Sometimes, I can't understand you.

The way you can still manage to laugh, and enjoy yourself, the way you can read Harry's every mood, the way you still carry a burning desire about yourself – a desire that Azkaban could never quench.

In those respects, you remain as unfathomable to me as you were on the first day I met you.

Other times, I can read you like a book. I know that tiny crinkle in your chin means you're close to crying, and it's best to wrap you in my arms so you can soak my shirt with tears. I know that on the days you ignore me, that night you'll creep into my room, my bed. And I know that we'll never be as close as we were – no matter how many times you say you've changed for the best; matured, we'll never be like we were then.

When I walk away from you, I see fear in your eyes – a fear that eats you up inside. That I won't return. Missions from the Order are always greeted with anxiety - you don't like me being whisked away from Headquarters. From you.

You force me into places I don't want to be. I don't want to be depended on, and I don't want to have to depend on you like I used to.

The transformations into the wolf reduced me to shards without you and James. Numerous times, I was on the verge of death, and it was James' voice that called me back. Your eyes would gleam at me from shadows, and I'd be reminded of the love we once had.

If you were to leave me again… I would be better off dead. I wouldn't be able to come back from that. So, I've tried to stop myself loving you, as hard as it is.

But I don't think what we have now is love. I'm not sure, either, when you started fucking me. I can barely tell the difference from when you used to slip into my bed back in Hogwarts, and now, when your body presses up against mine in Grimmauld Place, but I know there is a difference, and that there's a pain in my stomach that won't go away.

We've switched places. I used to be the one who needed your touch, your reassurance that I was perfect, wanted. Now, you're the one who needs me.

You need me to be the company you've missed for twelve years. The years they stole from you, you make up with me.

And I know, deep down, that the day they stole you, they stole a part of me that can never be replaced, or mended. I know that we'll never be the same.