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"I'd never believe this. The man who taught me to fight Dementors- a Coward."
By now, Lupin had come to the realization everyone seemed to not only have some sort of opinion on the state of his relationship with Nymphadora Tonks, if one could generously call it that, but they also seemed remarkably comfortable in expressing it to his person.
The general consensus was that he was too self-loathing to accept love. Remus Lupin was indeed too self-loathing to accept love, nevertheless, he also had been grieving the last friend of the golden days of his youth, one he had just managed to get back, and Nymphadora Tonks had been too grieving her new found cousin. You add the entirety of the Black family wine cellar at their disposal and, well, things happened.
Stupidly, he thought they shared an understanding: that night had been about much needed mutual comfort and, in the face of death, the need to feel alive again. He truly cared about Nymphadora as friend, but any of her attempts to rekindle whatever flame they might have once shared, even if briefly, just left him feeling cold and self-conscious under the ever-growing popular understanding his resistance to her advances meant there was something wrong with him.
Maybe there was something wrong with him for not wanting her. Nevertheless, the fact remained he did not want her and under the risk of being hated and judged further for his inability to simply be, be who they wanted him to be, be human, be normal and take what was so readily offered, this blueprint of happiness: a willing young woman, then marriage, then children. So he chose the least brave path and prayed no one ever came around to challenge the simple lies he laid as his reasons not to pursuit that relationship.
Nymphadora Tonks was too young for him. That was always an easy argument, despite the fact it was the weaker one amongst wizards. He didn’t know the state of Hogwarts lately, but back when he was a student there had been at least two scandals concerning student-teacher entanglements. By the seventh year, when everybody was properly legal, the institution itself turned a blind eye as long as discretion was observed by all parties.
There was a well know couple of that sort, from back when Dumbledore was a teacher, that were still together and quite in love and with a brood of children and grandchildren to show for it.
It was a weak argument considering Tonks was in all ways an adult, but Remus always brought it up because of the fact he meant more lack of maturity than age. He had expected her to be mature enough not to get attached after one night of intimacy and she, despite her modern looks and ways, turned out to actually be inexperienced and idealistic enough to have read more into the situation than there was.
Though when Nymphadora’s conclusion of their lack of relationship became the prevalent one shared amongst their friends, he was forced to consider that the problem wasn’t her lack of maturity, after all, but his own inability to communicate his feelings and thoughts. From then on, he realized that, in a sense, they were all correct: he had created this problem, the problem was within him and not in Nymphadora’s insistent interest.
He was in the wrong, but how to communicate the truth without threatening to lose everyone that he had left? After Sirius, James, Peter and Dumbledore there was so much someone could bear and the whole matter was a desvastating reminder, as if he needed to be reminded, how fragile this existence he managed to put together was and how one person’s discontent with him could threaten to take it all away if they all chose to take her side.
With his lies covered in truths, he was too old, too poor, too werewolf , they were frustrated with him, but at least it was out of pity, not hatred. But what of his feelings? What of his frustration at being questioned, prodded, judged by those who, surely, should have known him better than they displayed?
Remus Lupin tried to tell himself they meant well, they worried, they cared. About him as well as her. And most days that was enough, but some days he felt his temper catch at the sheer audacity of having his private matters discussed at the Black family’s dinner table or out for anyone to hear in the Hogwarts corridors, like he was a schoolboy again in need of scolding by Professor McGonagall.
The only person that seemed to mirror his discomfort when the matter was brought up at the Black dinner table was their resident teenage Slytherin spy: Draco Malfoy. He was the girl’s cousin and Lupin knew enough about pureblood tradition that he half expected some sort of altercation with the boy in honor of Nymphadora’s dignity. Happily, it never came for Remus Lupin had no more dignity left to give, after being stripped of his own.
Whenever the topic came up, he started to notice around Christmas, Draco would make some sort of excuse to leave the premises, be it following Mrs. Weasley to the kitchen to inquire about the recipe of whatever she had prepared for them that night, which was much better than whatever he had the Manor, lately, which never failed to make the Weasley matriarch flush to her roots. Be it bringing up the very obvious fact that whatever minute he stayed away put him at great risk, so he better get back to the Dark Lord’s headquarters.
Lupin attributed Draco’s refusal to get mixed in the problem with the fact the rumors might in fact be true: Sirius’s other cousin, Narcissa, had the great and infamous Lucius Malfoy wrapped around her little finger and was the one who ran the Malfoy household with an iron fist.
Adding to that the fact Draco had been personally trained in Occlumency and dueling by another formidable Black sister, Bellatrix Lestrange, and happily accepted Nymphadora’s invitations to spar without any hesitation or clumsy attempts of unwanted chivalry, it was most likely that the thought of running to rescue his Auror cousin, the most recent one in a line of formidable women, from her own love life probably filled Draco with more embarrassment than he could bear to face.
There was also a small part of Remus Lupin that wanted to believe Draco Malfoy treasured, even if minimally, the small, tentative steps of camaraderie they had both attempted with each other. Perhaps not so small, since Harry Potter, notably unobservant to anything that didn’t evolve massaging his own ego according to Severus Snape, saw fit to mention they both talked like they were in an ongoing conversation.
Draco and Lupin had bonded over healing spells, of all things. A subject Lupin had to master from a young age to survive full moons, and something Draco also seemed to have become quite adept in a rather precocious manner to survive living with Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
The first time Remus was able to bear witness to Draco’s full expertise was when he was able to heal himself from one of Nagini’s bites. Not one person in the Grimmauld’s place forgot Arthur Weasley’s ordeal with the snake so no one thought it was strange Remus wanted to check Draco’s work, closely.
He did see Harry blink in a rather dangerous manner when Draco casually rested his injured hand on the cup of Lupin’s bigger one, at Lupin’s wordless gesture to do so.
But Harry had a concerning habit of staring at nothing but the Malfoy boy whenever he was in the room, so Lupin took no notice of his growing frown and gently took Draco’s glove off in order to check the scarring and his range of motion.
“It’s a work in progress.” Draco explained, after enduring the examination in silence for a full minute. As thought single-handedly saving himself from bleeding to death after the creature’s attack wasn’t enough.
“Draco,” Remus breathed. “What you’ve done bothers on miraculous. Be proud!”
Remus didn’t notice when Harry left the room, only that, when he looked for him, he was nowhere to be found.
He had assumed Harry would follow suit and not want to get mixed up in the involuntary soap opera Remus found himself in. Once again, he was dead wrong. It was becoming a concerning habit in line with Harry’s.
The fight started because Harry felt abandoned. After Sirius’s death, he had expected Remus to step up as a father figure, never mind that historically he never did.
Not after James and Lily were killed, not after Sirius was imprisoned. He could have done more for Harry, they all could and should have done more for that child, but Harry was seventeen now, an adult, and Lupin didn’t know what he had left to offer him or anyone else.
It was almost a relief these days to be called to the Malfoy Manor by Greyback and join Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy in their hijinks behind enemy lines. Only in the vast state of the Malfoy family, or in Snape’s cottage in Spiner’s End, he felt he could breathe free from frustrating so many expectations.
Today, he was back at the Grimmauld’s place and explaining to a wide-eyed Hermione that Draco was being a big help in translating some texts from Ancient Greek and Latin, under Remus’s tutelage, and soon they’d have more information on the Horcruxes when a loud snort interrupted their conversation.
“Are you alright, Harry?” He had heard from Ron and Hermione of Harry’s growing temper, but he had yet to witness it and felt vaguely incredulous at the malicious smirk he got in return. Sirius would have been on the edge of his seat, lapping at the look on Harry’s face, so similar to his own. Or his father’s.
“Draco, Draco, Draco!” Harry mocked.
Draco Malfoy’s blond eyebrows almost met his hairline. From his spot leaning on a bookcase besides Lupin, he looked transfixed at this Harry.
“Harry!” Hermione hissed. “Stop it! They’re helping, working from the Malfoy library, it’s so dangerous --”
“I think you like feeling a bit of a daredevil gallivanting with Snape and Malfoy.” It was a ridiculous statement, of course, but Remus felt his temper stirring anyway. “No wonder Sirius suspected you were the spy in the first war. Were you that into hanging out with Death Eaters then?”
“Harry, no!” Hermione begged him, but he continued to glare into Lupin’s livid face.
Hermione Granger shared one desperate look with Draco Malfoy and shook her head. Don’t make this worst. Please. He crossed his arms and leaned back on the bookcase looking bored.
“Harry,” Remus started, picturing which pocket his wand was. Ah, found it! “I’ve never seen a case of someone being so wrong in a single breath, so I’m going to let this go this once!”
“My Dad and S-Sirius were arseholes at seventeen too, just like Malfoy, right? I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s just your type! You could stand to let Tonks know, yeah, your cousin, Malfoy, which you claim to like.” Harry turned back to Remus. " You could at least own up to the truth. I'd never believe this! The man who taught me to fight Dementors- a Coward."
Lupin drew his wand so fast that Harry had barely reached for his own; there was a loud bang and he felt himself flying backward as if punched; as he slammed into the kitchen wall and slid to the floor, he glimpsed the tail of Lupin’s cloak disappearing around the door.
“Remus, Remus, come back!” Hermione cried, but Lupin did not respond. A moment later they heard the front door slam.
Draco Malfoy, whose jaw had proverbially dropped at the sight of Harry flying against the wall, shared one last look of sheer helplessness with Hermione and Ron before turning on his heel and following Lupin.
“You’re not a coward — ” The trio overhead Draco Malfoy on the way to the outside himself, before the two men both disapparated.
“Harry!” wailed Hermione. “How could you?”
“It was easy,” said Harry.
***
“You’re not going to let Saint Potter get into your head like that, are you?” Draco took one look at Lupin’s still livid face and rolled his eyes. “Never mind.”
“ My Dad and S-Sirius were arseholes at seventeen too, just like Malfoy, right? I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s just your type! You could stand to let Tonks know.”
“Harry implied some things –”
Maybe he didn’t quite hear it, Remus considered, examining Draco’s bright grey eyes for something, anything. The whole thing had been a lot, maybe it had gone right over Draco’s head –
“Potter has been fighting a dark wizard since he was one year old.” Draco reached for Remus’ shoulder to turn him around so they were eye to eye. He had grown so tall. Harry always looked the same him. Draco Malfoy looked – “He doesn’t know what’s like to be an actual person who was born without an application for sainthood.” Draco toed the dirt between them. “Besides, who wouldn’t want to spend time with Severus and I, rather than their lot?”
Was he giving Remus an out?
" The man who taught me to fight Dementors--."
“You’re not a coward.” Draco repeated, calmly. “You’re really not. I’d love to see Potter or Weasley handling Greyback, or Aunt Bella, or the Dark Lord. Or any of the horrid things you and I and Severus have had to endure. They wouldn’t last a day!”
Remus Lupin caught Draco Malfoy by the waist and pushed him against a tree, with no warning. Draco gasped in surprise, grey eyes searching Lupin’s.
“What –”
Any rationalization Remus might have come up with in the darkest hours of the night, particular around the full moon when the wolf inside him growled and clawed and dreamed of beautiful blond things to ruin, dissipated like sand in a storm.
Draco Malfoy was tall and his shoulders were getting elegantly broader by the day but under Remus’ rough hands his bones felt light as a bird’s, his waist so trim he probably could touch his fingers in both hands if he squeezed really hard.
No wonder he seemed to glide everywhere. No growth spurts awkwardness for Draco. For he was still growing. He didn’t have the density of a grown man at all. He had the lightness of a dancer or of something less human, ever graceful and out touch, like a white swan.
“All they care about is what she wants. What about what I want?”
Draco’s hands came to rest on Lupin’s forearms. Holding on. Not pushing him away. Just breathing and listening.
“They think I should be so grateful for her… attention.” He squeezed Draco’s waist despite himself, pressing him further on the perfect hollow of an old tree. “What about me? Don’t they care?”
“I do. I do. What do you want?” Draco said, surprising even himself. He didn’t know what was happening. Didn’t his father teach him to always think 5 steps ahead? He had gotten so good at it lately. Not anymore. He didn’t even know himself in the next moment over, let alone Lupin. “What do you want?”
Lupin brushed a lock of hair from Draco’s face, tucking it behind his ear. Fascinated, he saw the tiny path of goosebumps the touch of his fingers created when they glossed over skin behind Draco’s ear and neck. He caressed his face and felt more than saw Draco get on his tiptoes and drop to the balls of his feet and back, with nervous energy, impatient between Remus and the tree.
“Lupin. Tell me: what do you –”
Harry, I’ll show you coward.
Lupin had sneaked into a Muggle presentation of Swan Lake during his travels in Austria a long time ago. The way Draco’s breath caught audibly and how seemed to surge into him at the first brush of Remus’ kiss, his body going lax with surprise at the revelation, reminded him exactly of the part midway that denoted, unmistakably, the point of no return of the ballet.
Remus Lupin angled Draco’s face so he could have him more deeply, touching Draco’s mouth with his fingertips, biting kisses down Draco’s chin and neck. Draco was clawing at his back trying to hold on as Lupin taller to his tall and stronger to his strong pushed him up against the tree, getting those light feet off the ground, and strong Seeker thighs around Lupin’s waist.
"Do you want to," Draco groaned at the sharp teeth against his neck, the swift hardness against his own. He couldn’t think! "Do you want—"
"Yes," Lupin said, desperate with need for it, scrambling to undo his fly and lift Draco’s robes in a flurry of movement. "Yes, I want—can I—"
Draco made a chocked out little noise at the fist brush of fingers against his opening. Neither a yes or a no, and Lupin realized it was too much to expect for him to think, to form words when thick fingers were spreading him apart, breaking him open. If he was reacting like this to only fingers, how was the going to react to —
"I don’t — don't want it to hurt," He cried out, slowly fucked with one, two, three fingers, so Lupin kissed him again because it was all too much and his chest might explode.
“I’m not going to let it hurt.” Remus whispered cupping Draco’s face tenderly. “We don’t need to, to do anything beyond this. This is already more than —”
"No, no, I want —” Draco babbled, ripping Lupin’s pants open, allowing no mistake of what he wanted. He dug his fingers on his shoulders when he felt Lupin press the tip against him and breach past the resistence. “Not too much, just… don't, oh!, just a little, just yes, yes, Uh! Uh!, Lupin! —”.
He slowed down again at the sound of his name, chasing his last thread of sanity against the mad desire to thrust all the way in and finally hear how Draco Malfoy sounded when there was nothing left for him to give, no distance between their bodies at all; if Draco would come then, completely untouched, or if he had went too far and he'd be asked to stop.
Turns out it was neither or both because next thing Lupin knew, he was being pulled into bruising kiss and Draco clawing at him, gasping “I can’t, I can’t—” even when he showed he could, oh, he could brilliantly. Lupin's control snapped and he couldn’t help himself this time, he rocked into him as he came apart and Draco’s head swayed from side to side tilted back against the tree, flushed pink from his orgasm and the feeling of having someone so deep inside and even then Remus kept his ears open for any “don’ts, or stops or no more”.
Draco blinked open his exquisite pale eyes, instead, and Remus knew, without needing to be asked, to kiss him gently even as the rhythm of his hips got snappier and he slid another inch he didn’t know was there. When Draco buried his face on his shoulder trying to muffle his shouts, Lupin came like that, without warning, clutched so hard he didn’t notice when his knees gave out and they both laid wrapped around each other on the forest floor, in the most delicious state of defeat.
When he came to it was night and he was laying on Draco Malfoy’s chest, fingers threaded through Remus’ sandy brown hair, the other hand drawing runes on his back.
“…too heavy?”
“Like a blanket.” Draco shivered when a ticklish spot on his sensitive neck was kissed then quitted down when Remus brushed their lips. He traced the strong muscles in Lupin’s shoulders, fascinated. “Did you know the old saying in my family? No Blacks ever die beneath the stars. It’s an old blessing, but the standards are pretty low, don’t you think? I’d like to update it: all Blacks get lucky under the stars.”
Remus snorted, smiling, and ducked down for a longer kiss before he could talk himself out of it. He felt Draco’s smile all through the kiss. No chance of this remaining quiet. How to explain not being too old, too poor, too werewolf for Draco Malfoy to everyone?
“ ‘Want to go again?” Draco whispered, sounding nervous, curling his fingers around Remus’ hair. From the look on his eyes Lupin realized he somehow could tell what he was thinking and also wasn’t ready to face reality yet.
“Yes, but that was enough for you today.” He kissed the little haughty frown that formed between Draco’s eyebrows, kissed away his huff and helped him get dressed again with his 100 layers. He had no idea how he'd gotten them off so fast. When they were ready, he took one Draco’s hands, his injured one, brushed a soft kiss on the scarring. “Don’t be scared, Draco. I got you.”
Draco tangled their fingers in a lover’s knot and squeezed back enough that Lupin could feel his heartbeat on his hand.
“I got you as well.” He murmured at once also feeling braver.