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

Maria stood in the middle of the living room, her wand raised, sweat dripping down her forehead. Remus watched her intently, leaning casually against the doorframe, though his eyes betrayed his concern.
"Again," he said calmly, his voice steady.
Maria groaned dramatically and threw her head back. "Remus, if I do one more Shield Charm, I swear I'm going to pass out and you'll have to carry me to bed."
"Then I'll happily do so," he replied with a smirk. "But only if you pass out from effort, not slacking."
She stuck her tongue out at him but grumbled:
"Fine," and waved her wand again. "Protego!"
The shimmering shield flared into existence before flickering out. Maria staggered backward, plopping onto the worn sofa behind her.
"There. See? Shield. I'm amazing. Can we stop now?"
Remus walked over and crouched in front of her, resting his hands on her knees. "You're doing well, Mary. You're stronger than you think."
"Strong enough to avoid getting blown up by a Death Eater?" she quipped, attempting a laugh but failing miserably. "Remus, what if—"
He cut her off gently.
"You don't have to fight, you know. This isn't your war."
Maria's face twisted in frustration.
"But it is my war now, isn't it? I'm in the Order. Dumbledore, Harry, Tonks, the Weasleys, Moody, Kingsley—they're all counting on me. And... what kind of person would I be if I just... walked away?" She sighed and lowered her gaze. "But I'm scared, Remus. What if I mess up? What if I get killed and you're—"
"Stop." His tone was firm but tender. "I've lived through wars, Mary. I've lost more people than I care to count. And yes, the thought of losing you terrifies me more than anything. But this isn't about what I want. It's about what you want. If you're not ready, no one would think less of you for stepping back. Least of all me."
Her lips quirked into a small smile.
"You'd still fancy me if I ran off to a remote island and became a coconut farmer?"
"Absolutely," he said, deadpan. "Though I'd be terrible at farming. Probably end up eating all the coconuts before we could sell them."
Maria raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eye.
"Would you desert with me?"
Remus chuckled softly, his expression teasing.
"Of course. I'd be an awful deserter, though—probably spend half the time worrying about what everyone else was doing back here."
She grinned. "You'd be the most guilt-ridden coconut farmer in history."
"Undoubtedly," he replied, his tone warm. "But I'd still go with you."
Maria laughed, a real laugh this time, and reached out to ruffle his hair.
"You're ridiculous."
"I know," he said, his expression softening. "But I mean it, Mary. Whatever you choose, I'll support you."
She looked at him for a long moment, her chest tightening.
"I can't walk away, Remus. I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you—or anyone—and I didn't try to help."
He sighed, then stood and offered her his hand.
"Then let's keep practicing. I'll make sure you're ready."
Maria took his hand, but instead of standing, she tugged him down onto the sofa beside her. "Just... one break. Five minutes."
Remus pretended to consider it.
"Fine. Five minutes. But no more coconut farming jokes."
"No promises." She grinned and leaned her head on his shoulder, her fears momentarily forgotten as the two of them sat in peaceful silence.

*

Maria had been feeling a little off all day—not quite sad, but not quite herself either. Birthdays had always been a big deal in her family. Back home, her parents would have made a fuss, her friends would have gathered, there would have been cake, music, and the kind of easy, familiar laughter that came with knowing you truly belonged. But here, in the wizarding world, everything was different. She had no family in this reality—at least not the one she'd left behind. And while she had found love, friendship, and a place where she was needed, there were still moments, quiet ones like today, where the ache of all she had lost settled deep in her chest.
The war loomed over everything like a storm cloud, casting long shadows over even the smallest joys. Christmas had come and gone, the only true celebration. No one had been in the mood for anything beyond quiet resilience. The Order was busy, tensions were high, and people were disappearing—some into hiding, some... for good. So, really, Maria hadn't expected anyone to mark the day at all. And Remus, though he had stayed by her side for most of the morning, hadn't given her any reason to suspect otherwise.
Not that he had ignored her birthday—he wouldn't do that. In the quiet of their shared bedroom, before they had even left for the day, he had pressed a lingering kiss to her temple and murmured, "Happy birthday, baby." There had been warmth in his voice, affection in the way his fingers traced gentle circles over the back of her hand. He had given her a small, thoughtful gift—a beautifully crafted bookmark, enchanted so that tiny golden stars twinkled across its surface, appearing and disappearing like fireflies. "For all the books you steal from me," he had teased, earning a playful nudge from her. It had been a sweet moment, an intimate one, and she hadn't expected anything beyond that.
So when, later that day, he told her he had a brief mission to attend to, she hadn't questioned it. He was good at keeping secrets when he needed to be, and she had no reason to suspect this was anything more than another Order errand. Instead, she had resigned herself to an uneventful evening at Grimmauld Place, maybe reading by the fire or having a quiet chat with Tonks. There would be no cake, no party, no celebration. It was just another day.
That was why, when she walked into Grimmauld Place's kitchen and was met with a chorus of "SURPRISE!" she nearly jumped out of her skin.
The dimly lit, always-too-gloomy kitchen was suddenly transformed. Floating candles bathed the room in warm light, a few colorful banners had been strung up (though one was slightly crooked, as if someone had argued with it), and the scent of Molly's cooking filled the air. A large cake sat proudly at the center of the table—so massive that Maria briefly wondered if Hagrid was expected to drop by.
Gathered around were the familiar faces of her makeshift family. At the forefront was Remus, standing near the fireplace with a small, affectionate smile, holding a small bouquet of enchanted flowers that shimmered softly, shifting colors like the embers behind him. He stepped forward first, offering them to her with a warmth in his gaze that made her heart stutter.
"Happy birthday, Mary" he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple as he placed the flowers in her hands. The petals seemed to glow under her touch, as though responding to her presence.
Before she could say anything, Tonks swooped in, throwing an arm around Maria's shoulders with a wide grin. Her hair was a festive shade of magenta, streaked with silver like the confetti she had undoubtedly been the one to charm into existence.
"Merlin's beard, Mary, you should've seen your face! Thought you were about to hex us all for a second."
Molly and Arthur stood nearby, looking thoroughly pleased with themselves, Molly beaming as though Maria were one of her own children. Bill leaned against the counter with his arms crossed, smirking knowingly, while Kingsley offered a rare but warm smile, his deep voice rumbling,
"It's good to have something worth celebrating."
And then there was Mad-Eye Moody, standing slightly apart from the others, his magical eye whirring as he assessed the room—probably scanning for threats, even now. He gave Maria a single gruff nod, as if acknowledging her existence was enough of a present.
"Didn't see that one coming, did you?" he muttered, the corners of his lips twitching in what might have been his version of amusement.
Maria let out a breathless laugh, clutching the flowers to her chest. She had thought today would pass like any other, another reminder of how far she was from home. But as she looked at the people around her—their smiles, their warmth, their love—she realized she wasn't alone at all.
Molly bustled forward, beaming.
"You didn't think we'd let your birthday pass without a proper celebration, did you, dear?"
Maria pressed a hand to her chest, her throat tightening.
"I—Molly, you really didn't have to—"
"Nonsense!" Molly waved off her protest. "We may not have much to celebrate these days, but that's all the more reason to cherish what we can."
Tonks threw an arm around Maria's shoulders.
"Yeah, birthdays don't get a free pass just because there's a war on. Besides, we needed an excuse to eat cake."
Maria laughed, shaking her head, warmth blooming in her chest. She had no family here, and yet—she did. And for the first time that day, she felt truly, genuinely happy.
The party kicked off in full swing, with music, food, and an impromptu game of charades that ended in absolute chaos when Fred and George decided that wild gesturing was more effective than actual miming. Maria hadn't laughed that hard in ages.
At some point in the evening, as she sat curled up on the couch with a glass of butterbeer, Fred slid into the seat beside her, his expression playfully conspiratorial.
"So, Mary," he began, his voice dripping with mischief. "Serious question. Of all the fine wizards in the world, how in Merlin's name did you end up with our dear, brooding Professor Moony over there?"
Maria nearly choked on her drink as George flopped into the seat on her other side.
"Yeah, don't get us wrong, we love Remus, but he's a bit—" George paused, waving a hand as if searching for the right word.
Fred smirked. "—Gloomy?"
"Broody," George offered.
"Too intellectual for his own good?"
"Looks like he was personally slighted by the sun most days?"
Maria snorted, covering her mouth as she shook with laughter.
"Oh, you two are terrible."
"We prefer 'observant,'" Fred corrected.
Maria grinned, setting her butterbeer down.
"Look, I'll have you know that Remus is a practically perfect man."
From across the room, where he had been talking to Bill and Arthur, Remus's head turned, his brows lifting with amusement.
"Practically?" he repeated, feigning offense as he made his way over to her.
Maria smirked, tilting her chin up playfully.
"That's right. Practically."
Remus folded his arms, quirking an eyebrow.
"And what, pray tell, is preventing me from reaching full perfection?"
Maria tapped a finger to her lips, pretending to consider.
"Well, for one, you do this thing where you sigh dramatically before offering your opinions on books. Very pretentious."
"I do not."
"You do," Arthur chimed in from across the room, smirking.
Maria nodded in agreement.
"And then there's the brooding, of course. Very mysterious, very tragic—"
"Ah, I see," Remus said, eyes twinkling. "So my greatest flaw is... existing?"
Maria grinned.
"Don't push your luck, Lupin."
Fred and George hooted with laughter as Remus shook his head in mock exasperation, but there was undeniable warmth in his expression as he gazed down at her.
"Noted," he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple.
Maria sighed dramatically.
"Fine, you're perfect."
"That's what I thought," Remus said with a smirk, before moving to grab himself another drink.
As the laughter continued around her, Maria felt the earlier wistfulness fading away. She might not have her family here, but she had this—love, friendship, warmth. And, in a world where she had once been a stranger, she had found something even more precious: a home.
That night, after the party had died down and Grimmauld Place had settled into the comforting hush of a home at rest, Maria and Remus retreated to their shared bedroom. The fire had burned low, casting flickering golden light over the walls, and outside, the wind howled against the old house. The room smelled faintly of the candles from her birthday cake and the warm spices of Molly's cooking, a lingering reminder of the evening's rare celebration.
Maria sat cross-legged on the bed, idly toying with the hem of her sleeve as she watched Remus loosen the collar of his shirt and roll up his sleeves. His movements were slow, unhurried, as if savoring the rare peace of the moment. The dim lighting softened the lines of his face, and for a brief second, she let herself admire him—this man who had somehow become her home in this strange, borrowed life.
"You know," he said, giving her a sideways glance as he sat on the edge of the bed, "I've been thinking about something you said earlier."
Maria smirked, propping her chin in her hand.
"Hmmm... That's never a good sign."
He shot her a playfully reproachful look before continuing.
"You called me 'practically perfect.'" He folded his arms and arched an eyebrow. "Practically?"
Maria bit her lip to keep from laughing.
"I told you, don't push your luck."
"Oh, but I must." He perched on the edge of the bed, looking at her with mock seriousness. "Because now I really do need to know—what, exactly, is keeping me from achieving full perfection? Your answer back then didn't convince me at all. Come on. Spit it out."
She tapped her chin as if giving it deep thought.
"Well," she began, drawing out the word for effect, "you do have a habit of sometimes vanishing when things get too emotional."
Remus groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the bed in mock despair.
"Low blow."
"And," she continued, undeterred, "you do brood. A lot."
"That's unfair. I think brooding is one of my more charming qualities."
She snorted.
"Oh, of course, because nothing says 'charm' like excessive guilt and self-loathing."
Remus chuckled, but the humor in his eyes dimmed just slightly. He lowered his gaze, running a hand through his graying hair, suddenly looking as though the weight of the world had settled onto his shoulders once more.
"Well," he said after a beat, "if we're being honest, I'm far from perfect. In fact, I'd argue that 'practically' was generous."
Maria's smile softened as she watched him, his self-deprecating tone so familiar it made her chest ache. She knew this side of him too well—the part that carried his past like an anchor, that had learned to apologize for his existence before anyone could reject him.
"You really do believe that, don't you?" she asked, voice gentler now.
He gave her a small, rueful smile.
"Mary, I know that."
She shook her head, shifting closer until their knees touched.
"You know what your biggest flaw is?"
"I'm sure you're about to tell me," he said, managing a small smirk, but his voice was quieter now, tinged with something more fragile.
Maria reached out, taking one of his hands in both of hers, tracing slow circles with her thumb over his knuckles.
"You like to be liked," she murmured, "but you don't really like yourself."
His fingers tensed slightly under hers, as though the words had struck too close to home. For a long moment, he didn't say anything. And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he admitted,
"You're right."
Maria squeezed his hand, her eyes never leaving his.
"I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."
Remus exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
"Really? And how is that?"
She tilted her head, studying him as if trying to decide where to begin. She wanted to choose her words carefully, not because she was afraid of saying the wrong thing, but because she wanted him to hear her—to truly hear her, not just brush off her words as polite reassurances.
"I see someone who has every reason to be bitter," she said at last, her voice steady but soft, "but instead, he chooses kindness. Every single day." She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "You could have let the world make you cruel, but you didn't. You could have shut yourself away, convinced yourself that friendship wasn't for you, but you didn't. Instead, you fight—not just against Voldemort, but against everything life has thrown at you."
She paused, letting her fingers trace idle patterns over the back of his hand.
"You've been through more pain than most could endure, more than anyone should have to, and yet... you still find ways to laugh. To make me laugh." Her lips quirked into a small smile. "You think I don't notice, but I do. The way you slip little jokes into conversations when things feel too heavy, the way you look for the good in people even when the world has given you every reason to believe the worst."
Remus said nothing, but his fingers curled around hers, his grip tighter now, as if anchoring himself to her words.
"I see a man who is gentle," she continued, "who carries more burdens than anyone should, yet still makes space for everyone else's. A man who is selfless, even when he shouldn't be. Who is brilliant, and kind, and—"
"Brooding," Remus supplied with a small, almost sheepish grin, though his voice was rougher now, like he was fighting against emotion.
Maria huffed, rolling her eyes.
"Oh, yes, and brooding. But even that, Remus... it just means you care. Maybe too much, sometimes, but you do care." She gave a small shrug. "That's why you're a hero to me."
A deep breath left him then, as though she had lifted something off his shoulders, something invisible but heavy all the same. He shook his head, a quiet, disbelieving smile playing at his lips, as though he wasn't sure what to do with the weight of her words.
"I don't think I deserve that title." His voice was barely above a whisper.
Maria smirked.
"Well, too bad. I'm giving it to you, and you don't get a say in the matter."
Remus let out a breath of laughter—genuine, this time, full and warm and real. His grip tightened around her hand, thumb brushing absently against her palm.
"Stubborn as ever."
"That's one of the things that makes me practically perfect," she teased, giving him a mockingly smug look.
"Oh, I see how it is," he said, tilting his head as his lips twitched into something dangerously close to a smirk. "So you're the perfect one in this relationship?"
"Well, someone has to be."
With a dramatic sigh, he fell back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling.
"Oh, the burden you must carry."
Maria flopped down beside him, turning onto her side so she could face him. A grin tugged at her lips, but her eyes remained soft, still holding the remnants of the conversation between them.
"It's not easy, Remus, but I manage."
He turned his head toward her, watching her in the low firelight. The earlier weight of their conversation lingered in the air, but it no longer felt quite so heavy. After a moment, he reached out, brushing a stray lock of golden hair from her face, fingers lingering just a fraction longer than necessary, as if memorizing the shape of her cheek.
"Thank you," he murmured.
"For what?"
He gave her a small, lopsided smile, the kind that always made her heart squeeze in her chest.
"For reminding me that I'm more than the worst parts of myself."
Maria's smile softened.
"Always."
She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. No war, no darkness, no uncertainty—just the two of them, tangled in warmth and quiet understanding.
Remus sighed contentedly, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her against him. She settled into the crook of his shoulder, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
"You know," he mused, his voice laced with drowsy amusement, "if I were actually perfect, I think I'd be insufferable."
Maria laughed softly, her breath warm against his skin.
"Oh, absolutely. I'd have no choice but to hex you."
Remus hummed, already half-asleep.
"Good thing I'm only practically perfect, then."
Maria smiled against his chest, closing her eyes.
"Good thing."
And with that, she let the quiet settle around them, warm and comfortable. The world outside was still dangerous, still uncertain. But here, in this moment, they were safe. And that was enough.