What It Takes

CHAPTER SEVEN: A MORE POWERFUL MAGIC

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF MERLIN DID I JUST SEE?!"

He hadn't meant to let him in. He'd meant to clear his thoughts, put the memory of the dream far enough away that not even Harry himself would remember it had happened.

He'd failed.

Snape had seen it all--the Death Eaters, the retreat to the darkened alleyway, the touching, the kisses, the moans and sighs and whispered curses, the love-making itself. Harry felt like cowering in a corner. He had nowhere to run, no way to hide the truth from Snape. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

"Well?" Snape growled.

"It...it was a...a dream," Harry answered in a small voice. "I dreamt it last night...after I saw...during Occlumency...."

"A dream?"

Harry nodded desperately. "It wasn't anything I could control."

Snape rolled his eyes. The scowl on his face became, if such a thing were possible, deeper. "I see.... Well, here's your lesson. This is precisely why you don't wear your bloody heart on your sleeve, Potter! Because nosy little twerps invade your private thoughts and rob you of emotions you've spent the better part of twenty years trying to force out of your mind!"

"It was an accident!" Harry bellowed, now just as enraged as Snape was. "It was a dream, Professor! I didn't ask for it, did I?"

Snape scoffed. "That is no more of an excuse now than it was last year! Why on earth would you be dreaming of such things in the first place? Getting off on my pain, were you, Potter?"

"No, sir, I--"

"THEN WHAT, POTTER?! WHY ON EARTH WERE YOU DREAMING ABOUT ME?!"

Harry knew he'd gone doe-eyed and vacant. He hated that look, because it meant he had no idea what to expect from himself. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd moved lithely toward where Snape stood firmly planted. His hand--of its own accord, it seemed--reached for the back of Snape's neck. Snape did not move, did not say a word, showed no signs of stopping Harry from what he knew he was about to do. Harry wished he would do something, anything.

My God, he thought, don't let me do this!

It was too late. His eyes drifted shut. He'd given up on self-control. His lips were on Snape's, and he had no intention of changing that fact. He didn't feel Snape's response, if there was one at all. But Snape was yielding, wasn't he? He was not fighting.

Is he nuts? What the hell's he doing?

Harry didn't care. This wasn't real, was it? He wasn't certain why, but it couldn't be real. He wanted it to be. He had wanted it to be for so long. But something--he didn't know what--was very wrong. Don't care. Snape's mouth was astonishingly soft. No, not astonishingly. I knew it would be soft. He caressed Snape's bottom lip between both of his. Snape's breath was sweet and warm against his skin. But Snape's mouth wasn't responding. Not kissing me back.

Harry pulled away, terrified of what to expect. When he opened his eyes, Snape's face was unreadable, a mask of resolve, not like it should have been. Blank. He'd never seen Snape go blank before. And now, he would have expected to see something--lust, perhaps, or anger or fear. But nothing--no wide eyes, no furrowed brow, no yearning for more, or hatred for him, in Snape's eyes.

Nothing.

What the hell have I done?

"I think we're finished for today, Mr. Potter," Snape said. Still nothing.

"But--"

"Go! Now, Potter!"

For a long moment, Harry did not move, just continued to search Snape's face for a sign of something. But Snape gave nothing away, refused to so much as look in Harry's direction.

"I said go!" he hissed. Harry noticed that his hands were shaking violently. His eyes did not move.

"Al...alright," Harry croaked, and immediately he rushed out of Snape's room, not stopping to breathe until he reached the drawing room down the hall.

"That stupid git!" he bellowed, only mildly aware of Remus Lupin's presence as he slammed the drawing room door shut behind him.

Remus lifted his head off the arm of the sofa and raised an eyebrow at Harry. "What? Snape making life difficult for you again, kiddo?"

"Something like that," Harry murmured distractedly. "Why couldn't you have been my Occlumency instructor?"

Remus chuckled and motioned for Harry to have a seat beside him. "Well, I'd imagine it's probably because I was never much of an Occlumens. And it's not exactly like I'm going to be winning any Wizard of the Year awards from Dumbledore. You kill a house elf and see just how happy he is with you."

"Kreacher deserved to die," Harry muttered, shrugging as he tumbled onto the sofa to assume a position similar to the one Remus had held only a moment before. He felt the sudden sensation of Remus' hand on his knee, patting awkwardly, and was, oddly enough, comforted.

"Why does he hate me so much?" grumbled Harry.

"Severus?" Harry nodded. Remus shrugged and sighed. "Who knows why Severus Snape does anything he does? But he doesn't hate you, Harry. I'm sure of it. He's just a difficult person. You've just got to try to understand him, Harry, and all he's been through."

Harry almost thought of saying to Remus that he had a much clearer idea of exactly what Snape had been through. Severus Snape, cranky Potions Master and bane of Gryffindor existence, had been in love, had been betrayed, and then had killed to protect the Order of the Phoenix. But telling all this to Remus would have meant admitting far more than Harry cared to do. What would Remus say if he knew what Harry had done? How revolted would he be?

Or even worse...What would Sirius have said?

He could almost hear Sirius' voice shouting at him disgustedly... "You mean to tell me you kissed that no-good, greasy git, Harry? What in the name of Merlin is wrong with you? Are you absolutely bonkers? Out of your mind? I'll tell you one thing--you are no godson of mine...."

"He's had a rough time of it," Remus continued, "ever since he was a kid, really. His mum and dad weren't the most caring parents in the world. Merlin knows we made hell for him all through school. He's seen things Harry. Dark things. He's lost people--"

"I've lost people!" Harry growled without meaning to. He didn't know whether it had been the anger in his voice or the tears welling up in his eyes, but something had stunned Remus into silence. And then, when he felt Remus' hand on his knee squeeze harder, the tears broke free. This felt good, felt right; he hadn't let himself cry in a long time, not like this.

"You really miss Sirius, don't you?" Remus said softly, and Harry nodded. "So do I, Harry. So do I."

"It's not fair," Harry whimpered. "He shouldn't have had to die! Twelve years in Azkaban for trying to avenge my parents' deaths. He...he died trying to save me. I...I need him. It's just not fair!"

"I know, I know," Remus coaxed. "I wish there was something I could do to make it all better, but there isn't." He smiled sadly at Harry. "You're tired of hearing it, aren't you? Everyone saying they know just how you feel, that it'll get better in time?"

Harry grimaced. Of course he was tired of hearing it. He was tired of the piteous glances he received anytime someone accidentally slipped and mentioned Sirius in front of him. It was as if everyone thought that, if they pretended enough, he could be forgotten altogether. But Harry knew that all the pretending in the world wasn't going to make him forget Sirius.

Remus let out a long, mournful sigh. "I can honestly tell you, though, Harry," he said, "that I do know how you feel. They say all the same things to me, you know. It hurts."

Harry recognized an unusual strain of something like longing--heartache, even--in Remus' voice, and suddenly realization dawned on him, a verification of something he'd had an inkling of since the first time he'd seen Remus and Sirius together more than two years before.

"Remus," he said tentatively, "you and Sirius, were the two of you--?"

"Lovers?" Remus finished, seemingly unshaken by what Harry thought to be an audacious question. He nodded. "It never felt right, calling him that, though, because we were something...I don't know...more. But yes, Harry, to answer your question, Sirius and I were together for years. Since our days at Hogwarts, even."

"In Azkaban, too?" asked Harry.

Remus gave out a short, bitter chuckle. "Now there's a loaded question!" he said. "I couldn't forgive Sirius for what I thought he'd done to James and Lily and...and Peter." His face screwed up as he said the last name. Harry understood; none of this would ever have happened if not for Peter Pettigrew and his cowardice and disloyalty. "That didn't change the fact that I loved Sirius, though. You see, Harry, when you're in love with a person, it isn't a feeling that you can make disappear. Love is a more powerful kind of magic, and there is no spell or antidote, even in the wizarding world, that can take away that love and all that comes with it...no matter how desperately you might want to sometimes."

Harry could sense the pain in Remus' words. "I don't think you mean that," he whispered. "You don't want to stop loving Sirius, no matter how much it might hurt."

Remus said nothing, but nodded slowly. The two of them sat together for a long while, sifting mentally through their own sorrows until Harry began to regard Remus' presence next to him as part of a new and welcome symbiotic relationship. It was nice, Harry thought, almost remedial, to be sharing this quiet understanding with someone. He sighed softly and, for the first time in more than two months, let himself relax and welcome the silence.

It did not last long, however, as the wordless communion was broken by a sharp rapping at the door. "Come in," Remus muttered, standing to meet whoever had come to call.

Hermione Granger stepped through the door, a look of apology on her face as she glanced from Remus to Harry, whose teary eyes seemed to startle her, then back to Remus again. "I...I'm not interrupting you, am I?"

"No," Harry lied grudgingly. "We were just...just chatting."

Hermione nodded and turned again to Remus. "Mrs. Weasley says she's ready to go to Diagon Alley to pick up books, and she wondered if you'd escort us."

"I'd be glad to," Remus answered.

"Harry," said Hermione in a gentle voice, as if speaking in normal tones might upset him, "Ron said if you wanted to stay here, that he'd get your books for you. Just get the money for him."

"That's fine," Harry muttered, dropping his head back against the cushy arm of the sofa and closing his eyes.

"Alright," he heard Hermione say. "Well, we'll be leaving in ten minutes, so I'd better get downstairs. See you in a bit, Remus."

The door shut, and Harry heard Remus' footsteps approaching, could feel as the man loomed over him. He opened his eyes and gazed up at Remus' tensed, tired face.

"I guess I'd better be going, then," said Remus. "And don't worry about the books. I'll give Molly the money for them."

Harry rose from the sofa, bringing himself nearly eye-level with Remus. "You don't have to do that, Remus, really. I've got plenty of money."

"I want to do it," said Remus. "It's no trouble."

Harry sighed and nodded his assent. "Alright, then."

Remus smiled and looked to the door, then back to Harry again. "Listen," he said, "I...I know I'm not your father, Harry, and I'm not Sirius. I'm not even a very good replacement. But if you ever need somebody to talk to or...or anything at all...well, I want you to know that I love you and care about you just as much as Sirius ever did, and I'm always here for you."

"Thanks," Harry whispered, returning the smile. He embraced Remus for a long moment, feeling overwhelmingly grateful for the man's very presence, then pulled away and walked with him to the door of the drawing room.

"I'll see you in a little while," said Remus, starting down the staircase.

"Hey...hey Remus!" Harry called out tentatively. Remus stopped and turned to face him. "Um...did you...did you really mean what you said a little while ago, about love being a powerful magic that you can't make disappear?"

Remus sighed and winced, but only briefly. "Yeah," he replied hoarsely, "I think I did. Why do you ask?"

Harry thought for a moment of just how soft his Potions Master's lips had been, how his heart had pounded in his chest as he kissed him....

"Just wondering."

***

Not even a darkened bedroom could provide Harry with the solace he needed after the unspeakable act he had committed that very afternoon. Solitude was nice; the Weasleys were still gone with Hermione and Remus on their trip to Diagon Alley. But solitude couldn't change what had happened. Solitude couldn't take the kiss off of Harry's lips.

What had he been thinking? It was Snape, after all. The greasy git who made Potions classes a living hell--the professor who played favorites with the Slytherins while tormenting the Gryffindors--the teenager who had despised James Potter and Sirius Black and Remus Lupin--

The teenager who had been tortured by James Potter and Sirius Black and Remus Lupin--the boy who had listened night after night to his father's screaming and his mother's weeping--the professor who had once saved his life--the double agent who had risked his life day in and day out for the Order of the Phoenix--the handsome, brooding man in the front row whose entire countenance had begun to shine with a new and beautiful light....

What was Harry thinking, indeed? It didn't matter. It had been a serious miscalculation anyway one looked at it, and nothing--not childhood torments or teenage bullies or daily risks or the beauty brought on by some silly spell--could change that fact.

To his sudden surprise, the door of the bedroom creaked open. Harry lifted his head to find his Potions professor framed in the light of the hallway, looking remarkably kinder than Harry had ever seen him. He carried in his hands two mugs of frothing butterbeer, one of which he offered to Harry. Harry accepted with a silent nod, then lifted the mug to his lips and drained nearly half its contents in one gulp.

"Slow down, Mister Potter," he said gently, laughing a little as he flicked on the bedroom lights and took a slow sip from his own mug. "You'll drown yourself, gulping that stuff like that!"

"Sorry," said Harry, placing the mug on his bedside table. He gazed up into Snape's sad, troubled eyes. From this angle, the man did not look quite so cruel. He seemed a giant, perhaps, but a gentle giant.

Tentatively, Snape lowered himself to the bed beside Harry. "You know," he began, still speaking in unusually kind tones, "no matter how much I would like to forget it, what happened this afternoon cannot merely be overlooked."

Harry felt his insides freeze and then thaw too quickly. He hadn't wanted to think about it, much less talk about it, much less talk about it with Snape. It had been stupid, rash, impulsive, the worst idea he'd had in ages. Still, those lips had been so soft, hadn't they? Supple, tender, yielding....

Harry's face must have gone red, because all at once Snape turned his eyes away from Harry and stared down into his own hands. "I don't mean to embarrass you, Potter," he said, "but I have to know...what did you mean by it?"

"By kissing you, sir?" The voice did not sound like Harry's own. How could it have been? Harry Potter would never have spoken so brazenly about kissing his Potions Master. But still, this bold and candid voice continued on. "I'm not sure what made me do it. Maybe it was just that dream. Maybe it was something else. I don't know...."

"Something else?" Snape's brow furrowed as he took on an expression that was more severe than confusion, though not quite disgust. "Are you trying to tell me, then, Potter, that you are...attracted...to me?"

Harry's entire body seemed to quiver for a moment as he pondered Snape's words, but only for a moment, because the new, bolder Harry kicked in swiftly.

"What if I told you I was?"

Snape did not appear to be surprised by the remark. He kept his eyes lowered, still studying the evidently-fascinating fingers that served better in potion-brewing than as focal points for a troubled Potions Master.

"In that case," he replied slowly, "I would tell you that you are far too young, and that I am far too old, for you to even consider the idea."

Harry scoffed. "That's ridiculous!" he grunted. "I'll be of age in less than a year. I think I'm quite old enough to be making my own decisions about who I fancy! And as for you being too old, well that's even more ridiculous! You're not some ancient man, you're--"

"Old enough to be your father," Snape finished, still refusing to look at Harry. "I graduated with the man himself, didn't I? I think that's a pretty good gauge of my age in comparison to yours."

Harry shook his head. "I don't care about that."

Snape sighed exhaustedly. "Alright, then, how about the fact that I am your Potions professor? That in itself makes your attraction strictly forbidden. If Dumbledore ever found out--"

"Who says Dumbledore's going to find out?" Harry interrupted. "And even if he eventually does, what's he going to do? Expel me? Fire you? I think both of those are highly unlikely possibilities, Professor."

Suddenly, a realization dawned on him. "Wait a minute! If Dumbledore ever found out what? That I was attracted to you?" Harry shook his head. "Why would that get me in trouble? That wasn't what you meant. You meant if Dumbledore ever found out we were--"

"I was speaking hypothetically, Potter!" Snape growled, wrenching his eyes shut. "Tell me you aren't honestly that dense! Don't think for a second that I have any intentions of carrying on any sort of...sordid secret affair with you...or that I might even encourage you to entertain the idea. I only meant to make you realize what would happen if you got your--"

"Professor," Harry interrupted in a gentle but clear tone.

For the first time since the conversation had begun, Snape lifted his dark eyes to meet Harry's gaze. His mouth went suddenly slack, as if in defeat. "What is it, Potter?"

"Why are you blathering on like this?"

Snape sighed. "And what would you have me do instead?"

"Kiss me?"

Not for the first time that evening, Snape refused to show surprise at a comment that should have been startling. Instead, Harry felt a hand brush tenderly against the back of his neck. Snape's breaths were heavy and quavering as Harry pulled closer. His eyelids fluttered, then shut the moment his mouth closed over Snape's.

It occurred to Harry suddenly that there was little difference between numbness and a sensory overload. Both were strange, foreign feelings, neither of which a person could acclimate themselves to, no matter how hard they tried. It was difficult to distinguish between the two sometimes, he thought, but he was almost certain that this was, in fact, a sensory overload. Every individual cell of his mouth felt the warmth, the tenderness, of Snape's. Every muscle of his back contracted as Snape let Harry's tongue slip past his lips and duel with his own, somehow gentle and forceful at the same time.

No, Harry was anything but numb.

This kiss did not end until Harry heard the sound of the front door open and then close. When he pulled away, Snape's breathing was still heavy but somewhat steadier than it had been, and Harry thought with a sudden jolt of self-satisfaction that he was responsible for this.

"That'll be the gang coming back from Diagon Alley," Harry whispered.

"Of course," Snape muttered. Harry couldn't help but notice that there seemed to be a spark of annoyance in Snape's tone. Harry understood, of course; he hadn't wanted to end it, either.

He moved away from Snape just in time for Ron and Hermione to come bolting through the bedroom door, each hauling a load of books in their arms. Both were smiling and panting, with a glow of youthful excitement about their faces. And then, as they looked from Harry to Snape, the excitement faded into mild confusion.

"Occlumency," Harry explained quickly, catching Snape's eye as he did so. He prayed silently that Ron and Hermione wouldn't notice the fact that neither of them had their wands out. "We're done now, though, aren't we, sir?"

"For now," Snape replied in his usual gruff tones as he rose to his feet, but Harry caught a flicker of some deeper something buried in his voice.

"Al...alright, then, Professor."

"Not a bad lesson, Potter," said Snape, risking a knowing glance at Harry only after he had moved past Ron and Hermione. "But we'll have to continue this later."

"Most definitely," said Harry. "Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight," replied Snape. And then, just before he moved out the door, Snape did something Harry was certain he had never seen the man do in the five long years he had known him.

He smiled.

***

Remus sighed, loving the feeling of soft earth beneath his head, and rolled over to bury his face against Sirius' naked chest--they hadn't bothered with clothes since the ride on the Shadow. This was their dream world, after all. Why should they have to wear clothing?

His mind swam for a moment in the gentle rising and falling that Sirius' breaths created. Powerful arms enfolded him. This was something he'd missed, something he'd been longing for these past two months, but it was familiar, a feeling that Remus knew would never leave him as long as he lived and even after.

"He misses you," Remus whispered. "Harry, I mean. He needs a father figure, Sirius. Molly's excellent at mothering him, but he's got no male influence. He'll need that, you know."

Sirius sighed. "He's got you, doesn't he?"

"I'm hardly a suitable father figure for anyone," Remus said, laughing. "I suppose I could teach him to prowl around and howl at the full moon, if you'd like me to. Do you think...I don't know...d' you think maybe, if I gave him my Binding Band, that the two of you could communicate with one another just like you and I do?"

Sirius didn't answer for a long moment, and Remus was left with nothing but the sounds of chirping crickets and the babbling of the nearby brook. Then finally, Sirius turned his face toward Remus and spoke.

"No," he said simply. "I wish...but I charmed these Bands when they were first made to work for only you and me. If Harry were to put it on, it would be nothing more than a pretty ring."

"Oh," Remus whispered. He felt suddenly as though he'd failed Harry. He wanted more than anything for there to be a way to link Harry to Sirius just as surely as he himself was. It wasn't fair. Why should he be able to speak to Sirius, but not Sirius' own godson? Of course, Harry was a strong young man, and this communication didn't change the fact that Sirius was, in all actuality, dead.

"Do you remember the night he was born?" Sirius asked, his eyes suddenly glazed and distant.

Remus chuckled and planted a quick kiss on Sirius' temple. "How could I ever forget, Nurse Padfoot?"

Of course Remus remembered. The Potters had been staying for several weeks of the summer holiday at his and Sirius' London flat. Lily, who'd been full to bursting at the time, had been advised to remain at home, but when had the fiery redhead ever been one to heed warnings? She was just as carefree and impetuous as her husband, if not sometimes moreso.

But it had happened. Lily had gone into labor late in the evening on the thirty-first of July, little more than sixteen years earlier, for Harry had only the previous week celebrated his sixteenth birthday. Remus had been on the Floo all night, attempting to contact Madame Pomfrey at Hogwarts to no avail. James had fainted. In the end, Sirius had had to go into guest bedroom alone and help Lily deliver the baby. He'd come out forty minutes later, smiling, covered up to his elbows in placenta, and carrying Prongs and Lily's newborn son, Harry James Potter, the most beautiful black-haired, green-eyed infant Remus or James or Lily or Sirius had ever laid eyes on.

"I'd never seen you so happy," Remus whispered, smoothing back Sirius' long black hair. "You'd have thought it was your own child you'd just delivered."

"I've yet to hear of a spell that gives two men the ability to produce a child," he laughed. Remus couldn't help but laugh as well. What would he and Sirius have ever done with a child of their own? "But yeah, I was happy. It was my godson, after all. I always had an inside joke with myself that I'd found the love of my life three times--my motorcycle, you, and then Harry. That's why I was so happy, because I did love Harry just as I would have loved a son of my own."

Remus sighed, smiling. "He knows about us, by the way. He figured it out on his own and then asked me."

Sirius chuckled and stretched against Remus. "Did he? Such a bright boy.... Well, what'd he have to say about it all?"

Remus shrugged. "Nothing, really," he answered. "In fact, he acted like it was the most natural thing in the world for you and I to have been together."

He felt the delicious warmth of Sirius' hand against his cheek. Sirius' face drew closer, and in the next moment his lips were on Remus'.

"It is the most natural thing in the world, Moony," he whispered, sending at the same to a wave of warmth and a rush of cold chills through Remus' body.

He couldn't respond. Even after all these years--nearly twenty, to be precise--Remus still could not entirely bring himself to think of what he and Sirius shared as "natural." It had always felt right, felt wonderful, absolutely perfect, of course, but his aversion toward drawing needless attention to himself had never let him fully embrace his sexuality. But was he a homosexual, after all? He had never been entirely certain of that. He'd fallen for Sirius at a very young age, hadn't he? The truth was, he hadn't the faintest idea as to which gender, if either, he preferred because, well, Remus had always preferred Sirius and Sirius alone. Siriusexual, he mused, a small smile playing about his lips.

"When I saw you in the Shrieking Shack, I felt my life begin again," Sirius whispered in his ear, and Remus felt rather than heard the man sigh against him. "You can't know what it was like...twelve years in Azkaban. I wanted you, needed you. I would pray to you in my dark cell every night, begging for your forgiveness. Sometimes, I'd even watch the moon out of my window, knowing you'd be watching, too. You always did watch it, you know. I could gauge what you were feeling that way. If the moon was waning, I knew you were satisfied, relieved, at ease. When it waxed, I could almost feel you struggling to hold the wolf back. And on nights of the full moon...."

He trailed off and buried his face in Remus' hair. Remus knew everything Sirius wasn't saying. He too remembered those long-ago nights. They had always begun with apprehension, a feeling that now seemed entirely selfish. It had never been easy, of course, knowing that in moments he would be transforming into a dark creature that could very well take someone's life. But Sirius had always been there without fail, ready to help him through it all. He would coax Remus as he began to turn, then transform himself into Padfoot not a moment too late. If Moony got out of hand, Padfoot was there to pin him down. If Moony tried to hurt himself, Padfoot was there to prevent it. And if Moony felt weary, Padfoot was there to curl his animal body around him and rest peacefully for the whole of the evening.

Those nights had always brought with them the promise of much-needed passionate, perfect lovemaking. As dawn approached, Remus would return to human form, naked, as if reborn, and shaken by the frightening monthly ordeal. If there were wounds on human Remus, Padfoot would lick them clean. If not, Sirius would return to let a flushed and panting Remus divest him of clothes, lay him out on the hard ground--ground much like this--and take all he needed to satisfy the hunger of both the wolf and the man.

"There were nights," said Remus, "while you were in Azkaban that I thought of ending it, you know. I was...so afraid. I didn't understand how you could have betrayed Lily and James--all of us--or how you could have ever become the servant of Voldemort. And yet, I didn't understand either how I could still love you. Because I did, Sirius. I loved you just as plainly and just as passionately as I ever had before. And because of that, I didn't want to live, not with those thoughts of you, and certainly not without you."

"Hush, Remus," Sirius whispered comfortingly, because Remus had begun to weep. He smoothed back Remus' hair with one tender hand and kissed him softly on the lips. "Don't say things like that. We can't change the past, now matter how much we want to."

One of Remus' hands snaked across Sirius' stomach, trailing over the soft line of hair that trailed up his lean yet tender belly. He reveled for a moment in the warm sensation of flesh against flesh, Moony against Padfoot, Remus against Sirius. The wolf was rising in him, but it wasn't anything dangerous. It was merely the hunger, the animalistic instinct to either pounce or simply nuzzle. He'd settle for the latter.

"I'm sorry this isn't real," Sirius sighed, casting a glance down to where Remus' head rested against his shoulder. "I miss it. I miss making love to you in the forest at dawn. I miss the way all the promise and hope of dawn shone through your amber eyes. Hell, I even miss being at Grimmauld Place, resting with you on a sofa or cooking together in the kitchen or...hell...just the feeling of my hand in yours."

Remus winced and bit hard into his bottom lip. "This...it's real enough," he whispered, wishing like hell he could mean it.