dark wings; dark words

The woman — Hermione, he reminded himself — gave a small wave. Her legs wobbled, and she grabbed the nearby lamppost for support. Drizzle fell softly, the droplets frizzing her hair and casting a fuzzy halo around her head. Remus felt visited upon by some supernatural creature as she glowed in contrast to the dark pub front. Gods, he needed to stop reading those fantasy books so late at night, but he hadn’t been able to sleep. Insomnia meant he’d been awake to take her call.

When he pulled up, she steadied herself on the slick car door and mimed rolling down the window. He did so. She peered in blearily at him. Remus wondered if he matched whatever expectation she had after talking with him on the phone. He ran a hand through his hair, knowing he looked rough after not sleeping well last night and now tonight. The days leading up to a full moon wrecked him. 

“Are you—?” they said at the same time. She laughed, and he couldn’t help but offer a small smile.

“Hermione, is it?” he tried again. “Do you still want that ride?”

“Oh, yes. Remus?” He nodded in reply. “If you’re going my way.” Her eyebrows raised conspiratorially as if relaying an inside joke.

Remus clicked the doors unlocked and then leaned over to unlatch the passenger side door. “There’s nowhere else this taxi service is going tonight. Get in before you’re soaked. The rain’ll be picking up.”

She jostled the door open and gracelessly plopped into the seat. Now, in the heat of the car, she unbuttoned her grey coat, revealing a cranberry red dress. She smelled strongly of orange liqueur with the faintest hint of…what was it…something warm and familiar. He turned down the heat when she began fanning herself with her hands. 

“I’ve never done anything like this before.” She turned to him as she buckled her seat belt. “Gotten into a car with a stranger.” A tremor of worry crossed her face as Remus assumed the implications of her situation washed over her. She replaced that doubt with a hesitant smile. “Please tell me you’re not an axe murderer.” 

Remus resisted the urge to say “not yet” and turned up the windshield wipers against the growing storm. Instead, he took everything out of his pockets — his phone and wallet — and pressed them into her hands. “I know it’s not the same, but you’re trusting me, so I’d like to trust you with those. No axe murdering as long you don’t chuck those out the window.”

“I think I can manage that,” she replied. “Do you carry anything interesting with you?”

He shrugged, looking at the address she showed him on her phone so he could type it into his GPS. It wasn’t too far but also wasn’t close. Sleeping tonight looked more and more questionable. “I doubt there’s anything of particular note. Not much worth stealing.” He raised his eyebrows as she immediately plucked a wayward receipt that had been sticking out from his wallet.

“You’ve been to Flourish and Blotts?” she said in an excited rush. The warm amber glow of the streetlamps blinked past outside the windows, briefly casting her face in bronze light before winking back into darkness. No other cars were on this side street.

“I have to restrain myself from going more often. Or else I’d forget to buy groceries and only have books to eat.”

“Not very tasty. Have you seen that they’ve gotten in some new history books about…” 

Despite the lack of traffic, Remus kept his gaze on the road, even though he wanted to watch this woman be so enraptured by books that she soliloquized about what she wanted to purchase next, what she’d already bought, what she was currently reading, and what he should definitely not waste his time on. She brightly asked for his thoughts on books and, after her long, detailed discussion about the more obscure (and potentially occult) subjects she read (really, what was arithmancy? ancient runes?), he felt embarrassed to admit that only myth retellings currently held his attention. 

“No wonder you agreed to pick me,” she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Two mythological creatures passing in the night.”

He tensed at her words and then noticed a smear of red extending down her lip. She can’t suspect, he thought. Deftly, he reached over to pop open the glove box to retrieve a tissue. “And since when is ‘Hermione’ a creature, rather than a human girl?” 

She took the tissue and blotted where he indicated on her face, avoiding his gaze as she blushed into the visor mirror. After shoving the tissue in her purse that Remus noted held two books with multi-colored tabs, she rolled down her window to stick out her hand and then pressed the rain along her flushed neck. Remus turned the heat off and couldn’t help but glance from the road to the hand that lingered on her collarbone. 

“Sidecars always make me hot. I should have stuck with the wine.” She sighed and then said so softly that Remus almost didn’t hear it, “I should have stayed home. So stupid.” 

Since she’d whispered the last part, Remus pretended not to notice; with his sharp hearing, he sometimes had to do so to keep people from looking askance at him and his “strange prying.” He didn’t know what to say, so the silence stretched out between them.

“What are we but creatures?” she replied in a fake lofty tone. “Creatures seeking comfort in all the wrong places.”

The street continued to unwind before them in a blurry line as the wind whipped rain across the windshield. Only one car passed them. Remus chanced another look at her. She stared down into the depths of her hands. He gently cleared his throat. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She fiddled with his wallet, opening it to slide her thumb along the credit cards nestled inside. “It’s nothing particularly special or interesting. A tale as old as time, being stood up, waiting around for him for hours until you decide to get royally knackered.” She plucked out his library card, then his grocer rewards card, until all the cards were freed so that she could sort them by color.

“What a prick,” he said. Gods, no wonder she sounded close to tears on the phone when she mentioned how alone she was standing outside. “Do you want to find his house and teach him a lesson?”

“I had plenty of time to consider what kind of lesson I’ll teach him should he ever dare darken my doorstep,” she said and smiled weakly at his attempt to cheer her up. “Plus, I thought you weren’t an axe murder. Will you be coming along for moral support then?”

He considered this as she applied a lip balm over her faded lipstick. There was the smell from earlier—a mix of vanilla and cinnamon. She caught him glancing at her mouth. Remus reached to turn down the heat again only to realize he’d shut it off earlier. His brain felt fuzzy from lack of sleep, the hard pull of the moon, and something else he couldn’t quite name.

“Have you ever stood up a date before?” she asked, her body angled towards him, her elbow propped up on the center console and hand cradling her head. Her hair brushed his argyle sweater.

Feigning insult at such a question, he said, “I would never.” He contemplated revealing that he could barely even remember the last date he’d gone on, that he remained an unattractive prospect because of his finances, his job, his condi- He swiftly cut this short as he noticed her staring up at him, her brow furrowed as if trying to puzzle out his thoughts.

“Where did you take your last date? And, please don’t say a pub.”

Remus rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. How many months ago was it when he went for coffee with his co-worker Dora? She’d made calf-eyes at him, twirling whichever colorful extension she’d clipped into her hair that day (pink, purple, or blue), until he’d agreed to a date. “It was quite a while ago. We went to that little coffee shop attached to Dogweed and Deathcap.”

“Oh, the plant shop?” She brightened and sat up straighter. Searching through her purse, she pulled out a catalog with the shop’s logo on the front and leaned in closer to him. She’d shucked off her coat, and her bare shoulder bumped his arm as the car hit a pothole. She pointed to a dark purple flower. “They just put in my order for these.” 

Remus deftly glanced at it before looking back at the road, unable to identify it. “Which are those?”

“Aconitum,” she said. “I’ll have enough for several planters.”

Only a couple streets from her place, Remus managed to keep his car on the road when she said the flower’s name. “Why do you need so much wolfsbane?”

“You know it?” she said in surprise, then she was off again, chatting away as she had when discussing books. “Do you have some? I understand it’s highly toxic, and the shop waffled about allowing me to order that many plants. But they caved because I’m such a regular, although don’t tell them one reason for that is I killed off all my petunias and mandragoras. Overwatered them.” She ran her finger through her hair, causing it to frizz even further. “That won’t happen this time because I’ll be using them for a, erm, chemistry project.” 

“Nothing related to cooking?” 

“You’ll be pleased to know I’m also not a murderer.” She paused dramatically before following up with, “Yet.”

The GPS dinged as the car pulled in front of her small, dark-windowed house. Hermione scowled. “Ginny couldn’t even leave the porch light on? That boy better have been worth the lay.” 

Again, Remus reached over, barely avoiding brushing her knees that she didn't seem to notice were in his path, to open the glove box and fish out a torch. “I’ve got to have a talk with this Ginny about her priorities. If you don’t mind my company a little longer, I’ll walk you to the door.”

He tapped the torch against his thigh until the light flared to life. The rain had tapered back to a drizzle, and Remus jogged over to her side and had the door open before she’d managed to unbuckle the seat belt. She took his offered hand and wobbled a little less as she stepped onto the sidewalk in her sensible heels. With her coat back on but unbuttoned, she shivered as the wind blew in from the north. Its icy fingers threaded through Remus’s sweater. A bone-deep tired dragged at him, and his eyes flickered shut.

“Are you all right?” She hadn’t released his hand and squeezed it until he reopened his eyes to look down at her worried face. Outside, underneath the thin moonlight pushing through the clouds, the watery mascara smudges on her cheeks stood out clearly. What sodding prick stood up a pretty woman who read esoteric books and grew poisonous plants for fun. 

“Are you a witch?” Remus side-stepped her question with one that had been brewing in his mind since she rattled off the books she read or would soon read. If she was, then maybe— maybe— she’d understand about him and his condition. 

She looked stunned. The torch’s puddle of light illuminated their shoes; he was glad he at least wore a matching pair, although they were worn to hell like the rest of his oxfords. “Is your next line going to chat me up with some variation of asking if I’ve ‘put a spell on you’? 

His tired, tired brain cursed him. Once again, he’d messed it up before anything had even begun. What did he think would even begin in the first place? He was a stranger who conveniently lived near a pub she’d been stranded at and gave her a ride home. “Gods, no, I shouldn’t have pried. Ignore that. I don’t even have chat up lines. I don’t chat people up. I barely talk to anyone. ” He felt himself spiraling into a ramble. “Let’s get you inside. It’s late.”

At the door, he shone the light on the lock. As she twisted the knob, he turned to leave. Her hand tugged at his elbow, stopping him to turn back around. With the door ajar, her voice dropped low and she leaned in to whisper, “Can I give you something?” 

His heart fluttered strangely. What would she want to give him? He nodded, and she held up a finger for him to wait. She slipped through the dark doorway. A light flicked on in a back room. She soon returned with her hair in a messy bun and a small bag in tow. She pressed it into his hand and closed his chilled fingers around it. 

“It’s a sleep tisane with chamomile, mint, and lavender. Plus a couple secret ingredients. None of which are toxic or charmed, I solemnly swear.” She released his hand and tucked the stray hairs escaping from her bun behind her ears. “If you’re worried about that, you could always invite me over, and I’ll take a drink first.”

Was she asking him out for tea? Was he being asked out on a date? She must have misread the shock on his face because she began to walk back her offer: “Or you can chuck it in the bin. I thought it might help, and Ginny has told me I can offer help when people aren’t looking for it. I have been known to be bossy. Or you could put it in your bath?” She blushed. “Either way, I wanted to thank you for driving me out all this way.”

Remus finally found his voice. “I would love tea, but I can’t the next couple of days.” The moon pressed down on the paper thin clouds. “How about after that?”

She peered up, studying him with almost x-ray vision. He grew worried she was examining the lattice of scars on his face and down his neck. Explanations dried up his throat. “Text me after the full moon,” she said simply. “I went ahead and saved my number in your phone.” 

Later, when Remus opened his contacts, he found “the brightest witch” listed in his contacts, and his handwritten TBR list for when he went to Flourish & Blotts had vanished from his wallet. Tasting the tea, he knew at least two of the secret ingredients were vanilla and cinnamon, neither of which poisoned him. He did choke on his tea when Hermione sent her first text to him that read: “In my phone, I didn’t name you ‘axe murderer.’ You’re ‘the trusted wolf.’ Should I bring chocolate for our tea? And if you give me a fake address or anything of the sort, I will curse you. :)”

“Then put her on the phone, please.”

“I’m sorry, but you’ve got the wrong number. There’s no Ginny here.” He sounded tired but not irritated.

Hermione removed the phone from her ear and looked at it suspiciously. The glow of her phone screen illuminated her face and the slight smear of lipstick trailing down her chin. In the past hour, she had drank at least four sidecars. The fuzzy taste of orange coated the inside of her mouth. The phone number looked right.

“I think you’re mistaken because this is her number. Look, if this is that boy from the other night, you are quite funny, but this isn’t the time for that. Also, your eyes are so green. Are they contacts?” Hermione laughed a little. “There’s a bet.”

“Only grey eyes here, I’m afraid. You sound a bit,” the man paused, “legless.”

“I’ve got all my legs. Though standing is tiring, don’t you think? The pub packed up all their chairs. Now, I need Ginny. She promised to come.” Hermione pulled her jacket closer around her throat to keep out the wind. Though already night, the sky seemed to darken with the promise of cold rain.

“Well, I -- what’s your name?” the man asked. 

“Hermione Granger, but you can call me Hermione.” She chuckled again to herself. 

The man’s voice did sound amused. “Well, Hermione, is there no one left at the pub to call you a cab?”

She turned back to the blank pub door, no longer illuminated by the neon beer signs. “That would be a no.” The street slowly drained of people as well. To Hermione, it only seemed to be couples walking hand in hand back to their cars. A wetness edged into her voice as she said, “I guess I am alone out here.”

“Do you think you can try to call your friend again? Maybe double check her number?” the man suggested.

“What’s your name?” Hermione asked. She cleared her throat to keep the creeping sadness out of her voice.

“Remus Lupin, but you can call me Remus.” 

She smiled weakly. “Do you live near Chestnut and Abbey?”

Another pause on the line. She thought he might have hung up and prepared to do the same, when he answered, “I live two blocks away.”

“I’m outside of Pemberly’s. Gray coat.” Remembering a movie she’d watched as a child, Hermione stage whispered into the phone, “You’re my only hope.”

“I’m having a talking to with this Ginny whenever we get you home,” he said. “Don’t move. It’ll only take me a moment. I’m in the silver sedan.”

“Thank you” -- she remembered the movie character’s name suddenly -- “Obi Wan.” 

***