Chapter Text
Harry stands tentatively at the open door. Without looking up from his newspaper, Professor Lupin calls out calmly, and with tenderness apparent in his tone. “Yes Harry, is there something I can help you with?” Harry considers his words, weighs his thoughts, and almost turns to leave. The other man seems to sense his hesitation and speaks again. “Come in, and sit down. My office hours end in 10 minutes. I’ll order up some tea and biscuits. I think I might even have a box of good chocolates around here somewhere.” Lupin’s eyes are assessing him over the top of the paper, words gentle yet commanding.
Harry has never been good at following orders, even a softly spoken command to sit down for tea. He’s so tired though, tired of fighting all the time. His feet lead him across the small room, to the old floral settee. He glances around the room, taking in the worn leather armchair that Remus is settled in, the threadbare rug beneath his feet, and the scuffed wooden table in the centre of the lounge area. His gaze lights upon each of these things in order, coming to rest on the tops of his shoes where they scrape along the carpet.
“You don’t have to talk, you know?” Lupin rises and firecalls the kitchen, requests tea service, and moves to his desk to shuffle through the largest drawer there. After a moment he raises a golden box triumphantly. “I knew I had something special tucked away.” Harry’s lips lift in an unexpected grin. He feels a weight lift slightly from his chest, just being in Remus’ calming presence.
“I’m not sure what to say.” Harry’s response is delayed, leading the older man to look at him more intently. He notices dark circles that are almost concealed by the younger man’s glasses. The hair that is not only unruly, but also a bit oily as if he hasn’t showered recently enough.
“Harry, are you taking care of yourself?” Lupin moves towards him, laying the chocolates on the coffee table, and sitting beside him. The mirthless laugh that escapes Harry’s lips, gives him pause. His hand reaches out to the younger man’s shoulder and gently turns him until they are facing each other more fully. This close he can see the tension in Harry, from the furrow between his brows to the set of his jaw and shoulders. He leaves his hand on Harry’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “I take that as a no.”
“You would be correct.” The stilted words, and Harry’s inability to meet his gaze is starting to worry Remus. He grips the shoulder beneath his hand more firmly.
“Harry, I’m here. We’re going to get some tea and sweets into you. Then I’m going to help, okay?” Harry nods on autopilot, and Remus is relieved when a house elf shows up, a tray loaded with sandwiches, biscuits, and tea in hand. He makes Harry a plate, adding a bit of everything, and a cup of tea with an extra sugar cube for good measure. He lifts his wand and wordlessly closes and wards the door.
“Eat, please.” Remus feels a protective snarl in the back of his mind. They are nearly three months into the term, and most of the 8th years are doing modified course loads. Each has been assigned a professor that is overseeing their work, and although he requested to be Harry’s advisor, Minerva had taken that role. Remus takes a few centering breaths, determined not to pick a fight with Minerva. She has a lot on her plate, and it’s obvious Harry has been pretending that everything is fine. Lupin himself sees Harry at least once a week at duelling club, and he’s not noticed anything troubling until now.
Harry lifts a biscuit to his mouth, chewing automatically, chasing it with a swallow of tea. His own thoughts are all over the place. He’s worried he’s become addicted to the potions he’s been taking to manage his sleep, and then to combat drowsiness in the morning. He feels adrift and lonely. Ron and Hermione are both too busy for him, and he hates feeling like a third wheel. The loss of so many people weighs on him every day as he walks through the half empty hallways. He continues eating, forcing the food down for Remus’ sake.
Harry knows he could have come here sooner, probably should have, if he’s being honest. He isn’t sure what will help him, if anything can help him that is. Remus’ hand on his shoulder is warm and comforting. He sags slightly under the feel of it, his shoulder drooping slowly as the muscles relax. Finally he is ready to speak. “I’m not doing well, Remus.” The words are hard to get out, he has never been good at admitting that things are wrong. Hell, he had kept the Dursley’s secrets until Snape pulled them from his brain during his Occlumency lessons, and still refuses to talk about that time in his life.
“I can see that, my boy. You’ve had a hard go of it, and it seems things may finally be catching up to you. Do you want to talk, or would you rather take care of your physical needs first? I can see from here that you need a shower.” Remus offers him a choice. A limited choice to be sure. He can either talk, or take care of his body.
“I’m not sure I can talk about it yet, but I’m willing to shower.” He answers truthfully, and continues eating from the plate in his lap.
“I understand, and I will help you in whatever ways are necessary.” Remus stands, and moves to a tapestry hanging on the wall behind his desk. He lifts it to reveal a doorway, hesitates and then says. “I’m just going to set the bathroom up for you. Are you okay by yourself?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Well, I’m not fine, but I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you get back.” The answer seems to satisfy him and he dips out of sight. Harry breathes out a shaky breath, and finishes the last biscuit on his plate. Halfway through eating he had realised just how hungry he was, and he is so thankful that Remus asked him to eat.
— — — — —
“I’m glad to see you’ve finished your food, that’s a good boy.” The words send a spark of pride through Harry. Remus is beside him, ruffles his hair in an affectionate manner. “I’ve got the bathroom ready, come with me and I’ll show you where everything is.” If Remus has any misgivings or impatience over Harry showing up unannounced like a stray animal needing food and a bath, he is doing an admirable job of hiding them. Harry stands, feels a warm touch against his lower back guiding him through the hallway.
“We have to walk through my sleeping quarters, I’m afraid. I just thought you might rather have some privacy for this, Harry.” Remus says by way of apology, as they enter a small circular room. Harry’s eyes take in the large four poster bed in the centre, a fireplace with a warm blaze roaring, a large armoire, and the various rugs and decorative pillows giving the place a homey charm.
“Thank you for this, for making me eat, and take a shower, for not making me talk.” Harry mumbles the words, knowing that they need to be said, knowing that he owes Remus an explanation.
“I’d do anything for you. You can trust me, Harry.” The words are like a punch to his gut. The list of people who he can trust to take care of him is so small, the list of people he feels responsible for is so much larger. He has people who care about him, friends and adopted family that worry about him, but very few actually step up and offer tangible support when he needs it.
He doesn’t blame them, how can they help when he acts like everything is okay. It’s always been about getting through the next class, next day, next battle. Now that Voldemort is dead, along with so many others, he feels helpless.
He realises he has stopped moving, and hasn’t responded to Remus. “I trust you, it’s why I came to you. I knew you would help me make sense of things. You’ve always listened to me, and treated me well.” He looks up at the older man, welcomes the kind smile and dancing eyes.
“It makes me happy to hear that, and I’m glad you came to me, even if you aren’t ready to talk about it. Let’s move along now, before the bath gets too full.” His hand is pressing more firmly, and Harry allows himself to be led to the doorway on his right.
“I thought I was going to take a shower,” Harry sounds puzzled until he looks into the bathroom. “This is your private bathroom?” The awe is evident, as he looks at the deep tub. It has four nozzles flowing full force, and the tub is half filled with foamy, fragrant water.
“The castle provides what is needed. Many of the professors have larger bedrooms, or additional lounge areas. My bedroom is small, and my sitting area is in my public office. The bathroom is the real magic. During the full moon, my body is sore from transformation. Being able to soak helps my muscles recover and eases the mental stress for me.” The explanation sits well with Harry, he knows first hand that the castle does its best to provide what it believes will help its inhabitants.
“This is better than I could’ve imagined when you said I needed to take a shower…um, would it be weird if I asked you to stay?” Harry is looking at his feet once again, and Lupin feels a lurch in his chest. Wants to scoop the boy up, and hold him tightly in his arms until he’s ready to tell him exactly what is going on.
“I can stay, it’s strong of you to ask for help when you need it. I’ll just stand outside the door for a minute while you get in, call out once you are under the water.” Again Lupin’s words stir something in Harry. Makes him smile, desire to bask in the soft encouragement of the older man.
— — — — —
“I’m in the water!” The words are slightly louder than necessary, however the taps are still running and Remus reaches to turn them off, so that they can speak at a reasonable level.
“How does that feel?” His eyes are steady on Harry’s face, and is pleased to see that Harry is meeting his eyes for the first time this evening.
“It feels really nice, my muscles already feel more relaxed, and the minty tingle is good.” A shy smile crosses the younger man’s face as he looks up to where Remus is standing, and only then does he realise the poor boy is craning his neck to look at him.
“I’ll just sit here, if that’s okay with you?” Remus falls into a cross legged position a foot from the edge of the bath.
“That’s great, I actually need to take off my glasses, and you’ll just be a fuzzy shape here soon anyway.” The self-deprecating humour is a familiar blanket that Lupin recognizes all too well, and he plays along
“It’s like free plastic surgery, that. Once you remove your glasses, my scars won’t be visible, and my wrinkles disappear.” Remus pulls a funny face, and is rewarded with a genuine laugh from Harry. He smiles and holds his hand out. Harry is still laughing as he carefully folds his glasses and kneels on the bench to pass them to Remus.
“If only you also wore glasses, then this” he gestures toward his chest “could disappear.” Remus shifts his gaze to Harry’s chest, barely holding in the gasp that threatens to overtake him. The scar there, looks as though Harry has been hit by a baseball that happened to be on fire at the time of impact. The skin is the mottled, thick skin he’s seen on burn patients. A nearly perfect circle with tendrils that snake out from it.
“Our scars do not define us, Harry. They only showcase what we have survived. You more than most, have survived the unimaginable. You are here for a reason. Take this life and make it what you want. Don’t seek permission, or apologise for doing what makes you happy.” The words pour from him without any thought. He’s speaking from his own experience, and hopes Harry heeds his advice.
“That seems to be easier said than done, if the world at large is to be believed.” Harry’s unfocused eyes are looking in his direction.
“You’re young yet, and I have faith in your ability to figure out your own mind.” His words are a balm to Harry’s hurting heart, and the younger man is silent in the face of them.
Harry ducks under the water, and pops up running his hands through soaked hair. He reaches his hand to the edge of the bath, where Remus has laid out shampoo and a bar of soap, groping blindly for a moment before his fingers brush the bottle.
Remus watches his movements only briefly before looking down at his own hands, where they toy with a small hole in his pant leg. The intimacy of the situation is suddenly stifling, and he feels as though he can’t quite catch a full breath. The only sound besides his slightly too fast breathing is the splashing of the water.
— — — — —
“I’m all washed up.” Harry calls his attention back to the present.
“Let me just get the towel off the counter. It’s been under a warming spell, so it should keep you from getting chilled.” Remus stands with an ease that draws Harry’s unfocused eyes, following the fluid movements of the older man.
“I’ve never thought to do that. That’s damn smart." Harry seems inordinately pleased about something that Remus has been doing for years.
“I sometimes forget that you haven’t learned some of the daily spells that can make your life easier. You’re old enough now that you can do magic any time. If you ever have any questions or just want to go over some of those, I would be happy to assist.” Remus bends slightly to pass the warmed towel to Harry, and as their fingertips whisper against each other he feels a spark of something long dormant flare in his chest.
“Yeah, of course. I mean, I’ve been using a refreshing spell on my hair and body between showers, but there’s loads of stuff I don’t know. Or stuff I wouldn’t even think about, like warming my towel while I bathe. What a brilliant idea.” It warms Lupin to see the excitement in Harry’s eyes, as he scrubs the towel over his head still standing in the bath. Once his hair is no longer dripping water he speaks again. “Do you still have my glasses?”
“Ah, yes. Here you are.” He extracts them from his shirt pocket and gives them to Harry, careful not to touch him this time. “I’m just going to step into the other room, while you get ready. Take your time Harry, there is no rush.”
“Thank you again. Thanks for everything.”
“It is my pleasure, Harry. No need to thank me.” Inside he feels a flush of warmth at the younger man’s words. He is so rarely noticed for his actions, and it feels good to have someone appreciate him. The past 18 years have been hard for Remus in ways he can’t fully articulate.
He doesn’t often think about the days surrounding the attack on Harry’s parents, but there is no denying the way they changed his life. Remus had always been well liked and looked up to by his friends. He’d been responsible for gently nudging them away from their more idiotic ideas. Always good at helping revise for exams, he was often sought out for help, and advice.
Sirius had jokingly called him the “dad” of their group. Sometimes accusing him of being a spoilsport when he shot down pranks. Truthfully he loved the feeling of being needed, loved when the guys would tease him publicly, but come to him later and thank him for his help.
It’s been too long since he’s allowed anyone close enough to need him for anything. The idea that Harry has come to him, even if he’s unable to voice his needs right now, amazes him. Leaves him feeling slightly breathless. He wants more of this warm, protective feeling flooding his veins.
Remus slips out of the room and leans heavily against the doorjamb. He rolls his head slowly from side to side, thinking through the unexpected events of the evening. Finally he steps forward from the wall and moves to a shelf that holds his small collection of alcohol. He rarely drinks, but the full moon is a week away, and he decides a shot of firewhiskey will settle his sudden nerves.
— — — — —
Harry finds Remus settled back into his arm chair a few minutes later, and Remus is grateful to see that the boy looks much better than when he entered his room earlier.
“You look as though you feel better, Harry. Do you want to talk, or would you like to get back to your dorm? I know you don’t strictly have a curfew, but it is getting late.”
“I do feel a lot better, amazing what a soak will do for you. Can I take a rain-check on talking tonight? I think I’d like to go get some sleep, while I’m feeling nice and relaxed.”
“Anytime Harry. My door is always open to you. If you find yourself needing someone to talk to, or even just someone to prod you into taking care of yourself, come find me.” The words are spoken with ease but they cause something to twist in Harry’s gut. He takes a steadying breath before speaking.
“Yes sir, I'll do that.” Harry waves and is moving through the portrait before Lupin can respond.
Lupin feels the loss of Harry’s presence, and wishes he’d been able to figure out exactly what is going on with him. There is an ache in his chest, he can’t quite name, that he doesn’t want to investigate. He pens a letter to Minerva, despite not having answers, he needs to at least inform her that a situation has arisen and he is monitoring it.