L: Muggle Coffee Shop. - Blog Posts

melancolialunar​:

Muggle London did have a false sense of security to it, but unlike Severus, Remus found himself leaning into it, these days. He was the type of man to let himself indulge in the fantasy, even if just for a moment – sure, retreating back to reality ended up being a bucket of cold water, but he was nothing if not used to this sort of muted agony in his life. Perhaps there was something of self-penitence there too, letting himself pretend he could ever be just another bloke sitting at a coffee shop thinking about what he was going to have for lunch, before returning to the ice cold brutality of being a werewolf stuck in the middle of a war.

He watched his companion sit down, making themselves the spitting image of something comfortable, though Remus could imagine that there was some level of tension under their skin. There was no way Severus would trust him so blindly – and they were right, this was the whole point of this encounter.

“That’s exactly why I asked you to meet me, anyway. I mean– old time’s sake.” He echoed, hand idly moving over to wrap around his cup of cappuccino, even though he had no intention of having a sip from it now. It was just something for his hands to do, something he could focus his eyes on, as if the back and forth swirl of the warm liquid required his attention more than the person in front of him.

He cleared his throat, silently cursed the pregnant pause hanging in the air, before turning his eyes back up to Severus in the hopes of not looking like a total coward when he spoke next. “I want to apologise.”

Severus blinked silently for a long and still moment, then hummed curiously, head tilted back. The crackle of anger flared instantly, like a hot sun burst into furious existence deep in their belly. Their jaw tensed with the effort to keep themself contained. ‘ How unexpected, ’ they finally said, when the ringing in their ears settled down some. They leaned forward and picked up a scone in a careless manner, hummed again, elbows on the table, one hand under their chin, thoughtful. ‘ How very surprising, ’ they repeated. A beat of silence. ‘ You think I’ll poison you? Yes? With the wolfsbane? ’ It wasn’t an unappealing prospect. But it was more trouble than it was worth. Severus had long since entertained and discarded the idea, so Lupin’s concerns weren’t completely misplaced, at least. ‘ If that was my intention, Lupin, and this was your attempt to stop me, it was a useless one. And about a decade late, besides. ’ 

They waved the hand with the scone about with a flourish. ‘ But go on now, ’ they said. Their manner was flippant, but their whole focus was now hefted upon Lupin, the heavy unnamed pressure of being pinned by the eyes of a predator. There was no right answer to what Severus was asking. They watched for something to lunge at, and whatever Lupin said next, they would find it. ‘ Don’t let me stop you! What’ve you got to say for yourself? ’

So did I, Severus thought but didn’t say aloud. They had a busy schedule. They kept up with many duties at once. When the werewolf invited them for coffee they dismissed the idea out of hand, but as they found themself free this afternoon (what a coincidence! How often did a hole in their schedule appear unannounced?) they threw on an old pair of jeans and a shirt, their feet taking them down familiar London streets before they fully realized what they were doing. Or rather, why they were doing it.

The last time they properly set foot in the muggle world was so long ago Severus couldn’t place it accurately. Despite this, they merged into the comfortable flow of foot traffic as seamlessly as they would if they’ve never left. The difference between London’s streets and the silent, furtive shuffle of Diagon’s was unsubtle. It was like the war had disappeared behind them, as real as a troubling dream upon waking. Severus disliked spending more time here than they absolutely had to. Juxtaposed with this comfortable illusion of safety, the reality of their everyday life reimposed itself tenfold.

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Dropped his gaze to the table instinctively, then looked at the werewolf, at the hand gesture. Fine, he thought, dragging the metal chair back to take a seat. Fine, then he motioned for the waiter to get him his own coffee (black, no milk, no sugar) and sat down.

He crossed his legs at the knees. Leaned back, elbow resting over the back of the metal chair. He fought the urge to fiddle with his silver earring. ‘ I almost decided this was a joke, ’ he said, the corner of his lips lifted in a smirk. ‘ One last cheap shot for old times’ sake. I haven’t ruled that out yet, just so you know. ’ He watched the werewolf silently, hand close to his wand. Waiting. Wary, but an ever-present anger moving beneath the surface. ‘ What’s this about? ’

WHEN: sometime shortly after Severus joined the order WHERE: muggle coffee shop CLOSED for @wrongdeor

Remus Lupin is not a man of many regrets. In fact, blinding Gryffindor as he is, he’d rather puff out his chest and act like a massive dick, saying he’s never done any wrong, rather than admit to some things he’d like to change in his past. But there are things. Pride sits high up in his chest and refuses to let the words form on his tongue on most days, but he has things to apologise for. In particular, the one time he was, in fact, a monster.

He’s never been proud of hurting people; every time he’s lashed out at his friends through the years, every time the full moon has made its home amongst the stars and some greater evil within him has tried its best to tear apart his friendships, he always crawls back and begs for forgiveness the morning after. He’s not a monster, he doesn’t want to be. Except the one time he is, the one time he’s done one of the worst things he could do, he hides behind his friends and doesn’t think about it ever again. There are layers upon layers of denial that sit atop of whatever foggy memory he has of the prank. He felt used by his friend, like a killing machine upon a leash; he felt inhuman for the first time in years; he was a monster who had nearly killed someone. It was easier to push all of it away, deal with none of it, and act like it didn’t happen.

It felt like that, until Severus joined the Order. Seeing them more often made the lump in Remus’ throat grow, the guilt and the resentment flooding up his brain until it was a headache he couldn’t get rid of, an ever present ache he was fighting against. He isn’t a man of many regrets, yes, but he’s not going to walk around like a coward, barely able to meet Severus’ eyes. So he sets up a meeting.

“I thought you weren’t gonna show up.” He greets, when Severus finally arrives. There’s a scone forgotten on his plate and a half-empty cup of some overpriced cappuccino concoction in front of him. He blinks up at the other, almost as if dumbfounded by their presence, before he gestures to the seat across from him. “Please."