CHAPTER ONE
brand new person

                           𖦹 ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ˚⋆˚ 𖦹

  "WHAT WERE YOU SAYING, DEAR?"

Cove takes a deep breath. It echoes through the tunnelling phantasmagoria of her bones, reverberating in her chest like a dying symphony on the fringes of a final act. Her cold fingertips stretch out as if searching for the sweetness within herself to carry on with this meeting — so far, this internship has only taught her how fickle being spoken down to can make her manners.

She plasters on a tight-lipped, professional smile and tries to hone into the patience she had once wielded with an iron fist. Her tone is clipped as she clings to those final, wisping dregs of professionalism.

"Well, Mr Howin, I was referring to the issues regarding poachers along the Hebridean coasts," she says in a level tone. "Members of the local colonies don't feel safe going onto land, which is threatening their way of life. They're getting restless after staying in seal form for weeks on end. I'm sure, with your expertise, that you're aware of how dangerous it can be to go so long without changing."

   The words are laden with sarcasm, not that he takes any notice.

The Ministry official before her slouches in his great big office chair, a throne with leather padding and crooked wheels, as he takes a long drag from his flickering cigarette. After the smoke coruscates in his lungs for a few withering seconds, he makes a great show of snubbing it out with a contemplative to-and-fro movement that flexes her last nerve.

While she watches, eyes narrowed, Cove has to sit and wonder whether he believes himself to be some kind of enigma — commanding the suspense and tension in the room — or if he's really just so thick that he has to let her words sink in for that wee while longer.

That was mean. She feels a stab of guilt for thinking it in the first place.

"I see," he replies eventually. "Well, is there anything of note that the poachers have done to endanger these seal folk yet?"

   Nevermind. The guilt ebbs.

Cove's smile diminishes and she prepares to repeat herself. "No, but surely you'd like to keep it that way. As of just now, the beaches aren't safe, sir. These poachers have been spotted with harpoons on the usual resting grounds, trying to hunt Diricrawls and target Hippogriff nesting grounds while they wait."

"By who, exactly?"

She wavers, sucking in a breath.

"I'm sorry, sir?"

"Who has reported these sightings?"

She can't admit that it was herself. After all, this department is titled the regulation of beasts — not the protection of magical creatures. Cove bites her tongue until her jagged teeth nip through the flesh. If she's treated poorly in this office for being a woman, she can't begin to imagine the treatment she'd receive if they found out she wasn't half-blood so much as a half-breed.

Her heart is pounding in her ears. To her employers and peers at the Ministry, she's no more than a promising young witch who left school with five O's and four E's to her name. Bright eyed and bushy tailed; a polite commuter who has a nice wee cottage near the Stornoway floo flame. They know nothing of her double life amongst the storm stricken waves of The Minch, of the conflict that wages a war in every snick of her bruised ribs. Her injuries and poor health are reduced to mishaps or bad luck — never the transmogrification between two forms. She sweeps herself under the rug and endeavours for insignificance, even if it is easier said than done with all eyes on her.

Triton, Cove feels as though she's back in school again — living the same lie that she had finally squashed down to a malleable pulp. She takes another deep breath before testing the waters with a little white lie.

"Local wizards," she replies shortly. "And, er,
the selkies themselves, sir."

"The selkies?" he repeats, dubiously. He scoffs and his moustache jostles on his upper lip. "A reliable source, I'm sure."

She blinks slowly. "Well, aye, sir. I'd say so."

Howin barely glances over her before spinning around in his grand chair, studying the family portrait that hangs above his untouched bookshelf. She waits with bated breath for an answer, for any form of consideration, only for him to say the dreaded words she had been most afraid of:

"What do you think, Avery?"

   Horatio Avery is Cove's colleague and, quite frankly, a total pain in the neck. He's lanky where his lazy old boss is portly, his hair gelled back so securely to the crown of his head that you can see every muscle flex when he opens his mouth to spew articulated nonsense. He fusses with his finely pressed lapel and the personalised family brooch upon it, peacocking beneath the unflattering fluorescent lighting. His younger brother had been in her year at school and their shared arrogance seems to be stretched thinly between them, worn as a badge of honour to cover up the serious lack of common sense they get away with so often.

He has money and acclaim to offer where Cove only has her dedication. After a few weeks in the office, it became clear to her that Howin values nepotism and asphyxiating testosterone over anything she has to contribute.

"Well," says Horatio. "I don't see why we have cause to apprehend these alleged poachers on a few paranoid allegations. It's a dreadful waste of time, holding cells and resources if we have to file away all the documents to get them punished for it. We don't even have any concrete evidence that—"

Cove frowns. "I'm sorry, but is the purpose of our department not to be concerned about the welfare of these creatures?" The word stings upon her tongue. "We need to act on this now before the selkies can be killed for sport. For their skins, their whiskers, their claws. There are new pups amongst the colonies at this time of year, we definitely can't risk their lives like that before they've even made it through a full year."

"Watch your tone, Miss Henderson," Howin cuts in. "This is a civil discussion."

She wants to tear all her hair out right then and there. The glare she sends Avery is lethal, cutting through his arrogance right to the bone and leaving lacerations across his ego. He huffs a breath, rolling his eyes, his jaw slumping to fit upon his cupped palm.

"Sorry, sir," she replies curtly. "We could send any willing Aurors to round up the poachers, as well as professionals from our department to handle the caged creatures they have in the camps. I—"

"My dear, are you the head of this department?"

Cove stops short, her mouth forming an 'o' shape before she regains her composure. "No, but—"

"No but's. You are an intern here. I humour your ideas because your references are outstanding and I've heard great things of your potential." Howin's thin lips curl up patronisingly beneath his thick moustache. "Don't make me regret giving you a position here, Miss Henderson. I'll just as easily take it away."

She tries not to curl into herself. "Yes, sir."

Out of her peripheral vision, she can see Avery sneering viciously at her. He turns to his boss with an incredulous look on his face as if to say 'what is she like?', clearing his throat in a way that suggests he's going to try to make himself sound terribly clever. Emphasis on try.

"Since Henderson seems to be so insistent," Avery says snippily, "then I suppose I can look further into the matter. We shall round up these poachers before they can cause the colony any more harm. We'll send out Aurors to deal with dangerous individuals and handle the beasts we encounter along the way."

Cove's fingertips curl into the fabric of her skirt. As if she hadn't just said that.

"Why, that's a brilliant idea," Howin says, grinning ear to ear. "You should really follow Avery's example, Cove. Bring me solutions, not problems."

She wants to hang her head in grief, to wail and cry and admit defeat. Instead, Cove strains to keep her spine as straight as she can whilst looking dead ahead, searing her glare into the peeling wallpaper. The portrait on the wall turns his nose up at her snootily.

"Yes, sir."

"Avery, you're dismissed," Howin says with a wave of his hand. "Make me proud, boy."

Like the good lapdog he is, Avery goes slinking out the door at first command. The slick polish on his horrifically expensive shoes squeaks across the hardwood floors, professing his melodramatic exit to just about everyone in the department. Cove can hear him say something crude to the secretary outside before she's left in silence across from her boss, knuckles whitening in her lap.

He sighs as if it dealing with her is the biggest inconvenience, tossing a document onto the table before him with a smack. He leans back in his chair and lights up another cigarette with the smouldering tip of his wand.

"Aside from personal inputs, how has your work been going this week?"

"It's been going alright," she answers honestly. "Filing paperwork and shadowing Maeve, mostly."

   Maeve Harrington is one of the few good people left in this department. She's a couple years older than Cove, having emigrated over from Australia to work a well-paying job in the Ministry after she left university. She's sweet and clearly enjoys what she does, unlike many of their snooty colleagues that care more about their pay check than the animals they're supposed to be looking out for. Cove digresses.

"Perfect." He inclines the rumpled carton of cigarettes to her in offer but relents when she shakes her head. "Ah, hold on, there was something I wanted to talk to you about."

Her eyebrows furrow. "Er, yes, sir?"

"Diggory and McCool have had a breakthrough on the captured beasts case," he says, coughing slightly after a harsh drag. "You know the Highlands well, yes?"

"Well, not exactl—"

"Splendid! That settles it then. I need as many hands on deck as possible and I believe it would be good work experience for you to get out there, wrangling the beasts firsthand. Are you up for it?"

It's more of a rhetorical question than anything. Judging from the intense furrow of his brows and the challenging stare clouding his vision, she doesn't know if she's in any position to deny him.

   Cove blinks. "Yes. I- wow, thank you," she breathes, thumbing over the silver charm bracelet on her wrist.

   She hadn't been offered an opportunity quite like this yet, having worked in the department for quite a few months now, and she feels a spark of excitement scintillating in her chest. Field work has been straightforward and downright boring up until now. A few of her friends are trainee Aurors, so she might even be able to work with them! Excitement begins to bubble up in her chest at the notion.

Howin chuckles, shattering her reverie. "Just remember to leave all the heavy lifting to the men, my dear. I know how you can get out in the field."

Cove's eye twitches. She doesn't feel as grateful anymore. He waves a hand and her stare jerks up to follow the flappy movement.

"Well, you're dismissed. I'll see you tomorrow."

Wordlessly, she gets to her feet and slings her satchel over her shoulder, straightening her vest and making a beeline for the door. Her shiny Mary Janes click along the ground as she goes, announcing her departure to anyone that might be straining to listen in.

   "Oh, Cove?"

   She feels a spark of hope ensconcing her heart, tightening and unravelling to the point that she forgets to breathe for a second. Cove spins around, an expectant smile blossoming on her glossy lips.

   "Would you make sure to close the door behind you? It gets awful draughty in here."

   Her smile goes flat and tightens at the corners. "Of course, sir."

She closes the door with a little more force than is necessary, patching his snooty secretary as she storms past and muttering curses under her breath as she goes.

°•.•°•.•°•.•°

SUMMER HAD FLOWN IN AND BEFORE Cove knows it, an autumn chill accompanies her all the way up to the front door.

The difference between the tickling heat of the Floo Flame and the nipping cold of the Hebrides makes Cove's flesh prickle with goosebumps. A withering huff sputters from her parted lips, collecting before her face like the fine gossamer of mist. Out this close to the coast, the number of trees are scarce, which means that the wind batters against her with more intensity than it usually would. She tightens her blazer around herself, arms wrapped like a boa around her torso as an explosion of orange leaves crunch and crinkle underfoot.

The sun has tucked herself behind a grey rain cloud this evening. Cove doesn't mind that the Floo Flame always plonks her down the hill from their cottage, appreciating the walk to let her frustrations stew in her war zone of a brain. ( Seen in how she's been grumbling under her breath; kicking a stray seashell and then repairing it guiltily when it shatters. ) The road is fairly deserted considering how they live in the middle of nowhere, content with their home on the borderlines of society. She really wouldn't have it any other way.

  She trudges up and over the hill, muddying her boots as she goes. Through the winding wilderness and the withering bracken, Cove can spot their humble little house. The mere sight makes her exhale a sigh of relief.

   Their cottage is a simple little building bordering the sandy beaches, bracketed by marram grass and the lulling symphony of crashing waves whilst still teetering on the grassy soil of the land. Wonky roof tiles slant atop the building to meet with a smoking chimney, all monotonous slate to contrast with the pearly white bricks that make up the old fashioned walls. Despite the rapidly changing seasons, a large crisscross of creeping vines whirl across the walls, skeletons of flowers shuddering off to collect on the window boxes below.

  Cove stops at the first stepping stone of the path, her palm coming up to rest on the mossy wood of the waist-high gate. She breathes in the salty sea air and appraises the finely cut grass beneath her shoes, the cuffs of her wide legged trousers flecked with mud from the trek all the way up the hill.

   While it may not be much, it's still home. She pushes up the path with newfound vigour as she remembers the comfort of what waits behind the front door.

   Cove passes the small apple tree full of tittering Bowtruckles, looking down to simper at the honking daffodils that trumpet silly wee tunes as she progresses past the flowerbeds. A small family of Meadow Pipits come swooping down from the roof, fluttering past her head to roost upon the wobbly washing line they have propped up in the front garden.

   She reaches the front door in no time, a gnarled panel of wood that's been painted a pale sage green, shrouded by rose vines and brambles. When she pats down her pockets, she suddenly realises that she's forgotten her own set of house keys. Cove curses colourfully, pinching the bridge of her nose as her patience wears down to its final thin strand.

  After a moment of wallowing in her own misfortune, she swipes up the spare key from under an old welly boot turned flower pot and twists it a little violently in the keyhole, swinging her door open and letting it slam behind her. Cove shuffles out of her shoes and flings the bloody keys onto a little dish on one of the conveniently placed tables.

It smells like baking. She feels a little guilty for slamming the door now.

  She pads toward the kitchen, the hallway runner fluffy beneath her feet. Pip jumps up from where she'd been curled up next to the radiator, meowing loudly and tangling herself up in Cove's aching legs.

   The kitchen has pale green walls that remind Cove of flourishing lamb's-ear in the springtime, a pot rack full of colourful kitchenware dangling down from the ceiling. Books are strewn over just about every surface, varying from muggle recipes to messily annotated wizarding tomes. Their kettle is humming away in the corner, freshly boiled water bubbling inside to intermingle with Remus' humming as he gets to work chopping something up.

"Good day?"

Cove groans in response, slumping onto the kitchen table and burying her face in the crook of her arm. A calloused palm pats her gently on the shoulder and she leans into it gratefully.

A plate is slid in front of her. There's a small stack of Cauldron Cakes piled atop the floral china, the bright green filling oozing from the chocolatey sponge and smearing all over her pretty dishes.

   She sends him a small glare that has no real hatred simmering beneath it, picking one from the top and taking a begrudging bite. Cove still thinks that they taste like compost, but she's powering through her aversion to humour Remus.

  The chair next to her is pulled out, the legs scraping along the ground noisily. Her sensitive hearing aches from the cacophony, though it's remedied by Remus' silent reassurance. A scarred hand brushes comfortingly through her tangled up curls, nimble fingertips gently unravelling all the knots that have formed from the whistling wind's interference.

"Was it that boss of yours, again?"

"Oh, he's a horror, Remus!" Cove wails, looking up from the embrace of her elbows to frown at him. "He never listens to my ideas. Sends me on coffee runs, makes me run his fuckin' errands. It's not like I'm employed to be his bloody assistant, am I? He has a secretary!"

"I'm sorry, my love," he replies. "No joy with the poachers, then?"

"Not yet," Cove replies, slumping against him. "Avery sounds like he'd rather have them wipe out the whole colony than lift a finger to deal with the paperwork."

"He sounds like a twat," Remus says sagely. "I never did like his little brother. Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, 'suppose."

   "No, not at all. They're a family of total pricks."

   Her words are muffled into his jumper, but he still hums in agreement. His hands have settled around her shoulders now, playing with the powder blue threads that are fraying from the seams of her blazer. She lazily peels her eyes open to meet his gaze.

   "Oh, good news, though," Cove says. "I get to go out to a poacher camp.

    His eyebrows knit. "That sounds dangerous. Are you sure you'll be alright?"

    Her eyes harden. Immediately, he backs off, hands splayed in surrender.

   "I'm not saying that you can't handle this," Remus says quickly. "I just don't want you to get hurt. Be careful, alright?"

   "Och, I'll be grand. I know how to handle myself." She clicks her fingers as if remembering something. "I'll be working with Aurors, anyways. What are the chances I'll get to see James or Frank?"

   Remus considers it. "Likely. They were just telling me about the stuff they do as trainees the other week, so I wouldn't be surprised."

   "Lovely. Think I should owl them?"

  He thinks about it for a second. "Yeah, go on, then."

  Remus perks up in his seat as a timer goes off on the counter, leaping to his feet whilst muttering something about 'his brownies', frantically flinging the oven open. Cove watches in amusement before summoning a piece of parchment and plucking her new fulmar feather quill from her bag. She gets to work scrawling down a quick message to James, gnawing on the end of the quill as she tries to think up the right words.

   "You've been busy," she comments teasingly.

   "I'm going stir crazy, stuck inside all day," Remus replies. "Nobody's getting back to me about all the job's that I've applied for. I need to pass the time somehow."

  "Maybe you should become a baker."

   "Very funny."

   "What? I like your baking."

  He shoots her an unimpressed look.

  Pip jumps up into her lap, kneading the bobbly cotton of her work trousers and meowing loudly for attention. Cove lazily scratches the tufts of white fur beneath her chin, smudging the ink on the letter as she signs her name in a messy cursive scrawl.

   By the time she gets round to writing another letter to Frank, Remus has set the tray of brownies on the kitchen table, giving them time to cool and finish cooking. He's already moved onto tidying up all the dishes that had accumulated from his baking, rinsing off bowls and spoons by hand. He knows that he could easily have it done in seconds with one flick of his wand, but he finds something oddly therapeutic about scrubbing away at the dishes while admiring the view out the window.

"Cordelia and Finlay dropped in earlier," Remus says absentmindedly as he dries off a sudsy plate. "Brought us some Cullen skink for dinner tonight."

   Cove raises her eyebrows. "That was nice of them. Any special occasion?"

   "I think they mentioned something about their anniversary." He pauses, turning to peer at her from over his shoulder. "Y'know, I still don't think she likes me."

"She'll come 'round eventually," Cove replies. "She's just, you know... being careful."

   He sighs heavily, bobbing his head in understanding. Remus continues pottering about in the kitchen whilst Cove seals up the two letters, scribbling down their respective addresses on the front.

   Pip butts Cove's knuckle with her hard skull when she inadvertently stops scratching her head. She looks down at the kneazle with an eyebrow crooked, starting a staring contest with her and eventually losing when Pip's stare grows unnerving. She almost forgets what she's doing until Remus eventually snaps her out of it.

   "Can you top up the wolfsbane, my love?"

   Cove hums in assent, setting Pip down on the floor and shimmying out of her chair at the kitchen table. She levitates the kettle to follow her with a flick of her wand, reaching up into the cupboard to procure an Occamy egg and their half-full jar containing Syrup of Hellebore.

   "Are we fine for dragon's blood?"

   Remus pauses. "We still have enough left for this week, but we could always do with some more."

   Cove sighs, adding that to their perpetually growing shopping list. "I'll nip to the shops after work at some point."

   He presses a kiss to her temple as he goes rushing past, in the midst of shovelling something else into the oven. "Where would I be without you?"

    "I dread to think," she says dryly.

    She drops the metal eggs in one fluid motions, watching attentively as they're swallowed by the larkspur blue potion. Cove pours a splash of boiled water from the kettle in with the Syrup of Hellebore, peering down with satisfaction as it erupts into an explosion of bubbles before settling to a polite simmer. She takes a wooden spoon and begins to stir the cosmic concoction in an anti-clockwise direction, twisting her heavy curls away from her face with a free hand.

   Distracted by her potion making, she doesn't hear the footsteps behind her. She jumps when Remus slings an arm around her middle, his chin atop her shoulder as they peer out of the kitchen window.

    She relaxes into his hold, stilling her movements to sink back into him. The soft cotton of his t-shirt caresses her nape and his thumb traces shapes into the blank space between the clasp of her charm bracelet and the heel of her palm. His eyes are glazed over, distracted by the swirling of the potion beneath her fingertips as if there's something weighing on his mind.

   "How're you feeling?" she asks softly.

    Remus peers at her in his periphery, managing an exhausted half smile. "Surviving."

    "You and me both," she murmurs. "How long is it now?"

   "Three days," Remus replies.

   The calendar pinned to their dinky little fridge has been carefully annotated with the moon cycle, a large red circle emboldening the upcoming Saturday as if to blare warning signals at them. She still has time to prepare the potions and make sure he's comfortable when he goes to stay at James' house for the weekend.

   Cove gnaws on her lip, worry and sorrow eating away at her heart. "I'm sorry, honey."

   He grunts. "Not your fault."

   She brushes back his curls and presses a swift peck to his temple, right over an old scar that has paved a pathway all the way down to his cheekbone. He leans into her touch, gently knocking the side of her head with his chin and mustering up a grin that doesn't reach his eyes.

    Guilt constricts her heart, entangling all the arteries and squeezing as if to mimic the agony burdening his own. It's during moments like these that Cove realises how she's in deep and she's only descending further into the depths, drowning in the single sea she's unable to conquer. Her love for him is scary but it feels so perfectly right, like two sides of the same coin, or a niffler atop a pot of gold. The adoration she holds for a human is as terrifying as it is all consuming, swallowing up her waking thoughts while haunting her in the valley between nightmares and dreams.

    Surviving. Slowly but surely, they're surviving.

author's note!

ACT THREE HAS BEGUN LADIES GENTS & ANYONE IN BETWEEN ‼️‼️

so basically to summarise: evil boss boooo 👎🍅

but corporate seventies fashion and domestic fluff yayyy 👍🎉

and housewife remus which wasn't rlly my plan from the get go but the more i thought about it, the less i wanted him to be an auror or smth similar to what his pals all did

( honourable mention to drowningforreggie who had a brief cameo in this chapter, as well as potterpiastri for coming up with the ship name moonywaves 🤭 ) 

tysm for reading! we're almost at 50k and i could not be more appreciative of everyone who's read this far and been so supportive of this fic 💕💕 love you all sm