fascinated by her. He can't say that he wasn't listening because he thinks she's beautiful, because he has dreams about her that make him blush just to think of them. He won't tell her that wasn't listening, because...

'You want to kiss me,' she says, so matter-of-factly, a thin eyebrow raised and the smirk still dancing over her lips. She says it so normally, as if she's used to this, and come to think of it... she probably is, being in her position, lusted after by half the male population of the school.

And he still doesn't know if it's her scent that's making his mind fuzzy, or if it's just the proximity to her, because at fifteen, he still hasn't learnt to separate mind and body, logic and emotion...

'Yes,' he replies, his tone echoing hers. Casual, oh so casual, even if every last nerve in his body is dancing on edge as she touches him again, fingertips against his knuckles..

'Why don't you, then?'

He almost laughs at the absurd notion, because this has to be a dream, and really, there's no reason to, is there?

That doesn't stop him from pressing forward hesitantly, gasping as he realizes that he's awake when he feels her sharp fingernails digging into his skin.

*

The moonlight is the only witness as he stands, gasping for breath, his hands fixed in her hair. Her face is pressed to his stomach, resting in its oddly hollow curve, her fingers tracing the sharp, jutting bones, almost as if she's searching his frame for something. Her hair slides from his hands, rough fingers smoothing out the tangles as she draws back, leaving him suddenly cold.

'Why me?' he asks softly, breathing deeply, shuddering. 'Why me?'

'You know.'

Consciously, he glances down; her fingertips hover over his knees. She brushes them down against the scars on his calf, barely touching the skin. He holds his breath, only exhaling when he feels her pressed against him again, kissing the old scars of his bite, a secret she has never asked for and he has never told. She draws herself up, hands resting on his shoulders, her eyes locking with his.

'Why did you choose me, Andromeda?'

'Because you're real,' she replies, kissing the corner of his mouth.

*

She slams the door behind her, not looking back, casting a locking charm as if it's second nature.

'What, no welcome kiss?' he jokes. He no longer feels the hesitance, but a burgeoning self-confidence in himself, in his spirit.

He feels alive.

He laughs as her hands tug at the front of his robes, pulling impatiently at the drawstring around his neck. When it refuses to come undone she swears under her breath, and he cocks an eyebrow at her.

'Really, Andromeda, I would have expected that behavior of Sirius, not of a lady- mmph!'

He is silenced by the feeling of her lips on his, demanding, forceful, her hands abandoning their struggle and instead cradling his face, fingers stroking his cheeks. Her eyes are wide open, glittering in the moonlight; she always kisses him with her eyes open. It's oddly intense to see the person whom he is kissing, to watch their every reaction, to watch them watching you.

And maybe it's just habit, because he never closes his eyes, never trusts anyone enough to do so. Not even her, yet.

He cranes his neck, moving against her, hands finding her waist. He shivers as she brushes the hair out of his face before trailing her hands down, lightly dancing over his scars, his chin, his throat, forcing him to break the kiss as he tilts his head back. She brushes her lips over the soft skin there, nuzzling into his neck, and he convulsively grips her tighter, fingers digging into her sides through her robes.

When she comes to the prefect's badge that glitters on his robe, she laughs, face pressed to his chest, and he feels the laughter go through him, echoing in his body, settling itself in his stomach.

*

He is rash in his kisses, in his movements, pinning her to himself, moaning into her hair. Her hands scrabble at his chest, and each touch threatens to be the end of his control. He deftly pulls at his robes, the drawstring sliding free under his fingers. He feels her hands sliding over his tugging at the material, nails scratching his skin.

'Don't stop. Don't ever stop.'

His words are lost in the rush of cloth sliding over skin, the robe falling to pool at his feet, her hands suddenly roaming his form with wanton abandon and pushing away anything that stops her. The chill air in the room is obvious as it pushes against him; he is naked and vulnerable but his raging blood, pounding in his veins, cloaks him in a dizzy warmth.

She grins at him, a cocky, self-assured smirk, her breath hot and heavy on his face. She teases him, blowing across his lips, and he growls, pulling her closer, linking his hands behind her back.

'Did you know-' she begins conversationally, but he gives her a pained look.

'Andromeda,' he says softly, his voice patient, but laced with a threatening undertone, 'if you don't shut up right now, I don't know what I may do.'

'And what do you suggest, Remus?' she teases, a familiar war with words that sometimes makes him believe that there is more to their relationship than just the physical gratification.

He doesn't answer her question, instead, dipping his head forward so that his lips graze hers. She nibbles at his lower lip, tongue darting out, flicking at his teeth as he groans. The wall is against him, a cold shiver racking his body, but it doesn't distract him from the feeling of her, pressed up against him, of her running her tongue over the sharp canines, the scent of pine in her hair, a lingering trace of the strawberries she had eaten earlier rolling over his lips. It makes him giddy, and he lets his eyes flutter shut, not knowing when her robes slip from under his fingers and he can finally feel her, bare skin hot and flushed against him. Her hands guide his, a double caress of cold and fire as he slides into the familiar rhythm of touch, touch, touch, trusting her as he is shaking too much to know what he's doing.

He is ripped from reality by the sound of her voice, and for a few moments, the classroom ceases to exist. Everything ceases to matter but her breath, her body, her fingers traveling over his back, gripping his hair. He in turn cradles her, his world confined to the circle of his arms as he buries his face in her neck and groans, reveling in her burning touches, of her eyelashes fluttering against his fevered skin as he reaches up to kiss her brow.

'They should be jealous of me,' he murmurs.

*

He looks down into the palm of his hand, admires the silver star that rests within the tissue. A wave of vertigo hits him, deliciously dangerous. He is careful not to touch the deadly silver, instead relishing the waves of weakness that ripple over him. Even if it saps at his strength, it is perfect; it is like her when she laughs, making him weak, so incredibly beautiful that it's painful. He wraps it carefully, closing his fist around it as he takes the final steps up the tower, eyes immediately fixing on her.

When he kisses her, it is lazy, languid, and his eyes are closed. Her laugh tinkles in his ears like tiny chimes, but it is high, nervous, unlike anything he's ever heard from her. He pretends that he hasn't heard the odd pitch to it, the insincerity that he fears, and moves to her neck, feeling the smooth skin under his lips, opening his eyes to the perfection of her skin rather than face her.

'Remus?' she says softly, one hand tangling in his hair. He rests his head on her shoulder, looks to the side, away... he has heard that same, unwelcome tone that was in her laugh, now in her words.

'Mmmm?'

'Remus,' she says again, and this time, it is something stern, firm and final. He is forced to look at her, and he sees her eyes shining, glittering. His stomach twists. Her expression is not the happy one that he had hoped to see, and he kisses her, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to block out the frozen fear that is thawing in his chest, threatening to flood his senses, threatening to spill over.

She doesn't even try to kiss him back, her lips locked shut.

When he opens his eyes again, she is still wearing that same expression that he tried to imagine away, and he pulls away with a sigh.

'What is it?' he asks, reaching for her hand with his free one, playing idly with her fingers. She tugs it away, turns his back to him to that he can see her shoulders, so that he has nothing to look at except the way her body moves as she breathes, nothing to listen to but her voice, cold, an icy blast of pain.

'Remus, I'm getting married.'

The block of fear shatters, and it feels like she has slapped him across the face with her words. He bites his lip, forcing every feeling, every emotion back. He decides that this is simply a trick, to test him, to see what he will do. He slides over to her, one hand on her shoulder in quiet persuasion.

'That's nice,' he says softly, pushing her hair away, planting a kiss on the back of her neck. 'Who's the lucky bloke?' he says, trying to joke, but finding his laughter sticking in his throat as she shakes her head and steps away from him.

'You don't really mean it...?' he chokes out.

She laughs, and with every second, he feels as if his blood is draining from his body, his knees shaking, his hand still firmly curled in a fist around his pretty poison present for her. Suddenly, he feels a rush of anger and he strides to her, spinning her around to face him, eyes desperately searching her face for any trace of the girl he knows, of the girl he was foolish enough to love.

'You can't,' he says fiercely, gripping her arm tightly, watching her wince. 'You can't do this to me, Andromeda.'

'Who said I couldn't?' is her reply, and even if it is quiet, so quiet, her voice sends slivers of silver into his heart. 'You didn't really think...' she sucks in a sharp breath, and he thinks he sees the tiniest flicker of regret passing through her eyes. 'Merlin... you did.'

'I did.' A pause, then a hopeful glance up at her, his anger giving way to a sort of despair that gently tugs at him. 'Didn't you ever...'

'No.'

'Never?'

She shakes her head, looking away, and he grips her arm, knowing it's probably going to leave bruises on the skin under her robes but he can't help it because he feels that he could fall if he ever let go.

'Andromeda, look at me.'

Her eyes are hard, cold, set in an unfamiliar statue of a face as he forces her face around so he can see her.

'Look me in the eye and tell me you don't love me.'

Without a moment's hesitation, she answers, 'Remus, I never loved you.'

'Then,' he whispers, his voice trembling, 'it never meant anything to you?'

'Nothing. It was... an enjoyable pastime.'

His blood feels like it's freezing, his heart slowing down, gently pulsing with pain. He never thought he would ever be able to feel so hurt, so betrayed. He lets go of her in a daze, watching her whirl around and leave, her footsteps defiant on the stones. His voice is completely gone, the only thing escaping his cold, cold lips an agonized whisper as she pauses on the top of the steps.

'Why me? Why... why are you doing this?'

She doesn't answer, fleeing from sight down the stairway. His knees buckle and he falls to the stones, his hand beginning to throb. It is this pain that cuts through the haze in his mind and slowly uncurls his fingers, unwraps the tissue. The silver gleams, cold, unfeeling and he could almost laugh as he sees how it reflects the stars above, the points cut so sharp and fine...

He yanks away the tissue, the only barrier that separates the silver from his skin, watching detachedly as it lands on his bare palm. The pain is sudden, sharp, sucking at his remaining strength and he closes his eyes, hissing as his hand begins to blister.

*

Remus wasn't sure how long he had been sitting, but as he opened his eyes, he was acutely aware of the presence of someone else in the room, someone who was breathing loudly, someone calling him in a voice he wished he never had to hear again. He knew she was standing in the doorway, and when he turned his head, inclining it slightly to acknowledge her, he could see that her eyes were wide, set in a face that was far too thin, too sad. He wondered how long she had been watching him; he couldn't help but think bitterly that as she had come to watch the destruction of 12 Grimmauld place, maybe she had also come to see him crumble. Too late, he said silently, I'm already broken..

He rose to his feet slowly, looking away, fingers brushing the wall with the barest of touches as he did so. The bed legs scraped against the floor loudly as he shifted it back into place; the chair made less noise but he saw her flinch when he slammed an open drawer shut with tremendous force. He walked over to his suitcase with strong, untroubled steps, picking it up, determinedly not looking at her.

'Remus,' she breathed, stepping aside as he passed through the door, her hand coming to rest on his arm. He only glanced up at her, his eyes cold, blank, his face expressionless. When he made to pull his arm away, she only gripped it tighter, and he sighed. The suitcase echoed as he put it down, brought his other hand up, rested it against her fingers for a second before prying her hand away.

He had barely moved when her hand was back, this time finding his, her fingers clutching his wrist. He bowed his head, swallowing as she traced the lines of his palm, not daring to look up.

'Remus... there's no one now... twenty years is a long time...'

He turned his head as she leant forward, her lips brushing his, her eyes closing. He breathed in her breath, parting his lips slightly to take it in. Her fingers traveled over the familiar star that was burnt into his skin, and she jerked away, the sound of her sharp breath breaking through the sudden pounding in his ears. His scar tingled, and he looked up, for the first time allowing her to see the sadness that had crept into his eyes before he picked up his suitcase and walked down the hall, in more of a hurry than ever to leave. He paused when he reached the stairs, however, looking back, filing away the memory of her leaning against the wall, frightened, a hand clutched at the star-shaped pendant that hung about her throat.

'It's not long enough, Andromeda,' he called over his shoulder. 'It's not long enough.'

***

Like the naked leads the blind,

I know I'm selfish, I'm unkind.

Sucker love will always find

Someone to bruise and leave behind.

(Every You Every Me, Placebo)