Remus always wondered why he got served the smaller hand in life.

Not only had he had the misfortune of being turned into a werewolf at the ripe old age of four, but his father had committed suicide, his mother went... somewhere, and Remus had been left in the hands of St Edmund's and Matron. It wasn't idyllic, but it could've been worse, right?

You, on the other hand, had been raised with the silver spoon sat comfortably between your lips, cradled by your perfectly lined rows of white teeth, an heir to every possession of your parents', which was a lot, thanks to you coming from a highly prestigious, dynastic pureblood wizarding family dating back centuries. Not that that was necessarily a good thing.

By some turn of events and a few drunken nights for confidence and reassurance, you and Remus, two sides of the same coin, had fallen for one another. But that didn't necessarily come without a price as that coin could cost some arguments, falling-outs, butting of heads, if you will.

When you argued with one another, you dismissed any and all niceties and went straight for the throat, not letting go until that delicious, bitter taste of blood could be tasted and forgiveness was later granted. But right now? You'd both gone a bit too far. It hadn't been the easiest week what with N.E.W.T.S on their way and you were both stressed and the full moon had recently been and gone, you were both drunk off tension and fury and adrenaline as you fired insults and cruel words at one another, sharp enough to cut your own tongue.

"News flash! You're not the only one who's not had the best life, but at least you have some stupidly rich family to lean back on when things get rough," Remus snapped before catching himself and standing there, a bit dumbfounded. He knew what you'd been through. He didn't apologise, he was too furious and shocked at his own words to speak, so he settled with staring and waiting for your reaction.