Chapter Text
“Yes. Yes, I understand. Thank you.”
Remus ends the call, letting his phone slip from his hand. It hits the floor with a dull thud as he buries his face into his pillow and releases a sound that is meant to be a sigh but comes out closer to a scream.
“What’s wrong?” Lily barrels into his room, red hair twisted into a messy knot atop her head. Her bright green eyes sweep over him in a quick assessment—checking for blood, broken bones, emotional strife. Ever the best friend.
“Fired.” He slumps back against his pillows, blinking hard against the sting in his eyes. Only two days past the full moon, and his body still feels wrung out—overexerted, raw, emotions sitting far too close to the surface. “How am I supposed to pay my share of the rent?”
“Rems.” Lily crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed, resting a hand on his leg. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.” She nudges him with her hip. “Now budge over.”
He shifts automatically, and she climbs into bed beside him with the unspoken understanding that he does not want to be alone with his thoughts right now. She pulls him under her arm and drags him half across her chest. Remus has nearly a foot on her in height, so the image is objectively ridiculous—but it’s also extremely comforting. He breathes in her scent—vanilla, honey, and lavender—it’s like it was specially created for calming him down.
He hears the telly click on as sleep drags him under.
“Now for the Sporting Group,” an announcer calls brightly from the telly.
Remus surfaces slowly, blinking at the screen. A sleek line of dogs trots across a carpeted floor, each person beside them holding the leash, gliding with effortless grace.
“I could do that,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep.
Lily snorts above him. “I doubt Moony would make a very good show dog.”
He tilts his head back to fix her with an unimpressed stare. “Not my werewolf, you bully. Me. As the person walking the dogs.”
“A handler, you mean?”
“Sure.” He shrugs. “The one holding the leash. Dogs love me. Maybe because they can sense Moony, but I’ve always gotten on well with them,” he insists, watching as one golden retriever pauses perfectly on command, tail still, gaze forward.
Over the next few days, the half-asleep remark refuses to leave his brain. It rattles around insistently, gaining shape, convincing him that it’s an actually good idea.
“Think about it, Lil’ Red,” he says over breakfast.
She smirks immediately at the nickname, glancing up from her tea at her werewolf best friend. “I’m thinking. Continue.”
“The shows are during the day. I could plan which ones I do around the moon.”
Her expression softens, the smirk fading into something more thoughtful. “I had a feeling this was becoming a real thing for you, so I did some poking around on the interwebs—”
“You Googled,” Remus interrupts dryly.
“Yes, I Googled. But that doesn’t sound nearly as fun, does it? Do you want to know what I found or not?”
“Alright then. What’d the interwebs tell you?” he says with a wry smile.
She shoots him a look but can’t quite hide her excitement. “There’s an open call in three days—for dogs looking for handlers and for handlers looking for dogs,” she says, smiling wide and bright.
Remus’ eyes widen. It’s truly a sign that this is meant to be his career.
He scrambles out of his chair, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste, and cups Lily’s face to plant an exaggerated kiss on her cheek.
She giggles wonderfully. “Alright, you flirt, let’s figure out what you’re going to wear.”
Three days later, Remus stands at the Prince Regent tube stop, minding the gap and trying not to fidget in his cobbled-together outfit.
The tan slacks are from several jobs ago—his brief nine-day stint as a front desk receptionist at a massage therapist’s office. He’d quit immediately after booking himself an offered “staff discount” massage and discovering, mid-session, that apparently he’d been selling a very different form of massage than he'd been led to believe.
The trousers fit more snugly now, pulling awkwardly at the front and stretching a bit too tightly across the seat.
The button-down is Lily’s. Somehow.
“Boyfriend fit,” she’d insisted.
If Lily is Prince Charming, Remus is decidedly not her Cinderella. The shirt strains slightly across his shoulders and falls just a bit short on his long torso. He tucked it in and bloused it to disguise the length issue. The sleeves don’t even attempt to reach his wrists, so he’s rolled them to just below his elbows and is pretending that was intentional.
If he gets hired, he’ll buy proper clothes, but he thinks this doesn’t look too bad under the circumstances.
Inside, he registers his name and steps into a large indoor arena. The space has been arranged like a mock dog show with a bright blue carpet forming a rectangular path, and small podium blocks spaced along the perimeter.
On one side are the dogs looking for handlers. On the other side are the handlers looking for dogs.
Remus didn’t expect it to feel so much like a speed dating event, but there’s nothing to be done—this has been his life’s dream since he first considered it five days ago, and he’s not giving up on it now.
He steps forwards and immediately misses the subtle shift where one carpet meets another. His foot catches, stumbling forwards—
He catches himself and straightens, grinning proudly for managing not to fall.
He offers a friendly smile to the handlers beside him, but is shocked when they respond with glares. One outright turns his back. Isn’t a shared love of dogs why everyone is here?
A coordinator begins calling names. Handlers rotate through the waiting dogs, each given a few minutes to clip on a leash and walk a short circuit.
Remus steps up to a small, wiry terrier whose dark eyes sparkle with uncontained enthusiasm.
“Well, hello there,” he says softly, clipping the leash onto the collar.
The dog freezes for half a second—nose twitching.
Then the dog bolts.
“Hey—hey!” Remus yelps as the terrier begins spinning in ecstatic circles around him, wrapping the leash around him.
Legs effectively bound together, he hops towards a nearby podium, using it for balance as he rotates in the opposite direction in an attempt to unwind himself.
“Whoa—” He grips the podium as dizziness crashes over him.
The terrier sits, tail thumping proudly, as if having accomplished something impressive.
Remus exhales a breathless laugh, crouching to scratch behind its ears. “I’m not sure we’re a perfect match, mate.”
He returns the dog to its block with gentle pats. Then he straightens his shoulders as he turns towards the next hopeful partner, unwilling to be discouraged.