Chapter 1
Summary:
My fancast (:
James Potter - young Hayden Christensen
Sirius Black - young Johnny Depp
Remus Lupin - Matthew Hitt
Peter Pettigrew - Dane DeHaan
Hermione Granger - Emma Watson (of course)
Lily Evans - Sadie Sink
Marlene McKinnon - Florence Plugh
Emmeline Vance - Avril Lavigne
Euphemia Potter - older Amy Adams
Fleamont Potter - older Jake Gyllenhaal
Songs that make me think of Remione (:
Loveless - MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT
YUNGBLUD - love song
Pierce The Veil - Even When I'm Not With You
SayWeCanFly - Pavement (acoustic version)
If Not For Me - Feel Me Now
Jonas Brothers - Hesitate
Miguel Owls - The Death Of Peace Of Mind
Dermot Kennedy - An Evening I Will Not Forget
We Three - Daydreams
Justin Bieber (The Kid LAROI) - Unstable
Kid Brunswick - 4 AM
Return To Dust - Anyway I Die
Kina Grannis - Can't Help Falling In Love
Conor Maynard - Masterpiece
Dayseeker, Lucas Woodland, Holding Absence - Starving To Be Empty (acoustic version)
Dayseeker - Pale Moonlight
Miguel Owls - Darkside
Chapter Text
Saturday: April 18, 1998
The wind whipped through Hermione’s hair as she knelt on the cold sand. The sea breeze dried her tears as they fell for Dobby, the salt of the air clinging to her skin. She sobbed for Harry, his pleas tormenting her to fix the limp elf. Her lungs burned for air as she watched his blood mixed with the ocean.
She wept over the death of her mentors, over her dwindling sanity. For the hate and prejudice that forced children to give up their youth. For generations of wizarding families born not out of love but to keep an agenda alive. Hermione let her tears fall over her new scar, a cruel brand of remembrance, given out of spite by Bellatrix Lestrange.
Mudblood. As if Hermione didn’t already know what she was.
The bright beach did not match the sorrow pouring from her heart. The Shell Cottage would have been a place her parents planned to holiday. They would have chosen solitude, just their family, a bag each, and a stack of books. At this rate, she had little hope of seeing them again. And if, by some miracle, she did, there was no certainty that they would ever regain their memories.
Crimson drops pooled beneath the layer of Essence of Dittany she had applied to her cursed wound. Her emotions had taken a backseat for months, first driven by adrenaline and then exhaustion. Now, in the stillness, the phantom singe from Bellatrix’s sharpened blade pierced her arm as if it were still embedding itself in her skin, setting every nerve ablaze.
Hermione wished she and her best friends were eleven again, rediscovering their friendships during their first year at Hogwarts: Harry needing his glasses fixed every other month with a quick Oculus Reparo, Ron eating everything in sight regardless of the time of day, and Hermione still learning how to tame her wild hair.
Now Harry mourned the parents he never had more than ever, while Ron prepared for the real possibility of losing his. Purple shadows darkened everyone's eyes, appetites ghosted their bellies, their souls almost catching up to the emptiness. Hermione only wanted the time she knew they’d never get back.
Time…
She instinctively grasped the beaded bag at her waist at the thought. The Time Turner sat protectively within the magical extension, undetected since she’d heard Dumbledore’s will. He had given her the familiar trinket and his personal book of children’s stories. Of course, it wouldn't be Dumbledore without a riddle attached.
To Miss Hermione Jean Granger,
I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard in hopes that she will find it entertaining and instructive. With it, the Time Turner that was once borrowed is now hers to keep, as it's no longer of use to the Ministry.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
In the past year, Hermione had examined and analysed both gifts, sacrificing hours of much-needed sleep as she studied the book with his notes and inspected the Time Turner in every detail. Together, she and Harry solved the puzzle behind the Deathly Hallows symbol. But she knew she'd have to do this alone, aware that he and Ron would want to help, or worse, completely shut down her foolish idea.
Professor Dumbledore had once given her silent permission to save Sirius Black before the Dementor’s Kiss took him. In the process, Hermione and Harry practically resurrected Buckbeak from the dead after his own execution. Why couldn’t the same be done for Sirius now? Or Mad-Eye? Or Dumbledore? Hedwig and Dobby?
She remembered how Harry desperately tried to escape Professor Lupin’s grip as he restrained him from following his Godfather into the Veil. Hermione’s heart broke for her best friend, who had lost the only family he felt he had. She knew in her heart that this wasn’t true. And in a world of peace, Harry would have known it, too. But the only life he knew was one where Dark Magic stole happiness. Worse still, Harry believed Sirius’s death to be his fault.
That single memory was enough to cement Hermione's decision. He was barely coping through this war, fighting for those he loved, but she'd go back and save his Godfather to give Harry something to return to when the war ended.
She could also save them a year of running—hiding, depending on the minuscule trust of others to keep them safe. They now had some knowledge of where the Horcruxes needed for Voldemort's downfall were. Instead of discovering them as they went, she could head straight to where they needed to be.
She could undo victories. She could risk other lives rather than the one she was saving. But they couldn’t continue like this. Perhaps, through sheer luck, they would win. But at what cost? Who would they be reduced to by the end?
"I can't believe I'm doing this," she whispered to herself, voice half-drowned in the wonder.
Hermione’s mind raced so quickly she nearly fainted as she pushed herself up, a surge of anticipation shivering through her body. With a huff, she reached into the beaded bag for the Time Turner. The gold, delicate chain gleamed in the sunshine as she placed it around her neck with practised ease, as she had done countless times before.
...no longer of use to the Ministry.
The Ministry had only permitted turning time within a five-hour radius. But if the Ministry wasn’t tracking it, could she turn time further than just a few hours? Did Dumbledore know that? Had he meant for it to be a tool like the book had been? Was she overthinking his gesture? Maybe it was simply a bloody present.
She played with the rings and wondered how he got hold of it at all. Had he never returned it? Had the Ministry lied about the entire stock being destroyed with the Time Room? Did he break the tracking enchantment? Did he even consider doing so?
My use and value, unto you, are gauged by what you have to do.
Hermione examined the artefact’s description more clearly. Had he already charmed it to go where he wanted her to end up? Was it still restricted to a limited five-hour period? Intended only to use when they ran out of options? A final measure to prolong exhaustion?
She clutched her hand around the Time Turner, trying to hold onto the thoughts still racing in her mind. Inhaling deeply, she accepted this journey, one she would have to face alone. Hermione thought back to the day she and Harry saved Sirius and Buckbeak. She remembered all the hours she'd bounced back and forth between her busy curriculum.
Time had always seemed to pause in her absence, allowing her to resume where she left off. The most important rule was to remain unseen, especially by herself. But that was easier then, when she was on opposite sides of the castle. If Hermione were to return to the Death Chamber, she'd be caught in a skirmish, in one room, with everyone, herself included.
Shaking her head to clear her thoughts and stopping herself from talking herself out of this, she squared her shoulders and pinched the dial knob between her fingertips, urging herself to twist it backwards. Days merged into nights until it all became nothing but a dazzling light. She was only guessing when to stop, her thumb aching from its grip. Her only comparison for the length of the turning was from when she'd used it to pass by the hours, and this felt like an eternity, a blind plunge into the unknown.
When was enough? When was too much? She drew in air, held it, and with a silent prayer, stopped the rings from spinning.
Finally, the overlapping sounds ceased and faded into another sunny day. Everything around her appeared almost exactly as before. The cottage sat perched atop the hill, still overlooking the sea of angry waves. The air was crisp, and the birds called to one another above her.
Only the small grave was gone. And this time, hope stayed.
Chapter Text
Hermione Apparated to Godric's Hollow, the first place that came to mind from the hidden Cornwall beach. She needed food, supplies, and confirmation that it had even worked. Dobby was alive, and the cottage furniture was unrecognisable. But was it far enough?
Hermione landed in the centre of the village. The town had a new face, but it remained beautiful in a vastly different way, no longer quiet and lonely, scarred by the war's presence. The early summer sun kept any snow flurries from sticking to the ground. Small flowers added their colours to the bushes lining the pavement.
Children chased squirrels that scurried up trees out of reach. To her right, a husband bought his wife a cup of tea from the vendor cart and was rewarded with a kiss. To her left, a doorbell chimed as an older woman, hunched over her cane and carrying a basket of fresh bread, walked out of a bakery with help from the shop clerk.
Hermione took advantage of her bushy hair to hide her face as much as possible without looking like a nutter. Sand still clung to her clothes, blood matting her sleeves, eyes bloodshot from burnout. Still, everyone she walked past seemed indifferent, engrossed in their conversations and lives. She wondered if they were Confounded Muggles, blissfully unaware, trained not to notice anything out of the ordinary.
As she rounded a brick corner, a shop with ‘Summer Sale’ posters taped to the windows appeared. Looking down at her grungy clothes and nothing to spare in her beaded bag, she decided this was as good a spot as any to replace them. The doorbell jingled from above, alerting the shopkeeper, a pretty woman stocking shoes atop a tall ladder.
"Welcome in! As advertised on the other wall, we have some new dress designs on the hanger at a discount. Let me know if you need anything!"
Hermione nodded at her and whisked away out of sight, not missing the strange look she received. The shopkeeper was probably curious if Hermione had looked in a mirror today. The dresses were flowy and soft, catching her eye first. They would have been something she'd like to try on in another world, but she had to stay practical. It was better to wear jeans if she had to duel again or run.
She found a pair of light-washed jeans on clearance for the end of winter. Although they had more flare at the bottom than she would have liked, they were a good fit with her trainers. Next, she found a pink jumper and a band T-shirt to wear if it got warmer later.
The band logos were more vintage than modern, appealing to her parents' taste. Hermione grabbed a Queen 1975 tour shirt in memory of her mother and her favourite band. She smiled, recalling her father groaning as their treasured ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ record was put on again while they cooked dinner, only to give in halfway through and perform a show of a lifetime.
Hermione let her heart ache for only a second; she missed her parents, then moved on.
Carrying the clothes to the counter, she was more than ready to remove her muddy, bloodied sweater. Hermione tried not to compare her appearance to the elegant, put-together shopkeeper in her current state. It wasn't easy when the beautiful blonde assessed her closely.
"Um…" the woman cleared her throat, focusing on bagging the clothes to avoid making eye contact. “We have some hats behind you if you want to grab one. Maybe to match your new jumper?" She peeked up with a hopeful smile.
Hermione looked at the table of accessories, trying not to acknowledge the subtle hint that her hair was a complete disaster. Picking up a set of gold hairpins to match the gold necklace still tucked into the neck of her shirt, she said, "I'll try these barrettes. Do you have a loo I can use so I can change?"
"Of course, love," she beamed, trading her the decorated bag for the money it cost. "Just down the hall."
Latching the hook lock into its keeper, Hermione immediately removed her clothes and tossed them into the small trash can. Straightening up, she jumped back in surprise, her hip knocking against the porcelain sink.
Her reflection in the floor mirror stared back at her in horror. Her curls had lost their shine, dirt smeared across her face and neck, and her cursed marks glowed a vivid purple against her pale skin. She was in desperate need of a shower and medical supplies. However, they would have to wait.
Hermione didn't dare use her wand to prevent leaving any traces. Not until she knew exactly where the Time Turner had set her. She couldn't use the glamour charms she had grown accustomed to over the years. But she was grateful to have thought of bringing Sleekeazy's Hair Potion.
Hermione pinned her smoothed-out curls into a half-up do with the new barettes and walked back to the counter.
"Oh, you look so much better—I mean, you look very nice, dear.” The woman shied away from eye contact after her outburst. Grabbing something from the accessory table, she brought it over to Hermione.
“Here, take these! They'll match your clips.”
Trying to hand the earrings back, Hermione interjected, "No, no, that's okay-"
"Please! On the house! They'll make the outfit come together. I would ruin my reputation if I didn't have you leave my store looking your best."
Hermione blushed but put the small gold hoops on anyway. "Thank you. For everything."
"Don't mention it. Really… Don't mention it. I'll have all my regulars barking up my tree asking for a pair of earrings with their next purchase." The blonde winked, walked her out, and waved her off.
“Daily Prophet! See the latest news for only five Knuts!”
A small, sudden gasp escaped Hermione's lips when she spotted a newspaper stand across the street.
She offered a small smile to the young boy tending the stand and quickly handed over the payment before her eyes locked in, scanning every letter until she found what she was looking for.
April 18, 1976
Her body froze rigid, her fingers tightening against the edges until her knuckles turned white. She read the date repeatedly, frantically searching through the articles to confirm that a lazy editor had made a typo. This couldn’t be right.
But in bold print, it was clear that no one was at fault except her. A birth announcement shared globally from Bulgaria's infamous House of Krum proudly boasted of their newest addition, Viktor Krum III, the son of Viktor Krum II and Lady Svetlana Angelina Krum, who had only been born a week ago.
This was out of her depth. She wasn’t even born yet. She wasn’t even thought of yet. Her parents hadn’t even married. How was her potential existence impacted if she now existed when she wasn’t even supposed to be alive?
Hermione’s knees went weak; luckily, they gave out near a street bench, onto which she sank. She gripped the newspaper to her chest, using the pressure to slow her breathing. She had turned time too far. The whole point was to save Sirius. He doesn't even need saving in this time slot. He hasn’t even joined the Order of the Phoenix yet. He's still only attending Hogwarts— Hogwarts .
The thought hit her like a physical blow, a dizzying shift from utter despair to a fragile new possibility.
Hermione reread the date, even though she already knew what it was. It was April, meaning the term hadn't ended yet. She couldn't Apparate past the wards and didn't think she could walk in without drawing attention. She'd have to sneak in. At least if she triggered the security wards, she'd have time to find Dumbledore before anyone saw her.
He would know what to do. He always knew what to do. Even if his solutions were rarely simple.
The Honeydukes cellar, a passage she knew well, was out of the question. Without Harry's Invisibility Cloak, she'd be exposed the moment she emerged into the bustling shop. She wished she hadn’t returned the cloak to him so soon when they had planned to break into Gringotts.
And she couldn't risk using her wand to open the trapdoor, not when she was trying to remain completely undetected. Could her wand still be tracked if time had paused? Did it even matter at this point?
Still, she knew one other route, especially within this timeline, that not a single soul who didn't know better dared to enter.
Chapter Text
Hermione was mistaken to believe she would miss her wand the most today, as she was unable to magically Scourgify the grime from her clothes or make herself look less conspicuous. No, it was when she had to throw stones large enough to capture the Whomping Willow's attention so she could run faster than the branches could pound her into the earth, their furious thwacks echoing behind her. She would never Immobulus for granted again.
She could only hope to blend in with the other students as she pushed through the doors of the West Tower. Somehow managing to reach the Grand Staircase with only a few curious glares, she ran to the Headmaster's office once she had gone far enough so that there would be no one in the halls beyond that point. The gargoyle stood guard, its stony regard unblinking. Hermione took a deep, fortifying breath and spoke a password she remembered from her future.
"Dumbledore." Nothing.
She tried another, "Fizzing Whizbees," but the gargoyle remained still.
Annoyed at her own impatience, she finally settled on the most obvious choice. "Lemon Drop." The stone beast sprang to life, stepping aside to reveal the winding staircase.
She ran up the steps until she stepped into an office that was both familiar and strangely new. The towering, gold-rimmed windows and the delicate silver instruments remained, but the room itself felt lighter. There were fewer books piled on the tables, and the portraits of the former Headmasters seemed to watch her with a more benign curiosity rather than the weary wisdom she remembered.
Her gaze finally landed on a calmer and noticeably younger Albus Dumbledore, seated at his desk.
He looked up at her from his usual spot, his eyes warm and his smile welcoming, but she felt intimidated nonetheless.
"Come in, dear. Spot of tea?"
Slowly, Hermione found her footing and crept forward to his desk. "No, thank you," she barely whispered.
He set down his quill and interlaced his fingers in front of him. "You have disturbed my wards," he stated, a faint, amused smile touching his lips. "A most impressive feat, especially on foot. It is quite a run from the Whomping Willow, is it not?"
Hermione's eyes widened, and she took a shaky step back. "You were alerted? I didn't—I didn't realise there would be a... I mean, I didn't see anyone looking for me." She spun around to look behind her as if someone might have been chasing her up the stairwell, her cheeks flushing.
"Well, of course not. I said you disturbed the wards. I didn't say you tripped them as a threat," he said, a soft, low chuckle rumbled from his chest. "You are not a student."
"I am. Well, I was—No, I am still. It's… complicated."
“It would seem so,” he observed, his eyes twinkling over his half-moon spectacles. “Please, tell me how I can help clear things up."
He reached out a hand and offered her one of the guest chairs.
She chose to show him why she was there, hoping he'd understand better than she could explain. She took the Time Turner from around her neck, pulling it out of her jumper, and placed it into his open hand. The smile melted off his face, replaced by profound awe as his grey-blue eyes fell upon the artefact. He turned it over in his palm, his long fingers tracing the delicate rings with a flicker of recognition.
"You are a currently enrolled student, then," the words came out in an exhale from his lips. "But not currently enrolled this year ."
Still unable to comprehend how to use her voice because she had yet to wrap her head around her situation fully, Hermione shook her head cautiously. They both looked at the charmed necklace as he continued.
"Are you from this decade?"
She shook her head again.
"Are you from this century?" This time conveying words that were more pressed with worry.
Quickly, Hermione stuttered out, "Yes! Yes—I… I'm from 1998."
"How, child?" He urgently grabbed Hermione's hands, twisting the Time Turner's chain around his finger to keep hold of it. "Time travel is, at best, an experiment with unpredictable results. Why do you have this?"
"You gave it to me. It's not the first time you gave it to me, but it's not guarded by the Ministry this time."
His brows furrowed as she had seen him do before, carefully analysing and thinking over all the possibilities before assuming anything. Her eyes watered at the reminder that he was still someone she knew very well, and she had come to terms with never seeing him again only recently. Old wounds reopened as she studied his face now, regretting not doing so more before he was murdered.
His eyes softened at her brimming tears and guided her to sit before him as he took a knee before her.
“The future can be altered as the past can be changed, but I do not know enough of your situation to think it wise to confess everything to me confidently. However, it seems we will clearly be fond of each other in the future. I must have trusted you dearly if I gave you something so delicate.”
Hermione smiled, wiping tears from her cheek, and sniffled. "I like to think so, sir."
Dumbledore patted the top of her hand that he was holding and then let go as he stood. Scratching his chin, he began his famously familiar pacing. She waited for his instigation, knowing it was coming. She was almost hoping for him to get on with it, so she would have a sounding board to bounce her thoughts off. She hadn't even thought about how she'd gotten there, much less planned how she would get back to her timeline.
"You must've turned time with purpose then, yes?"
"Yes," Hermione agreed, her eyes following him as he walked around the room. "I had a reason, but I hadn't meant to come back this far."
He nodded at her admission, organising the facts in his mind. "Time Turners usually have five hours to their mark. You've gone back twenty years. However, this is explained by your statement that the Ministry no longer tracks it. And you say I gifted this to you?"
She nodded, feeling relieved with how much she wouldn’t have to tell him outright because he already understood.
"Yes. I was introduced to time-travelling for the first time in my third year, when I wanted to take multiple classes simultaneously. With your help, Professor McGonagall convinced the Ministry to let me borrow it, as long as it was returned. Of course, it was, but then—" she halted, knowing where it would lead: his death.
Stopping his pacing midway, Dumbledore looked down at her and smiled again.
"That's alright, dear. That clarifies some things already. You do sound like the brightest witch of your age."
She snorted, and he chuckled when she darted her eyes away.
"The reason you turned time again, I'm assuming, it did not have to do with the curriculum this time. Did you turn the time on my orders?"
"That part I'm still trying to figure out. I'm not sure how much detail I can give you either, sir. It doesn't have to be kept secret from you. But the future… I'm not sure how much I'm morally allowed to reveal. I didn't plan to talk to anyone when I tried to turn back time to 1996. I didn't plan on being seen at all."
Professor Dumbledore leisurely walked around his desk to his seat, contemplating his next action.
"I believe I have a colleague best suited to help you if you don't mind my temporarily taking this gift from you. If I'm correct, he can recalculate the charm to get you back home precisely in the manner you originally meant to."
A dangerous slip, perhaps, but the name had been on the tip of her tongue.
"Do you mean Nicolas Flamel, sir?"
His blue eyes widened slightly, barely letting on his surprise, before saying, "We know each other quite well, then."
"Yes, sir, we do. I would like you to ask him how much I'm allowed to tell you. I'm coming from a place of the end of the war, much like the start of the one I've found myself in today. I don't know what the outcome will be. But I want to confide in you about my plans and prevent it from ever coming to a Second Wizarding War."
Hermione's voice was shaky, and her heart fluttered with nerves, but she meant every word. She was willing to take this chance to prevent many vital people from dying. At this point, she was already here. She would be willing to force Voldemort's downfall in this decade rather than the next. She was sure she had a fair chance to save Sirius. She wasn't optimistic that she could save the world.
Dumbledore stirred his tea absentmindedly, his mind occupied with the hundreds of questions he had.
"My friend will have the answers you seek. Unfortunately, I can't promise how long it will take to get them. In the meantime, what do you plan to do? How old are you, my dear?"
"I'm eighteen, sir, although I could pass seventeen. Maybe even sixteen, especially with my current diet. Or lack of."
Another question danced across his eyes, but he let it be for now.
"Your age wouldn't be questioned if you said you were sixteen. In the state you're in, Madam Pomfrey will have her hands full."
She blushed as pink as her new jumper, knowing she had fixed her hair to be presentable but couldn't do much for the depletion her body had suffered within the last year alone.
"If you were still a student at eighteen when you turned time, then you must have just been about to graduate from Hogwarts."
"Yes, sir, to be quite honest, my last couple of years at school have been involuntarily more hands-on than most of my classmates.”
Hermione desperately wished she could elaborate.
"I see," he continued, grabbing a piece of parchment and a quill. "If you don't mind repeating a year or so, I'd like you to attend Hogwarts in this timeline. To keep you close and protected. But also to make up for what you have lost. I don't think you lack knowledge. No, that much is clear. But you've lost so much of your youth."
He didn't wait for her to accept his offer before continuing with his writing, as he planned her new life. His observation took Hermione aback, but he had also been right. The war, and although she would never admit it to anyone, Harry's prophecy, slowly ate her alive, like termites consuming the sturdiest oak. So many nights, she lay awake plotting and digging through her mind to come up with solution after solution. And she would do it again if it gave them any chance to live past graduation.
The irony of being sent back to Hogwarts after making it through by the skin of her teeth the first time did not escape her. This could be an opportunity, more than changing the future. It could be a way to see first-hand what they had all missed. She turned time to save a life, maybe even two, to be handed a world of answers they had needed from the beginning.
After finishing his letter, he folded it neatly into an envelope and addressed it.
"I would like you to live at this residence for now. They will care for you and ensure you get everything you need. They also have a child who is currently taking classes at Hogwarts. He is your age—your new age, that is. In this matter, I could trust them with the truth about how you came to be here. However, I wish to confirm what I know with Nicolas before sharing it with them.
"For now, they will be under the assumption of a story you will have to tell everyone else. I trust your instincts to come up with your details, but you're attending Hogwarts later than most because your parents wished to homeschool you and initially rejected your acceptance letter.
"With the Muggle town attacks brought on by Death Eaters recently, it will be easy to convince your classmates that your parents were murdered in a recent skirmish. Do you think this is doable?"
Hermione nodded, not sure what to say. If the future doesn't go their way, his story of murdered Muggle parents may not be far off.
A nod of his head to seal a deal, he stood with a scrape as his chair scuffed against the wood.
"Deek!" he called out, and instantly a pop! bounced off the office walls as an elf with bushy eyebrows and the sweetest grin appeared beside the Headmaster.
He handed the elf the letter and said, "I'd like you to take our friend… Oh dear, pardon my manners… Miss?"
"Hermione," she said without hesitation. "Um… Hermione Granger. But is that wise? Should I come up with a different alias?"
"You've had so much stolen from you, Hermione Granger. Keep your identity." She wanted to cry at the sentiment. "Just keep a low profile, but if all else fails, we'll Obliviate you from any record. We'll just have to figure this out as we go, yes, Miss Granger?"
Sniffling, she hiccuped, "Yes, sir," and let him continue with Deek's instruction.
Chapter Text
Hermione and Deek, hand in hand, Apparated in front of a red brick, two-story cottage. Vines of white flower blossoms curled over the front door, connecting with full hedges beneath the first-story windows, which were framed by wooden brown shutters to match the door. The yard was green and lush, with vines of blossoms clinging to the bricks, reaching all the way to the roof.
A prickling sense of deja vu washed over Hermione as her eyes traced the stone path to the doorstep. Hermione couldn't put her finger on it. She could tell she was back in the safety of Godric's Hollow, but why would this house— No, it couldn't be.
"Deek, where did Dumbledore instruct you to take me?"
He smiled up at her and pulled on her hand, leading her forward.
"No need to worry, Miss Granger. Professor Dumbledore sent Miss Granger to a family loyal to The Light. Miss Granger won't be harmed here, no ma'am, she won't!"
As he finished his sentence, Deek snapped his fingers to magically rap on the door instead of attempting to reach the lion head knocker.
The wooden door swung open to reveal the homeowners on the other side. Hermione willed her jaw not to drop in shock at seeing her best friend's grandparents standing before her. The full realisation settled over her, cold and absolute, before her mind could even process the words: This was the Potter house.
Deek's hurried manners jolted Hermione from her thoughts. "Good afternoon, Mr and Mrs Potter! Deek has been sent with a letter explaining Deek’s and Miss Hermione Granger's interruptions."
Taking the letter handed to him, Mr Potter said, "No interruption at all. We had just gotten home when we felt you come through our wards."
The Potters read the letter together, their heads bowed close over the parchment. Hermione watched Mrs. Potter's eyes scan the lines, then freeze on a particular phrase. With a soft gasp, she snatched the letter from her husband's hands before he could finish. Her bright blue eyes, framed by long eyelashes, glanced up at the girl pretending to be an orphan, quickly assessing her.
“Oh, poor thing, I am incredibly sorry about your losses. Of course, you can stay here at our home as long as you need."
Hermione's stomach twisted with a sickening guilt. Her parents were out there, somewhere, living their lives—oblivious to the daughter who was technically still an unborn thought. They hadn't been murdered; they were just lost. Still, the lie hung in the air, a sour taste in her mouth. She forced herself to smile, the gesture feeling alien and brittle on her face, and managed a trembling thank you that she hoped Mrs Potter mistook for grief.
“Should we request an Auror to investigate?” Mr Potter inquired. “Or should we request one to post a guard at our home for her? Won't the Death Eaters be looking for Miss Granger if they had attacked?”
Deek looked between the Potters, then Hermione, realising he hadn’t been given that many details.
“A... a case has already been opened and closed," Hermione said, her voice wavering as she tried to form a coherent thought. "The Muggle authorities... they labelled the deaths as being caused by unexplained pipe combustion. Aurors know the truth, though, and they're doing what they can to arrest everyone involved.
“They... they never removed their masks, so I'm not much help other than being the only survivor. I just... I pretended to be dead, and luckily, they didn't think to make sure." She fell silent, the hastily constructed lie feeling hollow and inadequate.
Hermione had experienced many tragedies, but pretending to be part of another that never occurred did not sit well with her. Fortunately, it was sufficient for now to convince the Potters.
"We'll take it from here, Deek," Mrs Potter said sadly, waving Hermione inside the door. "You can tell Dumbledore she's no trouble. And she can start next term as planned."
Deek popped away with a gleaming smile and a quick "G'bye, Miss Granger!" leaving Hermione alone.
Mrs Potter linked her elbow to Hermione's arm, gently leading her through the archway. Mr Potter closed the door behind them and waved his wand around the frame to seal the protection wards.
Patting Hermione's hand, Mrs Potter sighed, "Now then, dear. Dumbledore instructed us to take care of you, and we will do just that. I'll show you to your bedroom so you can wash up before dinner and..."
Hermione tried to listen to every word but was too awestruck. The outside of the house resembled a basic village home, but the inside had expanded into a manor, a sprawling space where white marble floors sparkled under glimmering gold chandeliers. Dark wooden couches and loveseats, adorned with deep maroon velvet, were accentuated by gold silk pillows and thick, cosy white blankets for cuddling by the massive fireplace. Room after room passed on her tour; each was designed to be as beautiful as the last.
It's just like a Potter to keep their wealth hidden, she laughed to herself.
Her bedroom was as lavish as the rest of the manor. As promised, she was left to rest in peace, but her nerves were too frayed to do so. The hot bath helped ease her tense muscles, but not her racing mind. Nevertheless, she was happy to see an extensive collection of Sleakeazy's hair products on the bathroom counter.
With her hair perfectly curled again, she put on the jeans she'd bought earlier and changed from her jumper to the vintage music T-shirt, keeping a denim jacket she'd left from the clothes in her beaded bag to hide the noticeable scar on her arm. Just as Hermione pulled on her sneakers, a pop! came from the corner of her room. Another elf smiled at her, wearing dress robes fitted for a toddler, and small silver hoops dangled from her large ears.
“Hello, Missus Granger. Madam Potter has sent Tippy to escort Missus Granger to suppa."
Hermione, who didn't like to entertain the idea of house elves, felt it necessary to comply for now. After all, the house elf was wearing clothes. "Tippy, are you a free elf?" she asked.
"Oh yes, ma'am," Tippy nodded encouragingly. "But I still chose to be employed. Madam and Mister Potter have always been kind to Tippy. Look at the robes Madam Potter got Tippy just last week!"
Tippy twirled and giggled to show off the outfit before taking Hermione's hand to Apparate to the dining room.
There, Mr and Mrs Potter waited at their seats at the end of the table, embellished with a mouthwatering display reminiscent of a Hogwarts dinner spread. "Thank you, Tippy," Hermione said as the little elf pulled out the chair she was to sit in front of the Potters. Tippy filled a plate with portions of each helping and popped away again.
"Oh, darling, I'm afraid my son's friend will love your shirt too much," Mrs Potter said, a warm smile gracing her lips. "It might end up missing if you're not too careful."
Mr Potter chuckled, reaching over the table for the basket of bread rolls. "Yes indeed. He has no sense of what's his and what's someone else's. It will be a full house before we know it. We have our son James, but his best friend Sirius has been living with us since last summer."
"Just family disputes," Mrs Potter swiftly brushed away the subject.
"Yes, quite," her husband grumbled in agreement. "But during the summers and Christmas holidays, we also found ourselves hosting Remus and Peter for most nights."
"Lots of testosterone around here, you see," Mrs Potter added, sipping her wine. "I am thrilled to have another girl under our roof. Tippy and I can only handle so much."
Hermione smiled at her pumpkin soup, stirring her spoon in slow circles around the rim of the bowl in thought.
She was about to be surrounded by ghosts. Harry's father—the man before the husband and the parent. Harry's godfather—the boy before the unjust prison sentence, before his sanity was ever questioned. Remus, a boy targeted by a werewolf, who learned to live with a curse he should never have had. And Peter, the future man who would turn on those he was once most loyal to out of fear.
"What will I tell them about why I am here? Am I allowed to tell the truth?"
Can I tell them a well enough lie?
"Yes, of course, dear," Mrs Potter said reassuringly. "Fleamont and I will probably talk to them ourselves when we pick them up from King's Cross station, so they don't bombard you with hundreds of questions. But you can tell them however much you want."
"Or just tell them to bugger off," Mr Potter chimed in, taking a sip of the red wine.
Chapter Text
Wednesday: June 30, 1976
Hermione had been with the Potters in their hidden manor for over two months now. She had explored most of the imitation cottage and all of its rooms. She had discovered its library, filled with history and memoirs of wizards and witches she’d never heard of before. The front yard remained beautiful in the summer season, but the backyard was breathtaking in all its glory.
A pond was filled with fat goldfish of all colours to feed on a clear day, and bushes were full of sweet-smelling flowers. The green grass felt like sitting on a feather pillow when resting on a picnic blanket. Her favourite spot was the second-story balcony, where she could overlook it all while she and Mrs Potter enjoyed tea and snack cakes.
Mrs and Mr Potter had tried many times to convince Hermione to call them Euphemia and Fleamont, but she always failed to comply. It was against her manners, and all her energy was spent forcing herself to let Tippy wait on her hand and foot. Deep down, she knew Tippy loved it. Still, it was not a satisfying feeling to be catered to by anybody. In the last week or so, she had only recently stopped thanking the Potters for their hospitality, much like she used to do with the Weasleys.
Truthfully, the Potters loved having Hermione stay with them. She soon became the daughter they hadn't thought they'd ever have. They also couldn't wait to test their theory about her keeping James on his toes. They were scheduled to pick up the boys from the train station today, and Hermione hoped they would share enough detail with James and his friends so she wouldn't have to lie as much.
While they were gone, Hermione kept her hands busy to calm her nerves. Tippy let her help with the cooking, teaching her as she gracefully worked around the kitchen. While preparing pot pies and desserts, Hermione forgot what she had been waiting for until she heard the Floo fire crackle. She suddenly became hyper-aware of how messy she had made herself, relieved when Tippy magically snapped away the flour dust and crust crumbs.
One by one, boys stumbled out of the fireplace. The first had dark, thick hair that stood up in every direction, and round glasses. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. He looked so much like Harry, a mirror image in a different time—but a Harry who was taller, more built, and so wonderfully, devastatingly alive. Spotting her, he straightened himself out, attempting to tame his hair and smooth out the travel wrinkles from his robes. This boy was unmistakably James Potter.
The next, shorter and skinnier with dirty blonde hair, caught himself face-first against James' shoulder. When he noticed her, he smiled politely, but Hermione's heart clenched in her chest. This was Peter Pettigrew, the boy who would become a man she only knew as cowardly and conniving. Here, he looked so innocent, so meek. He crossed his arms and waited for James' direction, a silent echo of the future to come.
Another followed soon after, sauntering out effortlessly, as if he had been trained to walk with elegance all his life. Shiny black curls rested over his broad shoulders, with locks on one side tucked behind an ear. A defined jawline, shaved to accentuate it, adorned a smile that could charm anyone, belonged to none other than Sirius Black.
The last boy was taller than the rest. His brown eyes immediately met Hermione's, as if he had been searching for them for a long time. The rich colour made her think of melted chocolate. Remus Lupin still looked as tired as his older self had. The shadows under his eyes were recognisable, but his skin was younger and smoother, not scarred. He looked softer and didn't seem as beaten.
Embarrassingly, and in secret, Hermione had thought he was very handsome as a professor. But right now, he was beautiful.
The Floo fire glowed a brighter shade of green as James's parents arrived last. "Ah, finally, a full house again," Mrs Potter beamed. She let go of her husband's hand to grab Hermione's before she could run away. "And now we have another girl to help me crack a whip around here with all you hooligans."
Ever the gentleman, James reached out his hand first to shake in welcome. "It's nice to meet you, Hermione." To match his house name, the black-haired boy took her hand from James and kissed her knuckles, making her blush reactively.
"I apologise for the misfortune you have faced in ending up here. But you've come to just the right place. The Potters do love to take in strays."
"Sirius!" James chastised, whacking his best friend across the back of the head. Sirius only chuckled, as if that happened quite a lot.
"I am being serious."
Hermione couldn't help but laugh at Sirius's bluntness. "No, that's quite right. I've been lucky to be cared for by your parents in my time of need."
James looked at his mum and dad with pride before he grabbed the smaller of the bunch by the shoulders to place him at the front for show.
"This is Peter. You'll hear us refer to him as Wormtail. He cut off his tail a while back. It's only a nickname now."
"James…" Peter grumbled.
James huffed a laugh and shook Peter's shoulders. "I'm only kidding, mate."
Looking over at the boy who hadn't taken his eyes off her once, James began to introduce his tallest friend, but was cut off before he could say a word.
She knew his name, but found herself longing to hear him say it. Her eyes lingered on his lips, a slight catch in her breath as she waited for him to speak.
"Remus," he took her fingertips to shake in a soft greeting. "Remus Lupin. I'm so sorry for your loss."
His apology was as gentle as his touch. And although he was apologising for something that hadn't really happened, she let it wash over her to heal some of the things nobody knew about.
"They call me Moony. That's Padfoot," he smiled, pointing to Sirius and then to James. "And that's Prongs."
Mr Potter shrugged by, shaking his head. "We don't ask why they call one another those names. Too scared to know the truth, honestly."
After a dinner filled with laughter and many compliments on her and Tippy's baking skills, the boys found their usual rooms—except for Peter, who had to return home to his family, who still expected him. Mr and Mrs Potter hugged each child, wishing them a good night's rest before retiring to their bedroom.
Hermione's nightly routine involved immersing herself in the bath surrounded by steam, with her nose buried in a romance novel she found in Mrs Potter's collection. Around midnight, she would typically crawl into her soft sheets and bury her face in the fluffy pillows, only to wake up an hour later in a panic, drenched in sweat from her nightmares—or rather, her memories.
She then wrapped herself in her silk robe, loving the cold on her heated skin. Hermione would sometimes find a treat in the kitchen or swap her book for another to read for the rest of the night, knowing she wouldn't go back to sleep for hours, if at all. But most of the time, like tonight, Hermione would go outside to the backyard, hidden behind the tall hedges, to lie in the grass before the morning dew drenched the yard. She would watch the stars and wonder if they watched her back. They'd wink at her, and she'd like to pretend the stars were just as curious about her.
A soft shadow fell over her, and Hermione slowly lifted her gaze from the stars.
His approach hadn't startled her in the slightest. A peace she hadn’t felt in a long time settled over her as she watched him. He took a drag from the cigarette between his fingers, his look from above filled with a soft, searching curiosity, not an ounce of intimidation.
"You've found my favourite spot," Remus smirked, flicking the burnt ashes away from them.
Hermione caught a faint glimmer across his eyebrow, down his neck. A glamour? She wondered how much he was already hiding.
"Maybe you were just warming it up for me?"
Did I just flirt with Professor Lupin? she thought in horror.
He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, a lopsided grin playing on his lips. "Well, you'll have to tell me if I did a good enough job of it, now won't you?"
Did he just flirt back?
“Oh yes,” she crooned, snuggling into the earth. “Very warm, thank you.”
Hermione pretended not to notice how his eyes flashed amber, lighting a fire in her belly. She knew whose eyes those belonged to.
“May I join you?”
Moving over to give him space on her blanket, she replied, “Of course.”
Lazily sticking the cigarette between his lips, he lay beside her, folding his arms under his head.
“Do you like looking at the stars too?”
“Nah,” he said, blowing out another stream of smoke and pointing to the moon. “We're old friends.”
His voice was quieter and sadder, and Hermione wished, more than anything, that she could tell him everything would end up all right. But then again, she didn't know if she could say that honestly either. She didn't know the outcome of their futures any more than he did.
Remus flicked his finished cigarette into the air and waved it away with wandless magic before rolling onto his side, resting his head in his large hand.
“Not that I'm complaining about your company, but why are you out here this late in the night? Aren't you scared of monsters?”
Tilting her head to the side to look at him, a soft curl loosened from its hold, framing her face and cascading down her neck. Her voice was a soft challenge. "I'm more scared of things I don't know to be real."
His breath hitched, his eyes dropping to the stray curl, then travelling with an unnerving intensity to the hollow of her collarbone. "And you know monsters to be real?"
"Monsters have many faces," she replied, her eyes searching his. "Some are just prettier than others."
A silent, invisible pull guided her hand to his face. Without a word or a thought, her fingertips gently brushed the front fringe out of his eyes. He tried to mask the shudder that rippled through his body, his eyes fluttering shut as he luxuriated in a moment of peace he hadn't known was possible.
Remus knew love from his mother and the warmth of a girl's embrace. But nothing felt as good as Hermione's fingers acknowledging the exposed proof of what he was, even though she couldn’t see the indentations in his skin. The way his magic hummed in his body at the sight of her had been staggering, overwhelming the second he stepped out of the Floo. So much so that he convinced himself he had imagined the whole thing.
But here she was again, and Remus wanted to kiss her. He wanted to devour her. He wanted to study her. He wanted to know everything about her. He wanted to run away from her.
Remus felt his head fall into her waiting palm, pulling him out of his desperate thoughts. Slowly opening his eyes again, he found her examining every inch of him. Hermione was equally bewildered by the magnetic attraction she felt next to him. It was as if she had known him forever—technically, she did—but she had never sensed this powerful pull toward him in the future.
Now Hermione noticed the swirls of shades of brown circling his irises. Everything about him was alluring: his doleful eyes fixed on her, trying to predict her next move, and his jaw clenched as if he wanted to say something but didn't have the guts to speak it out loud. She especially loved how his soap didn't cover his natural musk. She wanted to bury her face in his chest and breathe in.
Oh, for the love of Merlin, get it together, Hermione! she silently scolded herself.
“I don't think we should risk any monsters eating you up tonight.”
His voice was breathy like it hadn't been before. The fire in her belly roared with delight.
“I'm not scared,” she whispered.
A light breeze wrapped around them, pushing the scent from her skin into his space. The Devil was rubbing Remus’s nose into this temptation. I want to taste her. I need to know what everything tastes like. Reluctantly, he stopped himself from leaning too far past the line…wherever it was drawn.
A chuckle rumbled out of his throat. “Who said anything about you being the scared one?”
She rolled her eyes and looked at the sky again. He missed her touch already. “You can go on then, you big chicken. I can’t sleep much. I’d rather be out here.”
“I don't sleep too often either. What’s your excuse?”
“Nightmares,” she confessed. “You?”
Instantaneously, Remus replied, “Reality.”
Hermione didn't question him further, knowing that neither of them could admit why their thoughts affected their sleeping patterns so drastically. Instead, they surrendered to each other's need to learn more about one another. They bonded over their use of wandless magic when Hermione demonstrated that she could perform it as well, making the flowers around them transform into birds that flew away above them.
Remus laughed at their similarity, preferring coffee over tea, but both were too polite to say anything when offered a cuppa. Hermione was beyond giddy to discover that he loved to read during Quidditch matches nearly as much as she did.
She didn't know if they had fallen asleep before the sun rose, but warmth bathed her face in the early light. Slowly, her consciousness seeped into her body, and she found that her hand was gripped in another, clutched to his chest. Remus's head lay on his stretched-out arm, breathing above her into her hair where his chin rested.
She relished giving in, letting herself be near, connecting as much as she’d allow herself. Hermione inhaled his scent from the crook of his neck. Remus smelled of crisp, forbidden fruit. She loathed having to wake him at all. While they confessed to being unable to sleep, they both eventually fell into a slumber, almost making her eyes fill with tears, not knowing when she would sleep that well again.
The sun spread its glowing rays, painting the early sky with hues of light blue and pink. Hermione lifted her head to his ear to whisper, “Good morning, you big chicken.”
Throaty and delicious, Remus grumbled. “Oh no, the monster came for me after all, bach.”
“Only to tell the little boy to return to his room before anyone notices he fell asleep somewhere else.”
He tried not to focus on her lips, tickling the shell of his ear. “The best sleep I’ve had in a long time.”
“Because I talked your ear off.”
He barked a laugh. "I think I bored you into a coma, really. I was talking about Shakespeare, and suddenly you were snoring.”
Offended, Hermione went to pull her hand away, but Remus held on tight.
“I do not snore,” she muttered under her breath.
He snickered, “No, but Shakespeare does bore you into a coma.”
"Yeah, well, you got me there,” she laughed, pulling him up as she stood.
Before he could respond with how offended he was now for her not being impressed with one of his favourite poets, she had Apparated them to the top of the East Wing staircase, where the guest bedrooms were.
Shocked, Remus exclaimed, “How did—” lowering his voice when Hermione shushed him for nearly waking up the whole house. “How did you do that? I thought–”
“Remind me to tell you the next time you find me in your favourite spot."
Chapter Text
Thursday: July 1, 1976
Fitting into a summer dress gifted by Mrs Potter did little to combat the summer heat. Her mind, however, was not on the heat. She was on a different clock now, in a different war, and she'd been wary of her every magical move. She had suspected that in her own time, magic was not just traceable by the Ministry but could also be detected by those under the Dark Lord's command. But perhaps it was only the curse on His name that could truly be tracked. Or maybe, in this year, it didn't matter at all.
Holding her breath, she lifted a hand to her forearm and concentrated. A faint shimmer passed over the carved word, but there was no telltale jolt of a magical trace, no alarm bell ringing in her mind. A fresh wave of relief washed over her, giving her the courage to try again. But it was the ugly scars on her shoulder that truly needed a proper disguise, as too many eyes were around now, leaving too many chances to catch her with her guard down.
Her hand trembled as she reached into her beaded bag. This was the first time she had taken out her wand since arriving in 1976. The Potters believed the wizarding world was brand new to her, that she was a Muggle orphan. Taking it out was a risk, a violation of her own rules. But the ugly scars on her shoulder needed a proper disguise. There were too many eyes around her now. Too many chances to catch her with her guard down.
With a careful glance toward the door to ensure she was alone, she pulled out the sleek, polished wood. It felt like an old friend, warm and familiar in her palm. With a whisper, she cast another glamour over the raw, pink scars that marred her shoulder, waiting for the inevitable consequences. Again, nothing. The glamour held, and her magic was hers alone.
With Tippy's help and a promise not to reveal the extent of her injuries to the Potters, she and Hermione had charmed and healed the Mudblood brand enough so it wouldn't bleed continuously. Other minor cuts she’d gotten while on the run with Harry and Ron could have used bandages, if anything. But Tippy insisted on using vial after vial of Essence of Dittany, elvish magic, and hopeful thinking to fade as many as possible. Every bruise had finally faded to her actual skin tone. The only marks left on her body after Tippy’s treatments were her most memorable.
Twisting her thick curls into a clip to let her neck breathe, she slipped on her leather sandals and started down the stairs to the kitchen for breakfast. Even though it was pretty early, the high ceilings echoed with all the chaos brought in by the newest houseguests. The scene tugged at Hermione’s heartstrings, reminding her of the Weasleys’ Burrow.
“Prongs, let the rest of us have some, too, yeah?”
“Hey now, I’m a growing boy! And I need to start bulking up for Quidditch.”
“Oh, please,” Sirius laughed with his mouth full, spitting biscuit crumbs everywhere. “You’re a Seeker, not a Beater! At least be honest, mate. You want to bulk up for Lily.”
Remus stirred sugar into his black coffee while shaking his head with a smile, listening to his friends fire rounds at one another. Hermione watched from the doorway as he filled a second porcelain cup and took a sip from his own. After setting the coffee pot back on the stovetop, he leaned against the counter, lazily crossing one ankle over the other, and raised the extra cup to her.
A shy, soft smile touched his lips, and her own bloomed in response. Her heart did a little leap in her chest.
He remembered.
"Thank you," she blushed, a delightful heat rising in her cheeks as he also handed her the sugar and milk. Watching the boys bicker, a lightness in her step she couldn't quite control, she said, "I imagine I can expect my peaceful, quiet mornings gone now that they’re home.”
“Your peaceful mornings, your afternoons, your evenings… Probably any naps you had planned or reading spare time you thought you had.”
“Well, then, I guess a walk around Godric’s Hollow will do wonders for my sanity,” she joked behind her next sip of coffee.
“Did you say ‘walk around Godric’s Hollow’?” Sirius asked, the pesky quarrel forgotten.
Remus sighed theatrically. “No, I don’t think your sanity will be saved today.
Hermione rolled her eyes, ignoring him. “Yes, I was going to go in a bit. Would you three like to join me? We can wait for Peter if you’d like.”
She wasn’t sure how being around the boy she would hate as a man would be. She figured that finding out for the first time while living with him in Gryffindor Tower wouldn’t be the best time.
“Yes!” Sirius cheered, thrusting a victorious fist in the air. “We can call Marlene, Mary and Lily on the Muggle phone! We can invite them to swim in the river—”
“Don’t forget how far the Midlands are from here,” Remus interrupted. “And Lily lives a hell of a lot more north than I do. They wouldn’t get here until late tonight unless they Apparate in.”
“If only we knew somebody who could Apparate,” Hermione teased playfully.
Remus poked at her ribs, catching on to her joke. She giggled like a silly schoolgirl, loving their game.
“We can still let you dial in and invite them over the weekend. Give them time to plan. Meanwhile, you lot can show me around.”
“Deal! I’ll go tell Mum and Dad where we’re going.” James ran up to his parents' bedroom.
The air in the room that had been light all morning suddenly felt heavy. She felt prying eyes on her, a soft, searching brown, lingering on her shoulder. Her blood ran cold when they trailed down to her arm.
The glamour was perfect, but Remus—a boy who lived his life with a hidden magical burden—would be more sensitive to such things. He wasn't seeing the glamour itself, the illusion, she realised with a jolt of panic, but the whisper of magic.
He looked up to meet her eyes, a question forming on his face. They locked eyes for a beat, an understanding passing between them, before a nervous, deflecting smile pulled at her lips. She quickly turned her attention to the small pile of dishes in the sink.
"You two aren’t doing the dishes on a day like this, are you?" Sirius said, tossing a half-eaten biscuit at Remus.
“Hey!” James yelled at Sirius, coming back down the stairs. “You steal that biscuit from me and then don’t even finish it? Real shameful, Black.”
“Oh, that’s alright, Potter. You can borrow some of my shame when Evans rejects you on your hundredth try!” Sirius jumped over the middle island counter and dashed by, barely out of James’s reach, cackling as he ran out the door.
Hermione giggled, thinking that even though Sirius was not Harry’s true blood relative, he certainly shared his sass.
After washing the small pile of dishes in the sink before Tippy could demand she do it instead, she sensed the tension in the air building again. Hermione knew Remus was still watching her.
Her mind warped with her heart. She didn’t know which racing thought was sensible. This was a fantasy. A dangerous, beautiful fantasy that belonged to another time, to another woman. Tonks.
The thought of Tonks was a bitter taste. And Ron. Her Ron. She didn’t belong in this reality.
But why did it feel so real? They'd only just met, and yet it felt as if her entire world had been waiting for him. The pull she felt was not just attraction—that much she understood. It was a gravitational force, a deep, undeniable connection that made her want to re-centre her whole universe around his presence. It was terrifying, and it was a feeling she had no right to indulge.
This romance wasn’t hers to entertain. Eventually, she would return to her own timeline and answer for whatever she let happen in this one.
Ron would never forgive her. Harry would be stuck in the middle, even if he empathised with her situation. No, dammit. There is NO situation. But wasn’t there? No matter what feelings were slowly sparking between her and Ron, they never felt like the fireworks exploding around her and Remus.
He’s your professor, Hermione! He’s married!
“What the bloody hell could you be thinking about so hard?”
Remus interjected her panicked thoughts, suddenly appearing in front of her. He reached around her, maintaining eye contact, to pour the remaining coffee from his cup into the sink.
His eyes creased at the corners, yet his hooded lids could not hide how they glittered in the morning sun, pouring through the tall windows. Her own eyes betrayed her, tracing the arch of his brow, down the curve of his cheek, and then slid to the neckline of his shirt where his pulse thumped against his skin.
“Hermione.” Remus coaxed when she did not respond.
She wanted to submit to his tender command. But she was too busy submitting to this fantasy.
“Hermione, look at me.” His forefinger and thumb pressed into her chin to lift her eyes to meet his. His eyes were pools of chocolate, but around the edge of his iris were glowing amber.
“I am looking at you,” Hermione breathed into him, hoping it reached another part of him.
“I know,” Remus whispered back.
Chapter Text
Hermione and Remus walked a few paces behind James and Sirius, strolling down the cobblestone path among the various colours of village houses and a clear brook flowing by with squawking ducks. When James finally caught up to Sirius to make him kindly eat a few mouthfuls of dirt for poking fun at his crush, they made their way to Godric’s Hollow for the day as planned. Their first stop was to visit the Muggle payphone so Sirius could call Marlene at Lily’s house.
“Lily gave me this list of numbers. She said that if I pushed the buttons in this order after inserting the Muggle money into the coin slot, we would be able to hear them through the receiver. Whatever that is,” Sirius shrugged, looking at the piece of paper Lily had given him.
Remus sniggered, “Look at that, Prongs! Even Sirius got Lily’s number before you—”
“Moony, do NOT finish that sentence if you know what’s good for you!”
Hermione wished she had never gone to Dumbledore for help in times like these. After the excitement settled, she knew she had acted too quickly. She found a nearby wizard pub at Godric’s Hollow, flooed to The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, and walked to the Shrieking Shack for the secret passageway to Hogwarts. During that time, she hadn’t considered how Dumbledore would have reacted or planned to help her.
Hermione should never have gotten him involved. He had worried enough about her to devise a plan. But that would mean she would have to stay longer to do it correctly. She didn’t have time to do it correctly.
Well, she had quite literally had them in the palm of her hand all the time. But the longer she stayed, the more Hermione began to care. And that was dangerous.
Now that Hermione was around the people who had shaped her future she was trying to save, it was impossible to stay detached. It had been hard enough to live alone with the Potters most days before the boys came to the Manor for the summer holiday. Still, it was easier than it was now with them here.
She could compartmentalise her feelings and organise them away when she was by herself—not feeling everything at once felt laughable around the Marauders and all their glory today. James Potter was a constant, gut-wrenching reminder of her best friend and how Harry might have blossomed under the care of his parents had they not been murdered. Harry loved hard, but always from a distance. He was consistently scared to get close, convinced that his existence alone earned his family and friends the targets on their backs.
Hermione felt more guilty than ever for using time travel without saying anything beforehand. Her best friend had almost lost everyone he cared about, and she had just willingly disappeared. Time pauses in your timeline, Hermione. You’ll catch up to your second, and he wouldn’t have even realised you had left, just like Ron never did.
That did make her smile, thinking of Ron, who was goofy and oblivious as a boy. Hermione had been so proud of him, the man he was becoming in the last few months. And that was all it took for the guilt to crawl back in. Hermione could lose both of her best friends over this.
She should never have gone to Dumbledore. She’d gone farther in time than she wanted, but could’ve tried again. What was she thinking? Now she was stuck here at the will of a philosopher known for taking his sweet time with his—
Dumbledore saved your arse again, and you know it.
Hermione distracted herself by watching Sirius walk ahead of them. He was confident, from his immaculate posture to his perfect hair. Sirius radiated confidence. How did he survive Azkaban, knowing everyone had turned against him so easily? After he never hesitated to turn away from his family’s house name when they demanded he join them with the Dark Lord.
He had even chosen his friends over his brother. Sirius’s every move was in the Order’s best interest. How had he not aimed his wand at Remus, too, when he took his chance at vengeance against Peter that night at the Shrieking Shack?
Remus…
What would happen when Hermione got back to 1998? Never mind what Ron would think of her if he found out she had been attracted to their former professor. But how would Remus perceive her when she desperately wanted to give in to… whatever this was… knowing he was already taken? None other than by Sirius’s cousin. For all Hermione knew, Tonks was Remus’s first love, his only love.
Hermione felt like nothing.
She felt a soft nudge on her arm. “You’re doing it again,” Remus whispered.
“Doing what?”
“Thinking hard. Your hair is about to burst into flames, woman.”
With wandless magic, he cast a cooling charm over her face, and she felt the sweat droplets on her hairline dry. “Padfoot is a yapper, but we’re all good listeners. If you ever needed to talk.”
She couldn’t tell him what she wanted to confess or where she had come from, but discussing anything else seemed innocent enough. “I wouldn’t turn you away if you showed up at my favourite spot again.”
“Already claimed my spot, then, bach?” he teased. She smiled up at him. “Oh, alright. I’ll meet you there when everybody has gone to sleep.”
Eventually, they reached the Muggle phone, and even though Sirius swore he followed all of Lily’s instructions, Remus still had to step in to add another coin and redial the number. Hermione couldn’t help but laugh when James's eyes bulged out of his head as the phone started to ring.
Sirius proved to have swagger not only in his walk but also in his talk. Marlene could be heard giggling on the receiving end of the phone for the hundredth time before James and Remus finally made him proceed with the invitation for that weekend.
“It’s a shame Wormtail doesn’t live closer. He would have had fun with us all today.” Hermione tried very hard to focus on her strawberry ice cream instead of how Remus’s spoon leisurely savoured over his tongue as he talked around it.
“Well, the distance never stopped him before,” sighed James, absentmindedly picking at his ice cream cone. “Peter used to be over at my house more than you all. These days, his parents hardly let him leave the house unless it’s with them or for school. Mr and Mrs Pettigrew don’t even come over to see Mum and Dad anymore, like they used to.”
“Ah, it’s not all that shocking now, is it?” grumbled Sirius. “They wouldn’t be the first family to hide out. Bunch of cowards.”
“Watch it, Padfoot,” James snapped. “He’s still our friend.”
“Of course, he is. And he will get stuck under their thumb and do whatever they want to do.”
“You surprised us. Maybe Peter will, too,” Remus said hopefully.
Sirius’s blue eyes grew sad when he said, “Because he’s our friend, I think I can say he isn’t exactly assertive like we are.”
Not a single Marauder argued his point.
Hermione didn’t know how to help. Aware of what happens to them all and how Sirius was pretty spot-on, it didn’t seem right to pretend to be the light of reason.
She cut in, her voice a little too loud, her tone a little too bright. She stood, looking at each of the boys in turn. “Come on. You three promised you’d show me around, and all we’ve done is let you flirt on the phone and eat sweets.”
James looked from Sirius to Hermione and back again, a little bewildered but grateful for the change of subject. He slid his glasses down his nose and gave a small smile. "Yeah, I guess so. Lead the way."
Chapter 8
Notes:
I am floored by all of the love I've gotten for this silly little fic I'm writing. Thank you all! And thank you to my new sweetheart of an arc reader @our_sunny_selves <3 Please make sure to check out her amazing work as well. :)
Chapter Text
Hermione leaned back against the trunk, enjoying the cool shade and the light hum of the summer afternoon. The boys were sprawled out on the grass, a pile of limbs and laughter. James and Sirius were still bickering playfully about something inconsequential, while Remus watched them with a fond, weary smile.
It was a picture of peace she never thought she’d see again. Peace, she didn’t have nearly enough time to enjoy before.
Hermione was content just to listen, happy to be a part of their vibrant chaos, but James had other ideas. He sat up, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
"You're too quiet, Hermione," he said with a grin. "We're meant to be getting to know you! Try this one on for size."
He looked between Sirius and Remus, his face lighting up with a mischievous spark. "Let's play Truth or Dare. We can get to know you, and—"
"And you can see how we prefer dares," Sirius cut in smoothly, a glint in his eye as he winked in Hermione's direction.
"Yes, exactly! It'll be a proper introduction to the Marauders."
As the one who proposed the game, he was the obvious choice to go first.
"Sirius," James declared, his grin widening, "Truth or Dare?"
"Dare," Sirius said instantly, without a moment of hesitation. "Naturally."
James pretended to think for a moment, stroking his chin dramatically. "Alright, Padfoot. I dare you to go over to that old lady selling flowers by the brook and recite a Shakespearean sonnet to her as if she were your long-lost love."
Sirius, always ready for a challenge, jumped to his feet. "Only if you admit that my hair is far superior to yours."
"Never!" James yelled.
Hermione watched, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a giggle as Sirius, with a flourish, launched into a passionate, over-the-top recitation. The old woman's face, initially confused, broke into a delighted smile quickly. He kissed the woman's hand before running back to the group, a handful of carnations clutched in his hand.
"That's for you," Sirius said, handing the flowers to Hermione with a final, elegant bow.
"Hermione," James said, turning to her with a look of pure mischief. "Truth or Dare?"
"Dare," she decided, surprising herself almost as much as the boys.
Sirius grinned, a flash of pure mischief in his eyes as he took his turn. He pointed to a small, brightly colored kite tangled in the high branches of the oak tree they were sitting under.
"Alright, Hermione Granger," he said, his voice full of mock seriousness. "I dare you to get that kite down from the top of that tree... without touching it."
Hermione's lips twitched into a smirk. She didn't hesitate. Closing her eyes for a moment, she held out her hand, a spark of focused magic tingling at her fingertips. The kite's string, almost as if on its own accord, began to tug. With a gentle shake, the kite freed itself from the branches and drifted down, landing softly in her outstretched hand.
Remus’s face was unreadable, but a flicker of pride danced in his eyes. He wasn't shocked; he was impressed. Sirius and James, however, were gaping. They stared from the kite in her hand to her expectant face, their mouths hanging open.
"Well, I thought you'd try throwing a rock at it and knock it down, but that works too, I suppose,” Sirius said, trying to sound nonchalant but failing.
James, still stunned, finally managed to speak. "How did you do that? We have had trouble mastering that with a wand most days!"
Hermione knew this was an opportunity to share a carefully crafted piece of her truth, a calculated risk, even if it was wrapped up in a lie. She reached into her beaded bag and pulled out her vine wood wand, its polished surface catching the afternoon light.
"Actually… I have one of those, too."
They stared at the sleek, eleven-inch wand, then at Hermione, then back at the wand. Now even Remus looked at her wide eyes.
"Hermione," James breathed, "but... My mum said—"
"That I was homeschooled," she interrupted, her voice firm. “My parents were supportive of my magic, just not supportive of me leaving, especially at eleven. They lived a small, private life, and I was their only child with no living family between them.
“Another girl saw me practising magic behind my house in a field one day. She knew of Diagon Alley and told me about the wand shop where I could get my own. When I had saved enough coins, she took me to Diagon Alley herself. I exchanged my money at Gringotts, chose a wand, ate at The Leaky Cauldron, and returned home.”
Hermione inhaled and exhaled again, this time to steady the nerves in her stomach. She had hoped that telling enough partial truths wouldn’t feel like lying as much. But it was pointless. The guilt was starting to feel like a second skin.
Remus picked up the wand from her hand, running his fingers over the carvings.
“What kind of core is it?” he asked.
“Dragon heartstring,” she said softly.
He gave her a small, knowing look that told her he wasn't fooled, but he wasn't going to press her. “A very powerful wand for a witch."
James, however, was still trying to process everything. "So you've had this the whole time?”
"I've had it, yes," she replied, "and I didn't use it before because I was told not to reveal that I had it yet. You're the first people I've told. I’m sorry if this is a lot."
"You don't have to apologise," Sirius said, a flash of genuine admiration in his eyes. He looked at Remus, a playful challenge on his face. "So, James, I dare you to admit Hermione is much more impressive than you are."
"I'm not going to do that, but…” he said, grinning a wicked smirk. “You have no idea how much trouble we're going to get you into now that we know you have a wand."
Hermione hugged herself, wrapped in her silk robe, and held her wand tightly. She watched the drops of rain race each other down the windowpane, listening to the sky growl with low thunder against the heavy clouds. Her mind worked through the day and every conversation, double-checking that she hadn’t messed up. She tried to remember the details she had committed to memory, organising them for later use.
Hermione had been relieved they hadn’t asked about Death Eaters or how she had survived when “her parents” hadn’t. She felt she could convince them; she just didn’t want to have to. It was awful to lie about, but lying to them specifically proved to be the most challenging part.
She’s had to tell little white lies all her life, but they were for the greater good. One day, everyone who knew of their involvement in the success of the Second Wizarding War would have to forgive them for their crimes, theft, and lies. It was all purposeful, an end goal that benefited everybody.
But this lie was only meant to save her from her own stupid mistake.
“There you are.”
The honeyed voice she craved to hear spoke above her head, his chest pressed against her back. Remus leaned down until the warm air from his nose flowed down her neck, making her shiver. “Did you have fun today?”
“It was… different. A good kind of different.”
She felt his smile against her cheek. “You held your own with them.”
“Did I?” Hermione tilted her head, feigning a casualness she didn't feel.
She held back a whimper, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, as his calloused fingers began an unhurried, agonizingly slow journey from her shoulder to her forearm. He lifted her arm to face them, cradling her body against his with his free hand, brushing paint strokes of tenderness over the scarred flesh.
“I see the magic you use,” he said, his voice a soft secret just for her.
She turned in his embrace, her hand reaching up to the familiar blur of magic that hid him from the world. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
He let go of her arm, his hands coming to rest at her waist. “Tempting.”
Something in her chest loosened. Hermione swallowed hard, the manor around them suddenly impossibly still.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be here,” she admitted, her voice low. “But I’m glad I’ve had days like today.”
He brushed a curl from her cheek, his eyes watching her every shaky breath. “We’re going to take care of you now, Hermione,” he promised.
A lump formed in her throat. “You need to take care of each other, Remus. Promise me. Promise you’ll never lose sight of one another, especially Peter.”
Remus’s brows furrowed, the mention of Peter’s name seeming to snag his attention.
“Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs,” he said, the names a quiet incantation. "And now Hermione."
She didn’t know how to respond. Being included made her feel at home, but she also felt like she was betraying Harry and Ron. Their love for her was like nothing she had ever felt until now. Wanting to stop feeling everything too much, Hermione sank into the cage of Remus’s arms, his hands snaking into her hair and massaging her scalp.
“We can’t go to our favourite spot tonight,” Hermione mumbled into his chest, referring to the summer storm.
“I see that. Want me to put a kettle on?”
“Truly, I just want to lie down.”
Remus kissed her forehead and took her hand. “Come on then. I’ll walk you to your room.”
Though exhaustion was beginning to take over, Hermione was still incredibly disappointed by the weather ruining their night. Especially after the day she had, she wanted nothing more than to curl up on a wool blanket, fluffy from the grass underneath, with Remus’s conversation lulling her to sleep. Even if he probably would smoke several cigarettes before the sun rose and peeked over the hedges, a dirty habit she planned to scold out of him before she went back to 1998.
Approaching her ridiculously large door, Remus kissed her cheek goodnight. She swore she heard him take a breath in before pulling away. But that was okay because she inhaled his woodsy musk every chance she got.
Hermione reached for his hand before he got too far.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, whispering low so as not to wake anyone.
“Nothing, I just…”
Bloody hell, Hermione, you can face him as a werewolf but can’t tell him how you feel?
Forcing the words out, she scrambled together, “ Pleasedontleave. ”
And, thank Merlin, Remus knew precisely what she meant by some miracle because he grinned from ear to ear before opening her door and pulling her into the room. She let him, drunk on whatever feeling she couldn’t name.
He looked around her space as she shut the door with the softest click. Internally, she thanked whoever she needed to, that this Manor didn’t have a single portrait of a former relative to tell her secrets. Following his gaze, Hermione’s stomach twisted when they noticed the book on her pillow at the same time. She lunged across the room and over the bed as he went to grab it. But he snatched it out of reach, a sparkle in his eyes, before she could manage it.
Teasingly, he cleared his throat and flipped the book to the pages she had saved from where she had stopped reading that morning. She groaned as she remembered where she left off and pulled the duvet over her face while he read aloud.
“Evander dressed his large hands over her sensitive breasts, showing the rosebud nipples attention before they moved down her aching body.”
He paused, and she thought he’d begin to mock her until he continued with raspier words that vibrated to her core.
“Her skin reacted to every touch, every breath. Arabella felt both his energy and hers burning within her. She panted beneath his weight, the only release he’d allow her to have as he cherished her.”
When he stopped reading, she wished she dared to ask him to continue. Instead of Evander and Arabella, she had been imagining Remus and herself. The thread pulling her toward him snapped, and she moved. If she pulled against it any further, she’d snap in half. But in her mind, she didn’t possess the virtue of resistance. Hermione would give in and allow herself to fully enjoy being wanted.
Ron never knew how to meet her halfway in terms of their feelings. She made excuses due to their friendship and age. Meanwhile, the war and his heartbreak constantly teetered on the edge of the possibility of losing his family when he wasn’t even there with them. She had been falling for Ron over the last three years, never sure she would be caught, waiting for him to decide if she was worth it. But Remus was here, and he couldn’t stay away from her any more than she could stay away from him.
It was intoxicating.
Hermione felt Remus crawling toward her on the bed before she sensed the tug of the duvet being pulled down to meet his focus. Rain painted shadows across the room from her window, the chill of the night creating goosebumps against her skin. The silk of her robe tangled between her legs, brushing over her damp cotton knickers in a way that made her roll her hips for some relief.
Is this how Arabella felt? Evander was a cruel man.
Remus was no more merciful than the men in her books, placing a hand on each side of her head against the mattress, crowding her in the most thrilling ways.
“Is that what you want, Hermione?”
The fringe of his hair tickled her cheek as he leaned in, placing an open-mouth kiss under her jaw. Her neck stretched out for him, giving him a canvas to draw his map. She felt the flat of his tongue taste her with every kiss on her skin.
“Do you want somebody to make you feel alive?” he whispered into her ear, peppering her with savoury kisses in a trail down her neck to her chest.
Remus pressed his face between her breasts, the silk robe and thin camisole underneath a pathetic excuse of a barrier between her and the boy she wanted to pounce. He inhaled her like he had been holding back from memorising her scent all this time.
In a shuddering exhale, he enticed, “Do you want to be cherished?”
Hermione wanted to tell Remus ‘yes,’ or more truthfully, ‘no, I need it.’ But she needed to know if she was losing her mind. She had to know she wasn’t the only one ready to crawl out of her skin to get to him.
“Remus,” she barely whispered. “Please tell me you feel it, too.”
Remus lifted back up to hover over her body again, relieved he wasn’t the only one. She was paralysed, waiting for his confession.
“Hermione, you are all I have felt since I stepped out of the Potters’ fireplace.”
He shook his head, unsure how to convince her, but he’d be devastated if he couldn’t figure it out.
“I didn’t even know I was hungry until I met you. Now I’m starving.”
Her eyes widened, unblinking, and he felt a sense of instant defeat. Of all the poetry he read, Remus had no idea how to express what he was feeling as she wished. It seemed all-consuming. The wolf within Remus told him she was his, but how? She was not his to claim. He had no right. They had only just met. It took Sirius and Marlene six years to realise they even liked each other. Now, they won’t disconnect even if their friends beg.
Kissing her cheek once more and breathing in the lavender blossoms she smelled of, which he had soon become addicted to, he lay beside her and opened a waiting arm.
“C’mere, Hermione,” he asked gently. “I moved too fast. I’m sorry. I do want you, but I also want everything else. We can just talk tonight like you asked.”
“Oh, like hell we are,” Hermione whined, surprising him into submission when she threw a leg over his waist.
She crashed her lips to his before he could protest. When Remus finally tasted this witch who had him itching to touch her, to want her, just to know her, it did not take him long to wrap his head around her craving him the same way he craved her. He devoured her right back—lips splitting, tongues dancing, teeth clashing.
Remus pushed into Hermione to sit beneath her. She tugged at his jumper to slide over him, her nails dragging across his skin, making his eyes roll back in his head. He had never been bold enough to remove his clothes in front of Emmeline, too worried he would lose focus on a Glamour Charm over his scars in the heat of the moment. But Hermione took pleasure in them as if they were nothing more than birthmarks, her nails grazing over the proof of his curse she hadn’t seen yet.
Hermione discarded his jumper wherever it landed and cradled his face in her palms as she surrendered to her desire. Remus didn’t know how he had survived for so long without experiencing what it was like to be enveloped by her. He hadn’t realised how lonely he had been until Hermione Granger blessed his soul with a connection to hers. Her stealing the air from his lungs taught him to truly appreciate the act of breathing.
His long fingers unwound the belt from her robe, which was not nearly fast enough for her as she cast a Silencing charm and multiple locking spells on the door before reciting a Contraceptive Spell. Remus leaned back on his elbows with a cocked eyebrow and a smug look on his face.
“You’ve done this before, then?” he chuckled, rubbing her thighs, refusing to lose their contact.
“Yes. Haven’t you?”
He guffawed at her forward question. “Well, yeah, uh—It was just one girl last year, though. We messed around a few times, but that’s it, really.”
“Okay. Good,” Hermione approved, leaning down to kiss him again. She fell short and bumped her forehead against his shoulder in annoyance when he moved to the side of her lips.
“‘Good’?” he asked, intrigued by her reaction. “You like that you’re not my first?”
Rolling her eyes, she sat back up, straddling him and crossing her arms in a pout.
“I wouldn’t say I’m bloody ecstatic about it!”
Remus only grinned up at her, folding his arms under his head, loving the performance of her getting riled up.
Letting out a long sigh, she continued, “Can you honestly say you’re not a little relieved to hear I’m not a virgin? I mean, now you don’t have to be slow and cautious; the hero runs up the tower to be extra careful with the princess in white.”
Taking the bait dangling in front of his face, Remus flipped a triumphant Hermione onto her back, looping her legs around his waist.
“Would you rather I be the big bad wolf who broke in to eat you up?” he hummed, grazing the tip of his nose along her collarbone.
Nipping his bare shoulder, she said, “Didn’t I invite you in?”
She gave him no moment's peace before hooking her thumbs under the waistband of his trousers to pull them down over his hips. He kissed her lips and promised he wouldn’t come up for air until she begged to live. Writhing in agony beneath him, Hermione ripped her camisole off and pulled Remus down to rest his weight on top of her. When she rolled her hips against his length, he growled into her mouth at the overwhelming sensation.
Even in the absence of the moonlight, the wolf still wanted to demand his claim.
Hermione felt their magic come alive and wanted to experience it all. She wanted it to tear her apart and piece her back together again. She wished for nothing to separate them, merely her pinned between him and the mattress. She desired to moan his name so many times that she forgot her own. She craved to burn for him simply for the attention, to see if he’d relieve her of her misery.
“Please, Remus.”
Her eyes watched his blend from chocolate to amber, back to brown, and then back to the glow of his curse. His two souls were fighting for the chance to take her, but she’d let them both keep her if Remus could have her at all.
Remus wound his hand behind her back, like a snake coiling around its prey, to push past inside her knickers. As his hand squeezed over her arse and down her creamy legs, the cotton lace followed. The cool air touched her damp core, and she clenched around nothing, demanding a remedy for the ache.
With the desire too violent to bear any longer, Hermione took his hand and guided his fingers to her most sensitive spot. She hissed at the contact of his forefinger slipping through her folds.
“Fuck, Hermione, you’re already dripping for me.”
If she had read those filthy words in one of her novels, she would have blushed. She made a mental note to shelve the story of Evander and Arabella later back in the Manor Library. Remus had just ruined everything seductive she could ever read because now she would only be satisfied if the words came from his mouth.
Exploring her, he spread her wetness from her weeping opening to her pleading bud. He circled it with featherlight touches until Hermione thrust into his hand for more. She had just started to float when he brought her back down to Hell, sitting up on his knees to free up his other hand and knead a waiting breast.
“Remus dressed his large hands over her sensitive breasts, showing the rosebud nipples attention before they moved down her aching body.”
He performed the passage from her book like a play, plucking a nipple until it popped out of his fingertips.
“Her skin reacted to every touch.” he licked around her areola before flicking the puckered tip with his hot tongue, “every breath,” and blew a cold breeze from his lips, making her whimper for his mercy.
“Hermione felt both his energy and hers burning from within. She panted beneath his weight, the only release he’d allow her to have as he cherished her.”
Just as Evander promised, Hermione gasped for breath as Arabella did.
She only watched him, loving and hating how she couldn’t predict Remus’s next move. His fingers pressed more firmly as the rocks from her hips into his hand found a rhythm. Hermione had only heard her friends talk about finding an earth-shattering release. After several encounters with Cormac McLaggen, she had been convinced they were lying.
But now, with Remus, she realised it hadn’t been her. It had been Cormac. He had been entirely delusional about how she should’ve felt. But then again, so had she. How could she ever recover from this? How could anything else compare to how Remus licked her fire and bathed in her ashes?
“Cum for me, Hermione,” he rasped between kisses.
Her body obeyed without warning.
She cried out into the room, silenced by the loud patter of rain against the window glass. He held her head to his chest as she curled into him, her muscles clenching in a glorious spasm. Remus lazily spread her wildfire around her core, catching her as she fell from the high. Slowly, he lay her head back on the pillow, pushing back the curls that clung to her sweaty skin.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a single thought in your head,” he chortled, petting her.
Between gasps, she croaked, “I’m still thinking. They’re just not bad thoughts right now.” Pleased with her response, he kissed her cheek with a gentle smile.
“You’re practically glowing if I say so myself,” he gloated.
She stroked his ego, thinking he deserved it. “Well, I’d suppose so. That’s never happened to me before.”
Behind her closed eyes, she could still see the confusion on his face.
“But I thought you said—” Remus stopped, realising what she meant mid-sentence.
She opened her eyes to confirm it, and his face fell slightly, thinking about what kind of idiot village boy had the chance to be with her and not take every opportunity to make her body light up like it was right now.
“I guess I’ll be taking care of you in more ways than I anticipated, then,” he teased. But he wouldn’t complain about the task he’d given himself.
Hermione giggled at his declaration, reaching between them to literally stroke his ego. Remus immediately bent to her will, letting his head fall onto her shoulder and moaning into her skin. He thrust into her hand greedily as she had used him earlier.
“I think I need to take care of you first,” she whispered in his ear, a wicked smile in her voice.
Remus watched her delicate hand take control of him. She inspected his girth from root to tip, collecting beads of arousal with her palm. The feeling of her working him became too much and not enough all at once, a mix of discomfort and relief braided together. He struggled against his mind to stay grounded, digging his nails into the mattress, panting heavy, ragged breaths into her hair, kissing her everywhere he could reach.
Finally, she rewarded him by guiding him to her.
Didn’t I invite you in?
Remus gravitated toward her warmth, feeling her open for him. They shared air as they watched together as his length disappeared inside her. Hermione squirmed around him, grabbing for something to hold on to as she waited for him to claim all of her. The stretch of her had them blinded by pleasure, feeling everything until he bottomed out and groaned so hard that he felt it throughout her whole body.
Remus braced himself on his elbows around her head to gain some control, resting on one knee while using the other to stretch her legs apart further. Hermione felt the new angle and deeper access, making her toes curl.
“Is this okay? Are you okay?”
Without pause, she spurred him on with the push of her heels at the back of his thighs.
“Yes, Remus, please… ”
He gave her everything. He rolled his hips into her, mixing their moans in symphony. It still wasn’t close enough. He couldn’t get deep enough.
Remus lifted her leg over his arm until her knee draped over his shoulder. It knocked the breath out of her, but she didn’t dare take the time to search for it. She would always ask to be suffocated like this.
“Remus,” she squeaked beneath him. “Harder…”
Hermione reached around to his backside to grip it and push into her. He obliged with a snarl, feeling the phantom sensations of his fangs. The instinct to bite into her was uncanny and foreign. Ignoring it, Remus pulsed a force into her like a heartbeat, feeling her squeezing around him in response, imprinting each other, ruining one another for everybody else.
“Cum again, Hermione,” he breathed out against her neck. “Let me feel what he couldn’t make you do.”
The possessiveness clung to her, the pure sin caressing her body. It wasn’t enough to feel. She needed to show him.
Forcing him on his back, she rolled them over to straddle him. His head bounced on her pillow once before he tried to scramble up to meet her kiss again. But Hermione held onto his wrists and shoved him back down. Keeping hold, she used the momentum to rock into where they were still connected, and Remus went limp under her instantly, basking in how she made it known she wanted him, needed him.
The moans he sang called to Hermione, egging her on. Her heavy breasts swayed toward his open mouth, his breath warming them when they got close enough. The pressure built up higher until it finally rushed out of her like steam, until her body deflated on top of him, staying open for his release.
Remus untangled from her limbs and tucked her head into the crook of his neck before he plunged into where she dripped around him. Placing a hand on her lower back, he guided her down on him to meet thrust for thrust until he ground his teeth against a deep groan, filling her with the magic they had created.
When Remus’s body replaced its tension with euphoria, he rolled Hermione to his side to dote on her. In her bliss, she felt Remus brush the hair from her face before conjuring a glass of water and bringing it to her lips to drink. Satisfied, he drank the rest she hadn’t chugged down and vanished the glass away.
Her eyes began to close, the exhaustion consuming her, as she heard him return from the bathroom. Crawling back into bed with her, he lifted the duvet over him and raised it high enough to reach between her legs with a warm washcloth to clean her up and soothe the sting.
Hermione fell asleep in his arms, his fingers caught in her wild mane, and a whispered promise, “I’m going to take care of you, Hermione.”
Chapter Text
Friday: July 2, 1976
Hermione woke in the cocoon of Remus’s arms, his heartbeat drumming steadily beneath her cheek. She nuzzled closer to his chest, inhaling everything that made him him: pine, leather, and the faintest trace of tobacco. The sheets tangled around her, the bed conspiring to hold her there a while longer. How could she refuse such an enticing offer?
She wondered if Remus smelled the same to Tonks in her own time. Had he drowned in his wife’s hair the way he was now with her? Did Remus make Tonks forget everything but him amid their own frenzy? Was their love a passion Tonks never expected to hold on to? Hermione twisted her neck to look at the sleeping boy who stole her pillows. Guilt began to creep into her bones.
His jaw looked stronger at this age, framing more defined cheekbones, each probably already marked with scars. His hair was lighter and less frizzy, falling in a cluster of waves along his forehead. Hermione reached up to tuck a few strands behind his ear, allowing herself to drift away from the feeling of shame the longer she watched him at peace.
Remus’s arms wrapped around her shoulders in the night, sheltering her head from the outside world. Dizzy with sleep and infatuation, Hermione showered him with kisses. A kiss under his collarbone, followed by a tiny one just above his right nipple, caused Remus to shiver. A third, longer kiss stretched from his left shoulder across to his right pectoral.
“What a wonderful way to wish me a good morning,” Remus murmured, gravel-voiced, his arms releasing her to slide down the curves of her body.
Hermione smiled up at him, placing more kisses across his face. When she ran out of places there, she moved down his body, covering his shoulders, then his biceps and hands. He watched her place her lips on every finger, then every knuckle.
She moved lower down the bed, lightly pressing her lips to the soft skin over his ribs. She kissed a path towards the patch of hair under his belly button, peeking out from his trousers' bottoms. The closer she got, the faster Remus began to breathe. She watched the blush fan across his face when her tongue started licking designs of nothing in particular.
Hermione had always felt fearless. She would not hesitate in a duel. Death was nothing but a tall tale until the day he decided it was her day. Risk, trial, and fight were now familiar parts of her life.
But boys? They terrified her. She would study a book about understanding a teenage boy’s mind before she tried her hand at Divination again. However, the way she felt with him was both compelling and compulsive. Fear did not find her here either.
She wished she could break the magical hold Remus had over her. Why were things so different now? Why had she never felt a connection to him before? Hermione had been a child, and he a man, but this link felt like an unspoken oath. It was impossible to resist, and it felt like the old magic of bonding had been described to her in the Study of Ancient Runes.
Hermione’s hunger grew before she could decipher anything. Crawling back up his body like a feline ready to pounce, Remus panted in anticipation when she met him face to face. She lingered, planting more kisses at the corners of his lips, reaching behind him at the bedside table to grab her wand before snatching herself away to sit up between his legs.
Remus could’ve whimpered, anguished by the fact that he had been kissed everywhere but where he wanted to taste her most. He could sense the wolf growing impatient yet curious as they watched Hermione take her vine wood and wrap her hair around it to tame the wild mess of curls, making it sit perfectly still out of her face.
He loved her hair, but seeing her face clearly without the shadows hiding her bright brown eyes and allowing her freckles to shine in the light was a gift. He watched the angel before him plan the most devilish things. Hermione dragged his trousers down his legs, leaving him naked and vulnerable in the morning sun. She watched his erection spring free with wickedness on her mind.
Hermione leaned down so close that Remus could feel the warmth of her breath whispering secrets to his skin. He held back the wolf’s desire, burying it deep before he hurried her out of her slow, torturous game. Leisurely, she aimed more attentive kisses at the glamoured wounded flesh covering his thighs. Gripping the duvet, he focused on the sensation of her surrounding him and closed his eyes, basking in her care.
Remus couldn’t explain why he felt so comfortable around Hermione. He’d known her for no more than two days, and not only could he not keep away from her, but he did not want to hide from her at all. Emmeline had been his friend since they were eleven and had always been good to him — far too good to him. The older they got, the more their hormones started to rage. Emmeline and Remus, both lonely for their own reasons, had gotten drunk off Firewhisky one night when everybody else had been asleep. They gave in once, and then again whenever they needed the comfort.
Emmeline never turned him away when he didn’t want to be alone, nor did she beg him to stay when he had had enough of her company. They laughed during their pillow talk, but Emmeline didn’t expect any more conversation than he provided. She didn’t whine when Remus didn’t want to talk at all. Most importantly, she didn’t question him about why he didn’t take his clothes off with her, even though she always chose to remove her own.
He didn’t know why Hermione was different for him, but he was sure the wolf wanted her. The wolf never showed any interest in Emmeline, not even on the nights they shared a bed or any moment, for that matter. Remus had learned to handle the anger and constant distress the wolf caused, pacing within his soul until the moon called for its release. But he worried about the new feelings of possessiveness and protectiveness that were beginning to consume him.
How do you talk down a beast that shares your heart?
Hermione licked with the flat of her tongue from base to tip, completely rapturing his soul from his body. The guttural moan he released, fingers cracking around the sheets in his tightened grip, only encouraged Hermione to drive him mad. She bobbed her head around his length painfully slow, making him gasp for air every time her warm, wet mouth reached the pink tip and swallowed down his stiff shaft.
“Fucking hell, Hermione, I—” he started, but cut off in his throat with an involuntary groan when she did it once more.
Lost in lust, Remus arched his hips to sink in farther. His hand curved around the back of her neck to guide her, rubbing a thumb along her jaw. Looking down to watch her take him in, he saw Hermione’s whisky eyes watching him first, waiting for his reaction.
“You’re doing so well, ah— God, just like that.”
She kept pace, straining her mouth to stay open for him, stretching her tongue to slide against the heavy swell of him once she hit bottom, and slid over the mushroom tip in a long, savouring stroke when she reached the top again. Hermione learned quickly that it just might be his undoing.
Hermione used everything she had, recalling what McLaggen liked, stories her friends shared at night in the Girls' Dormitory, and the actions of female characters in her romance novels who seduced the men they desired. She gauged his reactions, and he appeared to be enjoying it all. Eager to excel in everything she did, she wouldn’t give up now.
She pulled his hand from the bed and placed it at her neck to mirror his other. “Show me what you need.”
He gazed down at her, using the still moment to catch his breath. The wolf wanted to waste no time, grip her head, and plunge hard into her throat. He wanted to make her taste him for the rest of the day. He wanted her to remember how he had claimed her last night and this morning and shiver with delight at the memories.
“No,” he said sternly, to himself more than her. “No, Hermione, you’re perfect. I could—”
“Please,” she urged on. “It’s okay, I promise. I want to.”
From the back of her head, Remus pulled her up his body to kiss her deeply. His tongue pushed through her swollen lips and curled around her tongue, already sweet with the taste of him. Gentle and sensual, before making her move back towards his length with a thumb hooked in her mouth. Hermione extracted a brave smile before she devoured him.
Remus bucked into her waiting throat, trapping her head in his hands. A gritted grunt followed every thrust. The faster he went, the more Hermione moaned, the vibrations sending him over the edge. His vision blurred, and every muscle rattled his bones before his release finally shot into Hermione’s hot, smooth mouth. She took over as his ecstasy overthrew him, swallowing every last drop of him.
Sated and alive, he stood up in all his glory. Hermione squealed in surprise when Remus grabbed her by the ankle to pull her to the edge of the bed and picked her up to cradle her in his arms. She wriggled in his hold, giggling ridiculously until he kissed her urgently and walked into the bathroom toward the shower. Hermione kissed him back, pulling her wand from her curls and tossing it aside, as if it were unimportant. She mewled into his mouth, engrossed in him, as he turned the water on for them.
He set her on her feet and gave her one last kiss on the forehead before bathing her body and admiring every curve. He tried to be gentlemanly and wash her hair, but Hermione gave up pretending he was doing it correctly and thanked him for trying anyway.
He leaned back against the shower wall to watch her. The water cascaded down in rivers over her breasts, glistening on her body. Remus would treasure this perfect moment with this ideal witch who had, ironically, magically fallen into his life— a true angel that fell from Heaven. He didn’t know what this meant or what they were to each other now. Remus only knew about right now. And right now, she was his.
Bathed, dried, and dressed in new clothes he’d summoned from his bedroom, Remus ventured down to breakfast after checking the hallway thrice to ensure no one would see him leave the wrong room. Hermione watched him step out with a wink before flopping back onto her bed in pure glee. He was hers. Only for now, but he was hers. And that was enough.
Satisfied with her jeans, trainers, and Queen t-shirt, she bounced down the staircase to the kitchen, where everyone had already eaten their fill.
“Good morning-” Hermione started to greet, but Sirius had already come out of his chair to fly over to her practically.
“Where did you get this shirt?!” he asked with stars in his eyes. “I have to have it, Hermione.”
“I told you, dear,” Mrs Potter tsked from the head of the table. “I knew he was going to try to take it from you.”
Hermione playfully pushed him away from her to fill a plate of food, much to Tippy’s disapproval. “For Merlin’s sake, Sirius, you can just have the bloody thing.”
Gobsmacked, Sirius fell back into his chair with a thud. “And you don’t even appreciate it! Oh, now, I must take it.”
Ignoring his dramatics, Mrs Potter asked, “How did you sleep last night, Hermione?”
“I didn’t think I’d ever see the day that someone slept longer than our Moony!” James added, clapping Remus on the shoulder, who was sitting to his left, chewing on a piece of toast.
“Sorry about that,” Hermione sank into a chair across from them. “I got caught up in a good part of my book. I just couldn’t put it down.” Remus blushed as he reached across the table to hand her a cup of coffee he had already prepared for her.
“Oh no, not another reader!” Sirius whined. “Remus is always ignoring us to read.”
Remus huffed a laugh, “Did ya think maybe I’m not even reading when I’m ignoring you?”
“Oi, they can read if they like!” James piped in. “Just because you can’t read doesn’t mean other people aren’t allowed to.”
“You’re just jealous because Marlene is willing to do my reading for me, and Lily still throws books at your head!”
Their days had been full of laughter and ample sunshine for the remainder of the week. She had become closer to James and Sirius, appreciating their constant verbal sparring. Hermione wondered if this was how Harry felt while watching her and Ron, as neither was willing to let the other have the last word.
James had gone above and beyond to make her feel at home. He always made it a point to include her in conversation, even if she had nothing to contribute. They mainly discussed Quidditch statistics and the flying techniques their favourite players had developed. James tried to persuade her to let him take her on his broom. Hermione was perfectly content with only being compelled to do so under the adrenaline of trying to survive.
Her nights, however, were intense. Remus would sneak into her bed, or she into his. It didn’t matter where. It always ended the same. They’d rip their clothes off in a matter of seconds after the locking charms and silencing spells had been put in place. He’d kiss her until she couldn’t breathe, and she’d beg him to ravish her.
If Hermione were poison, Remus would risk death to keep her taste on his tongue. They shared delicate kisses and took turns trembling in one another’s arms. He could feel himself becoming a demanding creature, but would crawl to her if she only asked.
Saturday morning, after a fantastic breakfast by Tippy, the group prepared to leave. Once Peter arrived through the fireplace, everyone lined up to say goodbye, a tradition of a kiss on Mrs Potter's cheek and a handshake for Mr Potter. Hermione, however, surprised Mr Potter by kissing him on the cheek as well, making his day before she followed the others out the door.
“Glad to have the pack together again!” Sirius boasted, snaking an arm around Peter’s shoulders.
Peter grinned alongside him. “Don’t I know it! I was losing my mind in that house…”
“What’s the deal?” James questioned. “What’s got your parents wound up so tight?”
“Mum’s just been worried, that’s all. Father’s no different. But I don’t want to talk about that,” he deflected, unwinding himself from Sirius' arm. He started to walk backwards to face everyone at once. “What has everyone been up to?”
“Trying like hell to get used to a girl among men,” joked James, shaking his head in false belief. “We must always mind our mouths around this one.”
“And failing,” Hermione sang.
“Ugh, see what we mean, Wormtail? She is just the worst.” James grinned widely as he successfully hopped out of Hermione’s reach when she tried to smack him on the shoulder.
Peter grinned, too, and turned around to walk straight ahead with Remus at the front of the group. “Well, you’d better mind your mouths around her, or pretty soon she’ll know all our secrets.”
Each boy smiled mischievously in response.
It was incredibly tough not to burst their bubble. “Oh, please, oh, please tell me why you call each other those ridiculous names,” Hermione deadpanned.
“There they are!” Sirius bellowed and darted towards Marlene, Mary, and Lily.
They turned around from the bus stop and immediately beamed at their friends. Marlene let out a loud ‘hmph!’ as Sirius hugged her and picked her up to twirl her around. Her giggles danced through the air until Sirius finally set her down to grab and kiss her face.
“And so it begins,” Peter sighed. Remus nodded in agreement but smiled at Sirius and Marlene, who were in their little world, before hugging Lily and Mary, with Peter following suit.
“Hi, Lily,” James waved, and Hermione wanted to watch them like a movie.
She’d heard about their love since she received her Hogwarts letter. They were fated. They were kismet. They were written in the stars.
They were embarrassingly shy and frustrating to witness.
“Hello, James.”
Lily looked away from a public indecency fine just waiting to happen and smiled bashfully at James. Her expression faltered when she saw Hermione beside him, and she waited awkwardly to be introduced.
“Padfoot, c’mon, mate!” James prodded, rolling his eyes.
Marlene McKinnon unlatched herself from Sirius’s embrace, leaving him wanting more. She was like gold in human form, glowing in the sun, solid as stone yet smooth as silk. Her long blonde locks were tied back out of her face in a high ponytail, showcasing a jaw a woman would kill for. Siren eyes lined with dark eyeshadow stared down Hermione as she approached, her heels clicking against the cobblestone. Everything about her screamed seduction, and Hermione knew she brought Sirius down to his knees.
Behind her, Mary followed, soft where Marlene blazed. Her glossy, black hair was pinned out of the way to showcase her heart-shaped face, with bright hazel eyes that watched her curiously. She strolled over with effortless grace, floral dress swaying around her knees and a dainty satchel slung across one shoulder.
“James, love, thanks for the invite, but don’t you dare do it again until we’re allowed to Apparate,” Marlene advised, huddling him, Remus, and Peter in for a group hug before kissing each of their cheeks.
“Yes, ma’am,” James snorted, and then put a comforting arm around Hermione.
“Ladies, I’d like you to meet Hermione Granger. She’s been staying with us at the Manor and will attend Hogwarts in September. Hermione, this is Marlene, and this is-” Marlene gasped into her hand theatrically before pulling Hermione in for a hug, too. She smelled warm and sweet, like vanilla.
“Oh, you poor thing, how do you manage it?”
“I’ve spent most of my time with Mrs. Potter,” Hermione bantered.
“Good, girl.”
Mary offered a polite nod. “Mary,” she said, extending her hand, rings glinting in the sunlight. “Any friend of the Potters is a friend of ours—though Merlin help you putting up with them.”
James added, before he could be interrupted again, “And this is Lily.” The way he said her name was like poetry.
Lily Evans was a goddess bathed in lava, her hair of fire curling around her shoulders. Her green doe eyes wandered about, taking in Hermione and James’ arm still looped around her neck. Lily may not have let James know yet that she wanted him, but Hermione knew the wish was there. Shaking out of James's hold, she raised a hand for Lily to shake.
“It’s nice to meet you finally. I’ve heard so many things about you.”
Your son loves you so much.
“You have?” Lily arched an elegant brow, taking Hermione’s hand in return.
“Oh, come off it, Lily,” Peter chortled. “You know James never shuts up about you!”
Lily blushed, reaching down to pick up the duffel bag she had set aside. James grabbed it for her and threw it over his shoulder without question.
“Oi, where’s your head at, Black?” Marlene asked Sirius, pointing to her bag at her feet. He rolled his eyes but picked it up with a wolf-like grin.
By the river, the four girls sprawled on an Engorged beach towel, barely moving except to flip for an even tan. The boys, stripped to trunks, played Chicken in the shallows, splashing like overgrown toddlers.
Sirius was shoved into the water mostly because he couldn’t stop ogling Marlene. Who could blame him, really?
She rested back on her elbows, perky breasts propped up and chin tipped up, pointed to the sky like a mermaid waiting to be admired for all that she was worth. Mary lay beside her on her back, sunglasses perched on her nose, scribbling idle notes in a tiny leather journal and humming along to the wireless beside them.
Lily stretched out on her stomach without a care for the outside world, petite and with all legs and a plump behind to balance herself out. Bright freckles dotted across her skin like small galaxies covering a universe. Hermione was just happy to have colour flushed into her skin again and regain some weight she had lost on the run.
She watched Remus and James wrestle each other for glory, Sirius and Peter holding on to their partner's legs for dear life as they struggled against the battle above their heads. James had the advantage of Quidditch training filling out his body, but Remus had power pouring out of him.
His shoulders flexed as he pushed back against his opponent, veins rippling up his arms with the corded muscles. The glamour she knew he charmed hid nothing of the taut definition of his body. Hermione’s core tightened like a spring with reinstated need.
“So,” Lily inquired from her place next to Hermione, ripping her from her thoughts. When she looked down at her, Lily had been glowering. “How long are you going to be staying at the Potters?”
Taken aback, Hermione stammered, “Um, I—I don’t know. It’s kind of complicated.”
“What’s complicated about it?” Lily asked, sitting up to be at eye level. Marlene and Mary had turned to listen, both propping their sunglasses on top of their heads.
“Well, I… I don’t—” Remus had knocked James off Sirius’ shoulders, hooting and cheering his and Peter’s victory. “I don’t know how to explain.”
Lily scoffed at her reply, watching James shake the water from his thick hair on the bank. “Why are you living there in the first place?”
Hermione scrambled for words, fighting between telling her everything and looking for a way out. “I don’t know how much I can say.”
“What’s that?” James asked, dripping and wind-rumpled, flopping beside Hermione.
Lily eyed them ferociously.
“I was just asking Hermione how much longer she’d be living with you.”
“Oh,” he said, sitting up and resting his arms across his bent knees. “As long as she wants, I guess. We haven’t discussed it yet.” Lily’s nostrils flared.
“Why is she there?” Marlene cocked an eyebrow at her best friend's blatant attitude, but didn’t question her in front of the present company. Mary, however, rolled her eyes.
James overlooked Lily’s annoyance with him, but he did make eye contact with Hermione in a silent question of whether she wanted to tell them. She gave a quick, tight shake of her head.
He took the hint and said, “She’s staying with us for a while. That’s all we can say on the matter for now.”
“But—”
“She doesn’t have to talk about it if she doesn’t want to, Lily,” James said sternly, silencing everyone.
Lily snapped her mouth closed and snorted an angry breath before sauntering away to sit with Remus, where he had been smoking a cigarette on a stray tree log.
“Yikes,” Mary muttered under her breath. “Didn’t know I signed up for a live soap.”
“Sorry about her. Don’t take it personally. Red hair and all that,” Marlene teased, trying to lighten the mood.
James went limp and fell back to lie on the towel with a long, irritated sigh. “One day, that witch will stab me or kiss me.”
“You’ll be a lucky man if she chooses to do either one, James Potter,” Marlene cackled, putting her sunglasses back on before turning over onto her stomach to sunbathe her backside.
Hermione watched Remus offer his cigarette to Lily, wondering if she was telling him how much she hated her. How had she gotten on her bad side? Hermione had years of stories about how James pined after Lily Evans before she finally gave in and fell in love with him as well. She never imagined Lily to be…jealous of Hermione of all people. This must be where Harry had gotten it.
Hermione smiled, thinking of how Harry had raged in his despair of losing Cho to Cedric as his date to the Yule Ball.
Sirius pranced over to slap Marlene’s arse and steal the extra hair tie from her wrist to pull back his wet locks from his eyes. Marlene handed him her bottle of sun lotion in a wordless request. He happily took it, excited to be permitted to touch her however he could.
“What are you lot gossiping about over here?” Sirius asked as he started to massage Marlene’s back.
“Oh, nothing new,” Marlene mumbled behind a quiet moan, arching her back into his hands. “Just talking about Lily’s jealousy over Hermione.”
Hermione whipped her head around to gape down at the crazy blonde, confirming her assumptions. “Of what?”
“Are you blind?” Marlene pushed her sunglasses above her eyes to look up at her. “She thinks you’re after James.”
“What?!” Hermione and James chorused, James nearly levitating off the ground as he pushed himself back to a sitting position. Marlene only rolled her eyes at them and went back to being petted.
“Not likely,” Sirius guffawed at her theory. “Hermione’s been too busy with our Moony.”
It was said so casually, as if it were no more surprising than the sky being blue or water wet.
Hermione and James looked at each other in disbelief. Marlene and Mary sat up like someone had cracked open a secret drawer.
“WHAT?!” they all cried.
“I mean, honestly, how had you not noticed, Prongs?” Sirius shrugged as if this was all old news and they needed to catch up already.
James's eyes landed on Hermione, and his demeanour instantly softened. "Is that true?" he whispered.
Hermione's horrified, silent stare told him everything he needed to know. "Oh, man, I am so blind," he said, and then, to her utter shock and relief, a laugh burst from his chest.
Marlene laughed with him.
“What’s the point of glasses, Potter? And you,” she focused on Hermione, poking her in the knee, “You cheeky slag!”
She said it with fun in her eyes, but Hermione wanted to crawl into a hole and hide anyway.
Chapter Text
Hair as fiery as her temper, Lily stomped over to Remus, choosing irritation over James and his latest infatuation.
“Is this seat taken?” she grumbled, plonking herself down beside him on the fallen oak log, knowing he wouldn’t have denied her.
He laughed, smoke curling from his lips.
“James annoyed you in under five minutes, Evans? That might be a new record.”
“No, it’s not,” Lily said, picking at her chipped black nail polish.
Remus chuckled again. He always loved it when she got like this. “He say the wrong thing again or something?”
“Something like that.”
Offering the only thing he had, Remus asked, “Want a drag?” But she shook her head at it.
It rained on them in a sudden shower from a cloudless sky when Sirius shook his hair free of river water like a dog. “Well, I’ll take it then!”
He snagged the cigarette from Remus’s fingers, inhaling long and deep as he strode away, satisfied with himself. Remus and Lily watched him saunter back to the others, unable to help himself by smacking Marlene on the arse.
Remus couldn’t help marvelling at how easily Hermione had slotted into their group. It had taken him nearly his entire First-year to settle in with his newfound family. By how Mrs. Potter had described her, he had thought they’d be walking in on a scared little girl. And yet, in his gut, Remus could tell—Hermione was still frightened. Of what exactly, he wasn’t sure.
His wolf never let him not notice how pleasant she’d been with James and Sirius. Since Hermione opened up to them about how she’d ended up on the Potter’s doorstep last April, she’d been less tense and continued to press on. While Sirius had taken on the best buddy act, James had taken it upon himself to become her big brother.
She’s ours, the wolf snarled, but Remus ignored its taunting.
She wasn’t someone who could be owned. That was what he loved most about her. But he still craved to do so anyway. The way his teeth ached to sink into her skin. He found himself inhaling her scent at the base of her neck, where her lavender fragrance was strongest. The overwhelming need to claim her—to bury himself deep and mark her, until no part of her wasn’t laced with him.
But the more Hermione trusted everyone else, too, the more the wolf clawed to assert dominance. Remus hated the idea of posturing like an Alpha in his human skin. His friends clarified his role as a pack when they transformed into their Animagus for full moons. So why did the wolf want to prove to James that Remus outranked him?
“They’re rather cosy, aren’t they?” Lily asked quietly, her chin resting on her shoulder, looking back at the group.
Remus looked away from the scene of James lying so close to Hermione on the beach towel, unable to stomach it.
“Something like that,” he grumbled back, watching Peter skip rocks on the other side of the riverbank. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Lily quickly redirect her attention to him. “What?”
Her lips curved into a smile. “You don’t like it any more than I do, do you?”
He considered arguing for the sake of trying, but it was of no use.
“You’ve grown rather cocky, thinking you know everything about me, just because you were the first to figure out my monthly issue.”
He stuck his tongue out at her while reaching down for the cigarette pack tucked in his shoes, only for Lily to snatch it up, denying him another. She was determined to get Remus to quit before they graduated from Hogwarts.
She rolled her eyes and tucked the pack behind her knee, arms folded like a prison warden.
“Just because I realised it before your dim-witted friends did doesn’t mean it wasn’t completely obvious. How’s that going anyway? Isn’t there a moon soon?”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “Next Sunday. It’s been better, though, now that they can run with me. Still can’t believe they actually did it—”
“Remus, of course they did. They love you.”
He only nodded. Remus knew they did, and he loved them. But what good does that all do now? Why get attached when the inevitable happens? Even if this war is fought and won, Remus will still be in the same place he would be if the war were lost. His chances were slim enough if he registered with the Ministry. If he didn’t, he’d never keep a steady job—not with the time off he’d need every month.
Who would be willing to put up with his mood swings? What kind of boss would ignore a fresh gash across his face after a rough transformation? Not only them, but his coworkers he’d have to face every day, and the constant stares and whispers Remus would have to pretend he never saw or heard.
If he registered, he’d be caged in a Ministry cell every full moon. And if he didn’t register, where would he even go to transform if he wasn’t a student at Hogwarts? The Shrieking Shack wasn’t his favourite place to be locked in, but at least now Remus had his friends.
Until I don’t…
“Remus?” Lily’s voice slowly came into focus when she lightly shook his arm.
“Sorry—what was that?”
“I asked if you’re going to tell her.”
“Oh. I don’t know,” he shrugged with one shoulder. “Figured I’d let her find out and scare herself off.”
“No, you dolt,” she tsked. “Are you going to tell her you fancy her?”
“Oh. My answer still stands, then.” He grinned just in time to avoid being shoved off the log. “Bugger off! I’m only kidding! She kind of already knows.”
With a pinched look, she asked, “What do you mean?”
Remus raked a hand through his nearly dry hair, refusing to meet her eyes.
He hadn’t planned on telling anyone about him and Hermione. They hadn’t even discussed if this was something they wanted to share—if they even knew what this was. Tapping his fingertips together in a nervous tic, Remus weighed out his options, but he thought it’d be less stupid not to piss off Lily Evans.
“Well… we’ve been kind of seeing each other.”
“Seeing each other?” Lily whispered, her voice rising despite her attempt to keep it down. “As in courting her?”
“Merlin, no. I’m not Sirius,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It’s been in secret. I’ve felt a bit guilty sneaking around under the Potters’ roof… but honestly? I’m not that sorry.”
The corners of his mouth quirked up at the sudden confession. Lily burst into delighted laughter.
“Oh, Remus! This is brilliant!” Lily squealed, clapping her hands.
“What exactly is brilliant about it?” Remus asked, raising a sceptical brow.
He tried to sneak his cigarettes from her hand while she was distracted, but she snatched the pack away from his reach just as his fingertips brushed the plastic.
“Well, I’m still on the fence about her, honestly. But you wanting feelings? That’s huge, Remus!” She poked his chest with mock sternness. “And now you can stop skulking off with Emmeline.”
“First of all, Hermione is brilliant,” Remus gave her a pointed look, rubbing his offended chest. “Second, how is stopping sneaking around with Emmeline to sneak around with Hermione any better?”
“Hmm. Fair point,” Lily said, tapping her chin. “But you never looked like that when you talked about Emmeline.”
She winked, then chucked the cigarettes beside his shoes before rising to her feet.
Remus squinted up at her against the sun. “Are you going to tell him?”
Lily glanced down, sadness softening her expression.
“Sev was my excuse for a long time—for a lot of things I didn’t do. Maybe this year… that’ll change.” Before a tear fell, Lily pushed it away with a brisk flick of her hand and forced a grin. “Or maybe I’d miss James Potter trying so hard to win me over. What would we do with all of our free time?”
“I can think of a few things Prongs would suggest,” Remus quipped, waggling his eyebrows.
Lily shoved him clean off the log before wading across the river to join Peter.
“Stop flirting with my father, Marlene,” James scolded, casting another Engorgement Charm, this time for the couch cushions and throw blankets. “You’re going to give him a heart attack.”
Marlene gave an exaggerated sigh and wrapped herself in a blanket between Mary and Lily. “All I said was ‘Good night,’ James.”
“And batted your lashes at him,” Lily giggled behind her hand.
“Get your tea while it’s hot!” Tippy chirped, levitating a silver tray to the coffee table with a flourish.
James elbowed Sirius and Peter out of the way to grab a porcelain plate and pick a handful of macarons before the best ones disappeared. He brought the plate over to Hermione, settling beside her on one of the magically enlarged cushions.
“Thank you, Tippy,” he groaned tiredly as he slumped back. “You can retire for the night if you’d like. I’d expect we’ll be quite annoying from here on out.”
Tippy curtsied in her neat blue dress and disappeared with a pop . Hermione’s gaze followed Remus as he wandered into the kitchen.
“Here,” she said, passing James the plate. “Save me a chocolate one, yeah? I’ll be right back.”
Hermione pretended not to notice Lily’s sidelong glance as she slipped away. She had more important things to worry about, like why Remus barely talked to her today. Hermione had expected things to shift between them when they started classes together, but why now? Had Lily said something? Did something happen after she left James by the river?
Remus stood by the stove, lighting the coffee pot with a flick of his wand, lost in thought. She passed him the tin of grounds, catching the faint start he gave as he surfaced.
“Thanks,” he said, offering only a half-smile.
She perched on the cool stone counter, fingers knotted in her lap. “Did you have fun today?”
He nodded, barely meeting her eyes.
“Are you… mad at me?” she asked softly.
His eyes widened. “Shit.” Two strides and he was there, clutching her hands. “No—I’m sorry. I’m not upset with you. It’s just… Lily. I said something I shouldn’t have.”
“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” she tried.
His eyes dropped to their joined hands, where their thumbs moved in slow, unconscious circles.
“I told her about us. About how we’ve been seeing each other. And saying it out loud made me realise… we never talked about telling anyone.”
He hesitated.
“Then I started wondering if maybe you didn’t want anyone to know. Like maybe this was just… a summer thing for you.”
He exhaled sharply, speaking before he could back down.
“And I decided—I don’t like that idea.”
Remus waited, leaning back against the counter across from her to give her space to think it through. Then he waited a little more, trying his best to be patient. But she was still quiet. Why wasn’t she saying anything? Remus braved a look and peeked up at her, lifting his chin slowly until he met her eyes again.
She was smiling.
Merlin, she was smiling.
Her giggles spilt out, light and uncontainable. He found himself smiling before he could stop.
“Sorry—sorry,” she gasped between laughs. “It’s just… the same thing happened. With James.”
Of course it did, the wolf snarled. Remus ignored it.
“What happened with James?”
“Well... I felt guilty. James made it look bad. And it doesn’t help that he won’t leave my side for longer than five minutes.”
So she noticed too.
She explained in a rush—James hovering, Lily pressing, Sirius blurting. Remus listened, relief blooming when she finished.
“Match made in heaven, yeah?” he teased.
Forgetting the cup of coffee, Remus put it to the side and held her hands in his again, already missing the contact.
“And what about the other part I admitted to?” his voice low and careful.
Hermione kissed his knuckles, the glamour that shimmered over his hands.
“I don’t know where this is going,” she whispered. “But I don’t want it to stop.”
The smile he gave her melted away every terrible thing—every nightmare, every shadow that had ever clung to her. She didn’t know how, or why, but this felt right—like she’d been meant to end up here, in Remus Lupin’s arms, starting over with him in 1976, where she could prevent anything horrible from happening to him and he could fix what had already happened to her.
He kissed her. Their lips were soft, moulding together in tender surrender. His tongue brushed her lower lip, tentative. She parted for him with a soft moan, arms wrapping around his neck instinctively. Remus caressed her jaw with his broad hand, his thumb gliding over her cheek in appreciation. She was so sweet, so precious. She was in his arms. She was everything.
“Oi! You two better not be reading in there!” called Sirius from the living room.
Remus pulled away to kiss her once more before taking her hand in one and his coffee in the other.
“No time like the present, right?”
If he continued to smile like that at her, Hermione would have done anything this boy wanted.
Gripping his hand, Hermione let him lead her towards the group. Each one watched them walk up, took notice of their interlocked hands, and smiled brightly.
Even Lily, who was relieved that it wasn’t James behind Hermione’s smile.
“Not reading, then—eh, Moony?” Peter laughed with a mouthful of scones.
Chapter Text
Sunday: July 4, 1976
Lily, Mary, and Marlene left Sunday morning for Lily’s home in Cokeworth. Mary and Marlene hugged Hermione tightly, promising they’d have more time to get to know her once they were back at Hogwarts. Lily only waved, still cool in her presence. Hermione didn’t know how to process the fact that Harry’s mother—her best friend’s mother, the legendary Lily Potter—simply didn’t like her. But she decided she didn’t have time to dwell on it.
This is only temporary, Hermione, she’d remind herself.
Peter walked with them to the bus stop in Godric’s Hollow, but once they returned to the Potters’ manor, he begrudgingly Flooed home.
“Think you’ll make it back for another weekend, Wormtail?” James asked hopefully.
Peter shrugged, hands shoved deep in his pockets, scuffing the ash gathered at the edge of the hearth.
“I don’t know, James. Dumbledore stirred up fears for my parents when he asked them to join the Order. I don’t think they’re ready to accept what’s been happening.”
“So they’re choosing to ignore it instead?” Sirius sneered.
Peter stiffened, his usual mildness hardening into defence. “Don’t talk about them like that. It’s different for them.”
Sirius didn’t back down, lifting an irritated brow.
“Is it? I think I’m qualified to say—having lived it—that ignoring it is a choice.”
“Not everyone has friends to run to, Sirius!” Peter snapped.
Hermione wanted to tell Peter that he did have friends. They were all right here. He only had to reach out. She wanted to say to him that if Sirius could break away from his own family’s chains, he could too, if it came to that. She wanted to beg him not to cower. To not let his parents' fears become his own.
But she couldn’t say any of that. It would give too much away. None of this had been told to her directly. They would know immediately that something was off. And for how paranoid and untrusting everyone from her timeline had been, it was far more than that in this timeline now.
It was all just beginning. They had nothing to compare to. Even Grindelwald’s aims had never reached as far as Voldemort’s.
“Peter,” Remus started warily, gripping with a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Maybe your parents don’t have friends, although I’m sure the Potters would argue that.” He looked up at James for reassurance, already nodding in confirmation. “Still, you have us.”
James laid a hand on Peter’s other shoulder.
“You’re a Marauder, Wormtail. Don’t forget it.”
Peter avoided their eye contact, focusing on the intricate designs on the large area rug beneath their feet. But he at least looked to be considering. At last, his shoulders sagged, and his fists slowly uncurled inside his pockets.
He shrugged out of their touch and reached for the Floo powder on the mantle.
“I have to go,” he muttered. “Keep sending owls. I’ll write when I can.”
The group let him go.
But before Peter could toss the powder into the grate, the fireplace flared to life in a rush of green flames. Headmaster Dumbledore stepped from the fire in a grey wool waistcoat and matching trousers. The shock of seeing him act so like her Albus Dumbledore, while looking nothing like him, never quite wore off.
He smiled warmly at all of his students. “Good morning, lads. And lady,” he added with a small, unnecessary bow in Hermione’s direction.
“Sorry to interrupt your departure, Mr Pettigrew. Please tell your parents I’m wishing them well for me.”
Dumbledore moved out of Peter’s way, who only glared at him and floo’ed away.
James let out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry about him, Headmaster. He’s… going through something.”
“No need to apologise. He’s entitled to his feelings.”
Then Dumbledore clapped his hands, shattering the tension like glass. “Now then, where are your parents, my dear boy? They’re not still asleep, are they?”
“No, sir. They’re probably in Dad’s study. I’ll fetch them for you!” James dashed away, eager to assist, and the Headmaster turned his attention to Sirius.
“Staying out of trouble, Mr Black?” he asked with a wink.
Sirius grinned and shook his hand with the poise of a well-bred aristocrat.
“Absolutely not, Headmaster.”
Dumbledore chortled and looked at Remus. “How are you, Mr Lupin? Keeping fit?”
“Um… Sure. Yes, sir. I’m alright.” Remus rubbed the back of his neck, threading his fingers through the curls at the nape.
“Good. I’ve brought you something.”
With a wave of his hand, he opened it to show several Honeydukes milk chocolate bars in his palm. Remus’s face lit up at the sight.
“In case you need a pick-me-up. Still your favourite, I hope?”
“Thank you, sir!” Remus exclaimed, taking the gift from his hand and giving one to Sirius and Hermione.
Dumbledore had only just begun to smile when Mr and Mrs Potter, led in by James, entered the room.
Their eyes were wide with alarm, but their composure held.
“Ah, I sincerely apologise for my unannounced arrival–”
“What’s happened?” Mrs Potter cut him off, begging him to get on with it.
Headmaster Dumbledore’s charm held steady, more for his company than himself, more than likely.
“Nothing, ma’am.” Relief washed over them like a gust of air. “I do wish to speak with you two if you’re available. Hermione, as well.”
She knew this was coming. She braced herself as Mrs Potter gently took the chocolate from her hand to set aside and linked arms, leading her toward the study. She wished now she had looked back at Remus just for a last chance of comfort. But that could have made it too obvious that there was a reason to be worried.
No—it was good she hadn’t looked back. If Remus had seen her worry, he’d ask questions.
And then she’d have to lie. Again.
Mr Potter insisted that Dumbledore take his seat behind the desk, stepping aside with polite stubbornness. With a flick of his wand, his paperwork stacked itself neatly into place. Hermione and the Potters sat side by side in the leather guest chairs, waiting for Dumbledore to speak.
“I must apologise again for dropping in unannounced and without so much as a letter. It can be unsettling. Forgive the oversight, Mrs Potter.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” she said, dismissing his courtesy, though her hands were clasped tightly in her lap. “We’ve just been on edge, is all.”
He gave a short nod, interlocking his fingers in front of him before continuing.
“I’ve come today to discuss matters about Hermione. I just returned from visiting another colleague who has been assisting me with her situation. I came straight here once we were through for the day.”
“She—she doesn’t have to go, does she?” Mrs Potter burst out. “She’s been no trouble. We adore her!” Hermione’s heartstrings twisted in earnest at her confession.
A smile touched Dumbledore’s lips. “I wasn’t planning her transfer of residence. But it is comforting to hear things have gone well, especially in my absence.”
He set his kind eyes on Hermione.
“And Hermione—I owe you an apology, if you felt abandoned. I sought answers before I risked saying something foolish. I hope you understand.”
She was already accustomed to his way of doing things, but it was nice to have the intensity of his methods acknowledged.
“I do, sir. Thank you for saying so. I take it you’re satisfied with Flamel’s findings?”
“Flamel? Nicolas Flamel?” Mr Potter frowned. “What has he to do with Hermione?”
Dumbledore opened his mouth to reply, but paused to cast an Imperturbable Charm across the room.
“Yes, he has been able to bring to light some things. Not everything, but enough. And as I told you before, Hermione, I trust the Potters with this secret. In fact, I think they must know for your safety.”
Mrs Potter’s hand found Hermione’s in a fierce grip as she gaped at her with wide, wet eyes.
“You can trust us with anything, Albus,” Mr Potter said gravely.
Dumbledore’s voice gentled. “Hermione’s parents were not murdered. She is not from Tinworth. She is not from this decade. Hermione has turned time from the future.”
Dumbledore delivered it quickly, like ripping off a bandage. But the sting of her deceit still struck, no matter how swiftly it was said.
Out of Hermione’s peripheral vision, she saw Mr Potter gawking at her in disbelief. But she still held Mrs Potter’s stare head-on, their hands clawed together for emotional support. Hermione could see every emotion being felt, processing the information before reacting. Hermione let her. It was the least she could do.
“Where… What year are you from, Hermione?” Mr Potter asked, enunciating each word.
Hermione held Mrs Potter’s stare. “1998.”
Her answer jolted Mrs Potter from her stunned silence. She suddenly pulled Hermione into a tight hug, catching her off guard.
“You poor girl! How did you manage to end up here?”
Hermione forced her neck to turn towards Dumbledore, asking silently with her eyes if that was a question she was allowed to answer. He gave her a nod in confirmation. Still, she was hesitant to share all the details yet.
“I meant to turn back only two years, to prevent a friend’s death. But I miscalculated—”
Mrs Potter pulled back, fury sparking. “What kind of Ministry do we have in the future that lets Time Turners fall into the hands of children?!”
“I—I had one before, for my studies. Professor Dumbledore arranged it so that I could manage my classes. But when I tried to use another, without proper instruction…” Her voice faltered. “I turned two decades instead of two years.”
Mrs Potter shook her head, aghast. “And you thought you could bring someone back from the dead?”
Hermione looked away. “I already have. Not a person—a Hippogriff. He was condemned unjustly, so I went back and set him free. Buckbeak lives a happy life in Grimm—in the Forbidden Forest.”
Mrs Potter surrendered, slumping back in her chair before gasping at Dumbledore, who hid a smile behind his hand while watching their conversation play out.
“You drop the brightest witch of her age in our laps and expect us to keep her secret?” she half-laughed, half-scolded.
Dumbledore chortled, letting his grin show through. “I know. It’s incredibly frustrating.”
“I’m um…” Mr Potter sighed, standing up to pour three crystal tumblers of brandy. “I’m at a loss for words right now, Albus. But you know we’ll take care of her as planned.”
He handed out the brandy and dropped into the seat beside his wife again, downing his drink in one gulp.
“I never doubted it, Fleamont.” Dumbledore raised his own glass in quiet salute. “But I would speak with Hermione further, if you don’t mind leaving us a while longer.”
They kissed Hermione’s forehead in turn before slipping out.
When the door shut, Dumbledore resealed the Silencing Charm and turned back to her. “Do you have questions for me, Hermione, before we continue?”
She shook her head. “No, sir. My questions have stayed the same.”
“Very well.” He rose, pacing as he spoke. “Flamel is recalibrating your Time-Turner as we speak. He’s been very intrigued by the request. He thanks you thoroughly.”
“Oh, sure. Anytime,” she deadpanned, flushing at her reaction when he chuckled at her response.
“I will need the exact dates. The one you tried for, and the one you left from.”
With a deep sigh, Hermione recited the dates she would never forget and the one she never thought would matter so much: “June 18, 1996, and April 18, 1998.”
He wrote them down on a piece of parchment, folded it into an origami Phoenix, and blew it away out of the palm of his hand. They both watched it fly away to its known location before Dumbledore continued.
“Flamel confirmed what we suspected. Technically, you can tell me things you want without altering the future. It matters more about your actions. However, it may depend on the actions of the person you are trying to warn.
“I think it’s best to say as little as possible to anybody else. If you choose to tell me what you wish, I would be more inclined to be open-minded than others in discussing in length how you expect me to proceed. This will also narrow your efforts to one person rather than multiple.”
She nodded quickly. The thought of spreading knowledge across too many ears filled her with dread. Dumbledore had experienced so much already before Tom Riddle ever received his Hogwarts letter that it only seemed right to ask his opinion on matters at hand before consulting anybody else.
“Before you share anything further, allow me one question,” Dumbledore said, pausing at the sideboard to refill his glass.
“Of course, sir.”
“You once said you meant to prevent a Second Wizarding War. Does that mean we won the first?”
Hermione swallowed. “By forfeit.”
At once, light, probing tendrils of mist brushed against her mind. She drew her defences up, the wall she had learnt to forge, though sweat prickled at her temples as the magic pressed and hissed against it. Then the presence withdrew, leaving her drained but unbroken.
“You’re an Occlumens?” Dumbledore’s voice cracked with astonishment as he dropped into the chair beside her.
She exhaled shakily. “Only by training. Not for long. But it’s been useful.”
“When you said you knew of war,” he breathed, eyes locked on her, “I never imagined you meant you had fought in it.”
“I wasn’t official, but I helped the Order of the Phoenix often.”
Dumbledore froze. “You… helped the Order.” He repeated the words as though testing them aloud, then began pacing again, faster now.
“You have come a long way, Miss Granger. It would be foolish to turn aside the wisdom you carry.” He stopped, weighing her with solemn eyes. “Another day—when there is time, and fewer ears—you may tell me what you fought for. And what we must not repeat.”
She watched him be as he reversed the Silencing charms and held out an arm for her to go ahead of him out of the study.
The Headmaster bid his friendly goodbyes to all of the Potters, Sirius, and Remus, who had been waiting for them impatiently in the living room. He handed Mrs Potter a packet to fill out for student information for Hermione’s Hogwarts registration, shook hands with all the men, and kissed the women on the cheek.
Before he left, he whispered in Hermione’s ear, “I look forward to continuing our conversation, Miss Granger. For now, enjoy the rest of your summer.”
Chapter 12
Notes:
Sorry for the delay in the chapter updates last week. I promise I didn't abandon my WIPS. I was in mourning. My mom gained her wings. Because of her, I found my love for Harry Potter and writing. I don't think she thought I'd end up writing fanfic smut, but you know what? She loved her spicy romance novels, lol. So fuck it-- RIP mom, you would've loved AO3 <3 (If I don't laugh, I'll cry.)
Chapter Text
Sunday: July 11, 1976
Remus and Hermione lay together in his bed, watching the sunrise spill across the beige floral wallpaper in washes of pink and yellow. The sheets clung damply to their skin. Hermione traced runes over his abdomen with her fingertips, his stomach rising and falling to the rhythm of his slow breaths.
The wolf's hunger was a physical thing, growing louder with each passing day as the moon swelled. It howled inside him, a frantic, panting need that was quickly eclipsing his own. The most terrifying part was the way its need seemed to be centred on her. The wolf wanted Hermione with a ferocity that made his own affection feel weak and diluted.
Remus liked Hermione. A lot—more than any girl he’d met.
But the wolf was in love with her. In ways that were overwhelming for Remus to understand.
He couldn't tell where one thought began and the other ended. Was his jealousy of James and Sirius becoming closer to Hermione a simple human emotion, or was it the low growl of the wolf, possessive and dangerous? The confusion was a poison in his veins.
They see her as another friend. Like Marlene is to James or Lily is to Sirius.
She is MINE.
She wants me. Not you. Hermione doesn’t even know you exist.
SHE. IS. MINE.
Would he like Hermione this much if his soul weren’t tethered? His interest had been immediate from the moment he stepped through the Floo. But was it the wolf’s pull, or his own?
No.
He’d shared body, mind, and heart with the wolf most of his life; it couldn’t have Hermione as well. She wasn’t Emmeline. She wasn’t Lily. Hermione was different. Special. Unfortunate, then, that the wolf knew it too.
“Not that I’m complaining,” Hermione gulped for air, beautifully winded and plastered to his side. “But what’s come over you this past week?”
Remus smirked, sweeping sweat-damp hair from his eyes. “Sounds a bit like complaining to me. I could give you a break.”
He swung his legs over the side of the mattress—only to be stopped halfway. Hermione gripped his shoulders and shoved him back down, grabbing his face to prevent any further escape, kissing him upside down with heated insistence. Remus groaned deep into her mouth as her lips moved over his, his tongue requesting a dance.
“You’re not taking a break from anything,” Hermione sighed into him. He swallowed her desperate cry as his hand slipped between her thighs, pinching her clit between practised fingers.
“Too much—” she whimpered, her hips twitching in response, seeking relief.
“What about this then?”
Remus slid two fingers inside her, easily finding the spot that always made her buck. Hermione’s kiss broke with a gasp, head thrown back, her breasts hovering just above his mouth. He flicked his tongue over a pert nipple, coaxing her breast into his mouth. His fingers moved slowly, dragging through her with delicious mastery.
She started to beg for her release when he shifted his grip, sliding his hands behind her knees to draw her closer. Obedient and pliant, Hermione let herself be moved, crawling up where he directed. She nearly came again when his mouth replaced his fingers, employing the same teasing rhythm he’d perfected with her nipples. Her thighs spread wider as his tongue plunged into her, devouring her as if it were his last meal.
Hermione thought she might go to Hell—because surely, this was what Heaven felt like.
Blinding light, memories dissolved, thoughts melted, no need for air, every muscle paralysed with every nerve on fire. She was addicted to this sin. But as the fog of her climax began to lift, her heart cracked.
This wasn’t Heaven. It wasn’t even forever. Just borrowed time.
The devastation never truly left her alone.
Remus rolled Hermione off of him, kissing the insides of her thighs, making her shiver against his affections. He smiled smugly, far too pleased with himself. He would never be ashamed to admit Hermione could quickly bring him to his knees whenever she wanted.
She let him up this time when he went to the bathroom, returning with a warm, wet rag to clean her up.
“I could keep you here forever,” he grinned, the colour of amber mixing with the brown in his eyes.
“So possessive lately,” Hermione teased, then softened when Remus stilled, tense under the accusation. She pressed a kiss to the crook of his neck. “I love it.”
Hermione had a hunch that his recent dominant nature was about to come to light. A full moon was going to be in phase that night. He had been more sullen and quick-tempered with James and Sirius. They hadn’t seemed to pay him much attention. The short-term irritation was one of the things that tipped Hermione off about his Lycanthropy during her third year. Never with her, though, she noticed now. Not even with her hundreds of questions.
Tippy had made him a chocolate cake with chocolate buttercream frosting to last the week, charming the glass dome to only open at Remus’s touch so his thieving friends wouldn’t steal a slice. Hermione refused his offer when he asked if she wanted to share a piece after lunch, causing an exasperated scoff from the dramatic Sirius Black across the table.
“Well, hell, I’ll snog you, mate, if it means I can get a slice.”
“Snog Tippy and earn your own cake,” Remus mumbled around another bite.
“Is that how you get them? I think Marlene would forgive one measly kiss.”
James barked a laugh. “The Heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black kissing a house-elf? That’s one way to make your mum’s head explode.”
Hermione decided to take the chance and pry. “How long have you and Marlene been together, Sirius?”
Sirius’s smile was immediate at the mention of Marlene.
“A bit. It’s pretty juvenile, honestly. We were all playing Spin the Bottle last year, and I spun on her for my turn. Bloody brilliant kiss. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I told her I wanted to do it again, and she said I’d have to take her on a date first.”
Engrossed in the story she never knew about him, Hermione impatiently urged him on. “Well? Did you take her on a date?”
Remus snorted beside her, scraping the last chocolate crumbs onto his fork. “Nope.”
“What?!”
“Not at first, no,” Sirius laughed at her wide-eyed reaction, sitting back in his chair. “Not until I saw her go to Hogsmeade with Dirk Cresswell, that little prat. Holding her hand, but didn’t even open the door for her. Total rookie. That’s what she got for going out with a younger man.”
James rolled his eyes and nudged Sirius in the ribs. “Oh, stop. It was a set-up.”
“To make Sirius jealous?” Hermione asked.
“Oh yeah,” James chuckled, reaching over the table to dig a finger into the leftover icing from Remus’s plate. Remus loved his chocolate, though, because he swatted at James’s hand before he could get a taste.
“Oh yeah,” Sirius sighed. “And it worked, too. We had been flirting with the idea here and there for a few months, but I was too caught up in my head to do anything about it. But seeing her with someone else flipped a switch. I asked her to go to Hogsmeade with me the next weekend, and she reached out her hand to Lily to receive the bet collections she won before she agreed to go with me.”
Remus laughed at the memory as he rinsed off his plate in the kitchen sink. “Lily bet Marlene that Sirius would ask her out on a date the next day after her fake date with Dirk. Marlene bet he wouldn’t wait until dinner that same night.”
“She won,” Sirius shrugged and winked at Hermione, still bleeding with pride.
She smiled, warmed by this softer side of him. “But why not ask her sooner?”
“I did want to ask, but last year was a lot for me.” Sirius picked at his cuticles. “You could say, my family and I… had a falling out. Being disowned took more out of me than I expected. Then, my uncle passed away, leaving me a substantial inheritance. They probably think he did it out of spite, but I think he just didn’t have anybody to leave it to.”
Hermione's eyes widened in feigned surprise. She wasn’t supposed to know this part. No one had even mentioned his brother to her yet. But seeing the way his face had dimmed, she changed her direction to comfort him.
“I’m sure he left it to you for more than just spite, Padfoot.”
His eyes, crinkled with a smile, looked up at her. “You finally called me ‘Padfoot.’”
“If I’m sticking around, I might as well get used to your terrible nicknames.”
Remus sat beside her again, offering her a cup of coffee. “We were worried when Dumbledore wanted to speak with you and James’s parents.”
After Dumbledore left last week, Mr and Mrs Potter had taken Hermione aside to speak privately. They hadn’t pried into where she was from, but they wanted to know what came next.
“I think it’s best to keep up the Tinworth story for now,” Hermione had told them. “I’m not ready to tell anyone else. And if there’s even a chance I can return to my future, I can’t risk it.”
Mrs Potter nodded gently, sitting on the arm of her husband’s chair.
Mr Potter had observed her, chin resting on his fist.
“I understand,” she said eventually. “Fleamont, anything you want to add?”
The older man had taken his time, scratching the back of his head.
“I don’t regret taking you in, Hermione. I just worry.” He paused. “And if I’m honest, I worry for Remus as well.”
Hermione sat straighter. “Sir?”
“You’ve taken an interest in each other, haven’t you?”
She flushed but nodded.
He smiled faintly. “No need to be embarrassed. It’s sweet, truly. But as you said, you plan to leave. I’m not asking you to end anything. Just... if you choose to tell someone the truth, make it him.”
Hermione had already considered this on many sleepless nights beside Remus. Dumbledore had mentioned the possibility of an Obliviate. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to forget. This life was starting to feel as real as the one she left.
She’d squeezed Remus’s hand.
“I’ll stay as long as I can.”
After dinner later that evening, Hermione bid everyone an early good night to soak away her boredom with bubbles and a book. The sun had not yet begun to sink, but she closed her eyes anyway, her body draped across the cool lip of the tub and her arm hanging from the side where she still held her page in the romance novel she’d started.
It was no use. Remus had ruined her. Nothing would ever compare to the way he surrounded her with pleasure.
But it wasn’t just the way Remus used his fingers or the whispers he licked into her neck as he sank into her. It was the poems he recited from memory at night that left her speechless. She craved his conversation, his throaty laugh, and the way his eyes twinkled when he did. She adored the twitch he’d give just before falling asleep, as if his body didn’t quite know how to respond to peace.
Remus made her feel capable of more than just hope in the madness. He made the madness feel good.
James, Sirius, and Remus claimed they were catching up on summer homework that evening. She went along with it for their sake, but Hermione knew better. The moon had waited long enough.
Hermione opened her eyes, deciding the bath only bored her more. Her breath caught—someone crouched beside her. She startled, but relaxed the moment she recognised the silhouette: Remus, the warmth in his brown had given way to glowing amber.
Those eyes—wicked but soft—studied her. Watching. Considering. Her weaknesses, her reactions, her core. She glanced out the window to check for moonlight, but the sun still hovered high, not quite ready to yield to dusk.
Swallowing her nerves, Hermione finally spoke. “I didn’t even hear you come in. I thought you were catching up on schoolwork tonight.” She placed her book on the tile and took his hand, hoping he wouldn’t notice her trembling fingers.
Was this still Remus?
His head tilted. “They think I’ve gone to my bedroom for a moment.”
He brought her hand to his face, brushing his cheek against her palm. He inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering closed. “I had to see you once more before the night was through.”
Butterflies burst low in her belly. “Are you satisfied then?”
He shook his head, turning her wrist to press his nose to the soft skin there.
“Why not?” she whispered.
Remus’s eyes snapped open. The amber glowed fiercely. “I despise the soap you use,” he growled. “It covers your scent.”
“What do I smell like?” she rasped.
He kissed up her arm, over the scars across her shoulder, across her collarbone. His hands found her hair and tangled tightly, holding her still.
A whimper escaped her lips. Her thighs pressed together.
“You smell of lavender,” His lips brushed her ear. “...and me.”
She shivered.
“Fix it, then,” she challenged.
His mouth crashed into hers, water splashing over the tub. In one motion, he hoisted her out, arms locked beneath her thighs, and carried her across the bathroom. Hermione gasped as her back met the cold marble, his lips devouring hers.
Clothes were torn, pushed aside, forgotten. Then suddenly, he plunged into her heat, groaning into her mouth like it pained him to hold back. He buried his face in her neck, waiting. Her nails dug into his back. She could feel his restraint fray with every second.
Hermione lifted her legs, splaying them over his arms, opening herself fully to him.
Remus leaned back to watch her, dragging a thumb through her slick folds.
“You’re so fucking pretty.”
He pulled out, his tip barely inside, then thrust again. Her arms buckled at the elbows, but she kept her head raised to watch him.
His hands sought her breasts, cupping them roughly. “You’re so soft. Sometimes I wonder how you don’t bruise.” His grip tightened, testing her limits.
Remus had been possessive—sometimes jealous. But never rough. Not like this.
Hermione’s palms pressed to his stomach, grounding them both. She ran them up his torso in slow contrast to his urgency, trying to soothe the wildness threading through him. She wanted him to lose control. She didn’t want him to lose himself.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her flush against him, his cock buried to the hilt. One hand slid to her throat.
“You’re distracting me, Hermione,” he snarled. “How am I supposed to concentrate when you touch me like that?”
He thrust hard.
“Tell me you’re mine.”
His rhythm turned short and brutal. His grip on her throat loosened, letting her gasp for air. A tear spilt from her lashes, and he caught it with his tongue.
“Tell me I’m the only one who gets you like this.”
She hesitated.
Was Remus truly there, or was this the wolf’s voice in his mouth? Would he remember? Could she trust that he wanted this as much as she did?
A sob slipped out. She shook her head.
His eyes darkened, and his hand tightened. “What do you mean, no? Who else do you belong to?”
Straining her voice past his grip, she rasped, “You tell me.”
He stilled. Then smiled—a cruel, knowing smile.
“We are the same,” he said. “Except I was the one who remembered you. He’s only just met you.”
Her heart stammered. “Remember me… from where?”
“I don’t know. But I intend to find out.”
He kissed her cheek, her eyelids, her forehead.
“Tell me, witch. Do you remember me? Not from where—but when?”
She almost answered. Almost. But time was slipping. The moon would rise soon. He had to return, transform within the wards. She couldn’t risk derailing it now. So instead, she rolled her hips, fluttering around him.
“Don’t worry about what I remember. Make me forget everything else.”
He laughed.
His hand found her hair again, curled tight, and tugged her ear to his mouth.
“You have no idea what you’ve just unleashed.”
Then he pressed the softest kiss to her temple before yanking free and flipping her around. His hand tangled in her hair, forcing her to face her reflection. His chest heaved, amber eyes blazing.
With a flick of his wrist and a cast Immobulus, her body stilled with her arms behind her back and legs spread wide. Hermione’s muscles locked up in the magic, leaving the only thing her body could do was breathe and internally scream.
His finger trailed down her spine. She wanted to arch, to move, but couldn’t. Her cunt clenched around nothing, wanting attention. Remus reached forward to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, his finger continuing a lazy path down the indentation of her back to the crack of her arse. She miserably wanted to squirm beneath his touch.
“Blink once if this is okay. Twice to reverse the spell.”
Remus was smug even though he gave her an option, knowing what her choice would be, as he teased the rim of her pink, dripping opening. She blinked once, and he brought his fingertip to his mouth, licking the digit and groaning in pleasure at her sweet taste.
“Blink once if you’re dying to cum on my cock, Hermione. Blink twice if you want to be teased.” Hermione did not hesitate to blink once again.
Remus clicked his tongue, bringing his hand back down between her legs.
“My generosity just ran out.”
Chapter Text
His skin against hers felt like Remus. The way his words made her ache reminded her of Remus. He smelled of need and desire the way Remus did when he made love to her. But this wasn’t their unspoken tenderness—this was obsession. Compulsion.
It wasn’t Remus. Except it was. And it didn’t matter. Hermione wanted both sides of the coin.
He left the tip of his middle finger circling the rim of her wet cunt, taunting her with pressure. His other hand wrapped gently but possessively around her throat, keeping her gaze fixed on her reflection in the mirror. Her breath fogged the glass in bursts. Her vision blurred as he edged her pleasure.
“For every one of my questions answered, I will give you more of what you need.”
Hermione clenched in frustration, his finger still maddeningly out of reach.
“Such a needy little thing,” he chuckled, pressing kisses along her shoulder until he reached her ear. “First question... Why do I know of you but not remember where we met?”
A fizz of magic tingled across her throat as the Immobulus lifted partially. “It’s not where but when that’s important,” she croaked, finding her voice again.
His finger resumed its teasing pace. “Then tell me what’s important, witch.”
She needed more—of what, she wasn’t sure. “I don’t know how much I’m allowed to say.”
He withdrew completely.
“Wait!” she gasped. “Please…”
He simply watched her through the mirror.
“Are you still Remus at all?”
His eyes narrowed. “Why would you ask me this?”
“You know why,” she gritted, desperate for his touch between her legs.
He did not budge.
Defeated, she let her forehead fall against the mirror, its chill grounding her.
“You share a soul with him. But you’re only allowed control for one night—under the full moon.” She met his amber eyes, now burning bright as they had when she first saw them in 1994. “Werewolf.”
He stilled. His hands tightened around her hips.
Remus stared at her, calculating, but Hermione didn’t break. Her body was the one paralysed, but she held him in place.
“Knowing what I am doesn’t explain why I know who you are,” he said slowly. “I recognised your scent before I was told your name.”
One hand rose to brush her curls over her shoulder.
“I follow your soul like an old friend.” He bent to nibble her earlobe, tongue warm as he sucked it into his mouth. “Remus wants you. But I need you—like I need air. Tell me why. I beg you.”
He whimpered his confessions into her skin, waiting for her to respond as he kissed in different spots with no specific pattern.
“I can’t tell you why,” she whispered. “And I can’t tell you when. But we’ve met before. And it won’t be for some time.”
He blinked up at her decisively before he held to his word and sank a finger into her, knuckle-deep.
A loud moan broke loose from her throat, and she hoped he had thought ahead to cast a Silencing charm too.
“One question answered,” he said. “Now another. Answer it as well, and I’ll give you what you seek.”
She breathed through her nose and nodded, praying he would stroke her inner walls as they spoke. He did not oblige.
“Why are you here?”
“A mistake,” she admitted. “I can’t speak of more than that.”
“But you plan to go back to where you came?”
“It is not guaranteed.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew the wolf did not like the answer. But he kept his promise anyway and added another finger to her centre.
“You asked two questions, did you not?”
A slow smile peeled across his face, revealing pointed canines beneath his upper lip. Her eyes darted to the window reflected in the mirror. The sky was glowing. The moon was close to rising.
“Remus… The moon. You need to leave.”
“Not before you cum in my hand,” he growled, plunging in another earned digit, curling all three upwards to rub against the most sensitive spot.
Still unable to move the rest of her body, her pent-up energy rolled her eyes in the back of her head until she thought they’d snap from their sockets.
Remus lay his body on top of hers, his hand wrapping around her throat again, his cheek pressed between her shoulder blades. His hand was relentless between her folds, his forefinger slipping out every other stroke to rub her slick over her clit.
“You listen so well, Hermione,” he breathed, teeth grazing her skin with every one of his words. “Do you want to be rewarded?”
She managed a weak whimper underneath him.
“Just say the word, and I will do as you want.”
“Yes! Yes, please, Remus. Please,” she nearly sobbed, biting her bottom lip to stop begging. Hermione felt pathetic. A feeling she would plead for every night if it meant he could make her fall apart like this.
“Oh, good fucking girl,” Remus’s chuckle vibrated through her back before he stood again. With a wave of his free hand, Hermione felt the remaining magic lift.
Her arms were numb behind her back, but with the adrenaline coursing through her veins, she forced herself to reach behind her, grab hold of his wrist, and push his fingers deeper into her core. “More, Remus. I need more.”
She arched her back to rub against his palm, bracing her other hand against the mirror to steady herself.
Finally, the fire from her belly spread to her cunt, roaring to life. Remus was patient with her but cruel. Giving her only enough to drag her release out slowly. The last thing on Hermione’s mind was to get him safely behind wards for his transformation. She would take her prize, even if it killed her.
Her moans matched the rhythm of his strokes, his fingers curling up into her every time they entered and spreading her walls when they followed out.
“Cum for me, Hermione,” Remus whispered.
Her nails struck a silent chord down the mirror's glass, while the other hand clutched his wrist like a lifeline, demanding everything he could give her.
Remus let go of her throat to place it on her forehead to stop her from smashing her face into the mirror. Hermione wouldn’t have cared. She thought it would’ve felt good to bleed in that moment. Instead, she let him place open-mouth kisses across her bare skin, everywhere he could reach, to bring her back down to Earth.
Her senses came back with a vengeance, remembering where they were and who he was.
“Remus, you need… to go… now,” Hermione choked out between swallowing gulps of air. Remus followed her eyes to the window, locking in with the sinking sun.
He scooped her into his arms, cradled her to the bed, and tucked her beneath the crisp sheets. Sleep dared her to close her eyes, but she wouldn’t relent until he left. Remus returned to the bathroom to clean up the mess he had caused and dressed again before sitting on the bed with her. She gave the softest smile as he brushed the hair out of her eyes to kiss her temple, her cheeks, her nose, and finally her lips.
Hermione did not let him pull back from her just yet, pushing her tongue past his teeth to his mouth, where he waited. He kissed her deeply with her unspoken permission. Her tiny fists, using what little strength she had left, held on tight to his shirt before she finally released him and fell back to her pillow, exhausted.
Her last ounce of energy was spent on their goodnight kiss.
“See you soon,” he promised, pulling the duvet over her arms.
“Will it be you or him?” she yawned, long eyelashes fluttering over her cheeks.
“Who do you want it to be, Hermione?”
“Both,” Hermione said on an exhale, falling into peace as Remus backed out the door, his bones beginning to burn.
Chapter 14
Notes:
Thank you so much to all my readers for being patient. I'm sorry for the gap in the chapters. If you read my last chapter's notes, you know my mother passed. I just needed time. My spark is coming back, and I'm so excited to continue my stories. Enjoy! <3
Chapter Text
Monday: July 12, 1976
The room was bathed in soft morning light, but Hermione’s eyes strained against the new day, reluctant to wake. Her stiff body ached at the thought of leaving the safety of her bed. The stillness eased the ache from the night before. The aftermath wasn’t exactly pleasurable, but she had no regrets.
Now that the haze of lust had lifted, it was apparent the wolf—Remus’s other half—was tightening its grip as the full moon drew near. She was certain that it hadn’t been covered in any DADA textbook. Hermione wondered how much of lycanthropy remained unobserved, undiscovered. Perhaps that was something she could change while she was here.
Wrapping a throw blanket around her naked frame, shielding herself from the cool bite of the early morning air, she padded across the room to her study desk. She grabbed an empty journal and a feather quill and began writing rapidly, desperate to preserve the memory before it faded.
- The wolf’s personality traits blend with those of the host without transformation, especially near the full moon.
- Amber eyes overtake the host’s natural eye colour days before the full moon, without a complete transformation.
- The wolf’s phase overtakes the host’s behaviour minutes to an hour before moonrise.
- The wolf and the host are mentally linked but do not share memories, identity, temperament, or full consciousness during transformation.
The tone of the werewolf chapter in their DADA texts implied that the human and wolf forms were fused. That the curse didn’t split them, but made them one. The full moon was the wolf’s burden, while the wolf itself became the human’s curse, dormant within their skin until the moon’s rise. But what if that wasn’t true?
What if they weren’t one soul split by magic at all, but two souls, forced to share one body?
Hermione pulled her DADA book from her beaded bag and flipped to page 394.
“The tainted, subhuman blood greatly alters the subject's mind and personality, even physical appearance. Therefore, look for symptoms in your human suspects that include increasing violence, increasing aggression, unprovoked rage, insomnia, restlessness, and other bizarre behaviour. Unfortunately, over time, these symptoms can be brought under control, so do not rely on them exclusively.”
Hermione compared adult Remus and Fenrir Greyback, recalling how distinctly different they were, despite both being cursed with lycanthropy and sharing a direct link. Professor Lupin had always maintained control of his humanity when the moon wasn’t full. Greyback, on the other hand, seemed to lean into the wolf’s nature, nearly feral even in human form.
What if sub-human wasn’t a curse, but a choice? Greyback embraced the wolf’s chaos. Remus fought it, always. And still, even if that theory held, it didn’t explain why one version of Remus remembered things the other did not.
“We are the same. Except I was the one who remembered you. He has only met you.”
“Do you remember me? Not from where, but when?”
“I recognised your scent before I was told your name.”
Goosebumps rose across her skin in a wave at the reminders of where Remus’s hands had been on her body, the moments he dusted those whispers across her skin. A part of her felt guilty, as though she had been with someone else. They were so alike, but still so different. The more her theory blossomed, she wondered if they did not share the same soul, did they share the same heart?
Now that her thoughts were clearer, she realised Remus hadn’t taken her again after flipping her over the bathroom counter. Had he even... finished? She blushed at the fact that she couldn’t recall and hadn’t cared until now. It had been so intense, so blinding. If it had even been Remus.
After bathing and dressing in a light peasant blouse and denim shorts—her uniform for the heatwave—Hermione considered sneaking into Remus’s room to check on him. But she knew Tippy would be fussing over him already. Maybe even Mrs Potter.
Instead, she passed his door and headed for the kitchen.
“Why do you think he was so much more aggressive?” James’s voice drifted from just behind the kitchen’s doorway, slurred with a yawn. “He’s always been the alpha, but he’s never tried to fight any of us.”
“I couldn’t tell ya, mate,” Sirius answered. “It’s alright, Prongs. Just a scratch.”
“A scratch usually doesn’t need spellwork to stop the bleeding.”
No reply followed. Hermione assumed Sirius had just shrugged it off.
She took that moment to walk in, disrupting their murmurs. “Good morning!” she chirped, selecting a coffee cup from the cupboard.
When she glanced over her shoulder at them, she winced.
“You two look awful. What happened?”
Sirius blinked at her, as if only now realising she’d joined them. “Oh, morning, love,” he half smiled, still not answering her question.
“Are you alright? You look knackered.” She tried to sound oblivious, but it came too easily.
James straightened on his stool and flashed her his award-winning grin. “Just a long night of studying, is all. Nothing we can’t handle.”
“Ah, so that’s why you’ve switched to coffee this morning?” she said, lifting the empty pitcher she and Remus usually shared. “I thought you hated coffee.”
“Desperate times, Granger,” James said with a wink, grimacing as he took another sip.
“Where’s Remus?” Hermione dared to ask.
“Still sleeping,” Sirius sighed. “Nearly bit my hand off when I tried to wake him.”
James snorted.
Sirius drained his cup, tossing it into the sink. “Well, we’d better be off. Got to start on all this homework—oof!”
James elbowed him hard. “ Finish . Got to finish our homework.”
Hermione stifled a laugh as they scrambled to excuse themselves.
It was becoming increasingly difficult not to burst their bubble of all the things she was aware of. Harder still not to sneak upstairs and check on Remus.
Resisting the gravitational pull between them was nearly suffocating, even with him asleep and in another part of the manor. Hermione wondered if he felt the same way. She hoped he did. Until she remembered he had a wife in another life—a wife she had adored.
Hermione and Ginny had listened to Tonks vent to them about Professor Lupin countless times. They had bonded over being women who wanted to be successful in the Wizarding World, but at their young age, they also bonded over common juvenile problems.
Tonks would cry on their shoulders about loving Professor Lupin, unable to earn his affection in the ways she longed for. Ginny would follow up with tales of Harry and his maddening emotional inconsistency. And then, like clockwork, Hermione would rage about Ron and his inability to notice her at all.
But they never got the chance to hear Tonks happy.
Hermione never heard whether he dog-earred his favourite poems for Tonks to read. Whether their first kiss was all-consuming, whether they’d breathed the same air. She never talked about fighting against sleep, just not to lose precious minutes together, because being together all of the time was still somehow not enough. Tonks never said whether Remus always drifted off with his fingers stuck in her mess of hair.
Did Remus know how Tonks took her coffee? Did he say her laugh was his favourite sound? Did he make a pallet under the stars just for her? Would he have trusted her with his secret if someone else hadn’t told her first?
Will he trust me?
Hermione didn’t see anyone except Mr Potter for the rest of the day. He explained Tippy’s absence as if it were planned for chores and excused Mrs Potter’s as some kind of supervisory duty. Hermione knew that wasn’t true—Mrs Potter would never be caught instructing Tippy on how to do anything.
Drowsing on the couch with another unsatisfying romance novel on her chest, she felt her feet lifted and placed in a warm lap. She nuzzled deeper into the couch, a smile curling across her face at the gentle pressure digging into her heel.
“That feels nice,” she sighed, not bothering to open her eyes as she recognised his touch.
“Hmm..” Remus hummed back, circling his thumbs into her arch as she tucked the toes of her other foot between his thigh and the couch cushion.
“I missed you today,” Hermione admitted softly.
“We missed you more,” he whispered.
Hermione’s eyes sprang open at his words, expecting to be greeted with the glow of amber. Instead, Remus had his familiar, brown eyes and a knowing smile.
Chapter Text
Hermione watched Remus rub her foot, his touch light, a subconscious act more to steady himself than to comfort her. He was a million miles away, his gaze distant, but she felt the immense weight of his silence, waiting for her to break.
"Who is 'we'?" she asked, the words a timid whisper. She didn't want to know the answer, didn't want to explore this new territory, but the question had a life of its own.
His words were a low murmur, a raw certainty that made her heart seize. "You know the answer to that, Hermione."
She stilled, her heart thudding unevenly. A long, heavy silence stretched between them. The silence that followed was long and heavy, a thick, suffocating blanket.
"How much do you remember?" she finally managed, the question a desperate Hail Mary.
He stopped kneading her heel, and for a panicked second, she thought he'd pull away. Instead, he shifted closer, resting her legs fully across his lap. “Enough,” he said simply.
She stayed silent, willing him to continue, and the tension in the air coiled tighter. Finally, Remus let out a long, hollow breath—a sound that seemed to scrape its way from his very core.
"I remember coming to you," he said, voice rough. "I remember being... aggressive. I remember you letting me." Hermione had to look away. His eyes were a mirror of his memories, and the reflection was an unbearable mix of pain and shame.
She held her breath, a new question forming in her mind.
Did he remember the conversation?
"I remember leaving just in time to shift," he continued. "And... we tried to get back to you."
He broke off, his voice shaking slightly. "That's never happened before," he admitted. "I've always kept away, with help, but it was almost impossible last night. We could feel you through… some kind of tether."
Hermione sat up straighter, her stomach knotting. "Feel me?"
Remus nodded, jaw tightening. "Did I—" He broke off, swallowing hard, before forcing the words out. "Did I hurt you?"
It took her a second to realise what he meant. When she did, her heart twisted.
"No!" she gasped. "No, Remus. I was fine. I'd strip down right here if it would prove it—there's not a mark on me. I swear."
Remus’s shoulders sagged as the tension bled out of him. "Good," he said hoarsely, the single word a breath of relief.
"Were you upset? Did you have trouble sleeping?"
Hermione shook her head, thinking back.
"No," she said honestly. "I slept fine. I did wake up once..."
She trailed off, the memory surfacing unbidden— Harry's demon eyes, the serpent’s tongue, his cruel words hissing at her. "Oh," she said faintly. "I had a nightmare."
Remus’s brow furrowed. "It must have been awful for us to feel it even through the shift."
"Yeah. It was."
"What was it about?"
She dropped her head, staring at her hands, twisting her fingers together until the knuckles went white. Her body ached to tell him everything, the confessions teasing to escape. Her mouth refused to move.
Harry had come to visit her in her nightmares. Waking from his cot in the tent in a sudden rage. “You’re not doing enough!” He kept shouting at her until she was backed into a corner. His words turned into a hiss, matching the snake-like eyes that glared at her. Until she shrank, and he towered over her as Voldemort.
Hermione had been soaked in sweat when she woke up screaming.
Remus didn’t push. He simply reached out and covered her hands with his, stilling them. "How did you know about me?" he asked, voice gentle but insistent. "How did you know what I am?"
Hermione's heart splintered.
“Why is time important to him? He didn’t let me see everything. Only bits and pieces.”
She desperately wanted to tell him everything, to explain why she couldn't answer his questions, but she couldn't. The words felt trapped behind the wall she had built. All she could do was shake her head, her misery a suffocating weight in her chest.
Remus studied her for a long moment. She could feel him pulling away before he even moved. He closed his eyes, like a window being shut in her face, and stood. Hermione let him go when he stepped back, the betrayal in his eyes crushing her further.
Hermione opened her mouth— but there were no words she could give him that wouldn’t destroy everything.
Don’t, the wolf growled into his ear.
She had no issue answering your questions last night, Remus spat back internally.
Remus walked away, taking the cold with him, leaving Hermione with nothing but her thoughts and her growing guilt.
That night, the possibility of him joining for dinner kept her at the table until everyone had cleared their plates. She eventually realised he must have asked Tippy to prepare him a separate meal in his room—likely a routine after full moons, since the Potters, James, and Sirius hadn’t seemed to notice his empty seat.
Tuesday: July 13, 1976
The next morning, Hermione hoped to find Remus in the kitchen mixing her coffee just the way she liked it, like he always did. Instead, James and Sirius told her he had gone home to Warwickshire. Her stomach plummeted.
“He just left?” she exasperated. “Without saying anything?”
James shifted awkwardly, running a hand through his already messy hair, a tell-tale sign of his discomfort.
"Remus didn’t tell you?" he asked, genuine surprise flickering across his face. "We saw you two talking last night. We just assumed…" The unspoken words—that he would have said goodbye to you of all people—hung heavy in the air.
He shared a confused look with Sirius before leaning closer to her, resting his elbows on the counter.
“He always stays here for the summers,” James explained, “but usually goes back in August to be with his parents before term. This time was earlier, but his father’s got connections at the Ministry. With everything going on, we didn’t think much of it when he showed us a letter asking him to come home early.”
Sirius walked around the marble island to sit beside her. “He didn’t tell us until after dinner. After you went to bed, we swear.”
Hermione pressed her lips together, trying to appear as nothing more than a shocked friend hearing the news last. She knew she was failing miserably.
“We would’ve said something,” James grumbled. “Or made him do it.”
She shook her head faintly. "It’s nothing. It—It’s fine."
Sirius snorted and bumped her elbow with his. “You’re a terrible liar, love.”
Hermione huffed, a wet sound that caught in her throat. She swiped a tear away, but another one instantly took its place.
“Look,” he said softly. “We know something’s up with you two. But it’s not our business unless you want it to be.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, and James took the hint, pushing off the counter with effortless grace.
“What matters is you’re still stuck with us. And we are a brilliant company if I don’t say so myself.”
“Here! Here! I also do not say so!” Sirius slung an arm around her shoulders, squeezing a smile out of her.
After a long day of distraction, of Sirius and James keeping their promise to be "brilliant company" until they finally collapsed in front of the fireplace, Hermione found herself standing before Remus’s bedroom door. The doorknob was cold against her trembling hand. She hesitated, then gently eased it open.
The air in the room was a ghost of him: the familiar scent of firewood, worn leather, and his favourite chocolate. It clung to the space, just as her heart clung to the memory of him. She stepped inside as if entering a sacred space, cautious, almost afraid to disturb the presence he left behind.
It was neat, as always. The bed was made. The books that had been stacked on the floor were returned to their shelves. The curtains had been folded neatly, no longer draped across the windows to block out the sun. And there, left as if it were a piece of him meant to be found, was his brown wool jumper.
She crossed the room, held it to her face, and buried her nose in the fabric—as she’d done a hundred times before. The deeper she breathed, the farther Hermione sank onto the bed, curling up on the duvet they had lain together under just a few nights ago.
“I miss you,” she whispered, the words lost to the soft wool of his jumper.
She missed how Remus looked at her. How his fingers traced the outline of her body. How his curls tickled the tip of her nose when he rested his head on her chest. She missed forgetting her entire life, mission, and reason for being there in the first place. Hermione missed giving in to the indulgence that was Remus Lupin.
Her fingers tightened around the jumper. It wasn’t enough, but it was all she had.
Hermione stayed there in his bed, surrounded by his scent—small, silent, and sullen.
Wednesday: July 14, 1976
The next morning, the Potter manor woke slowly, a gentle chorus of birdsong mingling with the mouthwatering smell of Tippy’s breakfast sausages.
James groaned, his back muscles protesting as he stretched. Sirius remained dead asleep, a starfish sprawled across the sofa, utterly unbothered by the new day. James chuckled, a faint sound as he caught a whiff of his own morning breath. That, he decided, was his cue to get up and face the day.
He looked around. No Hermione. Hope we didn’t pass out on her, he thought. They’d promised to distract her. Stupid prat, he added, the thought of Remus turning his guilt to frustration. Why would he think it was okay to leave like that?
Yawning again, James climbed the stairs and paused as he reached the landing. Remus’s door was ajar. James frowned, nudging it open wider and peeking into the soft morning light that filled the room. His heart immediately twisted with a sudden, painful clench.
There she was. Lying in the centre of the bed, a halo of wild curls against the pillows, still in yesterday’s clothes, clutching Remus’s sweater to her chest. A wave of realisation hit James. He'd dismissed it as a simple crush—something to pass the time while they were here, nothing more. But the raw, vulnerable heartbreak etched on her face in sleep told him this was no fling. It had mattered.
She matters, James thought fiercely with a protective fire in his chest.
He tiptoed into the room. He found a stray blanket in the closet, unfolded it, and gently tucked it around her. She stirred, a slight, sad sound escaping her lips, and then settled again. He hoped she’d sleep in peace for a while longer.
“You’ll be okay soon, Hermione,” he whispered, brushing a strand of her hair away from her cheek.
As he turned to leave, he found Mrs Potter standing in the doorway, watching with soft eyes and a proud smile. He flushed but held her gaze.
When he quietly closed the door behind him, she kissed his cheek.
“I promised I’d take care of her, Mother.”
“Yes,” she said, pride thick in her voice. “You did.”
Chapter Text
Tuesday: July 13, 1976
Tonight’s dinner at the Lupins' felt like pulling teeth.
His mother had prepared Remus’s favourite meal—garlic butter steak, mashed potatoes with bits of skin left in, and roasted sweet baby carrots. Still, he only managed to poke half-heartedly at his plate, his appetite lost somewhere between his father's sharp, disapproving glare and his mother’s averted eyes. It wasn’t that the food lacked flavour.
In this house, even flavour seemed subdued.
Since being accepted to Hogwarts, Remus had always felt happier away from home. But this summer had been mind-bending in the best possible way. He’d had a taste of what life could offer, and now, back at the house with his parents, away from his real home, the food was tasteless. The colour in his mother's garden seemed washed out. Somehow, the bird's singing was oddly out of tune.
At the Potters’, laughter punctuated every conversation. James and Sirius were entertaining, loud, and teasing. Tippy's fussing was a strangely comforting hum, never accepting help unless against her will. Peter’s sudden comebacks amid the usual gentleness. Hermione’s knee pressed against his under the table, her eyes always sparkling as she talked.
Here, there was only a silence so heavy it could suffocate.
He'd barely been home a day when his father confronted him about Hermione. Mr Lupin’s eyes had hardened at Fleamont Potter's well-intentioned letter, which innocently detailed how close Remus had grown to his "goddaughter." That letter now lay blackened in the fireplace, its edges curled like scorched leaves.
Remus knew Mr Potter had only been a good host, simply updating his father on their summer. But he had said too much, unknowingly. Remus knew it, though. The moment he'd received his own letter from Lyall Lupin requesting his early return, he knew he wasn't coming back to welcoming arms.
"You’ll stop courting that poor girl," his father growled, slamming his fork down with enough force to make his plate jump. "It’s for her own good."
Remus's jaw clenched. "I'm not courting her. We're—it's complicated."
"You will stop seeing her, Remus," Mr Lupin commanded coldly.
"She lives with the Potters, Dad. She's practically James' adopted sister. How exactly am I meant to avoid her?"
Remus hated that he understood why his father was doing this—why Hermione needed to be protected from him. It was precisely why he took advantage of their miscommunication and left without saying a word to her. Still, it didn’t make it any less painful.
His father leaned in menacingly, eyes glinting with bitterness.
"If you persist, I'll remove you from Hogwarts. Perhaps Eton would better suit you."
"If you're going to do that," Remus snapped, pushing his chair back with a violent scrape, "you might as well lock me up now!"
Mr Lupin matched his volume, roaring back, "If I don’t, they certainly will. Perhaps you need reminding of what awaits you!"
"Lyall, no!" Mrs Lupin's plea was barely audible, already half-defeated by years of standing powerless between father and son.
His father's expression twisted with anger, a deep-seated guilt rooted in it. "It’s the only way, Hope. You don’t understand our world! They’ll tear him apart before he has the chance to do it to anybody else."
Before Remus could react, Mr. Lupin had seized him by the arm, dragging him forcibly from the dining room toward the magically sealed cellar.
"Maybe this will make you understand."
Remus had grown used to the cold of the cellar. Usually, he was within hours of transformation, his eyes already adjusting to the darkness, his wolf's power strengthening them. But it was only the middle of July. The next moon was nearly a month away.
Has it always been this quiet beneath their home? Was it due to the magic sealant? Or was he really just that alone?
Minutes crept into hours. Hours dragged toward days. Days melted into weeks.
We will show him what it is like to be shredded to pieces, since your father is so adamant that you will do so anyway.
That’s what he wants. He only wants one sign to show that he was right to be scared of me all these years.
Out of courtesy, I will wait for your permission to give him a reason to be terrified.
Slowly, the madness of absolute silence, darkness, and no touch but his own had driven him to crave the company of the voice he had grown to hate. Remus now welcomed the wolf like an old friend. He'd begun to appreciate its bluntness and the raw honesty of what Remus always wanted to say.
Meals arrived three times a day through the slot in the cellar door. Three times a day, Remus crawled up the nine stairs to retrieve the tray. It enraged him that there were not ten stairs, a tiny, pointless detail he obsessed over. The eighth stair creaked under his weight, and he eventually learned to slow his ascent, reaching for the door with his hand rather than his nose.
Every morning, the tray held one biscuit, one piece of fried ham, and a hard-boiled egg with pepper sprinkled over it. He couldn’t see the spice, but he recognised the threat of a sneeze it caused when he sniffed at the food.
Each lunch was a turkey and cheese sandwich and a single pickle. This tray was a clue that his father made it—why else would he remember that his only son hated pickles? Remus ate the pickle every single day, a small act of defiance.
At dinner, it didn't matter what was on the menu. He imagined it was Tippy’s special chocolate cake. The meatloaf on his fork was as moist and soft as freshly baked cake. When he finished, he’d drag his finger through the plate to get the last bit of buttercream frosting. He'd even pretend to offer that final taste to Hermione.
She’d open her mouth, let the tip of her tongue fall between her lips, before sucking in his fingertip clean.
I can’t wait to have her touch again.
She is not yours to touch.
Hermione Granger is ours in every life.
A low, bitter chuckle escaped Remus. Except this one. I let her go.
The wolf's voice turned mocking. You did nothing but drive her to want to strangle you with her bare hands. I will let her once more if that is how to be near her.
Don’t hope too hard, mate, Remus sighed. You’ll jinx our release from this prison.
Not even death could stop me from getting to her.
The end of July and the beginning of August passed in a blur of agony and solitude. When the moon waned, Remus lay shattered on the stone floor. He had no wand, and his father never came to mend his injuries. He lay there, his face scarred anew, his hip screaming a pain he knew would never fully fade. Too weak to even use wandless magic for relief.
He began counting each heartbeat echoing against stone walls, each breath a whispered prayer for release. Sometimes, he thought he heard footsteps above, pausing at the cellar door, but they never opened it. His mother, maybe, wishing for magic of her own to unlock the wards.
New clothes were never offered to replace the ones he had torn through in August’s transformation. The cold concrete floor had numbed his pain from his broken hip. Remus cried at the sweet relief until he fell asleep.
In the tormenting stillness, Remus realised that perhaps his father had hoped he wouldn't rise again. But his heart beat stubbornly until he could taste the sunlight again. Until he could see Hermione again, even if only to let her hate him in person.
Meals had continued to be given, but most days, he couldn’t push through the pain to crawl up the nine stairs to collect the tray. The wolf howled and cursed at Remus to move. Insults of aggressive encouragement roared in his head. But it wasn’t enough.
When the cellar door opened, Remus thought it was a dream when his mother flew to him. Her touch burned his skin, and her sobs made his eardrums vibrate. The light cast where the door was usually kept tight, blinding him.
The morning of September 1st finally arrived.
Mrs Lupin, too frail to do it alone, managed to haul her son up the stairs and into a bath. She washed him with a warm rag, gentle around his fresh wounds, and helped dress him silently afterwards. Her touch was feather-light, and she shook as Mr Lupin watched from a distance, his expression unreadable.
At King's Cross Station, Remus spotted the Potters immediately—James’s wide grin, Sirius’s effortless confidence, Peter waiting patiently, and Hermione’s worried eyes scanning the crowd. The sight hit him like a physical blow. A dream. Definitely a dream.
Ignoring the grinding ache in his hip, he tried to run, desperate for the warmth he’d left behind. His body betrayed him, and he went crashing to the hard ground, a spear of pain shooting up his leg.
His mother gasped, "Remus!"
"Quiet!" Mr Lupin hissed sharply. "You'll cause a scene."
But the damage was done. Hermione rushed forward, her face pale with worry, her hand outstretched. She was so close. He wanted to plead his case, to explain his pathetic attempt to save her from himself. He wanted it. He needed it.
Remus's father stepped between Remus and Hermione, fingers digging harshly into Remus’s neck like he was restraining a dangerous animal. Mrs Lupin reached out briefly to comfort Remus, her hand hovering uncertainly in midair before she pulled it back into herself.
He spoke directly to Hermione, voice chilling in its finality. "Move on while you still can."
Remus wanted to scream, to fight. But as his father’s grip tightened, he could only watch Hermione’s expression harden into confusion and hurt. But before the last shred of hope he had clung to was shattered between them, her eyes narrowed like a loaded missile aiming at its target.
Her hand darted inside her jacket, whipping out her wand and levelling it directly at his father’s chest.
“Release him.”
Chapter Text
The bustle of King’s Cross seemed to slow to a standstill, students and their families crowding around them. Hermione’s eyes were locked on Remus’s father. When his fingers clenched tighter around his son’s neck, so did her grip on her wand.
“I said ‘Release him’,” she snarled through her teeth, the words cutting through the platform like a blade. They burned in her throat, a fiery vow.
"Miss Granger," a low, measured voice came from behind her. She didn't move, her knuckles white on her wand.
Mr Potter stepped into view with a calmness that contrasted with the storm that was Hermione. “I’d like to gently ask you to lower your wand. For Remus’s sake, if not ours.”
His eyes were kind but not condescending. There was no patronising smile, no doubt. It was just quiet authority wrapped in patience.
Her chest heaved, a drumbeat of anger thrumming beneath her ribs. "He's hurting him."
“I know,” he said, barely a whisper in her ear. “But so would this.”
Remus shifted, his face pale and drawn. Hermione's heart gave a dangerous twist when his eyes met hers.
“It’s okay,” he rasped, a fragile plea. “Take me to the train, Hermione.”
And just like that, she crumbled.
Her wand lowered.
She didn’t put it away. Not yet. But her hand dropped to her side, shaking.
Mrs Potter’s voice rang out then, pleasant and crisp with a presence Hermione had come to admire in older witches who no longer had time for nonsense.
“Well, thank Merlin,” Euphemia said brightly. “Show’s over, everyone!” Her hands waved away the nosy people who had gathered. “Now that we’ve all got our tempers under control, perhaps Mr Lupin would be so good as to release his son before he misses the train entirely.”
Lyall Lupin's glare burned with a boiling rage. "He is my son," he spat. "I will care for him as I see fit."
“Don’t give us that shite,” Sirius snapped, suddenly at Hermione’s shoulder. “You haven’t cared for him at all. Look at him! He’s nearly starved.”
A quiet sob escaped Mrs Lupin’s throat. And then—small but fierce—she shoved her husband with both hands against his chest. He stumbled, more from shock than force, his grip on Remus loosening just enough.
Remus staggered forward at the opportunity. He nearly fell, but his mother ducked under his arm, supporting him from underneath as she gently passed him to Hermione and James. Her hands lingered for a moment on his shoulders before she stepped back.
“Please watch over him,” she whispered to Mr and Mrs Potter. Then her eyes found Hermione’s, red-rimmed and wide. “Keep protecting him.”
Hermione didn’t trust her anger not to lace her response, but she hoped it was clear she would’ve protected him without being asked.
“We’ve got him,” James answered for her, sounding just as mad as she knew she would have.
Euphemia stepped forward as Remus’s parents finally left toward the exit, brushing his fringe away from his pale forehead. She kissed his cheek with careful tenderness.
“I’ll write ahead and tell Madam Pomfrey to expect you,” she whispered, tears ready to fall.
“I’m alright,” Remus tried, his voice gravelled and low. “Really. It’s just—just sore.”
“No, son,” Fleamont said firmly. “Let people care for you.”
Remus didn’t argue. Not out loud. But the clench of his jaw said enough.
James and Hermione flanked him, arms around his back and waist, as they helped him climb onto the train. Behind them, Sirius and Peter took up the rear, levitating trunks and chattering with unspoken urgency. They found an empty carriage near the middle of the train. James helped Hermione lower Remus onto the bench, then gave an awkward rub of his neck.
“I’ll, erm—go find the trolley lady. Get you something. You two… take a minute.”
The door slid shut behind him, leaving a quiet compartment save for the muffled thrum of the train preparing to depart. Hermione lingered by the window, arms crossed tightly over her chest like they might keep her heart from breaking open all over again.
Remus sat slumped on the bench, leaning against the cold glass, his eyes closed. His breathing was shallow. The colour in his face was still wrong, drained and tight around the eyes. His scars were beginning to show behind the faint magic of his glamour, trying like hell to hold on.
Her fingers itched to fix the wrinkles in his jumper. She wanted to brush the hair from his forehead. Press her palm to his cheek. Tell him that he was safe now. That she’d never let anyone hurt him again.
But she didn’t. She couldn’t.
He had every right to be angry at her. Her secrets weren’t fair and pushed him away. Then she’d started a scene, drawn her wand on his father, for Godric's sake. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t crossed a line.
Hermione didn’t regret it. She would have thrown countless stunners at Lyall Lupin if it were the only way. But Remus hadn’t asked for her protection. Why would he want it? Maybe he didn’t want her.
So she stood stiffly across from him, silent and still, and tried to swallow the ache rising in her throat.
Then—
“Thank you.”
The words barely registered at first. Soft. Sincere.
Hermione blinked. “For what?”
Remus looked up at her with something raw, vibrant in his eyes—something vulnerable and reverent. Before she could read it, he reached out and caught her hand. And pulled.
She stumbled slightly, heart skittering in her chest as he guided her into his lap. She didn’t resist. Couldn’t have, even if she’d tried. She crossed her ankles as she was plopped on top of his thighs. Her breath caught when Remus swept her curls over one shoulder, exposing her neck before burying his face there like he’d been starving for the feel of her. Breathing her in like he hadn’t had a proper breath in weeks.
Hermione shivered. His arms curled tight around her waist, drawing her in, clinging to her like she was the only thing tethering him to the present moment. She looked down at him, stunned, utterly still, before her hand moved on instinct. She threaded her fingers through his hair slowly, letting herself feel him—the weight of him, the scent of him, the heat of him pressed against her again.
“For being you,” he mumbled into her skin. “You humbled my father and gave my mother courage—both things I didn’t think possible anymore.”
She didn't speak. Nothing she could say wouldn't come out as a sob. So she didn’t, and held him instead. His thumbs moved in slow circles against her back.
Hermione looked out the window over his shoulder, tracing lazy lines through his hair and watching the London skyline blur and thin as they slipped away from the city and towards the countryside. Wondering when they had even started moving.
“I’m sorry,” he said, breaking the silence with a quiet breath against her collarbone. “For the way I left.”
Her heart twisted. She couldn't say "It's okay"—because it hadn't been. It had nearly wrecked her. She couldn't say "You were right to"—because that would open up the chasm of everything unsaid, the things she was still too afraid to name.
She decided on the truth she could manage.
“I missed you.”
That was enough to unravel him. Remus pulled back slowly from her neck to look up at her. His eyes were wide and glistening, lashes damp.
“Show me,” he whispered, broken and pleading.
Hermione stared at him, startled. Her eyes darted between his, brimming with vulnerability and need.
“Please,” he croaked.
So she kissed him.
Soft at first—just lips pressed to lips, trembling and unsure. But then he kissed her back, desperately like he hadn’t tasted her in years. Like he didn’t know how long he’d have her. His hands gripped her tighter, pulling her flush against his chest. She felt him exhale into her mouth, ragged and real. Their mouths moved in frantic sync, all missed touches and unfinished sentences.
Take her. The voice—his voice, but not—growled low in the hollow of his chest.
The wolf clawed to the surface, aching to take control. The connection had grown stronger, fused tighter since the summer. There was less and less space between them now—between the boy and the beast. And Remus, tangled in Hermione's arms, didn’t hesitate.
The kiss deepened, darkened. What had started as desperate quickly unravelled into something hungrier, bordering on ravenous. Remus groaned into her mouth, his hands tightening where they gripped her thighs. And just beneath his skin, something stirred.
I can’t wait anymore. I need everything.
In a swift, instinctive motion, he flipped them, lowering her to the floor of the compartment. The rush of the tracks below vibrated a deep thrum through their bones. Hermione gasped when her back met the floor, the contrast of cold steel and burning skin stalling her thoughts. But it was the way his kiss changed, how his mouth devoured hers, that truly lit her body on fire.
Feel her, Remus. Let our hands roam.
The wolf was pacing, snarling in frustration at the moon’s absence, but still pressing its will forward. And Remus obeyed.
His hands teased up her skirt, fingertips trailing over the delicate weave of her cotton stockings until they found skin, warm and sacred. He let out a trembling exhale like the feel of her would send him over the edge. Hermione’s whimpers danced against his mouth, her lips parting as he traced higher. Her stockings rolled slightly beneath his palm. Then his touch reached the hem of her knickers.
Her moan wasn’t shy. It tore from her throat, honest and hot. And when his fingers pressed into the damp heat there—rubbing soft, circular strokes over her clit through the fabric—her head fell back, and her eyes fluttered closed.
Hermione's hips arched instinctively beneath his touch, her breath coming in short, trembling breaths as his fingers circled her, each stroke sending sparks up her spine. She clung to his shoulders, to the heat of his body caging her in.
But the compartment swam into view behind her lashes as his mouth descended, lower and needier. For a split second, she remembered it wasn’t the ornate carvings of the Potters’ manor above her. It was the plain, time-worn ceiling of the Hogwarts Express train.
They weren’t in a bed.
They were hurtling through the countryside in a train packed with people.
“Wait,” she whispered, tapping on his shoulder..
Remus froze. The wolf didn’t.
What are you doing? Take her. Claim her!
Remus’s hand twitched against her thigh, torn between obedience and restraint. His gaze lifted to hers with eyes that were no longer warm brown but bright amber; sharp, primal, and possessive. Nostrils flaring, hot air rushed through his nose, exhaling frustration. He tried to kiss her again, as if that would silence the part of him that didn’t understand why they should stop.
But she turned her face again. “Remus,” she said gently, threading her fingers into his hair. “Come back to me, baby.”
Her new term of endearment cracked something inside him. Something human.
His body tensed, then slumped. His eyes shifted back to brown.
Remus leaned back until his spine hit the wall, every movement stiff. He pressed his palms into his eyes, scrubbing down his face.
“I—I’m so sorry. Hermione, I didn’t mean to—”
She was already moving, crawling into his lap again, cupping his face in both hands.
“Remus. Look at me.” He did, reluctantly. “If we weren’t on this train, I would let you eat me alive, Remus Lupin. Only apologise for the bad timing.”
A stunned pause.
Then a sound burst out of him—half breath, half laugh—like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to be amused or horrified.
She will be the death of me, grumbled the wolf.
Not even death could stop me from being with her, Remus thought, throwing a different version of the wolf’s admission back.
The creature didn’t answer. But Remus felt it sink deeper into the corners of his heart, embarrassed, licking its wounded pride in silence.
Hermione kissed his cheek and leaned her forehead to his. The tension had melted between them, but reality remained—sharp and insistent in Remus’s grimace as he tried to shift against the compartment wall. Hermione noticed it immediately.
“Here,” she said, rising. She extended both hands. “Come on.”
He grasped them, but pain lanced through him, and his knees buckled.
“Merlin—Remus,” Hermione exclaimed, catching him just before he could collapse.
“I’m fine,” he gritted.
“You’re not,” she said, guiding him to the bench. “Sit. Let me look at you.” Something in her voice transitioned from loving to professional.
He blinked down at her as she knelt before him, her wand in hand, her other hand moving across his side with practised precision.
“Tell me what hurts,” she said, her brows drawn, eyes tracking his reactions.
“My hip,” he admitted. “And my ribs. Maybe… shoulder, too.”
She nodded, lips pressed together in thought.
“I don’t have any potion vials on me,” she said regretfully. “This is going to hurt. But not for long—I promise.” She pulled out her belt from her waist and folded it twice before holding it out towards his face. “Bite down.”
Remus raised a brow, and his heart did a strange sort of skip. He stared at the bundle in her hands, then at her face—fierce, focused, a curl falling into her eyes. Like with the Potters, he knew better than to argue. He clenched the wool between his teeth, jaw tightening.
Hermione moved with purpose, pressing her fingers into his side until she found the spot that made him flinch.
“There.” She adjusted the angle of her wand. “Okay. Brace.”
And then—
“Episky!”
A bright white crack rang out, and Remus screamed into the cardigan, the sound muffled but unmistakable. Pain surged through him, but already the pressure he’d grown used to carrying like extra weight began to dissipate. He breathed hard through his nose, the fabric damp at the corners from the bite of his teeth. When she pulled it gently from his mouth, his head fell back against the seat, sweat-damp hair clinging to his forehead.
“I’d cast a Ferula to bandage you until Madam Pomfrey can tend to you,” Hermione said, brushing his fringe back like it hadn’t just shattered her to hear him in pain, “but I don’t think either of us wants you getting caught with your pants around your ankles.”
Remus managed a breathy laugh, the ache in his ribs sharp but somehow sweeter now.
“Thank you,” he said, eyes tracing over her face. She tried not to blush as he watched her mend the more minor cuts his claws had caused across his skin.
“Wait… how do you know Madam Pomfrey?”
Hermione’s stomach dropped. Panic gripped her for half a heartbeat before she willed her features calm again. “Mrs Potter said so. Remember? She said she’d write to her about the state you’re in.”
Remus stared for a moment longer.
“Oh. Right.” He nodded slowly, sinking back into the bench. “Yeah. I forgot.”
Hermione smiled as if the air hadn’t just fled her lungs. Another lie. Another small betrayal. She told herself it was fine. That it was important to keep hidden in plain sight, but she didn’t believe it any more than he probably would.
Remus’s eyes drifted closed, his shoulders relaxing. One arm curled protectively around his ribs as if still expecting pain. But the worst had passed for now.
“She’ll love you,” he murmured, sounding exhausted. “You’re a natural at healing magic. Where’d you learn to do all of that?”
Hermione hesitated. “I’ve been practising…. We went to get our supplies, and I found some books. I started studying.”
Almost true. A truth, laced with a lie. A neatly folded timeline out of order.
“Of course you did,” he smiled, kissing her cheek.
She almost crumpled under the weight of his affection. She barely had time to drown in guilt when the door handle jiggled behind them.
“It’s locked. Are you sure this is the right one?” came Sirius’s indignant voice from the other side.
“Yes, Sirius, this is seriously the right car,” James replied dryly.
“Maybe they want privacy,” Peter suggested. “We should find another cart.”
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Lily groaned.
Remus sighed, smirking, and flicked his fingers toward the door to unlatch the lock.
“Sorry, sorry,” Remus said as the door slid open. “Hermione was mending.”
“Oh yeah, I bet she was,” Sirius snorted.
Marlene jabbed his side. “Don’t make fun. They’re honeymooning.”
Lily rolled her eyes—as predicted—and stepped into the compartment. She bent to hug Remus without hesitation. Hermione watched, frozen, as Lily’s arms curled around him and his posture softened. Familiar. Automatic.
“Are you alright?” Lily whispered into his shoulder. “Was it bad again?”
“Worse.”
Hermione looked away. Something twisted low in her chest—ugly and sharp and unexpected.
Jealousy.
Of course, Lily knew more. Of course, she was used to this. She’d grown up with these boys. She belonged to this time, to this world. Remus belonged to Lily as his best friend.
Harry and Ron belonged to Hermione. They were her boys to look after. She was the glue that held them together. She knew when to distract Ron from Harry’s frustration and understood Harry’s constant urge to save the family he’d prayed for as a child. She had loved Ron through his insecurities and loved Harry despite the fear he disguised as anger. She shared secrets, jokes, and broken moments with them—memories no one else would ever fully understand.
She would sacrifice her sanity and give her life for them. She was here for them. For Harry. For everyone. Hermione breathed through her nose and tucked her hands into her lap.
This is their world, she reminded herself. Not yours.
Lily had barely pulled back when Sirius flopped dramatically into the empty seat across from Remus, Marlene and Mary landing on either side of him. James took the floor, stretching out like he owned it, and Peter sat next to Hermione, closer to the door, awkward but content.
“So,” Sirius began, looking pointedly at Remus’s still-sweaty brow, “no offence, mate, but you look like you crawled through a bear den.”
Remus huffed a laugh through his nose. “Close.”
“Seriously, though,” James said, more gently, throwing a Chocolate Frog into his lap. “We’ve been writing to you all summer. All of us. But our owls kept coming back with the letters unopened.”
Marlene nodded. “Mine returned with a bent wing and a vulgar attitude.”
“I—I was locked in,” Remus admitted, his voice quieter now. “The transformation room. My dad didn’t want me to have contact.”
Sirius leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “The whole time? Since you went back?”
Remus nodded.
Mary shook her head in disbelief. “Bloody hell, Moony.”
“He said he was teaching me a lesson, giving me a taste of what could happen to me in the real world.”
James looked like he might actually combust.
“The real world?! You’ve never looked this bad coming back from a summer. Not even after—” He cut himself off, eyes flicking to Hermione, realising how much he almost said.
Marlene swore under her breath. “Did you eat at all?”
Remus nodded again. “I was fed. But I didn’t eat much after the transformation. It hurt too much. After the full moon and the anger, I lashed out harder than usual. But I didn’t have my wand to fix anything.”
Lily kept her hand over her mouth, like the shock would spill out of her if she didn’t hold it back.
“I’m fine now.”
“You’re not,” Hermione said. All eyes turned to her. “You’re not fine. Your hip was broken, Remus. You could barely stand ten minutes ago.”
Remus opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He shut it again and looked down.
Peter cleared his throat. “Did you all forget about someone?”
“We could never forget about you, Wormtail,” Sirius said with a wink.
But Peter only jabbed a thumb toward Hermione.
“I meant her,” he said. “You just outed yourself, mate.”
Six heads swivelled to look at Hermione, expressions ranging from wide-eyed guilt to panicked disbelief. She blinked once. Then promptly burst into laughter, muffling the sound into the palm of her hand.
Remus smirked beside her, utterly unbothered.
“She knows,” he said, eyes fixed fondly on her face.
“Oh,” Sirius said flatly, eyes narrowing at Remus. “So she gets to know, but we weren’t allowed to until nearly beating it out of you?”
“Scandalous,” James added, grinning.
“She seems to be handling it well,” Peter said, mildly impressed.
“She’s not screaming,” Marlene agreed.
“Well,” Sirius chuckled, looping an arm around Marlene. “Not yet,” he said before James smacked him in the chest.
“Your dad’s a git,” Sirius said, coming down from laughing at his own joke.
“We were worried about you,” James added.
“I know,” Remus said, managing a smile. “I missed you all.”
“Missed us?” Sirius scoffed. “You missed me. Don’t drag them into it.”
“Of course,” Remus drawled. “How could I survive without your voice echoing in my ear at all hours?”
“Some say it’s a gift,” Sirius said seriously.
“Some say it’s a curse,” Peter offered helpfully.
“Well,” Marlene sighed, “some of us say it’s exhausting.”
Everyone laughed again—but James squinted suddenly, tilting his head.
“Wait—how do you know?”
The laughter faltered, along with Hemione’s smile. Panic prickled beneath her skin. She hadn’t even answered that question when Remus asked back in July. She opened her mouth, searching for anything that might hold. But before she could speak, Remus replied.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said simply.
Hermione turned to him, eyes wide, but he didn’t look away. He was still looking at her, still smiling.
The train had started to slow, the countryside giving way to thickening woodland as Hogwarts drew near. Conversation filled the compartment again, laughter coming easier now, and it almost felt normal for a moment.
“Hello, darlings,” came a new voice rich with playful confidence.
Remus closed his eyes, remembering immediately what he had forgotten to mention.
We’re fucked, groaned the wolf, expressing exactly how Remus felt, too.
He was so very fucked.
Hermione turned just in time to see a girl step inside—tall, statuesque, glossy brunette hair cascading past her shoulders, and cheekbones sharp enough to wound. Her uniform robes were still perfectly unrumpled, her expression that of someone entirely at home.
Marlene grinned, pushing Sirius and Mary over to make room between her and Lily. “Late as always, Emmie.”
“Gives you just enough time to miss me.” She flicked her hair over one shoulder as she scanned the compartment and, on instinct, made her way toward Remus.
Hermione watched with mild curiosity, then heightened confusion when she gracefully sank into his lap like it was hers by right. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
To his credit, he froze beneath the kiss. His hands didn’t move from his sides, and he didn’t kiss her back. But he didn’t try to stop her either.
When she decided she’d had enough, the girl’s eyes found Hermione and beamed a smile that made it hard to hate her.
“Oh—hi there. You’re a doll. I’m Emmeline! Are you new?”
Hermione extended her hand, already feeling out of her depth. “Yes. I’m Hermione.”
Emmeline gasped, shaking her hand. “Ooh, I love that name! So elegant.”
Sirius rubbed at the back of his neck. James decided to use this time to wipe down his already clean glasses. Lily’s eyes dropped to the floor while Mary chose to inspect her immaculate fingernails. Peter stared anywhere but at Hermione while her heart punched into her ribs like it was trying to escape. Remus looked like he wanted to jump out the window.
Good, she thought to herself. He should be scared.
Hermione swallowed and stood, brushing invisible creases from her skirt. Her expression remained neutral, even pleasant. “I’ll be back in a moment. Just need the loo.”
She turned toward the exit but didn’t get far before James followed.
“I’ll go with you,” he said casually, rising to his feet.
“James, it’s alright—”
“I know.” He gave her a look. Not pity, but understanding. “Besides, I’ve been meaning to stretch my legs.”
He guided Hermione gently out of the compartment. Before the door closed completely, James aggressively whispered at Remus, pointing a direct finger at him.
“Fix. This.”
Remus stared after him as he slammed it shut.
Still draped across his lap, Emmeline arched a brow at Lily.
“Does James have a girlfriend who isn’t you?”
Lily didn’t respond—just glared with enough force to melt through steel.
Chapter Text
Hermione found an empty compartment to hide in and leaned against the window, watching the blur of green fields and hills rush past. James followed her in, closing the door behind them. With his hands shoved in his pockets, he let her have some space, rocking slightly with the rhythm of the train.
“I hope your ‘loo’ excuse was just for show,” he said lightly, “Because this is not one.”
Hermione let out a soft breath, not quite a laugh.
James stood next to her and nudged her with his elbow. “You alright?”
Hermione tried to nod. Tried to smile. But her lips quivered instead, and when she blinked, a few tears slipped free without permission. She quickly apologised, dragging a sleeve across her cheek.
“Today’s just been a lot.”
James didn’t push. He just eased down onto the bench that lined the wall, looking up at her.
“You’re allowed, Hermione. You don’t have to apologise for that.”
She sat beside him, curling into the warmth of his arm as her head found his shoulder. He relaxed just as quickly. It felt good to someone who already knew your worst day and stayed anyway. To Hermione, James felt oddly familiar. Something like home.
Harry never knew how to handle his own pain, but he seemed to know how to help with hers. She swallowed back tears, eyes fixated on the scenery flying past out the window. She remembered when everything had seemed like a constant mess. But now, somehow, those moments felt simpler.
Instead of the train seat, it had been at the bottom of the steps. This time, she wasn’t watching from across the common room. It had been right next to her, like a slap in the face. Once again, she had walked away from seeing it, but this time it wasn’t Harry who followed after her. It had been James—an uncanny resemblance.
“How does it feel?” she asked, sniffling. “When Lily is there, but you can’t be with her?”
James was quiet for a moment before reaching over and rubbing her knee reassuringly and sighing, “Feels like this.” She could almost feel Harry’s ghost beside her, warm and so very missed.
Like father, like son. A different war, another time, the same heartbreak.
Hermione stayed tucked against his shoulder, listening to the soft hum of the train and her uneven breaths. Grateful for his friendship, if not as much as she had been for Harry’s.
James let her sit in silence for a while before speaking again.
“If it makes you feel any better… he and Emmeline aren’t an official thing.”
Hermione let out a flat, unimpressed noise. “It doesn’t.”
That earned a grin from him. She lifted her head just enough to catch it.
“Fair enough,” he said. “I just meant… she was before you.” He paused, glancing at her with something gentler in his eyes. “Emmeline’s great, but she’s not you. Remus has never looked at her the way he looks at you.”
Her throat tightened, unsure how to feel. She loved being that for him. But maybe that’s how it was with Tonks. Perhaps that’s how it should’ve stayed.
The train began to slow, its wheels shrieking against the tracks as they neared the Hogsmeade Station.
“C’mon. You can’t hide here forever.”
Hermione stared up at him. “Why not?” But she took his hand anyway, letting him pull her to her feet.
“Well,” he said, directing her toward the door before she could change her mind, “we can go now and gain some distance from Remus and Emmie…” He gave her a meaningful look, as if to suggest she should consider what he said next. “Or we can stay here, let them come looking for us, and then you’re cornered with no way out. Your pick.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “You sound like Sirius.”
James grinned. “Don’t be rude.”
They made their way toward the exit, James keeping pace beside her as students began shifting around them—hoisting trunks, adjusting robes, and chattering with excitement and nerves.
The train hissed and groaned to a stop.
Hermione stepped onto the platform and was immediately hit with the familiar scent of damp pine and loamy stone. She had barely enough time to breathe before her eyes caught on a prominent, unmistakable figure near the crowd's edge.
“Hagrid,” she breathed. The name slipped out like a memory. Like a reflex. Barely audible.
“What’s that?” James asked beside her.
“Oh, nothing,” she said quickly, eyes snapping away. “Just… talking to myself.”
Voices rang out from behind them. “Hermione! James! Hold up!”
They turned to see Peter jogging toward them, Lily and Mary trailing behind, while Sirius dramatically weaved around students like a ridiculous bird of prey. Marlene followed in step, her expression caught somewhere between amused and exasperated. Emmeline was clinging to Remus’s arm like a lifeline.
Hermione’s stomach flipped. But stood her ground as they approached, spine straight. Hating how Emmeline looked perfectly content against Remus’s side as if she had never left it. She spoke animatedly to whoever was listening, oblivious to the fact that Remus was not one of them.
Hermione turned away quickly, tense under his eye. But he willed her to turn back around. She stood tall beside James, using him for leverage. Her curls caught the warm lantern light, making them shine. He loved those curls, especially when they were tangled in his fingers.
Look at me, Hermione, look at me…
But she didn’t turn.
And what was the point, anyway? To explain what exactly? That he’d been a complete tosser? Despite how it had looked, he wanted Hermione with every fraying thread of himself, but couldn’t speak through the mess he’d made.
You’re useless, the wolf spat from the back of his mind. If I were freed from this prison, I would’ve gnawed her hands off of us by now.
It’s not Emmie’s fault, Remus thought tiredly.
You’re right. It’s your fault for not being clear about your intentions.
I thought I was! We left things casual. I thought—
Well, you thought wrong. The wolf’s words were thick with disgust.
“Remus?” Emmeline’s voice cut through the aggravated voice in his mind, followed by a light shake on his arm.
He blinked, startled. “Sorry. What’d you say?”
She smiled sweetly, eyes twinkling up at him, making his body sag with regret. “I asked if you got any of my letters?”
“No. I’m sorry. I didn’t.”
Her smile slipped slightly, just enough to crack the edge of her confidence.. “Hmm. Maybe I had the wrong address.”
She looked thoughtful, but Remus barely heard her. His eyes had found Hermione again, now deep in conversation with James. She was laughing at something he’d said. Marlene and Mary had drifted over to join them, Sirius following and slinging an arm across both their shoulders.
And Remus stood on the outside looking in, tethered to a girl whose presence used to feel comfortable, but now felt like a jacket that no longer fit.
The wolf raged on, pacing in his cage.
Another voice called his name before the guilt could settle deeper into his chest.
“Remus Lupin!”
He turned as Madam Pomfrey pushed through the crowd, her face alight with concern.
“There you are, dear,” she said, wrapping him in a tight hug before he could react. “I got Euphemia’s letter. You poor thing. I should have known something had happened when I never got a response from my owl.”
Remus flushed. “I’m alright—”
“Come. I’ll have you fixed up before supper.”
Emmeline’s hand slipped from his arm. “Oh—okay.”
Remus didn’t offer her an explanation. He glanced over his shoulder at Peter and Lily.
“Tell Hermione where I went,” he said.
Not James. Not Sirius.
Hermione.
Emmeline watched him walk away through the crowd with Madam Pomfrey, uncertain. She turned back to look where Hermione stood with her friends, her face still glowing faintly.
“Is he alright?” she asked. Peter glanced up from fiddling with his bag straps. “He’s just been strange. Something’s off.”
“This summer wasn’t good for him, is all,” Lily said, carefully.
Emmeline flinched. “His father again?”
Peter nodded grimly. “Yeah. Made him go home early. Took away contact from everyone.” He added quietly, “Took away a lot…”
Emmeline’s eyes lingered in the direction Remus had gone. She didn’t know what had changed exactly. Only that something had. And that she hadn’t been there when it did.
The Great Hall shimmered with candlelight, the enchanted ceiling mirroring the dark skies outside. First years huddled nervously near the front, their wide eyes darting between the four house tables and the fraying hat on its stool.
Flanked awkwardly near Professor McGonagall, Hermione stood apart upon her request. She kept her hands clasped tightly behind her back, her new robes freshly pressed, her glamour in place, her expression polite. It wasn’t technically necessary, but appearances mattered. This was for show, after all.
A hush fell across the Hall as McGonagall cleared her throat.
“Before we begin with our new class, we have a rather unusual circumstance this term. A transfer student—Miss Hermione Granger—will be joining us. As she is new to Hogwarts, tradition still holds: she will be sorted.”
A low roll of questions spread through the room as Hermione stepped toward the stool, cheeks burning and heart racing like the first time. She could feel dozens of eyes on her—probably only curious, but Hermione’s anxiety convinced her they were judging.
“Well, well, well,” came the familiar rasp of the Sorting Hat, humming in her ears. “You again. Or rather… not yet. But I remember you all the same.”
Hermione’s fingers gripped the edge of the stool. “You’re not supposed to—”
“Out you? Merlin, no. I’ve held heavier secrets than yours, Miss Granger. Much heavier.”
A pause. Warm, thoughtful.
“What an odd loop you’ve landed in. Clever girl. Always have been. I won’t ask how or why. But you should know—this castle remembers its own. And so do I. You were Gryffindor once. Brave, brilliant, and bleeding for those you loved. And now?”
Another pause. Another hum.
“Still brave. Still brilliant. But bleeding for time itself, aren’t you? Oh yes,” the hat whispered fondly. “Still Gryffindor. Through and through.”
Then, aloud, for all to hear:
“GRYFFINDOR!”
The room erupted into applause, though nothing like the chaos Hermione remembered from her real first year. Most students clapped out of obligation. A few first-years looked downright scandalised.
“A transfer student?”
“Who even was she?”
“Why transfer now? So late in age?”
But Hermione barely heard them. She lifted the hat off her head with careful hands and stepped down from the stool, her expression calm and composed. She walked briskly toward the Gryffindor table, pulse thrumming, ears still ringing with the echo of the hat’s voice.
Sirius was the first to react. “I knew she was one of us!”
James whooped beside him, already making space.
Peter offered her a shy, polite smile and clapped her on the back as she reached the table. “Welcome to the madhouse.”
Marlene shifted without hesitation, patting the seat between her and James. “Here, love.”
Lily’s claps were a few seconds late, and her brow hadn’t fully unfurrowed. She said nothing, but the look she gave Hermione wasn’t rude, just puzzled. Puzzled and vaguely annoyed, like Hermione had sat in a chair Lily didn’t realise she wanted.
Emmeline watched Sirius and Mary laugh with Hermione. Watched James elbow her like an old friend. She watched Marlene lean in like they’d always been in the same dormitory and watched Peter fill her cup with pumpkin juice, as if he already knew what she liked.
Hermione accepted the cheers and back pats with a small, practised smile. But her hands trembled under the table. Hermione could see the staff table clearly from her new place at the Gryffindor table.
Dumbledore wore the same patient, unreadable smile. The way he watched Hermione, ever so briefly, sent a chill down her spine. He didn’t wink. Didn’t nod. He looked right through her, like she was just another student.
How could he be so calm while her mind buzzed in agony?
He sat there, with so many answers, and watched the room like a wise owl stands guard over its home.
The professors all looked eerily familiar—just younger, unlined faces with clearer eyes. She knew their quirks, their handwriting, and their fates. She wasn’t supposed to know any of that.
And the Marauders…
They were alive. Smiling. They weren’t just names in a book or fading photographs in Grimmauld Place or the Trophy Room—they were here. Laughing beside her. Passing plates. Full of promise and expecting futures that wouldn’t come. The longer she sat here, surrounded by legendary boys who would one day become war-torn ghosts, the more it all felt like a dream she couldn’t wake from.
She had come here with a mission. A responsibility. An opportunity wrapped in a present that could have been a horrible mistake. Now, she could find the Horcruxes early on. Save Sirius and Harry’s parents, too. To end the war before it ever began.
Still, her heart had betrayed her brain, as it often did. Her feelings had gotten ahead of her agenda. Worst of all, she was starting to forget. Forget how cold her old life had gotten. Forget how much death she wanted to prevent.
She was living someone else’s life. And if she weren’t careful, she wouldn’t want to give it up.
Hermione’s food remained untouched as the feast continued around her, laughter bouncing off the high stone walls. Across the table, Peter and Sirius were already debating dessert strategy, and Marlene laughed at something Lily said.
But Hermione wasn’t listening. She watched the flicker of candlelight in the floating chandeliers, the glint of gold on Dumbledore’s robes. She felt the weight of history pressing in from all sides.
She blinked, eyes glassy, lost somewhere between now and when.
“Scoot.” The recognisable voice came from behind her. Her blood iced.
She turned slowly to see Remus standing there, freshly bandaged, clumsily learning how to use a new cane. He looked better. Unfortunately.
James didn’t argue. He slid over with a smirk, already anticipating Hermione’s reaction. When he leaned around Remus, she glared at him with murder on her mind.
James winked. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ll thank me later.”
Remus sat beside her with care, but the tension was instantly unavoidable.
Hermione twisted her body around, giving him a wall of curls. He loved those curls. And she bloody well knew it.
“Please,” he begged, leaning closer. “Let me explain.”
“Explain? What’s there to explain? You already told me everything.”
“I… did?”
“Yes,” she hissed. “‘It was just one girl last year. We messed around a few times, but that’s it.’,” she quoted, her voice tinged with venom. “You failed to mention, however, that you never cut things off with her.”
Remus hadn’t thought a whisper could be weaponised, but she had—her tone tight with restrained hurt.
“I didn’t know there was anything to cut off,” he tried. “Hermione, honest. I thought it was casual.”
She rolled her eyes at his failed attempt to convince her. “Well, clearly you two got your wires crossed.”
Remus sat in the wreckage of good intentions, Hermione fermenting in annoyance. But in their fury, neither noticed that their argument wasn’t so quiet anymore. Or that Emmeline was sitting directly across from them, who had heard every word.
Lily, seated beside her, saw it. The way her shoulders slouched in defeat. The way her fork froze halfway to her mouth. She reached across the table, gently placing her hand over Emmeline’s.
“Emmie…” But she snatched her hand away before Lily could squeeze it.
“Well,” she said with a forced smile that didn’t reach her eyes, “you won’t have to worry about telling me now.”
Hermione’s head snapped up. Remus turned, stunned, remembering where they were a little too late, forgetting she was even there. Emmeline’s dark green eyes shimmered at the realisation, a quiet storm brewing behind them.
“Message received.”
Chapter Text
The Mauraders and the girls followed behind the crowd, which was being led to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione was glad for some normalcy. She couldn’t wait to see the reds and golds, the roaring fireplace, and the comfort of a bed she had missed for too long.
Marlene walked with her up front, Mary and Lily following behind. Peter, James, and Sirius stayed close with a noticeably quiet Remus, dragging his feet. His limp fell in step with a cane that Madam Pomfrey more than likely threatened him with if she found that he was not using it.
Hermione wondered if Emmeline’s words, cracking “Message received” before she stormed off in tears, were replaying in Remus’s head as much as they were hers. She knew Emmeline wasn’t at fault here. And she hadn’t meant for her to be surprised by Hermione’s involvement with Remus like Emmeline’s had been for her.
James had slowed, falling into step beside him, leaving Sirius and Peter a few feet ahead. “Alright, mate?
Remus shrugged. “Peachy.”
James gave him a look. “You need to fix this.”
“I know.”
“Tonight. Before it festers. She’s not going to wait around for you to decide what you want.”
“I know,” Remus hissed under his breath.
Sirius glanced over his shoulder, sensing the shift in tone. “Merlin, you two act like she’s vanishing into a mist. You’ve got time.”
Peter piped up hesitantly. “Maybe a letter? Just until you can get her alone?”
Remus sighed, not bothering to reply. She doesn’t want a letter. She wanted the truth. And clarity.
But so had I, he thought darkly.
You’d better do something, the wolf ordered.
Remus clenched his jaw.
And what about me? Did I get clarity? No. I got silence I wasn’t allowed to question.
You’re a disgrace to every primal instinct we’ve got.
I didn’t mean for my past to ram itself between us, Remus snapped back. She’s still keeping secrets on purpose.
But as quickly as he made himself angry, he still missed Hermione and just wanted things to go back to the way they were. At the Potter's manor before he left. On the train, before Emmeline arrived.
I didn’t know what to say. Everything I tried made it worse.
Then stop trying with words. Use instincts. Actions. Teeth.
She doesn’t need a monster.
The Gryffindor students began to slow, filing toward the portrait that led to the common room. But they were far enough back that no one noticed when a lean, dark-haired boy stepped directly into their path.
“Sirius.” The name came softly but clear—measured, almost careful.
“Regulus,” Sirius said coolly.
The youngest Black stood with his arms folded behind his back, his posture perfect, his chin tilted. Something defiant was in the set of his mouth, but not as a threat.
“I wanted to see how you were.”
Sirius raised a brow. “Since when?”
Regulus frowned. “Since I last saw your name banished from the Black Family Tree.”
Sirius, to his credit, didn’t flinch.
“Right. Well. I’m fine.” He scratched the back of his neck, loosening his defence. “Are you alright?”
Regulus didn't get a chance to answer, his words halting in his throat when another voice drifted out from the shadows behind him, smug and coiled like smoke.
“He’s fine.”
Evan Rosier stepped forward, sneering and slithering like the snake he was. Behind him was Severus Snape, emerging like a cold wind, observing and ready to strike. Their black eyes swept lazily over the group. Hermione stiffened, just as Lily had.
Hermione’s heart dropped into her stomach. Snape looked the same but crueller in a way he hadn’t yet learned to mask. He was just a boy, disguised in a sharp ego. His shoulders were back and his chin was high, which made it clear that he was looking down at them all.
Snape’s eyes locked with hers when she felt a cold prying sensation at the edge of her mind. A thread trying to slip through her defences, hunting for cracks. An intrusion knocking on the walls barricading her thoughts, trying to find a weak point.
Like slamming a door, Hermione pushed back with practised skill. Making Snape jerk back, nostrils flaring from his injured pride. He had been testing the strength of her consciousness, but she had been quicker.
He recovered, expression twisting in surprise, then darkening into something meaner.
“How did you know how to do that?” he demanded.
Hermione smirked back. “Do what?”
“You know what,” he lashed out, starting toward her. “You’re only a first-year.”
James stepped between them instantly, placing a hand against Snape’s chest to stop him from advancing.
“Relax. She’s a transfer student,” he said flatly. “Not a first-year.”
Snape’s eyes narrowed. “It’s her first year here. Unless you came from another school?” he said, looking over James’s shoulder. “Where, then?”
He took another step, tone turning suspicious. Almost triumphant. “Durmstrang? Ilvermorny?”
But Remus's voice cut through the tension building before Hermione could decide what to do next. “Back off, Snivellus.”
Snape turned his glare on him. “Still playing guard dog, Lupin?”
“Still stalking around where you’re not wanted?”
Regulus, defeated, pulled on Snape’s sleeve. “Come on.”
Rosier pushed off from the wall he had been leaning against to stand face to face with Remus, waiting for his turn to pounce.
“Why? They already look scared.”
Remus only held eye contact, not blinking and not cowering down. “Where?”
Regulus pulled on Rosier’s arm, too. “I didn’t ask for your help either, Evan. Knock it off.”
Snape cast one last glance at Hermione with disdain. But when he laid eyes on Lily, his entire demeanour softened. She stared back at him, watching with wide, wet eyes. Whatever was said was unspoken, but understood. Because he let Regulus lead him away back into the shadows of wherever they came from.
The students ahead were already out of sight, voices echoing faintly up the winding stone stairwell, leaving the group behind in thick silence. Hermione crossed her arms and turned to go.
“Are you alright?” Remus asked quietly behind her.
She didn’t stop walking. “I’m fine, Moony.”
The name caught him off guard. She’d never called him that before—especially not with that clipped edge. His heart ached at the way it sounded so deliberate. A flicker of irritation sparked under his skin. Maybe it was the wolf. Perhaps it was the guilt. Maybe it was just everything.
“What was he talking about?” he asked, stepping closer. “What did you know how to do?”
Hermione stiffened. She didn’t answer. But she didn’t need to. Her discomfort said enough. She looked away, lips tightening, but he didn’t let it drop.
“Answer me, Hermione.” Her name was nearly a growl before she saw it—a flicker in his eyes—amber, bright and fast. So fast, she would’ve thought she imagined it if she hadn’t known better.
She took a half-step back from his rising wrath when Sirius clapped a hand on his shoulder to ground him. “Alright, don’t be a prat.”
Remus shrugged it off like it burned.
“You don’t get to—” he started, but stopped himself. With a final look at Hermione that held more pain than anger, he turned and stalked away up the stairwell to the prefect dorms without another word.
Sirius sighed, shaking his head at the dramatics. “Uh… sorry. He’s just… tired.”
Hermione nodded, lips pressed together, pretending to believe it. But she understood. He had every right to be angry. And every reason not to trust her.
Marlene glanced at Lily, who was still staring at the spot where Snape had stood, as if his existence were still there. “You alright, Lils?”
Lily didn’t answer straight away. Her eyes were glassy, focused on nothing. Then she shook her head once, distracted.
“I’m going to find Emmeline,” she said abruptly. “She won’t know the password.”
“Lily…” James reached out after her, fingers brushing empty air as she pulled away.
She refused to acknowledge him, embarrassed by how much she still cared for someone who never accepted being loved or would love her properly in return. Despite how much everyone hated him, Sev was her best friend. And she missed him on the days she was the saddest. It just so happened that in the last year, he caused her the most unhappiness.
Thursday: September 2, 1976
Hermione sat at the dining table with her toast buttered and untouched, eyes lingering on her coffee as though it might offer answers. Coffee still not prepared by Remus, who was now here with her, but did not speak. The loss of his conversation, voice, and touch was tormenting.
The Great Hall buzzed with conversation around her from all Houses.
“I heard she threatened Remus’s dad.”
“Did the Potters keep her hidden in a tower? Why is she only just now coming to Hogwarts?”
“Remus moved on from Emmeline pretty fast.”
“He didn’t move on at all! The new girl just tried to steal him from Emmie!”
Hermione kept her head down, although it seemed too late now. She was supposed to keep a low profile. Blend in. Observe. Not spark enough gossip to get noticed on the first day. At this rate, Dumbledore would have to Obliviate the entire school. Especially Snape.
Hermione clenched her cup just a little too tightly. She should’ve been more prepared. She knew better. Knew what Snape was—what he would become. What he already was.
He’d been trusted with teaching Harry Occlumency and tasked with protecting his mind. He was powerful. Clever. Dangerous. And she’d underestimated him.
That was the fundamental mistake—not letting him in but letting herself slip. She let emotions get ahead of strategy, letting comfort distract her from clarity.
She had let herself become too involved. She kept forgetting the way the future had already been mapped out. The inevitability of it all. How loneliness would draw Snape to the Death Eaters. How Dumbledore would eventually rely on her for the impossible. Peter betraying them. When the Black brothers would walk very different paths, yet end up on the same side.
How Remus would marry someone else.
Hermione swallowed hard, toast and coffee now cold.
She looked up at the influential figure standing before her, casting a shadow over the table. She wondered why he had ever decided to dress in robes over suits. He was handsome like this—sharper and more defined, insightful and knowledgeable, but not yet tired and hardened.
“Good morning, Miss Granger,” he said, with the same knowing smile he never lost. “If you wouldn’t mind coming with me before morning classes begin.”
His tone wasn’t urgent, just enough to get her attention and everyone else’s.
“We’ll save you a seat,” Sirius said, earning pointed looks from Emmeline and Lily. Remus didn’t even look up from his plate. Judging by how much he hadn’t eaten, it appeared he didn’t have an appetite either.
Dumbledore didn’t speak as they walked. His stride was unhurried, the soles of his boots clicking gently against the stone floor in rhythm with her own. The castle felt colder in the morning, with small bursts of warm rays peeking through the windows.
By the time they reached the moving staircase, Hermione could feel her questions pounding against the inside of her skull, begging to be answered.
“Lemon sherbet.”
The Gryffin Gargoyle twisted up until the stairs were revealed, carrying them into the warm environment of Dumbledore’s office. Portraits of past Headmasters still snoozed in their frames. The Sorting Hat sat high on a shelf, tipping its worn brim at her in a respectful greeting. Radiant and proud, Fawkes sat preening on his perch with a curious tilt of his head.
Dumbledore moved behind his claw-foot desk with ease, folding his hands before him, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as he waited for her to choose one of the guest chairs before him.
“Thank you for letting me steal you from your breakfast, Miss Granger. Although it didn’t look like you were eating much anyway.”
“No, sir. I wasn’t hungry.”
“Troubles?”
She couldn’t hold back an ungraceful snort. “Only the usual, sir.”
He chuckled with her. “Stuck in an era before your birthday? That sort of thing?”
“Something like that,” smiling sadly.
He studied her, the laughter fading behind thoughtful eyes.
“Miss Granger, before I say what I am about to say. I need you to understand that we are working diligently to restore your Time-Turner so that you can return home. I need you to believe that.”
Hermione knew this wouldn’t be easy, even before turning time to a different year than she meant to. But his concern for her trusting him didn’t sit well with her.
“I do, sir. I wouldn’t have come to you before anybody else without a reason.”
Dumbledore nodded, reassured but still careful. He sat up, lacing his fingers together, leaning on his elbows. “Hermione, it may be a few years before you can safely return.”
The words didn’t feel real, although she had prepared for it to be possible. She did not blink. Didn’t even really breathe.
“Oh,” was all she could manage.
Dumbledore’s expression didn’t waver. If anything, it softened.
“I know this is not what you hoped to hear. However, we are working within limitations that have not been properly studied. There are magical currents we must understand—tethers, ruptures, paradoxes…” He leaned in closer.
“This is not to burden you further but to protect what remains. You cannot do this alone forever, Hermione. If we are to preserve what can still be saved, you may need to consider sharing your truth.”
She looked up at him, her voice barely audible. “I’m starting to forget what it felt like before. And that terrifies me more than being stuck here.”
He didn’t interrupt, letting her explain at her own pace.
“Right now, although he’s planning the downfall of my time, it is the calm before the storm. Before we woke up and fought to survive. Every day. If we slept in, it meant something was wrong. If we gained ground, it was taken from us by nightfall.
“I was tired. I had given up. I was grasping at straws. It felt like we had already wasted so much time and failed too many people. I just–” she sobbed, finally breaking under the pressure. “I just wanted to get ahead of it. I just needed a moment to breathe. To catch up.”
She crumbled at the words she finally let herself say out loud.
Hermione turned her face slightly, ashamed of the crack in her voice and the uninvited tears. But Dumbledore was already rising, moving slowly, deliberately, around the desk to her. He conjured a handkerchief and offered it to her.
She accepted the notion, dabbing at her eyes, trying to breathe.
“You’ve come here with knowledge most shouldn’t possess,” he continued, his tone quiet but grounded. “And you’ve done so without complaint.”
Kneeling to eye level, he urged, “I think that knowledge has become something you no longer need to carry alone. Don’t you agree?”
Hermione looked up at him slowly. “You mean… tell someone?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “Not the world. Not even your friends. But me, at the very least. I cannot help you fully unless I know what you’re guarding so closely. If you share your pieces with me, I may help you see the shape of the whole.”
She hesitated. “I was told not to interfere. It’s already pushing a boundary for me to be seen.”
“That’s true,” Dumbledore agreed. “But silence is a kind of interference, Hermione. Secrets that remain buried too long can poison the soil they’re planted in.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Anywhere,” he said kindly. He returned to his desk—not to reclaim authority, but to give her space. To show her that her choice mattered in deciding the right path to take.
“There is no rush,” he added. “But when you are ready, tell me what you can. We–”
“Tom Riddle.”
The name crashed into the room like a wave, loud and unshakable. Hermione’s voice had risen sharper than she meant it to—but now that it was out, she didn’t dare take it back.
This all had to be for something. And where better to begin than where it all started?
Chapter 20
Notes:
Thank you for being patient with me. <3
If you've been reading, you know that my mom died while I was writing Chocolate & Lavender and It Goes On (my Theomione fic). I had a hard time moving on with this one for some reason. The AO3 curse got my ass, I guess, but I have pulled through and we're back, baby!
Please also note that when I reread C&L, I noticed some big plot holes. Chapter 1 - 19 have been revised and reposted 8/25/25. THE PLOT HAS NOT CHANGED. I REPEAT THE PLOT HAS NOT CHANGED. So, if you don't want to go back and reread, I promise you won't be confused when moving on to Chapter 20. As a victim of perfectionism, I ask you go back and reread how much I made it better, but not necessary either hahaha
HUUUUUGE shoutout to my Beta and bb @2brains1horcrux -- Check out her work. You will not be disappointed. (Thank you for everything I could not have pushed through and been inspired without you <3)
Okay ... now Remus and Hermione ... kith! >:)
Chapter Text
Hermione stared at the ingredient list, the words blurring into an incomprehensible haze. Dumbledore’s voice echoed through her thoughts in fragments, not complete sentences, as if her mind could only hold the pieces. Her quill scratched across the parchment, but she hardly noticed the ink blot spreading.
She had told him everything—more than she had ever intended. The realisation that Dumbledore already knew much of Tom Riddle’s rise haunted her more than it offered any solace.
“There will be a prophecy of a boy born in July who has equal power to the Dark Lord, but neither can live while the other survives. That boy is my best friend,” Hermione sniffed, tilting her chin higher.
"The prophecy was relayed to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named by someone you come to trust later. But it led to the boy’s parents' deaths. The Killing Curse did not kill the boy, for his mother’s love was stronger than anything Riddle could cast.”
“She chose death for her son’s life.”
Hermione nodded. “The curse rebounded, shielded him from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and weakening him. He fled.”
Dumbledore’s brow furrowed. “This is what you meant about winning by forfeit.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And the Killing Curse only weakened him?”
“The boy was not the Dark Lord’s first Horcrux, only his first accidental one.”
Her knife slipped, the blade’s sharp edge nearly nicking her finger. Hermione blinked at the sneezewort root before her, Dumbledore's audible shock still echoing in her ears.
“We had suspected there were seven created—”
“Seven?” Dumbledore gasped.
“When I had turned time, we had been hunting them for a while. Two had been destroyed prior, and my friends and I recovered and destroyed a third—”
“You destroyed them? But how did you manage that?”
“The first was by chance. The second was an experiment. But now we know Basilisk venom is a crucial component because—”
“Because it’s dark magic can sever the soul barrier.” Hermione nodded in confirmation. “The other four?”
“I don’t know,” she exhaled, feeling defeated as she was reminded. “Besides H— Besides my best friend, I think I know where one more was. We had a clue for another that may be sitting in a Gringotts vault. And another sitting in Hogwarts. But before we left to retrieve them…”
“That’s when you used the Time-Turner.”
She swallowed her emotions down, feeling more foolish than ever.
“We had been on the run for eight months already. I just— I just…” she trailed off, running a weary hand down her face before slumping deeper into her chair. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
The toll of the conversation followed her into class, a physical weight that sank like an anchor to the seabed. Dumbledore’s face lingered in her mind: the way the bravest man she knew was so utterly unsettled by just one name. Her hands felt it, fingers trembling as they flipped pages. Her limbs felt it; her joints ached as she scribbled notes.
“Where is he now, Professor?”
Dumbledore’s eyes had hardened, and Hermione remembered that the only time she hadn’t seen a smile on his face was on the day he died.
“He is everywhere, Miss Granger. He is in Death’s ear. He works within the walls of the Ministry. He is in the air you breathe.”
“He’s in my nightmares,” Hermione whispered.
“I wouldn’t be convinced if you had told me he wasn’t.”
Hermione concentrated on her potion, determined not to let her emotions show on her face. But the dungeon was cold, and every glance at her parchment dragged her back to that office, replaying their conversation.
“What do you wish to do now, Miss Granger?”
“I want to continue hunting the Horcruxes. I want to prevent the second war from ever coming. I want to—” she paused, taking a deep breath and making a decision. “I want to prevent death.”
James’s cheery voice blasted through her thoughts.
“Ready for Muggle Studies?”
“You could probably pass that one without ever attending!” Peter snorted.
Hermione watched Remus walk past them with Lily without a single glance in her direction before she followed James and Peter to their next class.
But Remus had seen her; had noticed the nervous fidgeting after her meeting with Dumbledore, just as she had been the first time they spoke in the Potters' study. He had seen how her face had paled in the short hour she was gone. He wanted to take the empty seat beside her, to brush her ink-stained hand, and make her look at him. Instead, he set his jaw and watched from across the room as she dropped her blade one time too many for such precise hands.
Perhaps she hadn't eaten breakfast, or maybe she was regretting missing so much of her first wizarding class. Possibly, she was still finding her footing, a new student trying to blend in with others who had been here for years.
He attempted to bend over his parchment and gather his ingredients for a Befuddlement Draught, but his concentration faltered. His gaze was repeatedly drawn to where she sat. Now, watching her follow behind James and Peter to the next classroom before he and Lily turned into the opposite corridor for Divination, the pull was irresistible. It was infuriating.
The wolf stirred uneasily beneath his skin, urging him to go back, to fix it, to fix her .
“Merlin’s beard, you’re pathetic.”
Remus startled, glancing down to find Lily glaring up at him.
“Just talk to her already, Moony,” Lily exasperated.
He couldn’t just talk to her. It wasn’t that simple. None of this was simple.
But it was once, before he had asked her for honesty she had refused to give.
It had been smiles and laughs. It had been exploration, and fingertips over hidden scars. Hermione looked at him as if he held the moon, and he held her as if the moon didn’t own him. He kissed her as if she owned him, as if he didn’t question whether it was his own feelings or the wolf’s obsession. They had been happy, free of fear. He couldn't speak for her, but he hadn’t realised there was a different way to live than being scared all the time.
And he missed it, desperately. He missed her desperately.
I didn’t allow you into my head for you to use it against her, the wolf growled.
I just want to understand what it means. You don’t know what it’s like—
I know exactly what it feels like, Remus Lupin, to come up for air when you've lost all hope of ever breathing again.
“What happened between you two?” Lily pressed. “You were practically joined at the hip when I left for home over the summer, and now you won’t even look at each other.”
His jaw clenched. It was all he could think about, whatever was wrong with them, yet he still didn’t know how to explain it.
“Is it because of Emmeline?”
Remus winced at the reminder of what he had caused. “How…how is Emmie?”
Lily gave him a sideways look that was part curiosity, part sympathy.
“She’s not happy,” she shrugged. “But she’s more disappointed with herself than you.”
His throat tightened at the thought. “She shouldn’t be. It’s my fault—”
“I really don’t think it is, Remus,” she interrupted, then lowered her voice as if there might be prying ears listening. “She feels like she's got her hopes up. Emmeline knows what you two were. But she thinks she's got herself in over her head.”
“Oh,” he muttered, his heart cracking at the clarification. “I love Emmie. But not—”
“I know, Remus,” Lily said, patting his shoulder. “I know.”
Wednesday: September 8, 1976
Hermione realised a whole week had passed, yet she and Remus still hadn’t spoken. She told herself it was for the best. That the distance gave her a chance to gather her resolve, to remember why she was here. But the truth was far more tangled.
She was terrified.
Terrified that now the floodgates had opened with Dumbledore, she might be inclined to tell Remus everything, too. To unspool the truth of the war that’s coming, the deaths nobody would be prepared for, the fractured future she had escaped. And it was too soon for that. He couldn’t know—not yet. Perhaps not ever.
The mission mattered more than her feelings. She still had to go back home and return to Harry and Ron. Still had to finish what the Order had started.
And maybe it was best this way.
Best that she and Remus aren’t together anymore. Best that she pressed the ache deep down until it hardened into something she could carry without breaking. But her chest rebelled at the thought.
She didn’t regret what they had shared. Not one kiss. Not one moment lost in each other. She missed him—missed him more every day. Missed his hand in hers, the gentleness he offered when he hadn’t a clue how ruined she felt. And Merlin help her, she didn’t know how she could ever face Ron again when she had learnt, too late, what love truly felt like and that it wasn’t with him.
Layered atop the longing was guilt.
Hermione hadn’t opened up to anyone, even when the Marauders had offered her so much of themselves. About becoming Animagi, about the years spent perfecting the transformations so that Remus wouldn’t face his curse alone. She’d watched one night, as Padfoot, Prongs, and Wormtail revealed themselves, showing off and prancing about. She had to bury her face in a sofa cushion to muffle the laughter when Prongs’s antlers tangled hopelessly in the drapes.
Hermione thought it might’ve been the night Remus would break and talk to her. When she had lift her face from the pillow, he had been smiling at her. It wasn’t even a bright smile, just one of his crooked grins. But it nearly brought her back to life.
She also hadn’t missed the look on Emmeline’s face when they’d let Hermione in on one of their greatest secrets.
Another night, a quieter night where everyone but the boys had gone to bed, was when they decided to show her their greatest accomplishment: the Marauder’s Map, the parchment crisp and stainless in a way she’d never seen before.
“How did you get into your hijinks before the map?” Hermione had teased, feigning ignorance.
James immediately fished through his robes to pull out the Invisibility Cloak. He spoke with such pride about the Peverell family that Hermione had held her breath, listening for any detail she didn’t already know. But she gave nothing away—pretended she was just as dazzled as they wanted her to be.
One afternoon, when they had been tucked in a corner of the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom after finishing their coursework, Sirius told her why he’d left The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. He told her about who Regulus was to him and how he feared for him. And then he promised to nobody but himself that he would convince Regulus to move in with the Potters this year.
They had opened their hearts, their lives.
Piece by piece, they had offered themselves to her.
And she had nothing but lies to uphold.
Hermione blinked back to the present, to the noise of the common room. Books cluttered the table in front of her. James, Sirius, and Peter passed notes around to each other as they shamelessly copied one another’s Herbology essays. Remus’s absence was especially heavy with her tonight. He wasn’t with them. In fact, she hadn’t seen him all evening.
Tonight was the first full moon of the term. He would be in the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey by now, or already hidden away in the Shrieking Shack. Hermione wondered how soon his friends would slip away. How soon would they join him?
"We can finish this in detention," Sirius sighed loudly. "We're going to be late."
He pulled off his leather jacket, the worn fabric rustling softly as he passed it to Marlene. "Would you be a doll and hold on to this for me? I don't want to get shine polish all over it."
A smirk played on her lips as she took the jacket and slipped into it, wrapping herself in its warmth. "My pleasure."
Sirius narrowed his eyes at her. "I'd better get that back, woman."
Marlene snuggled deeper into the leather. "We'll see."
"Detention?” Emmeline asked, concern in her voice. “But it's a full moon tonight."
"I know," James grumbled, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "Don't rub it in. We already feel bad as it is. Remus knows."
Peter shrugged, a small, sad gesture. "There will be more moons."
"Maybe I can go check on him for you,” Hermione offered. “I can use the Invisibility—"
"No!"
The four of them—James, Sirius, Peter, and Lily—spoke as one. The force of their shared command hit Hermione like a physical blow. She froze, watching them. A heavy silence settled over the common room, broken only by the crackling fire.
"Sorry," Lily mumbled, the anger in her voice softening into a quiet frustration. "We just don't need a repeat of last year."
The last word was punctuated with a sharp glare in Sirius's direction before she stood up abruptly and stomped up to the girls' dormitory.
Sirius groaned dramatically, his shoulders slumping. "Great. Now I have to grovel for another few months."
He sighed, then leaned over and gave Marlene a quick kiss on the cheek.
"C'mon, you lot. Now we really have to go."
James clapped a hand on Peter's shoulder, and with a final, apologetic glance toward the girls' dormitory, the three of them were gone.
The girls began to pack up their things, the soft thuds of their textbooks filling the silence.
Mary stifled a yawn. “You coming up, Hermione?”
"I think I'm going to finish up my essay first,” she said, a knot of worry tightening in her stomach. “I'll just see you in the morning for breakfast."
Another lie told easily.
The moment the last footstep faded, Hermione crept to the boys' dormitory stairs to borrow the cloak and the map.
She felt a familiar pull, a sense of dread and excitement warring within her. She told herself she would check on Remus. Technically speaking, she wouldn’t be talking to Remus. This was allowed. This wasn’t against her rules.
But another part of her—the part she had tried to bury deep down—just wanted to be close to Remus somehow in some way.
Chapter 21
Notes:
Thank you to my betas for this chapter, 2brains1horcrux (check out her Dramione WIP 'Renascitur: The Weight of Silence') and Mimi. :)
Chapter Text
Hermione crouched low in the tree line surrounding the Whomping Willow. She watched Madam Pomfrey retreat to the comfort of the castle walls just as the sun dipped behind the Forbidden Forest, leaving the sky bruised with purple clouds until the moon finally swelled into place. Covering her ears as tightly as she could, she waited for the horrific screams to cease before stalling the willow’s aggression and crawling through the secret passage.
“Quietus.”
She felt the magic sink into her trainers, muffling the squeak of old soles. She took a bracing breath that sounded too loud, and concentrated on stepping only where the nails pinned the floorboards tight. Her heart beat a frantic rhythm in her ears, anticipating seeing Remus’s lycan form again. Still, she clutched the cloak close and hurried through the Shrieking Shack, each step carrying her further from safety.
Above her, restless claws scraped against splintered timber.
Pacing.
Whimpering.
Growling.
Skin shredding, and the heartbreaking guttural groans that she thought might have been Remus’s mind protesting against the pain.
But when she reached the top of the stairs, it all stopped, and the sudden silence terrified her more.
Hermione.
The voice echoed through her mind—Remus’s voice, but harshened, as if his life had broken him down in a matter of hours. Her name was spoken like he’d been holding it behind his teeth, expending every energy it took to talk at all. She pushed the cloak away from her face, her back pressed up against the wall farthest from the door.
“How did you know it was me?”
A rumble of a laugh vibrated within her thoughts. A sound fabricated between man and wolf.
Unless someone has been kind enough to bring me a bouquet of lavender…
Her cheeks flushed hot at the memory that flashed behind her eyes, despite the chill. " You smell of lavender… and me."
Ah, do you think of that night often as well, little love?
Shyness washed over her, making her feel foolish. He was a werewolf for Godric’s sake. No amount of Defence Against the Dark Arts could prepare her for this kind of lycanthropic flirtation. Then the realisation slammed into her with the force of a stunner; he had seen her memory.
Do not be afraid. I will not bite.
She swallowed hard. The truth was, yes, she was petrified. But she could see the glimmer of wards stitched into the doorframe, a reminder of the stability woven by Dumbledore himself.
“I needed to talk to you.”
Very well, the wolf said softly, his heavy panting quietening down to a faint rasp. I will comply.
Bravery blossomed with this new calmness Hermione hadn’t expected from his lycan form. Stepping slowly forward, she rested her hand on the door that stood between them. It felt dangerous to be this close, but irrational peace settled in her bones all the same.
Her chest rose and fell hastily. “Do you know what I am?”
She could hear his pacing resume against the wood.
You have travelled through time. Another pause. Will you tell me from where?
Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. “I haven’t decided.”
The wolf’s tone shifted, an edge of irritation sharpening it. Why is it undecided?
“I’m not ready for Remus to know,” she confessed. “I’m not sure if I ever want him to know.”
Then I will not tell him, he said, as if it were a simple request.
“You already did!” she snapped, scoffing in disbelief. “He specifically said you mentioned something about time . What did you show him? How were you able to show him anything? How is it that you had control of him before the moon even phased?”
She was breathless by the end, every tightly wound thought spilling out all at once.
An infuriatingly unbothered chuckle rolled through her head.
So many questions tonight, the wolf murmured. Will you reward me for every answer?
Heat shot to her face again at a fresh recollection of the night they shared, of the game they had played—a question for an answer, a secret for a secret.
The wolf huffed out hot air that poured through the crack of the door, the planks beneath him creaking as he lay down, as if completely bored.
The strength of the bond between a wolf and its host can influence the host's soul to merge with the wolf's, regardless of where the moon is in its cycle. Remus has trouble trusting me—or rather, those around him. But that lack of faith has shifted since Lyall Lupin—
He cut himself off with a menacing growl, this time heard in her ears rather than her thoughts, like the name alone was poison.
She felt a surge of satisfaction as the explanation confirmed her theory. The willingness with which Greyback embraced his lycan form hinted at how deeply the two had been entwined.
Hermione cleared her throat nervously. “Why did he let you… blend … the night you came to look for me?”
The wolf hummed. You.
Her eyes narrowed at the door as if he were in front of her without the barrier. “Me? What about me?”
What indeed. He answered with a clever, mocking tone.
I admit my impatience may have taken advantage in the moments before the moon ascended. He already missed you terribly. As did I. With our emotions aligned, it was easier to slip to the forefront of his mind.
A thousand questions raced through her head. Everything she had been taught was woefully inadequate, riddled with gaps no one had ever taken the time to fill.
Since you have arrived, Remus Lupin is happier. He smiles more. He has become excited to live. But with it, his thoughts have grown more restless—more moody. It is incredibly exhausting.
The cadence of an eye-roll carried over until it softened into almost indulgent.
But you affect me differently, little love.
“H-How so?” she stammered.
At first, you intrigued me when I recognised you without being able to remember you. Now, I feel connected without a tie. You steady me, even as you unravel me. Remus has distanced you from me, rather than him from you, because he senses my craving to claim you. But what he does not understand…
The words, velvet-edged and deep, lingered in the air.
…is that the more he fights, the more I will push. Because with you, Hermione, the more I want to yield.
She fought against the shiver that rippled through her body, caught between fear and inexorable captivation. Instinct screamed for her to step back when her foggy brain wanted her to move closer. She let the silence thicken, letting his words sink in.
He had explained it perfectly; their pull without a tether, their orbit without a star.
But why? Why them? Why now?
If you cannot tell me your reason for travelling, or what time you travel from, then how do we meet? I promise to explain the magic behind it.
He already knew how to entice her well. Hermione both feared and longed to tell Remus. This may be her only solution. Her mind flooded with consequences: paradox, exposure, disruption. But her hunger for information, her need for answers, trumped everything else.
“And you won’t tell Remus?” she asked carefully. “He’s not listening right now?”
He is asleep. And he will not find out anything we say tonight once he wakes.
The wolf’s certainty was soothing, making the conversation more tempting. Hermione closed her eyes. The images came unbidden, as clear as the day they’d happened.
“When we first met, I was a student at Hogwarts, then as well. I was younger, and you were a professor.”
Was I your favourite teacher?
Her lips twitched into a small smile. “You were the best Defence Against the Dark Arts professor we ever had.”
A low hum of approval thrummed from within the Shack.
She lowered herself to the door, focusing on his shadow, pretending it was enough to make their conversation feel closer without the importance of separation.
“In my timeline,” she continued. “You were significant, but you weren’t anything more to me than my mentor. You had a wife you loved. You had a family.” Hermione’s voice caught slightly, but she steadied it. “There was nothing like the bond that we have now.”
For a long moment, only his breathing filled the space between them. Hermione recalled the first meeting with Professor Lupin on the train, knowing he was watching everything like an old film. She thought of Tonks, and of being told she was pregnant. She replayed duelling side by side at the Department of Mysteries. She assumed he’d comment on the night he transformed in front of her.
Instead, you were quite a frizzy little thing, weren’t you?
She glared at the door, the only thing keeping him safe from a reflexive hex from her wand. “You don’t know it, but I’m giving you a really ugly look right now.”
I figured as much, he laughed before sending another direct thought to her consciousness.
While a human's love can be powerful, it is still basic compared to the love of a lycanthrope. We do not just love. We bond.
Hermione’s breath hitched. “So… we’re mates?”
A dark chuckle vibrated through the wood, carrying his amusement straight into her bones. She imagined him shaking his head at her innocence. Rather than bristling, as she might have with anyone else, she caught herself looking away in embarrassment as if he were looking right at her.
Just as a human can love more than once, he explained, lycans can bond multiple times. Soul-bonding is a choice, while finding your mate is earned.
“And this bond is why I can hear you in my head? Why you can see what I think of?” The questions dizzied her, the fact that they were even possibilities to be explored. “Do you and Remus communicate this way?”
Yes. We can speak in thoughts, in memory, no matter the moon's phase. And it is the same for you and me. However, I can choose what I show my bonded. You two do not.
“What…Why…” Hermione did not know how to ask, so she spat it out before she lost her nerve. “Why did you show him that night you found me in the bathtub? What did he see?”
This bothers you?
Hermione's chin lifted, a defiant tilt to her head.
“I know it bothered him.” Enough to leave me.
A sigh, deep and weary, came from behind the door.
We did not have such a clear understanding of our feelings for you before, little love. And I may have been selfish in my final act of claiming you. Still, Remus Lupin and I have had many years together, and those years were spent with him pushing me away. In the long days of the cellar, he has learned to let me in. We have… a clearer understanding of many things now.
She was scared to ask. “And what have you two concluded about me then?”
You are both of ours or nobody’s.
It was a foreign concept to her to be wanted by somebody so deeply. It was the stuff of folklore, of fairytales. The thought of being claimed by not one being but two should have sent her running. But it didn’t.
With them, she wasn’t just a girl; she was a woman. She wasn’t just a friend, she was a lover. She wasn’t just a student, she was a desire.
Hermione felt a power she didn’t know how to wield. In this world, she was never supposed to stay in; she wasn’t a sidekick, but the central point. The severity of it should have crushed her, but instead, it felt like she could finally breathe.
Her mind spun with the implications—his wife in the future, the family he would build, the thoughts they had probably shared while no one, not even the Order, knew they were having an entire conversation unspoken.
“If we bonded in this timeline,” she implored, “why did we not bond when we first met… in the future?”
It is not known why souls are drawn to one another. It is possible we were not compatible then as we are now. Perhaps there is something we need from one another that we can not obtain alone, needs we did not require to be fulfilled by the other in another life. Regardless of the reason, once connected in any realm, they will recognise one another.
Why was this version of him so bound to her when another had lived an entirely separate life?
Her voice was quiet, strained. “Why would our souls connect now? What could you possibly need from me?”
The silence stretched, long and thin, from the other side of the wood.
I do intend to find out.
His words curled around her like a vow he meant to keep.
You feel it too, don’t you? the wolf asked. The intensity.
“Yes,” she whispered, her body happy to acknowledge it. “I feel it.”
Is this why you have distanced yourself from Remus Lupin?
Hermione closed her eyes, guilt tugging heavily in her chest. “Yes. Among other reasons.”
She leaned her forehead against the door.
“Because I’m afraid,” she admitted, the confession burning on her tongue, torn between resistance and surrender. “Afraid of telling too much. Afraid of what I can’t have. Afraid of what I’ll lose if I get distracted."
Then let me take the fear. Let me carry it. You have told me enough to lift a weight off your shoulders. Now you can speak to him—
“He’s not happy with me,” she sniffed, shaking her head before he could finish his suggestion. “He thinks I’ve been lying to him. I have , but—”
He is as scared as you are of losing something you did not mean to attach to. But you, he added, his tone softening into something reverent, you are much braver than he is.
Hermione’s throat tightened. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to think that Remus’s distance was not rejection, but fear—a fear that mirrored her own.
Go to him, the wolf urged, the scrape of his claws dragging against the floorboards as if to draw her closer. Do not wait for him to untangle his doubts. You are the stronger soul. He will follow where you lead.
The next morning came and went without him. Remus came to only when it was well past midday, his body still stiff and aching from the night before. While still covered in deep blue bruises, this transformation had been easy compared to what he endured this summer in the cellar. He’d happily take just a few cracked ribs.
He blinked blearily, turning his head to the bedside table. There, neatly placed and waiting for him, was a Honeydukes chocolate bar and a small bouquet of lavender.
The wolf's amusement resonated in his mind to a secret Remus didn’t understand.
Well, it’s no olive branch, but I think the reference is still implied.
Remus frowned, awkwardly leaning over to grab for it, his fingers just brushing the blossoms. Before he could pull it close, the curtain was yanked back and Madam Pomfrey bustled in.
“Oh, that’s brilliant!” she gasped, eyes alight as she plucked both the chocolate and the lavender out of his reach.
Remus blinked at her, bewildered. “Ma’am?”
“This combination!” she beamed. “Did you read up on this on your own?”
He shook his head, confused. “No—”
“Well, nonetheless, it’s marvellous,” Pomfrey said quickly, already hurrying to a counter and pulling out supplies. “Chocolate and lavender together are a natural medicinal pain reliever. Of course, Wiggenweld Potion with a Calming Draught does wonders, but this could be an excellent addition to your treatment. Even a good alternative when I’m short on ingredients.”
She turned back, still smiling. “I’ll whip you up something! Don’t move!”
Remus sagged back against the pillows, wincing at the shot of pain through his sore hip. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t planning on it.”
The wolf stirred in the depths of Remus’s mind, unseen and unheard.
A natural remedy for pain… my soul is in desperate need of it. But what does hers seek?
Chapter 22
Notes:
I know I told a couple of you that this chapter would've been out sooner. I really need to stop doing that lol. But I mean it when I say I'm writing as I comment! I just wasn't satisfied until this morning. Thank you again for my amazing beta 2brains1horcrux. This story may have been deleted altogether in a fit of rage without her. So you all thank her too! lol
Spoiler alert, kinda, to keep you guys from hating me: The next chapter will be filthy. <3
Chapter Text
Thursday: September 9, 1976:
It was nearly dinner when Madam Pomfrey finally deemed him fit for discharge. "The discolouration is fading nicely," she chirped, her hands on her hips as she gave him one last once-over. "Just be sure to eat a full meal, then it's straight to bed."
Slathered in Bruisewort balm for the last twelve hours, he knew he had lost his appetite. Still, anything was better than another minute in the infirmary. As he entered the Great Hall, his face couldn’t help but break into a smile the moment his eyes fell on his friends waiting for him at the Gryffindor table.
“Moony!” James beamed, his yell causing the rest of the group to stop their conversations and erupt in cheers and catcalls.
Lily and Mary split apart to make room for him, each kissing him on his cheeks.
He let them fuss over him, knowing it wouldn’t make a difference to argue. Marlene made him a plate of portions from his favourites. Sirius caught him up on all the shenanigans he’d missed. Peter confirmed that he was exaggerating the drama again. James laughed at it all, sitting between a glum Emmeline and a nervous Hermione.
Go to her. Now. Speak to her.
Remus’s eyes found Hermione's across the table, but she quickly looked away.
Just talk to her, Remus Lupin.
I will, he promised the beast within. But not here. Not with everyone watching. I’ve learned my lesson.
With a rare show of agreement, the wolf settled back into its cage with a huff.
After a ferociously fought chess match, the laughter and friendly jabs faded as Remus watched a grumbling Sirius stalk away from a teasing James.
“You just need to learn not to be a sore loser,” James said with a smug grin.
“I’m not a sore loser,” Sirius retorted, rolling his eyes as he pushed past him up the stairs. “You’re just a cheat!”
“Take that back, Padfoot!”
In a cosy corner of the Gryffindor common room, Hermione curled up on the couch with a book, taking advantage of the nearby fire. As if sensing a shift in the air, she looked up to him, watching her, her whisky brown eyes meeting his. She smiled, a beautiful, hopeful shimmer behind a silent question. Remus knew what she wanted. He wanted it too.
Here is the chance you've been waiting for. She is alone.
Not yet, Remus thought back, a knot of nervousness tightening in his stomach. I need to do something first.
Hesitantly, he turned away and walked over to where Emmeline was standing, her wand pointed at a pile of empty goblets.
"Emmeline, do you need any help?"
Her expression was a mix of emotions—surprise, confusion, anger—before finally settling into something that looked like sorrow.
She stared at him for a long moment, then, without a word, she handed him a blanket to fold. They didn’t speak as they worked together, vanishing the trash left behind and flipping the sofa pillows.
When they finished and had nothing left to distract them, a wave of apologies, identical and simultaneous, poured from their lips.
“I’m sorry, Emmie—”
“Remus, I’ve been horrible—”
“No, Em, I should have known—”
“Please, don’t—”
They paused, a shared, humourless smile breaking across their faces as they realised they were both trying to apologise for mutual avoidance. Emmeline wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Remus sagged into her, both of their bodies relaxing for the first time since the term began.
“Emmie,” he said softly into her hair. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know, Moony,” she whispered, pulling back to look up at him. “This isn’t your fault.”
“Well, it certainly isn’t yours.”
"Maybe," she said, shrugging as she stepped out of his embrace to wipe away a few stray tears. "But I could have been more honest."
The truth was that she had planned on telling Remus how she felt. It had just been too late. She never imagined he'd meet someone new over the summer. Least of all, one who was delivered to his best friend's doorstep.
Emmeline hadn't seen the appeal yet. She was indeed impressive, stunning, charming, witty, absolutely brilliant…
But did Hermione know Emmeline had been the one he chose to sit next to on the train, their first trip to Hogwarts? Did Hermione know how much he enjoyed hearing professors brag to Remus about his father from when they went to school together, or taught him, or worked with him, but dreaded going back home to see him more than anything?
Did Hermione know Remus loved listening to The Beatles while studying, or read Shakespeare with his fingertips tapping a tune against his thigh? Did Hermione know Remus loved falling asleep next to somebody? Did Hermione know he only started smoking cigarettes because he wanted to look more human, even if it did make him look more Muggle?
Because Emmeline did.
But it didn't matter what she knew or what she felt when she was around him. It didn't matter because Remus knew those kinds of things about Hermione, and he wanted her for all the reasons no one else knew but him. She could see it all over his face. She could see it in the way he was trying to make sure she was all right, but his body was already angled slightly toward Hermione, as if he were just waiting to be permitted to be with her.
“Go on,” she said shakily, her chest constricting around her emotion. “She’s waiting for you.”
Remus’s eyes widened, a cascade of relief and gratitude washing over them. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. Emmeline bravely leaned in and gave him one last kiss, so light on his lips it almost didn’t happen, before turning toward the stairwell.
Remus didn’t follow her. And even though a part of her wished he had decided in that last moment that she was who he wanted, she was thankful he didn’t see the pathetic mess he would’ve been chasing after. She didn’t make it to the girls’ dormitory. She barely made it to the first landing when a shuddering sob burst from her, so wrenching that her knees buckled beneath her.
But it was Peter who found her with her hand clasped against her mouth to muffle her cries, her legs tucked into her chest like she wanted nothing more than to fold in on herself and disappear into the stone wall.
“Are you okay?” he asked, kneeling in front of her.
Emmeline slowly lifted her face from her hands. Her eyes were pools of salty tears, her pupils wide and black, and the look she gave him said it all: Do I look like I'm okay?
Peter’s shoulders slumped. "Okay, yeah, stupid question."
She dropped her head back into her waiting palms. "No, I am. I'm the stupid one."
He cast a Muffliato around them, the air humming with the hushing spell. He sat on the floor, a leg on each side of her body, caging her in securely. He began to rub her arms with a soothing rhythm that was working more than she was letting on.
"You're not stupid," he reassured. "You’ll find somebody who wants you back, Emmie. He’s right. You didn't do anything wrong."
"Oh gods, what did he tell you?" she muffled into her skin, hiding from the judgment Peter wasn’t passing.
"Nothing," he admitted. "I… overheard you two. Just now. I was on my way back from the bathhouse."
Emmeline noted his wet hair and the clean, musky scent of spice that surrounded him. "That's even worse."
"Nah," Peter said, his tone lifting. "What's worse is having an Animagus of a rat while your best friends are a bloody stag and a scary ass dog."
Emmeline looked up at him again, a watery smile spreading across her face at the sudden turn of subject. A giggle escaped her, and she clasped her hand over her mouth for a much more delightful reason this time.
"Yeah," The words caught in her throat, a faint quiver in her voice. "That is pretty horrible."
Her attention shifted from the cracks in her heart to Peter, who was wrapped around her, his presence a balm to her sadness. Whether he knew it or not, it was working.
"I'm sorry, Peter," she said, the last of her sobs fading into a sigh. "I guess I've been pretty emotional lately."
"You say that like it's bothered anybody."
"Hasn't it?"
"No."
The word was straightforward, and it made her feel more validated than any of her girlfriends had been able to do.
For days, Hermione and Remus had refused to look at each other. Now, with a peace spared between them, their eyes finally met without restraint. For a moment, the flames in the hearth seemed to soften, the air in her throat caught, and her lips parted, as if readying a reply. The assurance forged in that single look made it seem like they would have a chance to move past it all.
He took a single step toward her, then... he just turned away. He had chosen Emmeline.
A flare of anger, hot and sudden, rushed through Hermione. She glared at their embrace from her seat, surprised their hair hadn't caught fire, or that the book in her hand hadn't snapped in half under the crushing pressure of her grip. What was he playing at? she wondered, her mind a furious mess of confusion and hurt.
Just as she was about to stand and storm off, a voice echoed in her mind. It was an uneasy surprise, but the warmth filled her up like smoke.
Be patient, little love.
Hermione’s shock was immediate, as it had been in the Shrieking Shack. She had grown accustomed to hearing the wolf’s voice when Remus was transformed. She had even begun to wrap her head around the fact that Remus and the wolf could speak to each other regardless of the moon’s cycle. And she had even started to grasp that she and the wolf—and maybe Remus, too—shared a soul bond.
But this? A conversation with the wolf when it was so deeply tucked away inside of Remus? This was new. This was not on her list of questions, but it had just moved to the top of her list of priorities.
"How are you doing that?" Hermione hissed under her breath, the crackle of the fire masking the tremor.
The wolf's low chuckle bounced between her ears. Our bond is strengthening. Can you not tell?
Well, I can now, she grumbled to herself.
The wolf laughed, louder this time, and she stood up straight in her seat. You heard that?
Tsk, of course.
Can Remus hear us, too?
No, little love. I have you all to myself in here.
Before Hermione could even begin to analyse whether that was a comfort or a threat, Emmeline leaned in and kissed Remus. The action was swift, innocent in its quickness, but Hermione saw red. It was hard to hold onto the empathy she had for Emmeline when she kept kissing Remus whenever she wanted to.
As much as your jealousy lights a fire in my belly, I must advise you to stay cordial. They are saying goodbye.
It seems less like a farewell and more like a 'see you later,' Hermione told him back bitterly, her jaw tight with the unwelcome emotion.
Just as she thought it, she saw Emmeline lift her head high, tears glistening on her lashes, and turn away from Remus. She walked towards the girls’ dormitory with a strange, purposeful stride. And the wolf sighed, a long, drawn-out sound of relief that mirrored her own.
Finally.
But when Remus turned his attention back to Hermione, the look she gave him was not as sombre. Although her glare softened on impact, the tension in her body remained. Her book held so tightly her knuckles were strained white.
Tread lightly, Remus Lupin, the wolf warned.
Accepting the lycan’s wary advice, he sat down on the other end of the couch, leaving a respectful distance between them. But what he really wanted to do was pull her onto his lap and smother himself in her neck, the way she had let him on the train. It felt like a lifetime had passed since that day. He wanted to tell her everything, but he didn't know where to start.
Hermione broke the silence first, her voice a mere whisper. “Hi.”
It was the most he’d heard from her in days, and if they decided to stop their conversation then and leave for their own rooms, he’d sleep with a smile on his face.
“Hey, bach,” he said, a breath of relief escaping him.
Her anger had melted into concern, her eyes of bourbon scanning over him. “Are you alright? Does the cane help?”
Remus grimaced at the embarrassing contraption Madam Pomfrey made him promise to use.
“Unfortunately.”
The corners of her lips twitched like she wanted to grin. He’d take it.
Remus meant to say something else, to keep the conversation flowing and keep her there with him longer. He wanted to ask her about her classes, watch the glow of the common room soak into her skin as she told him. Remus wanted to twirl a curl around his finger as he teased her for the way her hair puffed around her face in Potions class when she hovered over her cauldron. He wanted to let her know how beautiful she looked in Gryffindor red, and how the gold was already embedded in her eyes, as if she was meant to be sorted there.
Now that he was close enough to feel the bend of the sofa where she sat but not near enough to feel the heat of her thigh pressed to his, he couldn’t speak. His brain was incapable. Remus almost wished the wolf could speak for him, seeing as he had plenty to shout at him.
If you let her slip through our fingers another night, Remus Lupin, I will fucking—
But even his angry river of words was cut off when Hermione clutched her book to her chest and stood up.
“Well…Goodnight.”
The excuse to leave sounded fragile, like it could've been swayed. He hoped it was true. His hand moved before he could think better of it, catching hers as she passed. His thumb, with a mind of its own, swept over the soft skin of her inner wrist. His fingers curled over hers, kissing the flesh of her palm. Remus missed everything about these hands, and everything they had the power to do.
“Can I take you somewhere?”
Curiosity formed in her eyes as she looked down at him, at their joined hands, a question of how and where.
"It's past curfew now."
But she didn't mean it. She would steal James's Invisibility Cloak again if he wanted her to. She would hide behind tapestries or slip into alcoves if he'd just ask.
“Please?”
His eyes, fixed on hers, were a deep amber, filled with yearning. She noticed the subtle tension in his jaw and the slight tremor in his hand, which he was trying to conceal. He was preparing himself for her to say no. He was ready for her to pull away, to turn her back on him again. She could see it all, the fear, the hope, the courage it had taken for him to ask.
Be gentle with us, Hermione.
The hurt was still there, a dull ache in her chest, but it was overshadowed by an overwhelming need to comfort him. She gave in with the shortest nod, and that was enough—a smile, like sunshine through a morning haze, beamed across his face. He didn’t waste any time, leading her through the castle with her soul soaring after him.
“How'd you find this place?”
She knew exactly where they were, a place she had used for months, yet it looked entirely different now. It was part of her routine to pretend everything was new, to build a wall between her and the boy in front of her. The deception was a bitter taste in her mouth, a secret she loathed keeping. But the cool, detached air she tried to project was a struggle to maintain, a facade in the face of the awe she felt.
Remus had asked the Room of Requirement to warp into something beautiful, and it had. A comfortable townhouse with a stone fireplace, mismatched armchairs, and shelves overflowing with books. It was entirely his own, yet filled with the best details from the Gryffindor common room.
“It will listen,” Remus said, almost shy. “If you ask it kindly.”
He watched her take it in: the lamplight gone a bit golden, the kettle waiting to be fussed with, the mantle her fingers grazed, the tilting tower of books. She picked up the only one left open.
His heart stopped at the sight. But it was too late to take it back. And even if he wanted to, wasn’t this the whole point? Maybe even the castle knew it was time to tell their truth.
“Lycanthropy: Its Causes, Courses, Cures, and Civilised Management,” she read slowly, tasting the words. “By Professor Marlowe Forfang…”
Remus limped to the nearer armchair, then thought better of it and sat on the corner of the sofa on the other side instead, leaving her the choice of distance. He rested the cane within reach, palms open on his knees.
Hermione’s fingers traced the letters of the cover, foiled with gold. His truth was laid bare. Could hers be?
You can trust him, little love. You can trust us both.
That was the hardest part—being absolutely sure, without a doubt, that she could, and yet still being too frightened to tell him. The unknown was eating her alive. Flamel had theorised that awareness of time travel itself posed little danger compared to the consequences of acting on that knowledge. But it still made it real, being spoken out loud.
She wasn't worried so much anymore that telling him would alter her future, but rather her present. Because, as much as she needed to go back to continue her life, she also wanted to stay in the one that had been created for her. She wanted this life, with him. She was on the precipice, about to confess the tangled web of her existence, when his voice cut through the fog.
"How is it that you were able to practice magic for so long without the Ministry tracking you?" he asked, the abrupt question a sudden shift.
"W-what?" Hermione stammered, turning her head to look at him.
Remus's face was a mask of discomfort, as though he hadn't meant to say the question out loud, or at least not so haphazardly. He let out a short, agitated breath, a sigh of frustration with himself, but he stuck to his point.
"Hell, Hermione, you excel at everything like you've been taught your whole life!" He stood then, beginning to pace, forgetting his cane and limping in circles around the velvet sofa. "We haven't talked, but it's hard not to notice how well you've caught on."
"I'm just a fast learner," she mumbled, her head lowering as if she were worried about the blowback.
"Oh, that's a load of bollocks!" Remus's voice rose with each word, his pacing quickening, his limp steeper. "You already told us you got your wand before ever having a reason to enrol in Hogwarts. It's one thing to have enough magic for the castle to know you deserve a letter, but once that's the case, whether you accept it or not, your magic is registered, Hermione."
He stopped his course, his gaze fixed on her. "You're too good not to have been practising. And knowing Apparition already? And Snivellus the other night... what in the bloody fuck was that about?"
Easy… the wolf warned his host.
Hermione felt the cold dread of a panic attack begin to crawl up her spine. The air felt too thin, her lungs screaming for a breath that wouldn’t come. The structure of her fabricated life was crumbling around her.
She had tried so hard. She had woven a new past for herself, a lie so intricate she had almost convinced herself it was true. But it hadn't been enough. Remus had seen through it all. Was he just too clever, or had everyone else been wondering the same things, simply lacking the bravery to confront her? Was she the only one living this terrible lie?
Would she have to Obliviate them all? Obliviate her friends? Was it even an option anymore, with so many people knowing her, with so many threads of her new life intertwined into their own? The escape route seemed like a path already closed off.
Obliviation? Why would you—
"Get out of my head!" Hermione groaned, her hands pressing into her temples as if she could physically push the intrusive voice away.
What have I done? What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?
The musk of a hint of leather and wool wrapped around her.
“Breathe, Hermione,” Remus shushed her. “Match my breaths.”
His chest rose high, the heat from his heart pushing into her forehead as he inhaled deeply. He exhaled slowly, rubbing her back and keeping her close. Her body loosened, but her fear rolled through her in shudders.
Had this all been for nothing? She hadn’t done anything but play a part on a stage that only made her fall in love with people she could not keep. None of it mattered anymore. It was all too much. She was in over her head.
She’d always had somebody. Harry. Ron. Even Ginny and Luna. They were all gone. They were gone. They’re all gone.
Who is—
Please stop! Hermione screamed in her head, her fingers curling into Remus’s jumper.
Hermione, this has gone far enough!
I can’t—
You must! The wolf snarled. I can feel it tearing you apart from the inside. It’s unnecessary self-torture. You must—
“I travelled time!” she panted, unable to keep the wall from crumbling. Her thoughts were no longer her own; her secrets were no longer hers to hide.
The bond hadn’t felt inconvenient until this very moment. The only thing she ever owned, the only thing she was ever sure of, was her mind. Now it was shared, and she couldn’t separate the two sides of the bond.
You will learn how to push me out when you need to. Remus can teach you.
Remus…
Reality filtered through the murk of her mind, the pain in her fingers coming to light from how tightly she clung to him. If his jumper hadn’t been a thick fabric, she knew her nails would have made his back bleed. Her breaths were still short but had evened. But his had stilled altogether. He just…held her.
He had heard her, but the words were a jumble of syllables in his mind, nonsensical. He loosened his hold on her just enough to lift his head from hers, looking down at her. He opened his mouth, and the only thing that came out was a quiet, stunned, “Come again?”
“I’m from the future,” she repeated, her voice just above a whisper, her head still tucked into his chest.
“The…future?” he asked, the words leaving his mouth before he had a chance to think them through.
“Twenty-two years to be precise.”
“Two decades?!”
And two years, the wolf supplied calmly.
You’re taking this suspiciously well. You’re not shocked at all.
That’s a false accusation. I’m very shocked.
Could have fooled me.
Oh, well, there’s a challenging task, the wolf deadpanned back.
So then you didn’t know?
No, I knew.
That’s just bloody brilliant, Remus thought, a frustrated groan rumbling in his chest. Why did you take up a hobby of lying to me?
I did not lie. Your first question was if I was shocked, not if I knew.
Remus scoffed at the wolf's persistence to be so literal, and Hermione pulled back from his hold to look up at him. “Remus, I can’t promise I can answer all your questions, but I promise the ones I can won’t be lies.”
“Have you been lying to me already?” he asked, the words laced with a sting of betrayal.
“...Only out of necessity,” she said shamefully, looking down at her trainers. “Professor Dumbledore helped me create a persona to live by until I could figure out what my next steps were.”
“Dumbledore knows?” he asked, a fresh wave of disbelief washing over him.
“And Mr and Mrs Potter…”
“What?! Does James know too? Does everybody else know but me—”
“No! No, only Dumbledore and James’s parents.” She looked away, chewing on her lip. “And…”
“And…?” he asked, his patience wearing thin.
You’re really breaking all of your chains tonight, aren’t you, little love?
She took a deep, preparing breath. “The lycan.”
Terror was not an unknown emotion to Remus Lupin. He lived with it, breathed it, and fought it back with every full moon. But this was different. This was the kind of panic that made him want to scream and laugh all at once. He stumbled back, his hands running through his hair. His mind was a maelstrom of thoughts that were both frightening and oddly validating.
He wasn’t crazy. He hadn’t been imagining things. There was a reason she wasn’t "normal," and that reason was so utterly mad it was almost humorous. The wolf was right; he wasn’t surprised. He felt a weird, twisted kind of relief, and that made him want to laugh at the insanity of it all.
He looked at Hermione, her face a mix of fear and resignation, waiting for his blow-up. He wanted to be mad, but all he felt was disoriented. His best friends were a stag, a dog, and a rat, and now he had a time traveller who spoke to his inner wolf. He supposed he couldn’t have asked for a better group of friends.
Remus dragged backwards until the back of his knees hit the loveseat, and he sank into the cushion. He rubbed at his jawline, his mind whirring, not once breaking eye contact. “I think it might be best if I don’t ask questions.”
“Remus…” Hermione rushed forward a few steps before she caught herself, straightening again. “Remus, I’ll admit I hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it is out there now. I’ve wanted you to know this whole time—”
He put a hand up as if to stop her rambling, then turned it palm up to extend it to her. “I meant,” he said softly, waiting for her to accept. When she did, he continued, “I think it would be best if I didn’t ask questions that you won’t be able to answer. Just…tell me what you can.”
“Right,” Hermione exhaled, her breathing resuming again. “Okay. I can do that. That makes sense.”
She sat with him on the loveseat, their joined hands grounding her even though she wanted to run. She hated not knowing the outcome, but what could be so horrible about his knowing some of it?
"I'm not from Tinworth. And my parents are not dead. But my name is Hermione Granger. You were right to think I knew more of this world than I let on. Because when I turned time, I was already in my seventh year at Hogwarts."
“That’s how you already had a wand?” Remus stared at her, another flicker of understanding crossing his face. "That explains why you know how to do advanced magic, then."
"Dumbledore was still the Headmaster in my timeline." She didn't have the heart to tell him that ‘was’ meant something entirely different than the simplicity of how it sounded. “He is who I went to first for help when I landed in 1976.”
“Good Godric, how old is he?" Remus asked, a genuine note of wonder in his voice.
"Erm, we were never really sure," Hermione replied with a small smile. The shared joke, the impossible absurdity of their situation, broke some of the remaining tension between them.
A hint of a laugh escaped them both, and Remus shuffled closer, his knee now just a few inches from hers. "I'm assuming you can't tell me from where or why?"
Hermione shook her head, her gaze dropping to trace a long, calloused line of his fingers with the soft edge of her nails, a silent comfort.
"Are you allowed to tell me if we know each other? In the future?"
She looked up, searching his eyes. She watched the flash of amber that shone over his pupils, his dark lashes lining the edges of his hooded lids. The way the front of his hair reached to kiss them. It may be the last time he let her be this near, she thought, a pang of fear and longing twisting in her gut.
That's not true, little love. I won't let it.
Taking a deep breath, she nodded, answering Remus’s question.
"Do... you know Sirius?"
She nodded.
"Peter?"
She nodded again.
"James?"
Remus's brow furrowed when she did not move, the line between his eyes deepening as he waited for a response. "We're not friends in the future?"
She neither nodded nor shook her head. She just thought it, James’s and Lily’s tragic end, a torrent of memories rushing to the front of her mind.
How does it happen? the wolf asked, a sudden urgency in its voice.
With tears forming in her eyes, she saw the Potter Manor, destroyed, its walls thrown around on a bed of ash. She saw Harry holding Cedric's lifeless body, screaming, "He's back! Voldemort is back!" She saw the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. She saw herself, dancing at Bill and Fleur's wedding one minute and Apparating away from the Death Eaters' grip the next. She saw herself camping in the Forest of Dean, hunting for objects that might appear out of thin air. She saw Malfoy Manor after they had been snatched. She saw Dobby and the lavender that lay on his grave, until time blurred the blossoms had gone, and the lump of wet sand had smoothed out again.
Voldemort... the wolf whispered with a chill of recognition.
A thumb, with a tenderness that was at odds with the gravity of the moment, caressed her cheek, swiping away a tear she hadn’t realised had fallen.
“Okay,” Remus said carefully. “So that’s off limits. Does your being from the future have anything to do with how you knew about my lycanthropy?”
She nodded, sniffing, her tears falling more freely.
“So then you know how I became a lycan?”
“Yes, I do.”
“What else do you know?” he asked, a tinge of fear in his plea.
She lifted a hand, cupping his face, and with a gentle wave of magic, asked the glamour to lift. Remus’s eyes fluttered closed as the scars on his face shimmered into view—a constellation of fine lines and white marks that were bright against his bruised, golden skin. She watched, her heart in her throat, as the magic settled.
“I know you’re beautiful.”
Remus’s eyes sprang back open, and they did not shine amber. It was just him. Just Remus. He took her hand in his, kissing her knuckles, his gaze never leaving hers.
“I had wondered if you could see what I was covering. Sometimes it was like you were looking right at them. But then again, I guess you would recognise that kind of magic,” he trailed off, his voice soft. Slowly, he extended her arm out over his lap, and they watched as a soft light emanated from his hand, dissolving the glamour that hid the mark on her arm.
Mudblood stared back at both of them, cruel and glaring.
“Who did this to you?”
Who did this to you?
Their snarls came at once from both sides, reverberating through her mind and her heart.
The words were an animal growl in Remus’s throat, a sound she hadn't heard since July when he claimed her on the bathroom counter. The air in the room grew thick with a primal rage that was entirely his own, yet also shared. His hands, still holding her wrist, began to tremble.
He carefully turned her arm, his fingers tracing the jagged, raised letters. He didn’t flinch. He just looked at it, his face a mask of disbelief and fury. A tear from his own eye fell and landed on the cold, pink scar.
Her screams played like a record for the wolf against her will, the way her back had been charmed to stick to the marble floor. Bellatrix’s curls, mad and wild, poured into Hermione’s mouth as she sobbed and begged her to stop. “I don’t know anything! Please!”
I will tear her throat out, the wolf violently promised to Hermione, and then to Remus. They will pay miserably.
Remus felt the wolf's frustration straining to release, a raw, instinctive need for vengeance, and it matched his own. The calm he had so carefully cultivated for days shattered. His magic, a controlled force, flared around him, radiating off him.
"Hermione," he whispered, his voice cracking with the struggle of it. He brought her arm to his lips and pressed a kiss to the scar, a vow to protect her from every pain, past and future. “Is that confession also off limits?”
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, defeated.
You have nothing to apologise for, little love.
An overwhelming urge pulsed through Remus. He wanted to pull her close, to crush her against him, to bury his face in her hair and inhale the scent of her, to just be with her. But reasoning overtook him. He had to show her he wasn't going to take anything from her. Not even her pain.
"Is kissing you off limits as well?" he asked, barely audible.
Hermione looked at him, her eyes wide, tears still clinging to her lashes. She shook her head, a short, decisive motion, and in that instant, she gave him permission.
He didn’t hold back. His hands splayed across her ribs, and he lifted her from the couch, pulling her onto his lap as he kissed her fiercely. It was a kiss that held all the wrath he felt toward her demons and all the love he felt for her. It was a kiss that sought to heal every wound, to make up for every lost moment. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair as she returned his desperation with her own.
He felt the soft give of her body as he lay her back against the pillows, her warmth seeping into him. The fire in the hearth bathed the room in a bright glow, illuminating the scars on his face, the tears on hers. He moved slowly, methodically, his hands roaming over her body to soothe every part of her. He whispered her name against her skin, a litany of love and devotion that was meant only for her.
Show her what she means to us. Show her—
Remus deepened the kiss as he mentally shut the wolf out. This moment was for them. This moment was a dedication to finding each other again despite the confusion and the miscommunication. In all the lost time and avoided intimacy, he’d missed her more than his own peace of mind. In this moment, he’d be her shield, and she’d be his anchor.
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our_sunny_selves on Chapter 1 Fri 03 Jan 2025 11:07PM UTC
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Tsumeinuzuka on Chapter 1 Sat 25 Jan 2025 01:36AM UTC
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rowslytherin on Chapter 1 Thu 04 Sep 2025 02:18AM UTC
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halfbl00dprincess on Chapter 1 Thu 04 Sep 2025 02:57AM UTC
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our_sunny_selves on Chapter 2 Fri 03 Jan 2025 11:13PM UTC
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Tsumeinuzuka on Chapter 2 Sat 25 Jan 2025 01:40AM UTC
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Tsumeinuzuka on Chapter 3 Sat 25 Jan 2025 01:48AM UTC
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halfbl00dprincess on Chapter 3 Sat 25 Jan 2025 03:56AM UTC
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Tsumeinuzuka on Chapter 4 Sat 25 Jan 2025 01:49PM UTC
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halfbl00dprincess on Chapter 4 Sun 26 Jan 2025 12:43AM UTC
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our_sunny_selves on Chapter 6 Sat 04 Jan 2025 01:50AM UTC
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our_sunny_selves on Chapter 7 Sat 04 Jan 2025 01:59AM UTC
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halfbl00dprincess on Chapter 7 Sat 04 Jan 2025 03:29AM UTC
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Deedeedoo18 on Chapter 8 Sun 05 Jan 2025 09:29AM UTC
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halfbl00dprincess on Chapter 8 Sun 05 Jan 2025 09:40AM UTC
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Persephone_85 on Chapter 8 Wed 08 Jan 2025 08:43PM UTC
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halfbl00dprincess on Chapter 8 Wed 08 Jan 2025 08:56PM UTC
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Saintsational on Chapter 8 Thu 24 Apr 2025 11:02PM UTC
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halfbl00dprincess on Chapter 8 Thu 24 Apr 2025 11:52PM UTC
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Saintsational on Chapter 8 Fri 25 Apr 2025 12:33AM UTC
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halfbl00dprincess on Chapter 8 Fri 25 Apr 2025 12:43AM UTC
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Saintsational on Chapter 8 Fri 25 Apr 2025 02:04AM UTC
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grumpygryffindor on Chapter 8 Mon 19 May 2025 08:34PM UTC
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halfbl00dprincess on Chapter 8 Mon 19 May 2025 09:00PM UTC
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fortunebloom on Chapter 8 Mon 01 Sep 2025 12:39PM UTC
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halfbl00dprincess on Chapter 8 Mon 01 Sep 2025 02:06PM UTC
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Deedeedoo18 on Chapter 9 Sat 11 Jan 2025 09:04AM UTC
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halfbl00dprincess on Chapter 9 Sat 11 Jan 2025 02:28PM UTC
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Lilnymphwitch on Chapter 9 Wed 15 Jan 2025 10:28PM UTC
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halfbl00dprincess on Chapter 9 Wed 15 Jan 2025 11:15PM UTC
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Deedeedoo18 on Chapter 10 Thu 16 Jan 2025 08:05AM UTC
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halfbl00dprincess on Chapter 10 Thu 16 Jan 2025 02:02PM UTC
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Docinho2001 on Chapter 10 Sun 19 Jan 2025 03:37AM UTC
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halfbl00dprincess on Chapter 10 Sun 19 Jan 2025 04:06AM UTC
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Deedeedoo18 on Chapter 11 Wed 22 Jan 2025 10:21AM UTC
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halfbl00dprincess on Chapter 11 Wed 22 Jan 2025 01:29PM UTC
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AK_Phoenix on Chapter 11 Thu 23 Jan 2025 03:36PM UTC
Last Edited Thu 23 Jan 2025 03:37PM UTC
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halfbl00dprincess on Chapter 11 Thu 23 Jan 2025 04:36PM UTC
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