🌙 REMUS LUPIN X READER ONESHOTS

mutual loathing, is all

He’s there as you walk out of the Ravenclaw common room, leaning against the wall, brown hair curling slightly in the heat. James and Sirius stand near by, entertaining a group of fourth years and pretending to look bored when they collapse in to nervous laughter. You roll your eyes.

“What are you doing here, Lupin?” 

“It’s a corridor. Pretty certain I have every right to be here,” he says carefully, catching a fourth years eye and attempting to look flirtatious but failing miserably as she just laughs and turns back to Sirius. 

He deflates a little, awkwardly touching his hair and you take the opportunity to smile. Falsely, of course. “Doesn’t look like things are going too well for you on that front,” you say, glancing at the group of giggling Ravenclaws. “Do you really have to prey on other houses too? Isn’t one infected house enough?” 

“At least I don’t live my life vicariously though book characters,” Remus retorts as you begin to descend down the stairs.

When you walk past him on your way to transfiguration, you tell him his shirt is untucked. James and Sirius laugh and whisper something about you being his mother, to which Remus flushes red and glares at you. 

“What?” You smirk, “I’m just trying to help you out on the girls front…” 

You fall in to arguments like breathing. It’s almost easier. Remus Lupin was infuriating, immature and believed he had a birth right to everything on the Hogwarts grounds. It was harder not to antagonise him. Your friends would always look unconvinced when you assured them that it was a rampant dislikefor Remus that fueled your arguments. A mutual hatred. You, for the entitled Gryffindor, him for the know-it-all Ravenclaw. That was all. 
 
It happens again in the library, as the rest of the quietly chattering students dissolve. You’re examining a book on Stunning Spells for your Defence Against the Dark Arts class test later that afternoon, when he saunters in. Immediately you tense, watching as his slim form brushes his fingers over books. Slender fingers, etching their way across the spines. 

And he knows you’re watching so you glare in to your text book, imagining stunning his tall back. 

After a few minutes you can’t take it, “Are you actually going to choose a book? Or is that too complex for your mind to process?” You snap, barely glancing up from your paragraph on how to stun with optimum precision.

“Ah there it is. The persistent whine that seems to follow me everywhere I go.”

You narrow your eyes, “Why aren’t you in your common room?”

He glances behind his shoulder, “Why aren’t you in yours?” 

You slam your book shut and bring the piece of parchment to your left closer to your frame, “I’m studying. Though I imagine the concept is quite alien to you and your…” You pause as if trying to find the right  word, “Friends.” 

Remus stiffens, “Give it a rest about the guys, Y/N.” 

You roll your eyes but don’t retort. 

It’s not as if arguing with Remus is enjoyable anyway. Except when you win… And you are quite adept at winning. 

He finally begins to make a pile of book on the desk. A rather growing pile of books that wobbles dangerously. You open your mouth to tell him to stop when the whole pile crumbles and, to your dismay, spills ink on your parchment. It swells across the page, blurring your carefully printed words.