FicWad

The next few days passed in a flurry of homework, laughter and blissful freedom for Hermione, and Friday night crept up on them all too quickly. The students were buzzing with the promise of snow that sung from the perpetually grey skies, and frosty air, and the weekly Hogsmeade day had the older years, especially, jittery with excitement.
They were all sat in the library, as Peter helped James with his History of Magic assignment. Sirius had his feet up on Hermione’s lap, his head hanging off the top of the chair, with his eyes closed, while she read. Remus sat on the chair beside her, eyes rigidly alert, and his fingers drummed anxiously on the table.
Hermione’s eyes flicked to Sirius’ face. His cheek was still coloured an ugly purple, contrasting from the smooth tanned glow of the rest of his face. She lifted her hand, ghosting the tips of her fingers over his bruise, tracing the outline.
His hand reached up and, without opening his eyes, Sirius interlocked his fingers with hers, keeping them on his face. Hermione just watched him. He looked so content, so peaceful, and she could feel every flutter of his eyelashes and twinge of the muscles in his jaw. His fingers were warm in hers.
She coughed, pulling her hand away, and diverting her gaze. James’ eyes stared right through her.
Abruptly, Remus sighed, frustration emanating from him, and he dropped his arm on the table. In the same moment, he rested his head on his elbow, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was restless, but Hermione didn’t know why. She’d noticed it before now; the dark circles under his eyes, the pallid drawn skin of his face. He seemed tired, more so than usual; she didn’t know what to do.
“This bruise ruins my whole flawless complexion,” Sirius announced. He didn’t bother opening his eyes. There was silence, and Hermione exchanged a bemused look with James. “No, it doesn’t. You’re still perfect, Sirius… I very much am fishing for compliments. I’m just waiting for the hook to pick some up.”
Peter’s face split into an amused grin and he repeated, “No, it doesn’t. You’re still perfect, Sirius.”
“Why, thank you, Pete!” He said, opening his eyes finally and fixing Peter with an appreciative look.
Hermione shook her head. “I have never met anyone in my lifetime who is half as conceited as you.”
But even as she said it, a certain Slytherin with platinum blonde hair and a constantly curled lip flashed before her mind’s eye. In the next second, he was falling to the floor.
She shook her head.
Sirius pretended to be offended, clutching his chest as though he’d been stabbed through the heart. A high wheezing noise poured from his lips and he clenched his eyes in imaginary pain. She just raised an eyebrow, pushing his legs off of her lap.
He sobered quickly at that and said conversationally, “Kitten. I have been told, by multiple sources, that I am the eighth wonder of the world.”
Hermione snorted.
“You may laugh, but feel free to admire me. I am told I am a beauty to look upon!”
“Yes,” James agreed, and Sirius preened in delight. “But you’re not the sharpest needle of the pile.”
Sirius stared at him, and said, deadpanned, “You sound exactly like your mother.”
James scowled, and leaned across the table to prod his best friend in the bruise. And hard if the noise he made was anything to go by for Sirius let out an almighty wail, eliciting a scolding from the librarian, who rolled her eyes when she caught sight of the culprit. He looked at Remus and said, rubbing his injury, “We should work on not listening to the first idea that pops into our heads in a sticky situation.”
Remus raised an eyebrow and said pointedly, “Maybe we should work on the fact that you go in fists flying when things don’t go your way.”
He frowned, pouting slightly, and said, “I don’t go in ‘fists flying’.”
“You shoved Malfoy against the wall!” Remus said, almost in disbelief.
James’ head shot up at this. “Malfoy?” He looked at Sirius. Hermione felt sick. “You never said anything about Malfoy.”
It’s not Draco. It’s not Draco.
Sirius looked back at him. “You never asked.”
James’ eyebrows furrowed, and he seemed very cautious very quickly. He redirected his gaze to Remus, who simply stared back. Then he sighed.
“I wish you would tell me,” he said, almost painfully. Hermione felt like she was intruding, watching something she wasn’t meant to see. “I wish you would tell me when-”
“When what, James?” Remus exploded. “When that blonde prick decides to confront us? It happens often enough. We don’t need you to fight our battles!”
He was breathing heavily, and Hermione stared at him. She had never seen this side of him, and all at once, she was struck with the realisation that the Remus Lupin she knew, intelligent and laidback, might not be all there was to him; that she may not know him at all. He seemed to realise that he had overreacted, however, as he stood up slowly, pushing his hair back, and said, “I’m sorry.”
James, who was white, simply said, shaking his head, “Remus, you don’t need to apologise-”
“Yes, I do-”
“No,” James said firmly. “You don’t.”
They both stared at each other; James’ hazel eyes solid and unwavering, and they bored into Remus with an indescribable intensity.
He looked away and, without a second glance back at any of them, left the library.
Hermione stood up immediately to follow him.
“Don’t,” Sirius said, eyes lazily watching her. She looked at him for a brief moment, before picking up her bag and leaving to pursue him.
It didn’t take her long to find him. There were only a few places she assumed he might be, and she decided to check the one she suspected he would be in. She was right.
Hermione knocked on the door of the empty classroom. When there was no answer, she opened it, peering inside.
Just like last time, the room was bathed in the glow of fairy lights, and, sure enough, there sat Remus. His back was to her, and he was just staring at the model in front of him. He was so still, that she was unsure whether or not he was actually breathing.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Hermione asked gently.
He didn’t reply, so she stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her and made her way to sit beside him. “Remus?”
“What were they like?” Remus asked quietly. His voice was rough and hushed.
“Who?”
“Harry and Ron. Your friends from the future.”
Hermione was momentarily thrown off guard. She pulled her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around herself and resting her chin on the tops of her knees. She chewed on her bottom lip, ignoring the pain flaring there.
Remus sighed and said, “You don’t have to talk about them, if you don’t want.”
She shook her head, throat blocked. “No- no, it’s fine.”
But where to begin? There was so much to talk about. Clearing her throat shakily, she said, “Harry was… just like James. He was kind and selfless. God, he was the nicest person I knew. He cared about everyone, and he was so smart but so stupid sometimes! Honestly! That boy was blind to everything! He wouldn’t even know if a girl was flirting with him, even if she had it tattooed across her face!” Hermione let out a loud laugh, remembering their sixth year, when Romilda Vane had tried to smuggle him a love potion. “But he was also hot-headed and angry a lot. It was quite scary, how much anguish there was locked inside of him. And after it all, you would’ve thought he’d turn out bitter... But Harry was the bravest and kindest man. He was just like James…”
Remus had a small smile threatening to pull his lips.
“Ron,” she said and her heart throbbed uncertainly at his name. “Well, Ron was hilarious. He was gormless, impossibly so! And he seemed to have foot in mouth disease, always insulting me and saying the wrong things… but he also complimented me a lot. Without realising it, of course. He was loyal to a fault and I- I loved him so much… I’ve never loved anyone like I loved Ron…”
Remus had turned his head to watch her, and she hadn’t even realised she’d been crying. She reached up to wipe the tears away.
“It’s not like talking about them will make them come back,” she told him sadly, trying to offer him a watery smile.
“No,” he answered, “but maybe it can make you come back.”
Hermione stared at him. “Make me come back?”
He smiled briefly, but it was blank and unfeeling. “You disappear sometimes. I don’t think you realise it. It’s like you go somewhere that no one else can follow you. Sometimes it’s like you’re not really here at all.”
“I didn’t know…”
“No,” Remus offered her a half-smile. “I don’t mind, and I don’t think anyone else has noticed. You just wander off.”
Hermione stared at the mini parapets of the miniature Hogwarts and her mind became entranced by it. She was overwhelmed by the pain that derived from every single wall and tower; of both the model and the real thing. These walls seeped blood, these floors had felt the consequences of war; of the many bodies that slumped into nonexistence. Remus nudged her shoulder gently, chuckling, and Hermione realised she was doing it now.
“Sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be.”
Then his face grew solemn and he looked at her. “Doesn’t it get lonely sometimes,” Remus said, his eyes dark. “Being here all by yourself?”
Hermione opened her mouth, but she didn’t know what to say. Since being here, whilst she had been told repeatedly that the boys were there for her, she had never had time to truly ponder how she felt.
But she knew, now, that something inside of her had stamped that down. For so long, Hermione had supressed thinking about herself; it was always about the future, about the Marauders, about Harry and Ron, and Draco… She had focused on what she was going to do now she was here, but she had never stopped to think about the loneliness that ate at her heart.
She realised she hadn’t said anything, and her lips parted but instead of words coming out, a sob left her instead. Her eyes became wet again, and she wasn’t sure why she was crying, but she supposed she was lonely. Hermione was stuck in the past, for crying out loud! She was stranded in a world entirely different to her own; one where she wouldn’t ever see her parents or friends ever again…
Hermione wouldn’t see Harry or Ron ever again…
She would never be able to see Harry’s smile, or the crinkles by Ron’s blue eyes when he grinned. She would never be able to cheer for both of them on the side-lines of the Quidditch pitch, or throw her arms around both of them when she was proud of them. She would never kiss Ron, or lose count of his freckles. She would never dance with Harry, laughing and free. She would never venture down to Hogsmeade, wrapped up warm to tackle the snow, or conquer them at infamous snowball fights. She would never cuddle up to either of them to keep warm on a winter’s night, or hear their voices.
She would never see them ever again.
Remus shuffled closer (as if that was possible) and pulled her into a tight embrace. One hand was wrapped around her waist, and the other came up to cradle the back of her head. She cried onto his shoulder.
And then, she felt him moving away, felt his hand sliding around to cup her cheek.
And his breath was hot on her face.
And she kept her eyes closed
And both of their hearts were erratic and wild.
And his lips met hers.
Her lips were wet and his were dry and the kiss tasted of tears and broken pieces. It was her bottom lip captured between both of his, and he devoured her mouth with the hunger of a starved man, flicking his tongue to taste her sadness. His tongue traced over every crack in her lips, soft and smooth, before she opened her mouth a little, and it explored her. His teeth pulled on her lip. Their bodies were close, unbelievably close, so that not a whisper of air could escape between them, and their noses bumped, and Hermione could feel his heartbeat, the thrum of his life, reverberate through her own chest.
It was like consuming life itself, and the burst of emotion washed over her, bathing her in a light-headedness that had her gasping for breath.
And still, Remus kissed her. Like his life depended on it. He kissed her softly, then desperately, then held her face in both of his hands and kissed her like the earth would shatter if he didn’t.
Hermione had never felt so much before.
And then he was pulling away, and still her eyes were closed. She couldn’t bear to open them.
Their faces remained mere inches away, and every one of his deep inhalations tickled her. He licked his lips and said unsurely, “I’m sorry.”
Now, she opened her eyes. “What for?”
A dark blush tinged his cheeks. “For kissing you. Without asking. I didn’t mean to- you were upset and I took advantage of that, I’m sorry.”
“Remus… Don’t be sorry
She reached up, her fingers lightly resting on his jaw, and kissed him one last time on the lips, slowly and sweetly, before pulling away.
“Can you remember the first time we came here?” Hermione murmured.
Remus surveyed her quietly.
“I told you that it hurt, when you acted like you knew me,” she continued and her lungs felt like they were on fire with the urge to kiss him again, but she couldn’t. “I didn’t mean it.”
He tilted his head. “What did you mean, then?”
She hesitated. “I meant that I love you. All of you. I’m so invested in you and Sirius and James and Peter, and I’m not sure why or how or whether or not I should be accepting it or running from it. But I am so invested in you. Because I know you… And yet, you don’t know me.”
“Then let me know you,” Remus pleaded, swallowing.
Hermione smiled faintly, and her shoulder gave raised a small half-shrug. “I wish it was that simple.”
She looked away, wishing she could explain how unfair and hurtful it was that she knew what happened to them. She could see them dying and she wished she could stop it, but she wasn’t sure if that was even possible. Hermione was dancing with ghosts, kissing them.
“What happened to them?”
She turned to him. “What?”
“Harry and Ron,” Remus elaborated. He avoided her gaze. His cheeks were still flushed and his lips were red. “What happened to them?”
Those blue eyes widening one last time, life and hope draining from them, before they fell like the rest of his body, crumpling to the floor like a sack of bones too heavy to hold the galaxy within.
“Hermione?”
“THE CHOSEN ONE… IS DEAD!”
She jolted into reality.
“They’re dead.”
Those two words left her feeling numb and hollow, and after a few seconds of stillness, she climbed to her feet, running a hand through her hair. “Are you coming? The boys will be waiting for you.”
Remus didn’t stand up straight away, but eventually, he sighed and got up, following her out of the room. The corridors were rather quiet and vacant, as curfew was readily approaching and the two of them walked side by side, their fingers brushing but not quite catching.
They reached the Portrait Hole far too soon.
Just as she was about to say the password, Remus reached out for her arm. “Hermione…”
She looked at him expectantly, and the words seemed to die on his lips, fading away. He opened and closed his mouth before he stopped, and tried to compose himself.
Then, Remus took out his wand, casting a quick spell, and a white dandelion, wispy and large, magically appeared out of nowhere. He felt the stem gently, and offered it to her.
Hermione regarded it, trying to bite back a smile. “You do know that’s a weed, right?”
He turned pink, all the way up to his ears. “It’s a dandelion,” Remus explained. She kept her eyes on his. “So that you have a free wish. It’s been conjured so that only you can blow the wings of it.”
She couldn’t take her eyes off of his, despite the sudden feeling that she was going to cry again. Hermione took it softly from him, her hand ghosting over his and then she leaned forward and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. She lingered.
“Goodnight Remus,” she whispered.
Before disappearing through the Portrait Hole, leaving him outside in the shadows.
“Goodnight Hermione,” he whispered back.
oOoOo
She laid in bed that night, letting the sliver of moonlight bathe her and one vivid thought shot across her mind, rendering her momentarily horrified.
I just kissed Professor Lupin!