Claire: Whenever Margo asks me to write non-marvel, I know she really just wants Harry Potter. Here goes nothing.
“Look, I know you’ve never tried this stuff, but I promise it’s mostly harmless and it provides excellent results.”
“I like how you said mostly harmless.”
"It’s just alcohol, Remus.”
“It’s just half of my arm, Sirius.”
“It’ll sting a bit. Take a swig immediately after and you’ll feel fine.”
Remus sighed and popped open the bottle of Fizzyknig’s Ferocious Vodka, the bottle Sirius had snuck out from under a House Elf’s nose while the teachers were enjoying a toast to OWL season. Slowly, he poured the entire bottle down the length of his bloody arm - damn, Sirius’ inventive antiseptic stung.
“Next time you’re gonna get yourself shredded to bits during the full moon, ask me to steal some better liquor beforehand, alright?” Sirius said.
“You make an excellent nanny, Sirius - you gonna sing me a lullaby next?”
“Didn’t your mother teach you to shut up while you’re bleeding to death?”
Leah: Hi! I’m sorry we couldn’t meet either. Maybe next time. As for a non-marvel OTP, that’s not hard. I hear you love Harry Potter, so I’ll try and treat you with that.
When he wakes up this time, it’s different.
He’s still terrified, he’s still trembling at the now. What is, what could be. Still drowning in this paralysing fear that now won’t last.
But, this time, it’s different.
He doesn’t dream about the ripping of flesh, the agony of his body tearing apart; to transform into a creature he’ll never recognise.
He doesn’t dream about slaughtering the love of his life. He dreams about a baby: his baby, her baby, their baby.
Tonks smiles, relieved. Guides Lupin’s hand to her swelled stomach and he smiles back, because maybe it’s all going to be all right.