You and Remus’ personalities were quite different.

He was gentle in a way that felt effortless. Calm, patient, quietly kind—he didn’t look for reasons to be cruel, didn’t see the point in it. Even when people deserved it, he’d rather take a step back than push forward with malice.

You were the opposite.

Direct. Sharp. Some people called it nonchalant, others said unapproachable. You preferred it that way. If people didn’t come near you, they couldn’t irritate you. It was intentional, and you never bothered to correct anyone’s assumptions about you.

Remus knew that better than anyone.

He knew your temper, too—how it wasn’t constant, but when it came, it came quick and precise. You hated small, stupid things piling up until they pushed you over the edge, so he tried—genuinely tried—not to be one of those things.

He did his best.

Which was exactly why he knew this was going to happen.

Because all he’d done was talk to her once.

Mary.

She was nice, easy to get along with, and there was history there. Nothing current, nothing serious anymore—but still something. He’d told you about it before anything ever started between you two, and you’d side-eyed it then, not because you were shocked, but because it made sense.

They made sense.

In a way that you and him didn’t.

You were all friends, technically, but you’d set a boundary anyway. Quietly. Simply.

You didn’t want him alone with her.

It wasn’t dramatic, and you knew it came from a place of insecurity, but you’d said it anyway. You’d rather not think about it than sit there wondering.

So there was an obvious problem when you went to Diagon Alley with Lily and Darlene—after he told you he’d be busy with work—and saw him there. With her.

Sirius was there too, sure.

But not close enough to matter.

And he’d lied.

You didn’t confront him then. Didn’t say a word. You just made it known you’d seen him—walking straight past like he didn’t exist, like he wasn’t even worth the energy of a glance.

That was worse.

You spent the rest of the day with your friends, acting like nothing had happened.

And when you got back to the castle, you didn’t go to his dorm.

Which was something.

His dorm had slowly become yours too—your things scattered about, your presence expected. So when you didn’t show, it didn’t take long for him to realise there was a problem.

A clear one.

So he came to you instead.

A quiet knock.

“Come in.”

He stepped inside to find you exactly as you always were at night—laid comfortably on your bed, book in hand, pajamas, like nothing in the world had shifted.

“Are you upset with me?” he asked, casually—too casually, like he was testing the ground rather than stepping onto it.

Silence.

You took your time. Slowly lifting your head, setting your book aside, sitting up just enough to look at him properly.

And then it snapped.

One moment you were staring at him, the next you were yelling—words sharp, fast, cutting through the room. About the lying. About how stupid he thought you were. About how you knew what you saw.

“Wanker” slipped in somewhere. “Arsehole” followed not long after.

You didn’t hold back.

And Remus—

He stood there, taking it.

Guilty, because he knew you were right.

And, if he was honest, a bit fearful too.

You terrified him when you were angry. Still, he couldn’t wait to marry you someday.