Disclaimer: You're probably expecting something witty and smart. But since I'm not that clever, here you go: I'm not J.K. Rowling. As this is fanfiction, anything you recognize is not mine.

Warnings: If this really is a warning, I suppose I should mention that there is slash (male/male). Nothing excessive, but still there, so if that's not your thing, click the "back" arrow. Also, there is a tiny bit of swearing, and uncharacteristically petulant/insolent Remus.

I Trust You

By Finnity

"I'd really prefer if he not come, Remus. You've only just gotten back from school…"

Actually, Remus corrected in his head, I've been back for ten days- nine more than enough, in his opinion. It wasn't that he disliked being with his family. He loved them very much. They were so close that he could be gone for years, come home, and fall right into any conversation without missing a beat…

"…And you've been there so long! Your father and I would just like a little more time with you," his mother pleaded.

There was no awkwardness among the Lupin family. They were nothing like the Pettigrews who smother their boy with hugs and kisses and we-love-you's. Or the Potters who are "so proud" of their son that they need a three-week vacation at the start of every summer to "celebrate" and "catch up."

Which is why Remus finds his mother's argument so unreasonable. The Lupin family didn't need more time together. They were the same now as they were on platform 9 and ¾: close, happy, a family. What would time change?

"…I've been back for over a week," he pointed out, finally.

"We miss you, is all."

"You missed me?" Remus asked, doubtfully. His mother nodded. "You and Dad just want to spend more time with me, is that it?" Nod. "To do something special, I presume. I've been back this long and we haven't done anything we don't normally do-"

"Remus…"

"Oh Mom, that's not what I meant," he sighed. He couldn't tell which was worse, listening to the hurt in her voice or seeing her injured eyes. "That's the best part about our family," he smiled, "we don't have to do the whole catching up and smothering, most of which is contrived anyhow, to know how much we've truly missed each other. You spent enough time with me as any normal parent should- and I wholeheartedly thank you for that." He smiled at his mother and she smiled despite herself.

"I know you and Dad missed me," he said genuinely, "and I missed you too." He paused. "But Sirius- he doesn't have any of that with his parents… James is gone…And Peter's, well, Peter's Peter, and his parents wouldn't be able to handle Sirius anyway- not that he's a handful!" he quickly amended. "Not too bad, anyway. You could handle him," he added with a wink he hoped would distract his mother from his previous slip-up. She smiled for a second before her face became uncertain again.

Remus looked pleadingly at his mother. She closed her eyes and sighed, and Remus almost thought he'd won. "Remus…" And he knew just from that tone- that strained voice that just resounded "Remus, I'm not trying to be difficult here; I am your mother, please, just listen to me" with only two syllables.

"I'm going upstairs," he stated coldly and didn't wait for a reply before tearing up the stairs, irritably.

Deciding to take his frustration out on the furniture, he kicked open his door, slammed it shut, and kicked his bedpost for good measure. He threw himself across the sheets of his bed. Lying there with his face in the pillows, he realized he didn't even know why he was so angry. So his parents wanted to spend some time with him; he should feel loved. After all, Sirius…

But that's why he's so angry. Sirius is stuck with his hateful family while Remus takes for granted his family's love. And given a chance to rescue him from "the Noble and Most Ancient" House of Heartless, Pompous Jackasses, he felt it his obligation to do so. And his mother denying it simply because she "missed him"…

Well, that was another thing; Remus was sure that wasn't the real reason. In fact, he was damn near certain. Well, it didn't matter what the reason was, he knew he would wear them down. He'd spent 6 hours rereading his History of Magic notes the day after a transformation; he had nothing if not determination and perseverance. He would win them over yet.

And, in fact, he did. It hadn't taken much. All he really had to do was a couple sad-eyes and "but Dad, he's my best mate," with heavy inflection on the "who also loves Quidditch and the Falmouth Falcons" and he'd sold his father. His mother was easier to sway than she'd like to think. As an adamant pacifist, she disapproved of the violent tendencies of the Falmouth Falcons, and as a proud Irish girl, she had only eyes for the Kenmare Kestrels. But Quidditch was not the way to Mrs. Lupin's heart, no. All Remus had to do was harp on Sirius's dismal home life, his lack of familial affection, the horrible Black influence he would be subjected to if he wasn't rescued, and all else to feed her guilty conscience.

Delphina Lupin was too philanthropic to ever truly win a battle such as this. What a weakness, caring too much. Not to say his father wasn't compassionate, or Remus, for that matter. They cared, but they were too wrapped up in their own preoccupations to be bothered; Eldon Lupin with his Quidditch obsession, and Remus with his addiction to books.

Remus drummed his fingers idly against his mother's favorite floral-patterned tablecloth. He was situated at the family's kitchen table, his head lying in the crook of his elbow, staring at the clock while trying to appear as if he weren't. Sirius had owled him, saying he would arrive around noon on Sunday; it was twenty to 12.

"Remus, dear." His mother was washing dishes at the sink. She had her back to him as she spoke. Remus justified that if she wasn't looking at him, then he wasn't obligated to look at her. He hummed in acknowledgement, moving his eyes, instead, to the pattering of his fingers.

"Remus," she repeated, "I know you think I dislike Sirius. Nothing could be farther from the truth. He's like a son to me."

Remus scoffed before his normally-functioning reason could prevent him. He cringed before his mother even turned around. When she did, a reproachful crease in her brow, Remus offered an apologetic half-smile in return. She was not appeased.

"Don't you scoff at your mother," she reprimanded, swinging her dishtowel at him, showering him with rogue water droplets. This seemed to ease her mood a bit, as her lips twitched when he blinked rapidly and shook the water from his face like a dog.

"Sorry," Remus muttered, just in case.

"Listen," she began, with a sigh.

"No, Mom, it's okay," he assured her, straightening himself against his chair. "Really." She glanced at him, doubtfully. "Sirius is coming over, and that's enough for me."

"Not for me, Remus," she pulled out the chair across from him and sat herself in it, tiredly. "I'll not have you thinking me a horrid mother who doesn't like your friend. That is not why I was averse to having him. As I said earlier, Remus, I love him dearly."

"Forgive me, Mother," Remus requested, sincerely, "but if that's true, what is the real reason you didn't want him coming over? If you love him, the best thing to do would be to get him from his horrible family as soon as possible, right? Unless," a thought just occurred to him, "unless it's because he's a Black? But then, you've never seemed to care before…But it must be about Sirius, personally. What other reason could there be?"

His mother laughed oddly. "Don't be ridiculous, Remus!"

"Dad doesn't have a problem with his coming over. He likes Sirius. What is it about him that you don't like?"

"Don't make me out to be the bad guy here, Remus! There are things I know that your father does not!" She slapped a hand over her mouth, hoping, futilely, that it could distract Remus from her last statement.

"That's why?!"

"No, no, no!"

"You said you didn't care!"

"I don't! Oh, Remus, that's not what I meant at all!"

"I can't believe… I told you that in confidence!"

"And I haven't told a soul!"

"You told me there was nothing wrong with it- nothing wrong with him; was that a lie?"

"You know I would never lie to you. You asked for an honest answer and I gave it to you. Listen," she reached for his hand, but he withdrew from the tabletop, swiftly. "Listen to me: homosexuality occurs, yes, and there are people who will judge; they will tell you it is wrong. There will always be those people. However, do not accuse me of being one of them."

Remus tangled his hands in his hair, groaning. "I am so confused. I thought mothers were supposed to simplify things for you, not complicate them. Does Sirius's sexuality have anything to do with your reluctance to have him over or not?"

"No!" his mother cried, frantically. "I worry about you; that's all."

"What does this have to do with me?" Remus asked, genuinely bewildered. "You do realize it's not contagious? It's not the bubonic plague."

"Don't you patronize me, young man!" Remus cringed. She never called him "young man." She'd never had to; not since his cookie-jar thieving days. "I am not a school mate; I am your mother. And don't think that since I've already given my permission for Sirius to come over, that means I can't take it away. I have half a mind to floo the Blacks and cancel right now."

After the chastising, Remus hung his head and apologized, legitimately penitent, "I'm sorry."

He'd let his emotions get the better of him and acted like a child. And that wasn't helping Sirius any. He'd already gotten what he wanted; why did he have to muck it up by being meddlesome. He'd blame it on the impending moon, but that had occurred several days previously, and that excuse had ceased to mollify his mother years ago.

"Listen," his mother interrupted his self-reprimand, making sure their eyes were connected before continuing. "I support Sirius fully and love him like a son. No, I don't care that he's gay, but other people are going to. That's a heavy burden for such a young boy to carry. I don't want another load placed on my son's shoulders. Not another thing for people to judge."

"…we're not talking about Sirius, are we?" This was about him. Him and his being a werewolf. But what other burden? She couldn't possibly…?

"I would want him to be honest with me, to share his trust and his load, so that he doesn't have to bear the burden alone." She looked near tears at this point.

Remus had only ever seen his mother cry once. He's not even sure it's a real memory, and not one he'd fabricated to fill in the gaps of his childhood, but it was the night he'd been bitten. Both she and his father had cried that night.

"Mom," he reached for her hand across the tabletop and squeezed, pushing away his discomfort with the current topic, "you have nothing to worry about with me. Honestly. I would have told you."

His mother looked up through glistening eyes and smiled. "Promise, dear?"

Remus smiled back, "of course. The second anything important occurs in my life, you'll be the first I tell," he promised, "but for the moment, there's nothing to tell." He couldn't believe she actually thought there was…

His mother reached across the table, pulling Remus to her bosom in a firm maternal hug. They remained that way for a minute before Remus's father interrupted.

"Remus," he called from the doorway, "your friend is here."

"My mother thinks I'm gay."

Both boys were ensconced on Remus's bed an hour later, after lunch and much contrived conversation on his mother's part. Sirius and Mr. Lupin had almost had a discussion about the last match between the Falmouth Falcons and the Holyhead Harpies before Mrs. Lupin inserted herself into the exchange to denounce the Falcons and flaunt her feminist ideals by supporting the Harpies, and thereby converting the dialogue into a lecture. When they'd finally escaped, the boys ran up to Remus's room to catch up on the two weeks missed.

They'd been discussing their summers so far. Sirius described his boring, insult-filled days with his parents, claiming both homicidal and suicidal thoughts, in jest, of course. Remus had, in turn, and quite without forethought, blurted out his parental plight. Sirius bounced slightly on the bed, suddenly interested.

"She told you that?" Sirius asked, seeming very honestly astounded by the revelation. "I never thought she'd have the…"

"Gall?"

"Balls."

"Ah…bad image."

"Heh, but funny."

"Not in the least."

"It is."

"Your mom. Balls. Picture."

"…not on. That is not on, Moony," Sirius reprimanded, with a mocking wag of his forefinger.

"My point is made, then." Remus offered a superior jut of his chin in return.

Sirius laughed lightly and laid his body back on Remus bed. "So, why did your mother say that to you?"

"We're back to that, eh?" Remus sat at the end on his bed, beside Sirius's dangling legs.

"Well, what even brought it up?"

"You," he said, simply.

"You were talking about me?"

"Er, she knows," Remus said, apologetically.

Sirius sat up, suddenly. "She knows?" he echoed.

Without looking neither directly at nor vaguely in the direction of Sirius, Remus explained, "It was a little while after you told me. I didn't want to write about it in a letter, so I waited until Easter holiday. I asked her what that meant for you, what it meant for us- the marauders. I'm sorry." He turned his head to assess Sirius's reaction. Sirius was knocking his boots together. He looked up just as Remus turned away.

"It's okay," he said, finally. "I never said it was a secret or anything."

"It should have been assumed. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," he assured. "Seriously." He smirked. "Sirius-ly fine."

Remus nudged Sirius's upper arm with his own. "That's 'Sirius-ly' old."

They laughed, then lapsed into a brief, contemplative silence. Remus watched Sirius's boots bumping against one another. Back and forth. Forth and back. Their gentle thuds were the sole noise until Sirius broke the semi-silence.

"What did she say, your Mom?"

"Hmm?" Remus questioned, distracted by the thump-thumping of those boots.

"You said you asked your mom about what it meant, my being…"

"Mm…yeah, I did. Could you just-?" he reached out and stilled Sirius's leather-clad feet. "Ah, right. Sorry. Distracting," he explained.

"So…? Did she say anything, your mom, I mean?"

"Er, yeah," he answered, "yeah, she did. Explain things, that is."

"Well?" Sirius prompted after a moment of silence. "Can you tell me? Or is it personal- because that's alright, you know, if you don't want to tell me. I'm just curious, is all. My mum…I have nobody's opinion but my own to go on right now. It'd be a bit of alright to, to have some one else's, er, perspective, I guess. And I'm rambling, sorry."

Remus laughed and leaned into his shoulder. "You're not. I can tell you." Sirius looked up from his currently stationary boots. Remus could sense his gaze, intent and curious, from the corner of his eye. "She explained to me that you were still you; it didn't matter who you fancied, boy, girl, or both- she had a friend, once; dated boys and girls, and she still had trouble finding dates. I don't know how it's possible not to find someone when you're sexually indiscriminate, but anyway. Now I'm rambling."

He glanced at Sirius, who smiled and nodded slightly to indicate that he should continue. "Well, she said you'd be the same old Sirius, except that you'd be chasing boys instead of girls. Then she asked me how I felt about that…."

"…and?" Sirius asked, carefully.

"…and I said, I said I felt a little strange, I guess."

"Why?"

"That's what she asked me. I was confused. I was fifteen and just found out one of my best mates is gay."

"We're still fifteen," Sirius pointed out.

"I suppose it wasn't just about you being gay," Remus tried to explain, "that didn't- doesn't- bother me. I was just shocked that Sirius Black, God's gift to girls and envy of boys everywhere," at this Sirius laughed and tossed his hair, modestly, and Remus continued, chortling, "it confused me that someone that incredibly lucky would actually prefer boys. All those girls throwing themselves at you, and none of them has a chance. It's ironic."

"A bit. Don't think I haven't pondered the same things."

"I know, Sirius." He sighed. "This conversation sure has turned; it started about me, and now it's all about you. You, and my mom."

"I'm so sorry you had to find out this way, Remus, dear. But you must understand, when two people love each other-"

"Oh, God, Padfoot, no," he groaned and scrunched up his nose as if there were something foul-smelling beneath it. "Just, don't." Sirius laughed, wickedly, and arched an eyebrow, suggestively. "You know, if I didn't know about you, I just might believe that you'd actually hit on my mom."

"Who says I didn't?" he smiled, beguilingly.

"You can't do that anymore. You're gay."

"And according to your mother, so are you," he pointed out.

"Shows how much she knows. Doesn't even know her own son. Honestly."

"Ah, another mother wrongfully accuses her son of being gay; there's an epidemic, I hear."

"Is there? And here I thought I was special."

There was another small silence.

"So why did your mom think you were a fellow shirt lifter?"

Remus gave him a look for the "shirt lifter" comment, before answering, "Let's not talk about me, shall we? The weather's nice."

"Evasive as ever, Moony. Fine, let's continue talking about me."

"Yes, let's."

"Okay, but can you appear as a minor character in this conversation?"

"A very minor character, sure."

"Do you still feel strange?"

"Pardon?"

"About me? Do I make you feel strange? Can you not be comfortable around me anymore?" There were those boots again. Thumping away.

"No- I mean, 'no' as in I don't feel strange. Yes, I feel comfortable. Would you stop that?" Once again, he reached out to quiet his friend's shoes.

"Are you sure?" Sirius asked, oblivious to both Remus's irritation and his own anxious foot-tapping habit. "I don't want our friendship to be strained because of this." Sirius was being earnest; a feat Sirius seldom manages.

"It won't be," Remus promised.

"If there's anything I need to do-"

"There isn't."

"I will do it."

"I know, Sirius. There's nothing wrong."

Remus stretched back against his bed. Sirius followed. For a while, they both just laid there, side-by-side.

"Prongs was okay from the beginning," began Sirius, "Peter was a little off, skittish and whatnot, like I was going to jump him at any moment," he snorted, "as if. But eventually he came around, as best he could, anyway, after a lovely chat with our dear Prongs."

Remus knew where he was going with this, but lacked the will to interrupt his friend when he was speaking his thoughts so openly to him.

"You were like Peter, Moony, to a lesser degree. But it hurt more coming from you."

He knew Sirius was trying to catch his gaze when he heard the faint rustle of sheets that meant that he had turned his head in Remus's direction, but he couldn't bring himself to meet his gaze. So he stared resolutely ahead. His ceiling was a different shade of white than his wall. Odd.

"It's not contagious, you know."

Remus blinked rapidly. Having his own words directed at him was unsettling. He was a filthy hypocrite, he knew it, and it made him sick to his stomach. "I know," he said, simply.

"I'm still the same Sirius," Sirius told him, quietly, "just so you know, I've always been gay. So there's really no difference between now and before, besides the fact that now you know about it."

"I know, Sirius," he sat up, quickly, exasperated. He was starting to feel like his mother. Was this how she'd felt when Remus had interrogated her? Sirius, probably sensing Remus's frustration and need to gather his thoughts, did not follow his movement. That, or he was just too lazy to drag his body to an upright position. "What more do you want from me?" Remus cried, "I told you I'm sorry. What more do you want?"

"You don't want to hear what I want," Sirius muttered. Remus turned his head around to stare back at him, to see if there was a joking smile or suggestive wink; there was neither. All he could see was Sirius's mouth and part of his nose; he'd draped an arm across his eyes.

He knew Sirius was right; he didn't want to hear it. He didn't know what Sirius wanted, and he didn't want to. And even if he did know, or sense, really, he certainly wouldn't want Sirius to say it, out loud, in front of Remus, and expect a response in return. No, no; Remus lacked the tact for this line of conversation. He searched for a safe subject conversion, but his brain was in hibernation mode, apparently. He did all he could do; he remained silent.

Sirius gauging that he wasn't getting a response, gave a audible sigh and sat up. "Can I ask you a question?" he asked, after several moments of awkward silence.

No, Remus's head screamed. No, no, no. "Sure," he mouth said, against his will.

"Can you promise me things won't get weirder than they already are?"

Remus perked up. Was that the question? That was an easy one. Yes. Yes!

"Yes," he answered.

"How would you feel if I did fancy a Marauder?" he asked. "What would you do?"

That was a tough one, he had to admit. That's not to say he hasn't thought about it. He has. A lot. It's what worried him. It's what worries his mother.

"I've thought about it," he says, plainly. "I wondered how it might affect the Marauders…"

"And would it?"

"That's not up to me, Sirius," Remus explained. "Though I'd like to think the Marauders can withstand anything. Time, space, girls, boys, even each other."

"You're deliberately not answering the question," Sirius accused.

"And here I thought you knew me well enough to respect that, and adhere to my wishes without protestation."

Sirius gave him a look that said he was being serious.

Remus turned away and ducked his head. "I'd thought about it. Prongs seemed your type. In fact, if James wasn't so obviously in love with Lily (thus certifying his straightness), I might think you and he had a thing going." He laughed, though it was true. They would have been perfect; they were almost two manifestations of the same person.

Sirius responded, his voice strained as if he were grimacing, "Eww, Moony. It'd almost be like dating myself."

"Oh, don't pretend that isn't your life-long fantasy come true," Remus teased.

"We're like brothers, Moony. What you're suggesting is very near incest." He shuddered and Remus felt it through the low, tremulous creaking of the bed. "Anyway," he continued, "Prongs isn't my type."

"Oh yeah?" he wanted to ask, "then who is?" but he had a funny feeling in his stomach, like one might get after eating a poisonous berry; you remember the taste and the hours of vomiting, and you just know never to go near the berries again. This aversion was not to taste, however, or even Sirius, but to this line of conversation. His stomach was telling him, stay away. Bad, baaad.

So he hummed instead.

"You're nervous," Sirius observed. Remus hates it when he does that; any normal person might have noticed, but been polite enough not to mention it. Not Sirius, though. He'll point it out: you look nervous. You're blushing. You're drooling, mate.

"I'm not," Remus protested, "why would I be?"

Sirius ignored his tetchy tone. "You know more than you're letting on," he said in that cryptic way of his.

Remus turned his head to look back at him again, tilting his head to the side to peer down at him. "You're being deliberately vague."

"And you are being deliberately evasive, as per usual. What's more, I'm pretty sure I'm winning," he grinned and, pulling his right leg up so that it was bent at the knee, leaned his limb lazily against Remus's side.

"Winning? I wasn't aware there was a contest," Remus quipped, surreptitiously shooting Sirius's leg odd glances, while unconsciously leaning away from the touch.

"Do I make you nervous, Moony?"

"No," he answered, automatically.

"Really?" Sirius seemed skeptical. "Funny how you can say that while you continue to shy away from me."

"I'm not," he retorted, shifting to face Sirius properly, to prove his words true. He even maintained eye contact for a good twenty seconds before averting his gaze. Sirius was laid back the blankets with his arms behind his head and his hair splayed about his face in a display of his boundless, effortless grace.

"I'm not doing it on purpose, you know," he talked quietly at the comforter.

"Doesn't make it any less hurtful," was Sirius's retort, "sorry."

"It's not even about you anymore. Maybe it never was…" he managed after a moment of quiet. "My mother's made me think, you know? She planted the seed of doubt and it's growing like mad."

"I don't know what she's been feeding your mind, Moony, to have it grow 'like mad' -and this is a really bad metaphor- but may I propose a solution? You can oppose, vehemently, of course, but keep in mind my feelings, alright?"

"Er…"

"How about I just do it, so you don't have time to think? Because God knows how self-destructive that is with you…" Still no articulate response. He sighed. "Listen, if I do something drastic, do you promise you won't punch me? Or worse, get all silent and avoid-y, as you're wont to do?"

Remus inhaled deeply, silently contemplating his options. What was Sirius planning on doing? What if he took advantage? Or teased him? Or… Would Sirius really do something like that?

"I trust you," he conceded. "I promise. Go ahead," he commanded, closing his eyes and steeling himself.

"Okay, I'm just going to… barely anything, I promise," and then there was the sound of rustling sheets and Sirius placing himself on his knees, followed by an uncertain hand on his shoulder before the warmth withdrew itself, only to return a second later, like a frightened child testing the waters before plunging in.

There was a light press of lips, so brief Remus wasn't even sure if it classified as a kiss at all. He cracked an eye open, then the other, once the comforting warmth of shared body heat had vanished.

"That's it?" Remus asked, disbelievingly.

"I thought you'd shove me or something!" Sirius defended, his face a slight puce color. If Remus didn't know better, he'd think Sirius was blushing.

"Then why do it?" he questioned, curiously. "Not just to help me?"

"No, for, for me, too. I didn't want to go on through life without knowing…" Remus couldn't believe it! Sirius actually looked…shy!

"…do you know?" he ventured, speaking softly.

"Do you?" Sirius countered, looking up through the black fringe framing his face.

Remus blushed. "Er, no, actually….You?"

Sirius exhaled, throwing himself backwards again. "Yes and no."

"Um, okay."

The silence was resounding, and certainly not a comfortable one. Suddenly hands shot out of nowhere to grab hold of either side of Remus's face. Nowhere must have been Sirius because when his vision finally cleared, Remus found himself staring into a mess of grey and black and freckles that took the shape of his best friend, before his lips touched something warm- another set of lips- and grey disappeared, transforming into more freckles and fluttering lids. Remus felt some unknown force tugging at his own eyelids. He gave in willingly. His hands must have also moved on their own, for they were currently wound in the softest, silkiest thing to ever grace his touch receptors. He continued his perusal of Sirius's scalp, as Sirius ghosted fingers across his jaw, his neck, his shoulder. When something squirmy forced its way past Remus's lips and into his mouth, his own tongue squirmed back, and he gave a surprised, happy little squeak. Remus was beginning to think he was being maneuvered by a puppeteer. Surely he hadn't told his body to do all those things; he certainly didn't remember mandating them. He tugged at Sirius's hair just to show himself that he was, in fact, in control.

"Oh…shit!" Remus pulled back, gasping for air.

Sirius pushed his hair out of his eyes, also panting. "That bad?" Sirius asked with a light, breathless laugh, but his voice had a tentative lilt to it, giving him away.

"No, no," Remus answered, distractedly. "It was great. I liked it. A lot. Dammit, I liked it a lot." He tugged contemplatively at his hair, missing Sirius's sweet smile. "Great… Just wait right here, I'll be right back. Don't you move."

"I'll be right here," Sirius agreed, pensively. "Not a muscle moved." He sprawled himself across Remus's bed in satisfaction.

Delphina Lupin was lying on atop her comforter, enjoying a particularly enticing murder mystery novel. She turned the page and looked up, startled, when the bedroom door opened, accompanied by an hesitant knock.

Remus passed the threshold, uncertainly. "I…oh, you're busy," he noticed her opened book, "I'll come back later."

"No, sweetie, come back. Whatever you need to tell me, know that I always have time to listen. Go ahead," she insisted.

When he only remained silently leaning against the door, hand wound tightly around the doorknob, she patted the duvet in front of her in invitation. Remus stalked over and sat down, stiffly.

"Is something the matter?" his mother queried, in an attempt to coax a response from her son, whose silence, by now, was beginning to worry her.

"I'm not really sure how to say this," Remus muttered, quietly. "It's going to be really embarrassing after…well, our previous conversation, and I denied it. I said I wasn't, but I think I am. You want me to trust you, and I do, so I should tell you. I was going to straight away, but I can't seem to stop talking long enough to. This is really awkward…" Remus was rambling, almost as if he were thinking aloud. "Okay, I'll just-" he paused, taking a deep breath, "Itrustyou," he mumbled, staring intently at the bed.

"I'm sorry, Remus, I didn't catch that," she sounded incredibly sorry, sensing how hard it was for him to say it the first time and truly repentant for making him repeat it.

He looked up. "I trust you," he said slowly, enunciating each word to make her understand what he meant to say, wanted to say, without having to say it.

She looked bemused, at first, before understanding unfurrowed her brow. "Oh Remus."

She didn't say "I knew it!" or "I told you so," or even "I'm so sorry," for which Remus was inordinately grateful; she merely hugged him with as much love and comfort only a mother could convey through touch, and murmuring into his hair, "Thank you. I love you, sweetheart, always. Thanks for trusting me with this."

The End

A/N: Any feedback would be lovely. So go ahead, you know you want to D