Act ii: Soulmatism
pairing: poly!Moonkiller x f!vamp!Reader
summary: Barty Crouch is essentially your soulmate,the platonic love of your life even—but he's too fucking smart for his own good and it threatens your little bloody secret more than once. You grow through the years at Hogwarts with him and make a common enemy, until he tells you he kissed said enemy.
warnings: mentions of blood, animal death (not too descriptive), bullying of sorts, fainting
content: BartyVampy friendship ftw, Reader referred to as Fangs by Barty, mild Professor Sprout slander but it's for the plot I swear, are they friends or are they dating? Worse, they're in love but they don't know, Remus is straight up an asshole but it's not his fault??
wc: 6.1k
AN: this chapter got rewritten 5 times and I swear I was about to go insane oh my god??? Big shout-out to the absolutely lovely and amazing and talented sweetheart that is @revesephemeres for beta reading this, she's such a darlin 🤍 ANYWAYS YOUR THOUGHTS ARE APPRECIATED ON THIS TY
Taglist: @starrystormwritings @whimsical-mistakes @eneywey @hellokitty-girl666 @lettertovera
s. masterlist | Act i | Act ii | Act iii | Act iv | Act v
Attending Hogwarts as a vampire is not a walk in the park, and certainly not for the faint of heart. It comes with a certain set of challenges that invent themselves anew each year—just when you think you've figured it out and got the whole thing down.
It all starts in your first year, where you're left with not a single friend for the first two months of attendance. It's boring, it's horrible, yet it most certainly breeds some sort of character in you—or at least that's what you wrote your mother in all your letters when detailing your daily life and lack of connections.
That issue is, however, quickly resolved, your saving grace emerging in the form of Bartemius Crouch Junior—Barty, if you don't want to wake up with bite marks all over your arm—who is something between a blessing and curse at once.
He's loud, he's unhinged, he's loyal to a fault and he's also pretty much your soulmate and the platonic love of your life.
Your fateful first meeting is in the library, where he sees you hunched over an ancient tome you smuggled out of the restricted section about poisonous herbs and their care. Immediately, he declares that you are 'best friend material' and never leaves your side again, sticking to you like velcro wherever you go.
There are no complaints on your end, considering you grew up isolated and lonely as a vampire. Having Barty around is like a dream come true; someone who won't leave you no matter what and is equal parts clingy and needy without a speck of shame. It's a match made wherever they produce touch and attention starved children with little to no social skills and regard for the concepts of societal standards to be upheld in your day to day life.
Barty is everything you’ve ever wanted in a friend; someone who listens to you when you talk, asks all the right questions that others might be afraid of, and most importantly; isn't scared of you or your habits. No, he isn't afraid to probe and ask and get to the depths of your mind, no matter how unhinged it might be for an eleven year old.
Soon enough, your names are whispered in sync, where one goes the other is bound to follow close enough. Together, you terrorise the halls of Hogwarts with quick wit, ambition and a certain lack of self preservation that proves to be a double edged sword when it comes to trying out new spellwork.
It gets to a point where all your professors raise their eyebrows in suspicion should they see one of you without the other, their alarms ringing with a sense of impending doom.
Overall, it’s a quite successful first year at the school for magic and wizardry, and it only goes uphill that summer. Through some sort of miracle—how, you still don't know to this day—your parents agreed to let Barty spend the last two weeks of summer break at your home. Somehow—even more miraculous than that—his father had agreed to send his son off to the Welsh Highlands to spend the end of summer in your little village. You're not quite sure how he'd been convinced into doing so, but you're fairly certain your own father had played a significant role in the whole process, considering he had various high ranking connections to the wizarding world—more specifically in the Ministry Of Magic.
That summer is an absolute bliss that you spend exploring the forest with Barty, going on the occasional adventure down in the village and otherwise wrecking havoc everywhere you go. Surprisingly, there are only very few incidents that put your vampire identity at risk, and even then, you’re able to smoothly navigate the situation without having Barty grow suspicious.
It is one of the many summers yet to come that you would spend together, but it still serves as a great transition into your second year.
Your second year comes and goes with its own set of challenges, charged with the sort of anticipation that comes when you are about to enter a new phase of the unknown.
Looking back, this is the year where you make some of the most fundamental choices of your school life, ones that will come to haunt you for the following years.
One such choice is befriending the one and only Lily Evans.
Whispers of the most brilliant witch in all of Gryffindor don’t evade you of course, yet you are much too busy focusing on your academic achievements and your chaos-causing with Barty to pay her any mind. That is, until you fall out of a window and she saves you.
Well, okay maybe that's not exactly how it goes, but close enough okay? It isn’t even really your fault, honest! You were simply walking down the hall at a highly accelerated speed, because you may or may not have been trying to escape some Fourth Years you hexed during breakfast, when someone ever so rudely shoved you as you weaved your way through the masses. Unfortunately for you, this all transpired on the fourth floor. Even more unfortunate? You lost your balance and tumbled straight to an open window that you almost fell out from, had it not been for Lily casting a spell that saved you from across the hall.
She was sweet, concerned and every bit an exasperated older sister that you never had. Your bond with her solidifies itself quickly after frequent encounters in the library, turned to purposeful meetings. Quickly, you become part of her little Gryffindor friend group that consists of her roommates Marlene, Mary and Alice. The girls are sweet and fun to hang around with, a bit like chaotic older sisters that constantly help you out and give you all the know-how needed to survive anything from boring classes to sneaking under the watchful gaze of Professor's after curfew.
Still, they could never replace Barty, and your bond with him grows through various trials that year, such as—but not limited to—detention because you broke into Slughorn’s supply closet, sneaking out into Hogsmeade together as well as all the late nights you spend up at the Astronomy Tower talking about everything and nothing.
Unlike the previous one, your second year ends on a sour note. A foul worded letter from Barty's father arrives at breakfast during your last week, sending both of your moods down into the dump. And to top it all off, the so called ‘Marauders’ decide they need this year to end on a bang, quite literally. Fireworks erupt during the final breakfast, popping slime filled balloons over every table that coat your entire body in the green mess.
It smells weird, it's sticky and you can barley get it out of your clothes. A quiet, foreboding sense of anger begins to seethe under your skin the moment you fix your gaze on the cackling four boys at the Gryffindor table, all your instincts screaming at you to rip their heads off their neck. The hairs on your arms raise, a shudder runs down your spine the moment you lock eyes with one of them; a lanky boy with messy sandy hair and amber eyes that are darkened the moment they spy your features. The air shifts notably, almost like lightning crackling between the both of you and it takes everything in you to not fight him. Vaguely, you recall that this was the same boy who made you feel uncomfortable during the sorting ceremony last year, but there's no reason for you to feel so hostile towards him, even if he contributed to your misery.
That summer comes and goes, the boy named Remus Lupin no longer on your mind as you spend the probably worst eight weeks of your life trying to survive each day.
You see, the summer before your third year is when things really start to go downhill, a set of challenges like never before arising.
While you have to suffer in the trenches of puberty, you're also hit by the sudden development of vampire instincts, from one day to the other you start craving actual blood and feeling as if you might drop dead like a fly in the middle of the winter if you don't feed. The world, already much louder and sharper than your human peers perceived it, becomes a million times more enhanced, your senses at their full capacity now. Your mouth aches all summer long from the growing pair of sharp fangs in your gums, and the sensory overload causes headaches any time you spend more than five minutes in the sun. Your strength grows tenfold, which means you have to replace your bedroom door about 60 times that summer because you can't quite control it just yet and break it every other day.
Worst of all? The smell of blood clouds your mind at every turn, your rational thinking impaired significantly the longer you go without feeding. It scares you, especially when you find yourself wandering outside one full moon night, a dead rabbit between your hands when you finally come to your senses. You have no recollection of even exiting the house, and one look at your bloodied and messy state in the mirror back at home is enough to send you spiraling. A spiral so deep, you refuse to return to school out of fear you might lose control, might hurt someone or worse, get found out.
It takes a lot of reassurance, convincing and practice for you to agree to go back.
“My sweet Blooddrop,” your father had whispered, his hand gently rubbing your back as you clutched his back, your body shaking with silent sobs. “I promise, this is completely normal for any young vampire and with enough practice, you’ll be brilliant at controlling yourself.”
The only upside to the whole fiasco is your newfound ability to transform into just about any creature of the night—for now limited to bats only per your mother's instructions. It is technically possible for you to transform into any nocturnal animal, like an owl for example, but that would require much practice and years of patience to cultivate this skill that far. For now, you have to make due with learning how to fly and navigate the night as a bat.
With frayed nerves, and the tiniest bit of hope that this year might not be so bad at all, you start as a third year in Hogwarts. Initially, for the first three weeks, everything goes peachy. You make sure to feed before going to Hogwarts, and adjusting to the turmoil of student masses surrounding you is difficult but still manageable. Sure, Barty picks up on your disarrayed state, but it isn’t anything you can’t lie your way out of. He's observant, maybe too much for your liking, but it's nothing you'd want to change—not that there's anything you'd ever change about him, because Barty is perfectly okay the way he is. Still, it's a dull reminder of what you now have to keep a secret when he starts calling you Fangs, fascinated by the sudden growth of canines in your mouth.
“Wow, were your teeth always this sharp?” He asks one morning at breakfast, his attention captured by the way your fangs pierce easily through the food. Pre-development, you already had protruding fangs that were sharper than most people's teeth—but now, they’re larger, stronger and much more obvious when you open your mouth. You swallow thickly, shrugging his question off with a nonchalant expression. “It's genetics I think? My parents also have sharp canines,” you answer, mentally high fiving yourself when he accepts the answer and returns to his own plate of food.
The incidents begin to pile however, the closer the full moon draws. While you might not be chained to the lunar cycle, unlike beastly creatures such as werewolves that cannot control their irrational nature, you can still feel the way your bloodlust grows and your senses sharpen the fuller the moon becomes.
The week leading up to the full moon, Barty picks up on your agitated state of mind with worry and concern, constantly taking your hands into his own to prevent you from biting your nails and shredding your nail beds. He keeps a stash of lollipops on his person at all times that he hands you without a question anytime you begin to bite your lips, or your gaze becomes unfocused, voice fading as your mind begins to float away somewhere you cannot anchor back so easily.
It’s all sweet gestures, especially with how your thoughts stray into a million directions. Your senses are pulled into every place, each breath and pulse of living creatures like needles pricking your skin. And the sound of rushing blood? Your mind is almost gone by the time it's full moon. It makes it the tiniest bit more bearable, and it cultivates the hope that maybe things won’t be too hard when he is by your side.
Luckily for you, Dumbledore owes your mother a lifelong debt—you didn’t pay attention, something about a sister of his?—and thus, your mother skilfully manages to bend strict rules about Hogwarts attendance and what not. Before she sent you off to school, she’d given you a ruby ring, the intricate emblem of your family engraved onto the cool silver metal. It’s elegant, and a perfectly hidden object to be transformed into a port key that directly leads you to the woods of your home.
The night of the full moon, Professor Sprout picks you up in front of your common room way past midnight, hurrying you along the shadows of the hallways until you arrive at a hidden passage. Under the cover of the night, the both of you sneak across school grounds, all the way down to Hogsmeade and out to the ward border, where she sends you off with a small smile as she watches you make use of the port key.
And that’s how you handle it every month; you are essentially sent home for the night, meeting with either your father or mother—sometimes both if they had the time—and you use the night to hunt and feed to your heart’s content before returning to Hogwarts.
It works quite perfectly actually, save for the times where Barty swears he saw you sneaking with Professor Sprout out of school. The first time he confronts you, all wild and fiery in a dark corner in the dungeons, you nearly break under the pressure and tell him the truth.
“Fangs! You will not believe what I saw last night,” he faux whispers as soon as he sees you leaning against the wall, away from all the other students waiting for Professor Slughorn to let them into the potions classroom. You’re fidgeting with the ring, twisting and turning it as your mind recalls the time spent with your father running and chasing prey in the forest.
You look up, tilting your head as you dissect his expression. He’s nearly vibrating from energy, mouth pulled into a wide smile that others might find uncanny, yet all you can think of is how adorable it is. His piercings—ones you gave him last year in the bathroom of moaning Myrtle when he insisted he wanted to look more rebellious and cool, like the muggle characters from the movies you watched over the Christmas Break—glint in the light of the torches, a cold contrast to his warm hazel eyes that stare into your soul.
Without awaiting an answer, he leans in even closer, his breath hot against the shell of your ear as he whispers, “I saw you with Professor Sprout,” he declares, and it takes everything to not let his words affect you. Any change might give you away, so you do your best to act confused.
“Me? I was sleeping dumbass,” you snort, ruffling his hair as you push him away from you. He pouts at the loss of proximity, but immediately beams and grabs your hand, guiding it to his face and nuzzles into it.
“I did, I swear!” He whines, but you only pinch his cheek. “B, why on earth would I be with Professor Sprout in the middle of the night?”
He frowns, thinking about your words carefully and you take the chance to really drive your point home. “Where’d you see me?” You ask, eyebrows raised, praying your voice doesn’t waver in front of him. Even the subtlest of changes wouldn’t go unnoticed by this bastard, so you have to be cautious.
He thinks about it for a few moments, like he's trying to make sense of what he saw and what he knows logically to be true. “Somewhere outside? Looked like you were sneakin’ round,” he answers with a shrug and you burst into a fit of giggles.
“Yeah, because Stickler-To-Rules-Sprout will most definitely go out with a student past curfew,” you giggle, the sting of guilt aching like a burn when he flushes red and stutters. For good measure, you give his shoulder a playful hit and take his hand in yours, dragging him to the classroom when you spot Slughorn opening the doors, the conversation long forgotten when you settle into your seats, instead taking apart the lesson's topic.
Between dodging Barty’s relentless suspicions, acclimating to the monthly hellish cycle and surviving school, you don't think it can get much worse but boy oh boy, does life decide to prove you wrong.
It begins with a chance encounter a few months into the school year, just a week or two after the full moon. Your energy is at its peak, mischief is on your mind all the time and Barty is more than happy to participate in whatever little prank you want to pull. The both of you are on the run—as per usual—from a group of Ravenclaw quidditch players with neon pink hair that you may or may not have been at fault for, when you round a corner, cackling loudly as you duck and avoid the students in your way.
You collide against someone, the both of you almost sent to the ground crashing were it not for Barty catching your arm and pulling you up at the last moment. Immediately, your fingers twitch with suppressed aggression, a sense of dreadful alarm engulfing you like a second skin in mere moments.
When you look up, a pair of hostile amber eyes are seizing you up, Remus Lupin glowering at the sight of you. He stands up, his friends orbiting around him with concern to make sure he is okay. He shakes them off, not sparing them a single glance as he locks eyes with you.
“Use your fucking eyes,” he spits out, venom so heavy you think it might’ve choked you if it were tangible. The tone, the words and his overall stance seems to take his friends by surprise, their jaws dropping to the ground in sync. Beside you, Barty bristles, ready to jump the bloke for the way he speaks to you but you hold him back, shaking your head softly. You give Lupin an unimpressed look, standing to your full height to match his imposing demeanour. “I use my eyes when there’s something worth seeing,” you reply coldly, your face souring with disgust the longer you look at him.
His jaw tenses, his hand twitching to reach for his wand and you mirror his stance.
“What? See something you wanna hex, Lupin?” You taunt, gleefully smirking at the way he grinds his teeth at the remark.
“I would be very careful with my words if I were you,” he quips, eyes darting past you with a small, condescending smile, “if not, you might end up in more trouble than you already are.” From down the hall, you can hear the Ravenclaws hounding you approach and you curse, grabbing Barty’s arm and make a run for it, but not before turning around to give Lupin the finger.
The news of your little spat makes rounds like wildfire, and soon everyone in the castle hears about how quiet and kind Remus Lupin is in some sort of feud with you. You hate that your name is being spoken in relation to that twat, but there’s little you can do to stop it, especially as your arguments and fights become more and more frequent.
Barty, ever the loyal attack dog that he is, makes sure to run Lupin and his band through the mud every time you clash, standing imposingly tall at your side, ready for attack should you give him the signal.
An incident that sticks to mind is near the end of your third year, when you attend the duelling club after class. It’s an extracurricular tied to DADA, an opportunity for advanced students from each house to use the theory in practice. The catch? First and Second years have it together, Third and Fourth years together and so on. You’re happy about it when you spot Lily waving at you across the Great Hall, but your mood immediately drops when you see Lupin leaning against the wall, spinning his wand in one hand, the other holding a book in his hand that he deems more important than the chatter around him. As if he’s equipped with a radar tailored to make out your presence, his head snaps up sharply the moment you walk in, his expression darkening when he spots you. Barty is chattering away by your side when he follows your line of sight, immediately frowning at the sight of your self proclaimed foe.
“Do you think I can get away with Avada-ing him?” You mutter under your breath, almost snorting at Barty’s enthusiastic nodding. He launches into a tirade about the best ways to get rid of the body and what excuses you could be using as well as intricate spells to layer to evade any suspicions.
By the time the meeting starts, you can almost blend out Lupin’s presence, thinking that if you just stand at the very far end of the room and avoid him, it might just be bearable.
It works for just about 20 minutes when you listen to your Professor explaining the rules of duelling and what spells might be useful, until he claps his hands and announces that he will be calling two students up to demonstrate at random. Immediately, you feel your body tense, a sort of heavy dread settling in your stomach as you watch him draw two names out of a box. He unfolds the papers, announcing the first name out loud.
Barty nudges you forward with a grin when your name rings through the hall, but it quickly falls when the second name is announced.
“Remus Lupin,” your Professor calls out with an oblivious smile, and the whole world spins and tips over. Somehow, you find yourself up at the stage, shrugging your robes off as you stand across Lupin.
Everyone holds their breath, a few snickers coming from his pesky friends but you pay them no mind, your entire focus zeroing in on your foe.
He grips his wand with a sort of casualness that is entirely misplaced for the atmosphere in the room, and it pisses you off to no end. Despite the Professor’s warning in the back of your head, reminding you that this is a demonstration with no purpose to hurt anyone gravely, all you can focus on is your instincts telling you to get rid of him right here and now.
As soon as the start signal goes off, you’re racing across the platform with inhumane speed, launching spell after spell at Lupin. His surprised face ignites flames of satisfaction in your mind, and he barely manages to dodge your attack before he begins firing his own spells. Flashes of blue, red, gold and white shoot across the platform at a dizzying speed, the calls of your friends barely registering in your moment as you duck and jump, counter and attack like your life's on the line.
It’s clear Lupin underestimated you, his reactions just a fraction too late each time you relentlessly send hex and attack after him, but what he lacks in speed he makes up for in talent. He takes you by surprise, firing four different spells at once that you try to dodge. One of them sends you flying against the wall, the air knocked out of your lungs at the sheer impact but there’s no time to recover. He’s standing in front of you in seconds, quicker than any normal human should have been able to move, and his eyes are void of emotions, only cold and murderous intent glimmering in the pools of amber. You can hear his heart beating, blood rushing at an uncanny speed and he points his wand at you.
“Forfeit,” he calmly says.
You falter, almost considering his demand but as soon as you see the twitch of his lips, you change your mind.
“You wish,” you sneer, channeling all your hatred for him, feeling the magic surrounding you like fine thread. You will it to pull and constrict around him, to ball like a web and with a jerky motion of your hand, he’s hovering in the air, his wand dropping to the ground. His eyes are wide with both awe and disbelief as you get up and limp your way to his wand, picking it up like it’s gold on the street. You hold it up like a trophy, a grin overtaking your features when you turn to the crowd. That very same grin fades into confusion when you see their eyes almost bulging out of their skulls, worried expressions staring at you as you spot Barty fighting his way through the crowd, shoving and pushing until he is up on the stage. He says something, or at least you think he does, because you can see his mouth moving, but strangely the words don’t reach you. Your vision goes dark for just a moment, your legs wobbling until your knees hit the wooden surface, slumping forward. Somewhere, it registers in your mind that you must’ve dropped Lupin’s wand, and him too if the thud that you feel beside you is anything to go by.
Barty is standing in front of you in seconds, dropping to his knees to cradle your face with worry. He speaks and talks but you can’t hear anything aside for a ringing in your ears, but you can tell he’s yelling at Lupin when he turns to the side and his expression grows furious. He props you up against a chair—where that came from, you don’t know—and despite the heaviness in your body, you still manage to turn to watch him grab Lupin by the collar and deliver punch after punch to his face.
You want to stop him, do something, say anything to hold him back, but your body won’t cooperate as your vision blacks out again, this time for good.
The aftermath pretty much solidifies your hatred for Remus Lupin, constantly picking fights with the bloke when your paths cross. It’s not like you want to, but you can’t help it when he looks at you like you’re some sort of scurrying rat, not even worth wasting his breath on. The both of you attempt to keep your sparring verbal, but who’d be at fault if one or two pranks go wrong and someone ends up with bright red skin for a week or comically enlarged limps?
You want to avoid him, you really do, but it doesn’t help that you’re friends with Lily and the other girls. They frequently invite you to their outings, parties or study sessions. And of course, having one of the most brilliant witches in the castle explain the material of the year ahead to you isn’t an opportunity you’d pass up on. You make sure to not bring Barty along to those meetings, afraid he might actually jump Lupin if he sees him, and try to blend his face out of your line of vision. For the rest of your time at Hogwarts, you swear you’ll do everything in your power to not get involved with Lupin and keep time spent around him to a minimum. It’s easier said than done, especially when you make the unfortunate discovery of him actually being somewhat your neighbour.
It’s the summer after fourth year, Barty once again invited to spend it with you. Now that you’re older and had some time to master your vampire instincts, your parents are much more lenient with you going down into the village with no supervision.
They left on a week long business trip, giving the both of you heartfelt goodbye when they departed.
You mother embraced Barty and you, giving the both of you kisses to your cheeks as she made sure to list all the things you were to do and avoid.
“And remember, no skipping meals, you hear me?” She said sternly, ruffling Barty’s hair affectionately. He gave her a toothy grin, a salute with the promise to make sure to behave before your father ushered your mother to the car. Before he hurried after her, he turned back and gave you a hug, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Take care, okay Blooddrop?” He whispered, and the lump in your throat only allowed you to nod. He had let go of you, stepping to Barty who’d been observing the scene with an expression mixed between jealousy, awe and happiness.
Barty had grown taller in the first few weeks of summer, but he still was a good head and a half shorter than your giant of a father. He smiled, his hand a steady beacon of warmth on the boy’s shoulder. “Be careful son, wouldn't want you getting hurt while we’re gone, yeah?” If Barty’s eyes filled with tears, and if his arms tightened more around your father’s body when he embraced him, then that’s between him and himself only.
After the last ‘I love you’s’ were exchanged and you watched the car disappear into the horizon, you grabbed Barty and dragged him out to the lake. The summer of 1977 was uncharacteristically hot in your region, and so you spent every free second in the water. When the sun no longer beat down on you, a sort of cool breeze sweeping across the land in the fading rays of sunset, the both of you finally went back home, showering before taking your bikes to go into the village. You planned to have Barty sit through every single James Bond movie, horrified that he hadn’t heard of them before. You wanted to give him the proper movie experience, which required unholy amounts of snacks that you were to get from the corner store.
You drag him into the store after securing your bikes, giggling at the way his pupils widen and his mouth falls slack at the sight of the snack aisle. “I love muggles,” he declares, immediately disappearing into the ice cream section as you busy yourself with filling the basket with chips and sweets. You can hear him ramble in the aisle over, occasionally popping his head to ask you questions or excitedly show you different kinds of ice cream. His excitement is contagious, and it gives you a new found appreciation for all the things you grew around and took for granted for the longest time.
When you finally have all the things you need, you call for him and begin your search, stopping mid-step when a familiar sense of danger and disgust settles over you. You turn around, just as the sound of your last name echoes from the other side of the aisle, and your body tenses at the sight of Lupin and his friends standing at the other end.
“What are you doing here?” Potter asks, his voice tinged with suspicion and alarm. You narrow your eyes, taking in the very casual attire of the four boys, your eyes darting to catalogue every possible escape route.
“I should be asking you that,” you press out, focusing your attention on the way Lupin almost growls at the sound of your voice. “Are you seriously stalking me Lupin? That’s low,” you remark, satisfied at the incredulous noise he makes. He almost drops the chocolate in his hands, crossing his arms as he huffs. “As if!,” he shoots back, glaring pointedly at you, “You’re the one stalking me.”
You don’t get to reply, the sound of Barty calling for you growing closer until he spots you and is by your side in moments, rambling about the three different ice cream types he picked. He notices your darkened expression, turning around to find the source of your misery and immediately groans with too much theatrics. “Oh my god are you following us even during summer? That’s a crime and could get you in jail,” he chastises, subtly shielding you from their critical gazes. “What? No, we aren’t stalking you,” Potter sputters, clearly flustered by the accusation, “We are visiting Moony for the summer!” It takes a few moments for you to connect the dots that Moony must be Lupin, and you slowly look him up and down, a horrible thought forming in your mind.
“You are visiting Lupin? Here?” You ask slowly, watching as Lupin catches onto your train of thoughts. Horror creeps onto his expression, and under other circumstances you would’ve delighted in it, but not when you feel the same horror crawling across your skin. “Yes,” Pettigrew clarifies, none the wiser to the death sentence his words sign, “Remus lives here.”
Barty turns to you, eyes wide and mouth twitching at the revelation. You almost drop the basket in your hands, knees growing weak for a moment when the horrific reality hits you like a truck.
“Oh my god,” you gasp, “we live in the same place.”
A flurry of dramatic gasps comes from the Marauders, but you don’t stay to listen, dragging Barty off to the register before fleeing the store, biking back up the hill and then the winding path into the woods at lightning speed.
You religiously avoid the village after that, sticking close to the woods lest you run into Lupin and actually be sentenced into Azkaban for killing someone.
Barty, bless his heart, is on high alert the entire time, swearing that he’d help you flee the country should you really want to get rid of Lupin. Nothing money and a few well worded threats can’t do, he said with a wink, and you never quite appreciated your best friend so much as you did in that moment.
The summer passes, and so you become Fifth Years, your OWL exams looming at the end of the year. They bring a certain shift into your dynamic with them, because despite the amount of time you already spend together, it somehow grows in that year. He follows you like a lost puppy, carrying the stacks of books you brew over when you study and offers helpful advice when you work on assignments.
But something else is different this year too, as if the summer had brought on a change in the way you operate together. The air is laden with unspoken words, charged with glances that linger a fraction too long, touches set your skin ablaze like the heat of the sun on a warm summer day. You somehow realise for the first time how good looking your best friend is, especially when hoards of admirers follow him at every turn and corner, silently vying for his attention when really, there’s no one else he looks at but you.
The weight of his gaze is both dizzying and has your heart growing weak, you note, when he stares at you like you hold the entire universe in the palms of your hands. Perhaps, it’s not the way friends are supposed to look at eachother, but you tell yourself that you and Barty are just very close, very friendly and share an unshakable bond.
Soulmatism, you had once called it when Marlene teased you about the proximity between the two of you. It’s the word you chant over and over in your head when the both of you are the last ones left in the library, stowed away in some quiet corner under the torches.
It’s the word you chant like a mantra when he folds his arms on the table, resting his head on them and stares at you with that quiet reverence of his, like he would drop to his knees any second and offer you the whole world.
It’s the word that plays in your head on repeat when the phantom touch of his hands on your waist, cheeks and back has you aching and writhing restlessly in the dark.
It’s also the word that echoes in your head when he comes to you one day, a few weeks into your sixth year, and confesses he kissed Remus Lupin.
