'No, no, no, please don't—' Remus begged the drink in his hands, which seemed to slip through his blurred vision. Then your voice sounded on the other side, answering the Muggle phone that was in your house. 

"Hello?" 

Remus had been devastated since you broke up. Your cinnamon perfume flooded him every time he entered Honeydunkes, believing that you would be there next to a black coffee and his favorite chocolate, waiting for him to insist that he return to your side, that you didn't care about his condition, that you still loved him. Of course, that never happened. His insecurities swallowed him alive, forcing him to distance himself from you. 

Three months had passed already—three months that had seemed like lifetimes. He had returned all your clothes and even though he burned all the things he had written when you were by his side, nothing helped him forget you. 

He had to let you go, free you from the chains that tied you to his condition. 

Still, he watched you in the hallways, in classes, even in the Great Hall, wondering if you were wondering about him—if you wanted to know how he was doing. Or if at least his name treacherously crossed your mind at some point of the day. 

That's why he had begged that drink not to make him call you, but the alcohol only reminded him what it felt like to wake up with your soft hair covering his face, and how your laugh was better than any drug for pain. And that night, standing at a public telephone, after three months, he heard your voice. 

"Hello?" You asked again, somewhat confused that you had received a call in the middle of the night, only for no one to answer. A sigh left your lips. You were about to hang up when he finally took the little courage he had left to say the words. 

"It's me." His voice sounded firmer even than he had thought possible, given his intoxicated state. “I know I shouldn’t do this, but—” the words began to falter in his mouth. You deduced that his call was just an act of bravery fueled by alcohol. “...I needed to hear your voice”