'where we are now' remus lupin & regulus black

Gooey

"My, my simple sir, this ain't gonna work. Mind my wicked words and tipsy topsy slurs. I can't take this place, no, I can't take this place. I just wanna go where I can get some space."
_______________

I have a hang over.

Admittedly not my worst, but debilitating enough for me to debate skipping classes and staying in bed all day. I deserve a day of rest and recuperation after how well i've been doing, right? I want a day to piece myself together and my memories of the party last night. Of how much butterbeer I had.

I scoff to myself as I roll over in my bed.

Sure, that mean little voice tells me. You'll be in bed for two weeks, it taunts.

It's overcast, thank god, but even the pale light leaking leaking through the curtains is too much. I squint.

But I can't afford to miss anymore classes.

Not unless I want to be here for another year.

Avoiding mirrors at all costs, I use my wand to wash, dress and repair what is undoubtedly an owl's nest on top of my head. The stairs leading down to the common room are a much larger beast to slay, and I find my self gripping the walls to keep her balance the whole way down.

The common room is something of a mess. Confetti and streamers litter the floor. Empty bottles clutter every surface. The stains on the navy blue carpet could be any number of things. And yet the majority of Ravenclaw is already awake and sitting amongst it, talking over tea and enjoying a slow Thursday morning.

It's about an hour later, in Defence Against the Dark Arts when the cluttered mailbox that is my brain finally decides to send an important notice through. Allowing me to finally remember it.

It, which is kissing Black.

Being kissed by Black.

Even as I just scratch the surface of the memory, sensations and sounds start flooding back to me. The scent of his subtle sea-salt cologne. And the taste of cherries. The feel of his hands, cold and far too low on my hips. His mouth frozen on the outside, but so, so warm within. Just, him. Everywhere.

Even the sounds of his low pants echo in my ears alongside his words, 'Do you still want to be friends?'

I can't really remember anything that happened before I found the library, or after I had left, but in-between was him. And i've always been a sucker for the middle.

Him I can now remember with excruciating clarity.

My fingers shake, my quill trembles in my hand and I realize I should be disgusted with myself. I hate him, I hate everything he stands for. I should be disgusted for ever allowing him to get so close—no, so intimate.

It's likely he knows the person who killed my best friend.

It's possible he has some idea who stole the light of my life right out from under me.

He's the youngest rumoured death-eater.

But my traitorous mind goes elsewhere, tracing back to a few other kisses i've had in my life. I don't allow myself to wonder whether it was my best kiss, because I know that it was and i'm not willing to admit that just yet.

A gooey sort of helplessness bleeds into my stomach.

What if he tells someone? What if he's already told someone? What if—what if he's using me in some way to get back at his brother and Remus already knows?

"Ms. Evans, you're shaking," The professor interrupts my thoughts. Mercifully. "Perhaps you should go to the hospital wing for a rest?"

And yet, as I find my way out of the classroom, I find that being alone with my thoughts is the last thing I need.