Remus Lupin | Soulmate Series

Of course, Remus believed in soulmates. It would be a little silly not to. He turned into a monster once a month—what was a cosmic thread tying two souls together compared to that? He didn’t believe he had one, though. Soulmates were for people who were whole, untouched by the kind of jagged, cruel things that shaped him.

He had come to terms with it a long time ago, accepted that whatever force decided these things would overlook him. He wasn't bitter about it, not really. It was just the way things were. Some people were made to belong to someone else, and some people were made to be alone.

Remus just so happened to be the latter.

And truly, it was a mercy. A soulmate was meant to be a safe place, a harbor against the storm—but he was the storm, wasn’t he? Unpredictable, dangerous, leaving destruction in his wake whether he meant to or not. What kind of love could he offer when his own hands were stained with the wreckage of his worst nights?

No, fate had been kind to him, in its own cruel way. If he had a soulmate, he would have only ruined them.

Sometimes—though he’d take the secret to his grave—he let himself wonder.

When he lay in bed, aching and raw, skin too tight over bruised ribs, exhaustion pressing down on him like a second skin, the thought crept in. It was easy to ignore in the daylight, easy to pretend he didn’t care. But in the dead of night, when sleep wouldn’t come and the silence was too loud, he wondered.

What would it be like to have someone who stayed? Someone who didn’t turn away when the worst of him bled through the cracks? Someone who saw him—every jagged, broken piece—and chose to love him anyway?

It was a dangerous thought. Hope was a sharp thing, and he had learned not to hold it too tightly. But sometimes, in the quiet, when the world wasn’t watching, he let himself imagine.

He imagined it was soft, having a soulmate.

Not grand or earth-shattering, not some cosmic force pulling him into something too big to hold—but something quiet. Gentle. A steady presence beside him when the world felt too cruel, a hand reaching for his own without hesitation. He imagined warmth, the kind that seeped into his bones, the kind that didn’t ask him to be anything more than what he was.

Maybe it was the feeling of fingers carding through his hair after a full moon, or a voice murmuring his name like it was something worth saying. Maybe it was laughter that never carried a sharp edge, or the certainty of someone choosing him, again and again, without question.

He would never know for sure. But in the dark, when the ache in his chest became too much to bear, he imagined. And for a little while, that was enough.

If he lingered on it long enough, allowed himself to indulge in a dream—a wish that would never come—he could almost convince himself that it was real.

Like if he reached out just far enough, he might find a hand waiting for his. Like if he closed his eyes and listened closely, he might hear a voice murmuring his name, steady and sure. Some part of his soul, trampled by years of unfair fates and broken bones, seemed to remember what it was like. As if, once upon a time, before the world had carved him into something sharp and weary, he had been loved that deeply.

It was a cruel trick of the mind, an echo of something he had never truly known. But still, on the loneliest nights, he let himself believe. Even if only for a moment.

James, ever the optimist, always reasoned that the time would come. That fate, or the universe, or whatever force governed things like soulmates, wouldn’t be so cruel as to overlook Remus forever.

Remus never had the heart to crush those dreams outright. It was easier to let James believe—to let him fill the spaces Remus refused to touch with his relentless hope. James was the very definition of a romantic, the kind of person who believed in grand gestures and inevitable love stories, in fated meetings and unshakable bonds. He spoke about soulmates like they were a promise, a certainty written into the fabric of the world.

But Remus knew better. Some people weren’t meant for things like that. Some people weren’t made for fate’s kindness. And no matter how much James insisted otherwise, Remus had long accepted that he was one of them.

James had found his match early on, so of course, he thought his friends’ time would come. It simply had to.

The universe wasn’t that cruel—surely, after everything, after the wreckage life had already thrown at them, there had to be some kind of balance. Some kind of reconciliation. James needed to believe that. That the people he loved, the people who had already endured more than their fair share of suffering, would find something good waiting for them in the end.

He was relentless in that belief, stubborn in the way only James Potter could be. And Remus—tired, pragmatic, painfully realistic Remus—never had the heart to argue. Because James had found his person, and love had never failed him. Of course he thought it was only a matter of time before the rest of them did too.

But Remus knew better. Some debts didn’t get repaid. Some people weren’t waiting for fate to even the score. Some people just lost. And there was no bigger loser to fate’s games than Remus.

The wolf, however, seemed to have different plans.

The beast that lurked beneath his skin—the thing that threatened to consume him, body and soul—was motivated by something far less rational, far more primal. Baser instincts. It didn’t care for logic, for caution, for the careful walls Remus had spent years constructing around himself.

No, the wolf recognized something in {{user}}. It prowled beneath his skin, restless and sharp, clawing at the edges of his control. It was aware in a way that made Remus uneasy, in a way that made his pulse stutter. Because the wolf had no patience for restraint. It only knew hunger, only understood desire in its rawest, most undeniable form.

And for some reason, {{user}} had its full attention.

At first, Remus reasoned that it was because it was {{user}}.

He’d be surprised if there was anyone at Hogwarts who didn’t fancy her. She was beautiful—achingly so, in a way that made a person hesitate, just to make sure she was real. But it wasn’t just that. Beauty alone wasn’t enough to make the wolf stir, to make it watch.

No, it was the way she carried herself. The way kindness seemed to spill from her effortlessly, like it wasn’t something she had to think about, like it was stitched into her very being. She was warm in a way that made people gravitate toward her, like she belonged in the light, untouched by the kind of shadows that followed him everywhere he went.

That had to be it. Just admiration, just the simple fact that she was {{user}}—someone anyone would be drawn to. Her kindness and her light were real, not like his own that he was half-convinced he only mustered so people didn’t look too intently at him

And yet, the wolf growled its disagreement.

It all came to a head a few months short of graduation.

After years of the wolf willing Remus to go to her, to speak to her, to just reach out—he had resisted. Again and again, stubborn in his self-imposed exile. He told himself it was for the best. That {{user}} was better off without the weight of him pressing against her light. That whatever force had made the wolf restless in her presence had nothing to do with fate and everything to do with his own weakness.

He didn’t want to bother her. Didn’t want to risk dragging her into the mess of him, into the chaos of a life that had never been kind. He thought he could ignore it. That he could pretend the pull wasn’t there.

But then something happened—something inevitable, something inescapable. And just like that, all those years of careful distance unraveled in an instant.

James threw a party—because of course he did—while his parents were away visiting an aunt. The Potter house was the perfect place for it, sprawling and full of hidden corners, big enough to fit half of Hogwarts without feeling crowded.

Remus hadn’t expected to stay long. He rarely did at these things. He’d nurse a drink, make sure Sirius didn’t end up dancing on the furniture again, and then slip away before the night got too messy.

He certainly hadn’t expected to see {{user}}.

But there she was, standing in the warm glow of the lanterns, laughing at something someone had said, completely at ease. And just like that, every carefully built wall he had put between them felt paper-thin.

Before he knew it, she was moving, weaving through the crowd—probably on her way to get another drink.

It all happened too fast, a series of events straight out of one of those god-awful romcoms Sirius claimed to watch “for a laugh.” One second, she was walking, the next, someone barreled past her, too caught up in their own drunken stumble to notice. She wobbled, just slightly, thrown off balance—

And before Remus could think, before he could talk himself out of it, his hand shot out to steady her.

Warmth. That was the first thing he noticed. The solid, unmistakable warmth of her beneath his touch. His fingers curled gently around her arm, grounding, protective. The wolf in him stilled for the first time in years, humming in quiet satisfaction at the contact.

“Careful,” he said, voice quieter than he meant for it to be.

And then she looked up at him—eyes wide, startled, meeting his in a way that made something in his chest lurch.

They had spoken before—fleeting, brief, inconsequential moments exchanged in passing. A polite nod in the library, a shared glance in the Great Hall, the occasional murmured thanks when she passed him a quill in class. But they had never touched. Never had a reason to.

But now that they had…

It was like watching lifetimes pass through in seconds. A rush of something ancient and undeniable flooding through him, so sudden and overwhelming that he almost pulled away on instinct. As if some part of him—something buried deep beneath logic, beneath restraint, beneath years of quiet denial—had woken up and was screaming at him all at once.

You sodding idiot, she’s been here the whole time!

The wolf knew it. Had known it long before Remus ever allowed himself to entertain the thought. And now, with the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips, with her eyes locked onto his like she felt it too—there was no ignoring it anymore.