"River" Remus Lupin X Reader
Summary: Presumed dead for months, you return to find Remus drowning in grief and guilt. You survived captivity; he survived losing you. Now you have to figure out how to survive each other
Word Count: A little less than 4k
Author's Note: Upon seeing the drought of Remus Lupin fanfiction, I figured I should take the matter into my own hands. This is actually a rewrite from a very old porject of mine and it is inspired by one of my favorite christmas songs, River, by Joni Mitchell. So, yeah, feel free to send request, or not. PSA: English is not my first language.
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Christmas drifted through people’s lives in its own quiet way, offering a different kind of magic to every heart it touched. For some, it meant hope—renewal, prosperity, the promise of gentler days. For others, it meant the warmth of family, the laughter of friends, or the sweetness of a lover’s presence. Some even felt the thrill of a romance waiting just around the corner.
But for Remus John Lupin, this year, it carried none of that light.
For him, it was just a sharp and ruthless reminder that he stood alone in the world. He no longer had any family, nor friends, and especially, no lover. He was only accompanied by the silence that followed loss.
A year had passed since October 31 of 1981, the fatal day where he lost everything he ever knew and loved. They had won the war, but at what cost? That was a thought he wouldn't linger on for long. There were no more mass murders staining the streets of England, or Death Eaters terrorizing from the sky. The world was finally at peace. And wizards and muggles could finally leave their homes without feeling a lump on their throat or the quiet dread that they might never make it back.
However, Remus couldn't help but wonder whether the weight of his loss was too steep, even for peace.
Throughout his teenage years, having grown up surrounded by the quiet, untouched magic of the Welsh countryside during the holidays, Remus had learned to adore Christmas. He cherished the fairy lights that glowed softly against frosted windows, the food he used to help his mother, Hope, prepare, the joyful carols that once filled their small home, and—above all—choosing and decorating the pine tree with his parents. Those moments had been his sanctuary, the rare times when the world felt gentle and whole.
But now, with the war behind him, it only deepened the void in his soul. Neither the fairy lights nor the music fluttered even a speck of joy. He tried wandering past the pine trees for sale, flipping through Christmas vinyl records, but each attempt seemed to drag him to the nights he shared with his parents choosing the perfect tree, or to the songs he used to belt out to with James and Sirius in their dorm while they arranged a tiny, lopsided tree. Every path led back to the familiar unstaunched wound. What was the point of happiness if he had no one left to share it with.
It was almost Christmas Eve, and Remus found himself in his small flat, grumbling as another Christmas' A Cappellas, stopped by his door singing songs about joy and peace,—words he had no strength left to hear.
"It should only get worse." complained the scarred brunette while closing the door impatiently.
His flat was a mess. Dishes were piled in the sink, begging to be washed; the furniture laid under a thick layer of dust– Merlin only knew how he hadn't had an allergic attackyet–, and a mountain of clothes waited to be washed. But Remus himself was in worse shape than the flat surrounding him. The dark circles beneath his eyes were deeper than the ones he varied throughout his Hogwarts days. Fading bruises of the last full moon mottled his skin, poorly cleaned and hastily bandaged. His beard had grown bushy and his hair was way too tangled and overgrown that even he couldn't remember the last time he had bothered to comb through it.
Automatically, he mopped towards his kitchen cabinet, looking for something to soothe his torment; chocolate. It was a vicious cycle. Sadness, pity, anger, chocolate, and eventually, liquor.
But to his dismay,the shelf where he kept his stack was empty. He’d eaten every last piece. Which meant only one thing, he would have to go out, and face the blindfull brightness of Christmas in Norwood.
With a sigh, he grabbed his mousy colored coat and pulled it over his worn out jumper.
As he opened the door the cold air and the faint smell of what seemed to be gingerbread cookies enveloped him. Perhaps, years ago he would have smiled dumbly at the scent and breathed out "I love Christmas" earning a round of laughter from his friends.
But there was no one left to hear.
The streets of London weren't nearly as cheerful as the Hogwarts grounds had been. During the holidays, Hogwarts transformed beneath a blanket of snow, its joy radiated so strongly it was as if it could be sensed from miles away. London wasn't the opposite, not exactly. It had his own charm, its own kind of magic – just far less of it than Remus would’ve liked, and much less snow.
He kept walking, trying to ignore everyone and everything, focusing only on slipping through the frantic crowd of last minute shoppers. All he wanted was to reach the small shop he always visited when he needed to buy something, preferably without having to endure the chaos of the season.
Upon entering the store, which was surprisingly empty considering the time of the year, he started his hunt for the sweet treat. Once he found it, he walked straight to the only cashier available. A moody cashier stood there, far more interested in chatting with a guy with glasses and messy hair. The sight made Remus’ chest tighten. The boy painfully resembled James, and the cashier, with tattoos peaking out of his long sleeve, reminded him of Sirius.
The familiar pain and anger entangled in his throat, and for a moment he felt the overwhelming urge to cry.
"Just buy the chocolate and get it over with." he mumbled to himself as he took a deep breath.
Leaving the store he no longer cared about the crowd, there was only one thing on his mind; he was never to visit that shop again.
Turning into an empty alley, entangled in his thoughts, he didn't notice someone walking toward him. Before he could register the person, he collided with her, sending both of them – and the bag with the chocolate – crashing to the ground.
"Oh my, I'm so sorry, sir." started a feminine, familiar voice, "I wasn't looking where I was going—"
"It's alright..." said the boy trying to recognize the voice in his tired state.
"Here, allow me," she extended her hand for him after she kneeled to the ground and grabbed his bag, extending it for him to retrieve it. As he stood up, he brushed off the dust from his coat and glanced at her – first quickly, and then, again, slower. His gaze traveled up until it met her eyes. Those eyes.
Eyes he would have recognized anywhere.
Eyes that haunted him during every sleepless night.
Eyes, that the mere hope of seeing them again, was the fragile thread holding him together during his darkest days since the war.
"Remus, is that you?" whispered the girl, uncertainty trembling in her voice.
She had been a fellow Hufflepuff—the girl he’d quietly adored through all his Hogwarts years. They had never dated. Remus was far too afraid to ruin their so‑called friendship. But he admired her from afar, which only fueled the Marauders’ relentless teasing. She was sweet, understanding, caring, delicate, clever, funny, brave, charming—Remus had always thought of her as something close to an angel.
In her fifth year, Y/N and Remus had even created a small book club together, bonded by their shared devotion to literature, especially classic Muggle novels. After Hogwarts, she joined the Order, and that was when she learned about his “condition.” From then on, she waited for him after every full moon, tending to his wounds and comforting him through the pain.
It was during those quiet, vulnerable nights that Remus finally admitted the truth to himself: he was in love with her. He always had been.
Y/N and Remus became inseparable. She never knew he loved her, but the truth was she had been in love with a boy since her third year—and the Marauders knew it. Oh, they knew. And when they finally convinced Remus to ask her out, she was called to an extremely dangerous mission in one of the most perilous places in Britain during the war: Malfoy Manor.
He waited days, then weeks, then months. But she never came back.
And now here she was, standing before him, looking at him with those same mesmerizing eyes.
“Y/N?” he breathed, the word escaping him more as a stunned confession than a question.
"I thought you were dead?" he blurted, worried with disbelief in his voice.
"I-" she began, but he cut her off.
"Where have you been? The war has been over for nearly a year!" his expression that was once worried, now melted into something sharper, angrier, "James, Lily, and Peter were murdered, did you know that?" he said with a hollow, almost hysterical laugh, tears pricking the corner of his eyes, "Oh, and it was Sirius' fault. He is in Azkaban now. Did you know that?"
"Rem, I'm sorry, I—"
"No!” His voice cracked, “You don’t get to be sorry. While you were in –Merlin knows where– I was here. Alone. Do you know what that feels like?"
She opened her mouth, but he didn't let her speak.
"No, you don't." His lips trembled as tears spilled before he could stop them, "I lost Peter, James, Lily, and Sirius all in one night. And even before that, you made believe I’d lost you. I just needed somebody Y/N! Someone to hear me, a shoulder to cry on. But until now, everyone I could think of was dead."
He collapsed into her arms, and she caught him instantly, holding him tight as he sobbed into the crook of her neck. Her scent—warm, familiar, achingly safe—wrapped around him like a memory he’d been starving for.
“Rem,” she whispered, voice soft but steady, “I’m so sorry you went through all of that alone. I truly am.”
He swallowed hard, jaw tight, eyes still shining with the remnants of his breakdown.
She hesitated, then added, “But I’m here now. And I’m not leaving again.”
Remus shook his head slightly, like he didn’t dare believe it yet. “I… I don’t want to do this out here,” he murmured, voice rough. “Not in the cold. Not in the middle of a street where you could—” He cut himself off, breath trembling. “Come with me. Please. Let’s go home.”
She nodded, relief flickering across her face.
They walked a few steps before she spoke again, quieter, almost like she was afraid the words themselves might break something.
“Remus… I didn’t stay away because I wanted to,” she said. “I was trying to get back to you. Every day. I just… couldn’t.”
He stopped walking, breath catching. “Y/N—did they—”
She shook her head quickly, not in denial but in fear of the question. “Not now,” she whispered. “Please. I’ll explain later. I just need you to know I never chose to disappear. I never stopped trying to come back.”
Her voice wavered, and for a moment she looked like she might shatter.
Remus dragged a trembling hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. The edge in him softened, but the ache stayed, deep and raw.
“Alright,” he murmured. “Home. Then you tell me everything you can.”
When they reached his building, Remus unlocked the door with a shaky breath and stepped aside, giving her a small nod for her to go in first.
She hesitated for a heartbeat before crossing the threshold.
Her eyes swept over the flat — the cluttered books, the unwashed mugs, the blankets thrown carelessly over the sofa. It wasn’t dirty, just… lived in. Lived in by someone who had stopped expecting company. Someone who had been grieving alone.
A quiet ache bloomed in her chest.
She felt guilty. Not because she hadn’t tried — she had, desperately — but because this was the life he’d been forced into without her. A life she never meant to leave him to face alone.
"I know, it's compact, but it's closer to what I can call home."
She nodded as she waltzed around the house.
"I would ask you if you would like tea, but I don't really have—" he said, his voice husky.
"Don't bother." she responded and smiled simply at him.
She took in the piles of clothing, the thick dust settled on shelves and furniture, the quiet signs of a life lived in grief and solitude. But in the middle of all that mess, something else caught her eye — a shelf overflowing with photographs and old polaroids.
Drawn to it, she walked over slowly.
There were pictures of him and the Marauders in their first year, all gangly limbs and too‑big smiles. Another after a Quidditch match, James hoists his broom triumphantly while Sirius makes a ridiculous face behind him. One from James and Lily’s wedding — Remus hugging Lily tightly, Sirius clinging to James with tears in his eyes (tears he would deny until his dying breath).
Another showed Remus and Sirius hunched over textbooks, clearly meant to be studying for their N.E.W.T.s but looking suspiciously like they were plotting something instead.
And then the one that stopped her breath.
A photo of her and Remus sitting under a tree by the Black Lake, a book open between them, sunlight filtering through the branches. She lifted her hand, fingertips ghosting over the image as the memory washed over her.
It had been mid‑autumn — her favorite season. The air crisp, the leaves golden, the world soft around the edges. They had just started a new book for their little book club: Romeo and Juliet.
Remus adored those afternoons. Listening to her read, watching her act out scenes with dramatic flair, pretending to be unimpressed while secretly loving every second of it. Especially the overly dramatic parts, where he could shout lines at the sky while she giggled beside him.
“Hear me out,” she’d said that day, popping a piece of chocolate into her mouth and licking her fingers. “Mercutio is in love with Benvolio.”
Remus had laughed, shaking his head. “How did you come to that conclusion?”
“Rem, look at them! They’re totally in love. Utterly, hopelessly, head‑over‑heels. You can’t tell me otherwise.”
He’d raised an eyebrow. “You do realize Shakespeare didn’t write it that way.”
“Shakespeare was wrong sometimes,” she declared, as if delivering a universal truth.
He snorted. “You say that about every author who doesn’t make your ships canon.”
She pointed at him. “Because I’m right.”
He’d leaned back against the tree, smirking. “Of course you are.”
She nudged him with her shoulder. “Back to the book.”
He’d cleared his throat dramatically, lifted the page, and recited in an overly theatrical voice, “Love is a fire that burns without flame, a wound that aches without bleeding…”
She had laughed so hard she nearly dropped the book.
And then, when the laughter faded, they’d fallen into one of those quiet moments — the kind that felt too intimate for two teenagers who weren’t technically dating. Her head rested lightly against his shoulder. His fingers brushing the edge of the page but not turning it, because he was too busy listening to her breathe. The lake shimmering in front of them. The world is soft and golden around them.
And now, standing in his dusty flat, staring at the frozen moment of that day, she felt her chest tighten with a mix of longing and guilt — because he had kept this memory alive while she had been fighting just to survive.
"Y/N, where have you been?" his voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Where they sent me, The Malfoy Manor." she said, not daring to look at him, fearing she would break down.
"B-but you were supposed to come back a week later?" he stuttered, walking up to her, "And some members even sneaked into the manor to look for you, but you weren't there..."
“They kept me locked in one of the attics,” she said quietly, eyes fixed on the floor. “I tried to escape — I swear I did — but their security was so tight I still don’t understand how I even got inside in the first place.” Her breath trembled. “Two months ago, after they lost the war, they decided I wasn’t useful anymore. I… I can’t explain why they didn’t kill me.”
Tears gathered in her eyes, but she blinked them back.
“Did they…” Remus’s voice cracked, the question barely forming.
She shook her head quickly. “Not now,” she whispered. “Please. I’ll tell you later. Just… not tonight.”
He looked devastated — guilt, anger, relief, and fear all fighting for space on his face.
“It’s my fault,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “I never should’ve let you go on that mission.”
“This wasn’t your fault,” she said firmly, stepping closer. “There was nothing you could’ve done. I volunteered, Remus. I chose it.”
She took his hands gently, interlocking their fingers. His were cold, trembling slightly.
“How about this,” she said softly. “I stay here. I help you clean up this chaos. And you go get some sleep — something you clearly haven’t done in a long time. You look like death, Mr. Lupin.”
A small, tired smile tugged at his lips. “So do you, Ms. L/N.”
He squeezed her hands, stubbornness flickering through the exhaustion. “Which is exactly why I’m not letting you clean this alone. That wouldn’t be fair. Let me help.”
He gave her the softest, most ridiculous puppy‑dog eyes.
She sighed, defeated. “Fine. You can wash the dishes and the clothes.”
His smile brightened just a little — the first real one she’d seen in years.
“But only because I know I’ll never hear the end of it otherwise.”
They moved around the flat slowly, almost cautiously, as if afraid that any sudden movement might break the fragile reality of being together again.
Remus gathered the dishes with a tired sigh, sleeves rolled up, hair falling into his eyes. She watched him for a moment — the way his shoulders slumped, the way exhaustion clung to him like a second skin — and her chest tightened.
He shouldn’t have had to carry all this alone.
She turned away before the guilt swallowed her whole and began picking up clothes from the floor, folding what could be saved, setting aside what needed washing. Every now and then, their eyes met across the room — small, fleeting glances that said everything they weren’t ready to speak aloud.
At one point, Remus dropped a mug into the sink a little too hard. It didn’t break, but the sound echoed sharply.
He froze.
She looked up.
Their eyes locked.
And for a moment, neither of them breathed.
Then he looked away, jaw tightening, and continued washing.
She didn’t push. She was familiar with that look, the one he wore after full moons, when he was trying to hold himself together with a fraying thread.
So she kept cleaning, quietly, gently, giving him space while staying close enough that he could feel she was there.
After nearly an hour, the flat looked… not perfect, but better. Lived‑in, not abandoned.
Remus leaned against the counter, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I think that’s enough for tonight,” he murmured, voice rough.
She nodded. “You should sleep.”
He opened his mouth to argue. She saw it coming, but the fight drained out of him before he could speak. His shoulders sagged.
“I don’t want you to leave,” he admitted quietly.
Her heart cracked. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He swallowed hard, as if the reassurance hurt.
“Alright,” he whispered.
He led her to the small bedroom, hesitating at the doorway like he wasn’t sure if he should let her in. She stepped inside first, giving him the choice to follow.
He did.
The bed was messy, sheets tangled, blankets half‑on the floor. She helped straighten them without a word. He watched her, eyes softening with something like disbelief.
When he finally lay down, he looked smaller somehow. Younger. Fragile in a way she had never seen before.
She pulled the blanket over him gently.
“Stay?” he whispered, barely audible.
She sat on the edge of the bed. “Of course.”
“Y/N, not like this.” he whispered, louder this time.
She hesitated when he patted the space beside him. Not because she didn’t want to, but because the closeness felt like stepping into a memory she wasn’t sure she deserved anymore.
But his eyes… Merlin, his eyes. They held that same quiet plea she remembered from full‑moon nights, when he was too exhausted to pretend he didn’t need someone.
So she nodded.
Slowly, she slipped under the blanket, lying on her side facing him. The mattress dipped under her weight, and for a moment neither of them moved. The room felt impossibly still, like even the air was holding its breath.
Remus exhaled shakily, the sound barely audible.
He shifted closer — not touching her, not yet, just close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. His fingers twitched, as if he wanted to reach for her but didn’t know if he was allowed.
“Thank you,” he whispered, voice frayed at the edges.
She swallowed. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do,” he murmured, eyes fluttering half‑shut. “I thought I’d never… I thought I’d lost you.”
Her heart clenched. She wanted to tell him she had tried, that she had fought, that she had screamed his name into walls that never answered. But the words stuck in her throat.
Instead, she inched just a little closer — close enough that their foreheads almost touched.
His breath hitched, a soft, broken sound.
And then, as if the nearness finally loosened something inside him, his eyes fluttered shut almost instantly, exhaustion claiming him the moment he felt safe enough to let it.
His eyes fluttered shut almost instantly, exhaustion claiming him the moment he felt safe enough to let it.
Within minutes, his breathing evened out.
He was asleep.
For the first time in months he slept without nightmares clawing at him.
She stayed there, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the way his hair fell across his forehead, the faint lines of worry still etched into his face even in sleep.
She reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from his eyes with trembling fingers.
“I tried,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I tried every day to come back to you.”
Her throat tightened.
“I’m so sorry, Remus.”
She leaned down, pressing the softest kiss to his temple — a touch so light he didn’t stir.
Then she sat back, keeping vigil beside him, letting the quiet of the room settle around them like a fragile promise.
Tomorrow, she would tell him everything.
But tonight, she just watched him breathe.
