#remionefic

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. :)”

Remus was instantly alert. Weak moonlight spilled from a crack in the curtain, slicing across the bed, illuminating her face, which contorted as if in pain. She was murmuring softly, though soon the volume increased. “No, no, no,” Hermione repeated. “Leave him alone. Leave him.” Her hands gripped the blanket until they were pale. “LEAVE HIM.”

“Love,” he whispered; he didn’t want to startle her and scare her more. He leaned on his elbow, just above her ear, and stroked her arm gently. “Love, it’s a dream. It’s not real. Wake up.” He forced himself to remain calm, although he wanted to jolt her awake, to pull her to him swiftly, so she knew how safe she truly was. 

Her eyes blinked open; she couldn’t seem to focus and her gaze seemed distant. “Please just stop,” she whispered and then she began crying, not hard, but a few tears trailed down her cheeks. 

“I”m right here. You’re fine. I’m here,” Remus said and she curled into his embrace then began crying in earnest, a hard, relentless crying that dampened his nightshirt. He smoothed down her hair, wilder now after her nightmare, and he continued murmuring in her ear.

Finally, she emerged, gasping for air. Remus used his thumb to wipe away some of the wetness from her cheeks. “How do you feel? Are you all right?” he asked, though he knew that none of them were ever truly ‘all right.’

She nodded weakly and pressed her palm to her eyes to stop any more tears. Her gaze darted around the room, before alighting on his, which never left her face. “It was just a dream. Sorry to wake you. It just felt so real, like it was happening all over again.”

“Don’t apologize. Never apologize. I’ll always be right here.” He pulled her closer to him, until their bodies were flush and her head tucked neatly under his. He lay his cheek on her curls and stroked the back of her arm. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Her voice was muffled and sounded far away. “Not right now. I’m sorry, just not right now. The morning maybe?”

“Sure,” he said, “of course.”

“Please don’t stop holding me.” She quivered briefly as if experiencing a cold wind and pressed herself closer to him. 

“Never.” He knew that he’d keep that promise, all tiredness was gone from his body and he gripped her tighter, willing all the darkness and sadness to leave her. She never screamed in her sleep, unlike others, she just shook and shook and Remus soon grew to recognize the signs. He knew when she saw the battlefield before her, when she began seeing her friends die, again and again, when she dreamed that he died, that history became rewritten and inked him out of existence. She always awoke to him there, the living reminder that her dreams lied to her, that the war had written ‘mudblood’ on her arm, but hadn’t robbed her of everything. Remus would rub his fingers along those scars and she knew he would erase them if he could. 

“Hermione?” he said; it was all he could think to say. “Is it really you?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come, it’s too dangerous, but I’d figure out that you were nearby and I couldn’t help…” she trailed off.

“Hurry, hurry.” He ushered her into the cottage and lingered outside on the porch, making sure no one else was lingering in the darkness. Resealing his protection charms (they’d recognized Hermione’s Order status), he shut the door and turned to where she sat on a threadbare sofa. The cottage was sparsely outfitted since it was made to be only a way station for members and they were caught in need of shelter. She on the end closest to him and Remus knelt next to her. “What’s happened?” he asked. 

“We can’t do it; we can’t destroy them,” she whispered and wrung her hands. “I can’t figure it out. If I can’t, what’ll we do?” She wore a blue jumper and her jeans had dirt stains on them, that were either recent or she had been too busy to clean them. 

“Hermione, where’s Harry and Ron?” he asked, anxious. Remus stopped her hands’ incessant movement and rubbed the backs of them as he’d done back at Grimmauld, when she panicked about the impending war, when she finally let her guard down around him. 

“They’re just down the hill. We didn’t mean to camp so close, we didn’t realize you were here. They don’t know I’ve left; I can’t be too long.”

“Good, that’s good. We’ve been worried about all of you. Is it the horcruxes? Is that what you’re talking about? Can you talk about this with me?” 

“I think it’s all right. I think the Order’s figured out what we’re up to. But I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry, I’ve put you in danger,” she said and made to push off the couch and leave, but he held her firmly in place. 

“Stay, please stay,” he said, though he knew their paths should have never crossed at this moment, that they should be off fighting on separate fronts of the war, that some day, if they survived, then they’d be able to sit like this for as long as they wanted. “How did you know I was here?”

“I eavesdropped on some of the meetings we weren’t allowed in and heard you mention that you used this place and the others could too. When I realized where we’d ended up, I had to check. I recognized your charms.” She smiled a bit. “Predictable.”

He joined her on the couch and she immediately leaned into him as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and she sighed deeply. “I couldn’t sleep, my mind won’t shut off, so I came here and you were actually here.”

“I’m glad you did.” He placed his cheek against the top of her head and inhaled, storing this memory away for when she disappeared back into the night and he had only to this to remember her smell, her feel. “You’ll sort it out. I won’t ask any further. I can’t know anything else, about where you’ve been or where you’ll go. I’ll be a liability to you.”

“The same,” she said. “We shouldn’t be discussing any of this.”

She disentangled herself, sat up and swung her leg over his lap, straddling him. “We should stop talking,” she said, then kissed him softly. Remus remembered the first and last time they had kissed and how he had dreamed about it since she had left and his heart hurt for her safety. 

It felt like so long ago, and he pressed his lips against hers forcefully, his hands tangled in her wild hair, that smelled of the crisp outdoors, like pine and smoke. Eagerly, she opened her mouth and he responded in kind. Her hands went beneath his shirt and she slid down further into his lap, beginning to sway. That’s when he broke off and the haze began to lift from between them.

She clutched her hands in front of her. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I should get back to them before they notice.”

Remus drew her back and lightly kissed her lips, her cheeks, then her hands that had begun to fret again. “Soon,” he whispered against her knuckles. “When there’s time.”

“Soon,” she repeated. He helped her stand; they both drew their wands as she prepared to leave. She held his hand in a death grip and looked up at him, no longer with tears in her eyes, but a fierce, determined expression. “Please be safe. The snatchers are becoming worse.”

“I will.” They hugged again and it was difficult for him to let go, for her to let go. “You be safe, too, yeah? Keep the radio on. You may hear me. You’ll know I’m fine then.”

Living in the flat gave Remus the advantage of getting to know his tenants and being able to head off any problems, like when Mrs. Davis nearly flooded the building by leaving her tap on or when Mr. Turner and his neighbor began a turf war to see how loud their tellies could be. Living on the same floor as his newest tenant, Hermione, he noticed that she returned late, often with books in tow or a sack of groceries. 

Once they’d developed a repertoire, she would excitedly stop him in the hall and give him a book recommendation that he’d either write down or promise to remember. Then Hermione began writing them down on a piece of paper and sliding them under his door should she fail to see him. Remus would return and feel a tinge of happiness at seeing her neat scrawl and the list, which had stars and hearts next to certain selections. 

She always greeted him at the mailboxes, taking out stacks of magazines and flipping through the junk post and chatting with him. Eventually, Remus began coordinating his visits to the long row of locked boxes to coincide with when she’d mostly likely be there.  “I think they’ve switched us up again,” she’d muttered and scrunch her nose as she filtered through her post. He learned that she had family in France who wrote her letters and that she subscribed to a quarterly knitting magazine. About all he received was endless coupon books for take away (he could be lazy about cooking) and remainders from the library that his books were overdue.

“Do you ever get much else?” she asked one day, nearly a month into her stay at the flat.

“Sometimes the clippings change,” he said and tried to laugh it off as he chucked his post in the bin.

“No letters?” He had learned, as with her badgering that he read Like Water for Chocolate, that Hermione was persistent.

“No, unfortunately not of late.” Remus saw her brow furrow and then wished her a good day and left before he could see the usual pity that he experienced whenever people grew to know him.

Sometimes, two boys and girl stopped by her place. As Remus returned from a walk around the neighborhood (he couldn’t sleep when the moon was so bright), he saw her shooing the red-haired boy out her door and then he pulled Hermione across the threshold and kissed her. She leaned into him before breaking it off and shoving him out with a grin. The guy nodded to Remus, who seemed to be struggling with his lock. Hermione, with her hand to her lips, caught sight of Remus. Her smile dropped off a bit and she gave him an awkward wave before disappearing into the dark of her flat.

She was in university (when he was out walking, he’d look up and always see her light on) and he mentioned that he hoped to go back for his teacher’s license. 

“A teacher?” she said. They both sat in the small, cramped laundry room in the building’s basement. It smelt moldy and always felt damp, but the lighting was bright. “What would you teach?”

“Dunno,” he said. He was folding a button down shirt, carefully creasing along the sleeves. “I mean I’d like to teach literature or maybe even history. I never imagined myself doing this, you know.” He motioned around him at the building.

“You should do it. You seem like you’d be fantastic teacher, putting out fires around here all the time. I might be a teacher too.” She made a face as she said it though.

“Don’t seem too sure,” he responded. She was watching her clothes spin around and around, suds filling the washer. Even though she wasn’t looking at him, Remus folded his sweaters so that the holes were hidden from view.

“Yeah, well, you never know what might happen.” Absentmindedly, she ran her hands over the book she’d brought with her, before realizing Remus was there doing laundry as well. She grew solemn so Remus left her and went back up the staircase.

After this, he didn’t see her for several days and he quietly asked her neighbors if they had seen her and if she was all right. The Thompson brothers said they had heard shouting, but only her voice, as if she’d been on a mobile or something then not much else. But she was typically quiet so that wasn’t out of the ordinary. At the end of the week, he began to worry and finally gathered himself up to knock on her door.

She didn’t answer. He left, worried, and returned the next day, knocking on her door again. Finally, the lock clicked and the knob turned. She looked paler than usual and her hair was in a messy bun on her head as opposed to being down. “Yes?” she asked. 

Suddenly, unsure of what to do, Remus fumbled and then said, “Sorry to bother you, but it’s the annual water heater inspection time and I’ve let it run too late and they want the numbers turned in, so that’s why it’s such short notice and…” Remus’s ramblings were cut off by a sneeze. 

Hermione blessed him, but her face seemed more drawn. She opened the door to let him in. They walked past her small bath and to what looked like a small closet. Remus sneezed again as he looked inside at the benign water heater. He made a point of squinting at it and said, “Looks good, looks great. Taking good care of it I see.”

At that point, an orange blur shot out from her bedroom and Hermione cursed under her breath and muttered, “No no no Crookshanks.”

“Is that a cat?” he asked. He sneezed again. “No wonder. I’m allergic.”

She had corralled it and held the smushy-faced feline tightly. “I would’ve said something, but I know I shouldn’t have him. I’m terribly sorry, oh god, and you’re allergic. Here.” She held out a box of kleenex with her free hand. 

He thanked her and sneezed again. “Has he always been here? He’s been very covert.”

“No, actually.” She deposited the cat back in her bedroom and came back out in a clean, cat-free shirt. “Come on, it’s nice out.” She opened the door to her balcony and stepped out with Remus onto the small terrace. “I’ve only had him less than a week. My friend Ginny, red hair, maybe you’ve seen her, brought him. She’s been keeping him since I moved in.”

“So you’ve been law abiding,” Remus said. She grinned finally at that and nodded. “What happened? She out of town?”

“No, she thought I could use some company.” Hermione stared off across the roofs which glinted with yesterday’s rainwater and reflected the redding sunset. “And I didn’t want to be alone really.”

“Was it that bloke?” Remus didn’t need to say who since she nodded and bit her bottom lip before responding. 

“Yeah, it was him.” She quickly added, “But it was me. I broke it off. It’ll be fine once everything cools down.”

“You traded him in for a cat then?” Remus didn’t like how sad she looked and how her face seemed even more hurt at what he’d just said.

“That’s what you think?”

Remus gripped the railing and said, “Should it be? I don’t know. What’d you mean?”

"Couldn’t sleep," she said, simply. She picked up her cup and blew on the steam. "Thanks for the tea." 

"I thought I saw a light on and you’re always in here reading at hours even I find absurd and thought," he paused, "I thought you might like some tea. Maybe some company." He sat down next to her on the window seat and she erased her impromptu constellations with her shirt sleeve.

"If you’re here to apologize for him, you don’t need to worry about it. I’m fine." Hermione said none of this directly to Remus’ face, but rather to her tea, of which she hadn’t taken a drink of yet.

Remus cleared his throat and had enough sense to look somewhat ashamed as his face tinged red. “I wasn’t going to apologize for him, necessarily. That’s on him. I just felt somewhat responsible and I just wanted to make sure that you were okay.” He set his own mug down and rubbed his face and tousled his already messy hair until it stuck up at odd angles. “It was just a game we used to play in school. Going around the common room at midnight and trying to sneak a snog with as many girls as possible.” Remus made a sour face. “Obviously not everyone enjoyed it as much as Sirius did.”

Hermione finally gave him a lopsided grin. “I doubt he’ll enjoy it as much either.” Ron had dared to swoop in for a quick peck when the fireworks lit the sky, bright purple and gold bursts; however, Hermione ascribed to the belief of fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. So when a rather intoxicated Sirius, fresh from kissing Molly Weasley on the lips, rounded on Hermione, she hexed him. She recalled his surprised face and how he slumped off like a wounded animal as the twins cackled and cracked jokes. Hermione hadn’t partaken in any of it, but rather quickly hid in the library to spare herself the embarrassment. Thankfully, it was easy to hide amongst the Blacks’ expansive amount of bookshelves. That was until Remus snuck up on her, after she had thought the coast was clear and she could look out the window in peace.

The air had grown still between them. Tentatively, Hermione reached out and patted Remus’ hand, noting how cold it felt and noticing just how cold the old house had become in the late hour. “Thanks for the apology anyway, even if it wasn’t you.”

Remus squeezed her hand in response and did not tell her that he had also entertained the notion of kissing her at the stroke of midnight, not because it would be amusing to snog her, but because he had wanted desperately to kiss her since she had taken residence in Grimmauld these past weeks, since her room was directly across from his, since he saw her soft, sleep-filled eyes in the morning and her sated gaze before she went to bed after reading endlessly in this very library, where he often, accidentally, ran into her under the guise of needing a new book. Now, sitting across from her, her hair a frizzy halo, the charms to tame it for the party long since worn off, and her face a round and pale moon, Remus reminded himself, again, yes again, how young she truly was and how very right she was to curse Sirius. 

He thought she would let go of his hand; she didn’t. Hermione kept holding it comfortably beneath her own and eventually interlaced their fingers. ”It must be nearly midnight in America,” she said. He thought that he felt a tug on his hand. It couldn’t have been though.

"It’s probably midnight somewhere over the Atlantic," he replied, briefly running through time zones in his head. He thought about pulling away, about taking his tea back to the kitchen, to finish it alone as he often did. Being alone was easier and she was young and bright and didn’t deserve to be mooned over by him. 

"What if there isn’t anybody?" She crinkled her forehead. "I mean what if wherever it’s midnight, there’s no one there to celebrate it."

He definitely felt her pull on his hand that time and she turned from looking out the window and he saw a look in her eyes like when she ferociously devoured a book, in one sitting, as if a flame sat behind each brown iris and lit it from within. 

Hermione looked up confused; her reading glasses had slid down her nose and were perched precariously at the end. "Oh right, yes, I just forgot. Completely. I'm sorry. I ate so much at breakfast and then I just forgot. Just a bit longer and I'll join you."

There was a stool next to her desk chair and Remus sat down. He plucked the quill from her hand, sending her into a huff. "I was in the middle of a very important list for my fourth years. About proper wand motion."

"I've already ate," he said, ignoring her attempts to grab the quill back until she just picked up another that Remus snatched away again. "You should, too. You've been at this for hours. I think it's time to take a break. It'll be here when you come back."

Her mouth was agape and she crossed her arms. Remus wondered how many times Harry and Ron had suffered under such a hot gaze as she glowered at him. "I'll have you know that I'm not done yet and I like to finish things before I just scamper off to..." She dismissively waved a hand. 

"To...eat? To sleep? To remember that I'm here?" Remus supplied.

"It just needs to be right. Professor McGonagall is giving me this opportunity. I have to get everything just right. These students are depending on me." 

Remus rifled through the multiple stacks of papers - all copious notes on what charms each year should be learning, what skill level they should be at, lesson plans, reading schedules, diagrams of wand movements, and more and more. "I think you've prepared enough for an entire tenure at Hogwarts. This'll keep them busy for ages. Your students will never want for anything to do or to learn." He grinned at her and took her hand which was ink-stained nearly up the wrist after all her jabbing of the quill in the ink pot and scratching it across the parchment. 

Usually, Hermione immediately intertwined their fingers. He knew how much she liked it and often would absentmindedly brush his knuckles across her lips. This time her hand remained limp so he enclosed it between both his hands; he could feel her tensing along her body.

"But I haven't. I have't prepared enough. There's no way. Absolutely no way to cover what we need to in the amount of time we have. A semester just isn't enough. As a student, I knew this was the case. If only the semester was longer, we'd learn better, I mean, I guess learn more, which is better. How can I pick anything to cut?" She grabbed several books, all marked for her third years. "I know they're only second and third years and this load may appear heavy, but they need to know it. All of it."

Out of his pocket, Remus pulled out a small chocolate bar. "Eat this," he said.

"But I don't want--" she began to argue.

"You haven't touched any food since breakfast. Eat it," he commanded, "and listen."

Reluctantly, she unwrapped the candy and nibbled at it. She took a larger bite when Remus refused to stop staring at her in stony silence. "Now," he said, "do you remember in my first year of teaching? How I always had those notes carefully laid out on the board?" She nodded. "Did that happen all year?"

Hermione looked thoughtful. "No," she said. "I don't remember them after Christmas holidays."

"Right. I'd planned everything out. The notes. What I'd write, what day they were for, what you should learn from them. Then I realized they weren't working." Hermione started to interrupt. "I know you enjoyed them, but the rest checked out after copying them down. So I had to change my plans. I had to adjust them." He took her hand again. "And that's okay."

She ate the bar voraciously now and finished it off. "I know, it's just I don't want to let them down or shortchange them or Merlin forbid forget to teach them something essential."

"You're a natural. When you get in there, you'll quickly gauge where they are and where they need to go. You'll see what can be cut or what needs to be added. I think you may not have fresh eyes for this," he pointed at the desk, "any more."

Hermione took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of eyes and put her face in her hands. Remus's hand hovered over her shoulder and he withdrew it, but then she finally spoke from between her fingers. "Once I sat in the same seat in the library for thirty six hours straight. Harry threatened to curse me and Ron actually did though I could have blocked it. It was a stupid bat-bogey hex and I just sat there." She looked up at him again. "I think it's time for me to get up." She glanced over at the kitchen table. "Can I...?"

She knew it would be empty, because tonight was the full moon. Sadly, she ran a finger over a few photos Remus had on his dresser - of him and the Marauders, of his parents, of a forlorn house in the woods. He, too, was off for the summer, having been rehired as the Defense against the Darks Arts teacher after the war. When not at Hogwarts, he always came back to his best friend’s house and to Harry. They had debated rather hotly yesterday morning at breakfast about laws restricting the making of certain potions. They carried their tradition of discussing the Daily Prophet from the Hogwarts’ head table and this time she had gotten a bit carried away. Of course, they had made up. But still. She hoped he didn’t mind her taking this liberty - sleeping in his bed without asking first. 

Hermione didn’t think it would bother him terribly, as long as she was gone by the time he returned. In the silence of his room, she climbed between the sheets and sank beneath the quilt. She liked the strong, clean and somewhat woodsy smell that hung about his pillow. Must be his shampoo or something, she thought sleepily. It was nice. She would tell him that. Moonlight filtered in through the window. Hazily, she glared at it. Remus had his Wolfsbane potion, but he was locked in the basement with silencing charms. She couldn’t hear him; that didn’t matter. He was still howling with each transformation. Feeling guilty for taking his bed, for being fine and unafflicted, for being unable to really help him, Hermione did finally go to sleep, thankfully spared from any more noises from the rest of the house’s occupants.

**

The best Remus can do after a transformation was to crawl up the stairs (sometimes with help depending on his level of pride that month) and crash in his bed. Sleep was the best medicine for his body twisting and turning and melting into a beast once a month. Whiskey didn’t hurt either, but that was another story. This time he manages to redress early, before the sun rose, yet after the moon had slid below the horizon. There’s a light on in the kitchen and he tries to climb the stairs carefully. He thinks it’s Hermione; he smells earl grey tea and that shea lotion she uses. They had another of their academic rows the other day and he really doesn’t want to disturb her. If he does, then she’ll help and he’s not in the mood to have help. He hurts and wants to slip into oblivion as fast as possible, a lovely dark place to block out all the pain.

If she does hear him, she doesn’t move. Or maybe she was just recently in the kitchen and has moved on to her familiar haunt - the library. That’s probably it, he thinks and moves more quickly up the stairs. Pushing open his door, he doesn’t remember making his bed, but his mind is so foggy immediately around the full moon. Stifling a moan, Remus manages to crawl into his bed and he’s struck by something new. Her. The scent is there. Her lotion. That peppermint toothpaste. A lingering vanilla from her conditioner. She was in his bed. At such a thought, his muscles become less tense. He wraps his arms around the pillow and buries his head into the pillowcase. Now, Remus, as his aching eases into a dull thump, as he inhales her scent more deeply, feels guilty for avoiding her. It’s his own fault; he shouldn’t blame her or lash out at her. He does like to rile her up at breakfast, he’ll admit that, but it’s only because her face grows red, her eyes indignant, and she never stops staring at him. He smiles at the thought of her buttering her toast in the Great Hall, scheming on how to counter him, her hair escaping the quick bun she put it in before her first class.