Research and Development

Part Eight: The Not So Submissive Partner

Harry lay awake in bed that night, his curtains thrown back to let in the whitewash of moonlight from the silver sliver in the sky. He had his bed as close to the window as possible, and the pane lifted just a little to let the cool night breeze spill over his face. When he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could pretend he was flying. God, it seemed like so long since he really flew. Driving a car was simply nothing like it, no matter how fast they went.

Remus had insisted Harry take a turn on the way back to the house, and he felt like he'd gotten the hang of it pretty well, considering. After all, there were two polar opposites in the car with him the whole time, doing their utmost best to drive him insane. Remus was helpful and encouraging, while Snape griped and taunted. The werewolf had, at any rate, been cheerful and courteous to Harry--in the car, at least. Then they'd gotten home and Remus insisted on making dinner, and Harry had become so fed up with his irrational paranoia that he actually barricaded himself in the den with Snape afterwards, and requested extra Occlumency training.

If Snape thought something was particularly strange about that, he didn't mention it. He just did he usual thing: cutting insults, vicious ridicule, and unrealistic demands. If anything, he seemed ever so slightly pleased that Harry was taking him seriously. Harry couldn't help it; the only time he could forget about his complicated relationship with Remus was when he was so angry he couldn't think straight. Snape was very good at provoking him to such a state.

Afterwards he had collapsed in a chair by the fire, watching as the Potions Master eyed him suspiciously while he re-collected his thoughts from a pensieve, nodded once, glaring, and left. Harry sat for almost two hours, waiting for Remus to fall asleep. Not yet, Potter, not yet; he's bound to be up still...Don't want to face him now--face him yet--do this yet...You want him to treat you like a man, you want him to respect you--you'd better start by showing yourself some respect, or nobody else ever will. And he knew, without a doubt, that Remus was up there, up...there...waiting...up...for him. Waiting, with those predator's eyes that cut through the night, with those soft hands that no Boy Who Lived could resist. Better not to go up just yet. Better to wait. Only after he was very sure that Remus would be asleep, must be asleep, did Harry creep into his own room, into his own bed.

Remus could not have dreamt of sleeping. He didn't know what was going on. One moment, Harry was fine. The next, he was as cool and distant as the very mistress that graced the night sky and ruled his blood. And every bit as mysterious. He'd volunteered to do his lessons early--with Snape! What could it mean? He tried to tell himself that he ought to be glad that Harry was taking the threat of Legilimency with a measure of sobriety, but the wolf inside the man was howling with jealousy and fear. Could he lose his mate to the Potions Master? Was that even possible? A werewolf's mate had to...but wait...didn't necessarily have to stay with their partner for life. Wasn't it the werewolf that was in danger of suffering, as always? Damn. Why the bloody, sodding hell did that book have to get incinerated with the rest of our things? I could really do with some answers, right now. Or some whiskey...

He slipped over to the roll-top desk and pulled out a bottle. It wasn't Old Ogden's; it was just some Muggle brand, but it was ninety proof, and that was all that mattered to Remus at the moment. He drank long and hard, as he'd not done for so long, so very long. And as he drank, he envisioned the liquid intoxicant running through his veins, stealing his soul away from her, from him, making Remus his own animal again.

Harry gazed at the mirror that hung between his wall and Remus's. He wished it were a window...he wished he could see his mate. No! No, he did not want to see his mate. Well, yes, he might like to, but he didn't need to, and that made all the difference. He was in control. He was not a child, to be ruled by his emotions. He could go on very well without Bloody Emperor Lupin. He had before. He had, hadn't he?

The trouble was, Harry could hardly remember being without Lupin. Of course, a lot of his life had been spent without the man, but now that he'd found him, all that time seemed inconsequential, blurred, and colorless. Meaningless. How had he gotten by without that powerful rush of love and devotion and lust Remus inspired in him? Oh, that's right. Mostly by wanking. And picturing him, too. His hand slipped under the blankets. God. Better when he does it. Taking a deep breath and trying not to make any noise, he slid his hand under the waistband of his boxers.

"Harry?" a whisper came from outside the door, causing the youth to yelp in fright.

Yanking his hand back out and straightening the covers, he hissed, "Jesus, Remus! I told you not to do that. What do you want?" He watched, grinding his teeth, as the werewolf pushed his door open and stepped inside. He half walked, half stumbled over to the bed with the air of one who thinks he is assuming great dignity. It did not escape Harry that Remus was nowhere near as smooth as he'd been last night.

"Harry..." the name escaped the man's lips with a sigh, and he plunked himself down on the bed. "How'd the lesson go?"

"Just fine thanks and couldn't that have waited 'till morning?" the boy rushed out in one breath.

Remus tried to smile. "Erm. Guess so. I just...wanted...to know. I guess. Wanted to see you, is all. I missed you."

The look the man was giving him was so blatantly, desperately hungry that Harry began to feel uncomfortable. The student couldn't help but notice that Remus's shirt was unbuttoned, showing off his lovely pectorals, the flat stomach, and the hair that lightly crossed his chest and crept down, down, till it was a straight line, pointing right toward--

"Harry. I've missed you. Haven't you missed me at all?" The man bent forward and swept Harry into his arms, kissing him soundly.

Harry felt himself melting. The warmth, the wet, the need were all right where they were supposed to be--in Remus's lips. Merlin, yes, I've missed this sooooo much. He moaned soundlessly into Remus's mouth, and the man's hands came up, nimble fingers tenderly creeping under his t-shirt, kneading his muscles, caressing his nipples. At this, Harry woke from his sexually aroused stupor, jerking a little and causing their teeth to clatter together.

"Mmmph. Harry, are you all right?" Remus softly cupped his face, nose inches away from Harry's own.

Harry stared at him for a long moment. "That's liquor on your breath! I knew it. I could taste it. God, Remus. What the hell are you doing?"

Remus was riding the swells of intoxication, fighting for that clean, sharp cognizance that came so easily when he was sober. "What am I doing? Harry...I've missed you, and I need you, and what the hell is your problem lately?"

Harry gaped. "My problem? My problem? My problem is that you go about lecturing me on the subject of maturity--as though I wander about needing my nappies changed--telling me how I should do this and I shouldn't do that, and how you don't trust me to take care of one damn thing by myself, and then you show up here, in my bedroom, at one in the morning, three sheets to the wind. Really, did you think about what would happen if Snape caught you in here? And I'm the one that's immature?"

"Harry."

"Get the hell out of my room, you stupid drunk. What the hell is the matter with you, anyway?" Harry marched over to the door and threw it open. Snape stood, framed and menacing, his arms crossed over his chest.

Harry and Remus stared at him. "Well, well, well. Out of your bed and prowling round the house at night, Lupin? I suppose if you're once a Gryffindor, you're always a Gryffindor. What sort of trouble have you been causing, that you felt it necessary to sneak into Potter's room?"

Remus watched in horror as Harry's mouth opened. Here it came, then: the final betrayal. He couldn't even understand what he had done, that Harry had ceased loving him so abruptly, and now Harry would do the one thing that would cut him to the core. It was unthinkable; in his days at Hogwarts, the Marauders would never have dreamed of turning on each other, no matter how angry they were, no matter what the situation...except Peter... Remus watched the boy take a deep breath, and wondered how badly it hurt when your heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

Harry glared up at the imposing figure, and drew himself up to his full height. "None of your goddamn business, you nosy gargoyle! Go the hell away and leave us alone! If I want to have a private heart-to-heart with my godfather's best friend, then I've every right to do that. You may be a big man in the Order, spying on this, that, and the other thing, but don't you dare think you can start spying on us."

Harry stared at the Potions Master, his face red, his chest heaving. Snape regarded him coolly. "Fifty points from Gryffindor, Mister Potter, for you extreme immaturity."

"You can't take points. The term hasn't even started, yet!" Harry was bristling, outraged.

"The points will be deducted once it has. Goodnight, Mister Potter." Snape began a measured tread back to his own room. "And Lupin? If I catch you wandering into Potter's room in the middle of the night, again, I am going to mistake you for a Death Eater and kill you on sight. Be warned."

Harry turned to Remus with a snarl on his lips and gesticulated for the man to leave. Remus slowly rose to his feet and crossed the room, looking miserable and lost. Just as he passed Harry, the youth had second thoughts. He didn't want to hurt the man, and that was obviously what he'd done. He just needed Remus to change his perspective a little. Placing a hand on the man's shoulder, "Wait," Harry pled softly. Remus looked up in mild surprise, and the boy rose up on his tiptoes to press their lips together in a fleeting kiss. Harry put his arms around Remus, resting his head on the man's shoulder, and Remus's arms came uncertainly to circle the boy's waist. "I'm sorry," Harry mumbled against Remus's shirt. "I'm sorry. I'm just. This is hard, you know? I need a little breathing room; that's all. Just a little breathing room. And no more getting sauced. All right?"

Remus smiled sadly as Harry pulled away. "Sure, Green Eyes. Anything you want. Anything at all."

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Harry went and flopped back down on his bed, groaning quietly. Of all the irritating--! Well, he'd held his ground, at any rate. He hadn't given in. No sex. Not until Remus saw him as someone capable of making his own decisions. ...At least he wasn't aroused anymore. Not so aroused, anyway. Having Remus put his arms around him, pressing his hand into the small of Harry's back...that hadn't really helped. That first kiss, when Remus had just scooped him up and engulfed him...just thinking about that was making Harry excited again. And here he was, thinking he didn't really need to wank off anymore. Well, Harry could still do that, at least. If he wanted. He didn't have to. He didn't have to do anything. It was his choice. He found himself choosing to yank down his underwear and let his hand encircle himself. He licked his lips, tasting Remus and hot whiskey. He pictured Remus's lips against his once more, that bold, aggressive tongue invading his mouth. He imagined Remus's eyes, burning deeply into his own, then slowly taking in the rest of his body, relishing the sight of his exposed, tender flesh. He imagined Remus leaning over him, smiling that ravenous, sharp smile, and he took Harry's hand in his own and stroked faster and faster and harder and...

Remus slunk dejectedly into his bedroom, and slid back between the sheets. Merlin, had he ballsed it up this time. He'd been so thick, to think he could steal into Harry's room with Snape around. Why had he done that? It was so unlike him. And now Harry was more upset with him than ever. But of course, Harry had kissed him, right at the end. Such a kiss...so light, so sweet, so much headier than any whiskey. He licked his lips, tasting youth and innocence and Harry. Gnawing his lower lip, he rolled over, pulling the downy pillow over his head. He should not be getting aroused by just a kiss. Oh, how he missed that clever little tongue, the way it liked to run along his teeth, tickle the roof of his mouth, and be caressed and captured and petted by his own. Remus began to realize that his hips had a mind of their own, and made a conscious effort to stop rubbing himself against the bed. His resolve didn't last long. There were too many stimulating memories of Harry flitting through his mind, too much of an electric current running through his blood. Too many things about the boy that Remus found erotic. Even the memory of his voice--that pure, mellow voice, inspired the werewolf to reach down and squeeze himself lightly. He thought of Harry's cheeks, stained with a flush of desire, of his eyes, lit up with lust, of his smooth, lissome body arching and shuddering and he pushed down Merlin, yes, harder and harder, that sweet fire, that slick skin...

Harry clenched his teeth, glaring at the moon. What the hell was the problem? Sure, he'd had an argument with Remus...and another with Snape...and spent hours listening to soft rock from the seventies, but...why would that affect this? He felt his face heat up. This was becoming horribly embarrassing, even if no one ever found out about it. Well, it wasn't like he couldn't get it up. He just couldn't get off. Dear Merlin, he'd never been so frustrated in his entire life--not when the Dursleys were stopping him getting his mail, not when Ron didn't believe him about the Goblet, not when he'd been stuck at Privet Drive last summer with no idea what was going on in the rest of the world--never. He wanted to come, he really, honestly did, and he was...he was sure he was, well, randy enough, but he just couldn't make it happen. None of his favorite fantasies were working--not the one under the Christmas tree, not the one on the desk, and not the one in the back of the mini, which wouldn't have worked anyway, unless one of them was double-jointed. The only time he came close was remembering the last time Remus had taken him, and taken him roughly, with the leash and the collar and his hand stifling the poetry of porn that he'd been dying to spout, and Oh God, why can't I just get it over and forget about it? A thought suddenly occurred to Harry, and he dropped lightly off the bed and made his way across the room to his trunk. Opening it as quietly as he could, he rummaged round until he felt it--ah, yes. There it was. Navigating the creaky floorboards, he got back into bed, and looped the collar around his neck, tightening the strap securely. Immediately, he felt a vast rush of sensuality, and a deep and thrilling connection to his mate. He leaned back and closed his eyes, one finger hooked through the ring of the collar, the other hand reaching down. He kept the pressure of his finger pulling the collar steadily, and imagined he was linked directly to the werewolf. Gasping, he finally found release.

Smiling, he unhooked the collar and let it drop to the floor. He didn't need Remus for this. He was sure he'd have the older man eating out of the palm of his hand by the end of the week. He'd have to come to see Harry as someone self-reliant and mature. After all, Remus had been denied this sort of pleasure for far too long. How long could he possibly hold out?

Remus growled into his pillow. It didn't help at all that his extra-sensitive werewolf ears could hear every little moan the boy made, in there. The little bastard. And as much as it turned him on, Remus could not find release from it. Maybe his mate had to be there. After all, he'd let every indecent fantasy he'd ever had about the boy play out in his head, and none of them was quite enough. Not the one in the shower, not the one with the whipped cream, not the one on the desk, not even the one with manacles at every corner of the bed. The closest he could come, literally, was when he remembered the last time he'd mounted the boy, with that sinful collar and the leash and having lost it completely till he was thrusting so roughly he was sure he'd hurt the boy. Damn. Why had the boy gone and fulfilled one of those devilishly kinky fantasies? It was making it much harder to satisfy himself thinking of anything else. Finally he remembered the leash, and out of an absence of any better ideas, dug it out of his suitcase. God, just the feel of the leather in the palm of his hand...he brushed the strap against himself, shivering with pleasure. When he wound it about his fist, he could imagine Harry was there, on the other end, waiting to be ravished. Tightening his fingers around the leash, he pictured Harry, connected to him by that naughty bedroom accessory. Stifling a cry, Remus finally came. Sighing, he swore under his breath. He'd half to clean the leash off by hand, since he couldn't use magic.

Oh, well. At least he'd made it through another night without Harry. He didn't know what the kid's problem was. Well, Remus would show him. If Harry wanted to be sulky, than Remus would be all right on his own. He didn't have to have the youth every night. He didn't know what game Harry was playing, but Remus was convinced he'd be the one to win. After all, Remus had learned to do with just his hand before Harry had even been born. And Harry was passionate teen with raging hormones. They'd just see who went crawling to whom.

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The next morning, Harry tumbled out of bed, feeling a bit better about life. He bounded into the kitchen and therefore into Snape, who gave him his usual death glare. Harry just smiled brightly and said, "I'm going to make some tea and toast. Want any?" Snape merely grunted, which Harry chose to take as assent. "You're not stopping in at Hogwarts today for any reason, are you?"

Snape gave him a haughty look beneath his rather greasier-than-usual hair. "I am not in the habit of informing you of my schedule, Potter. You can keep your 'gargoyle nosiness', or what have you, to yourself."

Harry sighed. Time to bring out the big guns. "Hmm. I'm actually pretty hungry. I don't think just toast is going to do it. How about some lovely eggs Benedict? I think we have everything we need..." He hummed quietly to himself as he bustled about the kitchen, pulling out ingredients and utensils. Harry was keenly aware of the dark eyes flickering towards him whenever his back was turned. "I wasn't being noisy," he said conversationally after a little while. "I was just wondering if you would pick something up for me. Here, try the sauce. Does it need salt?" Before an answer could be produced, Harry shoved the tip of the spoon in the man's mouth.

Snape jerked away, scowling, but Harry couldn't help but noticed that he licked his lips rather a few more times than was necessary. "And just what, Potter, could you possibly need from Hogwarts, especially given the time of year?"

Harry shrugged, seemingly absorbed in the process of ladling the sauce over the eggs. "Oh, nothing much. A couple of books, maybe. If you could get them, that is."

Snape turned his suspicious scowl on 'high-beam.' "And what books would these be, Mister Potter? Restricted books, one would assume?"

"No," Harry smiled, turning round holding a couple of plates. "Just, you know; books. Like on magic. That type of thing."

"Your clarity is deeply underwhelming," Snape replied dryly, his eyes on the food.

"I'm bored, Professor. I can't practice Occlumency all the time, and there are only three meals in a day, not counting tea. And Remus usually shoves me off of cooking dinner. So I need something to do. I already finished my course books for the year, so maybe you could think of a few titles that might help me brush up on stuff? Or information you think I'd find useful?" He held a plate up under the Potions Master's nose, and the man's eyes fluttered shut.

"I suppose...that's true..." He sounded as though the words had been tethered to wild horses. "You won't...be trying any practical applications?"

"Of course not!" Harry gave him a sweet smile and handed him a plate. "Just bring me something interesting; that's all I'm asking. Now, where's the tea? Dig in, Professor, while they're still hot!"

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Remus didn't come downstairs until almost two in the afternoon. Part of this was because he was nursing a raging headache, but part was because he wasn't especially up to facing Harry. He stayed in bed for most of the morning, thinking. Once he began to sober up, the world looked very different. Last night had been bad. Last night had been the worst night he'd faced since the bonding, and much worse than many prior to that. Harry had...rejected him. He wasn't even sure why. All he could think was that Harry was getting bored; he was only sixteen, after all, and what kind of fool expected a sixteen-year-old to settle down? The boy had clearly grown tired of him, and was beginning to resent the forced bond. Harry wanted out. Remus could barely contain the pain that welled up inside of him when he realized this.

It wasn't as though Remus could blame the boy; after all, what sane human being would want to be saddled with an old, tatty, destitute werewolf for the rest of his or her life? And Harry, Harry had so many prospects! He was smart, he was talented; he was beautiful and generous and young. He had so much going for him. He deserved someone far better than Remus Lupin ever could be. And now it looked as though Harry had come to this realization, as well. What could Remus do? He couldn't give Harry up; the desire to be near his mate was too strong. Wasn't it? Did it matter? Why should it, if his very presence was making Harry miserable? He couldn't take that from the boy; shouldn't have accepted it in the first place. He should give Harry his freedom back. And, if it should kill Remus to do so...well, who was going to mourn an old, tatty, destitute werewolf, anyhow? All his friends were dead. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that he should not have outlived the others. It was an error--a terrible oversight on Fate's part.

Growling, he finally got out of bed and began pacing. He couldn't keep thinking about this. This wasn't just a matter of Harry's freedom--Harry didn't have any freedom, not as long as Voldemort was around. He had to be there for Harry, had to protect him. It was what James would have wanted, what Sirius would have wanted. There didn't even have to be any shagging involved. After all, it was just a perk. It all came down to the fact that he cared--very deeply, in fact--about Harry, and would do anything to see he had a chance at happiness. And yes, sometimes he might get a little carried away, he allowed, but that was only because Harry was so wonderful, and sweet, and delicate. All right, not completely delicate, but Remus was more than aware that, with his enhanced werewolf strength, he could have snapped the boy's bones like twigs. In a sense, everyone else was delicate, compared to him. He just wanted Harry to be safe.

Suddenly, he stopped pacing. The best way to guarantee Harry's safety, he decided, was to determine which Death Eater was following them. And then, perhaps he'd have a chance to deal with them. He got out the scrap of cloth, and took another deep sniff, letting the wolf inside analyze in its own way. Afterwards, he sat for a long while, his face impassive. If he'd come to any conclusions, and if he happened to be surprised or intrigued by those conclusions, it wasn't written on his face.

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When Remus came downstairs finally, he shooed Harry away from the stove. "Damn it, I said that thing was dangerous. Don't you touch it again, d'you hear me?" He stomped around, readying dinner, as Harry retreated to the den to sulk. It was difficult, trying to concentrate while he was still in the throes of the worst hangover he'd had since before he'd left Hogwarts. And it wasn't as if he could ask Severus for a potion, either, because that would mean admitting that he'd wandered into Harry's bedroom in the middle of the night, completely pissed. Whatever Severus would make out of that, Remus was sure he didn't want to know. On top of that, the mystery smell kept bothering him. He was certain it was familiar, and it wasn't the vetiver. Was it? He was pretty sure it was the bergamot. Pretty sure. He hadn't been around it much...or had he? Somewhere buried deep inside the wolfish part of his brain, he was aware that there were layers upon subtle layers of smell, and that, not technically being a canine, he was getting them mixed up in his head.

Smell was linked to memory; memory was linked to emotion. Smells brought about more vivid memories than any of the other senses. Supposedly. Why, then, did this particular mixture of scents send his mind cartwheeling? He knew that if you sat back and let yourself absorb the experience--enjoyed the ride, so to speak--and merely looked back on whatever had popped into your head when a certain odor was introduced, you could glean valuable information. But this one! This one was so muddled. All he could remember, from sniffing it, was a collage of seemingly unrelated things--a hallway at Hogwarts, a sense of fear and frustration, Harry--which was odd, but more than anything, there was a sense of Harry--and worry (but that could have come from anything, especially these days), and a nagging, nagging feeling that this ought to be easy. It was so damn familiar.

As he set the oven to broil, he found himself worrying, as ever, about Harry. Why did the smell bring Harry to mind? The only explanation he could think of was that the smell was around Harry, and often. One of his friends? God, Remus hoped that wasn't the case. The scent didn't especially bring to mind Ron or Hermione, but smells could be such tricky things. If, for instance, the scent was a specific pheromone, and was only given off under certain circumstances...then it wouldn't be the smell Remus most associated with any one person--but it probably would be just enough to nag at his memory, if he'd smelled it on that person before.

Damn it! Sodding hell. Remus glared at the caramelized onions, which, unfortunately, had turned out as onions flambé. He wished he could use his wand. Instead, he ran the pan under the tap, still cursing under his breath. Why the hell was everything to do with Muggles so unbelievably difficult?

"Having a spot of trouble, Lupin?" Snape's smug voice floated from the kitchen doorway. Remus stiffened, but didn't deign to turn and glare at the man. He kept on cooking as though nothing had happened. "You really ought to leave this sort of thing to Potter," the Potions Master offered. "You're bloody awful at it. Really, if you feel such an acute need to be useful, you could go and hunt the main course down, rather than fecklessly torching everything you put paws to."

Remus sighed. "Do shut up, would you, Severus?"

With a victorious smirk, the dark-haired antagonist left to join Harry in the den.

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Supper was a sullen, almost silent affair, as Harry read, Snape snapped at Harry about not getting food on books that were Hogwarts property, and Remus brooded and watched the other two wizards. It wasn't likely that Harry would spill food on his book, since he hadn't taken a single bite since the plate was set before him. He hadn't spoken a single word, either, at least to Remus. He did manage the odd sentence here and there to Snape. In any case, the boy wasn't eating anything. Neither one of them was eating. Remus made himself chew his food, even though it tasted like unwashed socks, but Harry and Snape completely ignored the meal--if you could even call it that.

"So...what are you reading, Harry?" Remus inquired, forcing himself to make polite conversation. He was good at that sort of thing; he'd been doing it for years. However, he'd never come across anyone quite so infuriatingly stubborn as Harry--not even Snape could match the boy, when Harry was in full moping mode.

"Nothing," Harry replied, never lowering the book for a moment.

Remus gritted his teeth. He could not allow the boy to push him away. Harry needed him; why couldn't he see that? "Is it interesting?" He forced an attentive smile.

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, it's really pretty interesting, I guess." He turned the page.

Well. That conversation had been a roaring success. Remus took a deep breath. He would just have to persevere, that was all. "Really? What's it about?"

Stubborn silence, and then a hum that could be interpreted any number of ways. "Professor Snape gave it to me," the youth mumbled resentfully. "Ask him, if you're so fascinated by it. He surely knows more about it than I do."

"I know more about everything than you do," Snape tossed out offhandedly, examining his fingernails. He had an aura of amusement about him that was difficult not to begrudge. "It's all about Grindelwald and his various acts of evil. I thought the child might find it useful."

"Wow. Did he really do that?" Harry asked, showing off a plate depicting a woman being impaled on a very tall spike.

"Indeed." Severus nearly seemed to smile. "That was, however, one of his more compassionate ways of killing."

"Godric H. Roosevelt Gryffindor!" Remus gasped. He snatched the book away from Harry. "Don't go showing the boy things such as that!"

"Remus!" Harry snarled, making a grab for the book. Remus immediately stood up, holding the book above his head. "What--you--I--you idiot! I need that book! I need to know things like that. Don't you get it? Do you think Voldemort'll go, 'Ah, I won't do that to him, then, seeing as how he'd never expect it!' Get a grip." Remus was frowning and shaking his head, and Harry could have stomped his foot in frustration. "This isn't some game, you idiot! This is my life! It's going to be my death, if you keep mollycoddling me like this. Please, Remus. Give it back. These are things I need to know, even if they aren't very pleasant."

Remus's jaw was clenched. This was so contradictory of what he wanted for the boy, so wrong and upsetting. He wanted Harry safe. He wanted Harry innocent. He wanted to preserve Harry the way he was now, and let no one damage his radiance any more than Remus himself already had.

"The boy has a point, you know," Snape remarked from somewhere outside their little world, his voice no more than a gnat's buzz somewhere in the distance.

Remus was shaking. He lowered the book, and Harry reached for it. "No, Harry," he said as gently as he could. "It is up to me to decide what's best for you. I don't think horror stories fall into that category at all. I'm sorry. Maybe--maybe when you're older--"

"I WON'T LIVE TO BE OLDER, AT THIS RATE," Harry screamed at him, tears of anger welling up in his eyes. "You are so STUPID, d'you realize that?" He was shaking with rage, and seemed to be having trouble drawing breath. "I don't--I can't--you just. I. I hate you. Do you know that? I hate you." He turned, running blindly from the room, as Remus stared after him, devastated.

After a long, tense silence, a loud slapping sound shocked Remus out of his distress. He turned to stare at Snape, uncomprehending, as the man's twisted smile greeted him warmly. Remus hated Severus more than he had in all their years of knowing one another, as the Potions Master continued to stand, bestowing upon the werewolf his shatteringly loud applause.

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The next day, Harry refused to come out of his room. Remus pleaded, pounded, and pulled rank, but the boy wouldn't budge. When Remus picked the lock and muscled his way in, Harry threw a shoe at his head, and the werewolf retreated, hurt and furious. It wasn't until evening, when Snape glided into the youth's territory, warded off the projectile alarm clock headed his way with a cursory shield spell, and spoke with the boy quietly for more than an hour that Harry finally condescended to rejoin the rest of the world. He still refused to speak to Remus, though.

Remus was torn. He had powerful feelings for Harry, and would do almost anything for the boy, but the whole situation was twisting his insides into knots. On the other hand, Harry was behaving like a spoiled diva and thoroughly deserved to be flipped over the man's knee and spanked senseless, and Remus would be more than happy to do it, if only Snape weren't around. He really was getting quite tired of the child's theatrics. Of course, it never occurred to him that any of this was his fault.

After skipping the evening meal, Harry followed Snape into the den for his lesson, pulling the door closed behind him quickly in order to cut off Remus's admonition to 'be careful.' Breathing heavily, he threw himself into a chair and stared at the fire, grinding his teeth. "I don't know how good I'm going to be at this tonight," he warned his teacher. "I'm royally mad at him, and I don't think I can clear my mind enough to make it work."

"Which is why you're simply going to have to try harder, you short-sighted reprobate. This is exactly the sort of thing the Dark Lord will try to use against you!" Severus snapped, teeth bared. "You must stop acting like such a child about all of this! You do not have the right to indulge in it! Now get up. And clear that stupid head of yours; I do not see why you have any difficulty emptying it on demand, when that is its natural state in any case. Now. Legilimens!"

With a growl, Harry stood and tried to defend himself. He was only partially successful. Suddenly he was seeping in memories; Dudley's fifth birthday, when he and his friends seemed to have Aunt Petunia's tacit permission to play 'Pin the Tail on the Harry'...playing a game of wizard's chess at Christmas with Ron...Remus's face, hovering above his own... "No!" he yelled, giving a mighty push with his mind, and the room came back into focus. He was on the floor. He stared at Snape, who seemed neither impressed nor interested. Harry tried to recall if that had been a particularly bad memory to show off. Had they been in bed together? Must've been. Was Remus's face betraying the passion they felt for one another? Harry couldn't remember; the glimpse had been too fleeting. He hoped fervently that Snape hadn't thought anything of it.

"Pathetic, Mister Potter. And I'd actually begun to believe you capable of making humble amounts of horribly retarded progress. Cease your emotional wallowing this instant. Your disgusting sentimentality is making you more inept than ever. Ready yourself Get up."

"I'm not sentimental," Harry grumbled. "I'm just angry."

"Stupid boy. The werewolf would not be capable of making you angry if his opinion did not matter to you. Leave off caring about him and what he thinks, and you will have no reason to be angry. What did I just say, you miserable fool? Get up!"

Harry rolled his eyes at the hypocrisy of his teacher, who plundered his thoughts more brutally in response, though he found nothing especially damning.

After several rounds of invading Harry's head, Snape gave up in disgust. "Well, it is apparent that myriad inanimate objects have more natural talent at Occlumency than yourself; I'm giving up for the evening. Here," he added, thrusting something square at the boy.

"What's this?" Harry asked, squinting suspiciously. Anything coming from Snape was likely to be poisoned, cursed, or at the very least, extremely insulting. He turned the book in his hands and read the title; Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Horrible Dark Lords and Their Various Atrocities, But Were Afraid to Ask. His lips quirked upward. "What's this for, then?"

"Potter, do tell me you're not an utter twit. It's what people of some erudition call a book. On Dark Lords. And what they do. Have I spelled it out simply enough for you? Your histrionics on how you could not be expected to face an enemy without knowing his possible methods persuaded me to borrow this from the library. Restricted section, since I'm sure that would be enough to make you salivate over it. Or were all of your melodramatic gestures a mere act?"

Harry blinked owlishly up at the man. "What? No. No! I want it, it's just..." He stared at the cover, thinking quickly. Remus wouldn't be happy about this--not happy at all. Snape was gathering his cloak, readying himself to return to Hogwarts for a meeting. Harry tilted his head, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "You're trying to put me in the middle, aren't you?" he asked the Potions Master shrewdly. "You like to--I don't know--sow dissent and all that. You think it's funny when Remus and I fight. That's really tasteless, Snape."

"Professor Snape," Severus replied blandly. "And I don't have the vaguest idea of what you're on about. If you don't wish to fight with him, then don't fight with him. All you have to do is keep your big, clumsy mouth shut, for once. And I wish you luck in that. Remember to clear your mind before sleep, you troublesome jackass. I don't know why I bother reminding you; you never listen to anything I say at any rate." With a rather more smug than usual smirk, Snape flooed back to Hogwarts, leaving Harry clutching an enormous, violent tome.

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Harry decided not to tell Remus about the text. After all, that would only cause a fight, and that was what Snape'd been hoping for. This way, maybe he could get an idea of what he was facing, and still avoid screwing up his relationship with the werewolf even worse. If that were even possible, by this point.

Remus was spending a lot of time out on the front porch, looking haggard and upset. Harry was avoiding him, but the man seemed to be purposely staying out of his way, in any case, so what did it matter? Sometimes Harry did have a pang of guilt, knowing that Remus was under a lot of stress, but every time he passed by the kitchen and saw the wards the werewolf had nagged Snape into putting up, Harry hardened his heart once more. This was ridiculous. It was a perfectly ordinary oven, not Attila the Hun.

One night, Harry had difficulty getting an exceptionally gory passage from Snape's book out of his head, found himself tossing and turning long into the night. Usually by this time he was dead tired, from having to repel Snape from his mind with nothing more than will, since he couldn't use magic. Tonight, however, Harry couldn't help but be restless...Blood. That was what it always came down to. Either it was pure or it was not. And there was always so much of it, when one man decided he wanted more power. He didn't even have to lift a finger--he sent other people out to do his work, and take the risks. And so it was them that paid, them and those that couldn't withstand them. And the people fighting against him got angry, and fought back, or nursed resentments--cursed him and his followers, and spat after saying their names...and their children learned to hate, just like that. And the bitterness spread. If someone looked like one of them, acted like one of them; was suspected of knowing any of them, well--best to yank the weed out by the root. Don't want that sort of thing spreading, after all. So he was getting them to kill each other, too. God, it was scary. And the descriptions of what they did to each other! Supposedly sane, common people! It was hard to believe but...Harry reckoned it only took one rock, because that would be followed by another rock, and another, and another...

He had feverish dreams, where being harsh meant being safe, and being kind meant suspicion, and being different meant death. God, Remus was different. They'd have killed Remus. And so the dreams morphed into dreams of his werewolf, taken and chained and tortured with silver, or tossed onto a raging pyre, or stolen away somewhere cold and lonely...so lonely...

Harry woke with a start, and rolled over to see the Muggle clock read almost four in the morning. Remus was all right, though, Harry was sure. Nearly sure. Part of him wanted to check, but it would look odd to go knocking on his door at this hour, and besides, Harry was still mad. Still, that didn't mean he didn't care about Remus... Harry stared at his ceiling, or would have if there'd been enough light. He didn't just care about Remus, and he didn't just fancy the man, either, although he was accustomed to thinking about it that way. A crush, he'd so often told himself. I have a crush on Remus Lupin. But it wasn't merely a crush, and couldn't be, because they were mated now. That automatically meant something more, didn't it? Or did it? He thought very hard about it, determined to turn his thoughts from the death and terror in his dreams. He had very strong feelings for Remus, but he wasn't sure what that meant. Was it the bond, twisting his emotions to its purpose? If that were the case, then Remus would likely feel the same way, and he certainly wasn't acting like it, lately. That could mean that Harry's feelings stemmed from something else, and were entirely his own...

Remus was having difficulty sleeping, as well. Harry wasn't speaking to him, and he was trying to give the boy his space, but...the need could not be erased. He stalked the youth through the halls and in the garden, moving so carefully and sinuously that Harry was completely unaware of the man's presence. He watched as Harry sat in the den, reading another one of Snape's loathsome texts. His eyes followed every insignificant movement; a page slowly being flipped, a tongue running across a lip, a hand brushing back an errant lock of hair. Remus was going mad. The slavering wolf within was directly at odds with his logical consciousness. He wanted the boy--not just in bed, he had to admit, but to hold and to share with and to indulge--but he also knew that everything had suddenly become very complicated, and great discretion was imperative.

He couldn't let anything happen to Harry. He promised himself that this was the reason he shadowed the boy, and it had nothing whatever to do with the wolf's unslaked lust for its mate. Being banished from Harry's company was leading to all kinds of problems for Remus, only one of which had anything to do with the kinds of activities that eventually led to orgasm. For one thing, it was so much easier to castigate himself about the situation when Harry wasn't actively trying to distract him. He was spending more and more time examining and re-examining his actions, his inappropriate desires, and his often conflicting role as Harry's guardian.

Sometimes at night, he could see Sirius in his mind's eye, shaking his head and arguing passionately that Remus ought to find the nearest tower and throw himself off, since it was the only honorable thing to do after having deflowered the boy. Other times, he saw James's horrified face, shaking his head, eyes pleading to know how Remus could abuse his trust so badly. Strangely, the least-upsetting image was Lily, her green eyes flashing, her sharp movements and angry demands only serving to bolster Remus's faltering sense of justification. Lily, he would think, closing his eyes to focus on hers, you're wrong. I would never hurt him. And he's NOT yours anymore--he's mine. Can you understand that? He's mine! He came to me, not the other way around. It was wrong of me to have let it happen, but that's beyond help, now. Now we must learn to live with it. If we can. But that, of course, was when his own oft ignored conscience rose up to do battle with him. Because he knew, deep down, that he could give Harry up, if he had to. He could let the boy go, and build a life of his own. He simply didn't want to. He simply...didn't want to.

The last night they would be staying in the cottage, Harry drew Remus aside. "This paranoia concerning kitchen appliances has got to stop," he informed the man seriously. "I know you care about me, and that you're trying to help, and I appreciate that, but for God's sake, don't do this. Don't lock me away like a princess in a tower, afraid of all the little things that might happen to me. It's unreasonable. This equipment is not unfamiliar to me," he continued, after a pause and a deep breath. "I was raised by Muggles. They made me do a lot of the cooking. I would like to contribute to...you know, making this whole ordeal easier on us all. This is not a battle of wills, Remus. I mean it. I've been doing a lot of thinking, about the...about the whole werewolf thing. About the way you are, and the way I am, and about the reasons we might be this way. You have this...dominance thing going. I can understand that. Hell, I've even been asking for that, and in no uncertain terms, so I've no right to complain about it now." Harry shut his eyes for a few moments. This was very difficult. He was naturally very stubborn, and Remus was not. Or hadn't been, up until the mating. Now things had changed between them, and Harry wasn't always sure he liked it. It was frightening, letting someone have that kind of power and control over him. On the other hand, if it was going to be anyone, he would prefer it to be Remus...

It just would have been so much easier, if overt submission never entered into it in any way. "If you don't want me in the kitchen, I will accept that," he told the man through gritted teeth. This had better work, or he was going to be very unhappy about having said such a thing. "But I'm asking you, Remus, will you please let me make dinner tonight? You can supervise, even, if you like." He snapped his mouth shut, biting off the rest of what he wanted to say, which ranged from 'You damn stubborn werewolf, stop treating me like a five-year-old,' to 'I promise I won't accidentally blow myself up with the oven before Voldemort can get to me.'

Remus stared at the boy, astonished. That was...decidedly mature of Harry. If Remus didn't agree to the compromise, he'd seem like an obstinate bully. Harry's suggestion had veritably wiped all of the werewolf's arguments away. Reluctantly, he nodded. "I...all right. I can...just watch. I just don't want anything to happen to you," he reiterated, trying desperately to explain his persistence to the boy.

Harry gave him a rather cynical half smile, effectively stopping him saying anything more. Remus felt his stomach clench in guilt as he watched Harry move about the kitchen, getting out the things he'd be using for dinner. Yes, you don't want anything to happen to him, his conscience repeated sarcastically. You just want to be the alpha. You just want to be the dominant one. It isn't about his safety at all, is it? You've just been letting the wolf run your mouth, haven't you? Remus flushed at the realization his motives might not be as pure as he'd assured himself. Really, it was just an oven. Harry'd seen plenty of them, he was sure. "You're beautiful when you're absorbed in something like this," he suddenly blurted, and Harry glanced up from the cookbook, surprise written on his face. A slight pink crept across the youth's cheekbones, and he saw Harry carefully hold back a smile before replying.

"Well, perhaps you ought to let me do this more often, then." With a wry twist of his mouth, Harry looked back down at the book.

After a while, Remus offered, "Anything I can do to help?"

Harry looked round. "Well...you could dice the vegetables," he proposed, thinking it better to give Remus a 'dangerous' task he wouldn't want Harry doing on his own. He was a little confused when Remus seemed to smile gratefully, taking the vegetables over to the chopping board.

They'd been working for sometime, chatting companionably, when the Potions Master appeared and interrupted. "Ah..." the man sighed from the doorway. "Back to playing happy families and making obeisance to that...Muggle woman. What was her name? Julia someone or other. Child. Making obeisance to Julia Child now, are we? How very sweet. So. Harry. How are you getting on with the book I lent you?"

Harry clenched his teeth. Why was it that the man could not stand to see anyone else happy, even for a moment? Why did he always do his best to rip other peoples' pleasure to shreds? Why was it that he seemed to derive amusement from trying to turn Harry and Remus against each other? Not looking up, Harry grated out, "Shut up, Snape," and was startled to realize that Remus's lips had echoed his own words, albeit much more quietly.

"Don't you speak to me like that, Mister Potter," Snape began. "Lupin may have chosen to accept whatever vitriol and disrespect you give him; he has no choice, after all. It is very difficult to make friends when you are likely, at some point, to maul them. I have to assume that's the reason he rolls over for you at every turn, at any rate. I, on the other hand, am not prepared to--"

"Severus, that is enough," Remus told him in a dangerous voice.

"Indeed?" Snape did not look impressed. He was leaning against the doorframe, one brow arched, eyes glittering in an entirely unpleasant way. Harry jerked his eyes back to his preparations, swallowing uncomfortably. Did Snape suspect something? How could he not, with the way Harry and Remus had behaved around each other lately?

"Don't annoy me," the werewolf muttered to the man, although he now sounded more tired than intimidating.

Snape ignored him completely, walking up to Harry and stopping by his elbow. "Rest assured, Mister Potter, that your insolence towards me will not go unpunished when term starts," he said in a cold, menacing voice.

Remus grabbed the man's arm and spun him around. "Are you threatening the boy?" he demanded.

The Potions Master tried to jerk his arm away, his face filled with outrage. "It is obvious that you have no control whatever over Mister Potter, and you seem to be making the serious mistake of letting the child--"

"Whatever mistakes I make are not yours to compensate," Remus growled. He glanced at Harry, who was ignoring the scene with fine disdain--something he probably learned from Snape, Remus realized with some consternation. Letting a breath escape his teeth in a long hiss, he kept hold of the man's arm and dragged him, protesting, from the room. Remus didn't know if he'd be allowed to stay near Harry throughout the school year, but he damn well intended that the boy be treated civilly whether he was nearby or not--and it was time Severus had that explained to him.

Harry watched his teacher be hauled from the room, snarling acidic contempt all the way. He'd strongly considered speaking up, but he was really quite weary of fighting all the time, and Remus was...rather sweet, when he was being protective. He listened to the voices rising in anger in the hallway, and a loud thump that nearly made him drop his spoon. Casually stirring the broth, he ignored the scuffle. Smirking, he tasted his creation, deciding it needed a bit more tarragon. He resolutely kept to his task, unheeding of any of the noises coming from outside the room. After all, he reasoned, if I'm going to let Remus be the dominant partner, then I ought to get SOME kind of benefit from it...

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By the time the three of them sat down together to eat, a grudging peace had been restored. Snape was trying to hide the relish with which he devoured his meal, and did his best to completely ignore Remus at the same time. "You might have left off a bit more of this gravy," he complained to Harry, scraping some of it off. "The only people who need to drown their meat are the ones that haven't cooked it correctly." He gave a sneer in Remus's direction, but the werewolf did not rise to the bait.

"I like the gravy," Harry replied, shrugging. He had tactfully refrained from saying anything about Snape's eye, which might have to remain black until he went back to Hogwarts for the night and could have it magically healed. It wasn't so much magic that it would draw the Death Eaters to them; it was only that Remus had confiscated the man's wand, with the promise that he wasn't getting it back until Snape agreed to behave with some semblance of courtesy. Harry overheard this discussion with amusement, and concluded that this was the equivalent of a lifetime sentence of wandlessness, but the man shocked him by attempting to be somewhat polite, in the hopes of getting it returned quickly. Harry suspected this had something to do with Remus having hidden the floo powder, and that as soon as the Potions Master was restored to either his wand or his method of communication with the Headmaster, he would revert to his normal, belligerent self, but at least it made for a passable meal.

After dinner, Snape cornered the werewolf in the den, and requested his wand in a tight voice. Remus barely flicked a glance at him before going back to his evening paper, heaving a great sigh and--sounding for all the world like a particularly old-fashioned father whose son has requested the car keys--asked, "Are you going to behave towards Harry with a modicum of respect?"

Harry could hear Snape's teeth grinding. "I will attempt to restrain myself from damaging the boy's fragile psyche, so long as he keeps his impertinent tongue still in my presence."

Remus flicked to the next page. "Not good enough," he pronounced.

"Why--you--" The Potions Master was almost incoherent with ire, and Harry knew that he would be trying to take the wand by force, if Remus were not endowed with werewolf strength. Taking a noisy breath through his nose, Snape appeared to master himself. "Surely you realize, Lupin, that if I do not appear at Hogwarts very shortly, the Headmaster will undoubtedly send someone after me. Then where will you be?"

"Mmm," Remus responded noncommittally. "That should be embarrassing for you. Whatever would the Order think; Severus Snape, the great spy, who cannot even keep hold of his wand?"

Snape's sallow cheeks coloured just a little. "Give it back, damn it! You've no right!"

"And you've no right to persecute Harry for every injustice James perpetuated on you!" Remus snarled, standing. "All you have to do is let go an old, overripe grudge. Let Harry alone--that's all I'm asking."

"Fine! Fine! I'll leave him be, then. Satisfied?" Snape's voice rose a pitch. "Now hand me my wand!"

Remus looked at him a long, doubtful moment, before finally handing over the slender wooden object. Harry held his breath, certain that Snape would hex the werewolf into oblivion, but the man merely snatched it back, glaring. After a moment, he spoke. "And the floo powder?"

"Under my bed," Remus informed him coolly, and Snape waved his wand to retrieve it.

Just before Snape disappeared into the fire, he told them with great resent, "I shall be arriving to help pack early tomorrow morning. We will be expected at the Weasleys' right around noon. I'll expect you both up and ready to leave upon my appearance. Is that understood?" He looked self-righteously over his shoulder, the proud and vicious Potions Master once more.

"That will be fine," Remus agreed softly, and Harry nodded assent. With a bitter jerk of his head, Snape disappeared into the fireplace, leaving the pair alone for the night.

Harry turned to Remus, who seemed uncertain and awkward. Remus cleared his throat and sat down, picking up his paper, although Harry noticed by the way the pages shivered that the man wasn't as comfortable with the boy's presence as he pretended. "So. I suppose you'll have plans to read tonight?" the man asked nonchalantly, and Harry smiled.

He perched on the armrest, looking down at his mate. "Thank you for letting me fix dinner," he told Remus quietly. "I didn't make a catastrophe out of it, you might have noticed." He noted that the man's ears turned rather red.

"Yes. Well. Thank you for fixing supper," the werewolf replied in a stiff voice, and Harry felt the anger rise up in his throat, choking him.

After all that, he STILL can't see how perfectly innocuous it is? He still can't admit that I'm capable of looking after myself?

Remus sighed and lowered his paper. "Harry...I'm sorry if I seemed unreasonable. It wasn't my intent to alienate you, or to imply that you were a helpless child. I merely meant to keep you safe...sometimes I'm...well. I'm not as well versed in all things Muggle as you are, and I don't trust them. Sirius always thought Muggle objects were a great laugh and...it led to the occasional mishap. It just...frightens me when you're messing about with something that I don't understand. I suppose the problem isn't on your end, but mine...all the same, I'd still appreciate it if you'd humor me in this."

He looked up seriously, and Harry realized he was wearing his reading spectacles, which Harry found very sexy. The youth had to swallow before answering. He'd...sort of won. He'd gotten his way, and Remus was treating him with more respect--explaining things rather than making unrealistic demands. He felt the tension drain from his shoulders. "I think I see," he said solemnly. He reached a tentative hand out to caress the man's face, and Remus's eyes fluttered shut. "But really, Remus...in the future, could we try discussing things before you order me about like a drill sergeant? It's disconcerting, and kind of...you know...insulting. Every time I turn around, I find myself fighting for or against something...it would be awfully nice if I didn't have to fight you, too. I'm willing to listen to you, if you're reasonable and ready to make concessions now and again. I just want a little dignity, too, you know. Especially when there are other people around. It's hard enough to get Snape to treat me with anything like respect, without you laying into me, too."

Remus smiled a little ruefully. "I hadn't considered that," he admitted. "I could see you were upset with me, but I thought it all stemmed from disliking someone having that kind of authority over you. Oh, Harry. I apologize, and I'm willing to...well, I can't promise never to order you about, but I will agree to keep the arguments behind closed doors, if it would help."

Harry nodded. "Just try to see things from my point of view, is all. And I'll try not to throw any more fits, and never in public, but...if you treat me like a child, it's hard not to act like one." He leaned over a little, resting his cheek on Remus's head.

Remus put an arm around the boy and pulled him slowly into his lap. "Is this all right?" he whispered anxiously. He relaxed a bit when Harry nodded against his chest. "I promise to modulate the way I phrase things in the future," he proposed, and Harry looked at him in confusion. "I mean I'll try not to talk down to you," he amended. "I won't simply forbid you to do something without discussing it first."

Harry smiled, relieved. That was exactly what he'd been wanting. "Thank you," he said vehemently. "You don't know how much that means to me." He wrapped his arms around his wolf's neck and kissed him firmly. Remus seemed to pull away, and Harry blinked at him, worried. "What's wrong?"

"Harry..." Remus bit his lip, pulling his glasses of and setting them aside. "Perhaps we oughtn't...er...perhaps we should back off a little bit. You'll find, as you grow older, that you want more and more of your own space, and I want you to have the freedom--"

"Remus," Harry interrupted, "that isn't what I meant--"

"I know you didn't. I've simply come to the realization that what we've been doing might be very harmful to you, in the long run. Harry, you know your parents would not have approved of this, and I can't say I have any effective argument." He pinched the bridge of his nose, missing the scowl Harry shot at him.

"Oh God, you've been thinking on it, haven't you? I should have known not to leave you alone long enough to let you start beating yourself up about it. It was almost inevitable. Look, Remus--"

"No, Harry. You look; your father would kick me round the countryside if he were alive, and I'd deserve it. Sirius would barbeque both of us. Your mother would never forgive me. I don't think--"

"You think too much, actually," Harry responded. "And I don't care what they would have thought, because we'll never really know. They're dead, Remus. I'm sorry, but it's the truth. And..." he trailed off, wrinkling his nose, trying to form a decent argument. "You do yourself an injustice, by thinking about what they would say," he finally put forth. "You can't defend yourself against that, because you're really only arguing with yourself. So tell me that you don't want to do this, if that's the case, but don't fob off the responsibility onto your dead friends. Whatever they might have thought doesn't enter into it, because things have changed. Do you think any of them could have foreseen what happened in that dungeon? I want you, Remus. I need you. Shouldn't I be the one whose opinion counts?" He leaned forward, resting his forehead against the werewolf's, and looked unhappily into his eyes.

Remus held his breath for a long moment. "I can't tell you that I don't want this, because that would be a lie. But that doesn't mean that I think it's right."

Harry kissed him persuasively. "Don't say that," the boy begged. "It is right. It's the only thing in my life that's ever felt so right."

Remus closed his eyes, allowing the questing tongue entrance for a few delicious moments. "I don't know if it's right or wrong anymore," he admitted, defeated. "But I want it all the same. God help me, I want it still."

Harry frowned before attacking the man's lips with renewed vigor. "You don't have to make it sound as though I'm corrupting you," he told Remus crossly.

A ghost of a smile traversed the man's face. "I'm afraid I'm the one corrupting you, which was rather my point," he said, then moaned as Harry's hand slipped down, cupping the bulge in his trousers.

"Well, if that's the case," Harry replied with an impish smile, "I'd be more than happy to switch roles with you for the night. He undid the top button on the man's pants, and then another. He loved the way Remus's breath hitched, and his hands clutched the armrests desperately. Such a model of restraint. Still, Harry had seen him lose said restraint, and enjoyed watching that even more, so he set about making it happen again.

Remus's head fell back against the seat, and he whimpered piteously. Harry gave him an evil grin before kissing the tip of the man's nose, then licking it, then nibbling it gently. "Tell me you missed me," the boy teased. He began to stroke Remus slowly, and the man's eyes narrowed with frightening intensity.

"I missed you?" he panted in Harry's ear. "You're the one who can't seem to keep your hands off of me." Harry's pace quickened, and Remus's hands went of their own accord to the back of Harry's head, and he tugged the youth forward, crushing their lips together.

Harry finally escaped Remus's authoritative mouth long enough to gasp, "It'll be fine. It's been three days, and that's much too long to go without having you a part of me."

Remus felt his eyes fall shut, and he bit back a wild cry. Three days. He wanted to tell Harry that if three days seemed endless, he ought to count himself lucky, but Remus held his tongue. And then Harry leaned forward and held it, as well. It had felt like much more than three days to him too, so he couldn't bring himself to blame his lover. Harry rocked his hips, and they groaned in unison. Remus watched the boy as he bit his lip in concentration, his eyes half shut, lost in sensation. This was the most control he had ever given Harry, and the first time the boy had taken this kind of initiative, and Remus found himself enjoying the experience very much.

Since he was letting Harry do most of the work, Remus stopped himself from feeling useless by letting his mouth go, for once, and watched Harry's face as the words washed over him. "Merlin, you're so beautiful. Do you even know how beautiful you are?" he whispered, and felt the youth shudder extravagantly. "You've no idea how good it feels, silken heat...the sweetest, smoothest, tightest--"

"--God, Remus," Harry interrupted, his voice choked. His hips were gyrating with abandon now, and Remus gripped them, took them under his control, and let his hands adjust their rhythm.

"Just slow down," he told his lover hoarsely. "Spread your legs wider--yes, that's it," he grunted, as Harry threw first one leg, then the other over the arms of the chair, giving control back to Remus in the notion the older man could make this last longer. "Oh, Harry..." Remus wasn't keeping control any better than Harry had, and his hands were setting a faster and faster pace, and Harry undulated fiercely, teeth clenched, sweat pouring down his body as he reveled in the hedonistic pleasure of it all.

Harry was beginning to feel desperate, unable to articulate the loss of closeness he'd felt the past days, even though it had been by his choice. "Missed you," he settled on panting, digging his fingers into Lupin's hair. "Want you. Need you. You. Drive me. Fucking crazy. You know that?"

Remus chuckled low in his throat, and pulled his mate forward into another steamy kiss. Harry's low wail was sucked into his lover's mouth, and the boy's hips sped up frantically, never breaking the kiss. Just as the pressure was becoming unbearable for Remus, he felt the boy constrict and shudder. Remus gasped and held Harry tighter, following him up the dizzy spiral.

Harry's hands were clenched painfully in his hair, and Remus pulled his tongue out of the youth's mouth enough to ask Harry to loosen his grip. Harry complied, letting his fingers trail down the back of Remus's neck, and dropping his head forward to lean on the man's shoulder. Harry heaved a great, shuddering sigh. "You know, the sex is mind-blowing, but the lack of communication is kind of...not so great," he said, yawning.

Remus had to laugh. "Then I guess that's something we have to work on, isn't it, Green Eyes?" He smiled, stroking Harry's back, and stood to carry his mate into the bathroom. "We'll just have to make an effort, that's all. We'll just have to make a bit of an effort."