You Make Me Live (Remus Lupin x Reader One-Shots)

Daydream Believer

(Now, I tried not to use ATYD entirely for this piece, but I did steal a tiny snatch of dialogue. This is honestly becoming more of an All The Young Dudes AU than an original work of any kind. Anyway, basically this is y/n being the one her husband contacts after the werewolf mission, based loosely on chapters 161-162 of ATYD. The castle in Cornwall I kept the same, but changed up most of the following events. Let me know if you want to see more of my own non-canon potion recipes, I have so much fun researching the herbs and magical flora and fauna. Y/n is a very skilled witch so please don't ask me how the hell she makes a Portkey on the fly, that's the one thing I'd like you to suspend any "belief" about. Otherwise, as always, hope you enjoy! TW: Blood - and swearing.)

I dragged myself out of bed as sleep continued to elude me. I hadn't slept properly in months, between the war and work and worry, and I had a new ritual by now. Having learned early on that sleeping potions would only send me into fitful nightmares, I would get up, put on one of our records, and make myself some herbal tea or hot chocolate. Sitting alone on our sofa, I would just let myself miss him for a few hours, whatever that meant, be it crying or closing my eyes and pretending he was next to me, or just feeling my chest ache until I thought I wouldn't survive it. I knew it seemed melodramatic, but I couldn't bear to meditate on these feelings at work or with our son, so I would push them down all day.

Remus had been away with his fellow werewolves for four months, to the day. We had just moved into our cottage when Moody informed him that he would be expected to leave, for an unknown period, until the werewolves were found to be either enemies or allies. Though Remus was sure that they would likely be neither, he had agreed to do his part in the war, having felt rather useless up until that point and like he hadn't been doing enough. I had tried to convince him that raising and protecting our son was more than sufficient, but I knew his nature was too noble to be kept at home while people were losing their lives. He had held me close at every opportunity, up until the moment he had to leave, when I felt like a vital part had been ripped from me. I curled up on the floor in the hallway to cry the moment he Disapparated.

For those four months, Reg was the only thing I had of Remus other than chocolate, a stack of T Rex albums, and a collection of sweaters that lost their scent far too quickly. But I hardly had time to see my son, since I was still very much an active participant in the war, and working full time at the Ministry. So, Lyall prepared Remus' old room for his grandson, and moved him in within the first week, happy to do his part and spend that time with Regulus. I would visit them in the evenings, have dinner, tuck my son into his dad's old bed, and have a quick chat over a cup of tea with my father-in-law before heading back to a cold, dark, empty Scotch cottage through the old stone fireplace. When Remus and Reg were there, it was a haven, covered in finger-painted artwork and handmade decorations - often stars, planets, and mythical creatures, according to our son's interests. The place would smell like whatever the two had decided to bake together that day, mixed with the scent of garden soil and sea water. Without them, it was just an old hovel, like the one I'd had visions of Remus living in when I crystal gazed at Hogwarts. Soulless, loveless, pointless. . .

I watched the record player spin as I ruminated on these thoughts. I had chosen Electric Warrior, which may have been a mistake because it was one of the few albums we owned that made me miss my friends and Remus the most. Especially Sirius, who had been sweet enough to stay over a lot of nights once I explained to him how hollow the place felt when I was alone. But it was a Saturday night, and he was likely at a club somewhere, unlikely to return tonight - to my house or his own apartment, anyway. So when Jeepster came on, I cried harder, wishing for Hogwarts again, and the simplicity of our teen years which had felt so complex at the time.

I thought about the potion I had tucked into Remus' pocket before he left: a daydream potion of my own invention, which would allow him several hours of blissful time with us in his mind if he used it sparingly. I had searched for weeks on several decreasingly reputable markets for a single ichthyocentaur hair, knowing it would be just the thing to make these dreams seem utterly real. However, while I had just enough to test the daydream I created for him, I wasn't able to make enough of it to keep for myself. At the time, I had thought this would be fine; after all, I was left with all the trappings of our life together, and saw our son and his father daily. But that was the thing, it was our life, together, and trying to live it alone was a living Hell.