seven

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Wren's eyes kept drifting up to the door to Remus' office, her mind constantly running over their conversation from the other week. The way his thumb moved rhythmically against her wrist made her skin tingle even just thinking about it.

She was sure Milo was talking to her, but she was too in her head to process what he was saying.

All she could think about was the soft curls of Remus' hair as they fell across his forehead, the small crinkles of his eyes when he smiled, his hands roaming her body. Her hair was thrown back into a messy ponytail, her fringe middle parted and styled across her forehead, only getting messier as she twirled a section of hair around her finger.

"Wren?" Milo asked, "Are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah." Wren replied, having to tear her eyes away from the oak door to look at her friend.

"What did I say?" Milo questioned, his brows raised slightly as he waited to catch Wren out on whatever she answered.

"That you're not sure what to ask for for Christmas," Wren started, watching the way his brows softened as a hint to whether she was guessing correctly, "And that you're thinking of asking for a new quill but you're not sure if you need one."

"Hm." Milo hummed to himself, squinting his eyes as if to say, 'I don't trust you.'

Wren loved Milo to pieces - they had been inseparable since their first day at Hogwarts - but he was quite literally the most predictable person ever - a bad trait that seemed to work in Wren's favour quite often. He questioned every year whether he needed a new quill for Christmas, agreeing when Wren told him that he didn't and yet still asked for one anyway.

She watched as Milo fiddled with the quill that he got last Christmas, everything from tip to feather still perfectly intact, patiently waiting for the lesson to start.

Wren hadn't yet told Milo about the burn or where she had found herself during the Quidditch match the other day. She wasn't sure why, but she wanted to keep hers and Remus' little conversation to herself. In a way, it was more intimate than the night at the pub. Wren mentally slapped herself again; She was a student, he was her professor.

There was a strange feeling in Wren's gut, a sort of fluttering nervousness that only got stronger the more she thought about Remus. Her chest felt tight as she struggled to keep her eyes from flickering back to the door.

The door to the class opened with a creak, Snape entering through the archway with his cloak billowing behind him in its usual fashion. Wren watched as he walked with an air of confidence, as if he owned the school and everyone in it. He knew people feared him, and he liked it that way.

At the realisation that it was Snape and not Remus who was teaching their class today, Wren's nervousness immediately disappeared and was replaced by disappointment. Her head hit her hand, shoulders slumped as she already started zoning out.

Once he had reached the front of the classroom, stopping just before the desk, Snape spun around theatrically and looked over the room full of students with a stony face. He flicked his hand, using his magic to turn every student's textbook to page 394.

Wren's eyes scanned over the page, the word 'Werewolves' donning the top in bold italics. She heard Milo whisper a confused, "What?" with a furrowed brow - Professor Lupin had been teaching them about Patronus charms, and now Snape was suddenly taking over and changing everything.

Percy raised his hand at the front of the class, not bothering to wait for Snape to call on him to ask his question, "Where's Professor Lupin?"

Snape looked towards the Weasley boy, his top lip curled in disgust, and decided against answering.

"Werewolves." He purred instead, looking back out to the rest of the students. Wren could have sworn she saw him shudder as he uttered the word.

He stalked down the middle aisle, his steps slow as his eyes searched around the room for someone in particular. When his gaze fell upon Wren, sitting with her hair tied back in a low ponytail, he smirked.

"Miss Winslow." He called, giving her a small nod of greeting.

"Professor." She smiled back, her hand fidgeting under the table to find Milo's, giving it a small squeeze when their fingers intertwined.

"Tell me," He quirked his brow, "What do you know about Werewolves?"

*

Wren's nails were raw from where she had been anxiously picking at them, the skin around them red and threatening to bleed. It felt as though her brain had stopped working, an array of open books spread out on the table before her.

Snape had set them an essay - a dull 2000 words of the consequences of befriending a werewolf. It was dinner time in Hogwarts, but Wren was too caught up in finishing her assignment to go. The library was quiet, only a few other students deciding that not getting detention was better than not eating.

She assumed that Snape had singled her out in their lesson last week because of her father. It seemed that no matter how hard she tried to put her family and her childhood behind her, it always somehow crept back up.

For the better part of the past hour, Wren had been doodling randomly on her piece of parchment. Harsh inky outlines were scribbled next to what little she had written of her essay - stick people, butterflies and even the occasional doodle of the moon.

Her eyes felt heavy, despite it only being early evening, as rays of orange light bounced from the Black Lake as the sun started to set over it. She slammed the thick book about mythical creatures of the wizarding world shut, before grabbing her parchment and aimlessly leaving the library.

It only occurred to her that Snape was most likely at dinner as she reached the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, but she pushed open the heavy, oak door nonetheless. Snape had practically taken over the Dark Arts classroom since he started covering for Professor Lupin.

Wren had found herself searching for Remus in the hallways, wondering why he had been gone for so long, but then she remembered her promise to forget all about her birthday, and shook the thought from her head before it had the chance to manifest into anything more.

She could see the silhouette of someone standing with their back towards her, "Professor, this essay you set us is stupid." If any other student was to tell Snape that something he did was stupid, he would most certainly send them straight to Dumberldore. But Wren had called Snape stupid more times than he could count when she was a kid.

Wren stopped in her tracks as her gaze lifted to see Remus standing by his desk, somehow looking more rugged than he usually did. He had fresh scars up the length of his forearm, pink wounds against his tanned skin, and he looked exhausted.

"Oh," Wren faltered, "Sorry, I thought you were Snape." She shifted awkwardly on her feet, clasping her hands behind her back.

Remus was wearing his signature tweed suit trousers, with an untucked white shirt, the top few buttons lazily undone. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and the curls of his hair were messily falling across his face.

He leant back on his desk with his arms crossed against his broad chest, "I'm much too good looking to be Snape." He joked with a half-hearted chuckle.

Wren smiled at her professor, "I'll, uh, go."

"No, no." Remus said with a furrowed brow, "I'll help, come here."

Wren walked over to him meekly, holding out the parchment for him to take, "I think I'm just tired," She excused, "My brain's not working properly."

She watched him intently as his eyes scanned over the page, a small and crooked smile appearing on his face as he admired her artistic scribbles along the side of the page.

"Werewolves, huh?" He raised his brows as he looked to Wren, speaking with a slight scoff, "Sit." He gestured to the table to the right of his desk, before moving the blackboard to where Wren could see it. Wren couldn't help but notice the veins in his arms as he pushed the board.

"Werewolves," He stopped talking for a moment as he focused on the words he was scribbling onto the board, "Can be dangerous."

"Well, yeah." Wren shrugged, "Anyone can be dangerous."

Remus chuckled, "But not everyone has amplified strength, long claws and sharp teeth, Wren." He turned back to the board as he continued to bullet point facts about Werewolves.

No memories of events or moments before turning.

Heightened emotions.

Will attack anything that gets in their way.

Able to overpower, to maul, to kill.

Can turn anyone into a werewolf with one bite.

"But we have magic." Wren pointed out, "Can't we just stun them, or stop them from turning?"

Remus muttered under his breath, "If only it were that simple."

"Well why isn't it?" Wren questioned. Remus hadn't meant to speak so loudly, overestimating the distance between him and where she was sitting.

"If you manage to get your wand out quick enough, then sure." He explained, "But Werewolves have very fast reflexes. There hasn't been a single wizard or witch that has been able to overpower a Werewolf."

He sighed as he added another bullet point to the bottom of his ever-growing list.

No accessible cure.

"Accessible?" Wren asked, finding herself suddenly very intrigued in the subject.

"The only known cure is a specially made potion." Remus put the chalk down on the ledge at the bottom of the blackboard as he spoke, "And the only man who knows how to make that potion is.."

"My father." Wren cut in. Remus turned to look at her with a tight-lipped smile, his hair bobbing as he gave her a small nod.

*

"Is this too much?" Milo's worried voice slid through the crack of his bathroom door, before he emerged with his eyes downcast, judging the outfit that donned his body.

He was wearing a pair of black suit trousers, slightly covered by an oversized 'Metallica' band tee. On his feet were a classic pair of Doc Marten boots - shoes that he and Wren wore to match quite frequently.

Wren gave her friend a knowing look. "It's too much." He sighed, as he spun himself round to study his outfit in the wooden floor length mirror by his bed.

"No!" Wren protested. She was sitting in the centre of his bed, her legs crossed atop the burgundy duvet. "Just, maybe some jeans instead of the suit trousers?"

Milo drops his head, lifting up his tshirt with one hand to get a better look at the trousers underneath. "You're so right." He furrowed his brows, scoffing lightly, "What was I even thinking?"

Wren's eyes followed his lanky frame as he rushed over to his wardrobe, watching him scrape hangers against the metal rail. He paused, studying a pair of jeans, "Blue or black?"

"Hmmm." Wren hummed in thought, her eyes quickly assessing his top and doc martens, "Blue."

It was Friday evening, and a bunch of the elder Gryffindors had claimed the Common Room for the night - a stack of alcohol piled on the chess table in the corner. Milo was definitely overthinking his outfit - it was a casual thing that they did every few weeks.

Wren had on her trusty black jeans with a tight fitted baby tee, the words 'hot mess' embroidered on the front in navy blue twine. She brushed through her hair with her fingers, trying to get her curls to drop out a little. Her head hurt, and the muscles in her body ached from where she hadn't slept properly in weeks.

Milo sat on the end of his bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight, the muscles in his arms flexing as he pulled on his boots. He was now wearing the blue jeans, his hair messily swept back, and was shooting Wren dirty looks as she told him how hot his ass looked in denim.

The Common Room was lively with conversation, the low hum of pop music floating over the hushed voices and giggles. With every beat of the music, Wren's head pounded a little harder.

"I need a drink." She winced, as she grabbed Milo's hand and pulled him towards the chess table, stacked full with half empty bottles of alcohol. She grabbed a round bottom bottle of Firewhiskey by the neck, not bothering to check who it belonged to, and took a rather large swig straight from the glass.

She felt as though she deserved it after the way her first term had started. Her grades were barely passable, she could barely sleep because her arm constantly felt as though it were on fire and she had somehow found herself in a messy situation with a man whose moods changed quicker than the weather.

Wren passed the bottle to Milo who copied her swigging action before handing it back. She watched from the corner of her eye as he winced, the unwelcoming feeling of alcohol burning the back of his throat.

"Hi Wren." A small and awkward voice had the two friends spinning round, faced with a familiar head of ginger hair.

"Percy!" Wren greeted, a smile on her face as the Firewhiskey helped numb the pounding in her head, "Have a drink."

She held out the bottle towards Percy, who looked at it as though it were some sort of foreign object.

"It won't hurt you." Wren softened her smile, "Promise."

Percy took the bottle tentatively, ignoring Milo's giggles as he took the smallest sip of the bright orange liquid. The boy winced and moments later started violently coughing.

"You said it wouldn't hurt!" Percy moaned between his coughs, "It burns!"

Wren and Milo giggled at the Weasley boy as he shook his head, trying to rid himself of the horrible aftertaste that the Firewhiskey had left in his mouth.

The two boys watched as Wren skipped away, throwing herself onto the red, leather sofa with her legs dangling over the edge and the Firewhiskey held high as to not spill it. Her head rested in the lap of Penelope Clearwater, who welcomed the girl without even a second thought.

Milo looked to the red head beside him, his eyes soft as he took in Percy Weasley. He had always admired him - the sharpness of his jawline, the way his tousled hair fell over the pale skin of his forehead and the crooked lilt of his awkward smile. He looked at him, only to see that Percy was staring longingly elsewhere.

Milo wasn't blind. He noticed the way he looked at Wren - as if she were the best thing to ever walk the Earth. He wished that Percy could see what was standing right beside him, and stop pining over someone who barely even noticed him. Percy was too gentle for Wren, too kind. And, after recent events, way too young.

"How about truth or dare?" Oliver Wood asked through sips of his drink.

Penelope's shrill voice cut through the air, "No, because you always choose really unfair dares!"

"Lighten up, Pen!" Milo groaned as he sat himself cross-legged on the floor, his back up against the soft leather of the sofa where Wren was sitting.

"Ok Milo," Oliver encouraged, a grin forming on his lips, "Truth or dare?"

"Dare." The blonde hair boy smiled back, shooting Penelope a look over his shoulder as if to say, 'Watch this.'

"Alright. I dare you.." Oliver started, "To take two straight shots of tequila."

Wren giggled, looking at Milo over the top of Penelope's knee. She knew how much her friend hated tequila, and she also knew how he struggled to say no to the slightest of influences.

Penelope scoffed, "That's an easy dare!"

Wren looked up at Penelope from where she was lying in her lap, "Not for Milo."

She jumped up from the burgundy leather sofa, ignoring Milo's protests as she poured him two shot glasses of tequila, the liquid nearly spilling over the rim. She handed them to her friend with a grin on her face, who simply looked at the shots in distaste.

Wren was sure someone had put some sort of curse on Milo when he was a child that made it impossible for him to refuse a single drop of alcohol. She couldn't help but mimic the wince that graced his face as he took the shots back to back, without even a break for fresh air.

"Argh!" Milo groaned, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed. Penelope was still sitting on the sofa, her legs now crossed underneath her and her arms tightly held over her chest. Her lips were set in an irritated pout.

"Like that's hard." She grumbled, shooting Oliver Wood glares from the corner of her eye, "So unfair."

"Alright then, Penelope!" Oliver stuck his hands up in mock surrender, "I'll give harder dares."

Milo stole Wren's place, crossing one leg over the other as he leant back against the burgundy leather. Wren positioned herself on the arm of the chair beside him, her hair neatly parted over one shoulder.

"Uhhh, Percy." Oliver started, "Truth or dare?"

The usual pale and freckled cheeks of Percy Weasly immediately reddened, his entire face now painted a scarlet hue.

"Dare." The boy half-whispered, a rather meek smile playing on his lips.

"I dare you to kiss the person you're into the most." Oliver quirked his brow, watching as the discomfort washed over his red-haired friend.

"Uh.." Percy stuttered, "Do I have to?"

Penelope could see that Oliver was second guessing himself, obviously feeling guilty for succumbing Percy's awkward demeanour to such a demanding dare.

"Yes, Percy!" She cut in, "It's a game."

Oliver gave his friend a small smile as if apologising, watching as he slowly stood from the armchair he had earlier claimed.

Percy began walking in the direction of Milo. Wren could have sworn she saw the muscles in Milo's jaw flex, as he straightened out his shoulders and looked at Percy expectantly.

To Milo's disappointment and to Wren's surprise however, Percy stopped in front of Wren. His hand found the back of her neck as his lips crashed against hers, awkwardly devouring Wren's mouth in his own.

It felt strange to have Percy kissing her, but also sort of comforting. She noted the soft scent of firewood as she stood up to meet him, leaning into the kiss rather than backing away.

She wasn't sure what had suddenly possessed her, as she placed a tentative hand against the soft knit cotton of Percy's sweater. A part of her was screaming to pull away, her brain hyper aware of Milo sitting beside them, most likely heartbroken. Perhaps she thought that in some twisted way, she was making Remus jealous. Just because he didn't want her, doesn't mean that nobody else did.

No matter how much she willed herself to stop, she just couldn't. Her mind seemed to be elsewhere, imagaining it was Remus's hand gripping the back of her neck, the comforting scent of patchouli and parchment instead of the almost nauseating smell of firewood. When she opened her eyes as Percy pulled away, for a split second she was sure it was Remus standing before her, a mess of mousy brown hair and chocolate eyes.

She felt almost deflated as she succumbed to her reality, glancing around at the shocked eyes of her friends, the hurt look on Milo's face. Wren shot him an apologetic look, but the boy just shook his blonde curls, refusing to look at Wren any longer than he needed to.

"Holy shit." Penelope quipped.

"Milo." Wren whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder. But he simply shrugged her off, not daring to look her way.

Her brows furrowed in minor confusion; It was a dare, why was he getting so caught up in a simple game? As the night continued, Milo refused to even acknowledge Wren's presence, swiftly shutting his dorm room door in her face before she could call after him.

She mentally cursed herself, running a frantic hand through the roots of her curled hair. Wren found herself pacing up and down the hallway outside the boy's dorm rooms, feeling as though she had just majorly fucked up.

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