Remus Lupin:

Remus has never liked James and Sirius’ penchant for bullying. It strikes him as hypocritical that they’d be so compelled to target the eccentricities in other people while uplifting him for his. It makes him wonder if they’d do the same to him were he not their friend, if a falling out would have them shoving his face into the metaphorical piss-sodden ground. It makes him viscerally uncomfortable, especially when it comes to Snape. She’s just as much a girl as any other and while he wouldn’t begrudge them for flipping her skirt, physical violence and sexual harassment seems a bit much. He doesn’t like it.

Sirius and James bump shoulders as they walk away, a laugh on their lips and blood on their knuckles. Remus lingers just out of reach and shakes his head when they call out to him. “I’ll see you later,” he says, making as if he’s heading off in the opposite direction. He feels their eyes on his back as he turns the corner, waits with his back pressed against the wall until they’re out of sight. Only then does he count his steps back to Snape. Her hooked nose is bleeding profusely, but the bridge is straight in a way that suggests she’s already used an episkey.

“Let me help you up,” Remus says, reaching down to snag her wrist. He doesn’t wait for permission, but instead pulls her to her feet whether she’s ready or not. He keeps an eye on the students passing by, paranoia an unraveling thread that he’s illprepared to lose track of. “Do you need the medical wing?” he asks even though it doesn’t look like she does. She’s strong enough for him to admire that in her, even though her stubbornness is just as bad as Sirius’.

* * *

Snape’s flinch sees Remus’ stomach curdling, anxiety intermixing with guilt. It crashes over him in a wave, coating his skin in a thin film of upset that he can’t shake. Snape’s as pleasant as she always is, which is to say not at all, but that doesn’t bother Remus. It doesn’t rile him up the way it does James and Sirius, but instead makes him quieter, more concerned. He’s silent as he looks her over, waving a wand that’s abruptly in his hand to rid her of the blood staining her robes.

“Don’t let James and Sirius get to you. They’re self-centered twats,” Remus murmurs lowly, worried he’ll be overheard. He steps closer, faintly into her personal space, and stows his wand in its holster on his arm. Snape’s always hostile when he sees her, wary in a way that says more than it should. Remus wonders if she ever lets her guard down, if there’s anyone she feels comfortable around. He thinks of his home life, and he wonders about hers, how similar they are.

"I'm not — I mean, I don't do that," Remus says. He sits in his glass house and refuses to throw rocks lest they knock down the home he's built for himself. The very idea of acting like James and Sirius does is distinctly revolting and makes him sick to his stomach. Remus wraps a hand around his own as he stands there, feels like he's been judged and found wanting, but refuses to move on.

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