Hey, Remus! (Between The Pages Of Our Worlds)

Maria woke up before dawn, the faint gray light of early morning filtering through the small window. She turned onto her side, her eyes landing on Remus, who was still fast asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He looked peaceful, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside her mind.
She slipped quietly out of bed, grabbing her robe and wrapping it around herself. Padding softly to the window, she leaned against the frame, staring out at the snow-dusted garden below. The events of the previous night replayed in her head, and she pressed her fingers against her temples as if she could physically push away the weight of the knowledge she carried. She recalled them vividly:
Harry, seated on the couch beside the armchair where she sat with Remus, leaned forward, his voice laced with curiosity.
"Have you ever heard of someone called the Half-Blood Prince?" Harry asked, watching Remus's reaction intently.
Maria's hand paused mid-stir, her grip tightening slightly on the handle of her mug. She kept her eyes fixed on the swirling tea, willing herself not to react outwardly.
"The Half-Blood what?" Remus replied, raising a curious eyebrow.
"Prince," Harry clarified.
"There are no wizarding princes," Remus said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Is this a title you're thinking of adopting? I should have thought being 'the Chosen One' would be enough."
"It's nothing to do with me!" Harry said, a touch indignantly. "The Half-Blood Prince is someone who used to go to Hogwarts. I've got his old Potions book. He wrote spells all over it, spells he invented. One of them was Levicorpus—"
Maria's breath hitched, but she masked it by taking a sip of tea. That conversation. It was in the books. And yes, she knew about the Levicorpus spell James and Sirius had used on Snape when they were teenagers.
"Oh, that one had a great vogue during my time at Hogwarts," said Remus, leaning back with a reminiscent smile. "There were a few months in my fifth year when you couldn't move for being hoisted into the air by your ankle."
"My dad used it," Harry said, his tone attempting nonchalance. "I saw him in the Pensieve; he used it on Snape."
Maria's grip on her mug tightened imperceptibly.
"Yes," Remus said, his smile fading slightly as his tone grew more thoughtful. "But he wasn't the only one. As I say, it was very popular... You know how these spells come and go."
Maria's eyes flicked toward Remus, her fingers tightening slightly around the mug in her lap. She knew that tone. It was the one he used when he was carefully choosing his words, walking that fine line between honesty and loyalty. She'd heard it before, during quiet moments when he spoke about his time at Hogwarts.
Remus always defended his friends—always. Even when there was no defense to be made. Maria thought of the stories he'd shared about James and Sirius, tales that were filled with laughter and fondness but occasionally tinged with regret. He was their moral compass, she realized, the quiet voice of reason in their chaos. And yet, for all his wisdom, he never condemned them for their missteps, even when they hurt others. Sirius had said that he did made them feel ashamed, but it hadn't been enough, had it?
Her gaze drifted to the fire as Harry pressed him further.
"But it sounds like it was invented while you were at school," Harry said.
"Not necessarily," Remus replied evenly. "Jinxes go in and out of fashion like everything else."
Maria could see it—the subtle shift in Remus's expression, the slight downward tilt of his mouth. He wouldn't lie to Harry, but he wouldn't speak ill of James, either. It wasn't in his nature. Even now, so many years later, he protected the memory of his friends as fiercely as he had during their school days.
And yet... sometimes she wondered if that loyalty cost him more than he let on. Did he carry the weight of their actions? Did he question, late at night, whether he could have done more to guide them down a different path?
Maria's heart ached for him. Remus had always been caught in the middle, torn between his own moral compass and the fierce love he felt for his friends. He carried the burdens of their choices alongside his own, even when it wasn't his responsibility.
She glanced at him again, his profile softened by the glow of the fire. There was no anger, no bitterness in his tone as he spoke to Harry—only understanding. Maria admired that about him, even if it sometimes frustrated her. How could he forgive so easily? How could he defend them even when the memories must sting?
Maria forced herself to take a steadying breath. It wasn't her place to say anything. She'd promised herself, and Dumbledore, to stay silent. But as the conversation continued, she couldn't help but feel the weight of her own knowledge pressing down on her like a stone.
"James was a pureblood, Harry," Remus said gently, "and I promise you, he never asked us to call him 'Prince.'"
Maria swallowed hard, knowing exactly who the Half-Blood Prince was and the weight of the secrets she carried.
Abandoning pretense, Harry said, "And it wasn't Sirius? Or you?"
"Definitely not."
"Oh." Harry stared into the fire, his shoulders sagging slightly. "I just thought—well, he's helped me out a lot in Potions classes, the Prince has."
"How old is this book, Harry?" Remus asked, his voice calm but curious.
"I dunno, I've never checked."
"Well, perhaps that will give you some clue as to when the Prince was at Hogwarts," said Remus.
Maria stood abruptly, setting her half-full mug on the nearby table.
"I think I'll head upstairs," she said lightly, though her voice sounded slightly strained. She didn't wait for a reply as she made her way toward the stairs, her back stiff and her mind swirling.
The Half-Blood Prince. Severus Snape.
Maria knew exactly who Harry was talking about, and yet she'd sat there, pretending ignorance, biting her tongue to keep from saying too much. Dumbledore's words echoed in her mind: "Promise me you'll keep this to yourself, Maria. For the sake of the war and for Harry's safety."
But how much longer could she carry this? How much longer could she hold back from Harry the truth that she knew? The boy had a right to understand the full picture, didn't he? And yet... she knew that Dumbledore always had reasons for his secrecy, even if they weren't always clear.
Maria hugged herself, the cold from the windowpane seeping into her skin. She thought of Harry's confused expression the night before, of his persistence to uncover the identity of the Prince.
"It's not my story to tell," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. But even as she said it, guilt tugged at her heart.
A gentle rustling behind her broke her thoughts, and she turned to see Remus stirring, his eyes blinking open. He gave her a sleepy smile, his voice husky with sleep.
"You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep," she replied, returning to the bed and sitting beside him. He reached for her hand, lacing his fingers with hers.
"Thinking too much again?"
Maria gave a small, humorless laugh. "You could say that."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
She shook her head. "No. Not this. Not yet."
Remus studied her face, his gaze soft and understanding. He didn't press further, instead pulling her down to rest beside him.
"You don't have to carry everything alone," he murmured, his arms wrapping around her protectively.
Maria closed her eyes, letting herself relax into his warmth. She didn't say it aloud, but she knew he was right. One day, the weight of her secrets would become too much to bear. But for now, she would hold on a little longer—for Harry, for Dumbledore, and Maria must have drifted off again after the restless night. When she stirred, the pale morning light was filtering through the frosted windowpanes, and the fire in the small hearth had long since gone out. The room was filled with a chilly stillness, but it wasn't entirely quiet. She could hear the faint murmurs of the Weasleys starting their day downstairs, the clinking of pots and pans in the kitchen.
She blinked blearily, her eyes adjusting to the light, and turned over. Remus wasn't in bed beside her. Instead, she found him sitting quietly near the window, perched on the edge of a small armchair. He had a book balanced on his knees, but it was closed, and his gaze wasn't on the pages. It was on her.
The faint morning light caught in his hair, streaking the silver strands with an almost ethereal glow. He looked peaceful but thoughtful, his expression tinged with concern.
Maria sat up slowly, running a hand through her tousled hair and rubbing her temples. The weight of the previous evening's thoughts settled back over her like a heavy blanket. She didn't need a mirror to know her face likely mirrored the exhaustion she felt.
"How long was I out?" she asked, her voice still thick with sleep.
"Not long," Remus replied, his voice soft and soothing, like a balm against the morning chill. He set the book aside on the small table next to him and rose, crossing the room to sit beside her. The mattress dipped under his weight as he leaned in, his warm hand brushing hers in a quiet gesture of reassurance. "I've known you long enough to tell when you're hiding something, Mary. What's on your mind?"
She looked away, her gaze falling to her hands. For a moment, she thought about brushing him off, about shrugging it away with some half-hearted excuse. But this was Remus, and he deserved more than that.
"I was just... thinking," she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper.
"About?" he prompted gently, giving her the space to speak at her own pace.
Maria exhaled shakily, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.
"About how knowing too much can be... a burden."
Remus's brow furrowed slightly, concern etched into his features. He reached for her hand, his touch grounding and steady.
"What do you mean?"
She hesitated, biting her lip. How could she even begin to explain? Her presence in this world defied all logic, and her knowledge of what was to come felt like an unbearable weight she had no right to carry.
"Sometimes," she said slowly, "it feels like I'm stuck between two versions of reality. The one I'm living now, with you, with everyone else, and the one I spent so many years knowing... the one I wrote about." She swallowed hard, her voice trembling. "It's one thing to imagine a world, to shape it with words and dreams. But to live in it? To know the things I know and not be able to say them? It's... exhausting, Remus."
His hand tightened around hers, a silent reassurance that he was there, that he was listening.
"You've always defended your friends," she continued, her gaze distant. "Even when they didn't deserve it, even when their choices hurt others. And I admire that about you. But sometimes... sometimes I wonder if I'm doing the same thing—holding onto secrets, protecting something bigger than myself, even though it feels like it's breaking me."
Remus's expression softened, a mix of understanding and heartache.
"Mary, what you've been carrying... it's more than anyone should have to bear. I can't imagine what it must feel like, knowing so much and having to keep it locked inside."
She laughed weakly, shaking her head.
"It's ironic, isn't it? I spent years writing fanfiction about you, about your struggles and your bravery, and now I'm the one who feels like a character in someone else's story. A character who knows too much, who can't change what's coming, who can't even warn the people she cares about."
"Mary..." His voice was gentle, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand.
"I didn't ask for this," she whispered, her eyes glistening. "I didn't ask to be here, to know every twist and turn, every heartbreak. And I didn't ask to love you so much that it makes all of this even harder."
The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that let truths settle and hearts open.
Remus reached out, cupping her face with a tenderness that made her breath hitch.
"You didn't ask for this," he said softly, "but you've handled it with more grace and strength than anyone else could. And as for loving me..." He smiled faintly, his eyes shimmering with unspoken emotion. "That's the part of this story I'll never stop being grateful for."
Maria closed her eyes, leaning into his touch.
"Sometimes, I just want to scream," she admitted. "I want to tell Harry everything, to warn him, to fix things before they go wrong. But I can't. And it feels like I'm failing him."
"You're not failing anyone," Remus said firmly. "You're protecting him, even if it doesn't feel like it right now. And if you ever need to scream, if you ever need to let it out, I'll be here. Always."
She looked at him then, her chest tightening with a mix of love and gratitude so fierce it almost hurt.
"You're the only thing that makes this bearable, you know that?"
His smile widened, a soft chuckle escaping him. "And you're the only one who's ever made me believe that I'm allowed to dream."
They stayed like that for a while, the weight of Maria's knowledge still present but somehow lighter in the warmth of Remus's presence. Maria looked at their hands, her fingers tracing invisible patterns along his. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts she couldn't share, but she suddenly realized she didn't have to carry the moment alone. She could redirect the weight, let his steady presence ease some of her burden. She glanced up at him, a glimmer of mischief creeping into her tired expression.
"Tell me more about that." she asked, her tone light but curious. "What do you dream about, Remus Lupin?"
He raised an eyebrow at her sudden change in subject, though his lips twitched into a small smile.
"What do I dream about? I didn't know this was an interrogation."
Maria nudged him playfully with her shoulder.
"You're deflecting. Come on, I already know some of them. The war ends, Voldemort's gone, and suddenly you're Remus Lupin: Werewolf Activist Extraordinaire." She grinned. "A job, a house, helping other werewolves... marrying the love of your life."
Remus chuckled softly, his face tinged with warmth.
"I don't remember granting you permission to read my mind, Miss Mary Dee."
"Oh, please," she teased, leaning back on her hands. "I've known for ages that you're secretly a hopeless romantic under all that self-deprecating charm. You're probably picturing some quaint little cottage in the countryside. Maybe even a garden—no, wait, a library. A massive library with creaky shelves and one of those ladders on wheels you can slide along."
He let out a full laugh at that, the sound so rare and so unguarded that it made her heart ache in the best way.
"Alright," he said, shaking his head, "I'll admit to the library, at least. Though the rest of it doesn't sound half bad."
"And what about me?" Maria asked, feigning offense. "What's my role in this picturesque post-war fantasy of yours? Am I the mysterious woman who runs off to the theater by day and serenades you in our library by night?"
"Something like that," Remus said, a soft smile curving his lips as his hand came up to gently brush a strand of hair from her face. "Though I'd add a few details. You'd be the one who reminds me every day that life can still be beautiful, even after everything we've been through. The one who makes me laugh when I've forgotten how. The one who walks into every room like she's carrying a bit of the sun with her."
Maria blinked, her teasing smirk fading into something softer, more vulnerable.
"You're far too good at this, you know," she said, her voice quieter now. "If this were a game of compliments, you'd have won ages ago."
Remus smiled, the warmth in his expression glowing as brightly as the embers in the fire.
"It's not a game, Mary. It's the truth."
Maria felt her heart stutter, and for a moment, she didn't know how to respond. But then her natural inclination to tease kicked back in, a way to balance the overwhelming swell of emotions inside her.
"You didn't answer the most important part, though," she said, tilting her head in mock suspicion. "Do I get to use the ladder in the library?"
Remus chuckled, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of her hand.
"Only if you promise not to try and slide across the room like Fred or George. I can't have you breaking your neck before we even finish cataloging the books."
"Deal," Maria said with a grin. She leaned closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder as the laughter faded into a peaceful silence.
For a moment, they sat together, their dreams of a quieter, happier future painting a fragile but beautiful picture in their minds. It was a dream built on hope, and though it might take a lifetime to realize, in that moment, it felt like it was within reach.