What If We Ran? | Remus Lupin

Chapter 1: Insecurities

(Werewolves have a different type of magic than normal witches and wizards)

"Better to serve a righteous man than to rule with an evil one."

*

The words are quiet but firm, reverberating through Remus' mind with merciless force. They join in on the cacophony of what was spoken just before; You're a werewolf, and a powerful one, -He treats you like an equal, -Let Remus know you for what you are.

Of He will tremble at your voice, and, perhaps most importantly, I don't want that.

The blaring echo of them has long since drowned out the pounding in his head from Voldemort's attack. However, it is still drowning out what is happening a few feet to his left.

It's better to serve a righteous man than to rule with an evil one, said the werewolf, and Remus wasn't sure if this wasn't a very cruel nightmare. Or rather, he is, but he wishes that he wasn't because a nightmare might just be more bearable.

It doesn't make sense; Remus can count the number of people who would refuse such an offer on one hand. Twice, probably. Voldemort is powerful, he made that quite clear.

Apparently, Emily is too, and a part of Remus still longs to laugh at the mere idea. To put it all down to Emily playing along in some twisted, messed up game that Remus doesn't know the rules of.

But there was too much truth ringing through everything that has been said. Too many memories ruthlessly slotting into place, forming a more coherent picture than Remus could've ever hoped to paint on his own.

He should be angry and betrayed, should try to get up and find his sword and—

He's not. There's shame, hot and heavy twisting through him and leaving his skin burning. Because nothing Voldemort said was a lie, no matter how much Remus wishes it to be.

Remus treated Emily horribly these last few days than he did back when Emily started talking to him. She had been replaced and he found it both bewildering and frustrating with how vehemently she reacted. Has pushed and pushed and pushed, just waiting for Emily to finally give up on him. To leave like everyone else eventually does, to finally leave Remus in peace with her too-blue eyes and too-bright smiles, and this unwavering faith in Remus that he can never bring himself to share.

But Emily didn't. Not to find another friend in the castle, or to talk exclusively with professors. Not to return to Ireland to help her mother or, hell, with her affliction, she could've joined Voldemort's army if she so pleased. Anywhere else would've brought her more appreciation. Emily should've left as Remus expected when he got it into his head that it would be better for both of them.

That it would be better to distance himself from this enigma of a girl who stumbled into his life with a sharp tongue and assessing eyes. She drunk poison for him and followed where even his professors were reluctant to go, burrowing beneath Remus' skin like no one else ever has.

This werewolf who has enough power to be of interest to someone like Voldemort. Remus remembers McGonagall's words about how Voldemort was one of the most powerful magic users ever known. Had built Hogwarts itself, and nearly brought it down on their heads as well.

And Emily refused.

Remus heard the hesitation, the slightest tremble and pause in Emily's voice, the underlying desire to be acknowledged for who—what—she really is. Remus heard the sudden resolve too, quiet anger flaring to life at the prospect of Remus trembling at her feet.